Barry McGloin

Christmas 2011

2012-01-15T03:53:00.000-08:00

Well here we are in 2012 and I'mgetting vertigo.

This Yuletide has been tragic with thedeath of Ian Mattingly, husband of Ros, Denise's sister.

Ian was only 49 and the father of fivechildren. It was totally unexpected and happened in 1 week.

Our hearts go out to Ros and herwonderful children, Alice, Megan, Michael, Clare and Jack.

Wagga Cathedral was packed to the maxwith people standing en masse at the sides of the altar and at therear of the church. Four priests officiated including ArchbishopCarrol, a cousin of Ian's and Monsignor Frank Marriott, MonsignorLane from Corowa and Wagga's Father Paddy Sykes. Father Paddy madethe ceremony as light as such a sad occasion can be with amusingcomments on Ian's larrikin leanings and sporting propensities –football is a winter sport, Cricket a summer sport but betting knowsno seasonal boundaries. Ian's cousin gave an excellent eulogy –picture a young Ian galloping full tilt around the house while loudlycalling the race. The rainfall container placed beneath the eaves isthe sort of thing anyone might do...

Ian had a finely tuned sense ofirreverent humour. The irony of such a magnificent send off wouldhave provided great mirth for this man who, to my knowledge, had nota religious or spiritual bone in his body. He would have appreciatedit. Vale Ian.

Our heartfelt thanks must go toMonsignor Frank Marriot who has selflessly officiated at familyweddings and funerals, often involving long journeys and breaks awayfrom his own heavy schedule.

Life never ceases to amaze with itstwists and turns. Always expect the unexpected. Our son Jamie wasattacked in Krakow, Poland at 2:00am by skinheads who jumped from acar, and put the boot in. He lost one tooth and his front teeth weremisaligned. He managed to flag down a police car and was taken toCasualty. It could have been much worse, he could have suffered braindamage.

As he philosophically put it, it wasrandom, pointless, but could have been anywhere. He'd travelledacross the USA, South America and Europe. We have had a similarstupid attack here in Canberra, one recently upon an Irish tourist, atragedy which did result in brain damage. Yet Canberra is arelatively peaceful city. There are elements of idiocy anywhere. Theirony is that he went to Poland to visit the Nazi concentration campat Auschwitz, a place of remembrance of those murdered by a systembuilt upon the evil proposition of a mutant. A system which cultivated and licenced brutality and murder not only by the dregs, the worstelements of humanity, but by common soldiers, promulgated throughfear and silence.

We were also saddened this year by thedeath of Kathy Snashall, wife of my cousin Glenn. It was anothersudden death and we were fortunate to have spent a lovely eveningwith them during our trip to London earlier in the year.

Christmas

Christmas was spent in Melbourne atCara and Greg's home in Box Hill with Greg's parents Erika and Brad.It was wonderful to catch up with our children, their spouses andgrand children, each one beautiful and unique. The Christmas eveseafood was excellent as was Christmas Day's roast salmon, roastturkey and roast pork on the barbecue. Accompaniments were also fab.There was lively discussion and music, as all Christmas should have. Photos are on Picasa.

When in Melbourne a visit to secondhand bookshops and CD shops is a must. This visit I was pleased todiscover a number of bargains including, from the $2 bin at TheSearchers, Collingwood, The New Gothic, a compilation of gothic shortstories by Patrick McGrath and Bradford Morrow and essays by JudithWright called Because I Was Invited and The House of The Mosque byKador Abdolah. I also bought a biography of D.H. Lawrence by JohnWorthen, almost new for $8.

My best reads of2011 were

Disgrace by J.M.Coetze

Lovesong by Alex Miller

Conditions of Faith by Alex Miller

Brooklyn by Colm Toibin

All four most enjoyable reads withsuperb prose. I have reviewed Alex Miller's Lovesong on Amazon. I'llhave to obtain his latest Autumn Laing which has top reviews. Herates it as his best yet.

Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. A bravewoman speaks out against a medieval culture. Let's hope Islam canmodernise, divest its crippling, inhumane doctrines.

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini.Background to Afghanistan, the plot overly contrived but

none the less entertaining.

Speaking With the Devil by variousauthors. Short stories edited by Nick Hornby. Risky and some hilarious.

Romulus My Father by RaimondGaita Autobiography with great depth and passion. The troubledrelationship between father, mother and son as each comes to termswith their new country and each other. Also wonderful prose. I mustsee the film.

No Surrender by Johnny Rogan. Abiography of Van Morriison. Rogan dislikes The Man, yet appreciatesaspects of his art. Morrison has said he'd like to do a book onRogan... A good read but I have doubts about Rogan's taste andhonesty, he skewed the book to his own agenda.

The biggest disappointment this yearwas Parrott and Olivier in America by Peter Carey. I've alwaysadmired Carey's writing – True History of the Kelly Gang,Illywacker, Jack Maggs and Oscar and Lucinda are all fabulous. MyLife As A Fake was also enjoyable. The prose here is up to his usualstandard but the plot for me was too artificial. Ok others liked it,maybe I expected too much, but I read half and had to abandon ship.Should I have persevered?

CD Bargains foundover Christmas

I found the following CD bargains alsoat The Searchers, Collingwood. The Stooges Fun House remastereddouble for $8, Ernest Ranglin's classic In Search of The Lost Riddim(which went up with our house in the 2003 fire) for $4, an absolutebargain, a union of Senegalese musos with Ernest's jazz, reggae, funkgroove. Also from Dixon's Recycled in Brunswick St I foundTinariwen's latest Tassili+10:1, which I'm unsure about so far - it is more laid back and acoustic than previous albums, and Ikeand Tina Turner's River Deep Mountain High, the 1966 album, some ofwhich is (over) produced by Phil Spector (also lost theLP in the bushfire) but it contains some good R'n B numbers.

Finally I bought The Doors' 2007remastered re-release of The Soft Parade with the extra tracks. Mustadmit I had heard a few tracks but never the whole thing – it hadsuch a poor reputation. Well the reputation is warranted bycomparison to their other fine albums, and in fact all of the otheralbums are worthy additions to any collection despite what criticDave Marsh wrote in the second edition of Rolling Stone Rock and RollGuide. Yes The Soft Parade was misguided. However, there are a handful ofgood tracks which, had they been issued as an EP would have enhancedthe group's reputation, these being Touch Me, Shaman's Blues, EasyRide, Wild Child, Runnin Blue and from the additional tracks Version2 of Whiskey Mystics and Men. Ok a 6 track EP but ok material.

Best Music for 2011

CD highlights for 2011 include mosttracks from the Songlines magazine's Top of The World Cds whichaccompany each issue. Also the additional Cds from various countriesare often as good as, if not better than, the Top of The Worldissues. Of particular note this year are Dutch Delta sounds, BleuBlanc World, Brazilian Bahia and Shetland Music.

The Best of Van Morrison Vol 3, adouble Cd was selling new for $10 at JB Hi Fi and could not beignored. There are a number of live tracks, re-mixes andcollaborations to make it special. I expected a number of indifferenttracks but surprisingly most tracks are well chosen (by Van) andquality material with about six being excellent – Ancient Highway,Raincheck, Blue and Green, Shenandoah (with The Cjhieftains), Help Me(with Junior Wells), Lonely avenue/ 4 O'Clock in the Morning (w.Jimmy Witherspoon) and Early In the Morning (with B B King).

The Hendrix family finally released aremixed and reconfigured Hendrix In The West, originally released asa posthumous collection of superb live performances. This version hasadded three tracks and replaced Little Wing and Voodoo Chile (SlightReturn). In my opinion this is a stronger

compilation, but of course there aremoaners on Amazon. I had to place a review.

Sony's Original Album Series areexcellent value in that they contain a box set of five albums whichsells for $20 at JB Hi Fi. I purchased Otis Redding, Wilson Pickettand Los Lobos. I have reviewed the Wilson Pickett set on Amazon whichis excellent apart from the reprocessed stereo on the Wicked Pickettalbum.

Other highlights include two livealbums recorded in the 60s with the Muddy Waters Band backing JohnLee Hooker and Big Mama Thornton. Also James Brown live in Dallasfrom 1968 and Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys La Toussaint, greatcajun/zydeco from 1995. The Byron Bay Bluesfest is not lookingparticularly inspired this year at this point but there are artiststo be announced.

Our U3A short story group is growingstronger, 2011 had about 15 members and this year should have 20.Paul Humphries generously organised a publication of our output withtwo stories from each person. It is wonderful to see the variety ofstyles and this grass roots talent displayed in print.

Den

2011-12-30T23:13:00.000-08:00

Den

Pommy, hey Pommy, d'yer know whadda roudis Pommy?

Black Marie'll show ya for a coupla bob.

Take no notice says Den, they're geein' you up.

Third year. Nowra.Sixty three.

Pimply faced, soft voiced Den, angular, synchronicity jarred,

elbows and knees jerking the bike

like a jackrabbit snapped in a trap.

Smart bugger Den. Fine tuned brain.

Pommy paddles out from the cove sun clings warm

Wead waving slowly clear fresh salt splash

Flush with the swell

plow to the point where rollers rise in symmetry

like prayers in a rosary.

Sarah, hey Sarah, do you run to a cuddle Sarah?

Den's dad Pat, nose red rolls a ciggie winking

You bally old fool she shoots back, behave yourself.

Narrow weatherboard house, aroma of decades,

cracks of defiant endevour puttied and painted

muted now, whispers in slow conversation

of deeds delivered and deeds to come.

Behind the break a balsa board blobs on the

belly of the ocean he marvels at

the scale and joy

how the warm swell of fortune drowns the

dry wraith of the discrete English sitting room.

Pommy, hey Pommy, did ya take a bath in Pommyland?

Find a new script Bowlsey says Den.

Cicada shells cling to trees dead eyes staring,

beware their ghostly song which seeps and snares

into the night.

Den and Pommy walk the pipeline to the dam and back

sharing a snack on soft white river sands.

I was lifted on high by the Hand of God.

The wave sucked all thought memory

desire, nothing but the

will to ride the wall shot to eternity

surge and swing and drop and rise and turn again.

Denny, ask Pommy see if he wants to join us fishin'.

The hut a fortress from bush rat and ranger

Bastard got in but, says Pat. Sinkers and tackle stole.

I'd shoot the thievin' rat. Dinks. Beans tonight, bream tomorrow.

Stepping along a bush track Den jumps back shit so close

Death Adder, kill ya, quick as a shot.

Den avoided the beach, not a swimmer.

I cherished this new world so alive with

chance it rose and dove

in warmth and wave opon wave the sunlit

shimmer of silvery dreams alive so alive alive oh

Den and Pom at the bucket end of Pitt St, all debris,

dust and grime. Some flea bung establishment.

Shangri La. Ha.

Cop breaks in at dawn. What're you two up to?

A Day in the Big Smoke. Eyes like possums. Cop snorts.

Constable Webb. He paddles in filth Den says quietly

Dip your beak in the gutter you paddle in filth.

Slice the face of the wave godlike and blind

momentum in concert with life flow aligned

immortal, sublime

but somehow

tripped some tick Divine and suddenly smote

and plunged
down
through
the
devil
deep
ocean.

I hadn't heard, then Pat sent word that Den was dead. Suicide.

Run in with the cops down in Tasmania. Did the bolt.

Came home somehow concussed. Lost inside himself said Pat.

Wiped out, godless and drowning, down through the

devil dream ocean

deeper than sunlight, where the song of the cicada is silent,

so far down there was no way up.

A place where sorrow is washed away.

A Dog to Break the Back of The Red Bellied Black

2011-11-09T20:05:00.000-08:00

The Australian Cattle Dog with its dingo ancestry will deal with a snake instinctively.

The Staffordshire Terrier, aside from being a most lovable pet, has great courage and will attack anything, no matter what size.

Thus it was that I, together with Luke and Darcy who are named after the famous footballer, were finishing our walk on Cooleman Ridge and descending to the car via a narrow nature trail. Darcy the Cattle Dog was leading Luke, the (female) Staffie. About half way down Darcy lunged off the trail and suddenly was vigorously shaking a thick red bellied black snake in his jaws. He held his head high, doubtless to avoid the venomous bite, but trophy like. I held Luke back and moved in to grab Darcy's lead; alas the Staffie also dived into the fray. I managed to pull both away, hauling Luke by her coat; Darcy saw his job was accomplished. The snake looked finished, ragged but still moving. Both dogs appeared fine but Luke collapsed when we reached home, blood coming from fang points on her snout. Luckily the animal hospital is close by and I zoomed down there as quick as a Stig. She was saved. The cost of the anti venom alone is $AUD960. I wrote the following verse as a tribute to Darcy and his DNA. I'd like to point out that I appreciate snakes and was sad to see it damaged, but nature will take its course.

DARCY , DOG OF DOGS

Darcy is a dog's dog. A god's dog. A dog's god.

Darcy is a god's dog, Le Roi Chien.

Mongrel of mongrels. Sniffer of sniffers.

Barker of barkers. Wagger of waggers.

A dog to break the back

of the red bellied black.

The line is drawn by the dog that is Darce

An old testament dog, in black and white

cast

in bone crunching recrimination

for transgression and/or

altercation

no boutique dapper yapper like you'd see

in a snappy North shore latte cafe

no perfumed manicured accessory

perched on a lap for perfect display

of perfumed manicured accessories

The line that was drawn by the god Darsay

was not seen by the fat red bellied black

who lay in the sun by the side of the track

who thawed himself from winter's chill

whose tale was as old as the will

which binds us.

Yea though I walk through the valley of the

shadow of death I shall fear no evil and

Darcy shook the serpent surely in the

jaws of retribution its belly swashing

brilliant red in blue morning light.

I yelled no no, but to no avail and

its dying now lives in history

the writhing moments of leaching life

inscribed upon on this Friday sun.

And I wonder if god in his prescription

of breaking world in a perfumed garden

with Eve and Adam in blush beauty born

had Darcy rolling on Eden's sweet lawn

I wonder if Darce while sniffing and snuffling

at Eden's pert pores like this doggy does

had spotted a tail, a Tempter's tail

would the tale have been better

for each one of us?

Asylum Island

2011-10-08T14:36:00.000-07:00

Pacific Solution Revisited - Asylum Island

To the tune of the Irish rebel song, “Join The British Army” (Trad. Arr – Barry McGloin)

Well I was young and proud and free

They took my home and family

And now you see a refugee

C G AM

Searching for asylum

Too ra loo ra loo ra loo

They’re looking for monkeys up in the zoo

Said one if I had a face like you

I’d stick you on an island

Australians all let us rejoice

We have a hope we have a choice

We have a vote we have a voice

Not searching for asylum

Too ra loo ra loo ra loo

It’s Sanctuary Point, not Woolloomooloo

They’re looking for monkeys up in the zoo

To stick upon an island

The privileged and the disposed
One is cursed and one is blessed
Which one are you, I bet you've guessed
Out upon the island

Too ra loo ra loo ra lee

I’ll process youse eventually

I’ll stamp your bum and test your pee

While checking on your history…

Ah don’t complain this ain’t the Ritz

It’s Alcatraz not St Moritz

If you can swim out to the ships

The sharks can be relied on

Too ra loo ra loo ra lie
A pat on the back, a poke in the eye
They're looking for monkeys in disguise
Out upon the island

The privileged and the disposed

One is cursed and one is blessed

You have fuck all, well now it’s less

Out upon the island

Too ra loo ra loo ra loo

They’re looking for monkeys up in the zoo

Said one if I had a face like you

I’d stick you on an island

Well I was young and proud and free

I loved my home and family

But now you see a refugee

Searching for asylum

Too ra loo ra loo ra loo

They’re looking for monkeys up in the zoo

Said one if I had a face like you

I’d stick you on an island

The Weeping Cherry

2011-09-20T23:12:00.000-07:00

The Weeping Cherry

Once more she is a Spring princess

in her gown of bridal white

cascading delight from top to toe

and she astounds in her audacity

yet each year I am enthralled to see

such self effacing dignity

and now the bees at ease come a courting

with simple courtesy and each flower

will open

to each whispered suggestion

of consummate honey

the princess bride weeps not for sadness

but in pure sweet joy when each year

finds her beauty reborn.

Mother danced in the hive of love,

so she said

a bridal princess amongst the troops

gaiety, nylons and cigarettes

never the same one twice she laughs

then winks significantly,

those were the days hey

now look at me, I'm eighty three,

what happened? God almighty!

Once more she is a Spring princess

in her gown of bridal white

cascading delight from top to toe

in movement and symmetry

aligning the earth to planetary

purpose

to the heavenly tap tap tap

perhaps perhaps

And what music plays to this courtly season?

The skeletal tinkling of water on stone...

or perhaps an eternal elemental drone?

The melancholic mystery of the duduk call

or Glen Millers' swing... hey...

the Wood-choppers Ball?

2011-09-11T18:02:00.000-07:00

The Poetry Group Dismissed

''nothing exciting there'' he sniffedon

my wilful construction of verses

my creaky wooden stairway of anabsurdist poem

each word a step hammered in, as I donow,

some straight and some askew

rickety but rising,

reaching for a teetering tenement

of titillating tone

ascending nonetheless

until the mallet of his pompouspronouncement

shattered the assembly to matchsticks

scattered in the dust of endeavour

and nobody, not one from that cockyclique

uttered a squawk of dissent.

I said nothing, my nom de plume

intactus...

And so I shall sweep up my splintersand

I shall not return

and I wish them all

gonorrhoea

and....

may they plonk their bare arses along acommunal

tenement trough and

I'll light a ball of paper upstream

and like a burning barque

it will glide down the flow of piss

beneath their pink and pamperedposteriors

its flaming tongues to caress and kiss

to singe and sear their private

inferiors

and may they douse their

raw, blistered and blackened bums

in buckets of dung

steeped in

lime, salt

and vinegar.

2011-09-11T17:31:00.000-07:00

When the warriors returned we applauded their accomplishments. In the evening we celebrated with goat and lamb roasted over embers.
Then the musicians played to our hearts and sang songs of bravery and triumph, and kept us warm from the cold kiss of night.
They sang songs in praise of our God who had delivered us from our enemies.
Late in the night under a dream washed sky we savoured soft songs of melancholy, of lost homelands, of lost love.

I was but fifteen, not promised I believed, and my virtue unsullied. My mind was innocent, my soul not realised, my spirit unbounded, my possibilities immense, and my joys were many.

My father may God be with him sold me to a merchant, Salomon, a man with four wives.

Salomon was a brute. He plucked me as you would the petals of a flower, then ground the petals between his palms and cast them away. His wives then trampled them into the dust. I became shackled like a dog, fed the scraps of his exhaustion.

My father visited, goaded by my mother and by his own conscience; he knew me not.

In the morning he returned and slit Salomon’s throat from ear to ear. Salomon bled like the pig he was, squealing in silence. His wives wailed to the sun and to the moon.

We fled that country, my father, my mother, my two younger sisters and I, hiding by day and walking by night, avoiding towns and villages, eating what the earth provided, following the river.

After two weeks we joined a caravan travelling east. My father's smile returned and he became tender to my mother and to his daughters. That night he held me and wept. He told me that Salomon had assured an easy life for me, with respect for my youth. He begged my forgiveness for his foolishness. I told him that my family was the bread of my being, the honey in my heart.

On the following morning the sun arose, a gigantic blood red eye, its liquid bloody vision tainting the earth, reaching to our faces, smearing our souls.

When the raiders came upon us that night, our leader bargained for passage but their greed was immense and their slaughter was without mercy. We cried to our God to save us but His need for our martyrdom was greater than His need for our lives. I somehow slid away between boulders and hid beneath shrub trembling, a small frightened animal.

In the silence of the pale morning I slipped into the blackened smoking camp. Among the bodies, the limbs and the prowling dogs I found the head of my father. I closed his eyes and I held him to me. I kissed his lips. My blood had frozen, my heart had stopped. I looked to the left and I looked to the right. Nothing but destruction, death. Where was my mother? Where were my sisters? I looked to the sky. Where was my God? My screams erupted from my body like the Nine Demons of Sheol. Each one louder and more terrible than the last. The sky bled with my anger. My God cowered in His bower.

The year had opened in warm certainty and the possibility of youth. Now I felt the cold fingertips of Fate. Fate is the company you dread. You watch his shadow dance before you as he rides up behind.

This excerpt is taken from a manuscript found in a cellar in the town of Anjar in Lebanon in 2004. Anjar has been suggested as the location of ancient Syrian city of Chalcis. A Roman road connected Antioch to Chalcis. The purported autobiography of Sybilla of Antioch was translated into French in 2009 by Paul Hazan, Doctor of Linguistics at the University of Cairo. It is claimed to have been written in the 11^th century by Sybilla, the so called Queen of The Brigands (Hazan uses the French 'brigand'). It is reputed to be a fake by some experts despite carbon dating in 2006 which confirmed the sample material to be 11^th century. Others regard it as biographical romanticised fiction from around that period. Even so it makes good reading.

A disclaimer here. Purely by coincidence this post went up on the tenth anniversary of 9/11. Actually I posted it on 10/11 here in Oz (the dateline). It was not intended to have any direct reference to the dreadful tragedy, or indeed the subsequent ongoing tragedies of Iraq and Afghanistan.

Starving CHILDREN

2011-08-05T21:30:00.000-07:00

A deadly combination of drought, on-going conflict and escalating food prices has placed over 11 million people in need of life-saving aid in Kenya, Somalia and Ethiopia. Over two million children are malnourished. Please help UNICEF Australia by making a donation online (www.unicef.org.au/eastafrica).

A Feast of Spring

2011-08-04T17:38:00.000-07:00

The magpie alights at the top branch of the highest tree

his assassin eyes laser territory

at three sixty degrees snap

steel trap state of the art weaponry

trees yesterday crusifixii bones loom stark in the mist

now thrust and bud in Spring,

budding and thrusting and bursting

sun kissed and caressed

the emperor's wild wattle shouts

rejoice and bear witness

we rise from the chilly tomb of

winter

reawakening we suck on our sun

and flex new limbs and wave

in the wind

the aroma of Daphne is angel breath pervading

the garden of Eden deep pink buds open

to small white sepals

such

a simple perfect beauty

The wind ripples the pond where the last duckling dives to hide

the fox snatched her brothers,

an eagle lifted her sister

and the snake struck at supper

for a Spring time feast.

Notes from overseas

2011-08-01T20:51:00.000-07:00

ok I had to put something up about the trip - I've been lax, so some notes (actually an e-mail...) below.

All photos can be seen at
http://picasaweb.goohttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifgle.com/barry.mcgloin

Cara, now in a camping ground in Wales, the name has a Y in it....like a proper Welsh camping ground boyo, the only place we could find after driving from Macclesfield where we picked up the motor home. We're sitting here after a day in Conwy a medieval town bordered by turreted walls and bolstered by a castle all built by the order of Edward 1. The castle was pretty well impregnable but interesting to note that it was captured in the reign of lofty Edward IV by Welsh insurgents who had batted and bowled for the other side (Lancashire I think) and Edward had confiscated lands owned by the lords who had then spat the dummy and captured the impregnable castle. Nothing is certain.

So Edward sent his chief negotiator Boris Two Fingers to fix it. Boris in his agreement stated that the lords could expect their pardon and be walking their lands freely but that they would have to hand over a number of their men. Now, it would appear that this proposition may have placed the lords in a conundrum. Which of their men would be handed over? The story as I read it does not tell what happened and leaves open tantalising endings, some perhaps tres tragique.

It seems that all Wales is populated by about 10 major families, these being Jones, Williams, Thomas, Owen, Hughes, Davies, Lloyd, Edwards, Morgan, Jenkins and Lewis. No Fortesques, Montmerencies or Snipes, only unpretentious working appellations, in fact you would not be surprised to find a Hugh Hughes, a William Williams or Thomas Thomas, thus emphasising the Welshness and lack of frills moniker. That said the Welsh seem to be anything but dour. They are friendly and love a laff, as indeed do the Yorkies we met. A double barrelled surname would seem incongruous here yet there was that artist, Reece-Jones, and I wonder if there is a Thomas Thomas-Thomas which would be a sort of train crash of monikers.

We spent two nights at our fine camping ground at Ty'n-y-Groes a comfortable, lush, picturesque spot with mountains in the background and a fine pub within 10 mins walk or 5 minute march. Denise bravely ordered the black beef Welsh curry and I had the minted Welsh lamb and her curry was so good that I ordered it the second night. The award winning fish and chips in Conwy was especially good.

Beers – there are so many in the UK that it is impossible to keep track. I tried numerous Yorky beers and not a bad one among them – one of the Aysgarth was distinctively aromatic. These of course are nothing like the Aussie lager which is bland by comparison, the closest there would be Coopers ale or one of the micro brewery beers- but they tend to replicate the European styles rather than the English which is more of an acquired taste and generally low in alcohol content, although some ales can be table thumpers. Ciders are very refreshing after a long arduous walk.

Wales. The scenery here is splendiferous. We drove from Tin-y-groes down through Snowdonia
where the mountains rear like ancient beasts breathing above and beyond you, hard, jagged and
callous, no compensating vegetation as in the Scots highlands, no soft waterfalls, all grey black fierce rock. They fear nothing and challenge in their inviolate power but are content to sit in almighty ease. They stopped the English for years, We drove through unable to find a place to park our rolling monolith of a motor home and take a photo, however it was enough to see them in their glory on a summer's day.

Another highlight was walking through our first field full of sheep at Grassington. I'd read about an abbot being killed by a rogue sheep in the 12th century – I hadn't told Denise. We were about a quarter of the way across the field, and I think that I may have looked at one while wondering if it was the abbot killing variety and funny thing but some sheep do tend to look aggressive, like pugnacious as if saying ''who you looking at huh, HUH ?'' A wild look in the eye that says ''what's a nice boy like you doing in my paddock.....''

I swear this sheep growled. Anyway they all started making these deep sheepy braying noises, one of them sounding like Tom Waits with a hangover and ganging up behind us, must have been about 20, getting closer, and I said to Denise ''don't look at them....'' Fair dinks it was one almighty racket following us and I was wondering how this old abbot met his demise – was he butted from the rear and pummelled to death or did a mob surround him while he was praying or what?? Forget your ''baa baaa black sheep'', this was a roaring herd of malicious smelly monsters who could read my mind and knew that I had eaten countless Sunday roast lambs, inserting the knife blade and stuffing them with garlic and rosemary, they knew...... I could feel that they knew...

Yes we got through the gate ok but you know I don't think we ascribe enough to animals – they are more switched on than is commonly thought. Rinnie will wink at me. I kid you not. And Darcy, Ted's dog will know, as will Rinnie if you say the word 'walk'. I think they are forbidden in their doggy state to let on that they understand – being transitional from the human world until they become fit to enter back into the human form. Karma, they've done something in a previous life which has caused them to be reborn as a dog. One wonders what. Don't discount the doggie. Now, yer cat.... well some folk are cat folk, some dog, some pro labour, some liberal, some drive Holden and some Ford, some like Aussie Rules and some like rugby. Some like Chisel and some like Oils, Some like Coopers ale and some drink cats piss Tooheys. Guess which is the cat lover.

Another Yorky highlight was taking the bus from Grassington to Skipton. It was filled with Yorkies at play and the talk and laughter was loud and incessant for the thirty minute journey. One old bloke with a face like Michael Parkinson's dad, all smiles and greeting everyone, got on board with his dog and wife – the English are dog lovers to the max – and he stood up there with the driver just beyond the sign that said 'do not go past this point and talk to the driver' and 'wives must be kept on a leash and not crap on the bus' – the English love their signs, - and he yakked away to the driver non stop for the whole journey, turning to his wife at one point who was halfway down the aisle chatting away, to let the bus know 'we're talking about you, not to you'.

Today I found an Owen Owens ale. I haven't tried it yet, maybe tonight. I had a pint of Dragon ale and a pint of Celtic, both quite enjoyable, but the double O moniker impressed me.

Rebirth

2011-06-07T21:43:00.000-07:00

Divest the clothes of lineage
our rainment arretay
our heretage of ancestry
to pool the soul at play

Now glistening from chrysalis,
now light alights from shade
now form aglow in reborn bliss
alone, alive a sparkling day

Stars

2011-03-08T20:53:00.000-08:00

The stars are alive in the sky tonight

a glittering eternity

leaps to eye and time takes flight

a necklace of dewdrops

a-glitter in the sun

forged infinity, each and every

one

childspeak, she murmurs

in her sleep

at home

in a blanket of stars

and the soft spawn of infinite light

Nanna's Bedtime Story

2011-02-16T21:02:00.000-08:00

Sydney Snake – The Tale of a Reputable Reptile

Each morning when the sun was up and the ground comfortably warm but still glistening with dew Syd Snake would slither down to the pond, gaze into the water and have a chat with his old friend. Syd loved to chat, in fact he would do all the chatting, his friend was the best of listeners. His friend had heard of Syd's heroics for some years now, how he had been bailed up by a ferocious hissing tiger cat, how Syd had stood his ground and looked the cat in both eyes, flickered his tongue and.... this was Syd's favourite bit, the cat had arched its back and Syd had sprung like a flash of sun, quick as a snap of twig, sudden as a leaping trout...... Syd had lots of similes.

Then to the Epic Battle. How Syd's mouth had latched onto the nose of the cat, how his fangs had sunk into the side of its mouth, breathing its hot cat breath, how its scream had torn and tissued the air. Now, everyone knows that snakes are deaf but Syd could feel and sense the rent he said, the shaking trees he said, who watched with the birds, the insects, the reptiles and rocks, and how the sky, in fact the whole firmament was hushed in awe. And when it was over and a tattered and bloody victorious Syd had inched away from the supine feline with its mouth open to the sky and the fire leached from its eyes, the trees cracked with approval, the birds sang with applause, the boulders rumbled and all the snakes in tree hollows, under rocks and those in the holes of the bowels of the earth all hissed as one with praise, SSSSSSSSydney,SSSSSSSSydney!

Then Syd was onto his conquests. I'm a shameless philanderer he said. I admit it. Another one last night. They come to me like sunbeams to flowers, like bees to blossom, like dew kissing the earth. I say to myself Sydney, you are incorrigible. I am helpless and hopeless before them. They tantalise and entice, I am unable to resist. And why would I? They all fascinate and allure and I cherish each sweet heavenly curve. And you might ask Sydney what is your secret? And I reply that I am merely me and can only be myself. Oh and I always flatter the lady. Sincere flattery mind, for how could it be otherwise? They all know where to find a good cuddle: Sydney Snake, Pondside Rock, Coolemon Ridge.

Syd had lived at Pondside Rock as long as he could remember, and longer. He knew its inhabitants as they knew him, all the frogs, the dragonflies, the lizards and birds, in fact years back these creatures had avoided Pondside Rock. Now Syd, if he was lucky, might catch a dragonfly who had hovered ten ticks too long, an indiscreet young frog ''here I am so, here I am so'', a forgetful duckling who playfully poked around the pond bank and if Syd's luck was out, tree grubs.

These days Syd was not as agile, not that he realised it, and he was inclined to grumble. In fact he was grumbling to his friend right now, having finished the heroics and female conquests, that each morning he is awakened by loud footsteps of ''one of those infernal walkers with white hair and glasses'', not unlike this author, as he tromped loudly past Syd's rock. Now Syd resolved to do or die, he resolved to give the inconsiderate human a bite he wouldn't forget. And so it is that each morning Syd launches out of his hole with mouth agape and lands flat on his belly. He is just too slow. And then he slithers to the pond to cheer himself up by recounting his conquests to his old friend. And each evening he turns to his tail, blinks myopically and smiles a wide fangy Sydney charmer, saying “well hello you gorgeous creature! Sydney, you are indeed blessed... once again.”

Just A Wee Bedtime Story Aye for my Grand Children

2011-02-13T03:36:00.000-08:00

Each morning Grandad walks up the hills and down into the valley.

There are lots of birds and animals and insects and trees and flowers and bushes.

There is a pond where the frogs like to croak to each other, and the ducks like to swim.

A fox sometimes comes to say hello to the ducks, before he tries to catch them and eat them.

Sometimes Grandad sees pretty parrots like the Blue Cheeked Rosella and the White Cheeked Rosella.

Look aren't they pretty? Why do you think they are called blue cheeked and white cheeked?

They fly in pairs like mummy and daddy. Or in a family like mummy and daddy and you.

They whistle to each other and look for seeds to eat. Can you hear them?

Sometimes Grandad sees a large black sad Raven bird calling Caw Caw. Why is the Raven sad? Perhaps it is hungry? Or perhaps it just likes to make a fuss and complain. Some people are like that aren't they? You're not like that, are you? Sometimes? I think sometimes we all are.

Sometimes he sees black and white hungry Magpies looking for meat, or insects, or worms. Do you like worms to eat?

And sometimes he sees a huge hungry eagle. The eagle is the King of Birds. It can carry away a baa lamb and eat it. It can't eat a Grandad unless he is dead. So Grandad keeps walking.

But it might fly down to look. See? The eagle says Grandad is too heavy to carry away.

Sometimes Grandad sees kangaroos eating grass or lying down. He makes a clicking noise with his tongue and says Hello Skippy. They stand and look at him. So would you.

Sometimes early in the morning he sees a fox coming home. Hello Mr Fox he says. Mr Fox has a foxy smile. He has a full tummy. Somewhere a little girl can't find a chicken called Henrietta Cluck or a wee fluffy bunny called Penelope Figgs. Never mind says her daddy, we'll buy another one. Yes.

Soon. Today.

Grandad and Nanna like to walk because exercise is good for us. It helps to keep you slim, not fat. Who do you know who is fat? Is she a little bit tubby or as wobbly as?

Would you say as wobbly as a jelly?

Grandad likes to drink beer. And wine. They make you fat.

Does your daddy drink beer and wine?

And your mummy? She likes wine does she?

At five o'clock in the afternoon Grandad opens his first beer. Yum he says.

Grandad likes a ciggie with his beer. He is a naughty boy. Ciggies are bad for you.

They can make you die.

Great Nanna has been smoking ciggies for 200 years. She is called the Human Chimney.

It's a building that smoke comes out of.

Good on you Great Nanna.

Too much wine makes you silly. Nanna likes wine. Yum she says.

When she comes home from work she has a glass of wine.

Grandad says have another one love, it's time to relax.

Grandad has a glass of wine after his beers. Naughty boy says Nanna.

Nanna makes a cup of tea before bed. Sometimes they skip the cup of tea.

Then Nanna likes to dance. Silly Nanna.

Holy Cow

2011-02-12T17:44:00.000-08:00

The end of the day

at the barbecue

wind thrashing and heaving

like some blind animal

trapped in a slaughterhouse

shaking sensibility

order dismissed

and words

rise and billow

in bubbles bursting, blasting

and bellowing from

the belly of a bellicose cow

words like anarchy

antipathy

udder and

shudder

Close the cover

contain them all

but

a singed word slips

out

letter tips smoking

and whirls away

polyglot it's not

couldn't read it

stretched as it was

to spider silk

and now the veal says

where's my mummy?

You are ...kidding....?

and

the steak says here,

mummy's here darling

I don't believe you...

and I heard that sausage

snigger.... hey you

what is this...??

and now the rissoles

raise a grizzle

aunty aunty...

Aunty's here darlings

says the t-bone

aunty didn't know you

in your new clothes

now don’t cry you're not to blame

it had to come to this

they feed us and fatten us,

they slaughter us

grind us and flatten us

one minute we graze

golden in green

agrarian bliss

and next we're

a hundred humongous

meal deal choices

or being flamed on a barby

by a fool like this

who imagines voices...

what goes around, comes around

in the words of we Buddhist

bovines

I was him

yesterday

as he shall be me

tomorrow

Organic Peach

2011-02-12T17:36:00.000-08:00

You rise early,
move slowly
in dream and light

gaze lazily
sleep slurred eyes
lured to loveliness

then
a soft caress
tentative
skin upon skin
lips and senses sup aroma

oh such sweet indulgence
sinking
flesh into flesh
and relish, relish
warm ripe flesh

well come sweet
lusciousness
well come sweet home

tongue through flesh
tantalising touch
hard textured tip

contrast the soft
succulence
sucking nectar
high as a honey
eater

cast away moment
each pulsating
moment
blissed

eyes skyward
beak ajar
wild wing beating morning
zest

The Angelus Bell

2011-02-12T14:30:00.000-08:00

The Angelus Bell

The Angelus bell is silent now
the tongue torn from the root
the mouth agape in horror
at the bestial pursuit.

Once it sounded contemplation,
quietude and prayer,
The Spirit sang through open fields,
the town and market square.

The temple doors now barred and bolted
the congregations withered, gone
sacred sounds soon dissipate in
doof doof gym beat doofalong

The Burning Bush is a feature now
in rockery and shrub
with gnomes and plastic Moses,
Mary, Joseph and The Bub.

The exposition of the host
of
clergy,
daily it seems
like a dream
inversed:
Spit them out so, spit them out...,
all
Out the Judas cursed.

Of all the gifts that Heaven sent
the Kingdom of God within
gave to the poorest of the poor
love's solace from unholy law

My people are betrayed
again
I rout your altars
and scourge
your
temples,
mud and straw, mud and straw
never needed
evermore

the Angelus bells are silent now
the call of the faithful departed
cracked and broken they bleed
with hurt, my sacred broken hearted.

But blessed be the poor in spirit
and mercy be Thy name
Judge not for aye you will be judged
when the horsemen ride again

the desert eyes are opened wide
I stride through flaming sand
my feet are fired in the pot
my head is in my Father's hand

my head is in my Father's hand
to crush, Thy Will be done
oh my Father's mould be mine
I am your poor and lowly son

I see the temples time has built
such artifice of shame
a temple of my heart on fire
is all that shall remain

the god you made to your design
no sign could have foretold
my simple and my purest words
consigned so manifold

writ this bright and bloody sky
my name as one divine
those flags aloft and banners high
fluttering slaughter benign...

such sorrow rang out in my name
such horror hurrah drums aflame
such demon dancing sound from hell
such a rock filled wishing well

the desert eyes are opened wide
my feet are charred with words afire
grain revealed in a tree of truth
set in a blue and furnace sky

The angelus bells are silent now
as silent as the white faced moon
as silent as the blood that seeps
from history's unholy wound.

(c) Barry McGloin 2011

Eloise zooms in

2010-11-24T17:48:00.000-08:00

Our fourth grandchild the beautiful Eloise, takes after her mum in beauty and is almost bald, just like her dad!!
An easy labour and a breeze ever since, as a daughter and grand child she gets full marks. And her big sister Safie makes sure that Eloise gets the attention she deserves, and that mummy gets all the help she can!

Yes folks Cara says that Blatz is the go, or Blitz as she calls it!!

What else bin happening? Busy as usual. Trips to Melbourne, Nowra/ Mollymook twice, Corowa.
Denise and I had a great weekend with Vince and Christine Smith at picturesque Mollymook, then returned for our 35th wedding anniversary! Dinner at Rick Stein's restaurant, Bannisters.

A perfect location on the cliff overlooking bush and the ocean, an excellent menu and friendly helpful service. I enjoyed plump rich oysters from St Helens, and Denise's entree, a lobster 'raviolo' with spinach and basil sauce, was ''just delicious!'' We shared a huge cold seafood platter of prawns, oysters, mussels, crab and lobster, not forgetting the shy periwinkles.

In between courses we were given complimentary treats, savoury and sweet. The desert was superb and coffee and brandy pour moi was perfectment! The bottle of Spanish white wine was moreish, if not moorish. We will return.

The recent rains have filled Canberra dams, from 38% earlier in the year. The countryside and Canberra itself are festooned with new growth and flowers. Check out Denise's absolutely fab Spring flowers on our Picasa site

Cheap books can be found at the Milton antique store, near Rick Stein's, together with all sorts of interesting objects d'arts. In Canberra we have the best second hand bookshops in the country, and I rate Cantys as the best for reasonably priced, quality books, however you can find a bargain anywhere.

Books read recently include:
Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel, the 2009 Man Booker winner about Thomas Cromwell and Cardinal Wolsey coping with HenryVIII. I found it interesting in that her depiction of their characters differs from traditional readings. It is historical fiction and you can paint the colours in as you see them I guess. An enjoyable read, albeit idiosyncratic.

A Long Long Way by Irish author Sebastian Barry. A poetic book about a Dublin Fusilier in WW1, hated by the Home Rulers in his own country and mistrusted by the English, despite their huge sacrifice. A tragedy, and a terrible beauty.

The Blackwater Lightship by Colm Toibin. Again, a tale of sad beauty, perfectly written. Language to light the senses.

I finally got around to reading Robert Graves' autobiographical account of his life at boarding school and his service in WW1, Goodbye To All That, renowned as being one of the best accounts. A great read, the prose of poet Graves is so natural and fluid.

A Thousand Splendid Sons by Khaled Hosseini is an engrossing, exciting read. If you want insight to the Afghani situation with its warring tribal factions you should read this account. But much more, it is a story of friendship, love and human tragedy. Not to be missed!

Hellfire by Nick Tosches is a fascinating insight into rock 'n roller Jerry Lee Lewis. In dirt farming Ferriday the poor were succoured by the Holy Ghost and the Hidden Hooch, and enticed by the Lure of The Devil, and you were hot or cold, never lukewarm, and Jerry Lee became seduced by the Whore of Fame. I have posted a review on Amazon.

What's new musically?

The Steeldrivers

I came to the Steeldrivers through Mike Henderson's Bluebloods, a fabulous blues band which issued ''First Blood'' and ''Thicker Than Water'' in the late 1990s. Solos from Henderson's guitar and John Jarvis' piano always surprised and were never clichéd like so many others, and this from Nashville session musos! So, I checked Amazon recently to see if the Bluebloods had issued another album, and I found that Henderson had formed a rootsy bluegrass unit called The Steeldrivers. Soon after I found an excellent Rounder compilation called Sinner's Prayer and The Steeldrivers track ''If It Hadn't Been For Love'' was in the prime second spot. I was impressed. Then, while down in Melbourne I found their initial CD in a second hand store, I couldn't believe my luck. So I ordered Reckless through Amazon and I've been listening to it for a couple of weeks. In short, it resonates. It has power depth and soul. It is organic, unpretentious, light years from slick Nashville sounds and it is encouraging to note that the group is based there. I have posted a review on Amazon.

What else? I was blessed to see Leonard Cohen at a vineyard in Bowral, an incandescent night in 2008. A glass of sauvignon blanc with Leonard and friends among the eucalypts - there is nothing in life to compare, almost. I only regret that we didn't get to see him at Woodend recently. But, for consolation, you can buy his Live in London DVD or CD, or the recently released Songs From The Road, DVD and CD for a pittance - the Aussie dollar is fluffing its fandango.

Two bargains I found recently are Linda Thompson's Fashionably Late (2002) and Graham Parker's Struck By Lightening (2004). I found Linda's CD at The Salvos for $3. What?? Brand new. How did it get there? You don't hock goods at the Salvos. I assume someone died and whoever was dealing with the estate had no idea of the worth. Songs are written by Linda or Teddy Thompson and accompanied by ex hubby Richard, Martha and Rufus Wainwright, their parents the McGarrigles, plus the Waterson Carthy dynasty in fact all the cutting edge folk luminaries are there. Songs are tops. Parker's album I found for $3 at Dixon's Recycled in Brunswick St. My original went up with the house in 2003. A very good later Parker album. I was blessed again.

The Cds with each Songlines magazine continue to provide new and exciting music from around the globe. Others I liked are Electric Gypsyland remixes, Lucille Bogan's Reckless Woman, a 1920s blues artist who also recorded as Bessie Anderson/Jackson. I revisited Fleetwood Mac for my U3A group presentation, listening to the original Peter Green band - of Brit blues this surely was the finest. Also listened to Mac's last release Say You Will from 2008, minus Christine McVeigh, and it is surprisingly good, the band can still rock and Buckingham is as adventurous as he was in Tusk.

Tom Waits' chosen tracks for his Mojo Mag disc were eclectic but US music mostly - I was pleased to find Dylan's 100 miles/ I was Young when I left Home, also Big Mama Thornton's Ball and Chain, later recorded by Janis Joplin, but for me Big Mama does it. Sierra Leone's Refugee All stars release Rise and Shine is a winner. I reviewed it on Amazon. Hendrix's Valleys of Neptune is a welcome addition, all good stuff and at least 3 tracks close to being definitive, Red House, Hear My Train A Comin and Stone Free. His humour and sense of fun is apparent throughout.

Faith

2010-09-02T17:28:00.000-07:00

The pond
struck dumb by drought.
ducks, dragonflies and frogs
oh the frogs...., all shot through.
The stricken face laid bare,
cracked and bleached like a dislodged skull.
It won't come back.
In fact it'll sound down the country
like a creeping parasitic moan.

Now..... rains beat out of a lusty sky
all flash and clamour
heaving
with such urgency
to jibe and tack
three days and nights,
the piracy of a damn fool flood
hissing and crackling and taunting
the comatose country
to... rise.
Rise up
you sleeping rivers and lesser beds,
I flush and swell your streams and creeks
rise up rise up
the sound of fortune sings in your valleys
awake and sail in my largesse
billow and bloom again
billow and bloom again
prettier than a piece of eight.

Now the frogs are back!!
The frogs are back
with their rat a tat tat
machine gun chat
Nailing positions
just to be sure,
just to be sure.

Perth, Freemantle and Bali

2010-08-26T21:39:00.000-07:00

photos can be found on my Picasa site http://picasaweb.google.com/barry.mcgloin

PERTH AND FREEMANTLE

The middle class suburbs of Perth's north shore all appear newly minted almost artificial as you watch the many weekend joggers along the strand do their best for body and soul. We were there for Denise's Aunt Irene's 80^th, great to catch up with people you haven't seen for years and we all enjoyed a lovely celebration for a lovely lady. The trammels of time......, but everyone looked splendid, and I'm sure they thought Denise and I looked splendid too!!

Marinas have rows of white yachts for sale, some close to $0.5m, there is more than a sniff of wealth here, if not an overpowering pomade. Yet graffiti near the long sandy beach warns that stabbings occur in this tidy splendour, which sped up my walk no end. We wandered around Freemantle's old streets, once the scene of hardship, larikins, looneys and the lash, now flush with the tourist dollar from markets to harbour. Ye olde Victorian and Georgian buildings have been airbrushed and gentrified, the former Lunatic Asylum now the National History Museum and former warehouses now part of the medical University of Notre Dame. The howl of the convict is echoed now in the howl from Ipods playing Freemantle's famous son, the diminutive but loud Bon Scott of AC/DC, whose grave is a National Heritage site and visited by thousands of fans. Poor bugger can't sleep.

The harbour is now spruce with piscatorial eateries and together with Geoff and Bernice we tasted Freemantle's No 1 Best Fish and Chips from the Italian restaurant which we all enjoyed. The next day we returned and had lunch at the Greek Freemantle's No 1 Best Fish and Chips, delicious. A visit to a second hand bookshop reaped some treasures but more expensive than Canberra where we are blessed with a number of quality bookshops (especially Canty's), which sell quality books at reasonable prices.

THE FLIGHT

There we were, the plane was chokkers, all aboard and ready to take off when the Captain announced that a ''technical fault'' had been found and that the engineer was on his way. Some two hours later we boarded another plane, well thankfully they were taking no risks. In the meantime Denise had phoned Taman Harum Cottages to advise that we would be arriving at least two hours later than expected. No problem, the driver would wait. The flight was rough, the plane bumped, buffeted and burped about in a bellyache sky – Denise had a number of cushioning wines. We eventually arrived at around 2am, found our driver and were into a familiar S.E. Asian night with its earthy, pungent aroma, mixed with incense and perfume, smoke and humus. Ahhhhh!!

Bali

THE ACCOMMODATION

I posted this review of Taman Harum on Trip Advisor:

We arrived at Taman Harum after 3:00am, walked along a path on a balmy night through lush vegetation to our two storied cottage. Clean and roomy, a large four poster bed both downstairs and upstairs, table and wardrobe, scattered artwork. The balcony outside the bedroom upstairs overlooks trees (possibly star fruit) and rice paddies. The cacophony at 3am is amazing, frogs, insects and what else? You are seemingly in the jungle, yet it is quiet inside. The shower is open Balinese style – nothing between you and lush vegetation, unless you want to use the screen, but we enjoyed the sensuality, hey.... tropical and exotique.

Breakfast is either continental, Asian or the full monty. Fruit juices are several and delicious, fruits, good eggs done to your liking, the bacon is good in Bali unlike elsewhere in SE Asia (the Balinese enjoy their pork), but the sausage has little going for it, toast, jams, tea or the excellent Balinese coffee. Music is ubiquitous in Bali and the soft liquid notes blend with the sound of water in the warm, (slightly) smoky, flower perfumed Asian morning. The staff are cheerful, helpful and friendly.

Taman Harum is located in the artisan village of Mas, which is 10 to 15 minutes south of Ubud and you can book the complementary shuttle. Alternatively you can arrange through the staff to hire a car or motor bike which we found a convenient way to travel, using the shuttle to and from Ubud restaurants at night. The swimming pool is inviting with its lounges, mosaics and statuettes and you could imagine yourself in an ancient Roman indulgence, but a Balinese indulgence is fine.

UBUD and getting around

Ubud is inland, about 45mins from the nearest coast, on the rise towards volcanic slopes. Set in rice paddies, vegetation and jungle but besieged by the traffic of commerce and tourists, you need to move away from the main routes to find peace. It isn't hard, even a walk down Ubud's many long narrow back streets will find discrete, well established and resplendent gardens poised behind ancient walls. The dwellings within, and often the walls themselves are a work of art, being painstakingly constructed by artisans. Ubud has an artistic heritage and there are galleries galore, of varying quality from what we saw, but because our stay was short we hired a motor bike and headed out off the beaten track.

The rented motor scooter cost me 60,000 rupiah per day, about $8 plus petrol. Out onto the great SE Asian grid of moving humanity you become at one with Asian Purpose, enveloped by Asian aromas of warm earthy vegetation, cooking, smoke, incense, humus and traffic fumes (until you move off the main roads). A great way to travel and in my list of Top 10 pleasurable experiences....

We have hired motor scooters in Thailand, Laos, Vietnam and now Bali so we are comfortable with it. The best for me for views and skill was around SaPa, the northern region near the Chinese border in Vietnam. Riding out of a valley climbing a dirt mountain road to find a water fall has eroded the surface to pot holes and then gun the bike so close to the edge of a drop was a mite hairy but ah yes, very exhilarating.

The Balinese are fervently religious, those we encountered loved to talk about it. Most, particularly in the tourist business speak English very well. Their general aim is to perform good works in order to provide descendants with the best karma. Each morning offerings are made to the spirits, both for the good spirits and also to appease the bad guys. Such offerings are found even in the middle of the road, at a crossroad, evil spirits reside everywhere. You see trees wrapped in black and white chequered cloths which represent good and evil forces. Statues and carvings of magnificent monsters are everywhere – the Balinese recognise and visualise the forces counter to achieving a good productive life, for instance, by excessive drinking. That said, the local beer Bali Hai is reasonably priced, of excellent quality and aptly named. Bintang is the brew from Jakarta, also excellent, and the noise you hear when the bottle top strikes the bin.

We travel north on the Denpassar Road then west toward the Goa Gajah, or Elephant Cave. The man at the servo asks ''German?'', then smiles when we say “Australian''. Aussies are liked here, despite the young yahoos who come in droves to the Kuta Beach area. The ladies at the stalls outside the temple try to rent us saris (appropriate temple attire) but we decline and then find that they are included with the entrance fee.

Holy pools and shrines Batman, the elephant cave is within a black gaping mouth, which could be either the earth god Bhoma, or the widow-witch Ragda, or perhaps a combination of both. Whatever, beware all who enter..... Inside the elephant god Ganesh is at one end and phallic emblems of the god Siwa at the other. Interestingly, neither of my photos of the gods came out, just a round glow from where the gods are placed, but you can see the cave sides and offerings clearly. Weird.

From Goa Gajah we step down into a beautiful gorge. Lush green moss covered boulders, ancient trees with tendril roots and a stream with lily covered ponds, exotic plants abound. We follow the forest path above the valley finding another temple, make a donation to assist restoration, sign the book. The somewhat slippery and muddy pathway leaving the temple descends towards the river and we are lucky to meet a young girl who guides us down. The path becomes narrow and hazardous, a slip would plunge you into the swift flowing river. Denise decides to stop.

The girl is confident and holds out her hand as we step carefully along the dripping cliff face to a bamboo bridge with a single guide rail. Needless to say I'm apprehensive, the bridge is not that stable, and I'm relieved to reach the other side. Here is a wide, low roofed cave, and filled with bats, so she says.

Her name is Wyung, the name given to the first child. She is fourteen and hopes to develop her English and become a guide. She is a lovely girl, open and friendly. Do I want to go into the cave? And disturb the bats I reply....?? Maybe next time.....On the way back she takes us to another small temple. There are temples everywhere. That afternoon I have a Balinesian oil massage. Wonderful.

Apart from Goa Gajah we also visit other temples, the water purification temple at the holy springs, Tirta Empul. Here the then President Sukarno holidayed in a large house overlooking the temple grounds and he allegedly used a telescope to spy on the girl bathers, so it says in our guide book. We also visit the 11^th century shrines at Gunung Kawi. Pictures are on my picasa site.

Eating in Ubud

Our daughter Cara has visited Bali twice and was not so impressed with the local cuisine by comparison to Thailand or Vietnam, so we were not expecting much in the way of epicurean delights. But while we found little street fare by comparison to Thailand and Vietnam we were pleasantly surprised with the restaurant cuisine. Visitors to Ubud are well served by the number of restaurants but also the variety of domestic and international cuisine.

On our first day we had lunch at Miros – not Greek but local – barbecued chicken marinated in Balinese spices pour moi, Denise had a selection of sambals with duck. Excellent. A great start. Dinner the following night at Arys Warung, a stylish restaurant was very good – I had prawns as an entrée and pork because the Balinese love pork – Denise had duck. The waiters/waitresses were wonderful. We overlooked the temple complex opposite, the skies opened and no not a Balinese god but rain which pelted down and added to the atmosphere. You can check out their website

The third Balinese cuisine experience in Ubud was totally different. Masakan Padang is more a café with its down home Indonesian/Sumatran dishes on display in the window. No table service you simply find a seat, go to the window and point to your choices which are plated. We chose a number of interesting looking small portions, asked for chilli sambols and sat down with a drink – wonderful, in fact it so impressed us that we came back for a takeaway tea. Around $AUD5.00 for both of us i.e. all up. Wow!!

Opposite Ubud Palace is Warung Babi Gulung which is famous for its roast Balinese piglet. The restaurant was recently featured in Rik Stein's SE Asian series on SBS Australia. But alas the queue was daunting and we ended up at Ryoshi Japanese restaurant. Loved it. The sashimi selection was really fresh, as it should be but sadly not always, the barbecued selection was perfect, and the wasabi exploded! As Japanese food should be, clean, fresh sharp flavours, simply beautiful food and presentation!

How many Nyomen?

Nyoman is the name given to the third child, but it can also be the eighth child.

Well there we were walking in Ubud like a pair of tourists and who should we meet but Nyoman, a cheery guy who spoke English very well and offered his driving services, a day tour, wherever – cost around $AUD40. Good stuff. We said that we would keep it in mind, maybe tomorrow.

So the following day we booked the free shuttle from Taman Harum and on the way the driver asked where we were going and said that his good friend had an excellent vehicle and spoke English very well, perhaps we would like a price? So it sounded good and we didn't know whether Nyoman would be there anyway, nor the type of vehicle he had, so we agreed to the same price.

Well no sooner had we arrived in Ubud when we spotted Nyoman.... looking very cheery, he waved and we waved, but less cheery when another vehicle pulled up and whisked us away. The new driver whose name also turned out to be Nyoman said no problem, his friend.

All went well, Nyoman2 drove us to the temple, up the mountain for lunch overlooking the volcano and more temples, a coffee plantation and at the end of the day when we were all satisfied he offered his services for future drives. We said we intended to motor bike around the following day, which we did. The day after we were off to Sanur so we decided to contact Nyoman1 to compensate for having given the original drive to Nyoman2. But who should arrive to pick us up but Nyoman2.

This was odd. We thought we had used the wrong number but good old Nyoman2 seemed a bit miffed and on the way he asked why we had contacted Nyoman1. We explained that because we had promised (albeit loosely) the first Nyoman we had felt bad about given the job to him, Nyoman2. No problem he is friend, said N2, we work together. Now that explained the phone call.

So, going further N2 was happy to provide information about the religion which they live and breath and I asked why umbrellas were often seen with statues. Well here I had hit a mother-lode of information with N2 explaining the epic Ramayama story about the monkeys building the bridge and the Hindu heroes in full detail which went for most of the journey, about 45 minutes. We parted on good terms and once ensconced in Sanur we hired the motorbike again and organised a drive around the region. Who should turn up but another Nyoman. N3 was as good as you'd expect a Nyoman to be....

Support Police Superannuation

I have hired motorbikes, well motor scooters to be precise, in Hanoi, SaPA, Van Vieng in Laos, Chang Mai and numerous times in Ao Nang, Thailand. You don't need an international driver's licence (IDL), they don't ask for it. You sign the form which exculpates the renter from any legal obligation and puts your head in the noose if anything happens; you pay your money and take your chances. Some places ask for your passport which they retain until the bike is returned. I know, foolhardy you might say, but you take your chances.

(pic taken Van Vieng, Laos)

However I'd read about the police in Bali being stringent on the motorised tourist. I checked the web and one school of thought was that the cost of an on the spot fine/donation is less than the cost of the IDL. Another was you wouldn't drive without a valid licence in your own country, so why here? Well I didn't want any problems with the local police so I obtained my IDL from the NRMA.

So, we decided to ride to Kuta, the main tourist arena, a distance of approximately 20ks. A very windy day out on the highway, blow a rhino off a ride on mower..... a modest pace pour moi. Eventually we hit Kuta and seemed to drive around in circles in three lane roads chokkers with traffic, fumes and noise, round and round like a chook with its foot cut off.....a fly in Barnaby's head......, cockroach down a drain? Ok not the imagery I wanted but you get the drift. Denise being the impatient, well er...pragmatic person decided to ask for directions and so eventually we found the beach, and wandered around enjoying the sights. On leaving we were pestered by a persistent Nyoman selling share accommodation, and Denise's scratchy was revealed as a cam corder!! “Scuze me lady you won very special prize”....... We made the getaway and rode into the vast mass of motorised humanity.

Now, road rules when it comes to an intersection, according to Nyoman2, is ''who goes first gets there, unless someone crashes into you''. So, when turning I would ride on the inside of another vehicle which would effectively ''shepherd'' me from oncoming traffic. When the highway reached Sanur a truck was turning right and I stayed close but alack and alas it decided to make a u-turn, so I pulled up........on the pedestrian crossing.

Ok. I should have backed off the crossing and I failed to spot the nice policemen with the smiling faces. I could come to the station, fill out forms for a number of hours, wait around, or I could pay the 100,000 rupiah now. They had me by the Brindabellas as we say in Canberra. I paid. It wasn't painful, about $14, but a nice little earner for those guys. According to the bloke at the bike shop it is usually about 50,000 rupiah. The strange thing is that the bike's owner had placed an offering to the Traffic Spirit on the front of the bike. Well maybe it saved me from being undercharged....

SANUR

Our daughter Cara suggested the beach side Sanur as being more leisurely and elegant than Kuta. We had booked at Segara Village, a large resort which opens on to the beach. This was a bit of a splash and in contrast to the moderate country Balinese experience of Mas/Ubud. While the resort is tourist oriented it does maintain its Balinese identity with two temples within the beautiful gardens, plus the spirit and god statues and of course the cheerful and obliging staff – no Balinese Basil Faulty here. The gardens have been designed, as all Balinese gardens, in accordance with religious stipulations, and each day a priest performs a ceremony in a temple presumably to appease the evil spirits and praise the good guys. This about fifty paces from the jacuzzi pool where later in the day the cool Euro types wade towards the cocktail bar to the pulse of Asian lounge music.

Sanur is a centre for black and white magic, according to our guidebook, so the daily offerings are all important. Outside the resort along the beach pathway are markets and the ladies from the stalls take turns in trying to entice tourists to buy. They are persistent but they enjoy a bit of sport, a good laugh. We bought a couple of shirts from a lady called Coco who told me that she had been cursed by a person who was jealous of her family. She became very sick and called in an exorcist, in the end having to move house.

Their belief is fundamental to their life, much as it was in the old Scots/Irish Catholic black and white days when you were chased by the Devil – he was in colour, all black with a red hot tongue according to my sister Colleen..... - and his minions, and all his ''works and pomps'' beguiled you, and you prayed to the saints to intercede for you. You lit candles and placed them before the side altar. The priest swung the censer with the incense to signify prayers rising with a pleasing aroma to The Big Y'un, and to get up the Devils nose.

From what I've read the Balinese regard their religion as fun. The Catholic religion of my youth was anything but fun. If you chomped on a pie on a Friday and were hit by a bus you could find yourself shovelling shite for eternity. For an imaginative healthy youth the ever present spectre of sin was an onerous burden. One wonders about those pie eaters who were sent down the shute before the goalposts changed.

Again we used the bike to explore many back roads and lanes through villages. The countryside is is just minutes away from the coast, and villages following the coast south of Sanur are prosperous and attractive.

Music is pervasive in Bali, more so than other SE Asian countries. The player combos are called a gamelan, ranging from a duo to an orchestra. The instruments are plucked or struck, drums and strung instruments apart from flutes, creating a liquid, bell like hypnotic sound, which meanders pleasantly around your brain and around again. Segara Resort had a trio which played during breakfast, but they also had acoustic duos and fiery r'n b bands; there are some excellent musicians in Bali.

Music is everywhere. One night I sought a sound which seemed to be a muezzin call to prayer but turned out to be a Balinese Hindu preaching over loud speakers. Male groups were gathered in gardens for instruction and prayer. I walked through towards the beach past feeling like an intruder but they took no notice. Down on the beach path a reggae band pumped out rasta fare. At another beach restaurant was a solo artist. On the main thoroughfare an Irish pub jumped to jigs and reels. At other cafés and pubs crowds gathered to watch the soccer world cup finals. So much variety.

Eating in Sanur

Sanur earlier on was the centre for Bali's best cuisine and even now has some top restaurants, ranging from haute cuisine to the popular beach front blackboard fare. For lunch we sat out on the beach tables at the Beach Café, tasted their quick and fresh blackboard specials barbecued chilli prawns and garlic calamari, and one day I tried their steak sandwich – excellent! Mixed barbecued seafood on Jalil Danou Tarnblingan was very good and reasonably priced but one lunchtime we headed south on the bike to find the best Italian food anywhere at Massimo Restaurant. Their swordfish in garlic butter was just superb, the fish succulent, the sauce heavenly. Denise was in raptures over linguine crab, tomatoes garlic and chilli. Needless to say we returned twice, for their lauded Saltimbocca alla Romana and their Lecce speciality pizzas, both very good but the swordfish was the trip highlight for me. We also returned to Japanese cuisine, the Sanur Ryoshi, again very good but not quite up to the Ubud standard.

Overall Bali was an enjoyable experience, geared more toward the commercial tourist end of the market. The Balinese are friendly and happy and we felt welcome and safe there. There's much more to see, but perhaps after another visit to Thailand.

The Fizz of Life

2010-07-19T15:20:00.000-07:00

The Fizz of Life

The souls of the dead rise

like so many bubbles

in the fizz of life

a hundred each minute

but sometimes in thousands

and hundreds of thousands

and millions

say,

in an earthquake,

famine or

tsunami.

You'd reckon

at some point

one might suppose

within reason too

it might

get up God's nose.

The Pacific Solution?

2010-07-18T16:47:00.000-07:00

TOO RA LOO RA LOO RA LOO
They're looking for monkeys up in the zoo
Said one if I had a face like you
You'd be on Easter Island

Yes, sad indeed and almost incomprehensible that Abbott, like Howard before him, is appealing to base instincts in this election by promising to "Stop the Boats", turn them around and send them back. Abbott, a professed Christian like Howard, shows no compassion to those who have most need of it. The Labor Party's ''regional solution'' is also appealing to base instincts nurtured by shock jocks and poll politics. Where is the leadership? Where is the recognition that this nation is bigger and better than this?

Jamie's 21st Birthday Bash

2010-07-05T04:51:00.000-07:00

Jamie's 21^st Birthday Bash was held at home on Saturday night, July 3^rd 2010.

Ted and Carol Kenney dropped in prior to the event to see Jamie. Carol has unfortunately injured both ankles and walks with difficulty. James Twohill's parents John and Kim came as did Bernard and Alex Young's mum, Cecelia. Jamie really appreciated seeing all these well wishers.

Initially it was quite a blokey party with the ladies lobbing in later in the piece.

Le mob despite this was very well behaved apart from Jamie's father who attempted a speech from the height of the kitchen bench after a number of tequila slammers.

This attracted howls of derision, ''gibberish'', ''unintelligible'', ''I say Charles, I think he's a touch tiddly, what?'', ''get down ya mug''. In the end his long suffering wife Denise floored him with a rugby tackle and administered his medication.

Pictures can be viewed at http://picasaweb.google.com.au/barry.mcgloin

I found some words

fell from each other

to form a sound, a poem of sorts,

a series of sounds.

But

in the haze and din of the night-time

swim

they slipped away

being on loan for your

birthday

they did the bolt

the Harold Holt

but all that's left

is all that's best and

all I really wanted to say

We have

indeed

been blessed.

2010-05-16T21:40:00.000-07:00

Byron Bay Bluesfest 2010

So here we are again at the annual report on the East Coast Blues and Roots Festival.

This year 2010 was the best ever. I must admit that I did consider not attending. I thought that the organisers were becoming complacent and taking the soft option - the choice of artists was becoming predictable and the lack of contingency in last year's deluge just topped it off. In addition the festival was moving further out of Byron Bay.

Well the artist announcements included some who clearly could not be missed, Jeff Beck, Dr John and Peter Green were old heroes but the crunch for me was Oumou Sangare, the Malian diva. Her CD Seya had been in the car since our return from the UK in June and it was my top purchase for 2009. And she was playing with Bela Fleck. But she wasn't our 2010 Bluesfest winner....

Our accommodation last year upgraded from tents to a house in Byron Bay – our family came up for a wedding so we opted for the additional expense. This year Len, Patrick and I were fortunate to share a house with Michelle, Niki and Annie, colleagues of Len. We were joined by Team Trevor for a couple of nights Trevor and Len are a Gold Coast Run team for 2010. A cheery boisterous group who viewed sleep with some disdain (except Team Trevor who hit the sack moments after arrival).

“I spit on sleep, said Pat at 1.30am after arriving back from the Bluesfest, ”it's an encumbrance, besides there's at least two hours of cricket on tv.....” After limited kip we were up and dived into a bright new day with a swim in the surging sparkling waters off Brunswick Heads, a coffee on the return journey then the Blues Brekkie on the barby, a fortifying start to the day. Tradition. Then Len was off to the pub and TAB to pick his winner. Tradition. Then a schooner or two to drown the dogs of misfortune. Or in Len's case gee gees. Tradition.
Slightly altered photo of Niki sqwawking alongside an attentive Len.

Now to the ratings. But before that I must put to rest some rumour that I won the snoring comp.

Pat reached eight on the Richter scale and Len was making noises resembling a pregnant hippo. And Niki one morning following an enthusiastic drinking and squawking session was cracking walls in the girl's bedroom according to Michelle. Not that I heard anything.

More photos can be seen at http://picasaweb.google.com/barry.mcgloin

Thursday provided an enticing flavour of what was to come. The Avett Brothers was our first stop – a bluegrass group with great harmony vocals, intelligent lyrics from what I could hear, plus a dash of punk attitude and execution. Multi instrumentalists apart from the Japanese cellist whose expression evoked rapture or anguish, I'm not sure which, but he added an interesting dimension to the mix. Rating 9 Len 9

Following the Avetts we had two doses of prime Southern gumbo. The good doctor, Dr John, I hadn't seen previously and although almost in his seventies and using a cane, his voice and expertise on the keyboards were as strong as on record. The highlight for me was the eerie voodoo swamp song, Walk on Gilded Splinters. It was as if he had summoned the roots of his muse right there. He played two keyboards, an organ on his left and a piano on his right, sometimes simultaneously. A shrunken skull (or a child's skull....) was placed on a silken cloth on the organ. There were inscriptions on the cloth. An adult's skull was grinning on the piano together with other voodoo odds and bobs, alligator teeth, claw of cougar, penis of python.....who knows?

“We wanna thank y'all for comin on down t' see us” Rating 9.00 Len 9.5

The Good doctor and Len, both in appropriate crown and brim.

The second gumbo was Lil' Band of Gold, a band consisting of Louisianan blue ribbon players led by the tall C C Adcock. Crouching, with his guitar slung before him like a gun, Adcock stalks his music, spins around pointing his weapon at the next soloist or together with collaborator Steve Riley (leader of the Mamou Playboys) moves in on his prey – usually joshing the fabulous drummer vocalist, smiling septuagenarian Warren Storm. ABC Radio National's Lucky Ocean sat in on pedal steel, doing a fine job. Len bought the album, Promised Land, a studio recording which has the diversity of their repertoire but for me doesn't reach the live show. You might say “it's a studio recording ya wombat” and do you know what, you would be right.

Rating 9 Len 9

Leaving Lil' Band of Gold quite enthused we popped into Orquestra Buena Vista Social Club who sounded musically very good as you'd expect but not quite what we wanted to hear at the time.

Rating 8 Len's rating 7

Len headed for Tribali a lively band from Malta who he rated a big 9, then to Jack Johnson who didn't do much for him at all – rating a disappointing 7. I ended with Jools Holland & his Rhythm and Blues Orchestra – about 20 musos on stage putting out a very professional, slick selection of blues in various forms, jump blues, R'n B, jazz blues etc. All well done but cabaret for me, there was no edge to it at all, but the audience seemed to be enjoying it. Rating 7

Hat Fitz and Cara Robinson

Hat Fitz for me has always epitomised the core of the Bluesfest. This is blues in its most primitive and raw state. This is where it all came from, one man with a box of wood and wires and a voice full of wailing emotion, energy and power. This is where rock stems from, this is the Rosetta Stone.

Hat was chuffed at Byron, glowing in his new love.

A pissed voice kept yelling for Po' Boy. Hat responded “I'm no poor boy now, look at that....”, nodding significantly over to Cara. “ All those trips to Ireland, coming back with friggin' leprechauns, four leaf clovers [sic]. Look what I came back with this time....!!”

Together they sang Blind Willie's Delia, Cara adding flute. Holy shit. Where was the manic Hat of old we asked? The one with mad eyes popping, voice raging against providence, flailing his guitar like a beast possessed? Is this Hat Lite? Could there be such a creature.....?? What happened to Itchy – he's obviously been scratched?
OLD HAT

Well, as it turned out what we have is a more musically adventurous Hat. Sometimes it works and sometimes it misses, but when it hits, as in their version of Delia when Hat actually sings with a low rich vibrato, or in Nobody's Fault but Mine when Hat's slide has such a delicate sensitive touch, it sounds great. Cara has a rich adaptable voice, she can sing Bessie Smith, sound like Bonnie Raitt, and can probably sing in the ornamented Irish traditional style, sean nos.

I bought their new CD Beauty and the Beast – Hat reckons ''she's the beast....'' - it is nothing if not eclectic. The addition of Cara's flute and whistle, plus Jim Conway's harp on a couple of tracks, Jacko (Jackson who else?) on fiddle, others on tuba, clarinet and cornet all go to vary the musical palette. Wicklow Feel sounds like Barney McKenna and Ciaran Bourke from the Dubliners, albeit with a hangover. It's a bit clunky in parts and I'm not sure whether it may have
been the fault of the bodrhain player. Perhaps it could have been ironed out in the mix. Euronator is flat out RL Burnside dance and it works! Backdoor Man is blues rock with great harmonies. Fitzmulholland is a folky hippyish instrumental, skipping around the fire. I think it points to a good future. Hat is recognising the potential of his voice and playing, and Cara's influence will hone his art alongside her own.

Rating at Byron 9.5 Len's rating 9.5

Ye Olde Brit Blues Blowers

I remember seeing John Mayall in the early 80s at the appropriately named Punchbowl Pub where drinks were sold in plastic cups, everything was nailed down. You had to arm wrestle the Gatekeeper to get in. And she always won. Mayall was supported by Mick Taylor and John McVie, I can't recall who was on the tubs – I'm sure it wasn't Mick Fleetwood. Anyway a fab lineup with Mayall pretty well in his prime, shirt off after a couple of numbers to highlight the rich dark Californian sun tan, hair by Charles blown by the strategically placed fan while he sang “It's a hard road 'til I die”. You could be forgiven for cringing at the irony.

Almost thirty years later Mayall can still put out a show which pleases the punters. Nothing real flash, he can still do Parchment Farm, All Your Love and other staples – the band was good, his guitarist a cut above, and yeah, it was a steady show. Rating 7.5 Len was more impressed and gave 9.5.

Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac is recognised among aficionados and critics as being the best Brit blues band of the 60s. Not only blues but pop rock – Apple wanted to sign them. The man at the helm was guitar maestro, singer and songwriter Peter Green. A hero of mine, I loved his stuff with Mac – check out the live Boston concerts, Greeny duelling with Danny Kirwan. A Mojo best guitarist ever list of the late 90s placed him at No 2, just behind Hendrix. Well those lists are always contentious but there is no doubting the man's deft touch, subtle and soulful, but his talent could also encompass rock, r 'n b and even the Spanish cante hondo style. And his lyrics always hit the mark. But Greeny dropped out for about 30 years before being coaxed back in the 90s.

The marquee was chokkers with those who wanted to see The Legend levitate, self combust, burst into fits of uncontrolled mirth or just play Apache. Surprisingly he starts with Oh Pretty Woman – a Mayall standard lifted from Albert King. He's seated and the poor old bugger is studied and tentative, his fluidity has diminished and he looks like a rabbi in a mosque, but you feel the audience willing him to succeed. After a while he seems to be enjoying himself. His voice has less strength but his singing is as soulful as ever. He did a great version of ''Dark End of the Street''. Crowd pleasers such as ''Oh Well'', ''Black Magic Woman'', and ''Albatross'' were there – the last without the harmony support guitar lines – presumably the 2^nd guitarist could have played them.

Rating 8, Len's rating 9

Jeff Beck has fared the best of ye olde Brit Blues Blowers. His playing is better than ever. This is where Peter Green might be, had he not blown his brain with acid. Of course Greeny has said that he's only [sic] a blues guitarist, but compositions such as The Supernatural, The Green Manalishi, much of the LP Then Play On would discount his assertion. Beck is close to Hendrix's muse. A superb player, inventive, controlled, a master of his music. Great versions of Rollin and Tumblin, A Day in the Life and Somewhere Over the Rainbow – the only songs/tunes I was familiar with – must get his video Live at Ronnie Scotts. His support band was excellent, the young female bassist – an Aussie someone said - was a marvel.

Rating 9.5, Len's rating 9.5.

Ancient Black Blues Guys Who Still Stand Tall

The second time I've seen Buddy Guy and like before he astounds with his energy and skill. He defies all laws of nature, the guy, that is Buddy, must be at least 300 years old. Seriously he is walking museum, a timeline direct to Muddy Waters and then to Son House. When he was a sideman for Chess, Son House, M. John Hurt and Skip James had yet to be rediscovered. He was part of the young guns trio which emerged in Chicago in the fifties, alongside Otis Rush and Magic Sam. Listen to his complete Chess recordings for some of the best slow burning blues – but also jazz and pop! Listen to his later albums, Green Tea and Skin Deep - just as intense.

As a performer he is electrifying. His vocals and guitar playing are becoming stronger still, if that is possible – have you seen the Stones' Shine A Light where Buddy Guy steals the show? This is the artist so admired by Jimi and Stevie Ray. There is no other blues performer alive who has this street cred, pure ability and excitement. Astounding.
Rating 9.5 Len's rating 9.5

Both Buddy Guy and Taj Mahal are no strangers to the sexual blues metaphor eg. I'm a crawling elephant's trunk etc Yet between them they have about 450 years. Ok my maths are crook, but somewhere thereabouts. Can they still get it up, metaphorically? Betcha.

Initially I thought Taj was a folky bluesman, educated middle class doing faithful reproductions - not the dark hard lived Mississippi blues which continued electrified in the Chicago tradition. But Taj is Mr Eclectic and has branched out over the years into various forms eg African, Hawaiian, Caribbean, gutsy r 'n b and this wealth of styles comes together in his entertaining performance. Blues has widened in its scope, you don't have to be a cotton picker to play it, or express its emotions. John Mayall would agree. You can polish your licks in a tree house in suburban Manchester. You don't have to blow your harp on a street corner to earn a dime. These are the days of the middle class educated yuppie blues person (YBP). Where are all the Blind Willies?? Or, for that matter the Big Willies and Little Willies?

Rating 8.5 Len's rating 10

Bela Fleck's African Project feat. Oumou Sangare (and her band)

Banjo virtuoso Bela Fleck is a humble dude. If you thought he was the headliner here, as the advertising indicated, you would have been mistaken. It was Oumou Sangare's show all the way.

When I saw Oumou's name on the list of artists I had to attend. I had bought her last CD Seya in London last year and it has been in the car since then. Fabulous. Bela Fleck's African Project CD has Oumou on three tracks including the wonderful Djorolen, and they are among the best on his album. On stage he took a back seat adding his banjo subtly to the tapestry of traditional and modern instrumentation. I really enjoyed it but there were mixing problems which slightly marred the concert. Oumou's voice was fabulous as you'd expect, and she tried to communicate to the audience in French but heck, some of that audience would have been challenged in English....

Rating 9.5, Len's rating 9.5

The Winner Justin Townes Earle

Ah yes, you have all these bands with their gizmos and volume but all it takes is a voice, a hollow box with wires, energy and imagination. It was like watching Hank Williams or Woody Guthrie. A true line of tradition. He stepped as he said in his slurred diction from the plane to the stage folks,

this lanky (186cm - 6'5”), skinny guy with legs like poles and a body like a ventriloquist's dummy has talent, attitude, and liquor. He stoops, leans in over the mic, does his Backstep Hunch and Stoop, leans in again. We were blessed, though I doubt this son of outlaw country star Steve Earle would have put it like that. He also won our sartorial award. His mum didn't dress him. He said he and his dad don't get along – too much alike "I ever hope to hear, I am my father's son/ I've never known when to shut up/ I ain't fooling no one/ I am my father's son/ we don't see eye to eye/ and I'll be the first to admit I've never tried/ it sure hurts me, it should hurt sometime/ we don't see eye to eye/ I was a young man when/ I went down the same road as my old man.". But he said his good side comes from his mum “and I still see wrong from right/ cause I've got my mama's eyes”. Ex Drive By Truckers Jason Isbell backed him well on a number of songs, both puffing on ciggies and cracking tubes, like a couple of musos sharing a song, before we became so clinical.

Rating 10 Len's rating 10.

The madness of gypsy punk band Gogol Bordello

Such manic energy from this NY gypsy conglomeration had the audience jumping like maniacs.

It was The Pogues on fast forward. The music is eclectic – gypsy with ska, dub, reggae, rai, punk, metal, techno, rap, flamenco etc etc. Leader Eugene Hutz leaps around like a fox on fire, he knows no boundaries, his energy is immense. Exhausting to watch, but exhilarating.

Rating 9.5 Len's rating 9.8 (wow!!)

Surprise of the Festival

10cc. What? Yup this pop rock unit from the 70s was the Big Surprise. Smart lyrics and harmonies, clever musical structure topped by the ability to effortlessly reproduce music which is light years away from Justin Townes Earle, yet although arty pop, still rocks with resonance. Well it did for us and the audience. To tell the truth I would not have bothered going to see them, although I loved Une Nuit a Paris from The Original Soundtrack LP way back in the mid seventies, but we were settled in the marquee and couldn't be moved. So. We experienced a sensational show. Tops. All respects to them, bro.

Rating 9.5 Len 9.8 (wow again!!)

Kev Carmody

Kev never fails you. He's so humble about his musical ability, yet his lyrics and delivery are passionate, his communication skills well honed. Kev sits down and chats away, it's like being in his lounge room – sure it would be no different. Well this time on From Little Things he was joined by his guests, a whos who of Aussie music including Troy Cassar Daly, Dan Sultan, Blue King Brown. It brought a tear to a glass eye.

Rating 9 Len 9.5

Rockwiz

Rockwiz ran for three afternoons with the alluring and entertaining Julia at the throttle. The show is great fun, the presenters, guests and audience all contributing to the carnival. A couple of the guests were impressive singers, particularly a woman from Adelaide – I hope they put it on TV.

Others:

Dynamites feat. Charles Walker Rating 8 Lens rating 8

The Snowdroppers 8 9

Joe Bonamassa 7 9

(Joe was technically excellent, but subtlety is not his middle name – too much flash and clamour for my taste, metal would welcome him but.....everyone else seemed to enjoy him. Maybe I should give myself a good talking to.....)

John Cruz 7.5 9

Narasirato Pan Pipers 7.5

Ozomatli 9

Renee Geyer 9

Galactic feat. Cyril Neville 8 8

The Flatlanders 7 7

Next year?

Maybe, if we're lucky...

Kings of Leon, Hazmat Modine, Burning Spear, Robert Plant and The Strange Sensation, Mike Henderson & the Bluebloods, Legendary Shack Shakers, Detroit Cobras, Sierra Leones Refugee Allstars, Ska Cubano, Salif Keita, Issa Bagayogo, Baaba Maal, Ba Cissoko, Martha Wainwright, Richard Thompson, Wayne The Train Hancock, Jo Jo Zep, Neville Brothers, The Pogues, Graham Parker, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Daddy Cool, Buddy Holly

2009-07-13T03:25:00.000-07:00

Denise and I spent 1 month recently in England and France with a stop over in Singapore. A fabulous success. Photos can be seen at http://picasaweb.google.com.au/barry.mcgloin

They are split into three albums, Singapore, London, Cornwall May 2009, Cotswolds, Bath Oxford, London, and lastly South of France and London again, June 2009.

When you get into Picasa, click on the album, then on 'Slideshow', and then increase the slide speed from 3 secs to 5 secs - sometimes the captions run too slow, and go to 'view' and click on 'full screen'.

Soundtrack: I brought my IPOD with me, replete with a mile of musical choices. Also I took two Cds bought recently in Canberra, Malian diva Rokia Traore's latest excellent Cd Tchamantche and jazz guitarist Charlie Hunter's Steady Groovin' compilation. Also I nipped into the Oxford St HMV emporium, as you do, and picked up the latest album from (also Malian diva) Oumou Sangare called Seya, absolutely fab – my review is on Amazon.com and Amazon UK.

Also..... the recently released double Cd of Buddy Holly 'rarities' called ''Down The Line''. Not really rare, most have been released previously in various forms since Holly's death in 1959 and in fact since the 50 year copyright restriction has now exhausted, we have had a slew of Holly releases over the last three years. This last should near enough see the end of it, but who knows?

Anyway we listened primarily to Oumou Sangare's Seya as we travelled and somehow it was not incongruous with the trip.

Buskers

Buskers were a high standard. A jazz guitarist at the Pimlico markets was cool, a guy paying Irish jigs and reels in the underground tunnel at Westminster was on fire. A gypsy group called Karpatz played at the Uzes markets, cap out front for a Euro or two, and were vocally and instrumentally astounding – you van view them at http://www.urskarpatz.com/Demo
then click on 'Extraits Video' and 'Vissioner' – well worth a geek!
While wandering outside the Palace of the Popes at Avignon, ok lost up a narrow medieval lane, we happened upon a choral group of eight singing classical – with the setting and resonance of sound - cést perfectment!!

Singapore
Scarlett Hotel, boutique award winning accommodation next to Chinatown booked by our daughter Cara as a present.

Singapore Linedancers near Chinatown, guys and gals in Western gear, boots, hats belts, dancing to country pop - some might observe incongruous..... but then so are Scruffy Murphy's and Durty Nellie's Irish pubs in Singapore – do you get the impression that the Irish are somewhat complacent in their day to day body cleansing habits?? As Sister Philomena used to say, “The teeth might be green but the soul is sweet....have youse kids washed your bums this week?” But the real floor stopper is Obama's Irish Pub – I kid you not - what the....???
Our taxi driver spoke English well and enthused about developments, long term goals with a great sense of ownership and pride. They have a large desalination plant which commenced construction in 2000 and opened in 2005, providing 10% of it's needs. Recycling provides 15%, and they have dammed three rivers to provide a large catchment area for rainfall. At the moment they also import from Malaysia.

Singapore, orderly and neat, light years from the familiar (and welcoming) chaotic cacophonous swarm and aromas of other parts of S.E. Asia

I can't believe it. We bought bowls of noodle soup which could be easily described as a bit rustic, but then we found Chinatown proper, with its choices of fine Asian dining. And we're only staying one night...D'oh
we almost missed the plane due to a leisurely breakfast. Had to run for it. Phew....

London

O met us at Heathrow. He was a little late, and we looked for the big fellow. “You can't miss him” I said to Denise. “You've nailed it” she replied. Eventually he materialised carrying little Alice. Deb cooked us salmon that night. Lovely.

O jogs about 7ks into work each day – he's looking slim and fit. So, Denise and I after a day's touristy doings decided to walk back to Parson's Green along the embankment. “'Can't be too far'' I observed from the rosy grinning glow inspired by the Marquis of Granby's hospitality. So, we set off lively with confidence and a few pints of fortitude on board, making a couple of pit stops and fuel replenishers along the way. An unfortunate result of the replenisher is that the subsequent pit stop must be found. The Chelsea embankment has limited pit stops apart from Chelsea gardens and after 5 ks Denise found it necessary to flag down a cabbie. Regardless, a good effort all up.

Deb took us to a fab coffee bar in Fulham. On our previous visit to the UK in 1998 we had found the standard of coffee to be quite ordinary, in fact the standard of food generally, both restaurants and in supermarkets, to be below par – vegetables were limp and aging, and take aways and pub meals were uninspired, couldn't even find fish and chips to match the Aussie coastal product. Admittedly you can't really generalise but we did travel up as far as Inverness and down to the South Coast, supping and sipping at many places in between. Ironically we found the curries to be excellent, and all B&Bs provided top breakfasts. This time we found many good coffees, take aways and the supermarket fare has superb variety from the provinces and Europe, and is fresh.

Beers and wines in the pubs and supermarkets offered great variety with wines from Europe, South America, South Africa as well as numerous Antipodean varieties. You can buy a semi reasonable quaffer for five pounds, but the Aussie quaffers such as Jacobs Creek were up around ten pounds – approximately 20 dollars, which is about double their cost here. Cousin Glenn Snashall offered a robust table thumping South African red running at 14.5%, among other moorish drops – Glenn likes to keep at the cutting edge of epicurean glug. We had a few moorish drops along the way...well more than a few.

The English ales are for the average Antipodean an acquired taste, and most Antipodeans wouldn't bother enduring the acquiring process. That said, serious UK ale aficionados might reasonably opine that, unlike our wines, most bulk Aussie lagers are bland and characterless – however we do produce some excellent boutique numbers. My top spot on the trip went to a German wheat beer, Hacker Pschorr, and I did enjoy the Cornish Tribute ale, and from Glenn's recommendation a honey and elderflower ale from Witherspoon pub, and lastly Theakston's Old Peculiar, a hearty brew with clout from the depths of Yorkshire.

We chanced upon this wee pub in Soho called The Lyric which offered lunch specials for five pounds. So, Denise chose the salmon, spinach and sundried tomato penne and I chose the grilled goat's cheese and roasted vegetable stock with pesto and balsamic reduction. Wow, for 5 quid each, and they were both delicious, so much so that we returned the following day and they were just as good!! That's the sort of thing you can expect from retirees.... On the first visit there we encountered a real East End character called Ray Isaacs who was about 65 and had something of a Keith Richards demeanour about him, appeared to be permanently wobbly, and had a face that had travelled a mile or three.
“Ere, come art ere“ demanded the wobbly Ray “ah clocked it soon as ah saw it – this door ere used to be where the club woz an Brian Jones came out of ere in 1963”. Well, it emerged that Ray was in the film and photography business in the 1960s and he's sitting on a stack of old Rolling Stones photos, which in the fabulous UK world of nostagic hype would make a good retirement booster for old Ray.

Owen's berries and cream/ice cream in London and Cornwall. Yum!

The UK tabloids and free press are pretty well up to, or down to standard from what I remembered, in fact they are probably worse now. The big item was Pete (Andre) and Katie whatsername's breakup. ''Pete stunned while Katie flees the country'' and ''Kate takes two kids but leaves disabled son'' …..a popular girl. And two weeks previously they had spoken about having another baby. Well, I never. Makes you wonder what the world's coming to......

The other big newsitem was a series on Brit TV – Britain's got talent? The short answer, and one which was agreed upon by many commentators is that it has very little. The star of the programme who was expected to win was a 49 year old frumpy Scottish spinster, “I've never been kissed and this is not an advertisement ha ha”, called Susan Boyle who floored everyone with her vocal ability. I heard one radio personality say ”she's only got to say the wrong thing, get cocky........” And for some reason she didn't win. If you haven't seen the video it is quite amazing

MPs on both sides of parliament, including the Home Secretary, were falling on their swords with abandon following the rental allowance scandal whipped up by an indignant Daily Telegraph which tantalisingly leaked details each day, leaving the populace baying for blood. Arff Arff gimmie blood. Sluuurp. Some of the more extraordinary claims included clearing a moat, maintaining swimming pools, bags of horse manure, building a $AUD2500 duck island, even down to day to day living requirements such as a bath plug, biscuits and a trouser press. Food bills were claimed when parliament was in recess, false mortgage interest payments were claimed and one MP claimed for a house which was outside London and not in her constituency. “Snouts in The Trough” loudly proclaimed one free tabloid.

The most intriguing aspect was that the claims had been paid in the first place. There was hardly a mention of the approval process or the policy guidelines which allowed for the payments to be made. It seems that MPs, being intrinsically honourable, as they have been for centuries...., sign a declaration to state that the expenses have been incurred in the performance of their duties. Consequently civil servants are reluctant to challenge, although it would appear that a culture supporting the expectation of approval may have developed. In Oz we have a more realistic approach; our honourable bastards' claims are expected to be dodgy from the start.

The elegance of London. You can walk for miles through parks and gardens in the centre of London. This is what makes London great. You are surrounded by natural beauty and history; there is a continuance which has somehow survived the Great Fire and Nazi blitz. The castles, cathedrals, abbeys, churches and towers are reminders of the order of the estate over the centuries.

The monarchy Vs the republic appears to be a dead fish. Support for the monarchy which dipped post Princess Diana to 60% is now riding around 80%. Her Majesty is highly respected, the Duke's faux pas are more or less tolerated and Prince Charles is despised by architects but liked by a couple who live at 45 Horseshoe Drive, Notting Hill. The Duke and Camilla are popular game for cartoonists and Anne seems to be keeping a low profile. Whether the monarchy will maintain its present legal status in future is anyone's guess. This extract from an online debate “The monarchy is at the apex of a system of unearned privilege and power, as far as I and many others are concerned. It all flows from this ludicrous throwback and it’s holding back as a country - helping to ensure that the average and chinless continue to be promoted far beyond the talented and, er, chinful. Personally I find the very idea of inherited power, let alone one under the system of primogeniture, extremely offensive. The good news is that while present incumbent is a game old bird, her successor is a king-sized prat, whose succession will change the game completely”.

The churches are struggling in these days of swift communication where belief in a Caring God is challenged by news reports of natural catastrophe, random violence, past actions of rogue priests, historical reassessments in recent books, and atheism. Churchgoers are primarily older folk, churches are closing, the number of priests are dwindling and recruitment is lower than it has ever been. Ex churches are being used now as retail stores, restaurants, YMCAs, and ironically, mosques – the numbers of Muslim faithful are increasing. The RC church may have to embrace married priests if they mean to survive – not such a bad idea in a modern world and not incongruous with early history. We saw some marvellous old churches, some dating to Saxon times, and the fascinating recently built Westminster Cathedral, the seat of Roman Catholicism in the UK. This building is ostensibly Roman/Byzantine, which in these days when the Church might be embarrassed by such ornate display might bring to mind the reputed words of St Francis of Assisi when first seeing St Peter's Basilica in Rome “But where are the lillies of the valley?”

Coincidence. Bumping into Judy, Doug and Roy from Canberra at Whitehall was an unexpected highlight. Also the Box Cottage we rented in Broadwell in the Cotswolds had a commendation in the book from an ex colleague of Denise in Canberra!! Small world innit?

Dogs are welcomed just about everywhere in England's fair and pleasant land – and in some establishments where children are not – but owners must be on a leash. CCTV is everywhere and owners who do not bag their deposits will be rounded up, put in a vat, boiled down, canned as dog meat or dried as tasty morsels. Advert: ''Dogs just love Eric, so crunchy. 20 kilo bags of Eric on special at your local Safeways.” Seriously, a photo in a shop window in Chipping Camden showed a doggie and owner walking away from a poop on the pavement; the caption read “Here in Chipping Camden we clean up after ourselves, this sort of behaviour is not welcome”. Must have been a visitor otherwise his name would have been included.

Superb scenery in North Cornwall and the Cotswolds. Check out the photos! The Cornish Coastal walks are magnificent, quite arduous in parts, although an average fitness level will see you a fair way down the track, and the aromas of wild flowers are intoxicating, not to mention the Cornish Tribute Ale which you richly deserve at the end of the day! We also did part of the Saints Walk from the village of Little Petherwick over to Padstow, following the river through woods and meadows. We rented a house on the headland of Port Isaac, which is where they film the Doc Martin TV series and they were filming while we were there – actor Martin Clunes seems a pleasant chap.

The Cotswolds is a much gentler walking terrain with quiet refined picturesque towns and villages such as Chipping Camden with it's honey hued limestone buildings. We took the track to the hill above the town where they have held Olimpick [sic] Games since 1612, with a break in the Civil War and the 1800s because of disruption by hooligan elements (what's new??). Sports include singlestick, wrestling, tumbling, throwing the sledge hammer, jumping in sacks, dancing and shin-kicking. We rented the ivy covered Box Cottage in the lovely village of Broadwell, about a mile's walk up the hill to Stow on Wold, then taking the Monarch's Way, a wildflower fringed path above the meadow, which was used by the escaping Charles II during the Civil War. The Fox at Broadwell is a homely pub with friendly barmaids and the food is top value. The Fox at nearby Lower Oddington also has friendly staff and our meals were both superb, run by an Australian head chef...!!

Uzes in southern France is a wonderful destination!! We caught the Rynair el cheapo flight 89p fom Luton – you then pay your baggage and taxes and the return trip was around 130 euro for the two of us. It was wonderful to touch French soil again after 44 years. Denise and I had grape picked at St Michel De Fronsac outside Bordeaux so long ago. Now, we hired a vehicle at the airport and drove to Uzes along the freeway. Driving in France is no problem. The roads are excellent and well signposted, must remember to drive in the left lane. The gears, indicators and wipers are opposite but you soon get use to them.... not counting a few moments of senior confusion even towards the end of the trip.
Uzes is a charming medieval town in the Languedoc-Rousillon region with castle, cathedral and market square. Our host Mme Jalabert kindly shows us around centre ville appraising certain restaurants, cafes, boulangeries et patisseries.

Most people in this part of the world don't speak English or prefer to speak French and fair enough so I had brushed up my vocabulary by reading French For Dummies which improved my vocabulary to the point where, between Mme Jalabert's English and my fractured Francais, we were able to communicate un petit peu.

The water from Uzes fed a Roman acquaduct in the early part of the first century and so we descended the valley outside the town to view the remains.You can walk through part of the channel which is intact, amazing. We then decided to ascend the other side and follow a track which took us some kilometres to another village, medieval of course, called St Siffret.
Once there we stood at the lower end of narrow roads wondering which one to take. I asked a gentleman opposite, ''excusez moi monsieur, nous cherchons la rue a centre ville?'' He asked whether I wanted St Siffret or Uzes and then asked in a Yorkshire accent whether we were from New Zealand or Australia, apologising for not being able to tell the difference!!

The following day we drove to the Pont Du Gard a magnificent three tiered bridge built by the Romans primarily to carry water to the city of Nimes. On the way back we checked out a number of villages, including Saint Quentin La Poterie which specialises in the sale of pottery art, all of which looked superb to me. But the striking aspect of the village was that the walls and window shutters of houses were painted different colours.

We drove to Avignon the following day taking a lovely couple we'd met from Perth, WA, Robert and Elizabeth Ford. The astounding Palace of the Popes from the 11th century is in splendid condition, check the photos. We also saw the famous bridge – ''sur le pont D'Avignon, on y danse etc.'' A visit to Nimes the following day was not without incident, this again with Rob and Liz, in fact Liz, as I remember was helping me find a parking spot ''turn left here Barry'' and so I did, ''turn right here'' and so I did and suddenly we found ourselves back in the middle ages down narrow streets, growing darker as we drove through this ancient labyrinth, squatty stall holders looking askance, people moving aside, making the sign of the cross, dark clouds gathering oh shite I'm gonna have to reverse outta here.....then redemption। A light between narrow walls, we squeezed through and yea!! We shall be released!!

The Roman ampitheatre at Nimes looms large out of the modern sunny shopping street like some cold monolithic reminder of ancient order and blood lust. In fact the structure is still intactus and is used now for bullfights where modern gladiators use their skills against the power of provoked bulls. Mostly they win, but outside the ampitheatre is a statue of a young matador, a local hero who was gored to death. The risk remains. The perception of such blood 'sport' has shifted, marginally.

The return to the airport was not without incident. A faultless drive in the wee Fiat took us to the freeway toll, nothing free about it! Two euros fifty. I seached my pockets. A voice came from the machine ''Cette un machine automatique etc etc” A mammoth truck ten stories high pulled up un centimetre from my boot, breathing heavily. Denise searched her bag – always a lengthy process. Rob and Liz delved into their bags and pockets. Nothing. I looked around for someone. Anyone. Not un sausage to be seen. The air compressor of the truck blasted, it was breathing down our rear window. ''Cette un machine automatique, pay by notes, coins or credit card (in French)”. I'm starting to panic. ''C'mon, someone must have something....” Denise handed me a fifty Euro note. I fed the machine. A loud exclamation came from the truck ''Sacre bleu....” We hit jackpot. No change in notes. A river of coins dropped into the basin, and kept coming. I'm scooping. Scooping. To give the truck driver his due, he didn't blast the horn, but waited patiently while I scooped.....and my passengers all laughed themselves silly. Yeah, ok.....I'm smiling now.....

Byron Bay Bluesfest 2009 – the ratings and rundown

2009-05-07T17:36:00.000-07:00

Byron Bay Bluesfest 2009 – the ratings and rundown

Well, an eventful bluesfest, as always, although the enjoyment was marred somewhat by the

sludgefest. Those who have attended the bluesfest will know you can pretty well count on rain, and when merciless moisture mixes with top soil for an extended period you get black sludge, and when the organisers have little contingency in place, despite the likelihood on weather forecasts and history, you get Sludge City.

Unfortunately Denise and I had to depart on Sunday, however you can cram in a fair amount of acts in that period and despite the detraction of the trudge through sludge the craik was good.

I took no Bluesfest photos this year, having tired of the battle with security staff and the ever changing stipulation. This year 'professional equipment' was disallowed, last year it was detachable lens, previous years it was anything which could take a video. I had visions of trying to persuade Security that my camera is non professional – to a security person who has absolutely no idea, like last year when I made the point that most mobile phones can take quality pics. Too much. The irony is that photos posted on the net will undoubtedly boost the image of the festival. I tried one year to get a press pass on the basis of my community radio involvement but did not receive a reply to my carefully considered letter....

This is my seventh Bluesfest and it occurred to me that maybe the organisers are opting for tried and true inclusions rather than taking a risk with lesser known performers. Admittedly it's the 20^th anniversary and comforting to have recognised 'product' and Kasey Chambers for example, or Eric Bibb or Luka or Ben Harper or John Butler, Xavier or Paul Kelly will attract a following but the downside is that the Bluesfest may be perceived as passée, and yer proper roots music is never passée. Figures may indicate attendances are growing but is it growing as fast as it might be if it had more of a cutting edge image?

The inclusion of 'world music' acts should be applauded however Tinariwen have been popular in Europe for some years now, as has Angelique Kidjo – there's hardly risk there. I wonder if the Booker of Acts is checking out emerging talents through Songlines or Froots mags or Charlie Gillet's BBC programme. Emerging acts have a cost advantage surely? Lesser known left field blues/ R'n B acts could add spice eg Hazmat Modine, Detroit Cobras, Legendary Shack Shakers, C.C. Adcock. Anyone's thoughts, or am I flatuating in the wind? Great to see ska and reggae genres included, dammit I missed The Special Beat... hey Ska Cubano.... there's another possibility.

My faves:

Tinariwen earthy raw groove, is ok? Betcha. Heart warming to see so many enjoy these guys and not understand a word. Music, the universal language.

Sonny Landreth superb inventive guitar playing, vocals, band and repertoire, miles away from the clichéd blues of so many bands

Angelique Kidjo such energy and power in such a small package, and what a wonderful voice, loved her version of Gimmie Shelter and of course Voodoo Child, not discounting her own great material

Lucinda Williams seemed reticent to make contact with the audience at first but warmed up. Terrific band and choice of songs but where was Lake Charles?

Blind Boys of Alabamy never fail to satisfy, a 'stimulus package'

Seasick Steve great patter, enjoyed sensitive Steve singing to the girl from the audience

Ayo European/Nigerian cool, obviously happy to be at the Bluesfest

C W Stoneking a bit flat at first, or maybe me, but caught the latter half of the second set which was lively

Hat Fitz usual manic self but where's Itchy?? The ''Young bloke on The Kit'' is a good drummer and a couple of numbers sounded great but Itchy has that compatibility which comes with experience

Watermelon Slim blues standards lifted by his virtuosity and personality

Pugsley Buzzard authentic growl and good pianist. Loved the version of Tom Waits' The Briar and the Rose.

Eric Bibb caught the encore, a winning, warm performer and showing strong vocals

Stiff Gins loved the harmonies, particularly the koori song, but dammit I missed Archie Roach and Ruby Hunter

Below is Len's report on the two days I missed, plus his ratings, based as they are on an impeccable rating assessment regime and gut feeling.

Len's ratings

Monday was a pretty miserable day weather-wise and a few of the acts didn't really work for me...

From a weather perspective; Patrick and myself decided to leave at the end of the second last act...in our case we concentrated on the Crossroads Stage, the second last act being the Easy Star All-Stars (thought they would be better than they were...concept sounds good but I expected more reggae less cover band). The rain was pissing down; the 'exit' walk-ways had up to a foot of water/mud in them; the car was parked some 4 km away....man, an adventure getting out of the place in those conditions. In Patrick words; "we'd qualify for the regular army doing this; forced march in driving rain, in the middle of the night, while carrying a back-pack".

Now, on Monday we witnessed the highlight song of the weekend...Booker T. Jones playing Green Onions with the Drive-By Trackers. It was just sensational, the guy on the guitar (I think the guy's name is, John Neff) was giving the song an almost 'pink floydish' (Dave Gilmour) sound. Great.

Stood out in the rain at the signing tent....to get Booker T's signature on a copy of their album 'Potato Hole'. Booker T. was a quite spoken, congenial sort of follow...looked a little like Sidney Poitier.

Bluesfest Voting:

Xavier Rudd 8

Michael Franti & Spearhead 9.5

Kasey Chambers & Shane Nicholson 9

AYO 8

Angeligue Kidjo 9

Seasick Steve 9

Watermelon Slim & the Workers 8

Pugsley Buzzard 8

The Gin Club 8

Mic Conway's National Junk Bank 9

Stiff Gins 8

Dan Auerbach 9.5

Blue King Brown 8

CW Stoneking 9.5

James Hunter 8

Sonny Landreth 8.5 (didn't see whole show, could have been higher)

Rodney Crowell 8

Hot Club of Cowtown 8.5

Hacienda 8

Hat Fitz 9

Marshall & Fro 8

Kush Cabaret 8.5

Saltwater Band 8

Tinariwen 10

Tom Freund 8.5

Alabama 3. 7

Lucinda Williams 10

Eric Bibb 9 (didn't see whole show, could have been higher)

Terrance Simien 9.5

Ash Grunwald 8.5

Jeff Lang 9

Drive-By Truckers 9.5

Blues Traveler 9.5

The Bamboos 9

Ruthie Foster 8.5

Luka Bloom 9

Easy Star All-Stars 8

Special Beat 7

Booker T. Jones & Drive By Truckers 10

REPAST - a short story

2009-03-20T07:59:00.000-07:00

REPAST

Marie Henrietta De Montfort was a witch. Had been for sixty five of her eighty years. In the nonchalance of youth she had kissed the devil's bum, made the pact and enjoyed certain favours which still danced in her memory when she was disposed to recall them. Her powers which had supported her in the royal courts of Europe remained but the pursed lipped puritans had now burned and hammered their joyless doctrines onto the door of destiny. Thus she fled the faggots of disclosure and disgrace lit by the whores of righteousness, le mob amok.

A nifty little sloop sailed by a spellbound captain deposited her on Erin's plump green shores after a night of being tossed like a turnip on the Irish Sea. The Dutch captain had duly demanded his tithe and with his hand between the thighs of an eighteen year old beauty found his lips were sucking those of an eighty year old wobbegong whose tongue was slurping down his throat. In fact was reaching to his entrails and melting his medallions. It is said that his scream was heard in Scotland.

Marie Henrietta De Montfort was in great spirits after that and skipped off down a country lane bordered by a rocky wall one side and a hedge on the other. She was a sprightly old thing and glad to be alive in an Irish morning and was whistling away to herself. But she wasn't much of a whistler and disturbed a cow in the field who droned a long brown complaint to her fellow beasts, “will you get a load of the tuneless old trollop, she could earn a living as a scarecrow wha?” Although true it was imprudent. Marie was able to interpret the Gaelic, and cracked the little finger on her left hand. The cow who was Philomena O'Donahue shot over to Sligo like a methane rocket. Folks who spotted it crossed themselves , exclaimed ''Holy Cow'', and said it was a sign to be sure, an important portent.

Marie Henrietta De Montfort jumped up, clicked her heels with a flash of blue, started another tune and skipped onward. Along the way she exploded a pig who had dared to give her a wolf whistle. Öw dare you” she said, “you cheeky Irish pig. Je suis une grand dame. Paysan.”

A cart pulled by a donkey came hurtling down the lane heaving dust behind. Marie jumped aside, cracked her finger and a cartwheel fell off, toppled the donkey and expelled the occupant. Jumbo McManus had been loaded onto the tray due to a chronic indisposition which afflicted him mercilessly at O'Halloran's pub each night. He had been sleeping his way to his darlin wife, Thin Annie. Jumbo was uninjured but understandably peeved.

Hey you, Baggins, did you see what happened?

Je suis Marie Henrietta De Montfort of French aristocracy. You Monsieur are a drunken paysan, not fit for pig swill. I dropped the wheel from your cart.

Yeah an I'm Oliver fuckin Cromwell, Your Great Pomposity. If you don't be civil I'll kick your arse.

Now, a strange thing happened as Marie's hands came together, for the craik.... There was a rustle in the hedgerow and out popped a wee woman wearing rustic garments.

Ah you must excuse Jumbo my ladyship. His heart's in the right place but the tongues inclined to wander. Welcome to our shores. 'Tis rare we have a grand lady such as yourself come a visiting. The wee woman waved Jumbo away.

Will you be stayin long at all?

At all? At all? Will I be staying long? I will stay as long as it pleases me to stay. So far I 'ave suffered only displeasure. The natives coarse, the animals rude. A lack of breeding afflicts this country.

Well now we'll see if we can improve matters. We have a wee game we play with new arrivals, sort of getting to know you, it's a guessing game.

Marie Henrietta De Montfort does not play guessing games in the countryside with ugly old peasants.

But we're two old women together you and me eh, no-one around, middle of nowhere, let's amuse ourselves. It's easy. You see that pond over there, off the stream. How many trout is in it?

An exasperated Marie cracked her finger and a bolt of blue flashed and fifteen stunned trout floated to the surface.

Fifteen I believe.

By jingoes you're a dab hand at this game missus, sorry..... your excellency. Dem trout look splendid so they do. I've a hunger on me t'would fill a horse trough.

Mmmm, je suis faim aussie. And Marie cracked her finger again and a skillet landed on the bank of the pond, followed by slabs of butter, two heads of garlic, all peeled, sprigs of dill, parsley, six lemons and a salt and pepper shaker. In a moment a fire was crackling and the trout were sizzling, and the two old dears, seemingly ravenous, devoured the lot in two hours. A nearby apricot tree, replete with plump ripe fruit provided excellent desert.

There they lay, sated on the soft grass by the side of the stream, stripped of their garments. The sun played its warm golden fingers on their full white bellies. And a fine tune it was with the stream picking up the rhythm and the breeze singing through the trees. Perfectment!

The wee Irish woman remarked to herself, Rosheen, that was best meal I had in me life bar none.

Marie agreed. Tres magnifique! Eh bien.......Rosheen, you know what they grant a condemned prisoner?

I do, sure I do. What's that?

The best final meal.......

I'm with you, sure I am.

Mon ami, a witch requires much sustenance and I confess I am peckish again. One of my favourite dishes is slow roasted mature peasant woman.... stuffed with trout...and apricot.

And with that she cracked her finger.

But.... nothing happened.

Rosheen gazed at her with still eyes.

And you remember our pact, Jacqueline Bidet, when you were fifteen.

2009-03-18T15:42:00.000-07:00

UPDATE What's been happening? Well we seem to be shuttlecocking between Sydney, Melbourne, Corowa, and Nowra. All enjoyable of course but exhausting at times.

On the turntable, discovering now and reaching back to find gems:
Nigeria Special Modern Highlife Afro Sounds & Nigerian Blues 1970-76
Hat Fitz : Hat Manz On Hiz Way
Ronnie Lane: How Come
Ernest Ranglin: Modern Answers to Old Problems
Andy Palacio & The Garifuna Collective: Watina
C.W. Stoneking: Jungle Blues
Creedence Clearwater Revival reissues
Cannonball Adderley: Mercy Mercy Mercy
Kings of Leon: Aha Shake Heartbreak

Anyone interested in 60s musical culture in Oz, particularly around Kings Cross, Paddington, Darlo with all of its attendent loonery - the music, musicians, ratbags and queers, lefties and arties, witches and wierdos - those who navigated the cultural bar, visit Lyn at Musical Notes.

Books by the bedside, mainly fabulous hard hitting short stories
The Boat by Nam Le
Tales From Firozsha Baag by Rohington Mistry
The Deportees by Roddy Doyle
Every Move You Make by David Malouf
Blood and Water by Tim Winton

Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens good writing ages like wine, maybe cheese...
Suite Francaise by Irene Nemerovsky was first published in 2004, although the author died in Auschwitz in 1942. The writing is exquisite, the tragedy immense.

THE WEDDING
Brendan and Sharaine were married on 21 February 2009. A great success, a credit to the unparallelled organisational steam of Denise. Pictures can be viewed at my Picasa site. Use slideshow and increase to 5 seconds - sometimes the comments are too quick for the slides.

Last year we made the usual trip to S.E. Asia visiting Vietnam, Laos and Thailand, our first time to Laos which we loved for it's friendly people, spectacular scenery, Lao and French architecture, strong coffee, excellent beer, good food and value for money.

Beautiful tribal women and baby from a village outside Sa Pa, North Vietnam.

Some thoughts written at the end of the trip:

It is a humbling experience to meet illegal workers from Myanmar who are here to save enough money to support families back home or when you go off the beaten track and see people who live from the few 'crumbs from the master's table'. People who sleep on the streets because they are unable to function because of a medical or physical inacpacity, people with missing limbs, intellect or youth, thin, bent, aged and broken humanity; the economic downturn means nothing to them. But, bloody hell, whaaat can you do? We smile and dispense good humour, humanity and currency where we can. Of course it is inadequate but it is something, maybe all we can do; maybe the realisation is all.

Mostly life here buzzes about you in a beehive of industry. S.E. Asia just doesn't stop, the endeavour is enormous and relentless, buildings to be built, people to be moved, deals to be made. They understand but they don't understand, whatever suits the purpose, which is never lost.

A Burmese worker asked us the English word for giving something you really value as an expression of hospitality. We came up with charity, benevolence, generosity, altruism, appreciation and some others but I think he was after something more for which we don't have a word, or maybe it is just 'love'. god. I sound like Mother Theresa......

2008-05-16T23:02:00.000-07:00

Adam and Eve’s Lamb, Pork or Goat with Coriander

And it came to pass that Adam and Eve sat on a goatskin, huddled naked in a cave. They shuddered from the sounds of the Lord God Jehovah’s wrath as it rained into the valley splitting trees and hurtling boulders. Adam could smell Eve’s hair, her skin, her quick frightened breath, feel her tremors.

They did not comprehend Jehovah’s words nor the reason for His anger. They were dismayed but aware that it had been caused by their new feelings for each other as they had become one within the beauty of their garden, its glorious warmth and succour.

They had not eaten an apple from the Tree of Knowledge. But they had made love. They were young in fact they were all the company they had, apart from The Lord who was away mostly. There was no serpent. The serpent was a metaphor. The author of Genesis knew that the words would be read to the children of Israel.

They had made love for a whole week, following some exploratory fumbles, while The Lord was away. He hadn’t told them they could not, well not exactly. He did say that they shouldn’t do anything He wouldn’t do. God was holy. No doubt about it. He wore an air of kindly benevolence. Until He found out. Then He went ballistic.

They had fallen asleep in Eden. The grass was soft, the sunlight filtered tin golden light hrough the leaves of fig and the aromatic Hasmesh, the doves softly cooed, white goats bleated, and to be frank they were exhausted, but blissfully happy. Then God lobbed in. They had been naked before but now they were entwined and naked, and they became ashamed in His gaze and tried to cover up with a fig leaf. It was mostly ineffective.

God let out a roar that froze waterfalls, stuck birds to the sky and cleaved a valley. Adam blamed it on Eve and said that he had been tempted. He immediately regretted saying it but it was done. God replied that he would put enmity between them, and between Adam’s offspring and hers. This was a bit puzzling but Adam let it go.

God spoke to Eve and said that he would greatly increase her pains in childbirth. As she had never had children this was another mystery. He also said that her desire would be for her husband and that he would rule over her. God did not foresee womens’ liberation, but hey, that was millenniums later.

[This Italian painting by Domenichino depicts Adam shrugging his shoulders and saying “She woulda tempted a blind man, eh she woulda tempted even you - nothing on you Lord….” And The Lord gives Adam the finger.]

The later biblical scholars, particularly those inclined to the theory of Intelligent Design date the ‘Fall of Mankind’ at about 6000BC. The oldest human skeleton is dated at about 4 million. Such discrepancy is dispelled by Faith. Faith is the essence of True Belief. Each religion has its own version of Faith. Faith is a gift from God. There are more gods than you can poke a stick at.

In his divine rage Jehovah ranted that the ground was now cursed, that Adam would painfully toil his days on earth, that weeds would spring up, thorns and thistles, but he would live off the land until he dropped dead and disintegrated to dust. Verily this was a setback.

In His divine anger He expelled them from the Garden of Eden and placed cherubim and a flaming sword, flashing back and forth, as a deterrent. His words fell like hot cinders on their backs as they stumbled into the valley of darkness. After some time, yea they found a goat trail leading to a cave, where we found them earlier.

It was stony damp, dark and cold with a whiff of urine and sulphur, when lo and behold a blue fire formed around a rock and a slim figure appeared before them. “Please allow me to introduce myself. Maximilian Price. Friends call me Max, or Pricey. I imagine you’re both a little upset and a trifle peeved? If it’s any consolation He can be a touch tetchy at times.”

Max Price carried a suave jaunty air. He was an indeterminate age, strangely neither old nor young in our terms, although Adam and Eve didn’t try to guess his age, after all they had just started humanity in Israel or Mesopotamia three weeks back, and had no idea of age; God just looked different…..

Pricey wore a suit of the finest cloth. I say this for your benefit reader, Adam and Eve had no concept of apparel, other than the goat skin God had thrown at them when they parted, which they now sat on. God Himself was sort of luminous.

“This is indeed a pleasure which, incidentally, I have been anticipating for some millenniums past. You must be Adam? Eve? Do call me Max. Max. Yes. Well….. you know… you can do all you can to please and believe me I have been there, where you are, perplexed by such prima donna behaviour which would indeed try a saint…. Ha ha, I mean really what did He expect? He gives you the dangly bits and expects angels? Well there’s the flaw in the design hey? Dangly bits have their own mind ha ha, it is an unrealistic expectation. You guys as the prototype are up the creek without the proverbial if you get my drift hmmm??”

Adam drew Eve closer.

“Look, I’ll give it to you straight. The Lord says I’m not to be trusted – if He’s likely to impart any advice that is…once he’s over His huff, heh heh…. He will tell you that I’m a black angel who was once his favourite but got ambitious for the top job, well hey what’s wrong with a little ambition? You can’t stay second fiddle for eternity. I’ve done my bit, I’ve put in my share. I’m known in other places as a decent chap. India? You’ve heard of India? No? Well over there humanity has a start in fact there are millions and those guys have rolled me in with one of their gods, Shiva I think, basically a good fellow, they love me but oh no not here, oh no, we have to be angels, squeaky clean, what’s wrong with a little raunch every now and then Eve, do you think?”

Eve looked away.

“Yes well, The Lord will tell you I’m a corrupter of souls which to be honest is absolute hogwash. He will tell you that you have free will, you are free agents and can make choices, except that you must make the right choice or you’ll end up in a locale undesirable for the rest of eternity. Look I’ll be straight with you before you start pumping away at humanity. Free choice is an illusion. You are what you are and can merely make one decision which is what you end up doing. You may think you have options, and you do, but being the person you are, there is only one choice. Let me introduce The Panel”

And it came to pass that before their eyes four figures appeareth. They were sitting, smiling with sparkling teeth, each with a hand on a buzzer. Adam and Eve knew not the buzzer, but I say that for you my reader, and Adam and Eve were startled and clung together and Max Price saw their shame and lo placed clothes upon them, which they found were soft and warm, and verily it put a smile on their faces.

“The Panel my dears is an ancient Greek concept and here we have four ancient Greeks who estimate your next move. Let me introduce Zeus, Persephone, Stavros and Maria. Stavros and Maria run a fish and chip emporium at the far end of Hades, melt in your mouth and the aroma is to die for ha ha. You may think of these folk as gods and they often think of themselves that way but in reality they are like you and I, well not I ha ha, but certainly thou.

“The sequence of events known as ‘history’ is recorded and understood by the concept of ‘time’. In fact all events have occurred and can be accessed at any point. Think of it as a flat picture, a cave drawing. The aim of The Panel is to have fun, with real live players, and how do they do it? They do it because they have your specifications, your characteristics, your DNA, your personality, and so given a set of circumstance, for example if Eve were to bear children, using the information they project what should happen in the future, in minutes, hours, days or years – the sex of the children, what she might name them and so on. Now, the score is greater the further the prediction. Fun? It’s more fun than you can poke a stick at. What? The estimate is checked against the actuality. What? So fun guys.”

Lo the anguish of The Lord then echoed into the Valley of Darkness and boulders boomed into the darkest chasms and shook the earth. The Panel disappeared. Adam drew Eve closer. Max Price’s dark figure filled the cave which became icy, glittering with stalactites like knives poised to strike. His voice hardened and ripped into the void. They covered their ears but verily they could hear. They covered their eyes but still they saw.

“I…I …will NOT be compromised nor praised by posterity. My shadow will cause the earth to groan in its burden of fear and destruction. My legions will roam the earth. Yea verily I will wrought such ill that even you Jehovah will tire of my vengeance. Awe will be my greeting, Woe my fortune and Death my legacy. I am random disorder. I am the Unwelcome Guest.”

Eve looked at Adam. “Shee-it. Heaveey eh Ads? This place is freezing my tits off. Whaddya reckon?” Max Price looked at Eve, then at Adam, then at Eve, stunned disbelief on his face as he slowly vanished, saying “You know……”

“Cripes Chicky Babe, just as well he pissed off. I was bored shitless eh? Could eat the crutch out of a low flyin’ duck.”

And it came to pass that Ads failed to score a low flying duck but lo he did leap upon an unwary goat and Eve found many herbs and stuff and it became a fine wholesome meal. In the fullness of time Ads (and Eve) begot Cain and Abel who were wayward youths with a liking for herbs and stuff. Verily after a night on the turps Cain slew Abel. Shit happens.

In accordance with Genesis 5.5 Ads lived to a ripe old 930 but had separated from Eve 903 years before. Eve married Mario of whom she had been carnally familiar and had 25 children and 102 grandkids. Eve was rapt. Ads married Kiralee 903 years back, she was 6 years younger and spunky as, eh? Kiralee bore Ads 4 children: Little Ads, Kezza, Stevie and Jack and became less spunky after each one. Lo she found Ads was in an adulterous relationship with That Bitch Lenore “Hey, call me Lennie” and so left him for Nicko of whom she had been carnally familiar on occasion usually Christmas parties. She kept the boys and Adam kept Lenore which lasted for 10 years before Lennie left Ads for Todd “Let me turn your lights on babe” The Electrician.

And so the Earth spun around with neither favour nor malice in tune with the nature of this particular existence. The Panel played their game unbeknownst to anyone, always smiling. Adam and his seed stumbled and fumbled onward as humanity increased, making mistakes, making progeny, dying, waging wars, and occasionally being beset with natural disasters, plagues, pestilence, famine, flood and other population reducing inconveniences. In early years it was believed that the Lord God Jehovah launched these initiatives at mankind, to teach respect, or in recognition of the errors of their ways. Later humanity following arguments by Dawkins and Hitchens, among others, generally regarded religion as superstition and mythology and it became clear that no superior celestial being, if there were any, had any interest whatsoever, beneficial or malicious. Except maybe Batman. Shit happens.

The Recipe

The recipe which commences “if you are hungry, catch a slow goat” has long since gone. So, I have appropriated an excellent Sri Lankan recipe to tack onto my story. Of course it has been modified to my taste. Folk culture, whether cuisine, music or other art benefits from interaction, and is reborn. You can substitute lamb, pork or beef for goat meat, in fact adapt to your own taste.

Finely grind the following spices:

2 tsp brown mustard seeds
½ teaspoon whole peppercorns
3 tbls coriander seeds
2 cloves

Grind or blend the following:

1/4 medium Spanish red onion
½ inch piece ginger
3 medium cloves garlic
4 coriander roots
2 small hot chillies, red or green

Heat 3 tablespoons of oil – corn, macadamia, olive or peanut – to medium and add

1 medium cinnamon stick
2 whole cardamom pods (crushed to put a split in pod)
2 bay leaves
½ kilo approximately (can be more) lamb, goat, pork or beef

Sear the meat quickly. Add the spices from the first bracket. Fry for 1 minute. Add the 2nd bracket. Fry for 5 minutes.

Add 1 cup good dry white wine and 1 cup water, 1 tsp lemon juice, 2 tablespoons Thai or Vietnamese fish sauce and 1 tsp salt.

Cover and cook on low heat - 90 mins for beef, 60 minutes for goat, lamb or pork. Add 2 chopped coriander plants and 270 ml tin of coconut cream.
.

2008-05-01T02:53:00.000-07:00

The 19th annual Byron Bay Bluesfest was held at Bilongal Fields. A definite venue improvement, being about five times the acreage of Red Devil Park. Each area self contained with foodstalls, bars and toilets. No leakage of sound, there was space to relax and a pleasant walk between venues. The photo shows Len swamped once again by local beauties who appeared to enjoy the company of the urbane gent in the jaunty panama.

Many more super photos of the Bluesfest can be found at my Picasa site http://picasaweb.google.com/barry.mcgloin

The Weather. What? No rain apart from one morning at 07:00 when it fell in torrents as we headed for the showers, beautiful to experience but following that... just sunshine, warm balmy ocean embalming sea spray days.

During this year of the drought The Len had turned his attention to upgrading our mobility, sleepability and cookability, which had bugger all to to with the drought but this Vision had brought forth pushbikes, camp beds and a portable burner and frying pan. Wow, Len and I we were mobile, we could sleep well and eat well. Thank you Len, we said. Just 5 minutes into town zooming along the bike path, dive into the ocean to catch a wave or two, then up to the splendid beachfront cafe for a blues brekkie of the Full Goriller for Len, eggs Benny with salmon or the Turkish brekkie for me, the morning newspapers and chai tea to accommodate the Indian within. Om. Alternatively we could cycle back to the tent for the big fryup of eggs, bacon, tomato, mushrooms and the gourmet sausage. Then maybe back into town to place a bet or two on the gee gees, if one was thus inclined. Where? The Great Northern of course, where one could sup on a Guinness, Coopers or any exotic variety of uplifting liquid to inspire your choice of losing nag. And mate, was Len inspired.

Our fellow Bluester Paddy could only make it for the final day this year, the big fella was crook following his NZ cricket tour and St Pat’s Day. He was debilitated but dogged, off the booze and loping through the dry Monday like an Irish setter chasing shadows.

The Music.
It was impossible to see all acts, so the strategy was to see those we had both picked. Mostly this worked, although somehow Len missed Hat Fitz but that was down to some confusion over the venue, and if you go to the wrong venue it can be a long trot to the right one....so you may as well stay where you are. As Len points out below, there were approximately 120 acts, and unless you can clone yourself you can only see (and give yourself enough time to enjoy) about one fifth of what is available.

Acts that could have been? Well where was C.W. Stoneking (with his band)? Where were the Kings of Leon? Where was Tinariwen, Salif Keita, Ska Cubano, Detroit Cobras, Dropkick Murphys, Natasha Atlas, Neville Bros, Susheela Raman, The Pogues, Hazmut Modine, Legendary Shack Shakers, Artic Monkeys, Franz Ferdinand, C C Adcock, Little Richard, Keef, Ronnie, Graham Parker, Elvis Costello, Chisel, Oils....... Buddy Holly?? Well.....all right, we did fine.

The notes below are my assessments in order of preference of those we saw.....well Len didn’t see Hat as mentioned, because he became disoriented in a bar...... These are followed by Len’s ratings which have been calculated using The Len Rating Scale, his sure fire method which nails a performance into it’s appointed spot.

Hat Fitz & Itchy The Juke Joint was chokers with about half the outside area also full. The atmosphere was hot, sweaty and intense as The Hat and Itchy seared the air with their intense, manic performance. It was unbelievable, such rhythmic power, the audience jumping and clapping, this was the G spot of rock, the absolute essence. It was as close as you might dare to imagine Son House, Charlie Patton or Robert Johnson in a 1930s juke joint. Unlike US roots performer Seasick Steve, Hat doesn’t spice up the show with patter, in fact in a rare moment of soul searching he commented “Errr, you might notice that I don’t talk as much as some…… that’s because I’ve got nothin’ intelligent to say…..”

Guy Davis. We were drawn to Guy’s two performances - I'd caught him two weeks previously in Canberra, an excellent guitarist, banjo and harmonica player and vocalist – and mostly his own material – such a fabulous entertainer using his acting skills well. Much sexual metaphor, double entendre, which is traditionally part of the genre plus Guy’s added mannerisms and facial expressions made for very entertaining performances. I wondered though whether such caricature bothered such a proud intelligent man.

Collard Greens and Gravy These guys are at the roots end of the scale, like Hat and Guy, the soul of this festival for me. This is real music - no frills, swamp boogie and deep blues played with consummate art and conviction. Ian Collard is a virtuoso harp player with Shortie Shortte a fine drummer and James Bridges an excellent understated guitarist.

Kate Miller-Heidke I had no idea or expectation here. Wow!! I was mesmerised. This girl abounds in talent with her operatic voice and spiky wit, supported by a top band. They covered the John Farnham OZ hit ‘You’re The voice’ and knocked us out, I couldn’t believe the arrangement - it was sooooo good. The audience went bananas.

The Lost Dogs.

The open warm personality of Kasey Chambers, here in The Lost Dogs linking her musicianship with husband Shane Nicholson and her father, Bill Chambers. This was quite a surprise, these blue ribbon country musicians doing choice covers like they're sitting on a verandah; 'Dirt Music' in the words of Tim Winton, relaxed and rich. The Tom Waits song 'Big in Japan' was superb.

Seasick Steve US entertainer Seasick Steve is a big character, slugging from his “stage prop” his earthy amusing patter kept the crowd enthralled in fact word must have got around because the second performance was chokers. Similar in the style of Hat Fitz ie early country blues though not quite as manic

Sinead O’Connor the beautiful bald bold banshee from Ballytown graced the stage and boy can she sing. Mother of four ( maybe another on the way?) she took us through her mighty repertoire including three fab new songs from Theology. The only song which didn’t come off for me was Mandingo from The Lion & The Cobra (her great first album). It was a treat to see this artist in action.

Ruthie Foster another gutsy female with lots of presence. Ruthie sang her heart out, blues and gospel, the crowd loved her as did Len and I.

Damien Dempsey supporting Sinead on her tour the ‘security guard’ from North Dublin was surprisingly good, he reminded me of a young Christy Moore. Like Moore he’s political, passionate and writes good material (the first we’d heard of him, very impressive). The Irish contingent in the audience proudly displayed the Irish flag and were yelling encouragement and for favourites – great to see!!

John Fogerty the star of the festival for most. The old Foggo didn’t let us down, apart from one number where his guitar was either out of tune, or someone was playing in the wrong key. He trotted out all hits together with equally good numbers from the new album. Best for me was Centrefields’ Old Man Down The Road. I would have loved Susie Q backed by Spell on You, as he performed them on the live CD ‘Premonition’, and Run Through the Jungle’ but ya can’t have everything. He gave the crowd more than their money’s worth

John Hiatt won best dressed award of the Bluesfest, you’d reckon such a good songwriter could afford at least a Fogerty checked shirt !!

John Hammond a legend with an impeccable line coming straight from Robert Johnson, through Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Ry Cooder, this man is a consummate performer. His last CD 'Push Comes to Shove' is so good - on a par with 'Wicked Grin' and I would have loved to see him perform with the band but he does it so well solo.

GOCOO & GoRo very entertaining Japanese percussion, flute, synth

Loudon Wainwright 111 a feisty performer, you wouldn’t want to be the sound guy, imperious and arrogant yet he puts out great songs. His daughter Lucy Wainwright Roche joined him for two songs, also a fine voice in the family tradition – Martha Wainwright was superb last year – refer my review.

Boyes,Brill & Dellgrosso I caught about 15 minutes – you can’t see everyone - but what I did see and hear was damned fine. Rodrigo and Gabriela as usual astounded their audience.

John Cleary & the Abbsolute Monster Gentlemen from N’Awlins, very funky with Cleary doing a wonderful ‘Tipitina’

Jools Holland & Orchestra you don’t get to hear jump blues often - great to hear this big band swing, albeit for 20 minutes...

Wilco are a top favourite of Len, they didn’t twiddle my knobs much at all. Admittedly the band took off a couple of times with their impressive, albeit ostentatious lead guitarist

Ray Davies the Absolute Lege. I’m a huge Kinks fan, love their stuff, but I caught Ray after Hat’s superb gig, and here was the old trouper doing a karaoke ‘Lola’ which I assumed was his last number, and he was struggling with staying in tune I thought, like the disappointing Royal performance of a couple of years back, so being fatigued from the day's doings we walked back to the tent…. and heard him belt out all the old favourites, sounding spot on....should have stayed

Mamadou Diabate was entrancing on the kora. Yunasi, The Cat Empire, The Audreys, Charlie Muswellwhite and Jeff Lang were all good. The Cruel Sea were also good, but I was expecting much more, and Don MacLean, well…….. not really a disappointment because I wasn’t expecting much although I saw Don perform a free concert in Hyde Park, London in 1974 and he was good back then and the park was packed, but now he’s somewhat Las Vegas, although I was pleased that he started with a couple of Buddy Holly songs.

Len's Picks

Bazza ok, I have reviewed my scratch ratings from the worn schedules I kept, given it some more thought, rapped it around a rating scale and here is the result; ratings for all Artists seen in entirety:
Sinead O'Connor 10.00 John Fogerty 9.95 Wilco 9.90 John Hiatt 9.85

Collard Greens & Gravy 9.80 Ruthie Foster 9.75 The Lost Dogs 9.70

Damien Dempsey 9.65 Guy Davis 9.60 Seasick Steve 9.55 Rodrigo y Gabriela 9.50

GOCOO + GoRo 9.45 Jeff Martin 9.40 Loudon Wainwright III 9.35 Jon Cleary 9.30

Ray Davies 9.25 John Hammond 9.20 Mamadou Diabate 9.15 Jools Holland & His Rhythm and Blues Orchestra 9.10 Jeff Lang 9.05 Charlie Musselwhite 9.00 Will Conner 8.50

Hollie Smith 8.00 The Cruel Sea 8.00 JJ Grey & Mofro 7.00 Don McLean 5.00

Unfortunately, I was only able to see about 25% in depth. There were about 120 acts over the 5 days and I saw the above 26 artists. I was able to see a couple of songs from about another 10 acts but not enough to rate them fairly.

NED KELLY'S FEAST

2008-02-15T01:29:00.000-08:00

This piece was published in Narrator Magazine Summer 2011 edition. Below is the original which echoed the style of Kelly and Byrnes' Jerilderie letter in minimal punctuation, once the narration moved from third person to first person.

Ned Kelly sat in his cell singing softly, a condemned man, beaten by pride and circumstance, in body and spirit. He could have escaped the Glenrowan siege; indeed he had been tempted during the night while resting on the mountain, his Gethsemane. But Ned Kelly was a man of honour and reputation, poor Byrne dropped and the two boys was trapped in the pub.

At the end though, he’d staggered shooting through the rising mist, bravado and brandy yelling “come on boys we’ll whip the lot of them” when the return fire was a cacophony of hail in his headpiece and Byrne’s mare Music had skittered past in some mad dream of smoke and mist rearing her frightened head pleading “climb up, climb up”, then he might have bolted, mounted and away like the phantom Bunyip. But his limbs were buggered by shot, besides, he’d had enough.

Well he was cooked now. The boys in peace God rest them. Just him alive. The trial had not gone his way. He’d thought justice would prevail, but the traps had cooked the books, larded the witnesses and the judge had no bone of mercy, understanding or justice in his body, fry him forever with those puffed up adders who ponced and preened in high places wanting him and his kind eradicated from this English colony. He represented rebellion, uprising, disrespect. An outlaw. His own plan for an Irish Republic had gone awry, skewed and skewered by treachery. That bastard school teacher warning the train. I trusted him. Snakes in the skullery. When all seems well and the glow of trust is upon you be wary. Too much grog. The train late. Too many jigs. The Innkeeper Ann was a possum in the pantry very generous. I won’t see her again. What could have been.

We had a grand life me and the lads the freedom to roam our land our land our beautiful land in all its seasons its glorious colours aromas of earth and rain on grass and eucalypt such majestic moods and holy power to cleanse and heal. We was kings bold fearless and free what did Joe say? Lords of our Dominion. I liked that. Poor Byrne trusted friend many’s the sprightly conversation we had around the camp fire night belly full of roo or possum stew pass the pipe of Chinese midnight wisdom and he yabbering the pigtail tongue. Kings in our warmth and certainty. Remember the time we ran the horses to Melbourne Joe for old times sake with Tom then with a bag of booty out to the Palace of Plenty and the twins from Siam Yin and Yang with their treats and tricks and monkey nuts such soft welcome splendour and comfort and full feathered dreams of far off Siam. Kings. And the food from the heavenly orient to conclude. Sure my eyes and palate never dreamed such wonders.

This place now the cold blue sour stones of English justice I could walk through if I tries hard inviolate to their repression but for the figure crouched there I don’t know his demeanour whether friend or foe. The priest gave small comfort my absolution withheld subject to my contrite heart which can never be when I would do the same now. My mother locked in the same gaol my precious guiltless mother on stewed up testimony from a crooked loafing scoundrel of a traps arse which the judge never questioned. My God says I and the priest wanting me to be contrite never I replied you’d better leave father before I say more than I should before the fire in my breast bursts upon your eyes. He went out praying for my soul he could be praying for some time yet but I pray that Our Lady will intercede she has helped in the past though I could not find comfort anywhere after shooting Kennedy but what choice had I. I wonder if St Peter at Heaven’s gate will look at my sins of murder theft and pride and see my circumstance. I wonder will he quote the commandments my second judge don the black cap and send me down again or say Ned my son you was pushed beyond your limits step inside and rest now.

I could have let Kennedy go as he run but I thought he was aiming didn’t I, not surrendering. I’m sure that was it. I think that was it. I swore that was it. I may have been mistaken and my impulse my command of aim my mantle of retribution before my men may have interceded. God forgive you said he. Dying words. No, I’m sure I gave him justice. Took his watch yes old habits just business. And shot him. So the creatures of the bush wouldn’t eat him alive. Merciful. More than the fat sow faced beak who sent me down himself Irish like traps Scanlon Kennedy and bastard Lonigan who I beat to the draw with a hole smack through his skull for the time he grabbed my privates in Benalla. Your own kind the scimitar of English justice what hope is there. He is me and I him. Like the figure in my cell. Let’s hope to Christ St Peter is Christian says I.

History

This recipe was handed down somehow through the years on yellowed piece of paper to family on my wife’s side. It was entitled ‘Yin’s Heavenly Salad for Ned Kelly, Tom Lloyd and Joe Byrne 18 August 1878’. Some venerable great aunts way back in Wangaratta may have been friendly with Ned or his family or henchmen and a Byrne was also on my wife’s side and so through my interest in Kelly it somehow materialised, to my great delight, here in Canberra. The paper went up with our house and belongings and 500 others in the bushfire of 2003. The Siamese recipe surprisingly or perhaps not, matches pretty well some modern Thai salad dressings and the cooking of the seafood would not have changed, apart from the medium. The ancient straight from the sea to the wooden fire method would undoubtedly add flavour.

So here it is (adapted to my taste -refer the note below) and when you eat it give a nod to Ned, fire a prayer for his redemption perhaps, and imagine if you wish the Palace of Plenty, and the bounty of Yin and Yang, tricks treats and monkey nuts, the scimitar of justice, the meaning of truth and the absolution of inhumanity, and humanity as a whole, and the redemption of souls. On the other hand just enjoy it.

The Recipe

4 baby calamari
4 large prawns
2 Tasmanian scallops
baby spinach/rocket mix
6 thin slices tomato
1 small cucumber sliced thinly lengthwise
herbs – any combination coriander, dill, mint, Vietnamese mint, tarragon, parsley
pea sprouts, a few
red capsicum, a few thin slices

Dressing

2 coriander roots scraped
2 pinches sea salt
5 garlic cloves peeled
5 scud chillies
3 tablespoons white sugar
6 tablespoons lime juice
3 tablespoons lemon juice
4 tablespoons Thai fish sauce (Nam Pla)

Calamari. Slice through the outer skin vertically/lengthwise and peel off.
Extract the quill/backbone. Extract the innards by gently pulling the head. Slice the tentacles below the eyes. Slice the tube in rings. Place in bowl with 2 tablespoons of coconut milk and 2 tablespoons fish sauce (nam pla) for 30 minutes.
Prawns. Peel if you wish or leave the shell on for the colour. You can eat the shell.

Sauté the seafood for approximately 4 minutes on medium heat – drizzle with lemon juice while cooking, grind a little black pepper.

Salad: in layers of ingredients with the seafood on top

Dressing Using the mortar and pestle pound the coriander, sea salt then garlic and then chillies and add the remaining ingredients and stir to mix; it should be tart, sweet and hot. Tweak to your tastebuds by adding small portions, if you think it necessary.

Some points.
Yin notes that the fish and shellfish (I suggest prawns and calamari, maybe mussels and/or scallop) can be substituted with freshwater yabbies or thin sliced roo. Seafood may not have been so readily available in North East Victorian bush, particularly on some wallaby trail in the Strathbogies where the gang sought to avoid the traps. She writes, or someone for her, ‘chinaman garden for heb’ [herbs]. Of Chinamen and Chinese gardens there were plenty, in fact Beechworth had a huge Chinese population which has it’s own cemetery.

2008-02-06T23:28:00.000-08:00

Uncle Ned looking for the toilet (US-washroom).

Denise and I have been guests at three weddings in 2007, Ted and Kate Kenney on 3 March 2007, Viet and Loan Vu on 19 May 2007 and Big Baz and Mary Guest on 30 June 2007. Denise retired on 24 July 2007, then returned to work after giving Cara and Greg’s garden a makeover, then left work again prior to our trip to Thailand in November/December 2007. I will continue working for my Department until my 60^th birthday in April 2008 when I expect to retire gracefully before they shoot me.

Photos of the weddings and our Thai trip plus various odds and ends can be accessed through Picasa

http://picasaweb.google.com/barry.mcgloin

Some are also on Webshots

http://community.webshots.com/user/barrymcgloin

Picasa gives the better view – and although Webshots has an attractive ‘inlining’ which slowly zooms in and out, it can reduce the photo and affect the perspective.

I decided to take a break from my radio program ‘Mystery Train’ on community radio Valley FM. This happened mid year and I may think about presenting roots music again on radio following my retirement. I did enjoy the three years’ presenting, and I thank The Listener, particularly Steve and Kirsten and fellow presenters Alex Plegt and Rob Robinson and Station Manager Chris Moy. In the meantime I'm checking out new music from many sources, plus old music which has been lovingly repackaged, and I'm looking forward to the East Coast Blues and Roots Festival at Byron Bay, Easter 2008.

2008-02-05T16:45:00.000-08:00

In November/December 2007 Denise and I visited Thailand for the second time. A thoroughly enjoyable holiday we stayed in accommodation varying from $21 per night to $150, revisiting Bangkok and Ao Nang, but also seeing Chang Mai, Pai and Phi Phi.

The following is a copy of an e-mail I sent toward the end of the trip which records some of the highlights. An abundance of photos can be seen on my Picasa and Webshots sites:

g'day All, Denise has done most of the communication and here we are at the tail end of the holiday, so in a Basil moment I thought, after our gin and tonic hour, I would share with you some of these splendiferous trip moments.. well it has been a fantastic holiday, fantastic in the sense that Thailand never ceases to surprise in its contrasts and variety.. I'm typing this from a jungle hillside villa, part of Tipa resort, where we arrived yesterday evening, having come by ferry from Phi Phi Island Paradise Resort and a villa on the white sands of Long Beach where the waters change colour with the light and the human shape in all varieties rollick, laze, wallow and muck about. A contrasting environment is Thailand. Yeah. Fab. You look around. You ain't seen nothing yet.

Some moments (and Basil moments later Kirst and Cara):

* 6:30 am Bangkok and your intrepid traveler is out with camera leaving sleeping wife, I’m wandering through a Buddhist monastery between the Kings Cross glam, sham and seed of the Backpackers' Koh San Road and the wide Phraya River. I'm looking at a shrine near the monastery temple. The few Thais I've passed on the way don't look at you, perhaps having encountered early morning back packing revelers of the English, German,
Dutch and Aussie variety on previous occasions. A short man walks up to the shrine with a cheery smile and "hello" to me. He puts his palms together in prayer and bows
to the shrine. He has artificial hands and forearms. He smiles again and passes through the gateway.

* Thai massages are brilliant. First they give you an uppercut to knock you senseless. Then when you come round they bend your legs back to breaking point and jump on your back to see if it's made of rubber. If you exhale or squeak it's a sign of weakness. Then they rotate your feet 360 degrees using their whole body to do so. You'd think it couldn't be done. My feet unfortunately have remained English despite my Pommyectomy. They are apologetically thin, white and boney and bear no resemblance to the rest of me…. Even I fail to recognise them each morning. "God. Who put them there?" The Thai foot massage is especially blissful.
They pull each toe out from its joint. Then they hammer it back in again. You feel reborn, alive and Hindu in fact you've turned into an Indian rubber man. I always give a tip for the smile on their faces.

* we've traveled everywhere at each locality by rented motorbike, except Bangkok where I thought I might get lost. In fact I was lost in Chang Mai but eventually found my way back to the moat which surrounds the old city. Denise, as passenger was (naturally) tentative at first, trying to twist my body as we came to a bend, turn my helmet, but she's fine now and doesn't even yell "beep beep" at the traffic, who are probably as relieved as I !! A motor bike is a great way to travel, I love it. It has its surprises though.

Chang Mai and we're crossing the river over a rising humped bridge and we took the narrow side lane, a drop over the water and the missus agitated and me accelerating to get over it. "just hang on, it's ok. wow that was hairy...." Again on the back streets of Ao Nang and we came upon a makeshift bamboo bridge over a creek, the back wheels shifted, slid, and almost over the bridge when a large lady appears on a bike coming towards us. Shizen, I don't know how we didn't collide.

* in a Bangkok laneway after breakfast we met a cheery English tourist on his 4th visit this year. He is on Benefits he said. "Great to be back, love it here, why would I stay in England? So cheap. The people are friendly. Might go to the zoo today. Have you been to the zoo? Have you been to the races? Don't miss it, whatever you do, the atmosphere is unbelievable. Don't spend much, just watch, all day, unbelievable".

* we took a day tour from Bangkok to Ayathaya the Thai capital in the 1700s. The remains of huge temples now sit amid quiet tranquil gardens. The Burmese king and the Thai king fought each other on elephants and The Burmese sacked the whole splendour, burnt it and slayed every Thai. Here, just yesterday it seems, the blood sacrifice was immense, the smoke, the bellow of the elephants, screams of the victims and yells of triumph mingle with the tragedy of desecration and death. Now, in the bright beauty and tranquility the horrors have dissipated but the Thais are reticent to walk among the tragedy of history, the ghost filled ruins. Hugh, it reminded me of Culloden, those grassy humps on the cold moors where they buried the thousands of Scottish dead. Only yesterday. We enjoy a thin veneer of civilisation Denise pointed out. Yeah, Iraq… such lunacy, the legacy of Bush, Blair and our former PM, Slim Howard, the coalition of fools. Blind Freddy could have told them that if you stomp an ant's nest with a foreign, albeit democratic boot, you are likely to be stung.

* the cuisine here is excellent, the best for me being bar-b-qued whole snapper with chilli - 100 baht, about three little Aussie bucks. Brit, Irish and even German pubs abound for those who like "food just like we 'ave it back 'ome". Why would you? We also enjoyed raw prawns in chilli, garlic and lime/fish sauce, very hot, so one is almost obliged to douse with Chang, Tiger, Leo, Singha or Heineken. While eating this in a Bangkok restaurant opposite the monastery gardens a beggar with no legs came by propelling himself on a skateboard while playing a chromatic harmonica (like the character in Rohinton Mistry’s 'A Fine Balance' Cara !)

* the Thais are mostly thin and cheerful and work long hours, albeit at a very moderate pace. They peck at street snacks throughout the day. In contrast some tourists provide resplendent examples of the human species in excelsis, and the beach parade is a constant surprise to the eye, as in this picture. Some blokes prefer to remain supine rather than risk turning to stone.... It is not that long ago that females wore the full body stocking into the ocean so that males could not be affronted. Has libido petered or....or is it merely a shortage of cloth?

* from Chang Mai we traveled by sardine bus to Pai in the mountainous Golden Triangle region near the Myanmar (formerly Burmese) border where old hippies move among Danish and Swedish trekkers and tourists from everywhere. A quiet albeit crowded village, no hassles from tuk tuk drivers or Frog Ladies on the march (Sonia). We hadn't booked accommodation and hauled our huge bags (Denise had cut them down to essentials....) across a swinging bamboo bridge over a fast flowing river. On the other side in the mist were about 60 wooden huts on stilts for 400 baht - about 12 Aussie bucks - per night, but alas no vacancies. We checked a couple of resorts - one was 6,000 bahts ($180) for the night!! and so we came to Failte (Irish for ‘Welcome’) run by Dubliner Brendan. Brendan got our hospitality award for the trip. He loves a chat despite "being off the drink for a week now" and was a font of knowledge about the local region. "Try Chez Swan, you must go there, the best breakfast in town, rashers, sausages, eggs, the lot, absolute best".

So we took the place. "I hope I didn't wake youse last night. I went ballistic at dis freeloader camped in my hut - I'm supposed to be making money here. I bought this place from a Buddhist woman, I trusted her, no more Buddhist than my arse"
Brendan had bought a lemon, the books had been cooked and Failte was faulty, but Brendan is blessed by a community of pals who pitched in to help tart up the place, between beers. It was our pleasure to meet them, and it was reasonably priced, 700 baht- about 21 dollars and the experience was priceless. We checked out Chez Swan. The sign on the restaurant window said " Owner will accept all offers". Prophetic perhaps...

* Basil moments. Yes I admit to having had a few onsets of Basil. ok Kirst and Cara, I lost my motor bike..... but but extenuating circumstance whereby
we had ducked into a restaurant overlooking Ao Nang Bay during a downpour, ordered bar-b- qued seafood, which was excellent but spicy, so it had to be accompanied
with yer Chang (elephant) beer. The label shows two elephants pummeling a tree, as you would know Cara, which is the metaphor for what happens to your brain when it
tries to deal with a quantity of the 6.8% brew. "Now where did I park that bike....". We walked up and down, then down and up, holy shite some buggers lifted it.
"it's white I think with that sign on the front", says I being helpful "I know what the sign says", she replies " 'This motorbike is here'. You know Barry, most blokes wouldn't
lose a motor bike....." she can be cutting at times. Of course we found it, in fact had walked past it at least four times...

another moment. Indian tailors don't sleep. a truth in Thailand, and the shops have splendid names; House of Saville, Armani. "Gutpa I am thinking you are joining the business tomorrow, but we change your surname to Armani. It has a ring, no? Gutpa Armani?" They usually start by asking you where you are from. If Australia they say the usual "G'day mate, come inside, looking looking. good price skippy" I took someone's advice and pretended to be German which seemed to work for some strange reason. But, there we were trotting along the path in excellent humour when this Indian tailor speaks to me " Deutchlander ya?" Somewhat taken aback I said to the missus rather loudly "Bloody hell, did you here that, that chappie mistook me for a bloody Kraut". To which she whispers - "those we passed behind us are German". Most Europeans here speak English very well. I look behind and Fritz does not look pleased, at all, at all.

yet another moment of Basil. Here at our hilltop jungle retreat everything is schmick, in fact it's one of the schmickest places on earth. I stepped out onto the large verandah
overlooking the jungle and the lake down below, with my gin and tonic - G&T hour starts at 05:00, and can extend for a few hours into darkness. It was dark, that's my excuse
for putting my bare foot onto a large orange flying insect which objected to being stepped upon by such an object and sank its stinger in. Holy shite the size of it I was waiting for the leg to freeze, go numb and my appendage to drop off. but luckily i must have flattened the beastie before it could do it's worst.

a Denise moment. "where's my purse, where's my purse?" panic again. Her life is in that purse. we always find it of course, in her bag where the whole world lives. Another. Denise fell out of a boat, arse first into the Andaman Sea. Laugh !! we both had a good old laugh about that. Fortunately she held my bag up, quick instinct. The camera was in it.

* we enjoyed snorkling around both Phi Phi islands and at Phra Nang Princess Cave. Took a long tail boat tour around Phi Phi and the boatman stopped just outside Monkey Bay. under the mighty limestone cliffs we slowly swam through a cave which opened to a small lagoon with bright sandy bottom. At the opening were many fish hardly moving, suspended. Time suspended here; this was limbo where the souls lie between heaven and hell. Out through the dark side of the cave, suddenly millions of tiny fish, huge shoals of bright silver glass light shows moving in slow formation around you, the souls in heaven. I thought there was no end to it, we were amazed. Strangely, despite many tourists on anchored speedboats, none were here. We were blessed with nature's beauty.

* around the sheer majestic cliffs, rising out of the emerald ocean like a huge sea fortress, yet sea gypsies had constructed bamboo poles to reach, in a series of climbs I assume bird eggs. the climb appears impossible and the nerve and strength required is beyond belief.

* "Thais are the world's best copyists" Paul , a writer from Co. Meath Ireland, friend of Brendan. The resort bus collected us from Krabi Airport and the driver put on a CD. 'Return to sender, address unknown'. Yup Elvis. Denise and I were singing along. Then 'you ain't nothin' but a hound dog'. "Mmmm" I remarked to Denise, "must be an outtake - the guitar break is different". Then, 'I wonder if you're lonesome tonight', you know, the spoken bit in
the middle. Not quite. It was indeed, Elris. Thai version.

* a dog story for O who is always amused by canine antics. we walked to the reef at shark point Phi Phi to see if we could spot the sharks who feed there. No luck but saw a wet hairy doggy type of dog walk through the water looking carefully for something, then dig a hole on the beach to find a small almost transparent crab. Delighted the dog jumped around it while the crab moved in bursts towards the safety of the sea, slower now, possibly injured but still with hope. No chance I thought, the dog is quick and enjoying the fun, bounding around it, putting nose up close sniffing but wary of being nipped, then jumps up, runs around kicking up sand and then becomes muddled "where is it, my preciouses?" jumping in a ring, sniffing madly while somehow the crab sneaks off undetected, slowly does it, tentative moves, then finally with the sea in sight does the bolt, flat out and and in!! The dog still madly searching, sniffing, then looks puzzled and gives up. It has four cute pups and one comes over. The mother picks it up in her jaws, carries it to another crab hole, sniffs and starts the dig again. The pup clambers beneath
for a teat, gets covered in sand and is bowled out by the mother's energetic digging, sniffing, digging. Alas, no crab this time. Mmmm, a great hole to just lie in and watch the ocean. Plonk.

Well, I'll see you soon, back on Tuesday. No Christmas cards this year so happy Christmas and a beaut new year. luv youse all. Colleen, pls send to Stuart and Tony. fiona can you send to Owen pls? Sonia or hugh pls pass to anyone else at work who might be interested - who is left there?
Will yourself and Kirsten be available on Thursday? Cheers, Baz xxx

Check our comprehensive Salary Centre Overpaid or Underpaid?

2008-02-02T21:58:00.000-08:00

It has been a busy year and I’m way behind in BLOGs.

Sharaine and Oliver - Mother and Son

OLLIE ZOOMS IN

Our third grandchild, Oliver Jack McGloin, hereto known as Ollie until he plays up, was born on 31 August 2007. He joins his sister Kaya and his cousin Safia. Sharaine and Brendan had a difficult time coping with the loss of Ollie’s twin, Jesse. Also Ollie was born with three fingers on one hand, however Brendan says it should be no impediment to his footy skills in that Ollie's Great Grandad Jack Bartlett had three fingers on one hand – admittedly the other two were blown off by a grenade but hey – and as a footy player he was no slouch, yes and it should prove no impediment to his guitar playing – gypsy jazz guitarist maestro Django Reinhardt had three fingers on one hand. The little man is a happy contented child, alive and bright and smiley. Here are some great photos, from around 12 days old, courtesy of Poppa Suri, followed by one in the Collingwood footy outfit taken by Sharaine in January 2008.

Pensive

Trust - 12 days new !!

2007-04-11T06:02:00.000-07:00

Byron Bay Bluesfest April 9 to April 13 2007.

Yes I made the trip again this year to join Len and Patrick in the campsite over the road from the festival. The plan was to have a swim/bodysurf in the morning, followed up by a fortifying brekky in the cafe overlooking the beach - eggs benedict on salmon, or beans on toast, then music fest in the arvo and night. Too easy. Usually Byron has Autumn showers at this time of the year, in fact these can develop to deluge proportions - refer my Blog from last year when we were almost drowned and I was bitten by an angry soggy insect.
This year it rained incessantly and started to clear up when we departed on Tuesday. No surf or sun, however the music was excellent as always, and the attendance didn't appear to be affected. Photos I took over the 5 days can be found at my Picasa or Webshots sites.

Ratings.

My top spot (and Len's) went to Kevin Welch, Kieran Kane and Fats Kaplin, with Kieran's son Luke backing on percussion. It was the first time I have seen them and their musicianship, arrangements and songwriting were perfect. The vocal harmonies, textured instrumentation and interplay were stunning, particularly when they appeared to let go and allowed the piece to develop. I saw their two performances and was blown away each time. I recognised a number of tracks from their excellent last CD Lost John Deane, plus the rousing 'Jersey Devil' and the title track from the previous 'You Can't Save Everybody'; the three new songs sound very promising. I think their next offering could be even bigger for them if they continue with a similar song mix to Lost John i.e. atmospheric bluesy pieces, some gospel, hillbilly, sort of Cormac McCarthy in music, a sense of old values being compromised in this modern world, but conversly using a modernistic instrumental approach - percussion similar to Tom Waits', differing string textures, both acoustic and electric. I'm rambling shite. Anyhow, the 'rap' /spoken number from Kevin Welch indicates a willingingness in the group to expand and take risks which makes it all the more exciting. Top stuff, despite some sound probs, which also occured on the second gig - I was starting to think it was part of the act !!

It's impossible to see everyone - unfortunately I'd hoped to catch New Zealand 's Katchafire and Fat Freddy's Drop, and also Bela Fleck, Banawurun, Larry Carlton and Robben Ford, and I couldn't sqeeze through the Paul Kelly crowd, but ya can't do the lot without losing something else. So, my remaining order is :

2. John Butler Trio
No doubt about it, JBT is superb, each member a vituoso, and the new songs sound great. The audience went bananas (as ya do up North) - JB just has a beaut sense of dynamics, and that knack of reaching ever higher to an astounding climax.
My daughter Cara put me onto them back in 1998 I think it was - she had seen them in Melbourne and said that people were dancing on the tables. They were due to play at Tilleys here in Canberra so I went there and they put on a superb performance for about 60 people!! I met John afterwards, and he signed the Cd I bought for Cara, complimenting me for the thought ! A real nice guy. I wrote a glowing review in BMA mag so I now count myself as being responsible in no small way, if not solely responsible, for his success !! "Ah yeah Dad, and how many people read it??"

3. Sierra Leone's Refugee Allstars.
Last year Amadou and Miriam, the blind couple from Mali, were so good that I wondered whether the organisers would make the African contingent a regular part of the event. This year the Sierra Leone's Refugee Allstars, while not having the bluesish raw quality of Amadou and Miriam, were equally entertaining. Hopefully the organisers will continue with an African component - perhaps one of the African superstars like Salif Keita who performed at this year's Womadelaide, or Youssou N'Dour, Baaba Maal, Cheikh Lo or Manu Chao - now that would be special!!. Or maybe the great Malian blues band Tinariwen. They could get Robert Plant and do a double, a la Festival in The Desert. Let's get adventurous, get it happening.

4. Ziggy Marley
Ziggy, like his younger bro Damien last year, went down really well with the crowd, and with me, Len and Paddy. His own stuff plus the obligatory Bob Marley songs, where he sounded like his Dad, were just right on the button.

5. Ben Harper. Unfortunately I didn't see enough of Ben Harper but what I did catch was superb.
The opening number with Bonnie Raitt, "Well, Well, Well" and the following boogie piece were a knockout, and I caught a bit of one of Hendrix's Fillmore tracks - "Who knows" I think.

6. Hat Fitz and Itchy

7. C.W. Stoneking

Both Hat Fitz and C.W. Stoneking are musical anachronisms, seemingly possessed by 1920's bluesmen, so true it's almost unbelievable. Audiences are astounded by the audacity, mesmerised by the performance. We saw Hat with Itchy last year ( he used to have Scratchy on bass) just after midday it was and he made some comment about people being up at that (ungodly) hour, it was a small gathering but he nailed us to the tent. This year we saw him in both the Crossroads and APRA stages and a very sizable crowd was right into him. Image: Ned Kelly/Son House on speed. A flat out boogie rhythm, Itchy beating and banging Hat's driving demon, Hat eyes wide like some blind man roaring some primal roar, head twitching with the emotion of release.
You wonder whether it is indignity, the shedding of some old pain or identity, but the strum is ferocious and the beat won't be denied. Hat is awesome.

C.W. Stoneking, cripes, mumbles to a bemused audience in some halting Delta/A'briginal patois "dis song goes sumptin' like dis" and there you are watching and hearing a late 20s early 30s Hillbilly hocum, reminding you of what you'd read about Dylan's early performances. But he's no hick strummer, he's a fine guitarist, banjo player and a strong vocalist, and a good songwriter using the blues metaphor to hilarious effect.

8. Lee Scratch Perry

Lee Scratch Perry, 'im a legend of reggae dub mon walks among us playing his deep Rastafari groove. Lee's voice not quite up to scratch, and the man is not really known as a singer but de groove is wonderful. You can hear many bands playing the so called reggae beat but this is like comparing Savoy Brown to Son House. About three years ago my eldest son Brendan and I saw Toots and the Maytals and Burning Spear play at Newtown. I was a big fan of Toots but my expection was dashed to Babylon when 'im was as showbizzy as James Brown. Now yer Winston Rodney, the Burning Spear, came out of the desert with fire from 'is lips, a true prophet singin' sackcloth ashes an' apocalypse... to dem 'oo would 'ear 'is word mon. De beat was true deep Rastafari reggae. We exhaulted and were 'umbled.

9. Kev Carmody

Kev Carmody is the most natural and relaxed of performers. He puts himself in with Us Mob, the audience, and tells it as he feels it. He has no pretensions and the man ain't humble, no he's on a par with anyone, as it should be with any bugger, you included. Kev tells his stories between songs, almost as good as the songs. I loved the one about him getting a parking ticket on his bike when as as undergrad he parked in the lecturers' car park at the Uni. Wasn't going to let it go, not Kev. He wrote back after working out the difference in parking fees on his land since 1788 and told 'em they owed him, less the five bucks they'd charged him. Heaps. They dismissed the fine.

10. Xavier Rudd

St Xavier Rudd of The Didge. Jesuit surfer of the Bluesfest. The audience loved him. His sweet voice can rock above his organic rythmic musical soundscape, assisted at the Bluesfest by his brother on drums. Xavier blows through a battery of didges, plings pecussive tubular tones, stompboxes and guitars.

Other noteworthy performers:
The Ghostwriters - great rock attack, good songs, the drinking mens' thinking men
Kasey Chambers - a lovely memorable performance with the added bonuses of her dad and husband, both excellent musicians and Bernard Fanning, who wasn't even in the fest. Nice one.
(smiling) Terrance Simien & The Zydeco Experience gumbo'd you right into Louisiana
Joss Stone - so sexy and such a rich mature vocal, but when she spoke she could have been my daughter......damn. The kids loved her
The Black Sorrows - Magus Joe still has the power, and the group was great, but for me, Jo Jo Zep when they played Narooma Bluesfest two years ago
The Pigram Brothers - happiest group
Jackson Jackson - innovative mix of cabaret, modern and wierd
Alice Russell - great soul voice and good material
Chris Smither - loved his latest CD Leave the light on, but folky in performance
Fred Eaglesmith - rootsy, great wee bald mandolin player, good guitar from Kasey's dad
Ash Grunwald - fab latest Cd and always a strong performer
Bonnie Raitt - sounded good - but too Americana for me then and I was fested out
I caught Eric Burdon's last four numbers. Tent was packed and it was a huge improvement from last time. The audience all sang House Of The Rising Sun of course with it's improved arrangement.
The Re-mains first two numbers were tops, ragged and dirty rock.
Paolo Nutini, Ayo and Kaki King, Fiona Boyes, Floggin Molly, and Taj Mahal all had good moments.

Len's Luminaries:

1. Kieran Kane, Kevin Welch & Fats Kaplin - 10

2. Ziggy Marley - 10

3. Ben Harper - 10

4. John Butler Trio - 10

5. Kev Carmody - 10

6. Xavier Rudd - 10

7. Hat Fitz & Itchy - 9

8. CW Stoneking - 9

9. Sierra Leone's Refugee All Stars - 9

10. Fred Eaglesmith -9

11. Bonnie Raitt - 8

12. Paul Kelly - 8

13. Terrance Simien - 8

14. Jackson Jackson - 8

15. Amos Lee - 8

16. Alice Russell - 8

17. Kasey Chambers - 8

2007-01-09T02:05:00.000-08:00

Holiday in Thailand

Denise, Jamie and I spent two wonderful weeks on holiday in Thailand in late November early December 2006. Three days in Bangkok, followed by 9 days in Ao Nang and 1 night in Karon Beach, Phuket Island.
We found the people friendly, the value excellent, the weather perfect, and the cuisine superb. Comparisons with Vietnam which we visited two years ago, and also enjoyed, were inevitable. Thailand is geared more to tourism, and the country is wealthier - modern cars, buildings, roads good, Bangkok subway and skyway faultless. Costwise, Vietnam is better value, it is more au natural, less affected by hordes of Brits, Germans, Swedes, Aussies. We found the people to be friendly in both countries, which in Vietnam's case was surprising given the dreadful "American" war (another great decision....which Australia supported - what makes these politicians so righteous, pompous and arrogant - is it religion, fear or just plain stupidity??).

Pictures can be seen at my Picasa site or Webshots site.
Personally I prefer the Picasa slideshow presentation which uses almost the full page, however the Webshots is quite attractive with it's new "inlining" which closes in or glides away from the subject.

While in Thailand I read stories/excerpts from the Picador Book of Contemporary Irish fiction edited by Dermot Bolger, an excellent compilation. At the Karon Beach second hand bookshop Denise found the Booker prize winning Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre which I have since read. An engrossing novel but not your standard literary read. It has been compared to other first person narratives such as "Catcher in the Rye" and A Confederacy of Dunces", but I found myself thinking of Patrick McCabe's "Butcher Boy" and the unfortunate but fascinating Francie Brady. Both books have similarities in satire, black humour and rollicking entertainment - as well as showering literary sparkle, but for my taste McCabe has the glittering edge.

2006-12-15T03:53:00.000-08:00

Princess Safia, our beautiful youngest grandaughter at 2 months !

and at 3 months !!

And our eldest gandaughter Kaya celebrating her 2nd birthday

November 2006 - Kaya and Safia the two grand daughters in Nanna's bed.

Reading:
I have had a feast of good reads over the past few months, which have occupied the early hours of morning when all is still.

I discovered Ian McEwan's Atonement and his latest, Saturday, both engrossing, lyrical and they stay with you for days. I won't go into the story line - you can check reviews on his web site or Amazon but suffice to say if you enjoy finely written characters, prose with great imaginative flights and a good strong story check them out. Atonement was a Booker prize finalist.

I read my first Stephen King - old mate Len put me onto his book on writing called coincidentally On Writing, part bio and the rest about his writing methods. I was so impressed that he could make a potentially dry subject so interesting that I thought that I'd sample the proof of his prose pudding. Incidentally the chap at Cantys, Fyshwick where I bought the book informed me that it is used as a textbook at University of Canberra. The proof I used? Hearts In Atlantis. The book consists of five interconnected short stories spanning 1950 to present day. The first story is riveting and swiftly hooks you and reels you in, his skill as a story teller is compelling and as a writer he's no literary slouch. I followed it with his The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon which coincidentally, like parts of Ian McEwan's Atonement is written through the eyes of a pre pubescent girl. In King's novel the girl is lost in National Park and like Hearts it's a quick quality read.

Tim Winton's latest book of short stories, also interconnected, The Turning, is rich and a joy to read, suprising you with literary crackers. His characters are usually earthy working class, with little of the middle class demeanor, the layers of 'civilisation', which for instance an Ian McEwan character might have. Consequently the language has a street sensibility, it is rough, direct but also poetic.

"Biggie truly is a funny bugger. He can do Elvis with his belly button - thank you very much - a toothless King sprouting manky black hairs in a face of fat. He can fart whole sentences, a skill St Augustine admired in others."

The stories are gritty, humorous and tragic, you are amazed and blown over by his boldness.
He and Carey are such wonderful writers - Robert Drewe, Richard Flanagan et al - more qualityAussie word shufflers than you can poke a stick at - and we have two Booker (female) finalists this year !! Check out the fabulous SMH Winton interview, "just an ordinary bloke who wears tracky daks".

I was fascinated to read that Tim Winton, like Stephen King, does not start a book with a plot in mind, just a few "little flickers and just wait and see what they end up being." Stephen King uses the metaphor of discovering a fossil and gently unearthing it, part of an undiscovered pre existing world. Start with a character or two, put them in a situation and see how they get out of it. He's the first reader, and sometimes reaches the outcome he expected, but mostly it surprises him. What? Fascinating.

What else? Ah yes, being interested in the creation of music, the Eric Burdon autobiography "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" was on sale at a price you couldn't walk past, with an accompanying CD. My review is at Amazon.

Listening to:

Michael Franti and Spearhead's Yell Fire ! He appeared at the ANU here in Canberra recently and son Brendan and partner Shaz enjoyed it, and my good friend Kirsten enjoyed it while checking out the talent but was crippled in high heels.....that's Kirst! The album is excellent and was made following his visit to Iraq where he made the documentary "I Know I'm not Alone". He displays an empthy with the soldiers there, hey more so than the sorry lot of politicians who sent them, his lyrics bold and his music interesting with flair and attack, never passive.

Dylan and Paul Simon show that old Yid songsmiths can still do it - and Chuckling Len Cohen did it again last year - what was that hilarious song called about Len on his deathbed suurounded by beautiful women saying "Speak to me Leonard"? Well, Simon has some assistance from soundscaper Brian Eno and I'd give it four stars.

UK world mag Songlines provides me with updates in the world scene, and I usually buy the annual BBC awards and Charlie Gillett's world choices for the year. Daughter Cara is buying me the late Ali Farka Toure's Savane for Christmas - currently top of the world music charts. I'm looking forward to that one. Recent purchases include BBC Cream which I enjoyed and reviewed in Amazon, the Delux editions of Bob Marley's Burnin' and Rastaman Vibration - both with fascinating additional concerts, Bill Wyman's Blues Odyssey - 2 Cds of Bill's favourite early blues recordings with a quality booklet, all good stuff as you'd expect - some standards and rarities. Some impressive world releases I have heard this year have been Mercan Dede's Su, Camille's Le Fil, the best of Manu Chao, and the award winning and world chart No 1 Amadou et Miriam's Dimanche a Bamako, produced by Manu Chao.

2006-10-02T04:43:00.000-07:00

Great Southern Blues and Rockabilly Festival Narooma, NSW. October long weekend 2006

Daddy Cool reappears and plays among us, to the absolute delight of the huge audience !! The legendary OZ rock 'n rollers from the early seventies played classics plus material from "The New Cool" CD in a set which was better than imaginable. The harmonies are tight, Ross Wilson's vocals superb - "I'll Never Smile Again" was magnificent - Ross Hannaford's lead was eloquent and spare, and the rhythm section was boppier than you remember. They are cool, they rule, Daddy's back!!

The festival was held in beautiful Narooma, maybe for the last time due to local noise considerations - well you'd think the revenue would assist - but it's the vocal minority I guess.

The entertainment was well worth the price of admission as always. Unfortunately I was a bit crook so had to miss some acts - I didn't hear Bomba or Kevin Borich Express who Jamie my 17 year old son said were "awesome". Also there were a number of people buying the Audreys' CD, so they made an impact.

My faves from those I saw, apart from Daddy Cool were :
Charlie Musselwhite Band - a muscular swinging unit with old lege Charlie showing what a virtuoso he is, and what a nice guy
Jim Conway's Big Wheel - another fab harp player and wide choice of musical styles, also entertaining band
Kelly Joe Phelps - intense introspective performer playing to himself, but what a voice and masterful guitarist - those who missed him missed a brush with greatness
The Backsliders - with Broderick Smith filling the harp chair and adding his own personality - a very good gig
Lee Rocker Band - propulsive rockabilly with an edge from this ex Stray Cat

Kelly Joe Phelps

The Sunday service was blessed with the voices of the Gospel Hummingbirds. I was expecting Blind Boys' gruff sledgehammer vocals but these guys were smooooooth like 70's silky soul, but could steam it up as well with great guitar, rhythm and panache in their holy white 'meet Jesus' suits. In fact they were almost too good and maybe a bit too preachy for the blues crowd. Their parting song about "Meeting you in the Rapture" was almost The Three Amigos do gospel. Still, ya can't discount the sincerity...

The three speeches /sermons at the service were excellent. Thought provoking topics - diversity and ecology which we need more of in today's climate of erosion of human rights through the politics of fear and marginalisation. I read in Rhythms that Charlie Musselwhite , now in his 70s, was compelled to include three political songs on his latest "Delta Hardware" CD. "In the past I've never touched on anything political. I think it's patriotic to stand up and say what's right and he's [Bush] wrong. It's about greed and power and money - the worst president in history".

Legendary Charlie Musselwhite at Narooma 2006

2006-08-12T18:55:00.000-07:00

Top 200 songs.

An interesting diversion. My Top 100 or so CDs have been nutted out over the years - refer Desert Island Discs. Now my old friend Len has provided me with a disc of his Top 100 "songs" so I felt that I had to attempt something similar, but I don't have Len's fortitude. 100 or so, I thought, then perhaps 150, nahhhhh.....maybe 200... could have kept going, but then there's the write up, the accompanying reasons for choice, which I must get started on.....world's yer oyster son, get into it. Is this final? Not likely - I could add more tomorrow. Only 1 classical?? Well I could have added more but then we'd be up to 300...this one had to go in.

Collectors are orderly creatures and jump at the chance of classifying and banging things into their appointed boxes - refer Saturday Morning Ashwoods and Collectors. But what is the basis of choice - nostalgia, artistic merit, lyrics, musical innovation, classic status, da groove mon, aesthetically appealing, dig the beat, cool man, tickles my ivories, absolutely fab, "oooh, ah like it"?

Well these are discs which I would hope to have with me, should I be stranded on a desert island (with a superb sound system and electricity of course, a fabulous tsunami proof island hideaway, a fishing rod... and maybe one or two mermaids....I didn't say that!!) Some have nostalgic value eg Cliff Richard's live version of "Move It" which I recovered from the lifeboat platform after a wind gust blew it over the side of the "Fairsea" in the Indian Ocean 1962. So, that had to be included didn't it? Nonetheless, it is a superb example of early British, pre Beatles rock - check out Hank B Marvin's lead and Jet Harris' bass. Edith Piaff's "Les Mots D'amour" has romantic attachment, but of course it is a great performance by a chanteuse magnifique.

Looking through the list I realise I'm a traditionalist, a roots aficionado. There is little from recent years and yet modern eclecticism does appeal. I love the use of technology, particularly when it incorporates indigenous music, as for instance with Mustt Mustt by Nusrat Farka Ali Khan, Amadou et Miriam, Lo Jo, Susheela Raman, Mercan Dede, Omar Sosa.

The final list, like the list in Nick Hornby's very amusing book High Fidelity, is a moveable target, subject to whim, nostalgia, vacillation, further listening and discoveries. If only one had more ears, and time.....! The record that gave you a glow back then and put a smile on your dial, your secret song, has now been flogged mercilessly by those two cent stations and one cent jocks. But that's pop music, instant glow.......or is it art where further listening reveals depth? It turns like a diamond and each face reveals another aspect......Mmmm sometimes - "Madame George" but perhaps not "Papa Oom Mow Mow". It depends on your memory and imagination. This is not high art and was not intended to be so, initially. It was intended for dance, excitement and foreplay, intimacy and instant glow. And along the way the moneymakers shook the roots out of it and tried to cabaret, homogenise and codify. But the roots prevailed, yea on back streets bro, porch and dance halls and independent small labels kept it alive. In writer Tim Winton's expression, "dirt music". Real music. The best of it sounding spontaneous, exciting and unpredictable.

I have included the top 30 here, the remaining 170 or so can be viewed on my website

Were You There Soul Stirrers (with Sam Cooke)

Laudate Dominum Mozart - K 339 Vesperae Solennes Phillips edition soloist (?)

Madame George Van Morrison

Mystery Train Elvis Presley

I Am The Walrus The Beatles

All Along The Watchtower Jimi Hendrix

Moonlight Mile The Rolling Stones

Drown In My Own Tears Ray Charles

Gimmie Shelter The Rolling Sones

Elvis Presley Blues Gillian Welsh

A Change Is Gonna Come Sam Cooke

Tomorrow Night Lonnie Johnson

Al Bowley's In Heaven Richard Thompson

Les Mots D'Amour Edith Piaff

Come On In My Kitchen Robert Johnson

Canned Heat Tommy Johnson

Dark Is The Night Blind Willie Johnson

A Strange Affair Linda and Richard Thompson

Oh Well Pts1&2 Fleetwood Mac (with Peter Green)

Lucille Little Richard

Unchained Melody The Righteous Brothers

See Emily Play Pink Floyd

The Green Manalishi Fleetwood Mac (with Peter Green)

Gimmie A Pigfoot Bessie Smith

Paint It Black The Rolling Stones

Future Blues Willie Brown

Pain In My Heart Otis Redding

Any Day Now Soul Stirrers (with Sam Cooke)

Give A Man A Home Five Blind Boys

Little Wing (live) Jimi Hendrix

2006-08-04T08:06:00.000-07:00

A rare sighting of the Shy Bald Headed Steve Buzzard, alongside Eadaoin, Kirsten, with myself in the background.

A surprise birthday destination ended up in the Blue Mountains for our friend Eadaoin Corcoran, who was also hit with a surprise party at the Irish Club, Weston when she returned. Eadaoin will not believe anyone from now on, certainly not Kirsten or daughter Jamie ! A guest at the following day's bar-b-que, in fact a real Guest, was Barry Guest who had traveled from Sydney with partner Mary. Ex Woronora Bush Band member Baz and I had jammed a couple of years back at a similar function at the Steve and Eadaoin Burra manor and it was a treat to back him again on some Irish tunes. We then wandered into some blues, old rock 'n roll and bush music. Baz, who is 6'4" was called B1, and I was B2, or Stumpy due possibly to a marginal height difference. Big Baz is an excellent cello maker, using Australian woods, and he can be located at BLOG Cellos-By-Guest.

The misty atmospheric Grose Valley and Angel Falls, Blue Mountains,
New South Wales, Australia.

Another surprise birthday destination ended at the Blue Mountains for my wife Denise. We had an enjoyable two days at the warm and cosy Pardolote Cottage, with its central heating, wood fire and spa. The large well maintained garden will be a delight over the coming months right through to Autumn, in fact even in Winter the camellias were blooming. Mountain scenery is so spectacular, it was years since we were there and despite heavy rain on the first day we thoroughly enjoyed it.

We met my brother Stuart at the Isobar Jazz Cafe/restaurant in Katoomba, which he calls Balmain in the mountains, and had an enjoyable meal and chat. Well, it's a rather unusual town, faded gentility to modern chic buildings, home to wonderful second hand bookshops and good eateries and some rather exotic species of humanity which festoon the streets. The mountain scenery is timeless and some pics can be found at my webshots site in the latest folder.

Norman Lindsay: Adolescence

Some pics also of the Faulconbridge property owned by artist and author Norman Lindsay, who was infamous back in the twenties for his nymphs and satyrs, in fact Norman adored the female nude no matter who was wearing it, the more the merrier. Huge hipped women with wobbly bums populate his pictures and actually drop from the sky in one extravagant painting "Spring" I think it was called!!. Yea the old Norman was a fabulous aficionado of the female form.

Norman Lindsay: Journalism and art

Anthony McGloin plays The Merry Muse

2006-08-03T17:17:00.000-07:00

Friday 28 July 2006 saw my bro Anthony McGloin play at the Merry Muse folk club which is held in the White Eagle Polish Club at Turner. Trevor Dunham (web site coming soon) was the main support. It was a most enjoyable performance with Trevor'’s musical excursions into gospel (a great version of "“Wade in The Water"”), blues (an impromptu "“Crossroads"”), Cajun, folk, pop, rock and probably some genres I'’ve missed. A popular performer, who brought his own audience, ha ha -– Trev has a large family who can all either play or sing very well and although Trev'’s great aunt didn'’t show up (she was probably there in spirit !!) the others more than made up for her. Son Billy was impressive with his guitar compositions, which were according to my bro Tony "“soulful"”, and played with feeling.

Trev was also accompanied by fellow musos Baz on accordion and his harp player whose name escapes me but was especially fine on an instrument which is often butchered. Trev and Baz had Anthony join them on guitar for a lovely textured version of "“All Along the Watchtower"”. Trev has an engaging personality, shows great enthusiasm and appreciates audience involvement which makes for an intimate all inclusive performance -– we all kicked a goal there at the Merry Muse!!

Trevor Dunham accompanied by Anthony on mandolin.

Anthony'’s performance was relaxed, humorous and fluid -– he was obviously enjoying the venue and audience. He mixes a number of styles which show his influences, choosing mainly from the debut Cd "“Nightflight"” which has received some excellent reviews (I think he'’s working on getting some more up on his web site). It was great to watch his masterful playing take off in the intense rythmic numbers, and appreciate the deft colouration, the tone pictures.

His introductions, particularly in the longer pieces, such as "“Ship in The Storm"” and "“Nightflight"” allow the audience to travel with him as the music follows the journey. These are interspersed with shorter musical pieces such as "“Money Money Money/If I were a Rich Man"” and "“Sunny Afternoon"” both done with a sense of wry humour which enticed the audience to join in and sing along.

He has added a couple of songs and tunes to the repertoire, the Son House/Robert Johnson song "“Walking Blues"” and "Just a Dream", an amusing blues song using mandolin. Other new stuff were the lovely American Civil War tune "“Ashokan Farewell"” which was segued with "“Land's End"” as a mandolin medley and "Gloomy Sunday", a fine guitar piece - plus an excellent "Classical Gas".

I must admit that the warm ambience of the Merry Muse and the accompanying ambience facilitating beverages (the excellent Polish Zywiec beer and Annie'’s Lane wine) served to enhance the time, and subsequently blurrrrr the memory - oh– details where art thou?? But it was a fine night of great grass roots entertainment. Finally much praise is due to soundman Guy Gibson for a sensitive tuning of the mixing board and the welcoming, down to earth MCing of Bill Arnett.

2006-07-04T04:38:00.000-07:00

Australia to be renamed GUUSLAND. Hail Guus Hiddink, a man with the vision to see Oz upon the scoreboard of the World Cup. At the least the capital Canberra will be now known as Guus. “This is Peter Harvey, reporting from Guuuuus”. A Guus ticket will be entered at the next federal election. Guus for Emperor, or at least Prime Minister. John Howard will be replaced by a visionary, a man with heart, hope and faith, a man who patiently waits at the bus stop of humanity for his dream to come around the corner. A man who occasionally makes errors... (Aloisi should have gone on earlier, maybe Josh Kennedy also) but who has the generosity of spirit to appreciate the strengths and allow for the weaknesses of the human condition. A man who knows his bus is late, but will arrive. A man who is happy to have you on board. Guus be with you.

The image above of an Italian soccer player purportedly taking a dive in order to obtain a penalty i.e. acting in order to obtain an advantage - which in this particular instance won the Italians the soccer match in the last seconds of a tightly fought game against Australia ( sorry, Guusland) - is just sour grapes. Yes indeed. It is extraordinary that some disgruntled person would go so far to vent his spleen by highlighting the thespian abilities of this player, and then post it to millions around the globe. Extraordinary....