of stuff that fall in the cracks between Life, Music and outrageous
this window to return to Mike Rudd & Bill Putt's Stop Press
The lights and chatter go down at the
Glass Ensemble at the State Theatre
21.10.05 - I'd told Richard it was
at Hamer Hall, so I first had to retrieve him, waiting
anxiously as he was for his wife Mary at the wrong venue,
and escort him back to the State. Mary arrived in the
nick of time and we actually had a couple of minutes to
catch our breath before the white-clad nine piece ensemble,
including Mr Glass, trooped onto the stage. The first
piece featured didgeridoo master, Mark Atkins, and it
was in the early part of his performance, when the sound
hadn't quite come together, that the inherent fragility
of so few players trying to create the impression of a
much larger orchestra almost unravelled, and it sounded
uncomfortably like Lisa Simpson's school band. By the
time the piece reached its
|climax, however, the power
and authority of Mark's performance triumphed over any
early faltering, and the audience responded accordingly.
I'm not going to review the entire performance; suffice
to say it was a slightly uneven programme, but with more
than enough highs and displays of instrumental virtuosity
on exotic instruments (not to mention exotic wardrobe)
to balance the odd intervals of compostionally induced
tedium. I came away uplifted and perhaps a little inspired
- or was that the oysters and Bloody Mary I had at Scusami
with Richard and Mary afterwards?
mortgages the house..
location.. part two
17.10.05 - Another weekend, another
opportunity to use the search for movie locations as a
pretext for tasting and buying wines, not to mention eating
well. This time bro' Richard and I headed sideways to
the Yarra Valley, the most visually obvious growth area
for wine growing near the eastern outskirts of the city.
A most pleasant day it was, too, lurching from one winery
to the next with a growing booty of wines in the booty.
We went as far as Healesville, where I checked out a potential
gig at the Bohdi Tree Café, and then we zig-zagged
leisurely back home stopping off at every two-bit winery
we could find, taking photos of potential locations and
listening to the somnambulant coverage of the alleged
cricket match coming from the SCG.
That we actually discovered some potential sites could
enter into the realms of myth, as neither of us actually
kept a record of where we'd been. Jeez, we might have
to do the whole exercise again..
worries about the weather
10.10.05 - I think I've shocked some
people by claiming there are times that I positively resent
music, or I like to think I've shocked them anyway.
Festivals are an excellent vehicle for presenting you
with the big steaming turd of one's music threshold. Not
that we've been conspicuous at a lot of festivals lately,
but I can remember that by the second day of yer typical
all-singing, all-strumming, plucking, scraping, squeezing,
wheezing and blowing music festival, I'm feeling not unlike
the last time I went on a ride at the Show, when my stomach
and I parted company at the first lurch and realised there
was no going back.
Then there are times that the only thing that can console
me is music. This can happen when gigs are few and far
between, or when a shift of some magnitude occurs in my
personal orbit that passeth all understanding. Or both.
Against this background, it's funny how seemingly unrelated
events can suddenly coalesce into a coherent message,
like there is a conspiracy going on, or, more
| troubling still, like your
life is some sort of dream, and not even your own dream.
Adding to that uneasy sensation is that your own dreams
are all the more vivid when you're undergoing a crisis,
and there is quite a deal of unsettling overlap between
your dreams and the daily grind.
What the hell - this should be meat and potatoes to a
songwriter. I've obviously been too happy for too long.
Time to get down and dirty and welcome back the bitch
Music as my muse.
So, Tim is probably asking, what's my picture doing in
this tortured piece? As you know, Tim popped over on Saturday
and laid some guitar on three Spectrum tracks. To say
the session was a joy is an understatement - Tim's musicality
always astonished me back in the Ariel days, and although
the Mr Tim of today has mellowed in many ways since then,
the energy and innovation in his playing is still as mind-blowing
as ever. To converse with him about his life and family
over a meal afterwards was a bonus, and an opportunity
to balance the social ledger for which we're both grateful,
And then there's the Spectrum album itself. Even though
we have eleven or more tracks recorded, and I have a title
and artwork concept worked out, it's still very much in
its embryonic state. I'm curious to know where it's going
to take us, but I'm too close to the scaffolding to see
the whole picture. Some tracks we perform regularly live,
and I'm not tempted to add much other than keyboards and
percussion to the basic trio of Bill, Robbo and me, but
there are others that have been performed rarely or not
at all that are asking to be interpreted as studio creations.
While time, (well, the time equals money equation anyway),
can be more or less excluded as a factor when you're working
from home, time is passing and we're all getting
older, so it should be at least considered as
a galvanising factor at some stage. Oh yes, it should..
Maritime vineyard comes attractively into bud
1.10.05 - Frère Richard arrived
early to pick me up and whisk us both down to the Mornington
Peninsula to search for an appropriate vineyard to shoot
some scenes for our epic movie. We intended to do lunch
at Vines of Red Hill anyway, and that we did most satisfactorily
before heading we knew not where to pursue our quest.
We did find a couple of places too, (pic), but
the temptation to buy the wines on offer eventually gave
us pause to reflect that this could end up a pleasant
but financially crippling exercise, and so we headed home
none the wiser. I played Dicko a couple of the more complete
Spectrum tracks and he made a couple of useful suggestions.
An altogether happy Sunday.
1.10.05 - Sorry to be so dazzlingly
mercurial, but continuing the story below, I doggedly
hauled myself back to the Jam Factory this arvo to see
the last part of The Magician, but, boxing clever
this time, I didn't actually enter the theatre until half
way through, minimising the risk of nausea. I was rewarded
with I'll Be Gone accompanying the out-takes
|over the end credits. Sounded
extra good too, because, apart from a touch of music at
the start (I think) there was no background music thoughout
the film. You know my thoughts on the subject, so this
aspect of the movie at least met with my approval. Actually,
apart from my initial discomfort re' the hand-held camera,
I quite enjoyed The Magician overall. I'm slightly
puzzled as to Adrian
Martin's observations about a lack of development
in some of the incidental 'chatter'. We're talking about
a low-life here, whose idea of compassion in to shoot
a mate in the back so he doesn't suffer. It seems to me
the 'undeveloped' conversations are simply markers to
the hitman's character and perception of himself. That
there's no underlying hint of a screenwriter with literary
pretensions is totally apt. I'm looking forward to the
second album - I mean, movie.
far, so good.. 2) Queasy Mike in the foyer recovering - I'll
try again today, maybe..
1.10.05 - To tell you the truth, I'd forgotten
all about my aversion to hand-held camera work. It was about
fifteen minutes into the movie that the first wave of nausea
hit me, and I had to avert my eyes from the screen. I put up
with it manfully until I felt I was going to throw up, then
withdrew from the theatre - without hearing The Song!