I’m sitting in front of the telly watching a Blur concert on ABC2. If you don’t have ABC2 – get a digital set top box so you can. They have heaps of great concerts. Last time I tuned it was Radiohead (wasn’t that a dreary waste of my time).
Tonight it’s Blur.
I saw Blur live years ago, and thought they were bloody great live. I know all the songs, but I wouldn’t have a clue who the bandmembers are. I do know that when I was at the concert (Festival Hall in Brisvegas btw) the lead singer guy threw himself into the crowd halfway through that woo-hoo song and I thought I was going to burst. They were so young and British and rude.
That concert and the two They Might Be Giants shows I went to were the best live shows I’ve ever seen.
So I’m sitting here in front of the telly, getting all excited (I’ll never sleep tonight) and thinking about how long it’s been since I saw a live show that wasn’t a jazz band. I miss the rudeness. The adolescent posing. Radiohead were too much for me, though – dang they’re boring, miserable sods. We like jumpy rock n roll types here. Not sulky, broody I’m-so-serious tossers.
I wish I could remember that lead singer’s name. The Blur guy.
i yearn
Today I saw the Basie Mosaic set at Basement Discs for only $150. I could only let myself listen to one CD (including the finest version of Jive at Five recorded in the 50s) before thrusting the headphones away. I. Do. Not. Have. One. Hundred. And. Fifty. Dollars. In fact, I don’t have any dollars, nor any way of earning any for the foreseeable future (well, unless you count those massively lucrative DJing gigs – that’s me. Earning my way to prosperity $25 at a time).
But it was just so sweet.
I yearn.
but who’s counting?
Today I had the final visit to the dentist. There was no anaesthetic, there was no crying (though I did tear up a bit at one point).
There was some filling, some polishing of fillings and some cleaning of teeth. Then there was a whole lot of cleaning out of credit cards…or should that be filling up of credit cards?
It’s nice to think that now I have no income I will still have a massive dental debt to keep me company.
Reassuringly, I am officially a ‘twelve month person’ – meaning that I actually have such great teeth I need only turn up at the dentist office once a year. If only, if only I had gone in to see the dentist earlier and avoided that horrible root canal.
So that is officially that.
On other fronts…
- the marking continues. Slowly, painfully. It is reassuring to see vast improvements in almost every student’s case. One good scare and they suddenly discover they need to actually, well proof read.
- The MLX is well in hand. The DJs are rostered. The volunteers are rostered (with only 3 of 20-odd needing re-rostering). The website is current. The Ham’s Whereabouts Timetable is compiled (hm – in bed at 4.30am Thursday, up at lunchtime Friday. In bed at 8am (if I’m lucky) Saturday morning. And so on until I die. This is a formidable program of events: gold stars to all those who manage to attend each of the 16 (or was it 17?) events. And sees all 5 of the bands and 10 of the DJs. The door sheets for the volunteers need doing, but we have time for that.
- The conference papers are written. Not well, but … look, I’m not that amazing. One needn’t be perfect (I was informed – it’s just meant as a sort of peek into the work I’m doing, not a final draft), the other… well, I will find time to re-edit it and do up a powerpoint with clippage (can’t talk about dance without showing the dance).
- The paper waiting at the publisher/journal thing has had its corrections done. So you might see that soon (well, some day, some time, some century)
- The birthday is done (32 and counting, thanks very much). Not the best birthday ever (what with the ongoing anxiety and general over-workedness and exhaustion), but at least it’s done. Perhaps I’ll have another one in a few months where I can really enjoy myself. Thanks, though, to those who turned up to consume unhealthy quantities at the pub – that was nice.
- Drop-in visit from parents en route to Canberra handled
- Other parent’s drop-in visit enjoyed (huzzahs to the Matriarch for bringing cake)
- Supervisor present purchased
There are other things that’ve happened, and other things that need doing* (catch me at the Spiegeltent this weekend between 2 and 4 if you’re up for a bit of Olde Timey music and an off-colour joke or two), but right now I’m concentrating on the marking. And trying not to think about the 3 house guests who’re arriving next week (and one of whom is currently bedless).
Think of me, will you, and send me calm thoughts – only… um… at least four weeks before I actually get a weekend off. It’s been six months since the last one, but who’s counting?
*Not the least of which is cleaning our house and actually planning a meal more complex than fresh filled pasta with spinach and salami and fresh tomato and garlic. Sounds good, I know, but try eating it 3 days out of 7 every week. WE are living in squalor: orange peels, dirty socks and used tissues? I wish we could find our orange peels amongst the rubble in our nest. And do NOT ask me about the happy mouse family living in our compost bin.
like you could catch my hawt arse
There’s a bit of response to the recent scary mysoginy (look, I can’t spell it, alright? I’ve tried twice and now I’m giving up) here and here and elsewhere.
I can’t help but think of Helen Garner’s First Stone. Didn’t we have this argument ages ago?
I really can’t be bothered thinking about this – women do not provoke their own rapes by wearing a particular combination of clothing. As someone (somewhere in one of those links) said, rapists are responsible for the rapes they commit. There is no other convincing argument.
I’d like to add that rape is not just about sex, it’s also (and far more importantly) about violence. And violence is complicated. Especially when it’s rape.
I think about the things that I wear when I’m riding my bike. Sometimes I wear a low-necked dress (because I’m off to dancing or something else hot and sweaty – where I’ll attempt to flaunt my oiled breasts* [tee hee] but most probably end up flaunting my pink and sweaty face and (undoubtedly hawt) puffing and panting in pathetic unfitness).
When you lean over the handlebars on a proper road bike, if you’re wearing a low-necked blouse, your boobs jump out. Now, I know that the thing at the fore of my mind as I navigate Sydney Road in peak hour is ‘where can I score some hawt sex?’ or perhaps ‘surely that attractive gentleman in the van there would relieve me of this unbearable desire a-burning in my loins?’**
I’m not sure what I’m provoking when I’m riding my bike like this, but I’d like to think I’m provoking people to random acts of exercise – hey that looks like fun! Maybe I can score a hawt chick if I ride a bike!
Yeah right, babe – like you could catch my hawt arse!
* courtesy of balcony
** it’s more likely to be saddle-jab a-burning my loins, provoked by an incorrectly adjusted bike seat or perhaps by a lazy core leading to slump-forwardness
Campus Five and Mosaic sets
Because I’m busy marking (up to 20 a day, mate – I am one speedy mofo), I can only blog really dull things.
Right now I’m pining after this:
for no real reason other than the fact that Trev said he was getting it, and now I want it too. Well, actually, I love Ellington a whole lot, and have a real passion for small group/combo swinging jazz. And we’re talking a Mosaic set here – 7 CDs worth of phenomenally good quality remastered hotness. That costs $US119. A little too rich for my blood, unfortunately. Especially since the scholarship ended (months ago) and the teaching paychecks are about to dry up. I do have a wad of cash squirrelled away from my DJing pay, but that $500 for a year’s worth of DJing… she ain’t going to go too far.
So I just think about that Mosaic set and then think about how I could arrange my life so that Trev lives in my house and lets me pretend that all his music is belong to me.
On other musically related fronts, I didn’t let that whole poverty thing stop me from buying myself these 2 Campus 5 albums:
I was convinced by the versions of Squatty Roo and Hop Skip and Jump on Crazy Rhythm (you can listen to them there on the site). I adore those songs (especially the former), and while the Artie Shaw and Ellington versions of these songs (respectively) are far superior, the appeal of a good quality recording of each cannot be ignored (particularly not when the issues I raised here are concerned).
If only I had some logic and didn’t impulse-purchase music in times of stress or overwork. I’d figure out that if I just restrained myself from these little splurges I’d have enough dosh to buy those sweet Mosaic sets.
But I don’t buy music sensibly. I am an artist – my musical selections are guided by impulse. Creative impulse.
FIVE STEPS A SECOND
Feeling a little tired, finding it difficult to concentrate?
Sounds like you have
Marking fatigue
Take one of these and call me in the morning.
Coming in at 275bpm (or thereabouts), this fast finals of the Ultimate Lindy Hop Showdown comp for 2006 is fricking fast. At one point one couple dances in half-time, then shifts back to full-time (French wunderkind Max and Alice – in black shirt and jeans/black dress), and they look like a film speeded up when they make that shift.
To give you an idea of how fast 275bpm is (if you can’t be arsed going and looking and listening), we’re talking about 5 steps a second. FIVE STEPS A SECOND. Can you even run that fast, let alone dance that fast?
When Max and his partner dance half time, they’re dancing at about 137bpm. 140 is an average tempo in Melbourne atm (though it should be 160 at least).
I guess I don’t need to explain why I needed to get back in shape for MLX6, huh?
The first couple in that clip are Frida and Todd Yanacocmamancobi (?). He’s about 12 and she’s about 16. Well, actually, she’s about 22 and he’s about 20. He gets better and better and better each time I see him dance. Frida still blows my brain – I have yet to see a young lindy hopper who’s better. We have no dancers in Australia who can dance at the standard of these guys.
If you’re interested, the winners are Ria and Nick (she’s wearing a short, shiny red skirt and he’s wearing a red shirt), second place was taken by Frida and Todd and third by Max and Alice.
The Charleston Chasers
The Charleston Chasers (self-titled).
Not the modern-day recreationist Charleston Chasers, but the early days doods from the 20s/30s.
Only existing as a studio-group (ie recording together but not performing live for audiences), the Charleston Chasers feature a pretty white cast of musicians (and sound it too), including Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Pee Wee Russell, Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, Gene Krupa, Jack Teagarden. Goodman was the focus of my interest in this album.
I haven’t really had a chance to listen to the album properly, but I can say, the quality is surprisingly good for such old recordings, the ‘sound’ is pretty dang white (check out that above link for a discussion of this stuff in one of my earlier posts), but the music is still good stuff. Think ‘charleston’, a few slow drags/blues numbers, all with a bit of a ‘society’ edge (no guts, no buckets here).
Considering the cast on this one, I think my appreciation for this album will only grow over listens.
Maxine Sullivan’s My Memories of You
Maxine Sullivan’s 1955 album My Memories of You (remastered, etc) is very like Ella’s These are the Blues in its groovy, later-era swinging jazz vibe. I’d pop this one in the same family as Ella and Louis Again (Ella and Louis Armstrong), Billy Holiday’s later stuff from Verve (including Songs for Distingue Lovers) and some of the Oscar Peterson/late Louis Armstong All-Stars stuff.
Small combo, sweet production, older artist with a less-excellent voice, but nice phrasing and sophisticated musicianship. You have to love the way these ladies hang on the beat – they just wait out there til the very last minute.
My Memories of You is a really nice album – almost all very danceable/DJable (for a groover crowd, mind you), as I discovered at the Spiegeltent this weekend. I played far too many songs from the album, but it was just so appropriate for the dancers who were there – a version of Massachusetts which went down really well as a birthday song (and I like it because it reminds me of her much earlier version which I really prefer), as did Christopher Columbus which doesn’t really hold up to too many replayings, but has a sweet sparcity and velvety sauciness which plays on the memory of Fats Waller’s (decidedly dirty) version in a nice way.
Max manages to avoid the dirty lyrics, but their absense (if you know the Fats version) is emphasised rather than coyly ignored (as in the horrible Andrews Sisters versions of things like Hold Tight), so ends up feeling saucy – the delay in her phrasing, while not a patch on Billy Holiday, seems to let you know that she knows this is saucy stuff, but won’t go so far as to piss of her record company with dirty lyrics.
This is a nice album. I’ve listened to it a bunch of times, and I know it’ll be a sure-fire winner when DJing for groovers. But after about a half-dozen, or maybe 10 times through, I feel like I’ve pretty much heard all there is to hear. Unlike Billy Holiday’s later stuff, where you feel you can keep going back and finding more interesting things. Max isn’t the consumate muisican Billy is. Nor has her voice weathered as well as Ella’s in that period. But there’s something really appealing about this mature voice with a mature approach to swing.
[NB: I heard Jesse spruiking this one on his radio show and made an immediate impulse purchase. It’s a damn good thing I really don’t like Earnestine Anderson or I’d have spent my (non-existant) savings on groover crowd-pleasers by now)]
Ella Fitzgerald’s These are the Blues
Just a quick entry to blog the lately arrived members of my CD collection.
These Are the Blues by Ella Fitzgerald.
Ella really rocks, and this is a really great album. One of the late-Ella recordings (1963), there’s some sweet organ action, some lovely solos, etc etc from the combo supporting her (I don’t have the linter notes handy, sorry – story of my laptop-life). It’s all blues, and it’s all very blues-danceable.
Yet I am not entirely convinced that Ella really knows how to sing anything other than happy. She has an amazing voice, amazing musicianship, but it feels like she has a limited emotional range. Listening to a version of Christopher Columbus on another album last night, I speculated to The Squeeze that Ella could sing the naughty version of that song have it come off sounding entirely innocent.
But this is still a great album – truly great. If you like groovy, smooth blues. And Ella, of course.
this surprise root canal experience has had repercussions we are yet to enjoy
Well, after dentist appointment #4, I have a little dentist trauma to deal with. Now that the local has worn off, my face hurts and I’m a little upset. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. But I have one more appointment scheduled. So that will be four sessions on this one fucking suprise root canal. Today we filled the canals (3 of them, no less). We attempted it without local today, but one good jab in the hole with the pokey thing and I shrieked in agony, and the dentist decided we needed local. He doesn’t understand why it hurts as much as it does. I try to be brave, but mostly, there’s some crying.
The tears just sort of roll down my cheek and into my hairline (because I’m upside down, flat on my back in the chair), and then the snot sort of trickles down inside my throat and makes me cough. And big, long strings of cry-saliva attach themselves to the dentist’s rubber gloves as he reaches for another pointy thing, and then flick off to slap my chin. As he rubs his rubbery fingers around inside my mouth, the cry-saliva – sort of thicker and goobier than normal, watery saliva – adds a new layer of interest to the whole experience, and I can’t help but think about vaginas. And how your vaginal mucous changes when you’re ovulating. So I can’t help but associate this whole thing with hot sex.
So, you know, this surprise root canal experience has had repercussions we are yet to enjoy.
Beyond the delight of post-probing jaw pain, impending (massive) debt and disturbing thoughts about bodily secretions, all this dental work has at least given me an excuse to see a fair few films. Word Play = good stuff.