Yay for the Lighthouse Keepers

I've never really understood the nostalgia movement that is prevalent at the moment among the Babyboomers and -- increasingly -- Gen X. I mean, if you're nostalgic for the music, surely you just listen to the recordings, which were made in the time you're nostalgic for? Why on earth would you want to pay money to see a congealed lump of wrinklies attempting to be as hip as they used to be?

I ate my words last night when I went to see The Lighthouse Keepers at the charmingly shabby Canberra Polish Club. Admittedly, this was a special thing, in that they have only reformed for three or so concerts, and that's it. They were always a pretty laid-back no-fuss kind of outfit, so you knew that they wouldn't really be attempting to reclaim their youth or anything shonky like that. No, it was friends getting together for a long-overdue play, and if mistakes were made during the playing, then they had a laugh, we had a laugh, and a VERY good time was had by all.




Of course, the shock is not so much at the way the band looks, but at how the other audience members -- your peers -- have aged. We (a bunch of ukulele friends) first sat up on the stage (next to a big table of the band's parents, who have probably earned every white hair on their heads) and looked down at the incoming punters. A bad angle, considering all the receding hairlines and low-tide dyelines. Lots of nonchalance, real or otherwise, and the chairs around the edge multiplied until it looked as though there would never be any space to dance.

I was a horizontal recruit to the band, an awful term, I know, but so true of so many of my favorite things - what is it about the advice of lovers that sticks harder than that of friends or family? Anyhoo, I was a latecomer to LHK, who were on the verge of splitting when I first listened to them, so I kept a casual eye on what happened next, bands like The Widdershins, The Honeys and a fun little side project called Blumenintahls (if you're reading, Blue, it's 'Metal Goddess' I love playing). So I was really happy last night when 'March of the Green Men' was played mid-set. It's a Widdershins song, but was reworked into a King Curly song (LHK's Greg Appel is older brother to KC's Steve Appel) for the album 'Doomsday Piano'.

Here's MotGM for a quirky moment:




The band played three small to medium sets, as they have never had a huge repertoire. But every song was good, and every song held up to the scrutiny of time. They may have been low-key and laidback, but they were high-class musicians working with quality lyrics, all about relationships, happiness and pain. They've got the pop-jangle of The Smiths (and they played a Smiths cover to cement the connection) without the whine of Morrisey (yet Juliet's singing is definitely more sour than sweet) with a gorgeous mix of guitars, including slide guitar and harmonica, so they had a lovely country edge to the pop.

There's a number of their songs on Youtube, including their best known, 'Gargoyle':



Great song, although I prefer many of the others, like 'Springtime', 'Ocean Liner', 'Bad Mood' (my shower song) and 'The Beat (Hey I want my loving back)', which was played right at the end, right when I thought they'd forgotten it, and played it with two drum kits, so it went straight through my body. I danced behind the curtains up on the stage with Lynda (who being ten years younger than I had missed the original scene, and was wistfully enjoying this incarnation) during the first set, and then moved down onto the floor when everyone got the bug, and danced non-stop for the rest of the night. It was wonderful.




They have released an (incomplete) selection of songs on a CD called 'Ode to Nothing', which should be available at your local indy music store (do they still exist where you are? We have one in Canberra, thank Ceiling Cat), and is also downloadable on eMusic, along with another collection, Lip Snipe Groin that has some of the same but also some of the ones they left out.

Apparently they're playing in Sydney tonight, so if you like what you read and you can get to their show, here's the details.

I felt twenty years younger dancing to them last night while I ingested a couple of litres of cider, and I feel twenty years older today as a consequence, so perhaps I've just balanced out, and the experience has left me exactly where I should be, only happier.

Mutiny

I've had a crappy half a day. Once I realised it was going to be craptacular and I was going to be miserable, I decided to put a stop to the normal day's plan and sook at home with a fire and the cats. I didn't feel well, and then I got a couple of bad news emails. So, as I have already stated on Facebook, I took Paul or John's advice: I lit a fire. It wasn't good Norwegian wood, it was quite hard-to-burn farm wood, but it cheered me up and in the end I got quite a lot done, between marshmallows. The cats had never seen open flames before, and were quite backwards in coming forwards to lie with me on the floor. They snuggled up behind me on a chair, and I rejoiced in the joy of portable laptops and cushions.

In honour of cheering up and stumbling upon it again in my archives, I am revisiting one of my all-time favorite personal posts. Here it is, titled Pride and Piracy, from waaay back in 2005:

It's been an entertaining day, but only on-line. Laura posted her excellent critique of the P&P movie, Pirates of Pemberley which has sparked all sorts of conversations. I thought I'd add another element to the fun: a visual one. Here then, are my P&P vignettes, whipped up with a dash of photoshoppery. All credit for the original images goes to the wonderful pirate image archive.

















Oh la!

Easter, day 2

I went to the festival quite late today. I didn't get to the studio. My health is a bit erratic, funny skin things happening. I will go tomorrow, by hook or by crook.

Today's festival highlights (I forgot to take my phone, so couldn't twitter my fun):

A duo called Bygone Errors, who played innuendo-stuffed music hall era songs and told very bad jokes (Why does a bike not stand up by itself? It's too tired (two-tyred). Boom boom!) They were very funny, and there were a lot of older people in the audience who knew the songs, so much jolly singalonging ensued. BB's parents arrive tomorrow, we're going to take Grandpa to see them, he'll love it.

Watching the Fiddle Chicks play a superb rendition of Frankenfurter's song 'I'm Going Home' in the Infinite Rocky Horror tribute heat. It had deep shades of Ultravox's 'Vienna'. The Rocky Horror theme isn't working very well this year. It's hard to camp up something already so campy, and straight or soulful renditions don't work that well either. Most of the acts are playing 'There's a Light (Over at the Frankenfurt place)', which, I've worked out, is because it has the most life-affirming hippy lyrics (There's a light // in the darkness // of everybody's life). Blech.

But the Fiddle Chicks made it work.

And then, the piece of resistance for me (although I've come home to bed way before the night is over) was Shane Howard (from Goanna), his lovely daughter and his guest vocalist, Amy Saunders from Tiddas (not Martha, Crit!). It was a superb session of original new material, finishing with a fabulous rendition of Solid Rock with a guest didge player, William Barton. I must have heard that song endless times on the radio, but it brought tears to my eyes tonight... whether with joy or nostalgia, I don't know. Barton's didgeridoo playing was spine-tingling.

OK, time to go to bed in anticipation of Easter Eggs! As I said on Facebook, I did the wife-of-a-busy-man thing this year and bought my own egg. But I made damn sure that it's bigger than his. :)

She's leaving home

Another photo-post, mainly because it's very hard to describe how I feel about leaving a house that I never warmed to, but which is now full of very precious memories. I had a watery tart morning as I locked it up for the last time, thinking about my son as a baby, the changes I made the house go through to make me feel like I was escaping my past instead of being trapped in it, and while I feel thankful that I've moved to somewhere that I love, a little piece of me will be reluctantly floating over the distressed wooden floorboards like a vapour wisp.

If you need more words, go to my flickr stream.
























I'd like to formally thank Colonel and Lady Duck for giving me a home of my own, and for all their support even though I whinged a lot about the house. It wasn't actually the house, but I guess you knew that.

terribubbly sad but happy too

To be honest, I didn't know that Ruth Park was still alive until yesterday when she died. She's three years older than the Aged Poet (who is 90), so she had a lovely long life (although I hope she enjoyed her Extreme Old Age more than the AP is).

We are huge fans of The Muddle-headed Wombat. I packed the books away yesterday so I can't give you an example of the wonderful writing. Best Beloved was reading them aloud to me when I was sick recently and he does all the voices so well. In our minds Padge is Wombat and Puss is Pooter. Secretly in my mind, I am Mouse, Bumblebee is Wombat and BB is Puss.

Her novels and autobiographical work are wonderful as well, of course, but if she'd only ever written TMHW, it would have been legacy enough. Thank you, RP, and RIP.





The most excellent news is that after some high-tension negotiation argy bargy, we got to a price we could pay on the house we like. We haven't exchanged contracts yet, so cross fingers for me that all goes well until then. The best bit of the agreement is that we will get access to the new house's garage between Exchange and Settlement to store all our boxes etc so that the old house can be clear and uncluttered for the Open House time! *big sigh of relief*

I was out last night, and I'd left a tense and gloomy household, because of the argy-bargy. They were supposed to be cooking dinner, but nothing much had happened by the time I left. Then I got a text saying BRING PIZZA AND CHAMPAGNE. Shazam! I happily did so, knowing that the world had just turned on its axis.


So I'm suspending my studio activities for a month (unless something really urgent comes up) and devoting my energy to packing, painting, patching, and what ever else comes up. Apart from Christmas, of course. It's going to be extra relaxing, because we know how much work is ahead of us. W00T!

nostalgic guff du jour

My cousin scanned an old photo album and put the images onto facebook. There were many that made me wistful, but this one just makes me smile wryly.

We have a few photos from this particular series, and the occasion is Colonel Duck's graduation from military college back when he was Cadet Duckling. There's one photo that's always been on the mantlepiece, of just Colonel and Lady Duck standing together, skinny he in his uniform and her, dewy in her white satin dress. Woof, they looked young and hot.

Isn't mum gorgeous in this photo? I used to think that the mantlepiece photo was their wedding photo, and until I was old enough to understand, my mother didn't disillusion me, because it's probably the closest thing she got to a wedding celebration anyway, since they'd been illegally and secretly married for eight months already (and she'd done the deed in a hot pink mini-suit, which was really much cooler than a white satin dress anyway) and at the end of this big swanky grad do she had to go home and hang out with me, who was with one of my usual family babysitters. So I'm guessing she enjoyed this evening as the last time she'd ever have to hide my nappies on the hills hoist (apparently she would peg them to the line on the inner rings and then put vast amounts of the family washing -- mother, father, three sisters, grandfather -- around the outer rings to hide them), and after this night she'd actually be able to cohabit with my father. Back then, cadets weren't allowed wives & kids or cars; these days they can have anything they want, and they can even live off-campus with their wives or husbands. Tuh! What is the world coming to?

The other thing that makes me smile wryly is my grandmother, on the left. This is the famous Nanny Annie whom I invoke when I clean my house furiously. Today my father and I worked out that in this photo she is only one year older than I am today. That is a sobering thought. My grandmother always seemed OLD, and I can't relate to her ever being my age! The three of them look a bit tense; it's probably been a long evening...

LATER: I keep noticing little details. Check out Nana's hands, curled into fists: she was a miner's wife from dusty Kalgoorie, and I'm sure she was nervous about such a ceremonial occasion. Also mum's wonderful black satin gloves. I wonder if she still owns those? And Nana's gloves -- I'm presuming they're also black gloves, unbuttoned and curled back? Were black gloves a requirement or did my family decided to be co-ordinated? So many questions! Time to phone home again :)






My pillows should be on their way home today. I can't wait for a good sleep, my head feels claggy. For those who are interested, I rang Lady Duck, and apparently the brand is 'Aussie Pillow Fibresoft' -- it's a microfibre pillow that I bought at Domaine (or Domain, or however that chain of homewares stores is spelled). The pillow itself has a satin seam around the edge of the pillow, and it's a slightly cheaper alternative to duckdown or goosedown. It might be available in other stores, and there are probably other brands that are similar...

People watching: the hat

Sitting in my studio, looking through old sketchbooks, and came across this on the back page of one:

I was walking behind a man who was walking along a path across a stretch of lawn. The path was a groove worn by countless students short-cutting across the rectangle of grass. About halfway along, the path became muddy and slightly slippery. The man was neatly dressed with a hat. As he felt the ground become less stable, he raised his hand to his hat, and he slowed down. He lifted his hat a couple of inches up over his head and trod very carefully until the ground was less slippery.

1 June 1999


-- Post From My iPhone