🂼❦ here is a music video i made (with help from Niamh and Alex) along my travels! hope u like it!! shout out to the dawgs too they were paid for their appearances in pats
Thursday, 24 August 2023
Friday, 11 August 2023
“A stands for Angel Numbers"
ვვვ 777
MARRICKVILLE BOWLO - the Inner-West’s long established watering hole for both the old punters who haven’t put down their bowls since 1976, and the freaky fans of the Underground that have since made an encampment in the smoking area. Appearances aside, who are we here to see this evening? The ringleaders and somewhat designers of welding western, hardcore and punk seamlessly together - OPTIC NERVE (or as I like to imagine, Optic SERVE. Purrrrrrr). It’s their (second) album launch, and here to join them alongside the ominous mention of a special guest, are Oscar Sulich’s BOBA LEGO, Brisbane’s beloved PALE HORSEY and of course, Sydney sweethearts, CARNATIONS.
I pull my friends onto the yellowed D.F as BOBA LEGO warms the stage - dressed equal parts strange and beautiful, Oscar summons with some rubbery synth - introducing a post-modern kingdom where he’s the King. He also becomes Prom King, because the first two tracks make me want to find an acne faced partner and start gingerly slow-dancing under the disco ball. The Marrickville heavens open, leaving not only “a thousand tears to water the ground”, but an array of confused, perplexed, but mostly titillated old punters watching on from the back of the pub. They look like extras in a film set. Who sent them here? God? Stanley Kubrick? All I know is there seems a harmonious air in here - one thats only found in a Fantasy in blue spiderman.
For act two, PALE HORSEY take the stage and I am frightened but instantaneously allured by the Bono-esque creature (Frances Acrid) who informs me that the boba zion has since vanished, and now its Lucifer that's Falling. Drums are kept tight, bass is funky, and Frances yells angry prose into the mic about overlords and small flies in tall glasses of wine - I think I heard a bark at one point too - fantastic! The best part about this act, is its theatrical quality. Pale Horsey is a snake charmer coz Frances crawls down onto the yellowed floor under the sudden trance of a saxophone - beholding his followers upon his knees as he chants parseltongue and makes the mosh manic as if under the harry potter snake spell. I search for Nagini in the pit, but find only mortals - I’ll give it a few hours for the inhuman and unearthly to show themselves.
Ok, interval. I meekly navigate my way to the smoking area to catch my breath and decompress with my friends - I am getting excited for the final act of the night, and getting drunk off gluten-free beer that I try so desperately to hide from the bowlo-membership-card-holders. My coeliac affliction harms my punk facade, so for now, I will continue to scratch off the GF sticker from the bottle like its a box of Jatz and I’m a rat in a pantry. I begin to wonder if Voldemort had any food intolerances, but then hear the first silvery weeps of Bruno’s guitar and scurry back into position.
CARNATIONS, now with added T-shirts AND a self-titled EP with Urge records, continue to make our hearts swell, and our bodies die. Life is good when Marianne and Naomi are in their matching outfits, singing matching harmonies and repping matching smiles with their doting audiences. Life is even better when I am “excited” and “enticed” by my favourite tune, “Videodrome” that’s flung out from the first moody bass line, caught soon afterwards by a cavalier yet devoted Strat, and rounded up nicely with some flighty drumming from Ben. This song is so good because its steady, but yearns to break out of its enclosure and run around in circles and so thats exactly what it does. As a result, a “sensation occurs” and I am not afraid! Class. I’m reminded this time by the likes of The Cure’s “M”, and it makes me wanna dye my hair black and escape someday, but for right now, my priorities lie in fighting Optic Nerve for the title of Carn’s NO. 1 fan.
MONICA CANTUCCI, tonight’s special guest, then effortlessly sweeps the floor and gives the membership-card-holders of our generation something to write home about. Gi gives her the introductory commotion she deserves, as her presence is magnificent, and the whole pub is silent for her beautiful, kinky and emotive rendition of Amanda Lear’s “Alphabet”. Joyous little giggles keep escaping my mouth as she toys with the crowd during this song like a kitten taunted by a feather. She is a graceful vision in a red dress - and leaves me wanting more after Kylie’s“Padam Padam” transforms the bowlo into a nightclub. The card-holders are popping and locking and jolting - I hear it and I know! I see Joel climb back onto the kit and quickly realise the time is nigh for me to fall down the Trap Door and surrender to Gi’s elusive lyricism and inimitable stage presence.
OPTIC NERVE cast the “Obliviate” spell or something, coz even if I’m touching wood thats burning through, I completely forget I’m in the earthly realm. The prolonged intro reheats the tension in here like a microwave lasagne coz holy moly, this set is blistering! “Bead Shop” really riles me up, and I manage to break a nail in the mosh-pit but no one cares. Have I ever seen sympathy? NO. Doesn’t matter. I am being fecked around in a human washing machine and loving every second! The dual guitars square off with a bitta playful drumming for this track before launching into Gi’s siren song - she leaps to and fro like a banshee, leaving but an ethereal breath of mist in the mirrors on the ceiling. “Ball and Claw” sees a collective and synchronistic movement of bodies as the crowd tries to keep up with militant speed drumming. My feet hurt but my eye health is 20/20. “Pendant” is also a hot pick. Its got twangy guitars and a steady roll-out of vocals that get us all hot n bothered until the drums slow it down and we all get 30 seconds to breathe - not for long though coz I start seeing 333 and 777. I’m pretty sure its a sign that from the universe that this record is gonna do some serious fat damage both to some venues electrical equipment, and to my ears when I replay it at full volume for the 10th time in a row.
I pull my friends onto the yellowed D.F as BOBA LEGO warms the stage - dressed equal parts strange and beautiful, Oscar summons with some rubbery synth - introducing a post-modern kingdom where he’s the King. He also becomes Prom King, because the first two tracks make me want to find an acne faced partner and start gingerly slow-dancing under the disco ball. The Marrickville heavens open, leaving not only “a thousand tears to water the ground”, but an array of confused, perplexed, but mostly titillated old punters watching on from the back of the pub. They look like extras in a film set. Who sent them here? God? Stanley Kubrick? All I know is there seems a harmonious air in here - one thats only found in a Fantasy in blue spiderman.
For act two, PALE HORSEY take the stage and I am frightened but instantaneously allured by the Bono-esque creature (Frances Acrid) who informs me that the boba zion has since vanished, and now its Lucifer that's Falling. Drums are kept tight, bass is funky, and Frances yells angry prose into the mic about overlords and small flies in tall glasses of wine - I think I heard a bark at one point too - fantastic! The best part about this act, is its theatrical quality. Pale Horsey is a snake charmer coz Frances crawls down onto the yellowed floor under the sudden trance of a saxophone - beholding his followers upon his knees as he chants parseltongue and makes the mosh manic as if under the harry potter snake spell. I search for Nagini in the pit, but find only mortals - I’ll give it a few hours for the inhuman and unearthly to show themselves.
Ok, interval. I meekly navigate my way to the smoking area to catch my breath and decompress with my friends - I am getting excited for the final act of the night, and getting drunk off gluten-free beer that I try so desperately to hide from the bowlo-membership-card-holders. My coeliac affliction harms my punk facade, so for now, I will continue to scratch off the GF sticker from the bottle like its a box of Jatz and I’m a rat in a pantry. I begin to wonder if Voldemort had any food intolerances, but then hear the first silvery weeps of Bruno’s guitar and scurry back into position.
CARNATIONS, now with added T-shirts AND a self-titled EP with Urge records, continue to make our hearts swell, and our bodies die. Life is good when Marianne and Naomi are in their matching outfits, singing matching harmonies and repping matching smiles with their doting audiences. Life is even better when I am “excited” and “enticed” by my favourite tune, “Videodrome” that’s flung out from the first moody bass line, caught soon afterwards by a cavalier yet devoted Strat, and rounded up nicely with some flighty drumming from Ben. This song is so good because its steady, but yearns to break out of its enclosure and run around in circles and so thats exactly what it does. As a result, a “sensation occurs” and I am not afraid! Class. I’m reminded this time by the likes of The Cure’s “M”, and it makes me wanna dye my hair black and escape someday, but for right now, my priorities lie in fighting Optic Nerve for the title of Carn’s NO. 1 fan.
MONICA CANTUCCI, tonight’s special guest, then effortlessly sweeps the floor and gives the membership-card-holders of our generation something to write home about. Gi gives her the introductory commotion she deserves, as her presence is magnificent, and the whole pub is silent for her beautiful, kinky and emotive rendition of Amanda Lear’s “Alphabet”. Joyous little giggles keep escaping my mouth as she toys with the crowd during this song like a kitten taunted by a feather. She is a graceful vision in a red dress - and leaves me wanting more after Kylie’s“Padam Padam” transforms the bowlo into a nightclub. The card-holders are popping and locking and jolting - I hear it and I know! I see Joel climb back onto the kit and quickly realise the time is nigh for me to fall down the Trap Door and surrender to Gi’s elusive lyricism and inimitable stage presence.
OPTIC NERVE cast the “Obliviate” spell or something, coz even if I’m touching wood thats burning through, I completely forget I’m in the earthly realm. The prolonged intro reheats the tension in here like a microwave lasagne coz holy moly, this set is blistering! “Bead Shop” really riles me up, and I manage to break a nail in the mosh-pit but no one cares. Have I ever seen sympathy? NO. Doesn’t matter. I am being fecked around in a human washing machine and loving every second! The dual guitars square off with a bitta playful drumming for this track before launching into Gi’s siren song - she leaps to and fro like a banshee, leaving but an ethereal breath of mist in the mirrors on the ceiling. “Ball and Claw” sees a collective and synchronistic movement of bodies as the crowd tries to keep up with militant speed drumming. My feet hurt but my eye health is 20/20. “Pendant” is also a hot pick. Its got twangy guitars and a steady roll-out of vocals that get us all hot n bothered until the drums slow it down and we all get 30 seconds to breathe - not for long though coz I start seeing 333 and 777. I’m pretty sure its a sign that from the universe that this record is gonna do some serious fat damage both to some venues electrical equipment, and to my ears when I replay it at full volume for the 10th time in a row.
The music stops and I think I have leave now. Goodbye Marrickville Bowlo (hogwarts) and hello real world! I help my friend up off the ground after a bike mishap and deftly seek the promise of hot chips to soak the geek beer - but more importantly, more and more of Angel Numbers to permeate my Tympanic Membrane.
Tuesday, 25 July 2023
Please Kill Me
“Please Kill Me”
It’s the Lord’s weekend and Jesus died and rose again for the sweet, satiating melodies of Carnations, R.M.F.C and EXEK in the Babylon of Landsdowne. I go alone. I’m feeling silly after consoling my wallflower fears with some dope gifted to me in an inconspicuous foil ball the previous week, but gain a floaty sense of calm in my ascension out of downstairs Solotel country; to the tidal wave of NAS uniforms donned by my peers.
I spot my curly headed friend amongst the pilgrims.
“Did you just have a durry?”
Fuck! It’s that bad?
I now ruminate about the scent of smoke clinging to the threads of my shirt, while he ruminates on the state of his breath after snacking on the off-cuts of uneaten steak from his work at a butchery/restaurant. I picture him in a cold back room with chicken carcasses strung from the ceiling while he pecks at steak bits like a large carnivorous bird. We reassure each other that we smell lovely and he hops onto the stage and transforms from flightless to fleeting with the aid of a Stratocaster.
CARNATIONS come in hard and fast. Their drummer, Ben, like some ginger tempest, makes it known who is warming the stage. Attention is sequentially drawn and feet are sequentially commanded to tap and shuffle around and maybe even jump a little as the sounds of the synth pierce the sticky fight for autumn air. You cant wipe the smile off my face for this band, they are like a jovial carnival on an overcast pier; when metallic tasting rhythm contends with the brightness of their colourful harmonies… its like pigeons loitering around a saturated candy store - grunge, glitz and a gunmetal guitar. “I Die” sends lightening into the crowd - a fan favourite, as I hear affirmed around me in enthusiastic repetition, while “Money“ is performed with a ritual dance routine from Marianne. They’ve got a sound thats bound to captivate, a sound drenched in joy - recalling “so much pain, and so much memory” as in Naomi’s beloved “Pink Metal” baby - to “kiss until the battery dies”, is to pluck every last petal of Carnations.
After an awkward interaction with a ghosted hinge date, I escape to the garish pink bathrooms - perplexed by the unidentified grey muck on the top of each and every toilet… I’d rather introduce aforementioned hinge date to my parents than have to be in that cubicle again. But I guess thats rock and roll? Beggars cant be choosers.
Speaking of, Sydney favourites Rock Music Fan Club incite a reign of perspiration unto its crowd as the mosh takes up its final, pulsating form. Now, with the added licks of saxophone from Emma, Buz Clatworthy, perched upon his throne, orders his republic to jerk around in what can only be described as the kind of jolting in a Wes Anderson flick. Its a riot, and something about this set feels timeless. I can see the emerald pub tiles, and can smell the Emu Bitter that clings to them. R.M.F.C is clean cut, fast and undeniably popular. “Access”, a personal favourite, ripples outwards from the kit like gunfire and I am shot down by sharp guitar and sharper drums. What else can I say? Its jangly and leaves a nice sweet aftertaste in my mouth. The crowd chants the “Television” chorus and I notice the guy who knocked a drink out of my hand earlier happens to be their guitarist. Cool!
“She's the coolest cat I’ve ever seen!”
I splutter to my other wallflower friend. Who then finds herself watching the set from the greenroom with me and some other followers of the druidic incantation. Jesus wept! Here is where the guitarist’s sticker, “Please Kill Me”, is brought to my attention - brilliant. I want one in pink. “Weight Loss” sends shivers down the collective spine of the Landsdowne as the familiar bass line incites a responsorial chant from the crowd. I am overjoyed. What a clanger!!! The drummer, Sam Dixon, offers us his fills in neat intervals. Each instrument is somehow congruent with one another, nothing fights to be heard - every note elects itself a role within the party without objection.
I descend back to the earthly realm satiated, cup filled and forehead anointed with another redemptive showcase of the Australian underground.
halloooooooo
welcome to farmdog!!!!☺☺☺☺
Hello and welcome to my blog!!!!!
I write this first inaugural post from my balcony in Kreuzberg, Berlin. The sun is currently having a fight with the remanence of last nights ferocious storm that almost ruined our BBQ plans - alas, refuge was sought upon another balcony of a coupla of friendly Irish expats. We sat around the table as the storm raged on - picking off neglected mouldy airbnb plates and discussing German politics, as well as the creatures that line her streets... one Irishwoman spoke of a grocer who tore an avocado apart using his hands in front of her to double-check its ripeness. Thats what I call German efficiency!!
Ok back to the blog.
What I plan to do here is talk about music and maybe some art and maybe some anecdotes and poems...
I love music! I love going to gigs and also while I am settling here in Europe, a long way from home, maybe my pals can read this if they miss me :3 <3
So thats the suss, stay tuned for whatever the feck this turns out to be.
****⭒☆☆☆☆☆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆
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