It’s been a pretty amazing week with lots of people in town for a work-related conference resulting in a big night out on both Tuesday and Wednesday. On Tuesday night, I took some visiting colleagues from Darwin out to a seminal Sydney experience: dinner at BBQ King.
Had a funny moment the other day when Yvette and I were on a morning walk. Walking past one of the many methadone clinics in Surry Hills, we noticed a large lineup of people waiting for it to open at 7am. Five minutes down the road and we had to lineup outside Cafe Nikki for our morning cup of coffee. Machiatto or methadone? That’s life in Surry Hills.
Christine Johnston as Decent Spinster
Last night, Damien and I went to see “Decent Spinster” at the Opera House. We had decided to see “Decent Spinster” based on her short performance at the media launch of “The Studio” at the Sydney Opera House earlier this year. Our memories of a “mad looking woman” performing bird calls and playing the musical saw remain vivid, although this show bears only minor resemblance to what Christine performed then.
The “Decent Spinster” is an old fashioned, perhaps Victorian woman, dressed entirely in grey, with a wild bee-haircut, who communicates in a mostly non-literal sense through bird calls, operatic sounds and the musical saw, relating to what is now mostly outdated technology such as the overhead projector, slide projector and even one of those 1950s “weight loss” vibrating belts.
Through the “Decent Spinster”, we are taught a completely logical new language, where the written word, images, and the spoken word (both literal and implied) collide.
The show is a roller-coaster of humour and emotion, on the cutting edge of contemporary performance, with a “European” feel, but firmly placed in the suburbia of contemporary Australian life.
It’s the morning of December 28th, and I’m sitting at the kitchen table at Pat’s place in Lismore. Pat is wandering around the house doing bits and pieces. Jack and John are sitting on the verandah discussing the state of the world (from fishing licences to global warming).
Over the last few years, things have been a little troubled, due to the disruptive behaviour of one family member, but things seem to have settled down this year, since he’s received some help.
Christmas Day
Within maybe 6 or 7 years, I’m pretty sure I’ll be living back here. I had a look through the real estate pages in the paper today, and I’ ve also had a look in some real estate shop windows over the last few days. I have a fair idea of where I’d like to live, and am reminded by some good advice I received from a friend: “Blocks of land seem like a good idea, until you realise you’ll spend all your time mowing the grass!”
Some of my friends in Sydney worry I’ll be bored moving back here, missing some of the things I take for granted in Sydney. I remind them that it’s not the outback I’m looking to live: it’s Lismore, a reasonably cosmopolitan regional city, and a place where I have friends and family.
In the meantime, Surry Hills in Sydney remains home. I moved to Sydney in 1995 thinking I’d be here for only a few years until I got “Sydney” out of my system. I thought I’d return to the country within a few years, but then I fell in love, and my career took off, and now it’s twenty five years later.
Surry Hills
Our biggest change in Surry Hills this year was that, after years of waiting, we finally have a light rail/tram. I can hear the “ding ding” sounds from my bedroom at night. I’ve only caught it a few times, as I’m already pretty well-served by public transport. It improves access for me to George Street, which I’m pleased about.
On the first night when the trams came through at about 11pm, a group of neighbours gathered at the corner of our streeet to wave it hello. It was several months of nightime testing before the tram finally took passengers.A few days ago I received a phone call from a colleague in Darwin who spotted me on the ABC News tv channel. Earlier in the year, I participated in an episode of the TV program, “Compass”. Although the program’s main focus was on the ministerial work of Karina Kreminski, a fair bit of the program focussed on the local story-telling project a few of us work on together called, “Surry Hills & Valleys”.
Travel
This year, there’s been a couple of long distance trips to Canberra, Lismore, Melbourne and Brisbane, and I had three weeks working in Darwin in the middle of the year. It was THE BEST time of the year to visit Darwin. The weather was sublime, and I was there when a number of major cultural events were underway: the Darwin Festival, the National Aboriginal & Islander Art Prize, and the National Indigenous Music Awards.
It was awesome that both Kate and Sue spent some time with me during this time.I had a lovely trip to Melbourne in early October, and caught up with my old school-friend, Anthony. There’s a terrific saying I once heard that, “In Melbourne, there’s a strong case of Melbourne-Sydney rivalry, but in Sydney, it’s a case of New York/London/Tokyo rivalry”. Though I’ve lived in Sydney for half my life, I’m not imbued with any of that rivalry bullshit. Phrases like “cultural capital” and “most liveable city” and “gateway to Australia” mean nothing to me. I mean “who cares”? Both cities are terrific in their own individual ways, though you would have to say Sydney definitely has the better climate, and for the last few years (due to the broader impact of the lock-out laws), Melbourne seems to have been doing better in the area of nightlife. As I walked around the inner-city last night, there was a genuine buzz on the streets, that you often find lacking in Sydney. Perhaps because Sydney is so spread out?When Kate mentioned she was heading to Wagga Wagga, half way through the year, I asked if she would like company for the trip down. Our epic road trip took in sites like The Big Merino, The Dog On The Tuckerbox, and serial stops along the way to look at the mixed-emotion beauty of paddocks filled with Paterson’s Curse and Canola, and to see the Murrumbidgee River. I spent some time trying to remember how I felt when I left Wagga Wagga at the beginning of 1995. As I recall, I was still pretty happy about living there. I’d made an excellent circle of friends, in part due to my involvement in co-establishing the Riverina Gay and Lesbian Social and Support Group. I had a very “social” house, located on the shores of Wagga’s Wollundry Lagoon. Here, I’d fulfilled a few of my career dreams, and thought it was probably time to move on, which is why I’d moved to Sydney.
Family & Friends
After years of ignoring “Facebook”, I began to use it more regularly this year. Like many, I’ve had concerns about privacy and data misuse, but I’ve concluded the advantages of being able to re-connect with friends and family way outweight the disadvantages. As a result I’ve re-connected with cousins I haven’t seen for almost forty years, and even met some for the first time.
I received this lovely message from a family member the other day.
The little lady with the blue shirt on James reminds me so much of Mum. I see so many of your old photos and can see just how much the O’Briens look alike. Always thought Meg and Uncle Johnny we’re alike. Silly old me, but sometimes I get a bit emotional just to see people whom I never knew look like my own family.
Sadly this year, one of my great “internet friends”, Sandra Carpenter died suddenly. She was married to an Australian, so enjoyed ready my blog. And as she was based in Stockholm and wrote in English, I enjoyed reading her blog. After about six months of chatting online, we met each other face to face in Stockholm in March 2010.
Work
Work has been pretty enjoyable this year. After the “managerial turmoil”, of the last few years, it’s been great to have both a Managing Director (David Anderson) and Chairman (Ita Buttrose) who both enjoy widespread staff respect, a reflection they both have many decades of experience working in the media.
I celebrated thirty years of working at the ABC this year, having started in October 1989 as the Morning Presenter at Renmark, in South Australia.
For the last few months of the year I’ve been enjoying “Work-Free Wednesdays”, as I’ve come to call them. Because I’ve gone into “Excess Leave” (meaning I haven’t take all of my annual leave over a few years), I was instructed to take some time off. Rather than take a month or so, I asked if I could take Wednesdays off instead. In reality, I’m still probably working my full-time job, but in both a practical and emotional sense, it’s been really fantastic to have a break in the middle of the week. I’ve been enjoying getting up late, going out for a morning coffee, going to the movies, having lunch with friends, going to galleries, and going for a swim. It’s been absolutely awesome, and I look forward to continuing this in 2020.
This year, I was also strongly involved in a group called, “ABC Pride”. Part of the “Pride In Diversity” groups which are part of many large organisations today, ours is a staff-led initiative to both support LGBTIQ+ staff, and to hopefully contribute to making the ABC a more inclusive workplace. One of the most exciting things coming up in 2020 is that we’ll have an “ABC Pride” float in the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. Keep an eye out for me!
“I was on the verge of getting up and walking out”, a colleague told me over lunch. “He’s a disgusting, horrible person, and represents everything I hate”, she added.
She was referring to the radio presenter, Kyle Sandilands, in conversation with TV presenter, Karl Stefanovic. They were on stage at Radio Alive, an annual radio conference (put on by the commercial radio sector, but of broader interest than just selling ads), held this year in Brisbane.
The conversation was full of expletives and comments which a lot of people found offensive. “What did you first think when you met Jacqie O?” he was asked to which he replied, “I thought she was f…able”. That kind of thing. He also told us that, when working at a radio station in Perth, he was engaged to one woman, but “f…ing six others”. So yeah, in a post #metoo world, his schtick (and it clearly is a schtick) didn’t go down well with a number of peoplle in the room.
While that was “all” that some people heard, I “heard” that he absolutely loved working in radio. He told the story of how he, as a child, used to “play radio station and play news readers” with another “nerdy boy who wasn’t very good at sport”. This resonated with me instantly and helps to explain my own career trajectory. That’s what I did too. And I knew who that other “nerdy boy” was, a colleague of mine, sitting in the audience.
He also described the secret to his successful radio partnership with Jacquie “O” Henderson was that he admired her before he met her and that they never “compete” for space on the airwaves they share. He also said that, while she does a lot of program preparation, he does “none”, so that he can listen and respond as a listener would. He said they have no “scripts”, and they listen to each other. He also said that when they were paired together, he was initially offered a much higher salary (even though she was the more experienced radio presenter), but they had insisted on salary parity.
But that wasn’t enough to convince a few people I spoke to there was maybe some degree of integrity in the rough public face of Kyle.
The other speaker at the conference who polarised the audience was a bloke called Michael “Shingy” Shing. Look for him on the internet, and you’ll see a whole range of Youtube videos, and that he has worked at places like AOL as a so-called “Digital Prophet”. At the centre of his talk was the idea that after twenty years of rapidly and enthusiastically embracing technology, we’re starting to either reject it or find a more appropriate place for technology in our human lives. He talked about his own experience, for example, of getting rid of his television twenty years ago.
His speech was full of recent advertising innovations, recent developments in the internet of things, and a range of other interesting material. “It was like a reeeeaaaaaallllly long Ted Talk that went nowhere”, said one of the people I chatted to over a drink, later in the day. Another, though he had lots of great thoughts around the central thesis of the appropriate role of technology in people’s lives.
Other interesting bits and pieces from throughout the day?
There’ll be a major advertising campaign before Christmas on commercial radio and TV promoting DAB+ radio. The research indicates most Australians have heard of digital radio, and might even have one in their car, but don’t really understand the benefits, and how to tune in.
On a panel of radio executive producers, one spoke about how she planned her radio program two weeks in advance, so there’s always a back-up for those days when there’s nothing “topical” to talk about.
The impressive Cathy O’Connor from NOVA (the most interesting on a panel of CEOs) talked about how radio sales (and media generally) had been experiencing an economic downtown this year, but was hopeful that, when you take into account the more positive five year circle, things would be okay.
She also had a funny line about the short-term failed experiment of combining music and talk radio under the banner “Vega”. “We couldn’t explain it to the audience”, he said, adding “We could hardly explain it to ourselves”.
And on that issue of confidence, radio was described as a “resilient” medium. In contrast with newspapers and television, which had both experienced difficulties by losing audience, radio audiences are holding up remarkably strongly.
Perhaps it’s the intimacy of the medium. Or maybe it’s the fact I have written this blog post with the radio playing in the background. You don’t need a pair of eyes to listen to the radio. And that’s why I love it.
I’ve been working in radio for over forty years, including thirty at the ABC.
Manager Metropolitan Local Radio, Jeremy Millar and I.Five years ago I received the official “ABC 25 Year Medal”.
I went searching on Spotify and Youtube Music yesterday for a comprehensive album or playlist of the works of Billie Holiday. Though it’s been at least 35 years since I bought her recordings on vinyl, and a few years later on CD, I was keen to find a good digital collection. You wouldn’t believe how many of the collections online DON’T include the song “Strange Fruit”.
In stark contrast, lyrically, to her other jazz recordings which are lighter love songs, “Strange Fruit” is an allegorical song about the “lynching” of black Americans. By “lynching”, I mean this.
Lynching in the United States was a widespread occurrence beginning in the 1830s Antebellum South until the civil rights movement in the 1950s and 1960s. Although the victims of lynching in the U.S. for the first few decades of the phenomenon were predominantly white Southerners, after the American Civil War emancipated roughly 4 million enslavedAfrican-Americans, they became the primary targets of lynchings beginning in the Reconstruction era. Lynchings in the U.S. reached their height from the 1890s to the 1920s, and primarily targeted African-Americans and other ethnic minorities. The American South saw the majority of lynchings as it contained the largest number of African-Americans residing there, although racially motivated lynchings occurred in the Midwest and border states as well.
In my heart of hearts, I can’t understand why a human would ever be involved in such terrible behaviour. The lyrics of the song are so incredibly powerful.
Southern trees bear a strange fruit Blood on the leaves and blood at the root Black bodies swingin’ in the Southern breeze Strange fruit hangin’ from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant South The bulgin’ eyes and the twisted mouth Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh Then the sudden smell of burnin’ flesh
The film I saw yesterday, “The United States vs Billie Holiday” argues when she sang the song, she was seen as inciting violence and the growth of the civil rights movement.
The film explores her life story from the perspective she was relentlesly pursued by federal agents to either a) stop her from singing the song or b) stop her career.
That she had a significant problem with drugs made her an easier target. If they couldn’t stop her for the songs, they could pursue her for her drug use.
The film explains her problem with drugs possibly came from her earlier life’s problems, being raised by an abusive woman who was also sex worker, and being sexually abused from an early age. There’s a telling scene in the movie which portrays the idea her own personal sex life as being defined in an abusive way.
Despite the darkness of the film, there are also some wonderful moments where you get to understand her humanity, and the joy she obviously enjoyed from her performances on stage, and her friendships with fellow musicians.
The two key actors deliver wonderful performances: the actor who plays Billie, and the actor who plays Jimmy, who plays the federal agent who became her partner.
There’s a suggestion (or at least that’s how I read it) that Billie’s death (from a drug overdose) was not of her own devices, that she might have been killed.
The film is somewhat harrowing, but it’s still a film I’d highly recommend.
And of course, there’s her wonderful music.
I won’t give away too much about the film, except to say you should stay for the end of the film to see some information about the legal status of lynchings in the US today.
As we walked around the markets yesterday morning, the name “Cary Lewincamp” caught my eye. Back in the days when I was still a broadcaster (and even now from time to time), I would often play his tune “Salamanca Saturday” (a short instrumental piece) on the radio. And there, as Sue and I walked around Salamanca Markets was the man himself. I mentioned this to Sue, and as he took a break in playing, she walked up to him, said hello, did the introductions and we had a brief chat. He even played a little of “Salamanca Saturday” for me.
For me, the music was the best part about the markets. Unlike many markets where the same buskers sit in the same place for hours doing the same tunes, there seemed to be a regular turn-over of performers. There was also everything from a bloke playing what appeared to be a traditional instrument to a young band fronted by a rather cool looking fifteen year old. “I’m going to take a photograph”, I told Sue, “…in case they’re the next Silverchair”.
I’m not a great one for arts and crafts, so the market didn’t hold a great attraction for me. On the other hand, Sue picked up a couple of pairs of ear-rings. We also bought some apples for the trip to Launceston.
Just when we were about to leave, we passed a stand for the Tasmanian Gay & Lesbian Rights Lobby. Noticing they had a pamphlet for Gay & Lesbian Pride Week, I picked one up. Noticing the Pride March was about to begin, finishing up in nearby Parliament Square, we decided to stay a little longer and watch the festivities.
When the staff member asked me tonight my thoughts on Lu Pingyuan’s monumental installation, “Shadow of the Shadow,” I couldn’t help but reply, “This is CLASSIC White Rabbit.”
By this, I meant it was a work that challenged, transported, and awed. Its sheer scale—a staggering 488 individual pieces—is rarely seen in Australian art. She laughed in recognition.
Shadow of the Shadow Lu Pingyuan 陆平原Shadow of the Shadow Lu Pingyuan 陆平原
I spent a fair amount of time tonight wandering around this magnificent work at White Rabbit, a contempoary Chinese art gallery in Sydney’s Chippendale.
Though it’s one of my favorite galleries (maybe MY ABSOLLUTE FAVOURITE), personal illness in the last year and the COVID-19 pandemic has kept me away for far too long. Their recent “art after hours” event was the perfect opportunity to return.
Beyond “Shadow of the Shadow,” I was particularly drawn to these others.
Blue CJ750 Shi Jindian 师进滇Blooming Season: Snow in June He Yunchang 何云昌
White Rabbit Gallery has a unique ability to transport viewers into a fascinating world of contemporary art. Having visited China twice and explored a number of contemporary galleries there, I’ve witnessed the immense scale and adventurous spirit of their art scene. The political climate seems to encourage artists to push boundaries and experiment with extreme artistic expressions.
If you find yourself in Sydney, I highly recommend visiting White Rabbit Gallery. For me, it was a delightful evening outing, a much-needed escape from recent challenges. Afterward, I even treated myself to a meal at Spice Alley, a perfect end to a wonderful night.
Click on the links below to see other previous exhibitions at White Rabbit.
It’s about one o’clock in the morning and it’s light outside. Although I know the sun is out there somewhere, I can’t actually see it, due to the fog which has enveloped Narvik.
I’m staying in the top floor room of a guest house. “You’re in the old maid’s room”, the bloke who owns the house told me when I arrived. And as I look out of my window, I can see a couple of houses (one of them has a light on out the front) against a grey sky background.
I haven’t seen too much of Narvik yet, retiring to bed soon after I arrived at seven o’clock tonight. After the activities of the last few days, and today’s intense day of travelling I was exhausted. And, in stark contrast to the communal living of the youth hostel, I’ve found myself in a single room with an extremely comfortable bed which proved far too enticing.
As I walked around Stockholm last night it was just beautiful. Even at about 10 o’clock, the sun was shining, adding a wonderful gentle yellow glow to the city’s buildings. And when I left Stockholm early this morning, it was definitely “shorts weather”. Actually, it was even a little bit hot. “So this is the famous Swedish summer I’ve heard about”, I thought to myself as I caught the suburban trains to Arlanda Airport.
“Personally I’d take the Arlanda Express”, the young bloke at the counter told me at Stockholm Central when I asked him about catching the suburban trains this morning. “Does it take too long and is it too hideous for words?”, I asked him in return, to which he replied in the negative. He smiled in a friendly way when I told him I came in via the express and was just looking for another, a different adventure.
Although I’d read previously the Swedes can be a little stand-offish, I haven’t found this to be the case so far. In fact, I’ve found them to be incredibly welcoming and helpful most of the time. Thus, when I asked (in Swedish) a nearby woman on Platform 16 to confirm that I was on the right platform for Upplands Visby (the connecting route for Arlanda Airport) she replied with a smile and some helpful information.
Taken from the train between Kiruna and Narvik in Norway.
I suspect I was a bit of an oddity on the train also, as most non-Swedes would probably catch the express. Subsequently, I found people quite warm and helpful, giving me instructions along the way.
There was a woman of about 60 opposite me who looked at me, though, in an odd kind of way. Not negative, just confused about why a non-Swedish tourist who wasn’t an eighteen-year-old backpacker would be catching the suburban route. After a moment or so of looking me up and down you could see she has convinced herself I wasn’t a serial killer and gave me a smile.
At about this time, a middle-aged man with a Middle Eastern complexion (maybe Turkish) came walking through the cabin and dropped a brochure on neighbouring seats. The flyer explained that he had two children who both had leukemia and that he was in need of financial assistance. It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen people begging, and I’ve wondered how these people have slipped through the Swedish welfare net. I’ve seen no obvious evidence, so far, of on the street homelessness related to either mental illness or drug addiction, as we have in Sydney.
The Swedish woman looked at the brochure with a sneer and further caught my eye with a smile when the bloke said something to me (which I couldn’t understand), and I replied with an “I don’t speak English very well” response.
As you go further and further out of central Stockholm, it gets more and more like Sydney’s Western Suburbs. More like any outer suburban area really, as you see more and more working class and non-caucasian faces getting on and off the train. You also hit the factory belt and the countryside pretty quickly.
And it was also then that I really started to feel the warmth of the Swedish sunlight coming through the windows of the train. I could also feel it through the window on the aircraft on the flight from Stockholm to Kiruna.
Aside from spilling some milk on the young woman sitting next to me (“Inte problema”, she said to me when I apologised), the plane trip was without incident.
I noticed, however, that I was welcomed onto the plane with “wilkommen”. It’s not the first time I’ve been assumed to be German and I guess it won’t be the last. Clearly, I don’t look Swedish in the typical kind of way, and clearly, I look like a bit of a tourist, but I never assumed I looked German.
As we made our way towards Kiruna, it occurred to me that, in an Australian context, I was flying to “Western Australia” and that Kiruna was probably Sweden’s answer to “Karratha”. As you fly from Stockholm you see the landscape change dramatically, and as you fly into Kiruna you see what is essentially a mining town in the middle of an extremely attractive landscape.
The contrast between Kiruna – organised, industrial – and the nearby landscape is dramatic. With the melting of the snow, the landscape was lush and green. But even now in the middle of summer, you still see mountain tops covered in snow. Even the Swedes on the plane, who must have seen it a thousand times, were in awe at some of the sights.
That, however, was not the case for two nearby women as we travelled by train from Kiruna to Narvik. While I was “oohing” and “ahhing” at every minor change in the landscape, they were looking at trash magazines and were reading out every bit of minor trivia contained therein. Not being able to understand everything they said though, I listened more for tone and intonation. In Australia, they would have been Cheryl and Sharon, here they seemed a little more exotic. :)
I personally found the train journey quite remarkable. You start off with a fairly flat green landscape, progress into a spectacular lakes district, and climb the mountains to true alpine country, before finding yourself on the Norwegian coastline. I spent most of the trip with my head stuck out the window taking as many photographs as I possibly could.
It was really great to watch the vegetation change also. At the beginning, it’s all flat and Savannah like, where the trees are all about the same height. Then, in the lakes district, you start to see some of the typical alpine vegetation of conifers. And by the time you’ve reached the top of the mountain, the vegetation has largely disappeared and it’s mostly just rock. You see the occasional white flower, though, in the midst of it all. “Is that eidelweiss?, I thought to myself at one point.
Oh, and I loved how they did the border change. As you cross from Sweden to Norway you go into a tunnell, and, quite simply you see two flags next to each other. Voila! You’re in another country. Bloody EU – where’s my passport stamp?
In contrast to everyone else on the train, I was still wearing shorts when we arrived in Narvik. They were all rugged up for the winter and maybe some skiing, while I was here on a summer holiday. Peer pressure got to me, though, and I put a jumper on just minutes before arriving at the station.
I had a great feeling of elation in arriving in Narvik. “Wow”, I’m here”, I thought to myself, on the top of the world, on the opposite side of the world. The train station is fairly simple, almost run down, and the first pay phone I found didn’t work. But, like all train stations and airports, there was a real sense of joy in the air, as people met their friends and relatives.
“Are you from Narvik?”, I asked the bloke who owns the guest house. “No, but I’ve been here 50 years”, he told me, adding that his wife was from Narvik. On the way to the guest house, he pointed out the shops where I could buy food. And when I asked him if there was a simple, polite local greeting I could use in shops, he told me I should just speak English. “All Norwegians speak English. It’s just the English, the Americans and the Australians who speak only one language”, he smilingly said.
Anyway, it’s now 1.40 am, and the fog has lifted. I think it’s time to go back to sleep for a while.
