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.

Best Day of My Life / Outside of St. Jerome's Laneway review.

While I have been to a few gigs, and it would make sense to recount them chronologically, I think I should start with my utmost favourite, and my motivation for writing this blog, Laneway, which happened just a week ago.

Saturday, 12th Feb, 1:00.

I arrived at Perth Station. Well, to be honest I arrived at Perth Station about 10 minutes before but because of all the construction going into sinking the trainline or whatever, I had to trek all the way through the William St entrance, tag on, walk through platform 10 (or 9, I don't know, it's the one that Trackside Bakery is facing), tag off and wait for the first of our party. Conscious of privacy, I will not disclose her name, so let's call her H.W. She always seems to be dressed in beautiful vintage clothing and is probably the most aesthetically pleasing of my small niche of festival go-ers. Today she wore a button-up brown shirt and a knee-length floral dress, eyes hidden behind her vintage shades. We receive word that everyone else will be late, so devote some time to tracing the paremeters of the festival. It's like a labrynth. Fences cling to the walls of the museum and library, creating small passages to get from one end to the other. The fences, we note, are very tall and not easily scalable. We go back to Perth train station. We meet another good friend of mine, N, who has been to almost every gig I've been to, and started exploring the live scene around the same time as I did. She and I share a love for most of the same things, from music to T.V. Next we meet E. E has been to every single gig I've been to, and is one of my funniest friends, and who's constant mutterings of love and gratitude to the sun and wildlife in numerous Pacific dialects is one of the most amusing yet beautiful aspects of my life. Naturally, he's got his billum with him (for those who don't know, it's a South Pacific weave bag). Finally, Reen arrives. Whenever I think about describing her, I can only think of the word 'eccentric'. I never really was friends with her when I started high school, but then we had this amazingly long conversation about being detectives together and being her future son's godfather, and have been brought together through that (I must remember to post that conversation one day). We're all here now, and now begins the challenge of getting in.



We walk around, following the passages till we reach a dead end, which is just stupid because the lead up to the dead end is about 100 m and you'd think they'd have cut it off ages ago. This is along the side of the library, and at the very end is a gap just big enough to get through. The problem? It opens into a small, shallow pool. We all take our shoes off, and prepare to get in, or at least convince the guard in front of us to 'be a lad'. A shirtless, shoeless man in a state of mental unease walks up by us, slides quickly through the gap and is soon apprehended by the authorities. Our resolve is diminished, and we continue to circle the fence. We actually did get in, a little while later, but escorted by security guards who took pity on us for having to walk the long way round, and in the next 10 seconds we were out. We reach the museum, and the view to the museum stage is very decent, there are some stairs that provide a good view. Then we see our chance. There are some steps, and while the fence is propped up on an angle it leaves an ample space to get through. We work ourselves up, call a few people through the fence to cover us, and set off. E goes first, then N. As Reen goes in, a security guard on the outside yells at me and H.W. We freak, and run away. We return to the stairs that offer the great view. We see Reen and N being escorted out by security. We run to them, first question off our lips,
"Where's E?"
For all his mutterings, E is actually very clever. He pulled on his hoodie, pulled down the sleeves and hid his bare wrists while it was easy to see N and Reen did not have wristbands. I'm also sure that his ethnicity helped, as it's often much harder for white's to judge the age of Islanders, especially the older whites. Oh, did I mention E does not have a phone. I had a phone for him to borrow, I really did! But I forgot, and we spent the next few hours in a state of jealous rage and genuine concern. Soon I get a call from my brother, who is 18 and bought a legitimate ticket. When I pick up, it's E who answers! I don't even recall him and my brother meeting, my bro said he recognised him from a school presentation night, and from his billum. At least we know E is alright. Now concern moves over to nothing but jealousy. H.W. has to leave, so at 5:00 we wave her off. Me, N and Reen return to Laneway, and listen to some music. We hear some Beach House, as clear as day, Norway was beautiful.We hear some Cloud Control, there's some excellent footage of Reen dancing to one of there songs about something in the water.We move back to Francis St stage, the back end, all fenced off with the roadies working away, to hear some Two Door Cinema Club. Then, who should we meet, but Two Door Cinema Club!



We were so excited, some of our jealousy towards E is evaporated. We hear them clear as day, even if we can't see them. Then we go around, listen to a little bit of Yeasayer, go to the nearest pharmacy (which was like, a kilometre away) and buy some drinks (Coke for me, Pepsi for N, a Pop-Top, blue-flavour, for Reen).

Then we go back to the back of Francis St Stage. We're waiting for Foals. It was really my major reason for going, even considering jumping. We're waiting. Wait some more. A seven-seater car pulls up. Fuck. It's Foals. It's actually fucking Foals, in a fucking seven seater, pulling up to the gate. We run over to them, 'can we get a photo'. Yannis Philippakis says yes, and we take a photo.



Then he says, 'why don't you come to the front of the stage?'. Shocked, I follow N and Reen, who are skipping merrily. He walks up casually to a security guard with us.
"They aren't allowed in here"
"They're with me"
We go forth, it's quite dark now. You know the mosh area, right? And you know how there's a fence that protects the stage from the mosh. WE WERE IN FRONT OF THAT FENCE! We were in the small rectangle of space reserved for photographers and other musicians. VIPs.



Me, N and Reen, we were all looking at each other, half-expecting reality to dissolve into the hazy fog of a dream. But it was real. Really, really real. And then they started playing. I could not stop smiling. Miami was... amazing. Cassius, was wow. All of the songs they played, amazing. Spanish Sahara was incredible, I took a video, it was the only song I could hold my phone steady too, but tears were streaming.




BIRD MAN // MAN GOD

I met the people who created something that beautiful! Every single ounce of jealousy held towards E had evaporated. At one point, Yannis scaled a set of speakers. They were shaking like crazy, I was scared for my life, but somehow I was even more scared for his. He jumped down. It must have been 4 metres. They finished with Two Steps, Twice. I raved so hard to that. We left in a frenzy, we got another photo with Foals, got picked up by my dad and driven to mine, where N and Reen were picked up. I hardly slept that night.



I hope this first tale brings some hope, some happiness to whomever is reading, if anyone's reading.

Ale. (w/ photography from Reen)

Reen dances to Cloud Control (specifically 0:15 - 0:36)

S.S. (excuse my singing, I was very emotional)

                                                                    

Just For Starters

Hello.

There's no denying it, Perth's gigs aren't exactly as of high a standard as one would hope. We're very isolated, and when gigs eventually come to town, it's almost certainly lacking some of the larger names that appear in the eastern state's equivalent. However, there is one area of Perth's gigs that is to of a high standard, the security. I've been exploring the live music scene for about a year now (I am 15 currently), and I hope my reviews of the few underage events  and my failures and successes of jumping the 18+ events will give some hope, or at least solace, to W.A.'s eager music loving youth.

Your newest blogger,
Ale.