The Family Reunion

It's very rare at the age I'm at to hear about someone being unable to make a gig or party because they have a family reunion. A wedding, sure. Another birthday, again, heard of. But what about the family reunion?

Several times over the last couple of years I've been in conversation with various friends and they've casually dropped in a retrospective yarn on their family reunion.

"Ah...hold on, when was this reunion?"

"I told you I was going, it was a couple of months ago now, in Hokitika*"

And this is why family reunions are fairly quiet affairs...to the outsiders. Being 25 and heading to Hokitika on Labour Weekend with relatives? You'd have to pull a front and feign dread. But on the inside, what a weekend you're about to have!

Usually held in small towns, the family reunion takes up a lot of time for the organiser and or the host. Somewhere along the line a budding genealogist has gotten all excited about some WWII documents that attribute Uncle Ian* to being part of Hitler's downfall* and all of a sudden 6 other cousins exist in Te Puke* and yay! Time to celebrate. You get the core relatives on board- the favourite aunt and uncle and the cousins you've spent your growing up years with, the second cousins that you've long dropped the 'second' from, tell everyone to keep Easter 2011 free, start arranging Grandad's transport and hey presto! A reunion is shaping up.

I had a memory flash this morning of being 11 years old, woken up by my dad at the bach around 4am, handed a t-shirt and told gently to get up and get ready for our roadtrip down to Te Kuiti. For the untrained eye, this t-shirt was merely a plain white one, the size 10 girls version of Dad's XL. But for the family geeks, the back of the t-shirt, emblazoned in bright blue was...a short version of our family tree**. I was more excited about the promise of a pie for breakfast. Steak and cheese at 5.30am. Sweet deal.

Anyway, the folk in Te Kuiti absolutely adored us. We were matching father and daughter AND we were being fashionably informative. It's a bit vague, but I do remember some characters- a couple of the children my age went to my school; bloodline connections- awesome.

At every family gathering, there's the gangly teenage kid wearing all black, the thick as thieves sisters-in-law that married brothers who have ousted another brother*, the cool older boy cousin, the cool older girl cousin, a couple of newborns and finally the great great grandmother everyone fusses around now that the great great grandfather's passed on, left this earth etc.

But when you talk to Grams* you realise she's played her cards right: onto it, full of good yarns and knowledge, perfectly able. There's usually a glint in the eye somewhere that lets you know she knows she's on a cushy number at this family gig. It's merely her ability to hit 90 that's gotten her full privileges such as first to the food table and evading the "HELLO! My name is...." sticker.

What was exciting for me a kid though, before I went through the brief 'that's so uncool' stage before returning to being all about the family, is just listening to people like the great great grandmother. I let everyone else fuss. You learn not only about your own family and the prior generations that contributed to your makeup, but also the area in which they grew up, raised our grandparents and parents. For me (on one side) it's the King Country/Waikato districts. I think what's particularly special about these regions is the richness of a pioneering spirit that is still very much in the air today.

It's not unique to New Zealand, think Otago, the far North, East Cape. We're lucky in New Zealand to still be able to see areas where virgin bush was only cleared recently to develop farms, or see buildings that were the original structures when towns like Piopio (population wise is Piopio a town...?!) were established. It gives you a wider sense of your place (I want to say 'in the world', but it will be reminscent of those cheesy Otago University ads. Flag.) within the family and how you came to be where you are now.

I suppose what's great in this day and age is the use of the net: families have their own websites for posting photos, while it's a bit jock-ish, it does bode well with keeping in touch, and Facebook and Skype as well help the world seem more accessible.

Enjoy your next family reunion...I can't wait for ours!

L

*not true. Not the names, the events, the locations. None of it.

**very true. So true. It became a pyjama t-shirt very quickly.

Music: The Scenic Route

I don't listen to the radio very often.

Every now and then I'll hound loved ones for what they are listening to. I don't really You Tube either apart from nabbing links for The Whisky Bar, and forget Myspace. I've always wanted a job in a music store, but they're harder to get than a job in a surf shop when you're a teenager.

It's not that I want to avoid technology despite being fairly technologically inept. It's more because I am desperately holding on to the rituals of flicking through cds at music stores on solo missions that can last for hours, reading Rolling Stone, or issues of NME and Q passed on to me from my Britpop fiend friend. I love reading an artist's cd jacket or typing in one name on Google, Wikipedia to see who influenced them during their rise to fame. I continue to idolise Nick Hornby's Rob in High Fidelity (by the way, what was John Cusack thinking with this new movie 2012? Hideous!)

It doesn't matter whether these influences have been correctly identified by the biographer/Wikipedia jock or not, it can often be band/artist I've never heard of, or better yet, can lead to making 'that' discovery we have all had at some point: imagine only just discovering that Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Tom Petty, Roy Orbison & Jeff Lynne were the men who comprised Travelling Wilburys... thinking 'who is Jeff Lynne?'...you then encounter the magical hit Evil Woman sung by Electric Light Orchestra- Lynne was lead singer.

Discovering (thanks to one of NZ's best guitarists) fallen-through-the-cracks rock band Ten Years After, and growing to love their epic blues numbers and guitar riffs has been a fantastic little epic journey for me. Then to read that they are named so because in 1966, it had been ten years since Elvis Presley burst onto the scene, and changed the face of music, rock n roll, society, forever made me smile even more.

It makes me a massive nerd, this I realise, but how much fun it is to be on a seemingly endless little journey through music history. The greatest thing about music is how it's replenished decade after decade with new genres or dynamics that have facets of ingenuity combined with elements of music that harks back to previous eras of blues, soul, jazz, rock, country, bluegrass, roots, taking a little bit of world music and combining it with pop (think Graceland, think Michael Jackson, think Timberlake. Think Public Enemy's remake of Buffalo Springfield's For What It's Worth). Cross-pollenation of genres when Chris Cornell lends his voice to Billie Jean, when Pavarotti sings with Bono on Miss Sarajevo..no no, even better, Bryan Adams.

I plan on marrying (one of many weddings to musicians...) Ray La Montagne. This self-assurance cemented when I read that he turned his back on music due to a rubbish father who was a musician. Ray was terrible at school, got a job in a shoe store, heard Stephen Stills' (Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young) Treetop Flyer and bang. Done. Musician. Heartbreaker. Heartwarmer. All thanks to Stephen Stills. And I thought everyone only focused on Crosby and Young...

In December Fleetwood Mac visits New Zealand as yet another classic band to hop on the bandwagon of reunion tours. Sold out for the first concert and no doubt hugely popular second concert, New Plymouth will be home to tonnes of black and purple velvet, white gypsy skirts and black eyeline for three days as folk from all over New Zealand flock to hear their favourites. Fleetwood Mac t-shirts will be aplenty. But what makes Fleetwood exciting is that a) there are 2 'eras' of the band which both have so much to offer, and b) you could put a song like Go Your Own Way or Everywhere (late 80's Fleetwood, focus had shifted from Buckingham to the girls by this point), on at an event today, and most people will know their songs.
This is what is exciting about the scenic route in music: the more you know, the more you want to learn. You get hungry for more music. And why shouldn't you? It's an international language. Everyone can take what they want from it, whenever they like. And sometimes, the only way you'll find some of this music is by stopping into a record store, having a sift, a peruse of the bargain bins or the store guy's recommendations...or for those who are content with technology, checking out Last FM...

Until next time!
L.

a short thought for the long weekend

“Half of what I say is meaningless, but I say it so that the other half may reach you”.

A short one to end the long weekend with- I've started a couple of posts this last week and just not gotten round to finishing them I'm afraid!

The last issue of Rolling Stone had 4 covers, giving each Beatle their own cover as they are celebrated once again, in yet another light, with the digital remastering of every single one of their albums, b-sides, films...you name it on the catalogue, it's there, for purchase, in either 'original' mono recording or new stereo.


Something must be attractive about this latest marketing ploy- I think I've only seen a few stray copies of Let it Be and Abbey Road sifting around the shelves of music stores. Certainly no Sgt. Pepper or White Album.


Anyway, I somehow got reading about Khalil Gibran, a poet/musician/artist who influenced Lennon particularly around the White Album days, and am bemused at how typical his philosophies, works etc were just one of many who inspired figures like Lennon in the 60s. People were searching for something in the sixties weren't they? As a society, not just as individuals. Those who were 'discovered' by people like The Beatles, or at least, their philosophies were adapted collectively by the counterculture of the 60s (perhaps because these figures stood for nothing that the Western world represented, and yet the values of American and British societies were almost in perfect alignment with the words that Gibran et al had penned decades prior....) would then be treated to people like Lennon et al 'spreading the word' of teachings from Gibran, Gandhi, Buddha, Kharam, the Dalai Lama...

It's an intriguing thing: the East, the Middle East worlds where the way we think, behave and act were not the same as inhabitants of those particular cultures...even today where the world is far more accessible, through travel, through the media, the internet...there is still plenty of room for ignorance.

Until next time,

L.

Living History: Dick Frizzell

Last night I attended the book launch of Dick Frizzell: The Painter at the Page Blackie Gallery.

Now, I definitely don't consider myself a reviewer of any sort, nor worthy of having credibility to be a critic, but one can't help but be pleased to see an event being hosted that funnily enough, seems to be so rare yet the components of it really are hand in glove.

It was the first time I was at a gallery where live music was, not in the background, but part of the 'programme'. The Wellington International Ukelele Orchestra was, as per, on form and charismatic with their new uniformed look (designed by Frizzell, modelled by most members)

Here's the kicker: the artist and the artist's wife were in collaboration with the musicians!

Throw in Wellington name-of-the-moment Lawrence Arabia and you have a niche event that a) you were lucky to attend because you love, adore, treasure, admire art, and b) wish more people had attended because the concept was just so...'neat'! (I'm still smiling!)

While purists may have a slight sense of cynicism that could note that the music was used as a draw card to attract numbers, I admit that was my first thought as well. But think on it, this is a man who is launching a book, not a series of works (in this instance). It was a celebration of his contribution to, hell, even leadership of, pop culture in New Zealand. And what is pop culture? It is, and the list is not exhaustive, comprised of society, fashion, music, art, trends, attitudes and dare I say it, to an extent, the state of a nation.

A highlight for me at events such as these is when someone that has a close affiliation with the celebrated is the one who speaks on them. David Gascoigne (Chair of NZ Opera, and a fan of changing the nation's flag) was this man last night, quoting Hamish Keith, referring us to Bookman Beattie's blog, and throwing in a charming anecdote here and there that lets us know how lucky we are to have been in the presence of someone who is a living part of New Zealand's history.
I tell ya though, when Dick and wife Judy got up to sing Folsom Prison Blues with the Orchestra, that's when I was just elated to have gone along.

That and being pleasantly surprised by the glass of Frizzell Wines Chardonnay I had to drink. Very caramelly after taste, smooth, delightful. It's a boutique baby of a wine, so head to this website (even if it's just to look at his design work for the site!) to buy. YUM.

Anyway, I digress.

After Frizzell and Judy departed the stage, we were 'blessed' to have Lawrence Arabia (aka James Milne) join the ukelele gang. At first I rolled my eyes. This guy is everywhere at the moment. He seems to be the guy that people who frequent Mighty Mighty in brown cord suits and A-line skirts made out of curtain fabric seem to love, plus he really annoyed me at the Liam Finn and EJ Barnes gig I attended last month at the Opera House doing some sort of 2 noted wail alongside Connan Mockasin.

Anyway, can I just say Lawrie baby was brilliant! He suited to the more intimate and tinny (in a good way) sound of the ukelele/bass. His singing was downpat and the group was tight.

My cherry on top for the evening though was the Orchestra doing quite possibly the cutest slash best acoustic version of 'Sunshine of Your Love' by Cream. Outstanding! The singer was reminiscent of Claption, yet didn't sound ridiculous, the solo riff was just an absolute joy, in fact, as Hamish Keith described Dick Frizzell to be, I would happily put it out there that this version of Cream's song had the highest level of 'robust joy' I've heard from a song in ages.

Nice work PBG- it was a brilliant soiree and further cemented your place in the country as a top gallery.

Until next time,
L.

Cover of Dick Frizzell: The Painter, published by Random House 2009
Cultural Tiki by Frizzell
A photo of the artist
The Kiss, 2007, by Dick Frizzell (Janne Land Gallery)

Woodstock: an American music odyssey

40 years ago in mid August, the world's biggest festival took place in upstate New York on a farm belonging to dairy farmer Max Yasgur. 500,000 people (approximately) attended Woodstock from August 15th-18th, 1969.

Woodstock, as we all do and/or should know was the festival that flower children attended and, in short, did whatever they wanted for three days while some of the generation's most important acts played. Free love, drugs and rolling around in mud seemed to be the three headlining actions.

Cocker, Joplin, Baez, CCR, Hendrix, The Who, Ten Years After, The Band (I always thought Bob Dylan was in The Band as WELL as Travelling Wilburys later on: wrong, he just did some gigs with them), Jefferson Airplane, CSNY (and these are merely the artists I love/know well)- despite some bands/musicians not playing who you'd think would have (Dylan, Joni Mitchell, The Doors, The Byrds), Woodstock remains almost a household name even in today's society, such is the impact it has had. It's an excellent example of entrepeneurial skills, depsite the chaotic financial implications it had for the organisers, the town of Bethel, Yasgur and the musicians. According to the trusty Wikipedia article, Creedence frontman John Fogerty agreed to play for $10,000, however they declined to be filmed for the Woodstock film/documentary.

Foresight. Or lack of. What was Fogso up to?! Having created a new genre of rock that adopted blues and roots as part of its make up ('swamp rock'), and having just hit the big time, no doubt the record label was whispering in his ear and telling him that Woodstock was merely a token appearance, one of many that they had made that year.

I don't think it helped that despite being a 'headline act', they were scheduled to play at 3am. Rough.

"We were ready to rock out and we waited and waited and finally it was our turn... ...there were a half million people asleep. These people were out. It was sort of like a painting of a Dante scene, just bodies from hell, all intertwined and asleep, covered with mud. And this is the moment I will never forget as long as I live: a quarter mile away in the darkness, on the other edge of this bowl, there was some guy flicking his Bic*, and in the night I hear, "Don't worry about it John. We're with you." I played the rest of the show for that guy."

Clearly a poignant yet scintillating moment for Fogerty.

*By the way, the dude's 'Bic' was nothing dodgy, nor a ball point pen, but a lighter.

Just, imagine paying $12 for, I don't know, Glastonbury, Falls Festival (as an aside, Melburnians, your lineup for Falls this year is not too shabby, albeit more 'alty' than usual), or the Big Day Out. Hell, even Parachutes or the now defunct Sweetwaters (imagine bringing that bad boy of an NZ festival back. Brilliant). Apparently, and this is according to a music lover slash economist, that now equates to (still only) around US$105 which takes into consideration 'adjusting for purchasing power', and 'US$75 after adjusting for inflation'

.............................................................Original Swamp rockers Creedence Clearwater Revival

The Inimitable Janis Joplin

It was still early days in terms of radicalism for many folk in the Bethel/Woodstock area, and Yasgur was not liked for condoning the hippie behaviour via permission to rent his farm. It's hilarious considering the stereotype of Jewish people that he was quickly renowned for being hippie-ish himself by allowing 'free water' and giving away a plethora of supplies to those who flocked to the festival: "I hear you are considering changing the zoning law to prevent the festival. I hear you don't like the look of the kids who are working at the site. I hear you don't like their lifestyle. I hear you don't like they are against the war and that they say so very loudly. . . I don't particularly like the looks of some of those kids either. I don't particularly like their lifestyle, especially the drugs and free love."

.

After this point Yasgur gets a tad cheesy American, so forgive me for taking liberty and axing all the God Bless America blah. I am excited though about Ang Lee's gumption with making the film Taking Woodstock, starring Emile Hirsch (Into The Wild) and Demetri Martin (see his website here)...

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I think half the things that people, my age, back in the sixties stood for are either irrelevant today or taken for granted. Dress, speech, music, relationships, art, education.

I mentioned to someone the other day that I was always disappointed I never partook in a march to protest something, anything apart from "No Fee Increase for Students" at university.

Timothy Leary I reckon nails on the head what the Hippy movement meant to him, and indeed many who were hippies or lived alongside them:

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"Hippies started the ecology movement. They combated racism. They liberated sexual stereotypes, encouraged change, individual pride, and self-confidence. They questioned robot materialism. In four years they managed to stop the Vietnam War. They got marijuana decriminalized in fourteen states during the Carter Administration."

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Peace.

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L.

PS. Some hilarious Woodstock yarns can be read here

Never imagine the speaker naked: no matter how attractive.

The title can be credited to a gem of advice from Sam Martin's G is for Gentleman which was published in 2003 (you can be linked to the UK Men's Health review here) and in my humble opinion, should be the ubiquitous tome for males gracing this earth. It is social gold.

According to Martin, no doubt via Miss Manners, or Emily Post, a 'real and true gentleman' is:

1. in possession of an outstanding character
2. never late
3. always discreet
4. never arrogant
5. of impeccable manners
6. always well spoken
7. immaculately dressed at all times
   
8. in possession of good social skills
9. in possession of a genuine concern for others
10. forthright enough to never make excuses
    

The hello kiss: do it with confidence, especially in Rome: do as the Romans do. This isn't a sensual event.

In 1922 Emily Post (1873-1960) published her book Etiquette in Society, in Business, in Politics and at Home. A well near exhaustive work of reference in which she details how to behave courteously, dress accordingly, play sports appropriately and live graciously in all aspects of life.

Post's work covers both female and male etiquette, and while the usual gentlemanly behaviours were covered- never allow a lady to walk on the road side of the footpath, always offer your hand whilst getting out of the car to name just two, I sensed early feminism which, while it certainly didn't promote burning bras, affirmed the female place in society back in the 20's as beginning to have a sense of a independence. Apparently if you were meeting a gentleman friend on the way to a 'house party', he should by no means pay for your fare. Also, if a gentleman happens to come across a female companion as she buys a small item at a stall, leave her to pay before carrying on the conversation.

The 'sports' section was, quite simply, ruddy hilarious. The golf excerpt nothing short of brilliant, although it does dispel the (potential) urban myth of GOLF standing for 'Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden'...?

Golf is a particularly severe strain upon the amiabnd in no other game, except bridge, is serenity of disposition so essential. No one easily “ruffled” can keep a clear eye on the ball, and exasperation at “lost balls” seemingly bewitches successive ones into disappearing with the completeness and finality of puffs of smoke. In a race or other test of endurance a flare of anger might even help, but in golf it is safe to say that he who loses his temper is pretty to lose the game.

A young woman must on no account expect the man she happens to be playing with to make her presents of golf-balls, or to caddy for her, nor must she allow him to provide her with a caddy. If she can’t afford to hire one of her own, she must either carry her own clubs or not play golf.

To be honest I was more interested to find out what is...not expected, but what is appreciated in a gentleman in today's world. Luckily there are a few characters around the world who think the same and have taken it upon themselves to write turn-of-the-millennium 'updates'. My favourite found at the library was Sam Martin's 'G is for Gentleman', with an excellent forward by butler Rick Fink.
And if you're not an aspiring gentleman? You should be. I'm not the feminist that my foremothers are probably begging me to be from their graves, but the reality is tradition is making a comeback. For my birthday I received the recipe book Ladies, A Plate, which was published in 2008, and holds recipes tried and tested by the author that date back to the early part of the 20th century. Now, if us girls are going to be in the kitchen (which the title of said recipe book suggests...), albeit with a test match or two in the background on tv, then it's fair to say we wouldn't mind our men, no matter what role they may play in our lives, to continue to adopt those lovely aspects that were prevalent in the very same days dinner was served at 6pm on the dot with slippers ready at the door and a sweet bread and butter pudding for dessert.

I'll leave you with my favourites from G is for Gentleman.....

Until next time,

L.

There are a few styles of shake that will doom you from the word go. One is the limp shake, by which you just hold out your hand but don't squeeze. If you're on the giving end, this feels similar to firmly grabbing a flabby, lifeless, tenderloin steak. It's unpleasant, to say the least.

Gentlemen travel in numbers- so if you're in the know, and the rest of your posse is in the dark, it's up to you to illuminate them.

When listening, never interrupt to take a phone call, say hi to passers-by or pet a small animal.

Never imagine the speaker naked, no matter how attractive.

Things to say when: greeting a blind date-

• 'Thanks for meeting me'
• You look great.
  

Under Paris Skies...

As the days get longer, it’s only natural to get more and more…energised about summer. Instead of remaining a permanent resident in the doldrums, your plans for summer become cemented and you start replacing home baking with dried fruit and nuts as snacks.

Well, I have anyway.

In between fasting and doing a weekly BMI test spring somehow arrives. You still need a jacket, but it’s easily shed at lunchtime. Flowers seem to be brighter, and more readily available. Tulips, daffodils, other spring flowers (clearly haven't found my green thumb just yet...) seem to be at every dairy door, you even find yourself doing little skips. .

Well, I do anyway.
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I can’t help but get a little giddy and start imagining myself down the Champs Elysees, sifting alongside the Seine armed with newly purchased second hand silk garments, vintage jewellery, fresh bread and veg from the markets in my local Parisienne neighbourhood and heading back to some scody but ‘rustic’ ‘shabby chic’ studio apartment on Left Bank. I'll no doubt be dirt poor but be living the champagne lifestyle...

While I wouldn’t have taken up smoking, I’d say red lipstick will be cranking. You may even spot a faux beauty spot. Hopefully not, although one never knows how caught up in a fantasy one will get until they are actually living out their days in said fantasy.

And Paris is mine, soon to be a reality. Ever since I was handed my first text book ‘Ça Bouge 3’ I knew I’d be visiting France one day. Ever since I returned from the UK after staying in the Loire and travelling through the South of France, I knew I would live there. Ever since I studied curriculum theory, I even fancied working there to help promote relations between NZ and France re: education (I know, saving the world one high flying job at a time...)
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And now, Paris is a callin'!
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I cannot wait to be wide-eyed again. Living off the smell of a paté-laced canapé, knowing that the cliché tourist attractions are more than that to me, that they form part of the makeup that is my new city of residence. I love getting to know a new city. Travelling the public transport to get my bearings, work out the right routes to the places that will be stops in my routine, finding out how this suburb links in with that one etc.

So I guess here are some images that get me rather excited about the future! They may be irrelevant to you, they may spur you on, but I hope you all have something similar to focus on, whether it be Europe, Africa, the Americas; or a summer holiday, a new job or a new interest, this is the beauty of warmer weather: daydreaming becomes less about the dream and more about the day it all eventuates!

A bientôt,

L.

Art: the only way to run away without leaving home

When a considerable amount of time has passed since I’ve devoted some time to an interest of mine, my mind starts to crave it, or in an uncanny turn of events, I am bombarded with a multitude of opportunities.

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Apparently a woman named Twyla Tharp quoted the title of this blog. I'm not sure who that is. I do know I probably would have claimed that 'Anon' coined the phrase though if my name was Twyla.

It had been a few months since I’d really spent some time in the galleries around Wellington, or read/perused the net to get myself up to speed with the latest. Although I do have a few friends in the art world who keep me up to date, I like to make sure I capitalise on living in a city that apparently has the largest number of galleries in the country in relation to population.

All of a sudden ALL of the galleries ALL over New Zealand and beyond these shores that I have, over zealously, subscribed to over the years decided to invite me to this that and the other. From Dunedin to London and in between, galleries have not forgotten my name or my email address though at times I've wondered if they have.

This is the culture ‘vulture’ sifting back into the economy. The recession, well, recedes, an inch, and those art investments that may seem superfluous to some come screaming back at you a
hundred a miles an hour once there’s a sniff of extra money around. Artists are the grand scale example of 'last on board, first to be pushed off' when money is tight. When one work that could last you a lifetime equates to a year's worth of groceries...well, worrying about starving Ethiopians during a credit crunch goes out the window, it's your own well being that has to come first!
On less facetious note, when I think about it, we in Wellington are lucky to have such a high calibre of galleries here. Starting with Te Papa’s Level 5, the WGN City Gallery and the New Dowse in Lower Hutt and ending at suburban galleries like Suite on Daniell St in Newtown, Solander Gallery out in Island Bay (now on Willis Street in the CBD) and Millwood Gallery in Thorndon. In between the institutions (let's not forget the fabulous Adam Art Gallery at Victoria University) and the locals, galleries in the city such as Page Blackie, Bowen Galleries and the (now sadly former) Janne Land Gallery boast and have boasted both emerging and established artists, of national and international reputations. The importance of the dealer/gallery owner is as vital sometimes as the works itself if they are to be sold, if they are to find a home amongst those of us willing to invest, indulge, and be inspired (for life) by a work of art.

Just recently at the NZ Film Festival, a documentary on local art dealer Peter McLeavey was shown to sold out crowds. It returns to the Paramount theatre next week, thank goodness, because I was far too complacent and missed out on a seat! Naturally many folk around Wellington would already know of the small gallery tucked away on Cuba St. just next to Scopa and upstairs in the same vicinity as the Enjoy Public Art Gallery. McLeavey is well known around these parts and has done his bit in nurturing the careers of well established artists such as Bill Hammond and Gordon Walters.

Also on at the moment out in the Dowse is the exhibiton Thrill Me Every Day: the collection of Celia Dunlop, a Wellingtonian who passed away last year (I think) and bequeathed her collection for the public to enjoy. It really was thrilling to walk around that exhibition, thinking that Dunlop had bought this Ralph Hotere, and that Michael Smither when she was so much younger, and they so less known by the nation. Her philosophy was one I too possess: art was to be enjoyed, and it didn't have to cost the earth. What's marvelling is that many of her works, including John Pule, Seraphine Pick, Colin McCahon, Gordon Walters...the list really does go on, only cost her a mere few hundred dollars. She inadvertently had the foresight, the knowledge, and ultimately, the class and the taste I suppose, to develop a collection that narrated some of the country's finest contemporary art and its history. The exhibition runs until September.

A couple of years back at the City Gallery, I was so stoked to be able to wander around a part of the collection of Jim and Mary Barr. Oh I think these two are just marvellous. Friends of Rita Angus and Evelyn Page, once again an example of those who, may not be artists themselves, but believe in the nurturing of this channel of creativity. Their collection was breath taking, and as they tend to curate many of their exhibitons, I had no doubt that each piece that had been selected to show was carefully done so to give us, Joe Public, a sense of what it is to them to be community and culturally orientated, particularly in New Zealand. While I will always admire the works of overseas artists, I think my purse strings will always tighten should I consider buying major work once I'm in such a position to do so.

Why send good money offshore when some of the world's most talented artists are right here in our neighbourhood, depicting our country, challenging us to think about the world in a new light or different angle: just as daringly as any foreign folk, and further to that, have the desire or the want to take their work and their philosophies overseas themselves. Think on Frances Hodgkins and how when she first emerged onto the NZ art scene, society did not want to hear about it, nor want to see her 'outrageous' style of painting. She left. She travelled to the UK, became an integral part of the Seven and Five society and basically denounced the country!

While times have changed, I would hate to think that I would be turning my back on such talent here if artists who possess half the foresight Hodgkins did should I not maintain the same sort of thinking that McLeavey, Dunlop and the Barrs did and do. Although, that makes it sound like I'm going to be this powerful art dealer. Which I'm not. Unless I win Lotto. Who knows. No one until one day you come round for afternoon tea and you casually sit below a C.F. Goldie...

My rule when considering art to buy? I smile on first glance. Needless to say if you know me that I'll never have a Bill Hammond in the joint then....

Have a lovely weekend!

Works in order:

Interior by Emily Wolfe. 2009. Page Blackie Gallery, Wellington

Heloise and Francoise by John Drawbridge. 1986. Paperworks Gallery, Napier

Sold by Billy Apple. 1981. Auckland Art Gallery Collection

Peter McLeavey. Photo used for The Man in the Hat.

Simon and Martin by Marti Friedlander. 1965. fhe Galleries

Careworn by Seraphine Pick. 2005. Brooke Gifford Gallery, New Plymouth

Days by John Pule. 2007. For the SAFE animal campaign.

Jim and Mary Barr by Marti Friedlander. 1978. Auckland Art Gallery, gift of Marti Friedlander

La douleur exquise* (the exquisite pain): the blues.

‘Eric Clapton: knows that I steal his ideas and is still cool with it’ – John Mayer

Following on from my post the other day about figures in past music decades, and the post script which mentioned Motown and the reunion that is planned, I thought I'd carry on down the blues path. On the latest Ben Harper album, ‘White Lies for Dark Times’, track 4 is…and fans of early Ben Harper will scoff at such a claim, but track 4 is one of my favourite Ben Harper songs. Ever.

The best line from the song (entitled Lay There and Hate Me) for me, ‘never trust a woman who loves the blues’ just makes me smile. The first time I heard it I immediately thought about the music industry and how it owes such a lot of its existence today to the blues.

I love the blues Ben.

Anyway. It’s the attitude of the song. The pain, the despair, the getting lost in one’s own world. But it’s also about appreciating what one can do, loving the music so much that you feel the pain of the artist, but also get a real rush from it too. It’s amazing. Exquisite. A good blues song can be the piece de resistance for someone who needs to prove they’ve got the good, or a good blues song can be what makes an artist (Miles Davis, Clapton).

You hear a blues song, no matter what genre and you think ‘I hear ya mate, I feel your pain’, but you also can’t help but marvel and feel at ease at the same time. It’s incredible. The blues is the type of music you almost don’t want to share with anyone. But then you do because everyone should be educated on what construes a good dose of blues!

While not a constant rule, and it would be a dull world without exceptions, the blues should start off with one line of dramatic ‘depths of despair’ notes. Slow, and definite. The drums usually come in after this and then you just get drawn in. A small guitar or piano solo to let us know what we’re in for. The instrumentals should outweigh the singing. I mean, let’s be honest. If it’s the blues, you can’t say much more than ‘I want to drink very heavily right now and keep my door closed because my heart is broken’ or ‘God I’m so tormented and tired right now, someone dim the lighting so I can have a whinge for 5 minutes’. So what is left, but to cut the talk and get strumming/playing the ivories.

Let it Loose by the Rolling Stones is a good example of how they’ve adopted the blues, but retained that quintessential Stones ‘flavour’ if you like to the song. On the other hand, the John Mayer Trio’s Out of My Mind is textbook blues. You could be forgiven for thinking it’s Clapton, especially after hearing his Driftin’ Blues…although in saying that, it kind of sounds like Clapton has more of a…hmm…steely sound.

Badly Drawn Boy have successfully ‘modernised’ the blues with the song Delta (Little Boy Blues) by injecting a slightly whimsical sound to the tune. One could argue however that it’s because it was written for the film About A Boy.

Funnily enough, Nick Hornby (author of About A Boy) does have a quirky little crack regarding blues and soul: “Have you got any soul?" a woman asks the next afternoon. That depends, I feel like saying; some days yes, some days no. A few days ago I was right out; now I've got loads, too much, more than I can handle. I wish I could spread it a bit more evenly, I want to tell her, get a better balance, but I can't seem to get it sorted. I can see she wouldn't be interested in my internal stock control problems though, so I simply point to where I keep the soul I have, right by the exit, just next to the blues.”

On Love and Theft, Bob Dylan funks up the blues a bit with his Lonesome Day Blues. It actually sounds slightly reminiscent of Bad to the Bone which I found slightly disturbing, particularly as Bob seems to have found some sort of hoarse and gravelly aspect to his voice….

It was very exciting to find a 1920’s King Oliver tune which is flapper music type incorporating the blues: the Dippermouth Blues. It’s pretty cute, and while not quite what I’d deem your typical bluesy number, it still contains that yearning sound that one possess. Plus it’s lyric-less. Really, in that era you don’t need to go too further past Billie Holiday Gloomy Sunday or I’ll Be Seeing You.It was timely that I ventured out on Friday to yet another NZFF film: this one being a pretty special get together of guitar legends Jimmy Page, The Edge and emerging legend Jack White for the documentary It Might Get Loud.

The three give us their childhood backgrounds, provide original footage from various projects (Page's post session guitarist era involvement with The Yardbirds and Led Zeppelin; The Edge's U2; White's The White Stripes, The Upholsterers, The Raconteurs), general jamming and discussion on early influences, their guitars and of course, their raisons d'etre.

There were some classic moments in the film, Page is a real character; an earnest child that soon realised his talents took him to commercialism; being milked for his skills, showcasing other people's work and not making waves himself. This all, of course, before creating some of rock's best music. On the other side of the coin, The Edge remains earnest. Ireland's bloody history is a constant troubling tempest in his thoughts, and the technical side to his music writing was a great insight. It was, dare I say this, extremely refreshing to see U2's music and history narrated, touched upon, by someone other than Bono. It..relieved I guess, the glorification of their music which I think happens quite often. It made me remember that U2 started out, and continue to be, advocates for anti-war, that they're patriots, and, at the risk of sounding trite, they really have injected hope into the lives of many around the world.

Thirdly, we got to see a little bit more of what makes Jack White tick. I said to my friend afterward that after seeing It Might Get Loud, that I hope Jack White enjoys longjevity with his career. Seeing him in his home environment cranking improvised blues tunes, playing the piano, the guitar, the drums, handmaking objects, this guy is awesome. He has his own distinct style, and has the potential to revitalise the blues in the future. And he made a fantastic statement regarding the blues:

"if you're digging round for the beginning of rock and roll, you're on the free train to the blues"

So: the exquisite pain of the blues and the adrenaline of rock and roll. Hand in glove as it turns out.

Til next time!

L.

*'La douleur exquise' is the title of an episode in Sex and the City, Season 2.

the remaker, the prodigy, the bygones

I was cranking a little bit of procrastination earlier on in the week and as I tap tap tapped (digress here, every time I’m on the golf course and miss an easy putt I take on Adam Sandler’s bizarre baby voice in Happy Gilmore and angrily mutter that ‘tap tap tap’ line…) my fingers along to the Velvet Underground’s Sweet Nuthin’ I got thinking about the music industry in the mid 60’s through to the later 70’s.

Past eras have provided foundations for so many avenues of music that I don’t think we’ve quite realised the half of yet. We’re happy to recognise that Madonna’s Hung Up is loved mainly because of the background tune that was first made famous by ABBA’s Gimme Gimme Gimme…yet this generation that may not have known this if their parents didn’t play ABBA in the car or they had been ferreting around themselves in some class music history. David Gray’s Say Hello, Wave Goodbye is a poignant remake of Softcell’s (of Tainted Love…’notoriety’) original.

What makes the latter however seem a tad more credible than Madonna’s mutilation of ABBA’s tune is that Gray made the song his. We’ve heard this kind of comment from judges in American/New Zealand/British/Moroccan Idol, but it does maketh the song. On the reality/talent show Rockstar: Supernova, I absolutely fell in love with Ryan Starr’s version of REM’s Losing My Religion; what warm-blooded straight female who heard it didn’t, (Jason Newstead, bassist of Metallica/Supernova can be quoted as saying “dude, you are so going to get laid tonight”) and Chris Cornell can be heard singing an evocative version of Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean.

We see Justin Timberlake and marvel at how the man has basically created a genre of his own, yet Michael Jackson’s early days, middle days and early 90’s days live on through J.Timberlake’s own beat of the music, suave moves and in some cases, attire.

While JT may be the go to guy for, well, everything these days in terms of party music, sing along songs, background music, running music, he is really just another enigmatic prodigy in a long line of similar such wonders.

Ian Curtis, lead singer, and…wait for it, Ice-T pun coming… ‘Original angster’ of late 70’s pioneer post-punk/precursor to the New Wave genre band Joy Division, was an introverted trouble teenager who basically followed the same tumultuous issues that Bowie had faced in suburban north England growing up. The sense of knowing that Salford (Curtis’ hometown) was not, and could not be the extent of his life, Curtis I think was genuinely torn between his roots and wholesome life with his wife and the excitement that fame, and therefore exotic European locations brought to his existence. If you listen hard, past Joy Division’s ‘eerie’ (I cannot claim to be the first to use this adjective to describe the band’s sound) songs, you’ll note that the lyrics (Transmission, Love Will Tear Us Apart (Again), Isolation) just cry out for a helping hand (or rather, the acknowledgment that one's hand would probably be rendered useless by Curtis!) and yet drug king Iggy Pop (as per the mandatory watch of a film Control) was pretty much the catalyst for Curtis to make his way in the music world…and in my mind Iggy is one of the most comical characters to affront the world with his music!

We all know the Fast Times in Tahoe like-life of Jim Morrison, so I won’t bang on about him...but these two figures are just the start of intriguing folk that we idolise, appreciate, yearn to know more about, or are content to merely love their work and sing along.

I suppose that while imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, today’s generation of musicians has a music bank with plenty to work with. And in this social environment where we want something right here, right now, it’s easy to draw inspiration…and consequently the music rights, to create a new and improved version of songs. Remakes have of course happened prior to the late 90’s/2000’s hundreds of times: two of my favourites are Creedence Clearwater Revival’s version of I Put A Spell On You and the Red Hot Chilli Pepper’s version of Stevie Wonder’s Higher Ground.

But when I heard Snoop Dogg’s ‘version’ of The Doors’ Riders on the Storm, all I thought to myself was “Jesus”. While the man is just so facetious in his work and while I’m sure I’d be ‘dealt with’ if I ever confronted those who live and would die by the gospel of Snoop, I don't see Snoop as a legend, unless you're talking about how mint his character was in the remake of Starsky & Hutch.

Tell me when the last time was you heard an original song like Sweet Nuthin’, got to a point like the one at 5 min 7 sec in such a song and subtly got sucked into a cheeky little 1 minute 27 sec rock riff on the old guitar. You're left at the end of the song simply thinking 'sheer music brilliance'. I still get dumbfounded with such moments. Hendrix & Watchtower, Pearl Jam & that almost shrill yet still oddly comforting intro of Once; the epic piano solo in Des'ree's Kissing You (blast from the past teenage Leo lovers?!), the chorus of one of my Dad's favourites, The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkel, John Mayer's fantastic tease of a version of Ray Charles' I got a woman; the 1 min 17sec intro of U2's Where the Streets Have No Name....you get the drift and I would hope you have your own!

Tell me when you last heard someone that could get away with a song like Patti Smith’s version of Van Morrison’s Gloria with her opening the song in one monotonous line Jesus died/for somebody’s sins/but not mine…

I’ll never forget when I was in the UK and met this 40 year old character who lived with his mother (no kidding, they were old money and he was clearly quite happy to forever indulge in the comforts of home) in Oxfordshire. Now before this starts sounding dodgy, can I just say he really wasn’t. The guy was a gentle soul, just a bit…of a character. Anyway. He introduced me one day to Led Zeppelin’s How the West Was Won which is a 3CD/DVD set of original footage of the band over the years. Many of you have no doubt heard this yarn, but my goodness. John Bonham, Moby Dick, 18 minutes, drum solo. Just like the Hendrix: Live at Woodstock footage I was lucky to view recently (incidentally, CCR performed I Put A Spell On You at Woodstock...so, just tying things up there within the post)....anyway, the Youtube clips I found for the post are RUBBISH. Invest in the box set, go on- you won't regret it!

I have rambled, as per, for far too long. My wish for today? Ryan Adams and Bob Dylan combine harmonicas. To the extent of my knowledge on such a duet, it hasn't been done. If Johnny Cash can find new fans through Trent Reznor and NIN, then hell, get Bob on board with the self-indulgent youth of today that take Adams not as the prodigal son of country music that he is, but the borderline emo-ballad writer that he unfortunately comes across as being at times...if you haven't already been privy to his astounding version of Oasis' Wonderwall, you're crazy. Listen to it here, and I guess I'll catch ya later!

Ciao,

L.

PS. Motown revival at the Mission Concert next year...you'd be crazy not to go if you're in the country!

Books: the constant as technology permeates society

Very recently my friend was accepted into a post-graduate publishing course. It means exciting times ahead, and the industry is lucky to have a young woman with a wise head on her shoulders enter the publishing world. I have no doubt in my mind she is set to become an authority!

We were talking one day about the fact that books will always be sought after. A physical book in the hand can never be replaced by the e-books one can purchase now, it is impossible to fathom every piece of literature being published on the web.

I can’t imagine a world without bookstores, and yet Wellington has already seen Dymocks face liquidation. Whether it is due the recession, or there simply being no need for 5 major book stores on the stretch from Bond Street to Lambton Quay North, I’m unsure.

Incomprehensible to me is a home without books. A book is solace when you want no part in any kind of interaction with humans: this includes television, phone, computers, stereos.

I cannot envisage a train or bus that doesn’t sit one person, nose buried in a book about ‘it’ being not about the bike, or Fabio on the front in some sort of water coloured hue gripping a woman with a perm. I cannot imagine seeing no person (regretfully young or old) reading Harry bloody Potter, or (shudder) The Secret.

When I travel on the old PT system, I’m likely to only have a copy of Turner’s something in my bag, or the latest Vogue. This is because I day dream, or (in a non creepy sense) watch people. Ok, glance at people. Watching is creepy.

You’ll find that a man (possibly wearing a dark trench coat) is likely to be reading the paper in the mornings. He’ll have a two seater to himself, and he’ll have placed all other sections barring ‘World’ and ‘Business’ beside him. In the evening after work, he’ll be reading Obama’s biography.

You’ll be surprised to see a young lad with massive noise cancelling headphones on reading something like The Poisonwood Bible and whisper to yourself ‘good on him!’ before raising an eyebrow at yourself for vocalising.

It won’t surprise you to see 3 different Jodi Picoult books around the place, or at least one copy of Marian Keye’s variously fluro coloured books.

Someone will be heavily involved with For Whom The Bell Tolls or and without doubt Marching Powder will be captivating a 20-something young professional about to embark on their OE. That, or Anthony Kiedis’ Scar Tissue.

So, imagine if everyone turned to owning a PDA, complete with e-books, and books themselves became merely objects of reference for the researchers and the academics of the world?

Now, that cannot ever be me. I don’t see myself owning a PDA. Well, perhaps owning one, pretending to know what to do and reverting back to the Nokia 3330 that finally gave up the ghost and was replaced with a more modern version by my very lovely friends- in turn this was then stolen by kids (but that’s another yarn)- so now I have a generously loaned, very flash Samsung flippy top cell phone.

I think about the 3330 pretty much every day. Seriously.

On that, a slight digress to discuss the flip top: it has Who Wants to be a Millionaire? on it (you play it like the quiz game!), and my goodness does that keep me going! Who can afford to don rose tinted glasses over Pac Man when you’ve got that bad boy stored in your WAP compatible phone! (I don’t know what WAP is: I just chucked that in there for good measure).

We would be in a dreary environment without books. Not just rich leather bound books, surrounded by mahogany furniture, but trashy books, ‘chick lit’ (a dubious term, one I’m not too comfortable in pronouncing in haste….), Shakespeare, contemporary fiction, old faithfuls, the controversial, the classic; the biographical, the diet guides, the self helps and the Bible.

Naturally the old adage ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ comes to mind, but these days aren’t we spoilt for choice in the way books have developed aesthetic appeal? Beautiful presentation almost makes the purchase of a book for those who are less...'regular' in their procurement of literary pleasure. Recipe books, heavy volumes and coffee table books are ideal examples of this.

Travelling from your armchair, relying on your imagination and the imagery an author conjures up for you seems so much more satisfying than having everything at your fingertips.

In terms of historical tomes, technology was limited or non-existent when various subjects lived or incidents occurred. Laborious, extensive research by those passionate enough to delve into the lives, societies, wars, buildings and politics of any past epoch is invaluable to the way we learn about human nature and the significant 'same meat, different gravy' events that shape the world we live in. Naturally much of the world's history can invariably be found on the web, and this is great. But my first thought is not JSTOR, or Wikipedia (as a first point) or any kind of history site. It's not "ooh, I'll flick onto Channel 73 and see if something about Wakefield moseying out to New Zealand is on", it's Michael King's History of New Zealand, it's down to the library to go through old reference books.

The opinions of figures in history are ever changing, and as we become further removed from them, particularly in a young country like NZ, I suppose biases change, science pulls through with tangible evidence of events/mystery surrounding events, and new conclusions are able/have to be drawn.

Anyway, that was a huge offshoot of books in general and how we should treasure them, so I'm going to head off now.


Last night in the latest issue of Vogue, I noticed that 50 Years of Australian Vogue is coming out in a beautifully presented hardcover book.

Shib.

L.