G'deve.

I don't think "G'deve" is a real term. But I'm an Australian and I vote and its past midnight so I can says whatever words I please. I'm sitting in my darkened lounge room with the remnants of my candles burning post-Earth Hour. Husband is off galavanting somewhere on a river boat with 13 other lads in a show of "hetero-masculine tradition" (otherwise known as a bucks party) and hence this is my second night alone in the house of Desmond and why I am sitting up in the lounge room in front of the computer at silly o'clock with my poncho on askew. It's a bit weird, but still distantly familiar.

Anyhoo. While I'm waiting for the folks upstairs to turn their music off, I will type some words and see if any of them are interesting.

I guess my general situation just now is important for contextualising my virtual absence. I fell back into my merch roots and have picked up a few shifts a week selling such things as t-shirts and the occasional babushka doll, for various theatre shows. Today I did Riverdance at the Capitol. OhmygodsomuchEnya. So it is nice to have some work to do that isn't too taxing and I know I am good at (although the Enya part not so nice). While most of the folks there are a little less enthusiastic than me, I am running with my early eagerness in case the novelty peters out. But I like asking the little girls if they know how to dance, and I'm not yet tired of middle-aged men commenting on how tired my arm must get holding that programme up in the air all night. And I've lost count of how many people I've made laugh. I'd say at least seven. It isn't the ideal scenario (working nights while Ben works days), and the pay isn't amazing, but it makes me feel good, which is more than I can say for any other work I've done in the last year or so.

Next week I start temping with a prestigious theatre company and it is VERY EXCITING even though I am just doing reception and such. I've also got another interview on Monday with another creative company so things are rolling in the right direction. I'm hoping to carry on doing the merch shifts for as long as I can without falling over from exhaustion. Funds have been dangerously low and so this double earning means I can finally get back on the metaphorical horse again. If it continues well I can also afford to get back on an actual physical horse again. Win-win.

Band activities have also stepped up due to a long overdue photo shoot followed by a stint in the studio recording a hit single. And also rediscovering Pop Tarts. Seriously, how good are Pop Tarts. The chocolate ones. Trying to get 5 people in the same room at the same time with instruments is becoming slowly more difficult, so this has become a priority again. Between this and the shift work I decided to quit choir. Sad but necessary. Perhaps I will take it up again later in the year. Also I need to write more songs. There have been a couple. One I can't really talk about yet. It's a surprise (not for you, but I still can't talk about it). The latest one is called "Frozenlake" and I guess I'll post my horrible demo of it sometime after the band have had a good listen to it. Harmonies are fun.

So that, dear reader, is what I've been doing for the past month or so instead of breakdancing or volunteering at a school. Sorry. I do, however, have 4 more months up my sleeve. Alright, yes, I'm wearing a poncho. But you get the gist of it.

I'm going to bed now. In the meantime here's a video completely unrelated to All.Before.Thirty but shows you what my band have been doing. Mostly being quite silly.

Lack of progress

Something about today just doesn't feel right. Maybe it's hormones. They make a good scapegoat for pretty much everything, so I might blame them. Although more likely is all the hours I've spent outside lately, a lovely thing as summer kicks out, but a horror if you've put on inadequate amounts of sunscreen. My skin is screaming at me. So I'm hibernating, and enjoying the weather through the kitchen door instead.

I've tried getting my music cap on but I'm uninspired all round. I think I'm writing a song about Tasmania but it's hard to be sure. Yet another hidden lesson regarding songwriting, and perhaps a classic truth: I have a certain 'style' in which I write. Of course. Thanks, Captain Obvious. I guess what I mean is that I can say I'm going to write a song about something oblique, like cycling to Wollongong, but I still kind of fill it with metaphors and stuff. Bart left a comment that nicely tied it up: "the more literal you get, the more crazy-deep metaphorical it sounds". That track is probably the most literal I've ever gotten, since it actually has some kind of narrative, but I'm doing it again in this Tasmania song (working title: Lagoon). I'm sort of telling the story, but in a sideways manner. It's not intentional, but all my stuff just kind of comes out like that.

I like people not really knowing what I'm singing about, or getting some kind of alternate meaning, or taking it at face value and not knowing about an emotion watching quietly from beneath. You don't want to get too weird with it though, because there needs to be that point of connection: the something they take away even if it is not what you first intended. It's like with 'Blow On In'. The verses are kind of just random sentiments. In order to make them feel more tangible, more real, I started numbering them. Eleven reminders why we left. Seventeen reasons we couldn't afford. Twenty-three lorikeets colour the sky. Ninety-eight beats of a rapid heart. Now it feels like something.

Then, of course, there are songs that are just written because the words seemed to fit nicely and I couldn't find an appropriate feeling from my repertoire to match. That seems to happen more frequently with the band now, another thing I wasn't paying much attention to, so getting to write on my own is a nice way of reminding myself that it's ok to say whatever you want and I don't have to try so hard all the time.

Anyway, this is sort of bizarrely askew of my regular blogs, but I can only contribute what I have. Today that just happens to be a breakdown of my songwriting patterns. Which reminds me, we're playing at the Excelsior Surry Hills tonight at 9pm - oh I should also probably mention that we came runners up in the band comp, but I won't elaborate for reasons of diplomacy - and that'll be our last show until May.

Also, we went to see Jersey Boys last night and it was fantastic. I may have to work some Four Seasons-esque choreography into our set now.*

*not really.

All delighted people, raise your hands

I am not a good post-gig conversationalist. Sometimes there are no words. On small, miraculous occasion, you will see a show that is immeasurably bigger than you are. All I can do in those moments is awkwardly cling to myself and soak up the words of others. Lost in a kind of afterglow where the shocks still travel through my veins in tiny shudders, a sonic minefield in what is left of the brain, entire galaxies fusing almost imperceptibly into my DNA. I still feel them there. I will never be the same again. Changed in ways we can't yet perceive, besides the double skip of a heart and an insatiable desire to get back into the spaceship.

Picture lovingly borrowed from Lucyparakhina via Fasterlouder. I hope she doesn't mind.

It's Sufjan Stevens Day!

Howdy folks! Here is a post completely unrelated to the Project, but just thought I'd keep you updated on my movements. Had two gigs in two days with Dusker - the first was a band comp in which we won our heat, and if we win the whole thing we get a 5-day recording package in a studio (which would be totally amazing, since we're recording anyway with money we don't have). The second was an Australia Day gig in Wollongong, our first gig down there, and it was pretty fun. It's not every gig you get to go to the beach immediately afterwards. Ben learnt how to bodysurf and I nearly drowned. Good times, good times.


And tonight: Sufjan Stevens at the Opera House! One of the last great gods on this musical throne I revere that I've never seen live. The realisation of this momentus occasion is slowly starting to push through the fatigue. It's been so hot the last week or so that sleep is something I have only a vague recollection of experiencing.

Guess it doesn't matter so much when as of next Tuesday I'm going to be unemployed...

Musicophilia

The Briscoe bandwagon is rolling with gusto, although it is less of a wagon and more like Bart’s lounge room, and less like rolling and more like rocking. Bam! I didn’t even plan that sentence. I just come up with this stuff. Did some awesomely fun gang vocals on Sunday, and whoever wasn’t at the mic was engaged in a game of tag team scrabble. Playing “pixies” over a triple word score for 54 points still wasn’t enough to win it for me, but something about board games makes me gleefully happy. I think it is to do with my sibling-less childhood and the fact I never had anyone to play them with. Insert pity. Yes, I am that pathetic.

Anyway, it is great being in someone else’s band and not having any pressure to really do anything but turn up and play your bit.

I’m reading Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks just now, and it is fascinating. The kind of fascination I experience when I’m trying to eat dinner and watch a David Attenborough documentary at the same time – it just ends up being a fork hovering in the air with my mouth partially opened, eyes glued to the mating dance of the Birds of Paradise. That’s what this book is like. Thinking about the weirdness of the brain makes my brain fry. I mentioned earlier my intrigue at the juxtaposition of a perfect melodic singer having seemingly little sense of natural rhythm. Apparently it is not so uncommon. Another thing that tickled my fancy was the creation of music from silence – to write, I often have to spend a long period of time untouched by sound. It’s as if it gives the music a chance to crawl in. I thought that was pretty weird, since surely sitting at an actual instrument or at least humming a tune would be the most sensible way to birth a song, but it turns out I’m not too much of a freak after all. Which is not to say that I don’t occasionally pick up a guitar and noodle out the start of something. Because I did yesterday. It was very exciting.

There’s a free seminar on climate change supposed to be happening on campus here at lunch time, so I’m going to go sit in on it and take some notes. Of course, that’s providing that any of our students show up to it. Which they probably won’t.

Tomorrow is Blood Bank day. It’s a bit annoying actually because we’re going out to see The Fall tonight and it means I won’t be able to drink anything. All for the greater good. If you’re a B+ in need, then boy do I have a Christmas gift for you.

Flaming Lips = good for mental health

It feels different, being off on a weekday. I don't have the overwhelming desire to stab anyone, I can't feel the horrible sensation of my soul leaking out, I don't even need to discretely flee into the bathroom and sob! It's awesome!

Needless to say I have not achieved much today, although I did watch Yo Gabba Gabba and see Wayne Coyne wearing 2 hats at the same time. I have done some noodling on the guitar, but sadly my crowning achievement there was discovering that "I'm Never As Tired As When I'm Waking Up" by LCD Soundsystem has the same chorus chords as "Live In Sunshine" by The Rapture. I wonder if James has ever noticed this.

Choir was enjoyable yesterday as we got to sing inside the church rather than in the little hall off the side of it. The resonance seemingly made the group a bit nervous. We got used to it. I am coming to realise what a funny thing rhythm is, and how not everybody naturally has it (even people who can sing beautifully). Being inside a church again was an experience in itself. I wonder if Cadbury is aware that Advent had this purple business sorted out long before they copywrited it.

In short: I'm not making any progress, but at least I'm a little less insane.

Ouch.

I reeeeally don’t want to go to choir today. It’s one of those things. Like your kid begs you to let him start taking karate lessons, and then three weeks later he’s complaining that he doesn’t want to go, and you force him to go, and he has a great time because he kicked Freddie in the face.

Anyway, I’ve not been for 2 weeks because I was ill the first time, and the choir leader was ill the second time, so I feel kinda rusty and insecure and apprehensive about it again. I know it’ll be fine once I get there. But you know how it is. It’s a dreary, woeful Tuesday and the rain is just waiting to pounce and cling to the bottom of my scuffed trouser legs. I hit my head on a cupboard today which was a fabulous highlight, and I’m not even going to begin to tell you what is happening within the walls of my workplace, except that it smells like despair and feels like wearing a coat made of syrup (sans pancakes).

I’m taking tomorrow off in an attempt to regain my composure (read: sanity). My plans thus far are to have an exceedingly long bath, write a bunch of cover letters, cook some dinner for my long suffering husband, and play lots and lots of music. I have a busking catalogue to refine, four songs to write, and Briscoe things to find my place among. I have a feeling that one day isn’t going to be enough, but I’ll take what I can get.

Perspective

I am getting better at meditating without distraction in loud or busy spaces, although I am also finding my tea is usually cold by the time I’m back in the land of the conscious. Mindful meditation is what I’m mainly focussing on now. I have been too lazy to charge my iPod shuffle for, oh, over a month now, so I’ve not been listening to my audio in that time.

The weekend had a lot of unpleasantness in it so I will focus on the blessings instead: the coming together of friends, the rare spotting of a giant wombat foraging for food, and the serenity of quiet contemplation at the platypus pools (albeit without seeing any actual platypuses, but a relaxing endeavour nonetheless).

I’ve decided to focus on the challenges that don’t involve any costs until my karma balances out and I can justify paying for silliness again. This firstly means recharging the iPod so I can upload some Learn-Japanese CDs onto it. I figure if the weather is bad and I can’t cycle to work, I can at least spend 40 minutes each day listening to a recording of someone speaking gibberish and then asking me to repeat them until something sticks. If nothing else it might get someone to finally laugh at me on the train.

Music has also become a core default setting in my brain, which is a surprising return after many years of my songwriting habits de-evolving. In anguished moments I find myself thinking it would be nice to just have a few hours with a guitar, or space to sing. Maybe that’s just a reaction to not having had a band rehearsal or gig for a couple of weeks, but this in itself is noteworthy as usually having so much band stuff on can be quite draining. Maybe it’s the subconscious urgency of having to write 19 more songs before next July. Maybe it’s the realisation that singing other people’s songs is rather enjoyable. Let’s also not forget that half-decent busking might actually make me money, a very rousing prospect.

I also just made an appointment to give blood for the first time, so that puts some things in perspective and makes me feel a little better about things in general.

I'm gonna let it shine!

Things that maybe should have been more obvious before last night:

1. Alto! I am one!
2. Sight singing! I am good at it!
3. My ears! They are clever!
4. Gospel harmonies! Beautiful and amazing! If I pay enough attention, this could do wonders for my songwriting.
5. Vocal warm ups! What a concept! I should do them!

I totally did not suck in my new gospel choir, which is super awesome news. Self esteem win. They are brilliant! There were only 10 of us last night, 3 of whom (including me) were new to the group, so it was a lot smaller than expected, but what they lack in numbers they make up for in volume. The choir leader was lovely and welcoming, big on charisma and obviously very good at what she does, and my nerves settled quite quickly as I came to terms with what I was doing and the sound that was being created around me. Having got through the initial awkwardness of the first session, I feel like a part of the group already. They are an affable, friendly bunch, and I can see myself looking forward to Tuesdays.

We started with some stretches and warm ups, and followed with a 'Circle Song', which is basically any kind of simple gospel standard, sung while standing in a circle with ours eyes closed, holding hands. This was a bit weird at first, particularly as I didn't know the song, but I started to get the feel for it and just let the voices wash over me. I later learned that there is no structure to a circle song, everyone just picks up a random harmony as the verses go along (sometimes resulting in a little more dissonance than intended, but mostly wonderful), and throwing in an old fashioned holler every now and then for good measure. We then learnt three songs (I figured out that the tenors get all the best harmonies – the weird ones like the sevenths) and at the end of two hours, had another circle song to close, before dispersing into the night with light in our spirits and souls. Hallelujah!

Holy lasagne

I finally heard back from my old parish priest. Let me explain. Heath's challenge was set out thusly: Re-organise a meal with Father Harry Cotter (wherever he is) and have all the original people there that was at the first one, and cook the lasagne.

Back in my early high school days, I attended a small Catholic school. I'm not going to lie, it was a bit horrible. Not because of the school itself, I suppose, more to do with the fact there were only 14 kids in our graduating Year 10 class, only 4 of whom were girls, and most of whom I shared little-to-no interests with. Music, however, was always a good salve, and Heath and I spent a lot of time singing in church for school masses. Heath is actually the only person I spent my entire school life with. Our stage debut was in Kindergarten - a production of Peter Rabbit where he played Mr McGregor (I can still picture him waving his tiny pitchfork at that darned rabbit) and I was a garden cat (it was a non-speaking part that mostly involved staring into a fishpond). In second grade, I learnt I could hit more high notes than most and was cast as Snow White, which is ironic since I was possibly the darkest kid in the class. Heath was already well aware of his musicality and was cast as Prince Charming. So began years of eisteddfods, school choirs, stage productions, performances, and a thankfully-short-lived covers band in which I convinced myself I could play drums for a while.

Anyway, I digress - during our later stints doing psalms in 2-part harmony, we started getting invited over to Father Kevin Barry-Cotter's place after church for what has gone down in history as some of the greatest lasagne ever created. Now, I remember the Christmas where we accidentally set his advent wreath on fire (don't worry, we managed to extinguish it before Father BC came back into the room), but I'm slightly ashamed to say that I don't recall much about this group dinner that Heath is talking about. I have a fairly good idea who would have been there. I've contacted a few of those people and so far all seem remarkably open to the idea of a reunion, even though nobody seems to know exactly who was present.

I tracked down Father BC. I had actually already tracked him down prior to my wedding when I was having a small religious crisis, but it turned out he had no recollection of who I actually was. Reassuring. So I was pleased to receive confirmation this morning that he is still in Cootamundra, a town 400kms-ish from Sydney, and a few hours from my old hometown. The message was from one of the Sisters on his behalf as he is on sick leave, but apparently he is delighted to hear from me! So I've been advised to call after the 17th when they expect him to be back on his feet. In the meantime I guess I should figure out who else was at dinner.

PS. Working on a public holiday is great. I'm actually getting stuff done. They should let me have the building to myself more often.