What Goes On

Hello! I promise, there is an *actual* post which does not consist of us linking photos of Vampires and sexy musicians in the works. It's quite fun actually.

Will it be worth the wait? In all honesty not likely, however I truly doubt there is a populace of anonymous readers desperately hovering over computer screens awaiting a new installment. Fairly sure everyone was enjoying the most perfect weekend weather conceivable for a Sydney winter.

So I am being a truly atrocious blogger and doing a sneaky list-cum-diary post. I know- the worst form of update imaginable as no one actually cares what I do with my time. So if you don't want to know, feel free to click away. I won't be offended. But I will know. I know everything. Why, I can see you right now. That's right- wave hello! I'm watching you, I'm the Edward Cullen of bloggers.

1. FLRL-

So that 'venerable' little hipster joint Oxford Art Factory turned two this week and had a big fat bash for all the scene kids to come down and fight it out to see who in Sydney could rock the thickest nerd-googles, tightest jeans and most offensive vintage gear.

I was more interested in checking out a band I have been intending to catch for some time now without success.

Fashion Launches Rocket Launches (FLRL) is a bit of a Sydney music collaborative with members drawn from Lost Valentinos, Midnight Juggernauts and the now-defunct Mercy Arms amongst others. They have quite the verbose and assumptive musical manifesto posted on their myspace, so I recommend that as they capture their vision far better than I could.

Their shows are performed with all members forming a tight circle, with dominant vocalists even facing away from the audience for the majority of tracks. There is very little in the way of theatrics or fanfare beyond that which exudes from the evidently flamboyant members own spirits. Instead, the audience feels as if they have been welcomed into an extended jam as songs blend seamlessly, with musicians rotating between instruments, interwoven by the symphonic, effects-heavy drone of Kirin Callinan's guitar work.

Late in the set, audience members/band friends are picked from the crowd and asked to interact, with percussion being passed over heads and drumsticks thrown hopefully.

Overall, its an experience unlike any other available in Sydney at present. The energy is both tanigble and infectious. It's impossible not to be swept away on some form of imaginary journey as the band guides you on some form of trip without the assistance of illicit substances.

Well worth a listen, and until they list their next Sydney gigs, check out track Poppies on their myspace.

2. Saturday Hopetoun fun-

Following the bliss of FLRL and Leader Cheetah, we here at SIDAR swung by the Hopetoun to check out long time favourites Kid Sam.

Launching single Down to the Cemetery, Kid Sam were supported by Kirin J. Callinan. If you haven't already seen a Callinan solo show, then what are you waiting for?

Words cannot do justice to the spectacle that is a Callinan performance. SIDAR have seen him perform several times now, supporting Jack Ladder as well as at Spectrum, and every show delivers a new angle.

Callinan is captivating as he shapes an orchestral cacophany of sweeping guitar loops exacted through a heavy reliance upon effects pedals perfectly executed. His vocal stylings and on stage mannerisms are certainly confronting for the uninitiated and unexpecting, however the entire combination soon emerges as more than endearing.

Highly recommended, however you shall not see SIDAR at a Callinan-related performance for some time now lest he believe we are actually bizzare for having attended performances on consecutive nights.

Callinan was followed by Otouto, a Melbourne-based three-piece fronted by Hazel Brown and including Kid Sam's Kishore Ryan. I won't devote too much time to them, as to be perfectly honest, cutesy female vocals are not my style, save for the redemptive qualities of stellar performers such as Sarah Blasko and Lykke Li. However for their niche, they were enjoyable, but perhaps their brand of quiet, inquisitive melodic ditties were a poor fit for the rambunctious Hopetoun crowd.Similarly, please see our previous review of Kid Sam from their Jack Ladder support slot. It really is a shame that the Hopetoun crowd was not more appreciative of the understated, utterly sublime musical style of this duo. Having seen them in intimate form at the Annandale, and then at the Brass Monkey in Cronulla, I know just how captivating the Ryan boys are when not challenged by inebriated punters more concerned by their own little game of 'spot the hipster' than the delightful tunes.

3. Sunday Sublime-

There really is no better way to spend a perfect Sunday morning than at Paradise Beach, Avalon. Taking my notebook, banana and sandwiches, I sat at the end of a pier watching yachts sail past and tinnies chug by, leaving me with that instantly recognisable smell of petrol through an outboard motor.

The sounds and smells of summer have come early, and I couldn't be happier.

4. Self reflexive, or just plain rude?

You may have noticed I am a little against self-important scene kids perceiving their brand of music/art/design as earth-shatteringly unique and culturally significant. In a form of total hypocrisy, many of the lyrics I have written address this type of person, therefore implicitly living up to L's allegations of hipsterdom on my part.

So it makes me happy to hear artists write about what I choose to detail, but far more effectively and enjoyably than I ever could.

Try:

-Fergus Brown: Nerds in Love (too cute)

-Okkervil River: Singer Songwriter (oh Will Sheff you little genius).

Hope your weekend was just amazing... only 5 days until the next one. Until then, go totally fucking Mexico.

Napoleon Says...

... click these links for some Sunday evening/Monday morning cheer.

This is just the most amazing thing ever. I want to party with him.
Admittedly we have been a little inefficient in posting content of late. Blame it on the weather- 28 degree days in the middle of winter simply demand time spent in sunshine, enjoying picnics and cheeky sips of seasonally premature Pimms'.

Substantial, detailed posts requiring thought shall be posted in due course as means of procrastination from university demands, but in the meantime, some links which have made us smile this weekend.

1. The Model School-

An independent band from right here in Sydney, these guys are well worth checking out. With a lead singer whose voice at times perfectly channels Beck, I can attest these boys are fantastic. L and I caught them last night at the Excelsior Hotel and their mix of self-deprecation, conscious reference and pure musical delight is a fantastic combination.

Check their myspace and give lead track "Not My Town" a listen...

www.myspace.com/themodelschool

2. The Big Pink-

This band has an awesome name, which as you know tickles me pink (oohh, awesomely bad pun!). A London duo, the name is a little risque if your mind resides with mine (in the gutter). However in all honesty I'm going to take a stab and say it references the debut album of The Band rather than tawdry smut.

Anyhoo, their track Dominos has been getting a bit of play on jjj and it is truly infectious. Here's a youtube clicky. I couldn't be bothered to find an official one, so here's a dubious image of two men in a toilet, and some pubic hair for you to gaze at for a few minutes. Thank me later.


3. I'm not fat, I'm cool!

Check this article. It is so fantastic. In keeping with our weekly theme of hipster ridicule.

Interestingly enough, it appears this little trend may have permeated through to the Sydney scene somewhat? I spotted a number of potbellied indie elders on Saturday night.... I must say, I don't mind a little cushion. It sure beats a boyfriend with skinnier legs than you.

4. Hot, skinny, smoking 14 year olds.....

This is an oldie, but a goodie. I'm fairly certain everyone know knows about Lookbook. But if not, check it out. Catch a glimpse of the looks which shall be overly repeated on the indie, supre and every other form of Sydney style clone for summer. (Ok, I admit it. I'll be doing it too).

But make sure you have a tub of Connoisseur cookies and cream ice cream on hand to counter depression at the sight of fourteen year old girls strolling the streets of Stockholm, Paris or Copenhagen, cigarette in hand looking oh so fabulous.

But to dream.... and then pause and think "What kind of idiot gets gratification from spending all day posing in front of a camera and posting said photos of themselves to an internet site?"

I'll spend my days drinking Pimms' instead thanks

Over and out! I promise substance tomorrow. In the meantime, keep it foolish!

Collective Individulism

So lately I have been thinking about the idea of generational identifiers and legacies, and the notion that different generations can be specifically labelled and described. Generalisations of Gen Y as expecting the best and offering less than are proffered by the media on an almost daily basis.

We shudder inside and cringe at another article espousing the same tired old shit. So, on that note…. Here’s another one! jokes.

What I am instead interested in is the idea of individualism in the citizenship of Gen Y. It seems that now more than ever before, the youth of society seems to regard defining themselves as unique from their cohort is an almost full time quest. We constantly shape and reidentify ourselves with reference to what others are doing.

An example? The emo dresses in black and listens to a particular style of music with which he can empathise as an expression of his individualism and unwillingness/inability to conform to mainstream society. Indeed. It seems he is so different and confronting to the ‘norms’ that a new retail market has emerged, with special ‘emo’ stores opening where said sad little teen can stock up on his chains, eyeliner and razor blades.

And this little gripe is not unique to the oft-maligned emo movement. This is a widespread phenomenon, and it leaves me thinking why is it that in seeking to define ourselves, to brand and identify our very beings, we have become so backwards focused?
Some examples you request? Why certainly.
-the Gen Y male sees the daily toil of those older than him, and is frightened of a corporate suit clad future. He grows dreadlocks, smokes pot and denounces capitalist inequality, envisaging himself as the contemporary embodiment of Marx. Expressing his manifesto not through timeless literary doctrine, he instead chooses his weapons as facebook, twitter and blogs, detailing his perceived alternate, groundbreaking profundity (smoking pot, dropping acid and drinking red wine with similarly inclined self-satisfying buddies) with his thousand dollar digital SLR camera provided through Daddy’s slavish devotion to the ‘Capitalist captors’, failing to acknowledge due gratitude to market forces for his privileged position and enviable Surry Hills terrace.

To a lesser extent, the proliferation of creative arts careers stands as a testament to our unwillingness to conform. We are no longer content with being teachers, accountants or public servants. We are educated citizens of society and have something to say! We seek to express our ideas through music, journalism, public relations, poetry, filmmaking, photography and art. And we expect compensation for our efforts dammit!

-the Hipster. Ah the Hipster. What to say here? The Hipster exists as a purely aesthetic cultural paradigm. He is concerned not with being at heart ‘different’, but merely appearing so. And let me clarify here. He is not concerned with difference, but merely anticipating the future mass trend and being one step ahead. Consider: skinny jeans, checked shirts, leather jackets, Wayfarer sunglasses, Palestinian scarves as an expression of style devoid of political context. The Hipster was there way before Supre. The same can be said for his music taste. He likes those bands which cling the periphery of success so that when they do taste that sweet achievement, he can bask in their glory by virtue of his long time support.

But being so fashion forward is tough work people! Not only must the Hipster balance his hairstyling and accessorising (a good hour of daily toil), he must also digest enough popular alternative literature to hold his own in a five minute superficial discussion of how Jack Kerouac and Hunter S. Thompson have been seminal influences in his life mantra to indicate faux-intellectualism, whilst ingesting sufficient illicit substances to maintain his hazy life view whilst being photographed by Hobogestapo AND updating his twitter on his iphone detailing just how different he is coz he drinks at Oxford Art Factory and plays in a shoegaze band too indie to even get a slot at Spectrum on a Wednesday night.

I could go on forever, but needless to say, it’s a busy life being different! (and on a side note, I completely reject L’s accusations that I am a hipster. Never!).

To a lesser extreme of offence, this definition of individual style by virtue of reference to the past into mass consumption is still unavoidable.

Woodstock is a Sienna Miller bohemian rhapsody of shit moccasins and fringed pleather. We can get our grunge acid wash fix channelling the subversive, alternative 90’s movement from that sartorial slut of a fashion assault, Supre. The 80’s have been further tarnished from their original sin through the bombardment of festival fluoro, slogan shirts and American Apparel technicolour shirts. Factory Girl taught thousands of teenagers how to emulate the style of my original icons, Edie Sedgwick and Nico from Warholian New York. Indeed not even the unique legacy of the British Mod movement is safe, with website Modcloth.com offering unique, vintage Mod pieces. Unique, but just a click away? Hmmm…

But this back referencing is not limited to fashion. A band lists Velvet Underground as an influence, and in doing so believes it asserts a timeless self-referential attempt at relevance. A group such as Tame Impala can dominate the alternative music scene despite blatantly ‘referencing’ British psych-rockers of the days of old, Cream. Little Red can whip women into a frenzy with a Mod Rock/Be-bop/50’s fusion. The many thousands of nouveau-folk and anti-folk groups exist purely by virtue of the original doyennes of folk.
Why is it that we so openly reference the past? Is it a similar phenomenon to the re-emergence of Keynesian interventionism in national economics at the failure of unstructured market flow? By this, I mean do we so slavishly adhere to an idealistic reimagining of times and styles past, that we have in our own typical nature, homogenised them? Has the individualism espoused by our dominant economic model and political paradigm manifested itself into a cultural behemoth so transiently integrative it has transformed us into one individually collectivist cliché?

Are we now so connected that immediacy leaves us pining for a time when we did not participate in a viral cycle of text vomit, status updates of pathetic, bland and inane stupidity typified by those imbeciles that communicate lyk dIS 2 eAcH oThEr bRo???

Do we wish for an age where style and identity were indeed individual, and not plagiarised from Chictopia, Topshop and other mass media outlets accessible through the click of a mouse?

Or do we just have a false conception of times past? An understanding of eras shaped by cinematic, romantic depictions of reminisced moments of an idealised youth which seem so separate from our own realities and responsibilities?
Or have we just lost any sense of individualism and creativity of spirit?

Public Displays of Affection make me hurl

Dear Diary,

I have a massive whinge for you. And yes, it is Facebook related.

I could try and be one of those people who pretends they don’t “do” facebook. Pretend to be so eclectic, whimsical and consumed with the issues of the world that I don’t have time for such nonsense, however let’s not kid ourselves. Facebook is the primary communication tool embraced by Gen Y, and it would be positively ‘un-hip’ to deny my devotion.

So….

What is really upsetting me today, and has been for some time now, is those individuals (or should I say couples) who use facebook as a tool to publicly affirm their commitment to each other.

We all know these people. Their profile pictures feature themselves and significant other in some form of passionate embrace. Their status reads something along the lines of “Kelly Jane is so in love with Marc. I am the luckiest girl in all the world”. And your minified is clogged with their wall-to-wall of completely pointless postings consisting of numerous x’s, o’s and other nonsensical bullshit.

Yeah ok look, we get it. You love each other. Good for you, I’m happy for you. Really, I am. But for the love of God I do not need to see this when I log into facebook to check my wall postings over a bowl of muesli in the morning. It makes my bran flakes difficult to stomach.

I promise this indignation does not stem from jealousy. If I think back to my Facebook behaviour whilst coupled, it certainly does not resemble such suffocating tendencies.

If I read the wall- to-wall between myself and my partner of three years, it shows a grand total of three posts in three years which are:1. You smell.
2. My brother is on the phone. Will be over in fifteen. Hope you see this.
3. Your phone is switched off. What time do we have to be at the party?

Riveting stuff all round.

Looking back to my other substantial relationship reveals absolutely nothing in the way of wall postings, inbox messages or any other clap trap. Why? Because we were together. We did not need to resort to a public forum to communicate because we could call each other.

We did not post couple photos as profile pictures as we saw ourselves as two individuals in a relationship, not one horrifying entity.

Our relationship was conducted in private, for us only. The way one presumes any relationship should be.

To me, this public saccharine shit which is forced upon me by virtue of stalker feed is repugnant. It reeks of desperation and insecurity.

Why else would one seek some public affirmation of their virtue as a couple?

My unsolicited advice for these half-wits: Step away from the computer. And walk into the arms of your other half. Do what couples do. If you don’t know what I mean, you really need to spend less time on facebook and more time in the bedroom. Because you really can’t update your status whilst doing the dirty.

Or perhaps you can… but if you are, you have more issues than I have time to deal with here.

PS. This person captures it better than I ever could (perhaps as they know how to do a screenshot). Hilarious

http://ruthie-zaftig.blogspot.com/2009/03/how-to-have-obnoxious-facebook.html

"I'm like so post post-modern you know... I'm like totally innovative"

He was a punk.
She did ballet.
What more can I say?


Yeah, I did. I totally did. I quoted Avril Lavigne. Have you lost all respect for me?

Utterly horrifying, yes?


You may have noticed I like to try and use music as my references for blog titles and inspiration. As I trawled through my playlists searching for something to represent my subject of today, I could find nothing. And then, over the blare of Little Richard’s Tutti Frutti came the strains (and I mean strains) of Miss Lavigne’s insult to music.

However, there really is no simpler, albeit cruder, way to summarily capture my topic of today.

That is, how much do you need to have in common with someone in order for them to be interested in you?

Admittedly I shall not be taking an holistic approach to this issue, rather examining from a purely personal, far more gripey perspective, as to be honest, I am feeling quite self indulgent.

As I wrote previously, my devilish stalking revealed the identity of the ex-girlfriend of the man currently lighting my fire.

My modern day Jim Morrison was previously partnered with a now incredibly successful tour de force in a particular creative industry, working with some of my absolute idols.

She is an industry leader in London and around the world, and represents everything I aspire to (albeit in a different industry).

A little sidenote: Whilst we attempt to maintain some degree of anonymity as to our identities and what-not, it is important to note for the meaning of this post, I have only recently abandoned five years of Law and Politics degrees to seek a more creative future most likely aligned in writing, whilst dabbling in a little musical sideproject. Hence, I have only just began flexing my creative muscle and as such it remains a very weak, vulnerable and self-conscious lonely little muscle.

Anyhoo, given that my swoon-worthy male (let’s call him Jim) is also in a creative industry, these two were no doubt peas in a pod and could feed off each others’ innovative little synapse flares and further each others’ careers.

Which they did, for a time.

If this is the kind of person he appreciates, then do I stand a chance?

Is my future with this individual dependant upon my ability to produce abstract photography, or detail my comfortable upper-middle class existence with such hyperbole and narcissism I present it to be tantamount to a class based concentration camp of convenience?

(Sorry, inherent objection to comfortable little rich kids growing dreadlocks, smoking pot, putting photos of this on facebook and calling themselves revolutionaries because they “like totally, you know, like just *get* the struggle of the Venezuelans”. Ugh)

Extremely amazing advertisement completely encapsulting 'creative hipster' bullshit scene

If so, it seems this little dalliance shall be incredibly short lived should it ever get off the ground.

Is it possible for him to be content with someone whose passions are not so closely aligned? How much of us is what we do?

Then again, I have to ask myself: how much of what I am attracted to in him is aligned to his creative output?

Let’s be honest, haven’t we all had a little crush on a musician due in part to the lyrics they produce… imagining ourselves the subject of the romantic melodic storytelling?

Ah it is a struggle. Perhaps I should take comfort in the age old wisdom doled out to young women by mothers for decades now: If he cannot appreciate you exactly the way you are, he is not worthy of your interest.

Oh Mum, if only it were all that simple.