gigdiary

Cute Puppies

Posted by gigdiary on March 7, 2010

It is late in life to come to Jack Kerouac. But having come to Jimi Hendrix and Eric Clapton, early in life, and learned their licks, listened to their art, perhaps I can be excused. It is wonderful now to meet Jack Kerouac. Almost enough to wish that I hadn’t embarked on a music career. Though were it the opposite, and I now heard Wes Montgomery, I’d probably wonder why I didn’t hear that music in my youth and why I wasted my time reading books.

To read a page of Jack Kerouac is to listen to a chorus by Charlie Parker, a solo by Wes Montgomery. Wes played songs, not jazz solos, but melodies, crafted on the spur of the moment. Wes was the greatest storyteller of mainstream jazz. He played like Buble sings, relaxed and comfortable, like Whitney hitting her high notes, strident and reaching, and always like the lounging Frank Sinatra. Wes was to the guitar what Kerouac was to the page.

It’s a joy to know both, and like cute puppies that makes me happy.

What makes you happy?

Posted in bastards & champions | 3 Comments »

Circus News

Posted by gigdiary on February 27, 2010

In tragic news, Dawn Brancheau, a trainer at Seaworld, in Orlando, Florida, has been killed by one of her orca charges. Minutes before the tragedy they were romping, as best is our human description, when suddenly the whale took her, some say playfully, in his mouth and tossed her like a rag doll. Apparently this magnificent creature, not designed by God, or nature, to be a performing act in a circus, had done this before.

The inadequate response from Seaworld has been to step up security around the orca’s shows. The appropriate response would have been to return the mammal to the deep seas, and forgo our misguided need for such circus-style gratification.

Returning the animal to captivity, and subsequent enslavement, is in the worst interests of the animal.

In lighter news, Peter Garrett has been thrown out of the big pond, and is now Minister for looking after cute and furry animals, and any rock’n'roll issues that may be of use to the Labor Party.

While he’s no longer saving the whales, I’d suggest that he’s a whole lot happier in this cultural portfolio. Horses for courses. While not being an old politico, he’s certainly an old dog in the public relations sphere. What else is rock singing to a generation or two, but public relations?

This 50-something man has skills that are sorely needed in this Gen X,Y and Boomer society we are part of.

Having even less whale of a time, 80s pop diva, Whitney Houston, being derided by both critics and punters for lacklustre performances in Brisbane and Sydney, is on the eve of her Newcastle Winerys’ shows. Way back in the 80s, on her first tour to Oz, she found herself insufficiently prepared to perform live, and also overpowered by her support artist, John Farnham.

Farnham saved the show. But what could you expect from a teenage girl who had never performed live on the big stage. Back in LA she was royalty, albeit young royalty, niece of Thelma Houston, doyen of record producers for her stratospheric hitting of the high notes, to this day, embossed on vinyl and digitally embalmed on CD. The young Whitney was solid gold in the parlance of the day. That no-one had thought to send her on a band gig or two, a rough’n'ready tour, a get to know the ins-and-outs of performing, sadly impacted on her ability to sell her talents live across the world.

To suggest that her subsequent drug abuse is related to this prima donna treatment of a young diva is not for me to say, yet I’d say she would now be glad to be free of the circus that has imprisoned her. A great voice, once unchained, a life that could have been extraordinary, while singing to the heavens, instead, is destroyed in pursuit of the dollar. Whitney was a product way before she was a person. As a result we have possibly lost one of the greatest voices of the late 20th Century.

Given Whitney’s talent, there is much left in her voice, in her vocal ability to tell her story. Let’s hope she decides to. In the long term, a blues singer can tell a greater story than a soulless diva.

In the longer term, a mammal such as the aforementioned ‘Tillikum’, the giant orca, continues to live in captivity and slavery, performing tricks for food. Wanting only to return to the sea, it is a little cruel for officials to continue to enslave the orca, the great whale that has no reason to be contained by mere men other than for the almighty dollar.

Everyone loves a circus, except those trapped in the cages.

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To Be, or Not to Burqa

Posted by gigdiary on February 24, 2010

I believe strongly in freedom of speech, freedom of the press and a free society, yet there is something oppressive about covering the face in modern society. Oppressive both to the wearer and the onlooker. It is in no way an expression of personal freedoms, it is an expression of seclusion, exclusion and a self imposed social apartheid.

Most societies today strive for integration and assimilation of the myriad cultures that now make up their citizenry. France being perhaps more insistent than others. This doesn’t mean eradicating individual cultures, but it does mean not importing archaic traditions which have no positive social value in the 21st Century.

Wearing a full face covering is not a religious tenet. It is a tribal custom that gained currency some 2,000 years ago, in the Middle East. Then it was an oppressive edict laid down as law by men for the subjugation of women.

That women today are defending the right of other women to remain in chains is bewildering. Our security services, in conjunction with banks, government offices, pubs and clubs, libraries and passport offices, have banned the wearing of headgear of any kind. Our face is our passport to the rest of society. If I can’t see your face I may as well be talking to a robot, a machine, certainly not someone who wishes to interact with me on a human level.

The sooner we dispense with pandering to niche groups that choose to live in a modern Western society, ie, France, Australia, yet choose to drag centuries’ old customs and servitudes with them, the sooner we can welcome all cultures to our countries, and move forward into a more enlightened future.

It is only by being free of the shackles of the past that we can move forward freely. The burqa/niqab is one of those shackles.

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The Sorry T-Shirt

Posted by gigdiary on February 22, 2010

The biggest joke of Garrett’s political career is his renouncing of his rabid political views in order to achieve a pay cheque from the ALP. It seems we’ve had to sit through his crocodile tears for the indigenous with his infantile rock band protest at the Sydney Olympics, while real Olympians such as Cathy Freeman sat on the track crying tears of joy. His elevation to the post of Minister for the Environment based on not much more than the lyrics his drummer penned twenty years ago is even more suspect.

Now we have him overseeing a real world situation, that of installing insulation, and what do we get? Exactly what you’d expect from a rock band singer. Nothing, not even tears of regret.

It’s a long way to the top, and then you fall, and fall Garrett must. There isn’t another chorus when peoples lives are at stake, when people have died due to programmes you’ve instituted.

Posted in bastards & champions | 3 Comments »

I Like To Touch

Posted by gigdiary on February 22, 2010

After a month with the iPod Touch I want to touch my desktop screen, my laptop screen and even the glass on the scanner. This touchy-feely aberration makes reaching for the mouse seem obsolete. Even before the iPad is available in the USA, let alone poor cousin Australia, I’m already asking when my work software will have this innovation.

I am already feeling an inclination to touch my monitor rather than reach for the mouse. With text, paragraphs move around the screen effortlessly. In music software, I push and point chord symbols, copy tracks. Using the thumb and finger technique of expanding, I open a track, edit notes, return to the score. I am a genius.

I sense that the ubiquitous mouse is on the endangered species, and as a mouse induced RSI sufferer I can think of no rodent more deserving of eradication.

Finger touch won’t be available everywhere however. I realise that rubbing a finger across my car window won’t open or close it. That it’s a 1985 Ford possibly has something to do with this. Similarly forgetting my keys to the office in the morning won’t be rectified by a quick swipe across the glass of the front door.

Perhaps we are still a long way from open sesame, but with the right fingertouch or swipe who knows where you’ll be able to go in the future.

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It’s My Party (and I’ll cry if I wanna)

Posted by gigdiary on February 16, 2010

What is it that young people are so unhappy about that they feel the need to violate and damage a police car sent to oversee a party? Why is it that they feel the need to pelt rocks and bricks, to ignite a police car and completely destroy what was their ‘party’?

Presumably these youths had an unblemished record before the start of the evening. A number of them now have criminal records, have spent a night in the lock-up and irreparably affected their future. And all for what? Were they protesting against their situation in life, or someone else’s situation? Were they indignant about the treatment of boat people, or other political pawns in the system? Perhaps as students they had a bugbear with the government about its policy in Afghanistan.

In actuality, none of these. This generation of pampered, spoiled and over-indulged brats were merely bringing the chickens home to roost for a generation of parents who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, say no. Now the police and the judiciary have the onerous task of being the ones to instill what should have been parental discipline.

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Misandry, look it up

Posted by gigdiary on February 8, 2010

A common misconception by female GenX journalists is to jump aboard the misandrist bandwagon. While it was probably an attractive, even admired, trait in women the age of Germaine Greer, it is now viewed, felt, by most women to be an exaggeration of reason and emotion that has no place in 2010. While the inroads made by such pioneers are important, to continue with such rationale is both damaging and destructive in today’s society.

Men aren’t the enemy, just as women aren’t the cause of all men’s woes. Belabouring the claims made by Greer and cohorts serves to stir up imagined discontent with today’s gender relations. Gen Y have only history to show them the feminist struggle; they have grown up accepting the world as presented. Their view of men is vastly different to that of their mothers.

Today girls play the same sports as boys, often they play them together. This was unheard of in Greer’s day. To compare the conditions that feminists then faced and girls and boys today face is chalk and cheese. We’ve come a long way baby, and we shouldn’t need to bludgeon society with our out-moded concepts of gender equality. As much is as practicable, it’s a done deal.

Yet we still read articles by Gen X journos, in the interest of selling papers, or attracting eyeballs, that belie belief. Men are the enemy, they can’t look after themselves, they can’t look after their partner, they can’t iron a shirt. Much fun is made of this fact. This from women who demand respect, yet show little outward respect for the man in their life, or the man who could be in their life.

Is it any wonder why some men choose not to join the club?

Posted in bastards & champions | Tagged: , , , | 10 Comments »

A Walk and a Cuddle

Posted by gigdiary on February 7, 2010

Will I love the iPad? I think so. Not because I’m a gadget freak, or an Apple sycophant, well I am that. Apple could market a blunt stick and I’d seriously take a look at it. But a 9 inch iPod Touch, an overgrown iPhone without the phone? Now that’s overblown.

But is it? I have hands-on experience with this technology, thanks to nextbyte and their give-away promotion of an ipod Touch with every Mac purchased.

It’s an ipod that looks like an iphone, it even works a bit like an iphone if you are in Maccas or Gloria Jeans, but anywhere else it’s a slick looking ipod with some useless apps. Well not quite useless, to my (searching quickly on my ipod dictionary for an antonym of) chagrin.

It’s got funny little apps that allow you to tabulate your expenses while actually out and about. (as well as email, internet and e-books). PDAs, I know, could do this years ago, but this is fun, especially when you get home and this cute device synchs right up close and personal to your desktop.

Calendars, to-dos, Quicken finance data, all migrate effortlessly to the big motherboard on your desk, thus keeping your accountant happy, your inner nerd satisfied and your natural inclination to assume the couch potato position as soon as you walk in the door unfettered.

Obviously I could take the next step and upgrade to an iphone, but given that I never answer my phone this would seem extravagant. As the soldier who approached a WAAC back in WW2, only to be told that it meant ‘a walk and a cuddle’, said, ‘I think I’ll wait for a WAAF’, I think I’ll wait for an iPad.

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The Raggedy Skirts of the Telegraph

Posted by gigdiary on January 31, 2010

Perhaps I should go back to buying the print version of the SMH, or decline altogether. The online SMH, at the moment, has a headline about Brad and Angelina splitting up, or something equally vapid. More stupid is it’s a feed from the Telegraph. Are they not competitors for our eyeballs?

I suppose as soon as one tabloid gets it, it’s now open slather. Well the tabloids have won, they seem to have taken over the content management of the once vaunted SMH. Is this just the online version or is this a harbinger of what we can expect from Herald journalists in the future?

The Australian hasn’t yet doused its integrity, the NY Times surely never will, yet the SMH seems intent on chasing the raggedy skirts of News.Ltd in a concerted effort to appeal to the lowest common denominator.

I’d suggest to the editorial powers that be, that your number is up. Ambulance chasing is never a pretty sight and even less a reason to read your site or newspaper.

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Guitar Lessons

Posted by gigdiary on January 18, 2010

Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington, cried Noel Coward. Don’t send your son to guitar lessons was probably more apt for my mother. She didn’t, and I wouldn’t have gone, being of that rebellious age, determined to decide my own musical career. However, after a year or two of bashing barré chords, and attempting to play punishing pentatonic solos, I acquiesced. I’d heard that an old guy who once played guitar in Sydney had arrived in town.

Like moths to the flame, every guitarist in Townsville made an appointment to see Charlie Lees. My first encounter with Charlie consisted of me turning up at his house, his wife calling out to him, and him appearing in shorts, t-shirt and thongs. The second lesson I made the mistake of asking him about diminished chords. He launched into a diatribe such that to this day I haven’t heard the likes of. It took me many years to understand what that lesson was about.

I went back to my rock’n'roll band with nothing more than a high and mighty impression of a bigger sort of music. It took six years on the road, from Townsville to Perth and back to realise that Charlie had held all the clues all along. By that time it was too late. He’d gone out fishing in his boat, and whether it was too many beers, or too rough weather, or divine intervention, Charlie checked out and went to the Jazz Club in the sky. He was a trooper, an original, possibly the first real jazz guitarist in Australia. He was also the resident guitarist in this long-serving band at the Trocadero.

I later studied with George Golla and Don Andrews, jazz guitarists of the highest calibre. They remembered Charlie Lees. As they opened my eyes musically, I realised that Charlie could have taught me the same stuff, if I’d been ready for it.

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