Over dinner last night with Kristen and Damien, it was revealed we were all due to go Carriageworks to see Klub Koori present “Bart Willoughby & Friends”. Having not seen each other for a few months, it was a real surprise to realise we would end up seeing each other two nights in a row. In both cases, a friend (not a mutual one) had asked us to go along. So there you go.
Bart was a member of some legendary Australian rock bands, including No Fixed Address (Since 1978), The Black Arm Band, Yothu Yindi (1988 – 1989), and Mixed Relations. With one or two exceptions, drummers generally aren’t also vocalists, so it’s really interesting to see someone combine the stage presence of a lead vocalist with being seated behind a drum set. The set included a bit of reggae, a bit of rock, and a degree of experimental works also.
He was supported by Leah Flanagan, Brenda Gifford, and the absolutely awesome soul-pop band, Microwave Jenny. An excellent night, overall.
I went “over the bridge” AGAIN tonight. And AGAIN it was for a production at The Ensemble Theatre. On Friday night it was a Shakespearean-style drama called, Mary Stuart. Tonight it was a a one-man-show featuring Reg Livermore with a black-comedy edge.
On the way to the show I called in to The Kirribilli Hotel for a quiet glass of wine. There I ran into a long-term ABBA fan, her mother, step-father, and a good friend of hers. Her friend was a big fan of Livermore, who has seen him perform on many, many occasions. While I was was familiar with his work, however, including some of his iconic 70s work, I’d never actually seen him live before.
There were some great lines in this production, no doubt. I particularly rembered the classic, “You know, I almost quite like Melbourne” line (though you might imagine he’d use the same line, about Sydney, when it plays Melbourne).
But I suppose the most disappointing thing about this production is that I never really cared much for the character he plays. The character, a presumably bitter old queen who poisons a group of neighbours who fail to look after his animals while he’s away, is amusing enough. But in this play you never actually get to understand why he’s bitter. You never actually get to understand the humanity of the character.
Sure I understand there can’t be much of a human behind someone who would poison his neighbours, but it would have been nice to have been given at least an insight to go some way towards understanding the character.
But yes, it was pretty funny and I enjoyed it a fair bit. As I say, lots of great one liners. But not much more, unfortunately. What it missed was just a line here or there, which gave you the slightest insight into the humanity of the character he was playing.
I guess that’s what I remember most about the outrageous characters of his past. In the midst of the comedy, the bravado, the viciousness and the humour, there was a living breathing human with a fascinating, compelling story to tell. This character ain’t no Betty…
Of course, I might have missed the point…
Someone has erected a “shrine” to Michael Jackson on Crown Street, Surry Hills. I noticed it this afternoon after enjoying a bowl of my favourite soup – pea and ham – at nearby Cossie’s Cafe. I almost walked past it, as a matter of fact, until it genuinely caught the corner of my eye, and that’s when I stopped to take a photograph. On closer inspection, you’ll see there’s a laminated pencil drawing, a couple of candles in a bowl, flowers and a Bible.
I think it’s a fascinating response to what’s happened. And obviously the person who erected this shrine obviously feels very strongly and deeply. Or maybe it’s a stunt by The Chaser with a hidden camera to see who would respond?
The papers are full of Michael Jackson today, of course. I skipped over most of the coverage as I’d experienced much of the unfolding story through my work yesterday. But it’s Saturday evening in Australia, and all of the television news services are still in rolling coverage mode.
And what occurs to me at this stage is that you just know it’s not over yet. You just know there’s going to be some scandal associated with the death. You just know the funeral or handling of the body is going to be stuffed up in some way. And you just know there’s going to a messy court case about something. And how long until we see “Michael Jackson – The Tele-movie”?
You know how sometimes you go looking for people from your past wondering what they’re up to at the moment? Imagine my surprise when I went looking for an old mate and discovered him on the National Missing Person’s List.
It’s been playing on my mind for a few weeks now since first discovering it. In posting this today, I thought I’d take the chance to get the word out to an audience who may know Robert, but who may not know about his current circumstance.
I first met Robert Nivison in Wagga Wagga in about 1992 (I think) or maybe 1993 when he began studying at Charles Sturt University. We became good friends for a while, and would often run into each other many years after having left Wagga.
It was always with a great deal of affection that I would see Robbie and his enchanting smile. Years later, he was living and working as a graphic designer (his chosen career) in Lismore, my home town. Once again, I smiled with great affection when we ran into each other in a pub one Christmas when I was home.
He has a great mind, and a great heart, and I hope he’s okay. Although I recognise sometimes people go missing for a reason (because they WANT to go missing if you know what I mean), I hope Robert hasn’t come to harm. I hope he’s happy and content wherever he might be.
I can’t begin to imagine the pain and agony his family and close friends are going through, not knowing where he is. If you can help, here’s the information from the website of the Australian Federal Police
Last Seen: 30/1/2007
Year of Birth: 1970
Sex: Male
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Short Brown
Height: 178cm
Build: Solid
Complexion: Has beardCircumstances: Left home address in Ascot Brisbane on morning of 27 January 2007 – drove to Lismore NSW in his Black Jeep NSW Reg AK55HL – where he dropped his dog off to a friend saying he would return later to collect the dog. A few days later a letter from the missing person (MP) was received by MP’s mother post marked 30 January 2007 and sent from Alice Springs in the Northern Territory. The MP’s bank account was also used in Alice Springs this same day. There has been no further contact or bank account use since this date. The MP’s vehicle has not been located or registered in another state.
National Missing Persons Coordination Centre
PO Box 401
Canberra City ACT 2601 Ph: 1800 000 634 (toll free)
Fax: 02 6246 2353
It’s Sunday afternoon and it’s another glorious day in Sydney. In fact it’s been glorious all week. Winter is really holding out this year. It’s the first of May and I’m sitting here in just shorts. And this time last year, I can remember being in Melbourne and almost being frozen to death.
It was even nice for Anzac Day this week and, as usual, I worked. But after work I caught up for lunch with my friend John who has spent some time travelling in Thailand and Laos which he said were both terrific. We had lunch in the Spanish quarter which was greatand then wandered through the city ending up in Hyde Park which was a really nice way to spend the public holiday.
I’ve been reasonably social this week having attended a few concerts, have gone out for drinks and have attended the opening of a new gallery and a new exhibition.
On Tuesday night, for example, Michaela, Mel and I went to the “Media Launch” of Il Divo, an “opera boy band” put together by Simon Cowell from American Idol fame. They sang just five songs but the show seemed to last for hours. Most interesting was an Italian version of Toni Braxton’s “Unchain My Heart” and most controversial was a version of Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”. They look good and they sing well. However, they can’t move – it was like watching a black and white fashion ad – and there wasn’t all that much passion in their performance. That’s why I thought they were a little boring.
And then on Friday night, Colin, Grant and I went to see Tim Draxl perform live. I’d first heard of Tim Draxl about four or five years ago when, under the tutelage of Les Solomon, he was proclaimed as “the next big thing” following in the footsteps of David Campbell. I actually interviewed him at the time. We spoke in particular about his interesting upbringing as one of four songs of Austrian-Australian ski instructors and of his career ambitions in music, but more significantly in acting. I got the impression at the time acting was more of an interest for him than was cabaret. I’ve since seen him in a couple of movies, including “Swimming Upstream” and “The Shark Net” (which were both good), but also in the telemovie about the television series, which was maybe not so good.
As to why he has returned to music, I don’t know, and he didn’t really say in the show either other than what I thought was a fairly trite line about singing his favourite songs and playing in a venue that the likes of Sarah Vaughn, Louis Armstrong and Frank Sinatra had played. Actually, quite a bit of the show featured strong versions of standards, including “A Foggy Day In London Town” and “Night & Day”. But as a performer I thought he really came to life with more contemporary numbers, including a song by Billy Joel, and in the more obscure musical theatre numbers he chose. I think it was really then that he became authentic as a performer. He sings like an angel and with such control, but to be honest, I thought his ability to bring new life to standards was limited. A bit like Harry Connick Junior and Michael Buble doing the classics… nice… but nothing new.
Likewise, I thought the patter in between tracks was often contrived and a little disingenous. When he spoke it was very clearly tightly scripted and lacked that authenticity I mentioned earlier. However when he sang a three item tribute to a broken relationship he really came to life as a person. One song, “I’m Alright Now” in particular, made me pretty weepy as it allowed me to reflect on my own relationship breakup.
And then in stark contrast, last night I went to see Combat Wombat, a reggae-flavoured hip hop band from Melbourne featuring DJ Wasabi aka Tom Jones. No, it’s not the boring aged Welsh singer, it’s Tom Jones, formerly of Matong, Wagga Wagga, Newcastle and now Melbourne, son of my friend Kate. Their music is both political and danceable in that “Jabiluka” kind of way. By this I mean the kind of sounds that I first came across at the Jabiluka protests of the late 90s in the Northern Territory. Most of those attending had a strong commitment to envirionmentalism and social justice, but unlike their parents whose artistic representation of that was folk music, these kids had grown up with dance beats and technology.
Amongst the group of us who attended last night’s concert – the group of old people – was a member of a legendary Australian rock band. Peter said he’d been chatting with another “old muso”, a very well known bass player who just couldn’t believe that Combat Wombat’s range of instruments included only samplers and turntables. “I can’t believe they plug in all those leads” was the incredulous comment his friend made.
But drawing upon earlier traditions – Midnight Oil, David Bridie – their show also included background video footage focussing on issues of peace, environmentalism and national identity with The “Irish dancing John Howards” being a highlight.
The music was also terrific. I thought Tom – aka Wasabi – was just amazing. I also thought one of the vocalists – the female one whose name I don’t know – sang with such a huge amount of passion and authenticity.
In between time, I also had the opportunity to visit the opening of the new Damien Minton Gallery and the Salon des Refuses exhibition at National Trust-SH Ervin Gallery, which featured “rejects” from the Archibald Prize.
Work continues to go well although I’m desperately needing a holiday. It’s been an amazingly busy 12 months with work and I haven’t really had a holiday for eighteen months to two years. I’m working towards a good holiday in the next month or so…
In the last couple of days I’ve done a couple of things a little out of the odinary: I’ve been to a homeless men’s shelter and I’ve visited “The Block”. And no, I’m not talking about the home renovation show, I’m talking about The Block, which was one of the first pieces of land in urban areas owned by Aboriginal people (aside from forty thousand years previous, but you know what I mean.
The block also has a reputation for lawlessness and poverty, and I will admit, it was with some trepidation that I wandered along. It was a case of the rational brain saying there was nothing to worry about, while the emotional brain was believing everything I’d read in the paper, half-expecting crack houses and physical violence. Mind you, there were a couple of houses without windows or doors at the front (they were bricked up), and it was an alcohol-free event, so in a different circumstance some of the fears might have been justified. I just don’t know.
But anyway, I was really keen to go to see Kate and her son, Tom, who is in a band called
“Combat Wombat” which was playing as part of the Rock The Block Musical Festival.
The last time I’d seen Combat Wombat play was about twelve months ago at the Hopetoun Hotel. Even if Tom weren’t part of the band, I’d really like their work, combining excellent music skills with overtly political lyrics, highlighting environmentalism, peace activism, indigenous rights, etc.
It was a good, fun afternoon/evening which I enjoyed immensely. As well as Combat Wombat, I really enjoyed seeing the young (early teens) rappers doing their thing.
And then this morning I went to a homeless men’s shelter, due to a work commitment. Again, it was a case of the “rational” brain vs “the media brain” leading to personal safety fears.
At the shelter I visited, a fair percentage of the men would be sleeping outside, would have some form of mental illness, and would probably lead lives involving alcohol/drug abuse and/or physical violence and abuse. To put it frankly, they’re the “scarey men” you generally avoid on the streets of Sydney.
But although the nearby laneway was a little scarey, no doubt due to people wanting to either sell drugs or abuse the men in some way, the hostel itself was okay. It was just men coming in for a shower, a meal, some company and some recreation, looking for a “safe place” in the midst of pretty complex and confronting lives.
This was described as “the pointy end” of homelessness, and an area which many of the men who go through prefer not to be reminded of later in life. Although I can’t say I was entirely comfortable, it wasn’t as scarey as I thought.
On occasion I felt a tear swell in my eye, quickly stopping. The men don’t deserve (nor probably want) my sympathy nor my tears, nor my help on “Christmas Day” (there’s hardly any volunteers on Boxing Day, apparently).
In the grand scheme of things these were two short incidents in my own personal awakening. But it’s not about me, it’s about them.
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Isn’t there a song about that? :)
If not, there should be.