Dancing on a Friday Night

The Darkness with Push Push
The Hunter Lounge, VUW 20/4/2017

I have for a very long time wanted to see The Darkess live. I didn't really think it would ever happen of course - the band split up in the late Nineties, only visited NZ once for a Big Day Out, and even when the reunion happened and then the Going Down Under Tour was announced last year, I didn't ever envisage myself being anywhere close to seeing them perform. Two missed chances with Iron Maiden have been geat teachers; but despite all avenues being exhausted with fellow audience-goers (one even at the eleventh hour), I went, I saw, and I believed.

It wasn't without its misgivings - a University venue meant the the whole student experience of crushing crowds, sticky floors and shuffling with eyes darting on either side waiting for an errant elbow to the head, was the order of the day. Strange how you forget the weird pehenomenon that is the front four rows of a standing gig quietly and mysteriously getting taller as the main act approaches. I haven't been in that sort of crowd since my own varsity days, and I didn't miss it.

But I'm so very glad I also didn't miss this experience. After a loose, fun and nostalgic warm up by Push Push, the main act was not tardy in fronting up - and front up they most certainly did. The Darkness are seasoned, but not yet venerable. Justin Hawkins has the energy of Jagger and the quick cheeky wit (and some of the look) of Russel Brand, and the band overall was tight, punchy and focussed. Brother Dan Hawkins lived up to his reputation s the quiet one, both siblings sharing guitar leads while bassist Frankie Poullain looked like the coolest man in Wellington as he would have had to have been, dressed in a polo neck, waistcoat and lounge suit. They opened with a reliable blinder - Black Shuck - and had me in the palm of their hands for the rest of the evening. Almost all of debut album Permission to Land was played, with a sprinkiling of new tracks including, curiously, what sounded like Hot Legs' Prima Donna - a few surpises and very few quiet bits, all lapped up by a fuller crowd than I'd anticipated. I don't think I've thrown so many goats, bawled out so many bawdy lyrics or - dear lord - danced. Ever. That just was never a Dunedin thing, I swear.

Well, I called it dancing. It was more jumping up and down on the spot - less pogo and matched with a decorous attempt to keep my arms close to my body (above my head for most of the time, though - it was really that kind of a gig), and on more than one occasion I was quietly grateful nobody I knew was there to see me. The soles and heels of my feet paid me back the next day (and I regretted not picking up a tee shirt on the way out); it's a young man's game. But hey, I had a literal brush with greatness when Hawkins, zipped up in his purple faux-cheetah-lined jumpsuit soloed past me on the shoulders of a roadie during their lengthy encore of Love on the Rocks With No Ice and I left feeling very very happy.

"Tell your freinds and families... we'll be back!" Justin Hawkins called out as they left the stage somewhere close to midnight. I hope the next time won't be too far away, and was already envying Christchurch its show the next night.

Swede Emotion

I love winter. Winter and Autumn. I adore Sortumn and its changing light, but the other two are okay also. Winter, especially; it's when I was born, where I come from, and where I'm at. The cold seasons are license to warm one's self and seek comfort. A toasty house with an open fire (best shut the drapes or the heat will escape), the golden promise of houselight in the dark (seriously - the curtains. Close them!), and winter food.

We're spoiled for all year round produce. It seems wrong to be having avocadoes and tomatoes near mid-winter, but I don't think I could do without either. And then there's the mid-year fruit and vegetables whose sweetness is made by colder mornings. Sprouts, parsnips, and the swede:

Food carries memories of comfort. I'd go to war for my Gran's corned beef recipe, or her steamed ginger pudding with custard the consistency of thickened cream. Such things to brace one's self when our world is farthest from the sun. I've always loved parsnips, and when straying from discipline can render them ambrosiac in a nutmeggy garlic gratin. I hated brussels sprouts with the rest of my generation until I was turned onto them at dinner with my first serious girlfriend and her parents.

I'd never tasted feijoas until I moved to the North Island, and then had them baked in a crumble while staying with friends. Nectar. We now have a tree of our own, which after a few years of coaxing and transplanting is finally yielding its fragrant green baubles, which will soon be big enough to make a pudding or batch of muffins.
The swede I ran hot and cold on with usually bad experiences (at a local restaurant served as a side diced, undercooked, and ultimately vomited out during a very long day at Shantytown when I was nine), but we made our peace in my teens when I could eat at least half a swede uncooked and still have room  for tea. Staying with an older cousin in Dunedin at fourteen my two friends and I shared a whole one the size of a lawn bowl while stomping up the hill to his flat and out of the approaching dusk.

These are things to look forward to, and meals to remember with a good wine or even a mead. I hadn't bought a swede for myself for years, but saw one in a local supermarket a couple of years ago and instantly had to have it. It's now a winter staple. Over the past few years another friend and I have found a whole new subject to talk about, swapping recopies and talking about baking and cooking.

Some people aren't fans of the mid-year cold snaps, wind and damp, but I've always loved it, and the taste of it. Probably always will.

Pretty Ugly

So, this happened yesterday:

And of course this. And this is what happens when making sarcastic (and often very funny) trailer spoofs goes to your head. Plus, WTF The Independent?

 And so on.

Hair and Make Up is a technical category, so right off the bat a win in this category does not and should not have any relation to whether it's a good movie, or even a good movie gone bad. And, clearly, it's not a contest between this category and Best Actor, Best Picture or whatever. Jesus.

I remember watching the Lord of the Rings DVDs for the first time with commentary by Ngila Dickson's commentary, and being blown away by her insight as costume designer - the effect of lighting, weight, fabric dynamics, weathering, environment, wind, water, movement, the cut of cloth... so many elements that just weren't apparent to me watching the movies for however many times I'd seen them. 

There's a great and really informative article by the ever-reliable Andrew Dyce on ScreenRant which goes into the history of this still young Oscar category, what it actually means, and how a generally derided movie like Suicide Squad can earn not just a nomination but win the category. If the result frustrates, puzzles  or even interests you, you should check it out; there's defnitely more to this win than meets the eye, or merits the entitled whining.

As for me I'm happy for this pretty ugly little film and its band of well-designed misfits. Especially Killer Croc. Damn that's cool work. And congratulations to Squad's other Oscar winnerViola Davis too!

The Force With Us.

Last weekend some of my childhood arrived in the post, in particular, 90 per cent of my Star Wars action figures, and my cardboard Death Star playset. Here it is:

Obviously, there’s a bit of restoration work to be done on the Death Star, and there’s the question of my missing Stormtrooper (I wonder if I have it here in the house?) AND everyone’s missing firearms (will just have to make some new ones I guess), but hey – Star Wars figures back! And I hadn’t even missed them, really. Surprisingly though, their unearthing by my brother and their arrival did trigger a small frisson of excitement and nostalgia for me; and as Mrs Simian (and Jet Jr) insisted that we open the two large parcels as a family, I can attest that, yes, there was considerable interest and explanation of who was who, and a roll call taken.


The Junior Simian is intrigued, as he hasn’t really been exposed to Star Wars until now. Oh, sure, he has some Kinder Surprise bobble things from last year, and he’s seen the Lego game of the prequel series; but hard plastic blobs and pixel shapes do not a space saga make. I was seven when I saw Star Wars – I couldn’t possibly have been any younger and I still think it’s the perfect age to watch those movies, but times change and kids change. And so after careful parental deliberation, the verdict was read: Jet Jr could watch Star Wars with Dad while Mum had a lie down. But Dad was in control of the remote. Better he discover these stories at home than (shudder) from the playground…Do I care just a little too much? I hope not. We watched the Special Edition of the movie now insistently called A New Hope. As my copy of the ‘original’ print is the miserly letterbox version released with the Special Edition DVD a few years back, it was sadly no contest. Our TV screen is a good size, but it’s not THAT big to make a difference to the picture quality . It nearly killed me to do this, as outside of the SE of Empire I’m not a fan of those editions at all (the Jabba scene got sped through – goodbye, bad CGI and unnecessary dialogue repetition!), and Junior wandered out during the Greedo-shooting-first debacle, so no expended explanation was necessary for why Dad’s teeth were making a grinding sound for a few seconds there. Maybe I do care too much? 

Anyway, what did the Junior of the Simian house make of George Lucas’ debutante Star Wars movie? It was hard to say, really. There were bits he clearly enjoyed (Luke and Leia swinging over the Death Star chasm probably the highlight; got bored during the final X-Wing assault), and he wandered out of the room for a couple of key moments (no Obi Wan death scene for him – it traumatised me as a child, so no issues there), and some misunderstandings of the plot got quickly papered over (did you know that the film’s opening scene features a lot of guys sleeping in a space ship corridor? Well, now you do), but on the whole I think he enjoyed it, and certainly it’s been the topic of conversation for some of the week past. Hey, it’s made a nice change from requesting Bruno Mars videos on YouTube and announcing updates on which of the Beatles are still alive. And favourite character: R2-D2. Good choice. Pick the guy with the best lines. Doubtless in time the lad may want to see it again, or some other Star Wars stuff, and the movies will be doled out carefully. I’m not a crazy purist – we’ll likely do all of the prequels, whatever he wants to see, really, but all in his own time.

Bloody Hell

Hello Readers.

Sorry, I've been somewhat distracted from my blog of late, and am currently working away to remedy this; so for a while things might go a bit wee-woo on the chronological front as time flows backwards over these pages. There'll be a return to normality, ollowing a short series of dainty wee posts here and there to tide things over.  Just go with it - there's bound to be a good story somewhere in there.

Cheers!

Jet

Here Be Dragons!

A quick post for a wee victory dance. Long-time readers may recall that I've had a long-term ambition to find some of the old Grenadier Models Lord of the Rings minis to complete (or at least enhance) my existing set. I've also for even longer than that wanted to have my very own dragon miniature to paint. Well, consider the target reached and half-completed.

A chance car boot sale at a local school saw the Simian familty sauntering past on a dry run before an inevitable garage sale we'll be having some day soon. We brought money with us, but didn't really intend to spend any. But what did I see going there?

The Grenadier LotR sets - likely both the monsters and Fellowship (and Bill the Pony - I could kick myself!) together in a box, painted very nicely, and going for $15.

With them was a similar Grenadier box of orcs and Dwarves - also painted very nicely. $15

With them, a Mithril Minis diorama of Eowyn, Merry and the Lord of the Nazgul astride his Fel Beast. Unpainted. $10. And with that, a Ral Partha Armoured Dragon - simply undercoated and like the Tolkien diorama a tidy 25mm scale. Also a tenner.

Cue much hand-wringing and balancing out of cash reserved for the daily commute. In the end, I chose, and I think I chose wisely. Mithril and Ral Partha are companies who made quality minis back in the day, and I've always wanted something from both of their stables. And now I'm not only a dragon richer, but also a rather cool diorama to paint for my very own. The LotR set I left behind - and still I feel the pang. But hey, they were painted really really well by someone who loved them, so they've already had a great life, and I have over half the contents of that box already (don't mention Bill!) Hopefully someone got them in the end, and if they did they got a great deal.

As for me, I'm happy! But Metal Mountain just got that little bit higher.

PS: A note about the unboxing though - the Armoured Dragon is missing a foot. A shame, but not the end of the world. A missing piece means a story to add to the picture...

Back to School of Rock

I have over this holiday period been busy, and while I'm now but three days back at the zoo, I am of course a lot busier - but some activities haven't changed.

To what am I referring, you don't ask? Well, I have another work-related gig coming up. A musical one. To readers who know me probably also know that I had one of these last year, some fifteen years since I last played some form of live gig (my own wedding, in what would turn out to be the last ever time me and my old bandmates would ever be in a room together, let along playing impromptu.) The circumstances around this sudden return to treading pedals and dodging guitar leads are quite hum-drum; suffice it to say I was lured into a gathering of sales staff who shared a middle-aged musical itch and some degree of talent, and with a month or so's home practice and one kind of boozy actual rehearsal, once we were in the same town the day beforehand, we became the surprise entertainment for a company get-together in front of our working peers and managers. No pressure, then.

The exercise was as fruitful and inspiring as it was sphincter-tighteningly anxious. If I thought playing my own songs in front of friends and family with two drunk ex-bandmates might have been a challenge (and the wedding video offers little clue to the contrary), then a full set of varying covers and standards in front of colleagues was something else. Some return experiences in life can be wonderful - like stepping back into a comfy pair of slippers. This was (almost literally) like attempting to squeeze one's self into a pair of lycra pants from two decades before. I was not at my best on the night, and crucially aware that I stood among musicians much more talented and practiced than I - even in the simple art of looking like one knew what one was doing.

 But I won't lie; it was a very exciting experience, and it changed me for the better. I'm a better player for the limited practice time (YouTube is a godsend!), I have (pauses to grind teeth) a new respect for cover musicians that I never had to this point, because playing and muffing one's own works is a pretty fault-free form of creative expression - if you suck, then your songs suck and that's that. But sucking at playing a song everybody knows, and that somebody out there is almost certainly bound to be able to better you on, is quite another thing. So the discipline is a new thing- as is the joy of getting it right. It's a gamble, but a calculated one. And in one week's time I'm about to do it all over again at a different zoo.