Groovin' Up and Moovin' On

Groovin the Moo. My first festival experience. It was pretty rad. And so was this year's GTM. They were both rad. It's hard to decide which was more rad.

Me, Reen, H.W. and N went direct to Bunbury, where we stayed in this small caravan park. Now technically, the room we were in was only supposed to be for four, but we managed to sneak in by shoving N's face between her legs as we passed by in the car. It was... cosy.

We rose bright and early, and cold. I was cold. N wasn't the most generous with the blanket. But I was wearing thermals, so it wasn't too bad. I think ahead, you see. That's the thing with GTM. I remember last year... it was so cold. You had to mosh for warmth. I remember going into the dance tent for Bag Raiders just to keep warm... Luckily I'd learn't how to dance using every part of my body, including my 'gash', by KillaQueenz. They taught us all how to dance. Violently, and sexually.

Anyway, we rose bright and early. We supercharged on Nutella. Between our collective Nutella supplies, we could have constructed a toddler, or a small midget, entirely out of Nutella. Reen's mother is a doctor, and after analysing the contents of the Nutella... well, it's not exactly spinach. We roamed around the caravan park, where fellow festival goers were already getting their drink on. Here's a handsome pose of me, H.W. and N in the caravn park.



I'm not usually vain, but my shadow legs look insanely good in this one. But enough about me and my umbrific pins, because soon enough we were lining up for GTM. We entered Hay Park, and as I walked through the huge pink gateway, I felt a nice warm fuzz in my chest. A playful deja vu, a tasty nostalgia, a homecoming. just 364 days before, I was a young kid, innocence still untainted, existence still uninformed.



First up were acts that I was only semi-aware of, so I decided to go to the bathroom, because I knew I wouldn't get another chance. As I went, I heard at least four girls in the cubicle next to me, one of whom was passing drugs through her bowels. I think they heard me shitting myself (I mean laughing, despite the connotations of a port-a-loo) and soon 'closed up shop', so to speak. I think Drug Mule #1 was having some trouble with delivery anyway. I soon returned, and easily made my was to the front of the mosh, which was about 27 people at that point.



We saw San Cisco. They were really good. It was pretty sad, how they had to play so early. I don't get why people turned up late. If you pay $100 for a festival ticket, wouldn't you want to squeeze every last chord from it? Whilst enjoying them, Reen spotted a cool dude wearing a shirt which echoed exactly (besides obvious spelling mistakes which I wouldn't have made) my sentiments about today.



If I was in a band, I probably would prefer to play at huge gigs instead of small sets in Bunbury... but if I'd made a commitment, I would keep it. Oh well... fuckers, I feel less shit about illegally downloading This Modern Glitch. We went around the grounds a bit, memories flooding back. That small area of grass by the dance tent, where we'd found a tube of sunscreen, sunscreen we'd squirted in and around one of the multitude of free condoms we'd received. They were handing out nifty little square tins this year, I got one with a picture of a safe on it. Keep it safe, kids. When we returned to the stages, I honest to god don't know who was playing. The lead singer had a whiney voice, a high-pitched, Veruca Salt kind of voice. Tim and Jean were on next, at the next door stage, so I made my way to that side. It's a sign, how bad your band is, when there is a bigger crowd waiting for the next band than enjoying yours. We all cheered for them, though. When they finished. Tim and Jean are really cool. I saw them at Hyperfest and of course, O-Day.



They are so fun. Electro used to be more fun, now it's all acid and orgies. This comparison has been drawn a thousand times, but they remind me of Passion Pit. It's certainly not a bad comparison. They do this cover of Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac. I'm not the biggest fan of the Mac, but even I appreciate that song, and I danced crazy when they played it. This is a complete side story, so forgive me. But today, I was having my italian lesson (Si, io parlo italiano) and I showed my teacher the video for Come Around by Tim and Jean. It turns out she had met him at a party once, and has some huge existential D&M with him. Apparently he's an Aquarius. Small world, eh? Apologies for the photo, only me and H.W. were game enough to get to the front of the mosh for them, Reen and N wanted to ensure their prime position for Darwin Deez. Mind you, once Tim and Jean had finished, we managed to elbow our way back to some swell spots. Darwin Deez was amazing...



Quite apart from having some great songs, my personal hit of the day being 'Bad Day', his band were so so so cool. They were choreographed to geek perfection. And when Darwin took time between his songs to pay homage to certain classics, I was laughing and jumping.



This is Darwin as he 'whipped his hair back and forth'.

And of course, when he finally played Radar Detector, I went a bit crazy. That reminded me of being a youngster too. As we emerged from Deez, we saw E, and his sister. E was acting all crazy, he was on a new diet, and we caught up. I got to reminiscing about Groovin the Moo last year. Me, N, E and Ju (who couldn't make it this year, being in France). I remember being so excited for it, counting down the days, three months in advance. I remember seeing Jonathan Boulet and Voltaire Twins early in the morning, Miami Horror in the afternoon. Soon, I headed over to the dance tent, because up next was the Go! Team. I never really knew about the Go! Team for long before GTM, but they are good. If you take anything away from this blog, it's the suggestion to go and search YouTube for 'Twin of Myself - Go! Team Remix'. Ninja, the lead singer, has such energy, she was busting moves like an electric wasp, you should have seen. 

The was doing jumps and kicks and getting the crowd in a frenzy, it was frenetic, kinetic, insane. T.O.R.N.A.D.O. was my personal favourite, and by that I mean it's the only song I know the name of, and they were all so fast paced, all so amazing, they blurred into colourful tapestries. And her normal talking voice, as well... I'm such a sucker for her accent. Then came Nina Las Vegas, weaving tracks like a mother-bitch. It's fair to say I'm a little bit in love with her. In fact, I'm listening to her on Triple J now. Today was supposedly the Rapture, so she started by play a song by the Rapture... what a honey.



Here's Nina with another famous face you might recognise, if you know your Aussie music. Next on was Architecture in Helsinki. I was wondering around a bit, at this point, and only caught the show from the outskirts of the dance tent. They were still amazing. There's something about 'That Beep' which gets me smiling. It's cute and bouncy. Now, Reen and N, being the Drums super-fan-girls, took me to secure a front of mosh position for them. Problem, there were two acts before the Drums came on. To be totally honest, I wasn't completely fussed on Pez/360, seeing as I'd already seen them before at, you guessed it, Hyperfest, so I was happy to secure my spot. We waited through the Panics, which was a really nice band, and then Gyroscope, which was a really loud band, until finally the Drums began to play. And they were awesome.

I've never been so excited to hear someone start talking about their best friend dying, because I just knew it meant a great song was coming up. They had such energy, such sex appeal, my one criticism was not being able to hear properly because of all the screaming bitches. Oh well, tis' the price of popularity. I hung around a bit more, after they'd finished, then went to the dance tent. AC Slater was playing, and it was a proper ravefest. I was dancing like I was having a seizure in a vertical coffin, and a guy in front of me casually pulls out a small zip lock bag of MDMA, dips a finger in, and savours his drug. The lights were going crazy, and I was getting that tight throat, constricted lung, secondary high feeling. Then, after his set, we elbowed our way to the front of UNKLE, one of the bands I'd been most excited to see.



The sound was so loud, so raw, it gave me a splitting headache and I was glad to rest up against the 'front-of-the-mosh' fence, but my oh my were they fantastic. Their panoply of sound intertwined with complex black and white visuals and made a beautiful AV experience. Runaway is a classic hit, even without Lupe. I left the dance tent with a happy head, and I relaxed, sat down on the cold grass, and I watched Cut Copy from afar. My feet were aching, my calves ripping, and I took pleasure in the simple act. I remembered the last acts of last year's GTM. I remember the neon jellyfish visual which blobbed along to Empire of the Sun. And I remembered the wonderful sense of elation as Vampire Weekend played, as me, N, E and Ju danced KillaQueenz style to Diplomat's Son, running through the mosh with E to dance to a few last songs, nearly being killed as I shoved my may forward. Groovin' the Moo turned me into a ruthless musical machine, a man who sweeps derros and hipsters aside like a modern Moses, a man expecting the worst, hoping for the best, and always, always having a good time.

Ale



 I think I've changed, maybe, the shirt's the same.

Easter/Pines

So it's been exactly a month since my last one of these. I guess I'm just lazy. Actually no, fuck that. It's the lack of gigs. I could do a post every day, if I wanted, but it wouldn't be just about gigs. It might be more about music I enjoy in general (I could do that, actually, people DO say my taste in music is pretty good) or all the witty things I say to my dad when he's being douchey or just the general story of my life. But that seems a bit douchey too. Egocentric. This blog is supposed to provide a service, namely letting twats like Me before I became Fun Me know that the gig life in Perth can be squeezed into a rich juice of fulfillment. Anyway. It was Easter Sunday. Reen had organized a Easter picnic/sleepover because a) she lives near UWA b) she enjoys live music and c) she has a fetish for me, my blog and how much cooler her tumblr becomes when she links my blog from it (http://heroine-whore.tumblr.com/). So I went around to hers at 11, and we walked to UWA, hands laden with easter eggs and fruit and wafer sticks and garlic bread. I'd brought Sarsparilla, because it's liquid gold, and yet all my friends hate it, and I don't like sharing gold. #dealwithit. We sat down in this cool place with umbrellas and pod things and we could hear the music nice and clear. Then a friend of mine, Carla Metal Parsnips, arrived. That isn't her name, but its darn close. We talked about the usual things, like how long her boyfriend's face was. It's pretty long. It's so long, he stretches fabric over it and uses it as an ironing board. Hey, I even have a picture.



It's like being friends with a TV remote, it really is. Anyway, soon another friend joined us, who I shall call Fleetwood, because of his Everywhere obsession. Or Mac. Anyway, we went to a grassed area, right near the music, and listened. And mucked about a bit.



I'd plank that.



Reen doing a great job of picnic preparation and decimation.



This is me being a babe. It was more comfortable than it looks. Soon we were joined by Long-Face, Carla's BF(F). He somehow had a lunch that went for four hours, and only arrived at like 5, only to be barraged with insults. Oh well, such is life.

Anyway, about the music. I tend to enjoy gigs with more... international artists, because Perth bands aren't the best thing around, save a few exceptions (one, Tame Impala). However, there were a few bands I quite liked. The Silent World had some nice lyric-less songs, Simone and Girlfunkle were actually pretty cool, so was the Scotch of St James. We were mainly there for Brow Horn Orchestra. You see, ever since last year's Hyperfest (I really should do a post on that) my friend N has been their biggest groupie, and has a pretty tight friendship with one of the members, to the point of them coming to our school and performing.



I like them. I play the trombone, which I chose because it looked funny and I've been stuck with it for 5 years. They make it cool. Which is cool. And they really do have some fun songs. And it's cool that they're friends with my friend. We all climbed some trees to witness their spectacle.





And they were good. I only know the name of one of their songs, Goliath, but they were all good. That tree was a little bit broken when I got down from my floral rave. We didn't catch any of the later acts, unfortunately, we had to have dinner with Reen's family. Which was nice.And we had a sleepover, which was weird. And various naps the next day, which was slightly erotic. I'm a bit in love with my own life, I'm enjoying these holidays, and GTM is coming up!

Buona Pasqua, amici.

SunSets on the Beach

Sets was a pretty amazing event, at an amazing venue. Or amazing from my perspective as an underage, poor teen. It was right on the beach. The stage wasn't facing the ocean, but the beauty with sound is that it travels all direction and we could hear all the music perfectly. But let me start at the start, because I couldn't possibly make 5 paragraphs worth of text from just telling you about the gig.

I got at Scarborough beach at about 1:15, after about two hours of public transport from Guilford where I'd been staying with N (who alas, does not feature in this tale). It was ferociously hot (there goes all the subtle beauty about summer's end in my previous posts) and I had a coconut custard pull-apart thing cooking away in my small black bag under my pungent smelling bathers. I took a swim in the ocean, which was beautiful, the waves were all-round good (in the sense that, if you can catch waves, its good, but if you're shit, they break pretty far out and you can just hang in the white foam). I caught a few waves and went back to my gear, and soon Glock and Reen arrived with a bounty of delicious food. I was glad they arrived, but they had to leave to go 'get changed', an endeavour which took them all of a half-hour. Fortunately, E and H.W. arrived in their absence, and we all chilled. I should mention that music was playing at this point but hey, it wasn't terrific and I couldn't see the band and talking was more important. We all hung in the sun for a while, cooking away (Miffy was supposed to come with an umbrella but he had more important things to do... the dick). We decided to seek sanctuary from the sun on the other side of Sets, and we find a cool place among the trees and limestone to eat. Being UTGGP, what gig would be complete without one of these...



Excuse the fact I look like I've been dead for about 9 and a half hours, it's just the sunscreen. Oh, and if you didn't know, that guy is the drummer for the Holidays. I like the Holidays. The Holidays (excluding him) did not like us. However, their manager did ask us to close an impermanent gate contraption behind them as they drove off. They hadn't played yet, don't worry, I'll get to that.



This is me and Glock doing the Coachella Strut. If you don't know it, you don't truly know how to dance at gigs.

The sun was lower in its arc and we went back round to the beach side. We found an excellent spot where you could see everything and hear perfectly.



We heard the Holidays play! I really am awful at distinguishing one song from the other, but they were all beautiful. And lovely. And we all sat in the sand, and we listened contently. There are two different types of gigs. The ones that make you dance, and the ones that make you content. The waves on the beach seemed to rise and sink, in sync.

The day drew on and on. And as the day drew on, things started to happen. E was the catalyst (or as he would put it - the 'cuntalyst'). Things were all happening to each of us, emotions which seemed to fit together so perfectly, and when 'Big Jet Plane' played, I broke down (and not just because it ain't hardly music and somehow manages to get hours of airtime). But then something perfect happened. We all decided to go into the ocean, because... just because. We entered hand in hand, a long chain of us, and we swam. And we frolicked and kicked and played and we ducked under waves and we let ourselves be crunched by them, their white, furious hugs. We stayed in there until the sunset, the sun setting on Sets.

Stuff happened afterwards, Muscles played music and it was good. It was great. I danced my ass off, and we talked to some nice cops and we dipped marshmallows into chocolate. But all of that is so insignificant, so tiny compared to that sunset, our sunset. Because my gig gang is my family. They are like minded people, people who don't want to waste life. And we all appreciate the end of things too, because is you can't find beauty in the end of things, how on earth can you have valued them?

I wish I could write more, I really do. But with every keystroke, I feel like I'm cheapening the privacy, the integrity of that moment. The image I'm left with, the image I took away from that day? It's just after the sunset. You can't see the sun. And you miss the sun. But it's light is still glowing into the sky. And as that light fades slowly, slowly, you can see stars in the sky. Beautiful, twinkling stars.



For E, for H.W., for Rose.

Best Coast on the West Coast.

Wavves. Girls. And yes, Best Coast. I've fallen into that summer music trap that seems to engulf anything other than light-hearted, indie pop. We all have, I'm sure. So when I heard Best Coast were playing at Beck's Music Box, naturally I had to go.

I won't go into to much detail into the proceedings before, suffice to say it was a fantastic day out in Fremantle and Perth, Dorito/Nacho/Student lunch thanks to Reen's mother. Me, N and Glock split off from a larger group (I've shortened Glalock to Glock because it's sounds less awful. It's still an awful codename. Why the fuck do I even have codenames? This is bullshit). We caught the Blue Cat down to the Esplanade, to have a look at Beck's Music Box. As we're walking outside, who should we meet through the fence but...



I was quite surprised, and very happy. I got my organ donor/medic alert card signed.



We headed back to mine, which was an arduous journey to say the least. H.W. and Nu (have I mentioned her before? We fest together, you should remember the name) turn up. We spend a few awkward moments watching Today Tonight with my mum. Then we head down to the Esplanade with my brother and his friends (he has a proper ticket, and all). It takes us a while, seeing as my brother and his friends were a tad intoxicated and time wasters. We get a text from Reen, 'Hurry up, E's here'. If E's already there, we are late. But fortune has it that there is an awful one man band or something playing, and we arrive in time for Best Coast. We set down a blanket and sat down. We weren't the only ones this clever. Many groups were sprinkled along the outskirts. And then they started. I can't really remember the order that they played in, to be honest I listen to albums like these in their entirety and don't make many distinctions, but Boyfriend was a personal highlight. And we had fun.







You should have seen my dancing that night. I was on fire. (Photo's courtesy of Reen, as always)

But the music had to end, and it ended with an old tune, from an old album, that I didn't know. But it was beautiful just the same. I couldn't help feeling sad, deflated, when they finished. H.W. and E felt it too, they are true Best Coast fans and have been so excited for this night. It might have been that we weren't inside, we didn't mosh, that we had conversations while the music was playing. For me, I felt sad because I think I realised this was the end of summer. Today, it has been the first day in a month to not exceed the 30 degree mark. I should make some connection to the Florence + the Machine's song 'The Dog Days Are Over'. But it wouldn't feel right, because Florence is great all year round. Somehow, Best Coast won't feel as perfect, as suited, anymore. It'll be the same, the same notes, the same melody, but I will be different, everyone will. It has truly been the greatest summer, I've had some great times with some great friends and for all the torturous heat, I'll kind of miss it.

Happy Autumn
Ale.

Dog Days at O-Day

The term 'dog days' comes from the ancient belief that the Dog Star, Sirius, was responsible for the extremely hot days of summer. To be perfectly honest, I felt like every star in the milky way was gang-raping our atmosphere yesterday, which wasn't great for photo day (that's a rant for another blogger) or moshing.



So, after school that day, me and some friends all trekked over to Reen's abode, which was close to UWA. Included were: N, Reen, H.W., Miffy (named from the cartoon rabbit, devastated because he did not meet Foals with me and quite tall), Gabz (I once ventured to a modelling agency with her and a very wobbly E, where she picked up some shots she had had) and Ju (athlete, who will probably feature heavily in my reminisces of One Movement and GTM when I hit a break in current gigs). We all got changed and headed off to O-Day.



We got in for a reasonable $25, while Tim & Jean were about half-way through their performance. They're a great live performance (which I'll make clear in my soon to air Hyperfest nostalgia) and we headed into the mosh. It wasn't too crowded, despite the small stage, and we managed to get quite close. But it was hot. Oh my word, it was hot. Glalock turned up (nickname courtesy of Reen), an acquaintance I made at Laneway who'd done a great job of befriending Reen. Some Prosh twats came on stage afterwards, and did a DJ set, and everyone got into a good vibe. And then Bag Raiders came on.



It wasn't long before they played Sunlight, which is truly a beautiful song, and great for mosh dancing (which mainly involves grinding with the closest stranger). Everyone's hands went up with Way Back Home, and then they went off stage. Everyone was pissed. No Shooting Stars. But I knew better. They did this sort of thing at GTM. They played the first few lines of Shooting Stars, then pulled back. They're musical teases, and it wasn't long after the communal chanting, 'One More Song!', pulled them back on stage. And I was dying. The constant pain from the surrounding moshers, the heat, the friction, the stench. But really, that's the beauty of the mosh. Everyone enters signing an informal, abstract, spiritual contract to be as much of a dick as he/she feels necessary to his/her enjoyment, on the grounds of not minding the actions taken by anyone else. I was pushed, shoved, bruised, battered, knocked around. But I also pushed people back, I shoved a dude in a sombrero, I bruised some stoners, I battered a bunch of blondes and I knocked a drunk Irishman. And as much pain and anguish as that, on top of the heat, caused, we were all there for the singular purpose of appreciating some great music. And we did. Unfortunately, the music had to stop, and as the last few bars of Shooting stars faded into the ether of bass, I realised how thirsty and tired I was. We collapsed on the grass outside soon afterwards.



We headed to the local supermarket, where I bought a 1.5L bottle of coke. Between us, it took about 2 minutes to finish it. We were buying a bag of ice at the nearby servo when we spotted Gemma Ward (the total honey from Black Balloon). We got back to Reen's, filled a bucket with the ice, chucked in some tubs of ice-cream and consumed our own weight in pear-tinged water and frozen berries. We talked in a circle, and drank some tea.



All in all, a pretty good way to get into weekend mode.

Ale.

Borg in the Blue Room

It's a special moment, when your brother asks you to hang out with him and his friends. It was actually very short notice. It was in the evening, and he invited me to something called BorgWorld. His description of it was just strange enough to pique my curiosity, so I got dressed, slapped on a zebra-print tie and went down William St with him to Han's. It's good, being fairly similar to him, because I could see mirrors of my friends in his. We had some spring rolls and cider. The tie must have made me look old. Not that I contributed towards the corkage fee... Then we continued down William to PICA, where we went into the Blue Room.



The Blue Room's actually a pretty swell venue. We bought our tickets (I used my SmartRider to get a concession ticket - fuck yeah). We hung around in the bar area for a while, a great little place with a backlit balcony. We were summoned into Borg's Lair, where a young lady by the name of Soxie Liqueur'e was handing out acid to go with my white wine, and inscribing our wrists with numbers. I took a seat in a cosy little room with 30 or so others, and prepared for the show. Whatever the fuck I had been expecting, this was not it.



Cushioned into a magnificent wicker throne, there sat our guide for the night, his third eye glaring into our souls. It started with a visual presentation, of how he came to be him. Apparently watching 2001: A Space Odyssey when you're 5 tends to fuck you up a little bit. Then Soxie would call out a number from a small bingo machine and summon one of us to ask the Book of Answers a question. He showed us old videos from the 70's of the most ghetto martial arts crime fighting team I've ever seen. Soxie call's out another number, 15. That's me. For those interested, my question was 'Will they ever make Yakult in bigger bottles?'. Apparently I didn't really want to know. As a prize, he handed me a Harry Potter: The Order of the Phoenix sticker book, with three quarters of the pages missing. Soxie soon began to dance, an enchanting, exotic dance. We explored psychic phenomena with videos of a man channeling 42 famous dead artists, and another man who could develop blank film into images he'd seen in his mind. Then a magician showed us some live psychic phenomena. The night drew to a close, and finished with a beautiful rendition of 'My Way' by Borg himself. I left soon after, bought a Cheesy Mexican from the Shell near my house, and went to sleep at midnight. Who says you can't explore mind-fuckery on a weeknight?

Ale.

A Lament on the Showgrounds

It's probably Perth's best outdoors venue. It's spacious, open, and has a train station directly opposite. Me and N went there on Sunday in hopes of hearing some of the Good Vibrations artists. Or getting in. Mainly getting in was the idea. We were pretty confident, too. But alas, it was not to be. As opposed to relatively easily jumpable or squeezable Rent-a-Fence, the Showgrounds is a fortress. It's like they took care when they designed it. Me and N did a full circle. That's how I know how huge it is. Every gate, guarded by at least two security guards. I might have settled for that, I might have made my peace, but the worst part? All the bands were in the centre parts of the Showgrounds. They all mashed together into awful dischord, which was barely audible. We left. We hung out for a bit, in the city, sleeping on the leather plinths in the museum, sitting inside the large chatterbox just outside. There were some stalls, all of course incredibly expensive, and a merry-go-round. It's quite nice, really, living in Perth, because I pass through the Culture Centre almost every day and it's almost always got something new, which is nice. We went home, I bought a pretty swish zebra print tie on the way home. We went to Hyde Park, and listened to some jazz. It's not Phoenix, but it was good enough, and I didn't miss Marple. Oh, and if you like Bag Raiders, Tim & Jean or even Brow Horn Orchestra, head down to UWA this Friday

Ale.