Have you heard of the AMP?

One of Australia’s most prestigious (and virtually unknown) music awards is the Australian Music Prize – where an Aussie band or individual’s album has attracted the attention of some Australian music’s most knowledgable and experienced performers, promoters and professionals alike. The AMP gives the winning artist(s) a $30 000 cash grant, as well as $30 000 worth of publicity, and a whole lot more coverage and opportunity. Previous winners include my personal favourites the Drones, the Mess Hall, Augie March and most recently, Eddy Currant Suppression Ring.

The 2009 AMP shortlist was announced in February, and by golly there are some great artists. It’s going to be an interesting outcome:

‘Privileged Woes’ by Oh Mercy
‘As Day Follows Night’ by Sarah Blasko
‘Kid Sam LP’ by Kid Sam
‘Black Across The Field’ by Lucie Thorne
‘Secrets And Lies’ by Bertie Blackman
‘For The Birds’ by The Mess Hall
‘Spitshine’ by Urthboy
‘Call Signs’ by Black Cab
‘Wonder’ by Lisa Mitchell

Stay tuned for more details about the winners coming up in the next couple of weeks….

photos courtesy of AMP

Operator Please’s grown-up music

Picture courtesy of Pedestrian

So Operator Please have just released a new single, and my my, don’t they look grown up!?

With some serious help from director Price James (of Friendly Fires, Simian Mobile Disco and Florence and the Machine fame) and Australian Vogue, these kiddies are beginning to bloom.

This track, Logical is the first single off their soon-to-be-released album Gloves. Keep your eyes out because we smell a tour soon!

The track itself is something we’re not too sure about… it seems a little whiney for such grown-up people. Perhaps it will “grow” on us though!

Check it out right here:

Operator Please – “Logic”.

Tell us what you think!

Love Shared with Mama Kin

Words and Photos: Kate Scantleton

Friday February 12, 2010

It isn’t often that we see bands that truly seem as though the music runs through their veins. Mama Kin and her band proved to be one of these lucky few tonight, allowing us to participate in the cleansing ritual of her set. The hot and steamy Zoo was the best place for this ritual to take place; the modesty and welcoming nature of the venue sincerely complimented the sounds and love that was being shared amongst performers and audience.

Mama Kin and her band are such a modest, courteous and joyous trio – it was abundantly clear that they love what they’re doing and the buzz of making success out of art is really making them happy. And the crowd reflected this, loving every moment of the set.

If you haven’t heard of Mama Kin yet, her music is soulful; a mixture of slow and fast jazzy-blues, each song with a sweet underlying story and moral. Her voice is heavenly and meaningful – it comes from hard times and experiences that have led her to being the artist she is today. Accompanied by some delightfully precious melodies on keys and funky drum beats, the trio are certainly a force to be reckoned with.

The music itself is complex, yet made for easy listening. Busting out with the well-circulated single Tore My Heart Out and a number of very danceable bluesy tunes, the set was full of ups and downs including sing-a-longs, a Capella tunes and much dancing both on and off-stage, so there was plenty to keep everyone on their toes.

Currently touring, the band have already sold out their Sydney show and are spreading their love all the way down the east coast, stopping off at the Gold Coast and Mullumbimby on their way back north. With mentionable track records of wonderous sets (tonight inclusive!) such as Woodford Folk Festival earlier in the year, Mama Kin is definitely on the way up in the blues, roots and folk scene in Oz. You can check out the band’s tour dates and blog here.

Wanderlust

Why dreaming is a large part of the globetrotting fun

I’ve been dreaming of France since I was 10 years old. My primary school let me choose between learning French and Italian and I swung Chanel’s way choosing Français. My high school taught Italian so I got lost for a little while. However, I never lost the desire to wear a beret, strut about like a Can-Can dancer and purchase anything and everything reminding me of this country I longed to see. For a week I’d been tossing and turning trying to decide whether I go out on a limb, forget all reasonable thought and responsibilities and just go. So I booked. I maxed out my credit card and secured flights in and out of romantic Paris. I was ecstatic, elated, on top of the world. I started planning my wardrobe, the miniature toiletries I’d have to buy, and organised to borrow a massive suitcase to fill with teacups, art and presents, all emblazing Parisian icons. I watched three Audrey Hepburn films in a row, all set in France, and read the two Parisian guides I naturally already owned. I saw Coco avant Chanel and started on her biography. I needed to absorb as much knowledge as possible before this whim of a trip began. Then I hit a wall. My supposedly free accommodation was no longer and I couldn’t afford the trip without such a luxury. And to make it worse my tickets were non-refundable. Fuck… excuse my French. So I made the only choice a recession-unfriendly, struggling writer has and changed my flights to the following year. Shattered? Yes. But we’ll always have Paris. So back on the bandwagon I hopped booking 6 weeks, 10 countries, and true European bliss. I realised that if my last-minute voyage hadn’t gone topsy-turvy I would have missed out on how exciting it is to dream up the perfect trip. Within hours I’d devoured the Contiki website, restaurant reviews, and Lonely Planet guides from more countries than what my highly-desired and now non-existent Frenchcapade had offered. There are so many options! And I now have the motivation to save money – so I can actually eat more than a lone baguette each day – and something to look forward to. I can count down the days until I clamber to the front of the waiting crowd, rush to my allocated seat, buckle in, await lift off, and about 30 hours later arrive at my destination… Paris, when it sizzles.

Time to grow up, kid

Linsey Rendell is freaking out

Mum says I’ve always been an adult. From the moment I stole her makeup and drew panda patches around my 2-year-old eyes. But in a few months I actually have to grow up. I hit 21 this year – the age where you can drink in every country, as scripted on many of my birthday cards. But even with the party, presents and showering attention, it was a dull affair. What’s the big deal? Nothing changed much. Aside from being more of a grandma, staying in when it’s cold, unmotivated to peel off the blankets and put on dancing shoes… and I love a good boogie.

In a few months I graduate. I’ve been eagerly waiting for the day I put on my pink CI sash and finally start living. It means getting to do what I love and being paid for it. I’ll be employed full-time, I’ll be earning lots of money, and I’ll finally get to travel, eat cuisine more exotic than toast for breakfast/lunch/dinner and treat myself to an unnecessary item every now and then. Sounds blissful, but there’s a catch – how to get the job. Because what looming graduation actually brings is stress and a weighty reality check.

We’re in a recession, uni informs us journos get paid lousy wages and the thousands of graduated and redundant alike are applying for that lone available position that you want. How the F do I get from being ‘girl with a degree’ to legendary writer/journalist/editor/author extraordinaire? Somebody please explain this puzzling pathway to me!

I can apply for non-existent jobs, offer my pen for free, and keep calling the editors of magazines and newspapers until they finally accept my 100th call and, fingers crossed, take me on. The thought of all of this though is daunting, depressing and downright scary. I’m on the cusp of executing one of a billion possible career opportunities, and turning life as I know it topsy-turvy.

I’ve decided that in the meantime all I can do is try my hardest and put into gear a quality I normally struggle with: patience. Greeting this last semester one day at a time, I aspire to take my steps slowly – like an annoying-but-cute flower girl who places lone petals centimetres apart down the aisle – towards the day grad (or a job offer) arrives. It’s going to be excruciatingly painful for this stubborn Taurean. But hopefully the good kind of pain, like the ripening of an orgasm. That’d be nice.

Why I hate first years…

Hate is a strong word. So I can confidently say that I don’t hate first years – far from it in fact. I think first years are cute, like a new puppy – excited, eager to please and completely clueless.

I clearly remember my own experiences as a first year student – finally being released from a strict school timetable and the constraints of school uniform (my own being a delightful brown and white barcode-stripe sack-style dress); the freedom of showing up whenever you wanted to and of course the endless 18th celebrations.

University undeniably marks the beginning of being an ‘adult’, but five years on from my own first and after careful examination, I believe first years are nothing more than pests designed to enrage other students.

Don’t believe me? Think about how often you have encountered the following situations:

How many times have you been required to take drastic and immediate evasive action to prevent yourself from running into the person in front of you, who for some unknown reason has decided to suddenly stop? I guarantee you it was a first year student.

Remember that time you were running late for your lecture and just as you hit your top power-walking speed a group of five people appear out of nowhere and begin to walk torturously slowly, blocking your path? They were first years.

What about when you were frantically trying to finish your assignment in the computer labs but all you could hear was a loud high-pitch voice talking about, like oh my god, how incredibly drunk they got on the weekend? First year. And newsflash first year – no one who is over 18 actually cares.

But even though I find first year students the most annoying part of university, and I’m not one to discourage you from joining the ‘I Want To Punch Slow Walking People In The Back Of The Head’ group on Facebook, they do have their good qualities. They are generally nice, eager to help out and it can be fun to open their eyes to the wonder that is Taco Tuesday.

So next time someone stops suddenly in front of you or blocks your path or distracts you with their boasting of exploits from the weekend – take a moment, breathe, and remember that was once you. And you turned alright, kid.

What I’ve learned about University from watching movies

Every February, a growing anxiety creeps over me. As another year of uni looms, the pursuit of a tertiary education promises to put a massive dent in my free time, threatens to drastically reduce my availability for afternoon naps and blackmail me into wearing pants on a more-often-than-not basis. To quell my apprehension about entering into my final year of university, I ventured out to one of the world’s greatest sources of information (no, not Wikipedia), my local video store, to get the no-nonsense low down on what it means to attend University.

THE O-WEEK PARTY

It seems one of the most integral aspects to a University education is a killer orientation party. Held by the cool/womanising/crude under-achievers, this party serves as a means for “freshmen” to profess their love for University-level debauchery, only to embarrass themselves by only acting debauched at a meagre high school-level. Complete with kegs, an impromptu performance by a famous rapper/alt rock/ska band and large red plastic cups with white lips, this party is generally doomed to be broken up by a meddling Dean or a rival group of up-tight nerds (for more information see Meddling Deans and Up-Tight Nerds). The cool under-achievers hosting the evening’s festivities will have no doubt organised for female students to parade themselves around in totally degrading manner, pandering to the misogynist egos of those hosting the party. The female participants in such activities will smile broadly and act in ways that would make even a casual feminist weep. While drink driving is in no way advocated at the first party of the year, people will cheer for anyone game enough to operate a motorcycle under the influence (as per Animal House and Accepted).

ACADEMIC PURSUITS

While attending an institution of higher learning, education should not be of concern to you. Rather, the primary focus of students attending University is seeing members of the opposite sex naked. Now, this used to entail elaborate planning (in Animal House it meant a ladder and all black attire), but nowadays it simply means a chance encounter in the co-ed bathrooms (such as in American Pie: Beta House). Obviously, if you are devoting all your time to leering at others, scholastic pursuits will fall by the wayside. If this happens, don’t panic. It just means you’ll have to divert all your attentions to devising an outlandish scheme to cheat (in How High they smoke magical weed, in Old School they have a complex system of listening devices and microphones). While a failure to achieve academically is likely to result in some pretty tough times around three quarters of the way through University, sometimes to the point where you might even begin to consider straightening up and flying right, know that no matter how bad your grades, you will not get kicked out of Uni by a repressed campus individual.

MEDDLING DEANS AND UP-TIGHT NERDS

Every story has a villain, and at every tertiary institution there is a pompous administrator or student group waiting for you to breach the University charter so they can kick you out. Be wary of these people, but also recognise that their ingrained prejudices mean they already hate you. So as soon as you identify such a character/group on campus, the best idea is to plan a series of elaborate pranks to crush their spirits.

While University life can often be trying, what with all the keg-draining and perversion, just remember that University is about self-exploration, enlightenment and ultimately fun. And if ever problems in your tertiary existence seem too over-whelming, remember that a road trip WILL solve all your problems.

Whatever happened to …

Yeah yeah, we all miss Captain Planet. He’s a hero after all. Yes, it’s such a shame you can’t get it on DVD, and you’re right, it does make for a very original ringtone. And what? They played it in a club? A night club? In Two Thousand and Nine? Outrageous! Oh boy, thank you for reminding me of this forgotten classic, where do I sign up to be a Planeteer too?

I am not for a second trying to suggest that I am not all for Captain Planet and his zero-tolerance pollution stance. Hell, saving our planet is the thing to do, and, if anything, Ol’ Cappy (or, El Capitane as he is never known) was ahead of his time – An Inconvenient Truth came out something like 15 years later. He made both mullets and rangas cool. Respect given where respect is due. I just feel he is a stealer of thunder – which is practically looting, and not the way at all.

Spare a thought for a few less-remembered 90s kiddy classics, as I craftily segue my way through a few old favourites and recycle (Planeteer that I am) the past …

Ghostwriter. This show proved that to communicate with the paranormal, you needed literacy. And what better way to learn than by keeping up with the street-savvy and racially-diverse gang’s latest mystery? In a word: none. Along with the title character you – yes, you – can help the token Latino, the token Jew, the token Asian and the token black kid (and their non-minority-group white friends) fight crime. This show had a major influence on my little English nerd brain growing up, as I pretty much forced my mum into playing the word games the gang had to play. The only difference is I had no invisible letter-manipulating ghost creature to help, and there was no pressing mystery to be solved, except perhaps how my mother managed to produce such an intelligent daughter.

… But that’s a question to be answered by …

Ready or Not. Ah adolescence. The angst. The zits. The growing … in all sorts of places. Why is my chest getting bumpy? Why are my sheets sticky this morning? What’s all this hair? Why am I bleeding? Why have you got the door shut, Mum and Dad? If these are questions you are still asking, you’d best consult another source, because last time I checked (i.e. never) this program doesn’t exist in DVD form. If you remember watching Busy and Amanda and their ridiculous flower hats, then you were brought up well. Like Degrassi, this coming-of-age saga came from Canada, although unlike Degrassi, everything always turned out OK by the end of an episode – in less than 20 minutes an eating disorder would be solved and the girls would realise that boys and popularity weren’t worth it at all.

… It was worth it for ….

Alex Mack. I think forgotten is an overstatement for this much-loved primary school classic, but I also think it would be unjust to not include the show that shot Larisa Oleynik into “10 Things I Hate About You” famedom. Alex was a babe. A babe in a hat. A babe in a hat with a secret. A secret she can’t tell anyone, not even her parents. I find the idea that any pubescent would tell their parents anything to be laughable, but hey, I’ve never been coated in GC1-61. Nor can I make things levitate, create my own electricity or transform into some sort of liquid.

… What other TV hero could transform? Why, only …

Bananaman. Aka Eric, who only needed to bite into a banana to mutate into a potassium-enriched superhero. With a throng of arch-nemeses to keep him busy, including the Hitler-esque General Blight and a Scotsman who attacked with bagpipe-controlled haggis, it’s amazing the hunky Bananaman had time for his newsreader girlfriend. Bananaman had an evil knitting needle-wielding nanna long before The Mighty Boosh ever did, which suggests a program advanced beyond its years. What contradicts said advancement is evil nemesis Appleman, who in this day and age would be seen as a healthy hero, protecting the young from the likes of Donutman and Colaman.

… Back then, the young really needed protecting from the likes of …

Gogs. This gibberish 5-minute filler was weird and unsettling. From the screaming outro/intro, to the spousal abuse, to the baby with the bubble snot, this show should not have been deemed appropriate for kids. Thank god the Stone Age is over if that’s what Neanderthal living was like.

… They behaved worse than …

The Ferals. Before Rattus and co hit the big time and earned their Feral TV spinoff, and long before Mixy went solo in her spinoff spinoff, these domestic-turned-wild non-native animals took residence in the backyard shed of a university sharehouse. Hilarity, of course, ensued, especially when Keith the koala and Kylie the kangaroo popped their bitchy native heads over the fence.

… Named after a native Australian, but neither local nor feral is …

Budgie the Little Helicopter. Perhaps the most constructive thing Fergie ever did was pen and narrate this kiddy classic – it’s certainly lasted longer than Weight Watchers did for her. (Not Fergie with the lovely lady lumps by the way – she is probably young enough to have been shaped by these shows too.) Budgie was a more animated, more vocal, more airborne version of Thomas the Tank Engine – also narrated by British sort-of royalty.

… Budgie sure did have …

Lift Off. What gave me the idea to camp in the backyard? Where was I introduced to the novel concept of a doll hospital? How did my fascination with jelly arise? What made me think it was both feasible and simple to construct my own playground? The answer is Lift Off – an Aussie Kid’s cult classic that made talking elevators, moving and feeling dolls, and plants that doubled as televisions seem normal. More than normal – a must have for every boy and girl. Poss and Nipper and the whole block of flats they lived in sure had the life. Even if Mr. Fish down in reception could sometimes be a douche, they had Beverly the plant and Lotus the lift to comfort and teach them on the way up. And they had EC (E for Elizabeth and C for Charlie) all the time. I made sure I was bought an EC doll so I could have him/her all the time, but it just wasn’t the same.

… But then, nothing is – unless you party at the kind of club that plays the Captain Planet theme, like I do.

Some other favourites that I cannot segue in (but most with catchy theme tunes):

Ship to Shore

Little Elvis Jones

Ocean Girl

Genie From Down Under

Bangers and Mash

Round the Twist

Nelly the Elephant

The Animals of Farthing Wood

Twins of Destiny

What were your favourites?

Obama in the Eye of the Student

Wordsmithery- A Delicate Tapestry

Along the road you pass through life, there are several words and terms which you incorporate into everyday language. Some are combination of several words, and some are just plain made up. Some we’ve carried over from childhood, and some we’ve stolen from others. I suppose this is how most languages develop and mutate, and form dialects of others. Except in the case of l33t speak, which for all you normal people out there is a language used by mega-nerds (see: n00bs) when playing games such as COD 4, WOW, Starcraft. If you don’t know what any of these acronoyms/games are, then you really aren’t missing out on much… Just a whole other language which is confusing and scary to those who don’t know it. Anyway here are some of my favourites I have created or heard around the place:

Floordrobe: When the floor becomes the wardrobe, rendering the latter almost useless. Clothes are strewn everywhere, making any sort of organisation impossible. (Is generally interchangeable with Chairdrobe, by where all clothes are hung over the back of a desk/office chair)

Requestion: When someone asks a question, but is really requesting something.
E.g Person 1: Is that a packet of twisties?
Person 2: Sure is, would you like one?
Person 1: Yeah thanks.

Obama Baby: A baby which is born exactly 9 months after the day of Barack Obama’s historical election win. Usually a result of euphoric sex.

Facebookmon: Similar to Pokémon, Facebookmon are a collection of friends on Facebook. Most are people you will never talk to again, but keep them so you have more friends than others.

Twat: The past tense of tweet.
Person 1: I just had a good twat in my tute.

Bromance: A 100% plutonic close friendship between two straight males.

Podestrian: A pedestrian who has the highly distinguishable white headphones of and iPod/iTouch/iPhone/iShuffle.

iHog: The one person at a party who always manages to control the iPod/CD player to their own pleasure. Will mostly result in Karaoke songs and Oasis.

Parentnoia: The fear that your parents will come home to catch you doing something you shouldn’t; often involves girls.
Girl: Let’s make out
Boy: Sorry, we can’t I have a bad case of parentnoia. Let’s go downstairs and watch video of me graduating grade one!
Girl: I’m going home.

Shagoraphobia: Intense fear of sex/sexual relations.

Fauxbile Call: A fake mobile call, intended to shield oneself from an uncomfortable silence/situation.

Let us know your words! Leave a reply below.

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