I love all my monthly playlists, but some just turn out more special than others, and this one is top-notch. I have been dying for some new Voidz material for years, and they did not disappoint – mixing crushing 80s-flavoured guitar riffs and synths with Casablancas’ usual brand of lyrical chaos. And that bridge has my mind leaping across clouds. As always, I have no choice but to play it full volume as I drive around. I think I’ve found what will become my most played song of the year here.
The Knower track which follows is one of the freshest sounding songs of the year, spiced with chaotic jazz instrumentation (that piano break is bliss). The jazz inspiration continues on IDK‘s Pinot Noir (off the album F65 which is fantastic). There’s just no shortage of good stuff this month. MADMADMAD will have you dancing, Dylan Atlantis will have you soaring, and The Lemon Twigs bring a song which could have been lifted straight from the opening titles of a 90s sitcom.
I tried to resist the urge to bookend it with another Voidz feature, but both songs have consumed the month. The Daft Punk one even has a terrific video as well.
It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so
I’ll let the music do the talking today. There’s Teleman’s ticking beat to open, Kaytramine to bounce to, Mamalarky to wake you up, Bobbie Gentry for a warm hug, Laura Wolf for a bit of weirdness, and Weyes Blood’s terrific Andromeda from a couple years back to round it out.
It’s been a busy month for live music. Three very different shows, all enjoyable in their own way – but two of them well above the other.
Men I Trust @ Metro Theatre
The haunting opener Organon
This group had been on my list for a long time. Even in my two and a half years in their homeland of Canada I never found the opportunity. But it was worth the wait – they did not disappoint.
We arrived just as the support act was wrapping up, and moved through the room like ambulance drivers expecting a path to clear. Typically at these events the crowd thins between the support and the main act, and it creates the perfect opportunity to advance to a good position. But this audience was dedicated. No toilet breaks, no drink top-ups. We were ready to part a sea of people, but quickly discovered we were more of a Kmart-brand Moses than the Charlton Heston variety.
Nevertheless we found a great spot and settled in. The room went dark and blue spotlights started pulsing as the opening bars of Organon played. And from that moment we were transported to an ethereal place, floating on a sea of blissful swooning soundscapes atop an inflatable made of warm synths and delicious bass.
Emmanuelle Proulx up front was beaming with an infectious ear-to-ear grin, her joy shining through to her breathy vocals. Her voice was every bit as smooth and emotional as the recorded version. The lead guitarist Jessy Caron also made his presence felt, and was given several opportunities during the performance to show off with some solo work – pushing and bending the guitar to sound almost like a saxophone.
The crowd too were fantastic. Nobody there was a casual fan waiting to hear “that one song they knew”. Everyone knew everything and had been waiting a long time to hear it. By the encore it became one big sing-along.
I’d see Men I Trust again without hesitation. They were absolutely incredible, and almost as haunting and powerful at times as Agnes Obel from last year (that being a very high bar to clear). I was grinning ear-to-ear, completely at peace as the waves of dreamy bliss crashed upon the shores of our ears.
Show Me How closed the show
King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard @ Big Top Luna Park
These guys have been on my radar for a while, but it’s never been intimate. They have a million albums, a lot of lengthy songs, and they dance across a broad spectrum of genres. These are all things that typically can appeal to me, but I discovered them far too late. It’s a bit like someone recommending a series which is already ten seasons deep – enough to make it all seem too daunting. But what I heard, I liked – and over time I listened to more and more. I’d still only touched the surface, but felt I had my head wrapped around enough to know most of the songs in a concert.
I heard none of those songs played live.
But it seems I was not alone. Part of the problem with having such an extensive and varied body of work, is that it makes it harder and harder to satisfy everyone. Those I was with felt the same way, but all for different reasons. Some wanted the heavier stuff, some wanted folksy songs, some (myself) would have enjoyed more of their psychedelic tracks.
All that said, it was still an enjoyable show. The stage visuals and lighting were great, the band were tight and sharp. But as the show progressed, the crowd grew restless (most likely for reasons mentioned above) – and the band knew it. There was no encore. The lights came on and everyone seemed fine with the show being over – the energy just wasn’t in the room.
A great night out with friends, but perhaps not the best gig, all things considered.
Beck @ Darling Harbour Theatre
I was in two minds about seeing this. I’ve long been a fan of Beck – but I’ve not really been into much of his work in the past fifteen years, so it was feeling very much like a love of the past.
The drawcard which got me over the line was the announced “acoustic” tone of the show, which suggested the potential for more of his back catalogue of blues and folk songs, along with cuts from the greatest breakup album ever recorded. The show delivered these, and more – and it was an absolutely incredible experience.
The show was divided into two sections – the first with Beck alone on stage, singing stripped-back acoustic versions of a bunch of songs. These were interspersed with amusing anecdotes detailing the stories behind them, as well as tales of his previous adventures in Australia. A ton of favourites came one after another – Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime, Guess I’m Doing Fine, It’s All in Your Mind, and more.
Later Beck was joined on stage by two supporting musicians – one on a steel guitar, the other on a double bass. Beck remained on his acoustic guitar, added a harmonica, made use of a drum machine at his feet, and took the occasional journey over to a piano at side of stage. The harmonica and steel guitar are two of my favourite instruments. In fact, they’re probably the main reason I have time for country and folk music. While synths make me float, the harmonica keeps my feet on the ground. I find the twangs and whirrs as comforting and warm as a hug – and we got plenty of hugs. Perhaps the warmest was during a cover of Lonesome Whistle, which I found myself still singing the next morning as I cooked breakfast (without a doubt to the delight of my neighbours).
Lonesome Whistle
There were none of the alt-rock, funk, electronic or hip-hop-flavoured tracks he’s best known for, but that didn’t equate to a lack of energy on stage, nor in the crowd. He even managed to get in some of his trademark dance moves as the drum machine played an improvised loop. And it wouldn’t be Beck without a few surprises – the best of which was a song he performed featuring Chat GPT-generated lyrics for a “generic Beck song”. The results were hilarious, and the self-deprecation with which he performed it only made it more endearing.
The show ran just shy of two hours, with two encores – the first of which ended with an amazing performance of One Foot in the Grave, complete with crowd work and Beck churning his harmonica faster and faster with each section building to the song’s climax.
The audience were cheering loudly for a third encore, but we knew we’d been spoiled already. A cover of Daniel Johnston’s True Love Will Find You in the End finished the show, which seemed a fitting mood on which to leave.
I found myself down a rabbit hole this week reading about The Year Without a Summer. In April 1815, the volcanic Mount Tambora in Indonesia experienced the most explosive eruption in recorded history. It ejected so much sulphur dioxide into the atmosphere that a persistent fog reddened and dimmed the sun well into the Spring and Summer of the following year, and as far away as the United States and Europe. It was a fog that was unaffected by wind or rain. Global temperatures dropped, crops were heavily impacted, and mass famine claimed the lives of up to 100,000 people.
It also forced Mary Shelley, Lord Byron and John William Polidori to stay indoors for much of their summer holiday in Switzerland, away from the incessant rain and red skies. There, they took a bunch of laudanum and Byron challenged the group to see who could come up with the scariest story. Shelley created Frankenstein, and between them Byron and Polidori conceived the modern concept of a Vampire. Two of literature’s most enduring creations were invented at the same time in an opium-fuelled lockdown. Wild.
My Metropolis x Bela Lugosi, from back in the day when I was printing my own t-shirts
Now we’re far from that, but it still felt pertinent to read this as the days have grown shorter, the air cooler, and the skies darker. The mornings especially have been dark. I don’t consider myself a “morning person” nor an “evening person”, but I do know that I’m not great at sleeping in. My body clock has its own plans and more often than not wakes me around 5:30 almost every day regardless of when I go to bed – and I’m not usually one to fight it. Last year at Splendour in the Grass, I spent two to three hours each morning killing time as I waited for the rest of the house to greet the day. But mornings are superior for many things – workouts, sunrise runs, long breakfasts, reading, thinking, sex. An early start can leave a day feeling fulfilled before work even begins.
But evenings have also been a lot busier of late, and as the end of daylight saving turns that 5:30 start into 4:30, it makes the next few weeks a challenge until my internal timekeeper adjusts my body clock. Jetlag rarely takes me, but winding back that clock one hour is like fangs in my neck.
I wouldn’t last too long as a vampire. The moment the sun came out I’d race out and explode like Mount Tambora.
Here’s what’s been in my ears this month. I’ve had that Spaceport song on loop.
This incredible summer may be over but the warmth and sunshine of recent months will outlast the season. The bundles of optimism which rode atop each beam of light seem here to stay.
What a great time to have eyes and consciousness. Also a camera.
Here are some snippets of the summer spent away from work, where I successfully finished a challenging show in a new role, celebrated a milestone birthday, came to some realisations on the road, spent a lot of time in the water, improved at surfing, finally had a crack at beach volleyball, enjoyed great times with friends both old and new, and in the oddest and most awkward moment – was confronted with a request for a sperm donation (!) the week of my aforementioned birthday. My summer bingo card didn’t have that on it.
Well, it’s been a minute since I’ve done one of these – but as with every year I have endeavoured to watch all of the Academy Awards Best Picture nominees. I managed to get through six and a half out of ten of them. I’ll get around to Avatar eventually (seriously, over three hours is just self-indulgent and there is no way I’m doing that in a theatre), and Women Talking is next on my list. But chances I’ll see All Quiet on the Western Front are slim to none, because as we all know, war movies = colossal bore. Here’s the rest, followed by a handful of others I caught recently which didn’t get a nomination.
Movies (Best Piccy Noms)
Triangle of Sadness. The three bosses of each act.
Tár This was all about Blanchett – fantastic as always. And the rest of the cast lifted her presence on screen even further – with the bounce of a nervous knee or the compulsive click of a pen keeping a sense of icy fear in the air around her. The environment too keeps tension in the air – the cold concrete of her home, the metronome ticking like a clock counting down to her fate. The themes were timely – whether one can, or should, separate the art from the artist. That explosive climax on stage was terrific – although the epilogue felt a little more comedic and against the grain of the tone already set by the rest of the film.
The Banshees of Inisherin Tell ya what, I love an Irish accent, and this has plenty of them. Farrell and Gleeson may be the best cast pairing in this whole list – both characters feel very real. A melancholy dark comedy about friendship and loneliness. Everyone in this film is lonely – the only difference is how it is dealt with. I really enjoyed this.
Everything Everywhere All at Once Easily the most inventive and creative movie on this list, and I expected nothing less of Daniels. I wasn’t crazy about the narrative, but the style and cast more than made up for it. Get ready for this to be copied a billion times until it’s no longer fresh. This one will probably win, and as good as some of the others here were – I think this is the most well deserved. It’s current, it’s unique, it’ll be studied for years to come. Daniels have come a long way, and it’s terrific they’ve been able to make a film as wild as their music videos, which has found both financial and critical returns – all without dumbing it down.
Triangle of Sadness Each act of Triangle plays out like a miniature film of its own. The first was excruciating. One thing I can not stand watching on screen is couples fighting. The subject of the fight doesn’t even matter, it’s more painful than a horror movie to me. But I got through it. The second act is where things get wild and hilarious, and it’s best to just lose yourself in the moment (although it’s not for those with a weak stomach). The sight of a squeegee on the window mid-storm said it all for me. The “Lord of the Flies” third act flips things on their head, but much like flipping an hourglass, we find things to be familiar again soon enough. The themes of class and gender roles were not subtle at all, and the whole thing is really disjointed and doesn’t really flow together – but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
Top Gun Maverick It does what it says on the tin, and to be honest, this is how I like my popcorn movies these days – beautifully shot action, simple stakes, low investment story, and zero to mild character development. It’s cheesy as hell, but that suits the tone. One thing though, this is not worthy of a best picture nomination – I get that the Academy is trying to appear “relevant” by adding movies like this and Avatar in the mix, but it misses the point. Those movies win at the box office – and that’s fine. But they are different beasts. Popular does not always equate to best. Some movies can do both, but this ain’t one.
The Fabelmans Christ, the first hour of this was a chore. I’ve long thought I could have happily grown up in the 1960s, with my adolescence in the 1970s. Many of the things I love are from this era. But holy hell, if I found myself in the saccharine 1950s world painted by the first hour of this movie, I would probably lose my damn mind before Kennedy even got into the White House. But I persisted and watched through to the end. It was fine, but there is truly no reason this story needed to be told. I gained nothing from it. It was Spielberg making a pointless movie loosely about himself, like an Ouroboros eating its own tail, simply because he could.
Elvis This is the “half” a movie I referred to above, as I wasn’t able to get to the end. Frankly, it’s a miracle I gave it a shot to begin with given my distaste for Luhrmann’s tired style. Austin Butler’s performance was easily the best aspect of this. Hanks was plain awful and cartoonish. And it failed at the one thing required of any good musical bio-pic – the music. The musical treatments were horrible. Luhrmann persists with mash-ups like it’s still 2006, and his compulsion to mix in modern beats with the old tunes results in the opposite effect to which I presume he was striving to achieve. It makes it look dated – some real “how do you do, fellow kids?” energy from Baz here.
Movies (Non Noms)
Infinity Pool. Even the title has layers of meaning.
The Menu I loved this. Ralph Fiennes is incredible, Anya Taylor-Joy is captivating, and Nicholas Hoult hilarious. I knew nothing about it going in and was all the better off for it. It builds and unravels at a steady pace, with the temperature turned up with each loud clap of Fiennes’ chef. It plays out with similar class-based themes to Triangle (above) and Infinity Pool (below) – and given the state of the world, I suspect this to be a continuing thematic trend for years to come.
Infinity Pool Trippy as hell, this is definitely not for everyone – you’ll likely either love it or hate it. I fell into the former category and embraced its insanity. Brandon Cronenberg’s direction is terrific – be it the off-putting slow rolls of the camera at the start, or the creepy use of light later in the film. Skarsgard gives one of his better performances, and Mia Goth keeps carving out that “terrifyingly alluring” lane for herself in Hollywood. The plot too was right up my alley, but the less said there the better.
Decision to Leave A Korean romantic mystery, where the mystery is a little obvious from a mile off, but the chemistry between the leads really leaps off the screen as they fall into the perils of romantic blindness. It runs a little long but it’s well worth a look if you’re into that kind of thing.
The Whale I’m not crying, you’re crying. This is all about Brendan Fraser and Sadie Sink. Both are terrific and bounce right off each other. There’s little meat on the bones of the story, and some of the overt emphasis on food felt unnecessary, but the emotional weight is where this movie shines. The 4:3 aspect ratio was a clever choice to keep the audience tightly enclosed in that apartment too. Also, the work done on Fraser is incredible. It deserves to win for best makeup and hairstyling.
You make me paranoid But I love being thought about You made the sun go down But I sparkle in the night You should run with me Cause running makes everything alright
I took this on what was easily one of the top three days of the summer. I could groundhog day a day like that.
The dog days of summer – a phrase which, for me, conjures images of a dog lazing in the shade, its tongue wagging, exhausted from the heat and doing nothing but exist purely in the moment. It lays there, staring into space, no concerns because it hasn’t the energy for them.
Of course, the term has nothing to do with canines, but I’m not letting that stop my imagination.
We’re at the sultry tail end of the season now when the evenings are almost as warm as the days, and every hot day is seized upon as though it is the last. The end of daylight-saving approaches like Langoliers on the horizon coming to eat up your time in the sun – snorkeling, swimming, surfing, drinking on rooftops, or just lazing around reading. I’ve been doing all of the above.
I read two books recently – Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goleman and The Scout Mindset by Julia Galef. They made a curious pairing, both dealing with the battle between the emotional and logical sides of the mind.
Goleman’s book explains how emotional intelligence can create a harmonious relationship between the rational and the emotional sides of the brain – how to use emotion rather than suppress it, and strategies for recognising and processing emotions when they distort judgment and disrupt logical thinking, often causing us to act or think irrationally.
In The Scout Mindset, Galef explores the mind using the analogy of two roles on a battlefield – a Soldier, and a Scout. The solider treats their thoughts and beliefs as objects to be defended whether or not they are correct – which naturally can lead to poor decisions. A scout on the other hand is able to see things clearly by regularly testing their own assumptions – they see things as they are rather than how they may wish them to be. One of the main ways a soldier mindset takes hold is when thoughts and beliefs are tied to personality. This can be used for personal gain – for instance, someone who sees running as part of who they are (“I’m a runner”) will be more likely to continue to run than someone who has a more general goal of trying to be more active. But it can often be destructive – for example, someone who sees a religion or political party as part of their identity is more likely to defend it beyond what is just, reasonable or right.
I found both books fascinating. The former was very eye-opening and personally challenging, while the latter brought validation to many of the ways I think already.
Around ten years ago I discovered and became fascinated with the Myers-Briggs personality test. For the uninitiated, it’s like astrology for the psychology crowd, and it reduces everyone into sixteen main personality types based off where they sit on the scale of four qualities. How much value can be placed on it is dubious, and it can’t be used as a predictor as some do, but I do find it interesting as a way of getting to know oneself, or those around them – and while it’s very misunderstood and gets misused, and overused, I think it’s deserving of at least a little more weight than a star chart.
According to these tests I’m an “ENTJ”, or “Extraverted Intuitive Thinking Judgement” (the opposite qualities being introverted, observant, feeling and prospecting). The strengths and weaknesses read to me like a football card profile – all true to varying degrees, some more apparent than others (most of them have softened a lot with age and conscious effort). Some of them even read as opposite sides of the same coin – I would argue that stubbornness is simply a negative spin on “strong-willed” – essentially the same quality, but one furthers personal achievement and the other presents a roadblock for others.
Discovering this back in the day was a revelation which helped me understand why my mind worked the way it did – able to see things so clearly and rationally, but only up until the point that emotion was involved, when my brain resembled a computer being thrown into the ocean. All of the personal strengths are washed away. In the past I have sometimes dealt with this by trying to suppress or ignore it in myself, and avoiding others entirely if there’s any fear of causing upset in them. Not that those situations have arisen all that often – I have a clear understanding of what I like and what I don’t, I usually figure people out pretty quickly and say what I think – why waste my or anyone else’s time? That would be inefficient, after all.
Happy place
But some things are out of your control, such as the immense stress of trying to get home in the midst of a pandemic, or the numbness of almost losing a family member in a car crash. Trying to find control only leads to the impression you’ve failed when you’re unable to affect change.
It’s absolutely easier on the mind to avoid these things entirely, but it’s an emptier and less colourful approach to life. Lessons can be learnt. Both of these books brought insightful perspectives on personal relationships. They also furthered a better understanding of others, and the broader world in general – including acceptance that some people and organisations are just bad and that not every action needs or has an explanation.
But you know, sometimes I’d just rather be that dog in the shade on a hot day, staring into the distance. That’s where the Chinese zodiac places me.
Looks like this dickhead ate a big bag of Cheetos and wiped his hands all over the rocks
Nearly three years ago as I was eagerly anticipating my return to Australia amidst the worst of the pandemic, I reflected on my many incredible road trips around Canada and America and reached the conclusion that it was something I should do more of in my home country when I returned. I didn’t waste any time – following my release from hotel quarantine in Perth, I embarked on a road trip up the coast of Western Australia and my soul came alive. The sense of freedom, of independence, the comfort of home, was overwhelming. Especially after being trapped for so long and experiencing the immense stress of getting back at all.
I’ve seen a fair chunk of Australia, but three regions of this country were gaps in my experience which sat at the top of my list – Far North Queensland (still keen to go), the Kimberley (requires too much planning and time), and Tasmania. So, given the landscape of 2021 when international travel was still not an option, I made plans to do a ten-day road trip of Tasmania in February 2022. Unfortunately, Omicron happened, and since infection isolation was still a legal requirement then, I pulled the plug and postponed it a year (which itself is extra peculiar in retrospect given I still haven’t had covid).
So the trip began a few weeks ago with an element of “why am I doing this again?”, and I set off down the coast keen for a change of scenery at the very least. Perhaps the excitement would arrive once I got there? It did, but this time something was missing.
The Sights and The Hikes
Let’s start with the highlights. The scenery proved to be incredible. The National Parks in particular, and the walks I embarked on within them. The food was great, MONA was terrific. The local beer, wine, cider and whiskey which I sampled were amazing.
The beaches had the clearest waters and whitest, softest sand (and the water wasn’t even that cold). I had only two days of rain (one a driving day, and the other the day I did MONA – no great loss). The wildlife was exciting, although not as easily found as I’d hoped. I couldn’t get enough of all the wrens (the blue ones especially). I just wish they weren’t so shy.
The ferry was an experience in itself. I’m not sure I would do it again, but it was a nice novelty to drive my car on board, head upstairs to bed, then drive on out in another state and not have to kill time across Bass Strait, nor waste a day doing nothing.
So I arrived bright and early on a Saturday morning, and after a quick journey to Stanley (and its incredibly shallow beaches) I made my way to the first stop, Cradle Mountain.
Cradle Mountain
Cradle Mountain really was a sight to behold. The park had elements which took me back to Canada – big mountains, lakes, even the visitor centre felt a little more “Canadian”. It’s admirable how well they look after this place. All of the main paths are elevated above the ground to preserve flora and fauna, and it works. I got excited to spot my first Wombat, only to walk another five minutes and see about twenty of them. Wombats are the zero-fucks legends of the animal world. They’ll look up at you with a blank face which would make Mike Ehrmantraut look overjoyed by comparison, then continue about their day at the same pace.
Dove Lake & Cradle Mountain
I did not arrive with a plan to climb to the summit of Cradle Mountain but somehow found myself there on the first day. About halfway up the mountain is Marion’s Lookout. It’s probably the most popular walk after the lake circuit, and the view is impressive. But I got there pretty quickly and easily, and I was not satisfied. Plus, I was curious to see how everything looked from a spot over the next ridge – so I pressed on. Before I knew it, I was on my way up the mountain and there was no turning back.
My progress, illustrating the steep incline
I’ve climbed many a mountain in my time, but this was easily one of the more challenging ones. The final stretch is near-vertical with enormous boulders requiring actual climbing in some spots. I had to take my backpack off several times and throw it to the boulder above in order to spiderman my way through small gaps or take large jumps. I’m glad I have long legs, because I’m not sure how one would achieve this climb otherwise. I also imagine even the slightest amount of condensation would turn those rocks into slippery dips – so I was fortunate that the weather cooperated. But there was more than one moment where I was stuck looking for a pathway up the rockface and thought “my confidence in my ability will get me killed some day”.
But I got there with only a few scrapes on my legs, and the view was incredible – and I felt alive. The trip was off to a good start.
Barn Bluff in the distanceA near-vertical climb in the last section. You have to zoom to see the people.
Bruny Island
One thing which always struck me in North America was the intense scent of pine trees whenever I ventured into nature. I’d never noticed the same thing with eucalyptus here in Australia – but figured either I was immune to noticing it, or that pine was simply a stronger scent. Bruny Island changed that. The smell of eucalyptus enveloped the entire island with an intense aroma, noticeable from the moment I drove off the ferry. I asked around about this, but nobody seemed to hold any insight – so it remains a mystery (or I am insane, also possible).
The island itself was incredibly stunning. Everything just seemed to shine and sparkle. I was disappointed that I didn’t manage to spot any significant wildlife, despite waking before sunrise and venturing out into the scrub. An albino wallaby would have been a thrill, as would an echidna or platypus – but nothing came. While watching sunrise at the neck point between the north and south sections I met a couple of Belgian girls who claimed to have seen penguins at that spot the day earlier. I saw nothing. Perhaps I was cursed? I gave up and went for a swim in water which was so much warmer than the air that steam was rising in front of me, and there was not a single other person in sight. Bliss.
Hobart
Really the only thing worth mentioning about Hobart is MONA. Sure, the city has a lot more to offer, but it’s the kind of stuff which would be better enjoyed with some company (food and wine for instance).
But MONA was impressive. It has to be the most fascinating art gallery in this country, full of unique ideas, thought-provoking works and captivating spaces. The museum itself, and the way visitors move through, is all part of the experience. And once you’re done with the art, you can sit in the garden and listen to some live music while knocking back several Moo BrewAnotherberry Sours as I did.
Words can’t do it justice; it really has to be experienced.
Port Arthur
I pulled into Port Arthur around two in the afternoon, hungry as hell and in need of something to eat. The area isn’t exactly sprawling with options, and that time of day is already too late for most – but there was a pub which I thought might have something to eat so I parked my car and marched on it.
I walked in to see eight eyeballs pointed firmly in my direction. Three men were sat at the bar, facing away with their heads turned to the doorway which my silhouette now filled, and the young woman behind the bar stood expressionless. The men looked like garden gnomes who had spent a bit too long in the sun. Their leather skin was almost indistinguishable from their jackets, their beards like steel wool. They wore faces which were just as dirty as the work boots on their feet. In that moment I was wishing I hadn’t entered, but there was no turning back now. I must have looked like Peter Pan to this Pirate Crew – my green shorts, white tee and pristine thongs shining like a light globe.
I noticed Keno on the screen and broke the ice.
“G’day fellas, who’s winning on Keno?” I asked in a volume about 10 decibels louder than usual.
“Steve just cleaned up he’ll shout you a beer!” one of the men replied, which set off a conversation. I sat at the bar, ordered a burger, and washed it down with a beer I had not planned on drinking, but enjoyed in order to fit in. I had a brief chat with all of them, witnessing the casual sexism directed in the direction of the bartender – followed by her even more masterful return serves.
Shortly before I finished my burger, a man walked through the door and I became the newest member of the bar team, turning around as the light in the room darkened – the sunlight from the doorway being the brightest source of light, now filled by a man dressed in chinos and a crisp long-sleeved striped shirt and glasses. All that was missing was someone asking “Where’s Wally?”.
“Oh, um. Do you have food?” he asked. “Never mind” he added, as he left before anyone had the chance to respond, and I pretended that I had not been the exact same man just half an hour earlier.
Port Arthur was a lot more fascinating than I had anticipated. The area is dedicated to its convict history first and foremost. The tragic events of 1996 (which is also how they reference the event) are a footnote. The site of the Broad Arrow Cafe, now a garden, made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
The convict history, and the former prison buildings were all really well preserved and I wandered around with the attitude of “when in Rome” but quickly found myself fascinated. Growing up in Australia, convict history is so engrained that it can be easy to glaze over and switch off. But I exist in this country thanks to the presence of these prisoners, so it carries a little more weight. It’s hard to imagine such brutality occurring amidst so much beauty.
Freycinet and The Bay of Fires
The approach to Freycinet had me craning my neck as its mountains started to peek above the treeline and the bay in front of them sparkled and flashed between tree trunks like a zoetrope. I pulled in for a coffee at a berry farm to take it all in (along with some incredible blackberries, which we all know is king of the berries).
The sight of crystal-clear water lapping cleanly against rock with no moss or sand momentarily took me back to Lake Powell, one of the most alien places I’ve ever been (and part of one of my favourite trips ever). That place, however, was in the middle of the desert. Freycinet was dense with gum trees which I found myself immediately hiking through to access Wineglass Bay.
There’s a childlike excitement I still get on the journey to a beach with a long approach. Wineglass Bay is only accessible via a walk over Mount Mayson – or in my case, a thirty-minute run. At the top of the mountain, you’re treated to a great view of the beach with its sparkling turquoise water and blinding white sand. From there the excitement builds as the water gets closer and the perspiration builds. I jumped straight into the water as soon as I got there. The best swims are earned.
And it was so good I did it all again the following day, before heading out to Launceston via Derby. I squeezed in a stop to the floating sauna at Lake Derby on my last day and thoroughly enjoyed it. After a little bit of confusion finding the place (hard to get angry over when its seclusion part of the appeal), I spent an hour moving between the wood-fired (the smell!) sauna and swims in the lake. A perfect way to end things, although if I ever find myself back in Derby I’ll be hiring a mountain bike cause the tracks there look terrific.
Wineglass bay
The Gripes
There were a few issues with this journey – first, the trip was about three days longer than it needed to be. I suppose this is something that can only truly be determined in hindsight, but there were periods where I found myself bored and having to kill time. When travelling alone, I prefer to be go-go-go – to the point where I can sometimes stretch myself a little too thin. There were still days like that, but other days left me frustrated. I took the time to slow down, do some reading, drawing, writing or simply “existing” – but I became keener to head home with each passing day.
Which brings me to the second issue – on the third day on the road, I passed a truck. The truck threw some pebbles my way. One of the pebbles hit my windscreen. The windscreen cracked with a twenty-centimetre L-shape right next to the rear-view mirror. My initial reaction was cool and calm, straight from the gospel of Shit Happens, and I reflected on how good it was to not have to stress about such things. But as the days progressed the crack slowly grew, agitated by the poor condition of the roads. If the moon landing was staged, then they filmed it on a Tasmanian road. So many bumps and holes, and every bump had me checking the crack, its L-shape glaring back at me like a highschooler making the “loser” sign on their forehead. It affected my plans as I avoided rough dirt roads and four-wheel drive tracks.
And the shape of an L on her forehead
And my fellow road users did not help. Passing trucks naturally caused grief, but I’ve always loathed them. It was the dudes with their lives in tow who were the real enemy. Every second car which passed was a white Toyota Hilux. It was like the semi-trailer from Steven Spielberg’s Duel – a villain on the horizon at every turn. Every Hilux was driven by a man carting all of his worldly possessions like an Egyptian pharaoh hauling his pyramid along the road behind him. Khufu in his Hilux with his great pyramid. No wonder the roads are chopped to shit.
But the final thing was the biggest surprise of all – solo travel just wasn’t cutting it this time. Gone was the sense of freedom and independence which accompanied my incredible Utah and Florida trips. In the past, I’ve had moments where I had wished someone was with me, but it never bothered me, as it did here. I’ve long known that cities are more difficult when alone – when you want to try restaurants and bars, art galleries and “culture”; whereas nature can be enjoyed equally well. The hikes were most enjoyable for this reason, but even there I was missing something. Perhaps it’s just the familiarity of “Australia”, or perhaps this phase of life has run its course.
There was a moment when I checked into a tiny house in Freycinet National Park and found a free bottle of champagne along with a telescope set up on the back porch and thought “my life is wasted on me”.
(Didn’t stop me from downing half the bottle and doing some stargazing and astrophotography)
So often the decision comes down to travelling solo, or not at all. Solo travel will always trump travel with the wrong person, and in the absence of the right one, the equation typically falls on going it alone.
Some great memories were made, mountains were climbed, and incredible sights were seen, but I don’t need alone time. And with my “pandemic home journey PTSD” now a distant memory, I’m keen for the next one to be overseas.
(I’m also not keen to do that Geelong-to-Sydney drive home in one day again. Five coffees and a red bull, Christ)
Well, summer arrived and hasn’t the weather been kind? The first decent summer since I returned to Sydney has meant swims before work, swims at lunch, and swims after work, underneath big open skies. The meteorological lifting of clouds has been matched with a metaphorical one as work wrapped and I’m now a good way through four weeks off.
Given it’s a birthday month, I’ve thrown my favourite song of all time, Good Vibrations, into this month’s playlist – using the more dramatic Royal Philharmonic orchestral arrangement which adds a little foreplay to the opening, heavenly “I”, without detracting from the all-important harmonies, nor the groundbreaking use of the theremin.
I’ve also thrown in a fresh and clean pump-up song from my uni days which I’ve been hitting again this month, along with the usual mix of new and new-ish stuff. That Warbaby song is channeling the same surf-rock psych stuff that Khruangbin have been doing so well. Really great to just zone out to.
I’ve been zoning out on the open roads of Tasmania during my break. A cracked windscreen gifted to me by a passing truckie grows by millimetres each day – acting like an albatross around my neck. This part of the country is incredibly beautiful, but their roads are terrible. And it’s been good to get away but I’m very eager to get home now, see friends and get life moving again.
To die for your country does not win a war To kill for your country is what wins a war
Brooke DiDonato (aka, me on the beach after the work Christmas party)
In my final week of work for the year I was working at home as per usual, when all of a sudden my vision became blurry. It was as though I had accidentally caught a glimpse of the sun, and for a moment had a blind spot – although I hadn’t been outside in hours. I sat down for a moment and closed my eyes, waiting for it to pass. The light was still bright with my eyelids clenched. A kaleidoscope of bright geometric rainbow colours filled my vision. Within a few minutes I could no longer see my monitor. I lay down in the dark for twenty minutes – nothing changed. It took two hours for my vision to return.
I later discovered that this is known as a “migraine aura” – something I had never heard of before. A migraine aura has nothing to do with the eyes, only the brain. Essentially the brain shuts down. It was a little confronting, but in a roundabout way ultimately incredibly relieving. My mind looked after itself.
It was also very emblematic of the year – Light and dark, at once.
There were a lot of ups and downs this year – successes which came with a catch, disappointments which came with a silver lining. I worked way too much this year. I received a promotion which re-energised my enthusiasm for work, but then got caught doing a lot of overtime. Following two years of being locked up inside from a pandemic, to then spend a third locked inside working was especially painful.
But all that work also meant a lot of overtime pay – most of which I have thrown on the mortgage to put me in striking distance of clearing the thing in the next couple years.
The return to office life has come as a great relief for my sanity. I gained a lot of new friends – and some of them have quickly grown to be some of my closest mates.
I managed to find a couple of pockets of good weather within months of La Nina downpours and explored Lord Howe Island and South East Queensland – both of which were incredible.
Definitely returning to Lord Howe Island again some time
The typical refrain seems to that the 2020’s have gotten worse with each year that passes. I’m inclined to disagree. This year was undoubtedly an improvement. The power dynamic between generations has finally shifted from the over-60s to the under-40s and I can’t see that being anything but good for society as that shift becomes even more pronounced in the years to come.
Music
I wanna be the shoelace that you tie
There are no surprises in the yearly playlist if you’ve been following the monthly ones. Jockstrap and Big Thief‘s new releases were my most played albums. And that Black Midi one satisfied my appetite for a bit of crunch.
I did the sloppy Splendour in the Grass, and the drizzly Harvest Rock. Khruangbin easily proved to be the best gig of the year between the two festivals, which came as a huge surprise. I’ve not seen a gig like that in a long time – an hour-long jam session where their own tracks were bridged together with classic guitar riffs like Wicked Game and Spandau Ballet’s True. I’m keen for even more live music in the new year, but I think I’m festival’d out for the time being.
Agnes Obel was the overall top gig. Absolutely incredible to witness live.
Khruangbin
Streams
My regular movie and series reviews on this old thing were another casualty of having more of a life this year (along with more work). My abundance of screen time at work also reduced my desire for spending too much of my free time doing the same thing. I can’t say I really have any “top movies” since I saw so few and even fewer stuck with me. But the world of long form series continues to be where quality lies.
Severance was the most inventive and visually unique series I’ve seen in a while. In many ways it reminded me of the best elements of Lost (mysteries aplenty).
The final season of Better Call Saul hit the mark and then some. Easily the best written show of the past decade in my eyes, it may very well exceed its predecessor Breaking Bad as the better show.
And second season of The White Lotus was some good fun, albeit not as fresh as the first time around.
That’s it for the year. Back at the end of January.
