~ peripatetic insile

Last night, after catching the final train home from a dreamy night at Cherry watching Steve Kilbey and Ricky Maymi's enigmatic tribute to the mysterious David Neal (in addition to a beautiful set from some unnamed Triffid remnants and a session of ab-zen counseling over liqueur coffee) my sleep was profound and my spirit rose through the upper airs into the realms of the firmament. Here, to my deepest consternation, I witnessed the consumption of a pleasant green world by a Peripatetic Insile (a species of ravenous space-faring gastropod).


The next morning Polly removed a tennis ball from our new pond (a sunken claw-foot bath) turned it over and discovered this peculiar long-tailed slug-like larvum.

~ wry

I’ve had a good week. My grant proposal for Ambergris (the play I’ve been battling with for a few years now) was accepted by the Victorian Arts Ministry. It’s been a long time since I’ve attempted one of these and, towards the end of the tram-ride to Brunswick for the announcements, I’d more or less convinced myself there was no way I was going to get it. As a result, when I found my name on the list (coupled with the descriptor 'Mt Waverley') I practically fainted. I couldn’t have been more excited if I’d won a Nobel Prize.

Speaking of prizes, if you’re in need of some comprehensive entertainment, watch Steve Kilbey’s acceptance speech for The Church’s induction into the Aria Hall of Fame. Quel raconteur! (I could only find it on facebook, but it must exist elsewhere)

Speaking of Mt Waverley, it’s the time of bleating baby magpies. A family of these birds has staked a place in the peppermint gum outside my study window, and their child is incorrigible. Three times I had to go out there today with a broomstick. There is also a nest of brown thornbills, smaller than sparrows, whose trills and tweets are completely charming.

I had what amounted to a panic attack in a crowded Vic Roads office today. I think I was experiencing flashbacks of jail. The guy behind the counter looked like a screw - thick-set and crewcut - and he had me utterly flustered trying to explain the identity of the person from whom I was trying to transfer ownership of my new car... It was horrible. But Polly wants to marry a mango-tree when she grows up, and I suppose that’s positive. Also, there is at least one kid at her school who is allergic to band-aids. Go figure. Additionally, on the radio, I believe I heard an advertisement for a model of car called an Autobiography. If I wasn’t dreaming, that’s got to be strong indicator of the social climate.

On Saturday night, accompanied by my exotic Japanese friend M, I went to The Old Bar to see Harry Howard and The Near Death Experience. It was raining torrentially and the atmosphere in the place was a little wanting, but they were far from. They were kind of... curious, intriguing, definitively offbeat. I couldn’t possibly think of anything with which to compare them. They were far more rhythm than melody, with a kind of weird, elusive 60’s pop influence, or something ... and though their songs were concerned with death, sickness, hate and so forth, the prevailing mood was, well, wry. But then, I guess, any band containing Harry Howard could not fail to be wry. It was also good to watch Claire Moore’s drumming. I haven’t seen her do that for an aeon.

By the way, here's the cover art for the forthcoming CD from The Ears. And yes, after a strictly commercial decision, it's called Dogs in Space.

~ exquisite corpse

For the first time in a very long time, I've sat down, picked up a guitar and written a song. I'm not sure what to blame it on. Perhaps a reduction in some of my medications ... More likely the gig I attended Saturday night at Ding Dong. I really enjoyed the simple, straight ahead style of SK and Ricky Maymi from the Brian Jonestown Massacre. And this after spending ninety minutes entirely inert on stage imitating a corpse in a show called The Real Inspector Hound. (I suffered some exquisite torture during that seemingly endless play, and learned some very dark secrets about myself.)

Since the Crystal Ballroom show, The Ears have been rehearsing fortnightly at our drummer Carl's place, and enjoying it mightily - though I expect we'd get more achieved if alcohol consumption levels were reduced just a tad.

We're generating new songs too. About four or five since our recohesion. I was a little leery about this at first, thinking of the Ears as some ancient artefact which audiences wouldn't want to see change. But I've altered my thinking. Against the odds we've become a living band again, and living bands produce new material. Also, in these latter days, wonderfully, it doesn't seem to matter what inestimable age you might reach - you just keep going till you drop.

So about this song I've written. Those creatures of the upper air, who pass through my dreams, leaving clues for plots and dialogue and melodies, have intimated strongly that its title should be Basking Shark ...

We'll breed a Basking Shark for you.

A last! A Basking Shark for you

I do worry that it might seem obscure, inaccessible, even meaningless. I know I have a tendency to alienate potential listeners, readers, what have you, with my love for the arcane, but trust me, I have integrated the basking shark into the lyrics in a way that makes good and proper sense, that may even, ultimately, tug on your heart strings.

Anyway here's a photo of Donald, Nurin and I at Ding Dong last Saturday night

~ images from sails of oblivion - the gig

Some fabulous shots from Sunday at the Corner by Andrew McDougall. These ones are mainly of me, apparently, with pictures of Sean's Kelly's cameo and sword swallower Baroness Micha at the end. Andrew's Flickr album is here, and includes excellent photos of Hugo Race, Brian Hooper, Steve Kilbey, Nick Barker and all the sainted souls to who I am so thoroughly indebted so for helping me out. Not forgetting, of course, Dolores San Miguel, David Bridie, Chris Walsh, Andrew Park, Simon Polinski, Mark Gason, Mick Lewis, Cathy McQuade, Kerri Simpson, Carl Manuell, Bryan Colechin, Angus Hooper, Osker, Jo, Michaelangelo, Snicket The Wonder Dog and any performers I've forgotten and every last living soul who came on the day. Eternal gratitude.

~ childen of the ear

If you know anyone whose interest might be piqued by the Sails of Oblivion gig, feel free to forward this e-bill.

And to quote original keyboardist Gus Till's reaction:

"I recall you telling me that when the name 'The Ears' was decided upon it was also unanimously accepted as bleedin' obvious that it should never ever be mentioned that under NO circumstances would a picture of an ear ever be involved with anything ever associated with aforesaid group! But in one eye and out the other, the passage time of time has nullified this once unbreachable position.

But the ear of god? I like it!!"

~ artwork - Sails of Oblivion: The Gig

~ Sails of Oblivion: The Gig: press release

After 25 years, legendary Melbourne art-punks The Ears revisit the past for a once only gig on Sunday afternoon August 16 at The Corner Hotel Richmond.

Though strictly a Melbourne phenomenon in their time, The Ears gained wider notoriety as the template for Richard Lowenstein’s cult movie Dogs in Space. The lead character, played by Michael Hutchence of INXS, was closely based on Ears singer Sam Sejavka, and the song Dogs in Space was lifted from The Ears playlist.

Appearing on the same afternoon is an impressive list of eighties contemporaries.

The Church’s Steve Kilbey is coming down from Sydney. The Brian Hooper Band is playing. Also Hugo Race (True Spirit, Wreckery), Nick Barker (Reptiles, Wreckery) and David Bridie with Phil Wales (Not Drowning Waving, My Friend The Chocolate Cake). Sean Kelly (The Models) is performing with his new band.

The esoteric Ollie Olsen (Max Q, Whirlywirld) is DJ for the event and hard core comedian Greg Fleet is MC. The show is being organised by the evergreen Dolores San Miguel, renowned promoter of the Crystal Ballroom and The Exford Hotel.

Most of these artists all have their roots in the same period, and have all made an impact on the Australian stage and beyond. Sails of Oblivion presents a unique opportunity for fans not only of the performers themselves, but of the fabulous Melbourne music scene of the early eighties.

The Ears are represented by most of the original line up [Sam Sejavka, (vocals) Mick Lewis, (guitar) Carl Manuel (drums)]. Chris Walsh [The Moodists, The Fabulous Marquises, The Great Temptation] is standing in on bass and Andrew Park [deepspacemusic, Ash Wednesday's Modern Jazz] on keyboards. Original bassist/vocalist Cathy McQuade will be down from Sydney and, while not playing bass, will be reprising her vocal parts. Chanteuse Kerry Simpson will also be doing some back-ups.

The fortnight preceding Sails of Oblivion is that of the Melbourne Film Festival, during which Richard Lowenstein is celebrating the long-awaited DVD release of Dogs in Space [Aug 1], as well as We're Living on Dog Food [Aug 2], a documentary on the film and the scene surrounding it. Sails of Oblivion: The Gig will give fans of the movie the chance to see some of the truth behind the fiction.

In the column on the right are links to the Ears09 Twitter feed, the gig's facebook page, the Corner Hotel [for booking] and other stuff too.

Sails of Oblivion – Sunday August 16, 3-8pm, The Corner Hotel, Swan St, Richmond.

Contact: 94279198

~ spider sac

Circumstances have forced me back into that most cruel of tasks: selling books on Ebay. I have reassumed the identity of ‘Lampsucker’ and am diligently slaving away, as I expect to be for at least the next year.

While burrowing through my stock the other day, I found the egg sack of a spider attached to an Isabel Allende biography. Though it was slightly torn, it seemed quite full, so I investigated further, to find it was filled with tiny spherical eggs of a light green colour.



The eggs seemed to have crystallised. If you crush a crystal of sugar under the end of a spoon you are left with the same type of powder residue I was left with when I crushed one of these eggs. Only pale green instead of white.

I’m pretty certain the sac was the work of a huntsman of the holconia group – the species which most commonly inhabits houses here in Melbourne. They produce ‘a flat, oval egg sac of white papery silk, and lay up to 200 eggs’. Well there were about fifty eggs in this one, but otherwise it fits the facts. Also the ‘spiderlings are pale brown or green in colour’, so perhaps this was one of the green batches.

I was also surprised to learn that huntsmen have lifespans of about two years.



The other possibility was the dreaded white-tail (Lampona cylindrata or Lampona murina). Its saccing habits were described thus: ‘they make temporary silk retreats and spin disc-shaped egg sacs which contain as many as 90 eggs’. I saw no evidence of a silk retreat and there was nothing particularly disc-like about the sac

But I did learn something interesting.

My wife hates white-tails with a passion and is always checking Polly’s sheets for them. (They like clean linen.) Her mother, Di, was bitten once and reacted very badly, perhaps experiencing the necrosis that their bites are said to cause. I have spoken to a woman who claimed a white-tail bite caused her to lose two years of her life in the mists of chronic fatigue syndrome. Without really thinking about it, feeble sceptic that I am, I was quite prepared to believe that these spider bites could cause seeping wounds that never heal – a condition named "necrotising arachnidism". (“Occasionally, the reaction is so severe that the person loses large amounts of skin and needs extensive skin grafts.”)

It appears this is something of an urban myth or at least a vast exaggeration.

I myself first heard of white-tails around the time my wife moved in, around 2000, and it surprised me that I’d been ignorant of such a seemingly perilous threat. And apparently it has only been since the 1980s that reports of severe skin lesions have been reported.

Here are a few random quotes from the web:

A recent study has monitored the medical outcomes of over 100 verified White-tailed Spider bites and found not a single case of ulceration (confirming the results of an earlier study). www.austmus.gov.au

The University of Adelaide’s Clinical Toxinology Resources (www.toxinology.com) have an excellent run down of the venoms of all sorts of Aussie fauna and their effects. The entry on white-tails says that necrosis “does not occur, based on current clinical evidence”. bencruachan.org

Bites from these spiders have been reported to cause necrosis (decomposition of the skin). This has only been verified in 14 spider bites over the past 10 years, and none of the victims could confirm the type of spider responsible. This reaction is considered to be rare. However, bacteria on the fangs of the spiders may cause severe infection or other allergic reactions.

I’m getting the feeling that the white tail thing has been blown out of proportion. In their favour, they’re an arachnovore, hunting other spiders (like red-backs and daddy-long-legs) for food.

*

If you’ve stayed with me this long, you might be interested to know that there’s been some movement on the Save Sam’s Neck effort, coming principally from my guru to the north, Steve Kilbey. I was thinking about arranging a theatrical-style benefit, that being the scene I move in these days, but Steve’s suggested, and offered to be part of, a musical benefit.

It’s early days yet, but it will probably be in August and legendary promoter Dolores San Miguel has offered a hand. Also, unless the sky falls in, The Ears will be doing a reformation.

I’ll leave you with this still by Marc Morel from The Goitre Birds, performed at Snatches a little over a week ago.

~ the worm princess

Drawing is one of Polly's preferred activities. She does it as soon as she gets up, hunching her back over the paper while the kids' shows play, barely noticed, on the telly; and as a mess of lidless textas, pastels and glitter pens steadily collects around her. The depth of her concentration is really encouraging, and if she has inherited any of her mother's native talent, then she'll really have something going. As if she doesn't already ...


She's excited about learning to write and lately she's been incorporating text into her pictures. And a little less pink. And crowns. Suddenly everyone is wearing a crown. It's good to watch the little fascinations come and go ...


What I like most are the feet and fingers. And the way she draws the hair. And I really like the fact that anyone looking at these pictures will think she's a happy, well-balanced child, which of course she is - but being an unbalanced, depressive father [with an unbalanced depressive wife to boot] I can't help but worry. I know I needn't. Polly has had a powerful destiny from day one. My only job is to step out of the way.


PS: I was privileged to observe Steve Kilbey on RocKwiz last night. I'd forgotten how rarified an aesthete he is. Poised between a couple of lumpen music nerds, deploying his subtle wit with the ease of a practised raconteur, debating yoga styles with the openly flustered Julia Zemiro, offering his musical erudition to the world like a pious lama - or occult master - descending from the accursed summits of far Kadath with the elder wisdom of mad Abdul Alhazred inscribed on a tablet of gleaming electrum.

~ bared beneath the ruthless neon

Before all else, I must tell you that we saw a sundog. For me, it was the first time. Something about the notion of sundogs, and the name. I’ve always loved them.

Now, experiencing The Church as a support band is a rare thing, but on this occasion – opening for The Divinyls at The Forum– they truly compensated for their lesser billing with an outstanding performance. Actually, I think it was one of the better Church gigs I’ve seen, at least in recent memory. Mr Wilson-Piper was impressive, cultivating the persona of a hunted bushranger, while Mr Kilbey was sufficiently limber to goad the audience with a yoga position, or two.

I’ve never really been a Divinyls fan, though one has to respect Chrissie Amphlett. Last night, I gave up after a few songs - too many strange Eighties overtones. The Divinyls used to be one of the scariest Australian pub-rock bands of their time. Meaner, possibly, than Cold Chisel. Yet not as dire as Midnight Oil. I’m speaking from the vantage of a lowly support band, of course, recalling the surly, lumpen, violently-inclined road crews with who we used to have to deal. Divinyls had the worst reputation for limiting volume, pulling channels and lights etc… I wonder if those nasty customs have endured into the current day? I’d like to think not.

The Church invited their friends down to a suite in the bowels of the Forum, where the chairs collapsed whenever I made a sudden move. It was there I met Sacha, my supposed doppelganger, of whom I spoke way back when I first began The Sails of Oblivion. Yes, there is a resemblance, but it’s more an overall impression rather than anything specific. His facial features, for instance, are quite different to mine, while the manner in which he lurches around is possibly quite similar. A nice guy too, by the way.

steve, me, donald, lynne

There’s a group of people, friends, who seem to only get together when Steve is in town; Donald, Simon. Bruce, Lynne, Sarah, Danny – and in the short period before I had to catch the last train - and despite my ordinary mood – I relaxed and enjoyed their company, without speaking very much at all.

I was astonished to encounter my long lost friend, Keisha. It was completely unexpected - she was there because she was a friend of the promoter. I have not seen her for years. Strange, because she’s been on my mind recently. I’d been worried for her, as the last time I saw her she was teetering on a precipitous brink – and could have gone either way.

Well, she toppled over, naturally, but claims to have crept back up. Judging from how healthy she looked, I had to believe her. And it seems as if circumstances are working for her, as usual … money, property, share portfolios; all dropping in her lap for the most bizarre [and unrecountable] of reasons. It’s hard to explain Keisha. She is unique. She has a certain beauty that attracts certain kinds of men [like ants to canned pineapple] – and on these men she happily thrives. But there are many other facets to her that defy description. We originally met via an obsession she was having with Michael Hutchence, which extended to the movie Dogs in Space and thence to me…

Oh, one more thing. I’ve been back in the petting zoo with Polly [and my briefcase]. A different one this time, classier birds and beasts, many with unusual growths on their heads. It was in Jells Park, during the hours immediately prior to Carols by Candlelight. J G Ballard has spoken of suburbia as the future psychic battleground of humanity and on this afternoon we caught a terrifying glimpse of his meaning. Pictured beneath are denizens of the marginal zones - four hours out from the carols and already in complete readiness.

Also in a state of preparedness was this mobile excrement pit or Faecal Utility Vehicle. It loomed with monstrous potential over the digestive systems of a steadily swelling crowd.

~ the star-dogged sails

My 50th post slipped by without my noticing. 50 posts! And to think I was worried about The Sails being a flash in the pan. I do have a tendency to bounce from minor obsession to minor obsession, but the act of blogging seems to encompass all my curiosities.

Sails of Oblivion has wormed its way steadily into my heart and mind, to a point where it's become major part of my creative effort. I’ve been writing all my life, in one form or another, but never as regularly as this. Certainly, I’ve kept journals, but not for publication – and with Sails I feel like I’m producing real work on an [almost] daily basis. Consequently, I’m keeping my skills properly honed – and that’s a source of satisfaction for me. Writing, like anything, is easier if you do it regularly and often.

I never saw the potential of blogging until I tried my hand at it. It was Steve [Kilbey] who opened my eyes. To quote – If Yeats or Auden were alive today, they’d be blogging. I was doubtful of that at first, but now I’m certain of it, and I really have to thank Steve for giving me that initial impetus, and for giving his readers a heads up in his blog.

He observed that I’d chosen the white on black template he uses for The Time Being. I explained that, unless I became an html wizard, it was the only one available which looked cool enough and I wasn't being a sniveling plagiarist. He informed me, also, that it’s more energy-efficient than black on white. Apparently, I later heard, if the whole internet was formatted thus, it would lead to a surprisingly large reduction in global carbon emissions.

There’s also the community aspect. It’s satisfying knowing your work’s being read. It’s satisfying having a dialogue with those readers. It’s extra satisfying when they come back. My readership’s still small. Sometimes it surges. Sometimes it falls away, [usually when I’m slack with my posts]. But it is slowly, steadily growing.

I must also thank Alison Croggin of Theatre Notes for advice and for sending readers my way. And Chris Boyd of The Morning After.

And there are definitely a few readers I’d like to thank profusely for helping me keep going - and for making their presence known by commenting. [I love comments. I love comments most of all.] Thank you Amanda, I don’t think you’ve missed a post and I really appreciate it. Also Sue/Lily Was Here, Eek, Matt, Dangerous Meredith and Ann O’Dyne/Bwca. Hugh Marchant too, if you’re out there. And all the silent ones …

I’ve got all sorts of plans for the future of Sails. Aside from the regular posts, I’m going to keep the Eighties diary going and the space adventures of The Orn [next post]. Also, I’ll continue with the exploits of George. You might recall the story of the chairs? Well, there’s plenty of bizarre, recondite material still to be dredged up.

Over a period of five years during the Nineties, I wrote an SF novel called Autopsy Turvy in collaboration with a friend, Adam A Browne. We’re estranged now, which is sad as I dearly loved him, but we spent such an inordinate length of time together at the screen that when we finished with the book we finished with each other. [Though I was slightly peeved that he didn’t invite me to his marriage… Adam?] We started on a Macintosh Classic, then used an LCII, then an LC475 and finally, I think, a G3.

The novel was a monstrous thing. Huge, surreal and lush with weirdness. No one in their right mind would have published such a deranged artefact. However, it was shortlisted for the George Turner Award [for unpublished Australian SF/fantasy novels] but of course someone like Sara Douglas took the prize and all we received was the honour of a brief interaction with Terry Pratchett.

What I plan to do is publish it on the web as a side-blog to Sails of Oblivion. I’ll do it as soon as I've done with Christmas. I’m currently up to my neck in ebay book-selling and have barely even the time to write this.

Anyway, whoever you are, thanks for clicking on me - and now's the time to give me advice, if you have any...