Quaint ramblings and occasional reflections of a journeying Aussie musician...

27 April 2006

Stereotypes

My dad used to by the odd lottery ticket now and then, or go place some bets on the horses on a Saturday afternoon, and so in a similar vein, to break up the routine, I bought a copy of Esquire magazine this morning. Apparently there's some tips in there on how to be a perfect gentleman, as well as some revealing (but not pornographic) pictures of big busty blonde chicks. I'm appreciative of women in all their beautiful forms, but sometimes....and then I was thinking that this is kind of contradictory of me really....
Ever since I can remember, I've built up this stereotype in my head of the guys that get all the girls. Back in home town in rural New South Wales, it was the footy jocks, all built up like stockings full of chestnuts in their blue and white Coota Bulldogs jackets, not-real-bright-but-can-lift-big-weights, some small dolled up platinum blonde accompaniment by their side. Those guys seemed to get all the hot girls in town looking at them. I felt about ten thousand light years away....
In Canberra they were still around, but their presence was a lot less stifling as there were new and different people to meet who were into other things like books and music and compound sentences....
So it happened that this breed seemed to vanish out of my general milieu for a while....then D-Funk and I went out for his birthday at my favourite club in town last year. They were everywhere! battalions of them, just in a slightly different form....spiked up hair, collared white or stripey shirt, blue jeans, chiseled jaw, some sort of arrogant look....and sure enough, there were the accompaniments, by their sides.
So then, how can I despise that male stereotype so much, that apparently gets all the girls, have my own things that I look for in women, and still have my head turned by the latest vacant-eyed stereotyped bombshell on a magazine cover?
That male stereotype is all crap anyway....all you gotta do is dress right, talk right, laugh and a smile, and it's a start. And of course, why would I want to go for girls that are after Mr Brainless Human Sandbag anyway?
I'm Oz, professional musician, in central London, I can converse with people reasonably well on a wide variety of subjects, I dress all right.....I like to think I have a couple of things going for me, and yet out there on my horizon there's nobody. None at all.
But then again, in the near future, that could change....

20 April 2006

At the Gay Bar....

Went to a gay bar last night....

At this point (ahem), as an Australian male from country New South Wales, I must strongly reaffirm to you all my staunch heterosexuality....okay, now that's done....

Whenever your correspondent feels a little despondent, he usually ends up stumbling into some drunken adventure which can take him further into despondency or perhaps out of it. New housemate Luka really wanted me to come out with her workmates to see some guy sing at Heaven....haven't been out much lately so I thought I'd give it a go. The club thing isn't my scene really, but it's good every once in a while to stick your head out of the usual runaround.....

Felt a little out of place with all these rowdy waiters and waitresses as we walked down from TGI Fridays to Traf Square. Shyed away from the bouncer vibe...bully human dogs in black. I guess a gay bar would need them....

Weaving between tall black drag queens and pretty boy couples, we found the VIP room easy enough and watched Luka's workmate strut his stuff....yeah, whatever.....I wasn't there for the music, I guess I was there for a bit of a different vibe. Restaurant gigs to City Boys and their trophy wives is one of the workplaces which for the moment I'll be happy to do for the rest of my days, but as a crowd they're dead boring and pretty arrogant. Here at least was a different crowd, different scene....

Made me think of all the classic old hangs that we hear about through Jazz history....Congo Square, Storyville, the solo piano cutting contests in New York of the 20s, the bebop scene of the late 40s, Cuba in the 50s (that must have been something else!), the hippie thing of the 60s, even disco in the 70s. With the exception of the last one, all those places were amazing moments in world musical history, but they would also have been incredible places to meet amazing characters and get into adventures of the night. What made me think of it was that all this that I was seeing openly displayed before me, in London's biggest gay club, would all have been there in those places too, as it always has throughout human history, but it all would have been hidden, suggested....

It was a Wednesday night and the place was pumping. Asking directions from a shirtless waiter, on the way to the toilets I realised that I wouldn't have to make the distinction between male and female, as round here there didn't seem to be one!...

Surveyed the scene a little....Luka and other housemate X who I was there with said that talking to girls would be all right in a gay bar because they're a lot less defensive, but then on looking around and seeing all the ladies with other ladies, I was still a little reluctant....

Throughout the labyrinth of it all, I eventually ran into Luka again, and as we propped up the aluminium bar and paid over three quid for pints of Carlsburg in plastic cups, she got all heavy on me again about finding love. Ah, the intrigue of the strangers you live with....a fellow cruise-ship dweller for a time, on the last day of her contract she came across in the crew library a book in Hungarian (her native language) about ancient Greek mythology. The crew libraries on board are places where the ever-transient crew leave books behind for others to enjoy, perhaps the only real traces of a communal vibe among all that corporateness.

She opened it to a random page and found a picture of Eros, the love god, and so she has kind of adopted this identity...there was a section about how Eros is always finding love for others but never for herself. She's gone in to this rave a few times now - quite remarkable really, just opening up to me like that and we've only known each other a couple of weeks. At the end of the day I guess we're all looking for somebody, battling against the loneliness....I knew I wasn't going to find anyone in that place, so I did what I do....I got my big grey coat from the cloakroom, wrapped myself up in it, and charged off to the night buses.

And sure enough, woke up this morning and felt strangely happy with everything. Maybe it was the mention of the Caribbean...everyone I've ever met from there has been so amazing with the charisma and charm and people skills...the kind of people that make you feel good about yourself. Gotta get back there one day...

And of course, any troubles that I may have are always framed within the plight of four billion of my fellow inhabitants of this tiny crystal ball who are living in poverty, living in far worse conditions than my own charmed little muso life. But then here in the Western world, with all our weapons of mass distraction, with the media continually telling us how privileged we are among the citizens of the world, it can still be so difficult to pull one's head out of it all and marvel at how good we really have it. I've always found that a bit strange....

18 April 2006

Cornwall

Just got back from a top weekend away in the most beautiful region I've seen yet. All my tripping so far has been to cities, so it was great to get back out among the rolling fields and near to the ocean.
Setting off early Thursday with my trusty travel mates (the loverliest, most easygoing people to holiday with you could ever meet), we took the hirecar west from Heathrow and into the hinterland. Got out of London okay, but about an hour into the trek the traffic was nuts, so we decided to stop off by a little circle of rocks just off the highway.
The aspect of Stonehenge that is missed in all the photos you see of it is not the thing itself but the commanding position it takes in the valley in which it is situated. Didn't know before I saw it that there are burial mounds around the whole site, so amidst all the questions among my party as to where and why and how, it seemed apparent that it was the ancient relation between the dead and the stars (a la Pyramids, Angkor Wat and others). With the peacefulness of the surrounding countryside, it definitely looked like some sort of grand resting place for important people of the time.
Pressing on, getting somehow lost in Exeter, I fell asleep sometime in the middle of Devon to awake to an extraordinarily sight. As the A30 weaved in and among the rolling hills, always so green, a beam of sunlight occasionally broke through the textured grey ceiling above us and cast its light upon a truly beautiful end of this island. As I returned to full consciousness, the road passed a clump of tall white windmills, a sight more akin to the countryside of the Netherlands, strangely graceful in all their clockwise glory. The landscape was punctuated further down the way by the old smokehouses. From foreground to horizon, they were littered in amongst farms and villages, everpresent remnants of Cornwall's mining past.
Pulling up at what I assume to be a really nice hostel (this trip was to pop my hostel cherry), we walked into Penzance, sought out some fish and chips and pulled up a park bench aside the bay. While waiting at the cafe for my plaice, I couldn't help but notice for the first time the Isles of Scilly, a clump of dots on the map about 30 miles into the ocean from Lands End. Later on, down at the pub at the end of the street, we met a friendly old guy at the bar who ended up being a font of information about the local area. Previously the mayor at one stage, I mentioned my surname and he mentioned three other Guy's he'd known over the years from these same islands. Hmm, the plot thickens!....
First day's trekking was to New Quay, one of the many nice little towns along the coast. Got some good pics, but I have to say I wasn't totally enthralled. There's a gigantic Walkabout overlooking the main beach, and when we ascended to the high road it was crammed with trinkets and silly t-shirt stores. Still, it was magnificent to finally see the Atlantic again, this time from it's eastern shores.
Saturday night saw us pull up a fine pub meal down by the bay before I managed to convince two of the four of my colleagues to hunt out the late night vibe in town, which found us dancing like monkeys in some sparsely populated upstairs barn presumably run by the local Lithuanian mafia (some of which I talked to at the bar, one of which faced me off for a while!). I went up to the DJ requesting some salsa and was given bright fluoro-coloured pop compilations in Russian! Or maybe I really was that drunk?
On the way home we decided to scale the fence at the park at the end of the street to be told off by some woman sitting inside the barbecue area, the brick and concrete adding a strange mythical witch-like effect to her voice as we ran off home.
I couldn't help wonder if I found Cornwall to be so beautiful not only because it actually was, but because of the ancestral connection. Part of my reason for coming was to visit the street in the village where my great grandfather was born, and so on Sunday morning, J-Sax and I caught a cab to Carn View Terrace, Upper Boscaswell, about fifteen minutes away.
Among the mists rolling in from the hill, we kind of stumbled on it by accident. A simple country laneway lined by tiny houses. I don't know what I was expecting, but we did a lap and then went on into the village. Left to our own devices while the others were off, I decided to press on down the hill to the Geevor mine. This and the Levant, a little further up the coast, was apparently where my family used to work as tin miners in the mid 19th century. As we entered the complex, it was amazing to look back at the village....none of this train in from your bedroom community two hours away....back in those days, you lived and worked in the same spot.
After a Devonshire tea with scones and and jam and gluttinous amounts of clotted cream (local specialty - I never knew!), we proceeded down to the cliffs, where the blue Atlantic engulfs one's vision. Walking west along what used to be the mine, we came across more old smokehouses, and with each one the view got more and more astoundingly beautiful. It added something to it too, the fact that my family worked these mines. This is where they were from.
About the fourth chimney along we looked down at the Levant mine. Much smaller than the Geevor, it seemed to sit on some sort of ledge between cliff edge and water, and I suddenly had a visual flashback to a watercolour on the side of the bookshelf in my grandfather's study. I'm guessing our family worked this one too.
We eventually got to about the fourth or fifth chimney, some sitting atop buildings, some just sticking out of the grounds, and united with our other travelling companions, we pulled up for lunch on a rocky outcrop from which we could see the whole thing. What a magnificent view! Such vivid green rolling down cliffs into the white spray and then striking blue. And the orange brick of the chimneys - incredible that the idea of them being there was so man-made, so foreign, and yet they looked like they had been always been there, would always be, gracefully disintegrating into the landscape. Drinking in the view, taking as many photos as I possibly could, I didn't want to leave. Undoubtedly the highlight of my weekend.
We drove along the coast up towards St Ives, a charming little seaside town, the best I'd seen so far. Big old beach right there in town, promenade, big green headland around to another beach, the works! And for Easter weekend, not as packed as one would think. Met up with some mates of J-Sax and drank into the night, but a bit more civilised this time around.
Monday morning saw us ferry over to St Michael's Mount, former castle monastery thingy, for a bit of a a wander. Incredible history, and got to walk back to shore over the causeway at lunchtime's low tide. The drive back was agony - it took us about ten hours all up to get back to Heathrow to return the hire car, and then another two to get home. A small time to waste though for an awesome weekend away.
After all that peacefully quiet civilised countryside and small townedness, with people actually taking time to talk to you and be polite and such, I clambered aboard the last bus home from Ladbroke Grove, and was immediately a little startled at the Londoner vibe. It had only been a few days!....

13 April 2006

"Feed the birds...."

I thought it was snow at first, but the warmer spring weather wouldn't have it....little seedlings from some far off unknown plant were drifting aimlessly down Chancery Lane towards me as I strode toward the bank.
Standing at the teller window, I started to realise how incredibly aware I was today of...well....everything. I had come to the High Holborn branch to pay my National Insurance self-employment contribution, about two quid a week, backdated through the past three months. An amount I was unconcerned with, but yet another seemingly useless bill to pay in this country nevertheless.
The new teller left momentarily, and whilst looking behind me along the queue that streched almost out the door....
"But I want to keep my tuppence...I want it to feed the birds!"
"Fiddlesticks, boy..."
What am I paying this stupid bill for? Why don't I run off down the street and feed the birds. St Pauls is only a couple of blocks away, maybe the old woman would be there.....
The cultural references got me straightaway when I got here....I can't walk past Covent Garden piazza without seeing Audrey Hepburn yelling "Aaaaaooowww" and careering down a flower cart.....
"Hello gorgeous"
At the next window, chiseled, spiky haired City Boy in the cheap grey pinstripe suit next to me is trying to raise a smile from Rowena the large-breasted teller in the red top, to kill the boredom of a mundane bank run on a warm Thursday afternoon.....
I discover myself playing with paper clip on the counter.....piped radio tells us all of the latest media tale of gloom, an old woman found dead in her home after two years.....wonder how many days the rags will milk that one, maybe a week if we're lucky....
"I read the news today oh boy...."
Was it that second coffee with D-Funk this morning? Or is it my appointment this evening in Ladbroke Grove with the gorgeous Hungarian girl who can't speak a word of the Queen's tongue.....
Yes, gentle readers, after some encouraging comments from various parties, I decided to text her up last night from the gig and see what she would be doing tonight. "Meet her near your place," said CL as she drove me home afterwards.....
And why, while wearing the poker face through the afternoon, while surfing the torrent of blood and adrenaline running through my veins, is there always that hint of melancholy about the whole thing? Bloody artistic types!....
Bill paid. I stride back out into the light.....

12 April 2006

Lost In Translation

Took a girl on a date yesterday. Met her through new housemate J - gorgeous, a bit shy, very cute. Musos put a lot of stock into judging books by their covers, or rather, certain chapters of the book perhaps, and I'm starting to see that most of the time that it's generally spot on. And so I could tell by looking into her eyes that she was a lovely person, maybe even my kind of girl....
The Catch? Doesn't speak English. Been in the country a couple of weeks - barely a word.
A fool's errand, you might be asking? Probably....I thought it'd be a laugh, some fun, and since there's not much else going on in your humble correspondent's love life....this girl is clearly fresh off the boat, so I thought I'd show her some love.
Ducking in from the drizzle into Tinderbox on Upper Street, I coudn't believe it....I've been coming to this place on and off for a year and for the first time ever, a pair of the airline seats up the back were free.....surely a good omen.
Phrasebooks and a notepad were quickly fished out. No usual conversational paranoia here (What to say? Where to take it?.....Oh no, a silence!!), as her average sentence construction time was about five minutes. I calmly flicked through a magazine while she took longer than seemed necessary to look up words like 'but' and 'therefore'.
So it was tough at first, yes, but eventually we got into talking about where she lived and what work she was looking for, and there was definitely something in those dark eyes and smile....gorgeous body.....drizzle outside....it's all right, you're doing all right, just be cool and you're fine....
Excusing myself to get another drink, I carried the ponderous-looking hot chocolate back to the table to find a couple of rather direct questions on the notepad. It seemed that one minute we were talking about public transport and sharehousing and the next minute she's asking me whether I'm interested in her. You know what they say about doing one thing a day that scares you?....."You done it this time, champ," I said to myself...
So I thought what the hell and I told her I liked her, just to see what happened, and we started talking about relationships and past loves and such. It seemed that when I was at my best, she couldn't understand, but when I perhaps sounded not as eloquent as preferred, she seemed to understand entirely. I have to say though, on the subject matter she was quite a cool customer, perhaps more so than I.
Finally realising the ridiculousness of the situation, I went to wind it all up (the phrase 'just good friends' was used) and went to leave....walking her to her bus-stop though, in another random moment of spoken clarity she asked me when she could see me again, leaving me trudging off into the back streets of Islington not really knowing where I stood.

Ah me, is there any hope....

06 April 2006

I Live By The River...

So like I said yesterday, my preliminary inquiries into staying here weren't sounding too fruitful. But instead of getting wound up about it all like I usually would, I got a kind of reticence (right word?) about it all. As I stepped off the bus at the back of Camden markets and walked past the Cafe At The End Of The World, I started thinking to myself, what if my days here are drawing to a close. Eleven months away, sure, but there's a time limit to all this?
I met Mr N at the little bridge that ascends out of the goth murk of Camden town and into Primrose Hill, one of the nicest parts of central London (a boutique suburb I suppose one could call it). It's so typical of this town - you might be walking for blocks through crap and then turn a corner and it's all gorgeous (Kilburn High Road to Maida Vale comes to mind). Celebs abound in this cute little urban village, although as Mr N and I wandered up the little boutique high street, none seemed to appear. I remember reading about some Jude Law wifeswapping scandal back in the day....
We got to the end of the street and climbed the steep green hill, and it was astouding...why have I never seen this place before? It was 7.30pm but the sun hadn't set yet (love the long dusks in this country), and the night was really clear, so you could see the whole thing spread before you, all the way out to Canary Wharf. Primrose Hill is now officially one of my new favourite places in London.
Tangent time - the other day I went to THE best cafe in London, hands down. 'Flat White' on Berwick Street, Soho - open wood floor, earthy colours, warm vibe, run by Aussies, and undoubtedly the best coffee here by far. It was uncanny - I ordered a pumpkin and fetta ciabatta, which is what I used to get at Ray's back in Brunswick. Come to think of it, the place seemed to have a bit of a Melbs vibe to it.....
Back to Primrose Hill - repairing to the nearest pub (of which there's a bunch of great ones nearby), I raved on with all my usual stuff, but also was wondering about Melbourne. I suppose that on my grand return to the homeland (whenever that is), it'll be back to the city by the bay, and I started thinking about how it would all be - eating my pasta at Mario's, taking my coffee from Lygon St Food Store, dodgy Latin gigs north and south, get some band together (finally) of my own and do weirdo electronica gigs on Brunnie Street, find some teaching - have my nice little Melbourne muso life.
The place is gonna seem like a VILLAGE compared to this grumbling grimy urban maelstrom I live in now!
No, not just yet, my friends. I've got almost a year to go here, and I'm not bailing without a fight. I went through so much just to get here and set myself up, turn it around from a disaster to a success, and London wouldn' t expect anything less from me. And if it doesn't work out, then probably some more travel, maybe another cruise ship before hitting the places I really want to go (New York, Havana, Brazil), before the great return.
Funny that all that whingeing I did about this place in previous blog entries, that all now seems to be drifting away....
Seeing Primrose Hill for the first time was yet another reminder of all the stuff there is to do here that I haven't done yet (art galleries, museums, walks etc). But that's the common thread through all the opinions of everyone I've talked to about this place - there's so much to do, and you'll never see all of it. If I only have eleven months to go here, then I definitely intend to make the most of it....

05 April 2006

Sun is Shining....

....the weather is sweet man / Makes you wanna move your dancin' feet...

Just learnt the other day that Bob Marley started his career here in London, used to live down in Brixton somewhere, fancy that....

It won't be two jackets every day for long, my friends! Still a distinct chill in the air, but that pale white light is growing stronger by the hour....
In other random news, we got someone to fill the room from (gasp) the general public who (bigger gasp) is not crazy and (even bigger gasp) is actually a great person...female, a little older than I, super-easygoing, from Hungary (so international element, always good), and lots of fun to be around. We didn't get many calls from the ad and my friends fell through, but then on Thursday I get the call and by that evening it was all sorted - nice one, if I do say so myself!
The first stage of my little musical project was completed last Friday. While it may not come to fruition, it was SOOO good working on my own thing, first time ever I think, and not be some frustrated lapdog to maniacs.
Speaking of which, in other music news, the diary is looking a little spare in the next few weeks, but I did the first Brazilian band with the dancing girls the other night...had my head buried in the charts, but I know now I gotta learn them quick, for a couple of reasons! Got three or four coming up with them soon, which should be a trip....
Just started looking into staying here beyond my visa (expiring in February next year). At first glance, it's looking pretty tricky given various aspects of my situation, so if anyone out there in Cyberland has any bright ideas (and I'm not talking about ancestry or marriage/de facto, although the thought of walking down Oxford St wearing a sandwich board with 'Pleeze Marry Me English Birds' spraypainted on it hasn't escaped my mind)...
I gotta couple of 'editorials' on the way, so if there's not much h'exciting happening then I'll launch them your way....back to the sun I suppose!....