Whither now?
30.4.07 - The cusp of May and no relief in sight, so I guess I'll wallow in it. I was unable to see Chris on the weekend as we were working all hours, but I checked with Freda, and Chris hasn't resurfaced from his stupor. He has an appointment with his psychiatrist to review the situation soon-ish, and I hope something is resolved as a consequence. I saw a program on the ABC last week about a couple of blokes who had had strokes and developed this mania for creating expressionist art, apparently with no prior interest or experience. (By contrast, recognised autistic savants are always representational artists). By 'mania' I mean an inner compulsion, and an unremitting compulsion at that. It reminded me of something in my own realm of experience, but like a distant echo, and anyway, my manic creative moments have almost always been stimulated by external events. I wonder what would happen if I was forbidden from writing? I'm not sure I would be too upset, but it might just stir up the rebel-without-a-clue in me.

Bonnie Raitt concert
5.4.07 - I was very fortunate to be taken to see Bonnie Raitt in the heart of Melbourne's 'entertainment precinct' last night. (I can't believe I wrote that). I have misgivings about Hamer Hall as a music venue - period, but amplified music of any description really struggles in such a cavernous space, and being on the third tier meant we probably weren't in the best spot for sound either. Not to mention that the restrained decor of the Arts Centre tends to stifle yer average shit-kicking rock act, or Cuban All Star band, or Elvis Costello for that matter. All in all it's painfully obvious that Melbourne, despite its plethora of admirable sporting arenas, is demonstrably deficient in purpose-built entertainment venues.
Gripes aside, up first was the Mia Dyson Band. As a fellow lap-steeler, Bill's been a long time observer of young Mia through her different phases, but as great an admirer of Mia's accomplishments as Bill is, he's had one consistent complaint over her formative years - her vocal style tends to obliterate her diction. Initially I was struck by how similar her vocal style is to Bonnie's, (whom she cited as a prime motivation for her career) - that was until Bonnie herself started singing, and magically every word shone through the aural murk. Mia's a thoughtful player, her guitars ring like bells, and her obviously well-constructed songs are performed more than competently by her guitar, bass and drums ensemble, but I hope she takes note of Bonnie's unabashed vocal clarity, not to mention her good-natured song preambles, both of which serve to enhance the listening experience for the audience, particularly in venues where the sound is less than satisfactory.
When Bonnie arrived on stage, I was quite taken by surprise by her energy, especially in her singing. And her singing is what holds her show together really, because the material shifts from a New Orleans swamp feel, to pop, to late-night club music, and it's not her guitars that bind the diversity of styles together, but her amiable vocalising. Her band is worthy of mention too, with my drum hero, Ricky Fataar on drums, and the outstanding keyboardist/vocalist Jon Cleary standouts. Unfortunately the kick drum resonance swamped all but two bass notes during the night, but the dynamic range from one batch of songs to the next ensured we heard all the instruments at least once, if not all at the same time.
Bonnie was generous in her praise of Mia and Renee Geyer, who both joined her (separately) on stage for a couple of numbers late in the thirty minute encore. Overall a pleasurable enough evening's musical experience, despite the acoustical drawbacks. Mind you, I could have done without the predictable political statements, which seemed to run counter, in spirit at least, to what really got up my nose, i.e. the repeated announcements that no recordings were to be made, or photos taken (which embargos were policed by the theatre staff). If I'd had my phone with me I would have felt provoked into taking at least one photo, just for the hell of it.