Made from timber and steel

Last weekend, my nephew Elliott and I went to see The Cat Empire show at Centennial Park. It was a 7-hour outdoor gig that featured Ash Grunwald, Blue King Brown, The Beautiful Girls, and finished with the headline act. It was also Elliott’s first concert – aww!

All had their moments. Grunwald has a fabulous bluesy voice. Blue King Brown managed to be both energetic and chilled – a lot of fun all round. And though The Beautiful Girls were kinda boring and needed a kick up the proverbial, they ended on a wicked guitar solo by their hottie, albeit unpersonable, frontman.

But The Cat Empire were amazing. Amazing! So much joy and colour and brilliance on stage…

There was a musical battle between trumpets and trombone…

…some kickin’ solos on keys and drums, an excitable string quartet, the crowd singing “I love things that seem impossible” as the bats flew across the dusky-pink sky…

…and, just when we were all starting to flag, some flamenco dancers appeared!

And didn’t lead singer Felix look smart with his short hair and jacket?! Phoar… In fact, they were a fine-looking bunch of lads all-round. Musical crush alert!

After two hours of dancing and swaying and jumping and all-round musical incredibleness, my ears were ringing, my knees ached, and I was slightly sunburnt, but who cares? As resident cool aunt, I had to tell Elliott that, after a gig like that one, it’s pretty much all downhill from there!

Of course, we’re going back to the park to see Elliott’s all-time favourite, Jack Johnson, in about a month’s time, so maybe there’s hope yet. Either way, I am so relieved my nephew has good taste in music. Honestly, the crud some of these kids listen to…! (did I just say “these kids”?!)

Time out with Time Out

My long-awaited parcel from Amazon.com arrived! And with it a swag of CDs, including my current high-rotation album, Time Out by The Dave Brubeck Quartet. For those not in the know, it’s an album where each song mucks about with time-signature in a different way. So we’re talking weird waltzes, a charging 9/8 number where the relief you feel once it swings back to 4/4 is huge (only to have you itching for the 9/8 again), and the famous 5/4 number, Take Five.

The sax sound is so warm you could crawl into it and curl up inside like it’s a cubby house. Mmmm, self-imposed jazz education.

Penguins who like showtunes

In the other strand of my self-imposed musical education, musical theatre, I’ve just started listening to Songs for a New World. Ah, Mr Jason Robert Brown really knows how to write great songs for singers. However, the kinds of singers he writes for are of the vocal-ninja variety. One day, Brown *shaking fist* – one day! Still, he’s proving inspirational for my, somewhat humbler, librettist-lyricist foray.

Of course, I don’t think I have the emotional stamina yet to start listening to Brown’s Parade – which I also bought in my Amazon bulk-buy. From what I understand, Parade is all very serious (speaking of which, I saw Miss Saigon late last year – it was like I’d put my soul through an angle-grinder).

That’s all well and good, but I think Songs for a New World is stirring enough for the time being. Listening to it is a similar experience to when I first started listening to The Last Five Years (except without the burgeoning relationship from that particular timeframe – but, hey, listen to music long enough and it loses all associations and becomes pure again!). Golly, gosh…

Meanwhile, apparently there’s a move against Fairy Penguins being called “Fairy”. Someone at work suggested they be called “Penguins who like showtunes” instead…

Very happy feet.

Come to the cabaret

Well, it’s a bit late to say that, but it was fabulous at the time. We BLANKers put on a comedy cabaret night a couple of weekends ago and it was very, very fun.

And it kind of felt over too quickly – almost like we blinked, they laughed, and it was done. It was both fun and inspiring to see everyone step up so beautifully. They really are a very fine bunch of true and natural performers. But I’ve already gushed far too many times about the BLANKers. Just come and see the damn show sometime!

Fortunately, the proprietors didn’t mind me dragging my parachute inside.

In the spirit of the reason for my visit to Melbourne, the bartender improvised a cocktail for me. It was delicious – and it wasn’t even spiked!

That’s one tasty beverage.

But it wasn’t an entirely reckless a trip. The very next morning, at the highly-respectable (read: slightly insane) hour of 8 o’clock, I met a friend for the breakfast…

It was the kind of food that proves the old commercial cliches that food can be both ridiculously good and ridiculously good for you.
Best. Bircher. Museli. Ever.

I continued to feed my cafe-hopping obsession that afternoon.

I sat down in one of those bookshop-and-cafe cafes (aka: a happy place), opened up my laptop and “worked on my novel”. You’re only a writer if other people watch you writing, right?
(truth be told, I wrote 1000 words there)

In a slightly less cultured move, I partook in midnight laser-tag at Crown Casino. The white junk on the sign is nothing more illicit than fake cobwebs, I promise. T’was the season.

Oh and the battle did surely begin.
And it ended at 2am, at which time I concluded that:
a) improvisers (who aren’t me) are good shots and b) I have the aim of a cross-eyed bat with cataracts, no voice to bounce sounds off, and no ears to hear them anyway (ie: badly crap).

I consoled myself at 3am with taking the kind of shot I’m a little better at.

Thanks, Fitzroy St, for looking pretty that night – unlike Friday or Saturday night when all the bogans emerge and you’re all like “Shane of the Dead” (see what I did there?). You yield a verrrry different view then.

Speaking of views, here’s one from a rooftop in St Kilda:

That’s the Palais Theatre in the middle. Very Secret Life…

But it wasn’t sunny all the time – it was also dark (some call this phenomenon “night and day”). It was a Halloween season of shows, and what better way to celebrate than with
Mr Fish and His Spooky Library of Impro Macabre?

This show was an inspiration! Sophisticated, compelling improv that nailed comedy and horror.

This, however, was nothing but horror…

This is the worst freakin’ misuse of the apostrophe ever committed.

Whoever endorses that atrocity at Victoria Markets should go sit on these:

Pretty though.

Adding calamity to bizarrety, we wound up utterly stranded afterwards.
(thanks to Tim for bailing us out – there aren’t enough seasons of Family Guy to repay you)

The Easter Show…

Mmmmm… Homers

Performing in the VB “Voye Boye” Shed

In the four days I spent there (because, how often does one get a free ticket to the Show?), I:

• Tried cheese-on-a-stick for the first time (still lodged in my oesophagus somewhere)
• Ate two plates of curly fries (also lodged)
• Drank four cups of fresh lemonade (attempt to dislodge)
• Watched a guy swallow a sword (maybe he’d also eaten cheese-on-a-stick)
• Showbags, fudge, waffles, the giant slide, chocolate-covered fruit, a high-tech ferris wheel, gourmet coffee and a spinning light toy (you can guess where they all are now)

And… I made some cool new friends…