The train that took us from Flinders Street to the Showgrounds, was packed with excited punters. I should know – I was one of them. Although, for once, I was being rather quiet due to near fatal alcohol poisoning.
It was Melbourne’s first full V Festival after the Mini V, maxi-cost fiasco last year. And it was an event that I had been anticipating for quite some time. Where else could you see Duran Duran, Air and Roisin Murphy all on the one bill, all on the one stage and all, one after another?
My day kicked off with Cut Copy, a Melbourne band with a number one record that reminded me of New Order. I am glad they weren’t entirely like New Order because had they been New Order they would have walk off stage between songs and keep us waiting for 8 years.
Roisin Murphy is an odd presence; beautiful, aloof and possessing the same voice you hear when the angels come to get you. She held and caressed the crowd of gum chewers and those special boys like me, with her distinctive, chanteuse-like electroica.
Whatever it was, whatever she did, she sucked us in, as the showgirl came out and morphed into different visions-splendid, resplendant in feathers, hats and mirrored sunnies and the lovliest jackets this side of Dior.
I have always had a love/love/loathe relationship with those French hipsters Air, and their minimal, but elegant electro. But having deliberately avoiding their Moon Safari CD for the past ten years after I played it to death, umm ten years ago, I was ready for more. I had checked out their more recent offerings and was looking forward to hearing them live through a vocoder. If you were looking for a show with action, then this was not the place for you. But if you were looking to get lost in the music while the performers flirted with the audience, then this was the place for you.
And then it was time for the big guns – those wild boys from Birmingham, Duran Duran. There was much excitement and anticipation as people who hadn’t moshed since 1984 politely elbowed their way to the front of the stage to mosh as much as 40 year olds can.
Duran Duran played a greatest hits setlist that did not disappoint. All the hits including my two favourites ‘A View to a Kill” and ‘The Reflex’ were there, as was their latest single, ‘Red Carpet’ Massacre and 2004’s ‘Sunrise’.
By the end though; no matter how good Duran Duran were and no matter how many hits they played, and no matter how sexy Simon is and because I am sure Nick Rhodes is Andy Warhol cloned, they struggled for an audience.
Which was a shame, because there was a band who knew what to do, and were very good at it.
I bought the remastered version of Depeche Mode’s elegant Ultra album yeserday. It is magnificent and benefits more than the others from the 5.1 remastering treatment.
Having heard Ultra several thousand times over the last decade I did not think it possible to hear any new sounds within.
But no, I was wrong. Home and It’s No Good sound like new recordings. And watching the DVD which accompanies the beautifully packaged album, it becomes evident just what an achievement Ultra is.
5.1 Stars
Filed under: Actors, Australia, Existential Crisis, Fiction, Hillsong, Humour, Morrissey, Music, Neighbours, Religion, The Smiths, Toadfish Rebecchi
I am going to put the fun back into fundamentalism.
Regular readers of oneplanetmikey will be aware of my ongoing Scarlet O’Hara issues. You know, those terrible existential questions of ‘where shall I go, what shall I do’? Well finally, I have the answer.
I am going to join the Hillsong Church.
It is a perfect plan. There is a men’s group where I can meet my husband. The church-goers share an intense sense of community. And finally and most importantly; there is singing and dancing.
The singing and dancing is what sealed my decision for me to put the fun back into fundamentalism.
This is because I am an excellent lounge-room Sinatra and no-one can sing Sugartown quite like me. With that said, I just know the boys of Hillsong will love my tunefulness and sunny presentation skills. They boys are also going to love my incredibly groovy dancing which was perfected atop many a dancefloor podium while pilled-up to the eyeballs. (Please note that when dancing that I do keep my shirt on. I may be a trahbag but I still have some decency and propriety left).
So all I need to do next Sunday is go straight (ain’t that the truth) from club to church, and sing sweet Jesus. After all, coming home with the Lord would have to beat coming home with some of the mange-ridden mutts I have picked up at the Peel.
On a Hillsong Desolate. Or why I want to be Morrissey.
Well, the Hillsong Church thing didn’t work. I sort of had a few health issues when I woke on Sunday. There was this awful feeling of illness and dehydration, accompanied by projectile vomiting and a reasonably nasty headache, which may or may not have been a migraine.
Lord knows what brought on that sudden illness, because I was fine when I stumbled into bed and passed out at 3am Sunday.
Anyhoo, now that I realise organised religion aint for me, I still need to do something about my ongoing and endless Scarlet O’Hara questions. You know; “where shall I go, what shall I do?”
I think the first question can only be answered after the second is, and I done answered that one while walking to work this morning. What am I going to do? I am going to be Australia’s first professional Morrissey impersonator. It is a bit like impersonating Elvis, but Mozza ain’t dead and I’ll have daffodils poking out of my arse while singing about charming men, and hillsides desolate.
I came to this conclusion after spending several hours over the weekend listening to Manchester’s greatest band, The Smiths. I have long admired Marr and Morrissey as one of the finest and funniest musical partnerships ever. And now this hilarity will continue as I sing “There is a Light that Never Goes Out” at weddings, warble “Some Girls are Bigger than Others” at Fernwood Fitness Centres and croon “Still Ill” at hospices and infirmaries.
For me, the saddest thing about The Smiths was how soon it was all over. Five years, four studio albums, two compilations, one live album, several wonderful coverstars and me……the boy with the thorn in his side.
Just be glad dear reader that I don’t write bloody awful poetry.
Visited by a vision splendid.
I was so very excited about my new-found career as Australia’s first professional Morrissey impersonator that yesterday I left work early so I could buy some Daffodils and practice my singing at home. Slight problem though, once I got home I realised can’t fucken sing. Well, I can a little bit, but I sound more like a drag queen with an electronic larynx than the divine Mr M.
My unfortunate discovery that I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket even if it hd handles caused me to reach for the bottle, which was fine because I ended up being quite happy in the haze of a drunken hour.
Anyway it was rather fortuitous that soon after opening the second bottle, my good friend Kennel Cough* called and asked me to go to the Neighbours trivia night at the Elephant and Wheelbarrow in St Kilda. She has a thing for backpackers and has spent many a night there, often ending up under the table. I duly gargled some Listerine and sprayed Brut on my pulse points as I ran out the door and walked to the bus stop.
I had a great night, but unfortunately for my partner in crime her luck was out and the only offer she received was a promise from a spotty Kiwi that he would be a great root while once he sobered up and wiped the vomit from his shoes. Dejected, Kennel Cough retired and left me to my own devices because she had an early morning meeting with her probation officer. I was going to follow her out, but soon saw that a man had left his gin and tonic on top of the cigarette machine, and knowing as I do that a free drink is a free drink, and free booze is the best tasting booze ever, I stayed for anothery. It became four. And when I fell on the floor ……I drank more.
It was then I ralised that I had been visited by a vision splendid, a hunk of spunk named Toadfish Rebecchi. Yes, yes he of Neighbours fame and method acting ability. Soon we were gripped in intimate embrace as we danced the light fantastic to Aga Do, by Black Lace. I really do think I am in love. Again!
This morning with a smile on my dial and with a date for tonight already lined up, I am remembering the words of my mother, who told me as a small boy; “Michael, just remember you can marry more money in five minutes than you can make in your entire life.”
I’ll let you know what happens as soon as it happens.
* Name changed to protect the reputation of a trashbag who works at the Australian Tax Office.
It wasn’t Toadie, but a real life toad.
Obviously my search for meaning has hit a few snags because by the time I arrived home from work yesterday and started coming down, I realised that not everything which I believe happened on Monday night, actually happened. If I have misled any of my readers; then I sincerely apologise.First up, after security at the Elephant and Wheelbarrow asked me to leave for allegedly stealing drinks, I decided I would make the short stroll home from St Kilda to Thornbury. Unfortunately, I must have been quite tiddly as the attempted the 20 kilometre walk in my new Jimmy Choo’s, not realising that I already had blisters from when I crawled up Hoddle Street the Saturday night before.
Anyhoo, this is where my problems started as I had to sit down and rest my blistered and aching feet. While sitting, I now believe that I mistook flashing traffic lights for disco lights.
As for the vision splendid which appeared on the dancefloor in the form of Toadfish from Neighbours – I now believe that was an hallucinogenic toad I met while actually resting and handjiving at the lights on Hoddle Street. (I do hope that this explains some of my ongoing problems with perception and reality). Please note that despite my vision splendid being a toad, I am not too upset as this toad was nicer and a better conversationalist than the last toad I picked up.
We did have a nice time, however I am slightly embarrassed about being a trashbag on a Monday night. As such, I have decided clean up my act and attend a twelve step programme. Because I find the idea of any organised group therapy horrendously ghastly, I will tonight institute an informal get together for bad people over drinks and spliffs at my place.
Trashbags-not-so-Anonymous will take anyone. You do not have to be sober or pious to join and we will not make you apologise as part of the healing process. It will be an informal and supportive group for people with dependence problems.
If you are coming tonight, please bring your own drugs as sharing is good and we don’t want to run out.
I seem to have founded my own cult.
It really is quite weird how life turns out. Just last week I was going to attend the Hillsong Church as part of my search for meaning. Today I find myself elected the benevolent leader of the democratic cult of Trashbags-not-so-Anonymous. I had never really fancied myself as a David Koresh type character; more of a wonder-man like Kim Il Sung or Ho Chi Min.Anyway, there I was last night, at home with my real and imaginary friends hosting the first meeting of TNSA, when my dear friend Horse Flu, suggested that the mystical ways of the Trashbag should be celebrated, and that we should continue to celebrate and I was the one to lead people further into temptation.
Reluctantly I agreed, on the proviso that all members of Trashbags-not-so-Anonymous, participate in my wondrous new ten percent plus GST tithing scheme.
All agreed, and I am now democratically benevolent.
If there is anything to be learned from my adventures over the past few days it is that the power is within.
Cubism is the DVD of the Pet Shop Boys most recent concert in Mexico City. It is almost the same concert they performed here in Melbourne for the attrociously organised V Festival. The concert where I was so excited repressed Toorak types shooed me away, and where I accidentally belted this sweet young girl in the head (whoops)!
Cubism was released a couple of weeks ago, however I delayed buying it as I feared nothing could ever top the excitement of seeing the Boys live at the Myer Music Bowl. I was right.
It is a very good and beautifully packaged DVD, and did promote some serious hand-jiving on my couch. But impassively sitting at home without the flamboyant and joyous atmosphere of screaming Petters, seriously left me wishing I was back at the Music Bowl.
Had I not seen the Soddom and Gomorrah show in Melbourne I would have seriously loved it. Cubism has all the hits you would expect; the thumping Integral and the oh-so ironic Can You Forgive Her, and it does contain a range of dead-funky dance moves my aging back can only contemplate. I’ll keep it for my dotage as an aid-de-memoir.
Actually what I might do is take the tele, DVD player and 5.1 surround sound speakers down to the Bowl next weekend and see if I can re-create one of the best gigs ever.
Rating: Four and a half West End Girls
Filed under: Belle and Sebastian, Depeche Mode, Morrissey, Music, Pet Shop Boys
As the multinational petrochemical company has announced my execution and I have enetered the ‘dead man walking’ phase of my employment with the dear company, I have found myself becoming far to serious. So, for my own amusement I am going to regail readers some of my favourite song lyrics. Either they make me laugh, make me think, or they are good to fuck to.
Here they are in no particular order;
Flamboyant – Pet Shop Boys
To look so loud
may be considered tacky
Collectors wear black clothes
by Issey Miyake
The Blues are Still Blue – Belle and Sebastian
She’s getting off the plane
She wants to write a thesis on the population underprivileged
The kids fighting up the lane
Shop lifting, just drifting
Like The Switchblade And The Cross
But if there’s trouble she’s got the moves
She’s taking an elementary class in Kung Fu
Blasphemous Rumours – Depeche Mode
I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumours
But I think that God’s got a sick sense of humor
And when I die I expect to find Him laughing
The Last of the Famous International Playboys – Morrissey
I never wanted to kill
I AM NOT NATURALLY EVIL
Such things I do
Just to make myself
More attractive to you
HAVE I FAILED?
I’ll post more as the mental jukebox kicks in and I contemplate selling The Big Issue.
Filed under: ALP, Australia, Bono, Daniel Johns, Humour, Liberal, Malcolm Turnbull, Music, Peter Garrett, Politics, Silverchair
There were two events in Australia recently which had people decending into apoplexy. The first loccurred last Sunday night when Peter Helliar during the Rove television programme on Chanel Ten, made a joke about Pamela Anderson having Hepatitis C. It wasn’t a particularly funny joke, but the reaction to it was hysterical. Helen Tyrrel, chief executive of Hepatitis Australia, decried the joke as ‘irresponsible’ and a ‘cheap laugh’.
Later in the week, Silverchair’s lead singer Daniel Johns made a joke on Triple J radio about sharing a joint with Bono and Peter Garrett. It did not happen. But even fantasy is now reported as news, with environment minister Malcolm Turnbull’s office adding petrol to the fire by sending an email to journalists in the Canberra press gallery alerting them to John’s misfired joke.
To be fair, Turnbull’s office recalled the email citing ‘keyboard error’, but it was too late. The pot had already been smoked, err stirred.
These two incidents have created a media storm in what surely must be the smallest teacup ever. They were off the cuff comments that made national headlines. Australia, you’ve lost your sense of humour.
I found this on the net. I do not know who drew it, however as it is so funny I am posting it without attribution.
If I died last night I would have died a happy man as I saw the Pet Shop Boys headline the Best of V Festival in Melbourne. It was an extraordinary evening, with magnificent music and dreadful event management. And what could have been sour was soon forgotten with stellar performance by support artists Gnarls Barkly and Groove Armada.
But for me it was all about the Pet Shop Boys, as I suspect it was for the huge number of flamboyant men present at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl.
Singer Neil Tennant said at the start of the phenomenal Pet Shop Boys set that they would play some electronic music for us. And they did, and it went off, and I went off, and the crowd went off. It was quite simply amazing, and by far the best live event that I have ever been to.
It has struck me in the past few days as I hyped myself up for last night’s frenzy, that as well as writing simply beautiful and fantastic electropop, that the Pet Shop Boys are the funniest, most ironic, witty and erudite band around. Not bad for a couple of Geordies who have been plying their trade since 1981.
With twenty-six years of music and countless hits under their belt it was bound to be a big night with a set list that could only disappoint by omission. The Pet Shop Boys whipped the punters into a frenzy as they trawled through their lengthy back catalogue, and by the time they performed It’s a Sin and Go West the crowd were completely crack-a-dog. I wasn’t, as I had started to unravel with Minimal and got messier and messier from there. Not that the people standing next to me seemed to mind, well apart from that sour-faced bitch who shooed me away. But she was miserable and I wasn’t and I was dancin’! Actually, I should take this opportunity to again apologise to the nice lady I king-hit from behind. I really didn’t mean it, but by the end (and I cannot remember exactly which song it was that sent me right off), I just couldn’t contain myself much longer.
Really, it was very funny. I had absolutely no knowledge that body contact had been made but slowly became aware that the woman in front of me was leaning forward and rubbing her head. It was then that it dawned on me that she had been hit and that I was the only one who could have thumped her. She was a real sport and accepted my apology with grace, unlike that sour-faced bitch standing next to me. And sweetie if you are reading this, one piece of advice, stay home and watch Dancing with the Stars next time, if real people doing real dancing, doesn’t appeal to you.
The setlist as I remember it and gathered from the internet appears below.
Left to my own devices
Suburbia
Can you forgive her?
Minimal
Shopping
Opportunities (Let’s make lots of money)
Integral
Paninaro
Se a vida é (That’s the way life is)
Domino Dancing
Always on my mind
Where the streets have no name/I can’t take my eyes off you
West End Girls
The Sodom and Gomorrah Show
Encore:
So Hard
It’s a sin
Go West
Sometimes songs just sink in.
New Order’s Blue Monday is one such song.
I wish I wrote it.
So how does it make me feel? Happy, I guess.
It is the undercurrent of something else that makes me feel like I do.
Yeah, it makes me feel good. And no, I’m not mistaken.
How does it feel
To treat me like you do
When youve laid your hands upon me
And told me who you are
I thought I was mistaken
I thought I heard your words
Scissor Sisters are way cool. And so am I!One way or another we are all Scissor Sisters, and I had the pleasure of again seeing them at the craptacular Vodafone Arena here in Melbourne on Friday. I was ever so excited, and only a little disappointed as the sound at Vodafone Arena was dreadful. It reverberated off the walls and to my ears it was muddy. That said though; Jake Shears and Ana Matronic put on a damn fine show.
They bounce, prance, strut and sing. And then of course there are the songs. Whether it is the Bee Gees that they are channelling, or Brian Ferry and Roxy Music, the music is energetic and fairly hums along.
I had a great time, improved by chemicals and expectation. I was also told that at one stage I was swaggering. Oh God bless Ecstasy, it allows me to be what I struggle to be.
For me the highlight was a rocky version of Take Your mama Out, but most of the crowd went crack-a-dog to I don’t feel like dancin‘.
Whatever – they danced, they sang, we danced, we sang and it was great. 
