A Year of Trev's Treehouse!

Here it is, friends - the fulfilment of a New Years' resolution from December 31, 2011. One blog-post every week for a year. I must say, I think it's the first resolution that I ever managed to keep. It feels pretty good.

It sure has been a lot of fun to do on weekends and helped me clear some of the cobwebs from my brain and articulate some thoughts that had been swimming around in the aether. Even weeks when it seemed like a pointless exercise were helped by the encouraging words from loyal fans on Twitter and Facebook - you know who you are - Thanks!

When I started, I considered one blog-post a week to be quite a daunting task. I found that once I started, other ideas sprang to mind, so there was never a short supply of things to write about. It also occurred to me during the course of the year that real writers write every day. Writing for one day on the weekend is not really that much of a work-load.

As for consistency of quality, the words of comedian Ben Elton come to mind. He was interviewed several years ago on the Andrew Denton program. Denton asked Elton a rather astute and forthright question mildly disparaging the quality of Elton's work when compared to the sheer volume produced. Elton's simple response was 'I don't think if I had done any less that I would have made something better.'

I didn't agree with this for years until I started writing this blog. I always thought pursuing any art form consisted mostly of divine inspiration, but I came to realise that waiting for inspiration often means essentially doing nothing. This goes for any other artistic endeavour I have tried over the years. There is a massive element of craftsmanship involved in any art produced and it is important to keep those skills honed. Elton wouldn't have produced something like 'The Young Ones' if he had not worked consistently and was lucky enough to find himself in a position where inspiration and craftsmanship coincided.

The other person which springs to mind at this all-important crossroads is Jeremy Hillary Boob PHD,  an animated character from the Beatles' film 'Yellow Submarine.' He is the quintessential 'Nowhere Man' from the song of the same name. Jeremy spends his time making poems, writing novels, composing piano concertos and painting pictures, whilst whiling away his time in 'Nowhere Land.'

I always feel a twinge of guilt every time I hear the song 'Nowhere Man.' The only element of the song that offers some comfort is the line 'isn't he a bit like you and me.' John Lennon sang that line! Maybe if he considers himself a nowhere man, then I'm not doing that badly after all.

Looking back on my earlier blogs, it occurs to me that they are stylistically similar to the more recent ones. Hopefully now they flow a little bit better. Over the course of the year I can honestly say I came to loathe any comments I made in parentheses and now try to avoid them at all costs (they still slip in from time to time.)

Also, I don't think I really succeeded in my quest to find out what a semi-colon is supposed to be used for and whenever I encounter them in my blogs they seem to be rather shoe-horned in. I suppose this is why successful writers have editors.

My advice to anyone wanting to write a popular blog would be to consistently write about one category. I find these boring, but a lot of successful blogs seem to stick to a theme. Originally I was going to call this blog 'The Long Bow' as I thought the one consistent thread in all my writing seemed to be that I tend to end up a long way from the initial starting point of the subjects I write about. Maybe this would have caught people's imaginations? Who knows?

The weekly deadline did take me to unexpected places and some interesting asides that I'm quite proud of include the political commentary of 'I Don't Know' and 'Thanks for the Advice, Gina!', the post-apocalyptic musings of 'Omega Man' and 'A Portrait of the Artist' as well as heart-on-sleeve confessionals of 'Hello You!', 'Bad Hair', 'Here We Go' and 'This Unsporting Life.'

As for reviews, my greatest success is still The Kinks' review contained in 'This is Hardcore Preservation Society Part 1', but I am most proud of the 'George Saunders: The Brain Dead Megaphone' review which was initially  not a popular blog, but has grown consistently in readership over the months.

There wasn't a big focus on art, but I thought my overviews of 'Robert Hughes' and 'Jeffrey Smart' accurately portrayed my understanding of both men. There was, of course, several self-indulgent autobiographical essays which hopefully made sense outside of the confines of my own reminiscences. These included 'Remembering the Village Twin', 'My Greatest Literary Achievement' and 'Apollo 13.'

It occurs to me that I now operate in the exact opposite manner to when I was a child. When I was little I would try anything. One week I wanted to be a soccer star, or else play the bagpipes or be a gymnast. All of these things I would give up almost instantly. These days if I start something I tend to stay with it no matter what. Surely there is some merit in quitting at the right time and knowing when something has run its course? It's something I have yet to learn.

Until then there are still poems and novels to write, piano concertos to compose and pictures to paint.

My New Year's resoltion is complete.

I'll probably see you next week.

Thanks for reading,

Trev xo

The Continuing Rise of WTF with Marc Maron

A few years ago I was getting a bit sick of inane radio talkback and was dabbling in a few audio books and podcasts to accompany me on the drive to work and weekend jogs. A friend recommended the 'WTF with Marc Maron' podcast. I don't necessarily follow up all recommendations from friends, but in this case I'm glad I did, because the podcast has been essential bi-weekly listening for the last couple of years.

As it turns out, I joined-in on the show at exactly the right time. The first episode I remember listening to was the now-infamous 'Gallagher' episode, in which Maron reluctantly interviewed ageing prop-comic Leo Gallagher. This episode marked the only occasion that an interviewee has walked out on the program, as a result of Maron calling Gallagher into question over homophobic and racist content in his stage act. It was a striking introduction to the program and instantly added a new addition to my lexicon of obscure pop-culture catch phrases - 'Aw c'mon, Gallagher!'

When Maron started the podcast, he was, by his own admission, at his wits' end. Recently fired from a presenting job at Air America, twice divorced, a recovering alcoholic, a stand-up career hitting the skids and rapidly approaching middle-age; WTF was born out of desperation and presented a more humbled individual presenting what was basically an interview-show broadcast on the World Wide Web out of his garage in the suburbs of LA.

What Maron lacked in technical expertise and a promotional budget, he made up for with a few decades of insider-knowledge of the film and comedy world and a rolodex full of contacts of people he had met over the years. The unique perspective Maron had on most of these interviews was a combination of his pent-up resentment for the success of most of his guests, combined with a genuine desire to follow step eight of the Alcoholics' Anonymous manifesto, which requires participants to make amends to people they have wronged. An episode that typifies this early interview style was with Louis C.K., who was one of Maron's estranged friends and is currently a comedy golden-boy.  It was, at times, a tense interview, but it all seemed to work out okay in the end and spawned another memorable catch-phrase - 'Are We Good?'

Louis C.K.

I'm an Australian and admittedly am not familiar with a lot of the comics that Maron interviews; in fact I would go so far as to say I veer more towards the Monty Python style of surrealist sketch comedy that often seems to vex Maron, than the heart-on-your-sleeve confessional style that Maron seems to favour. But you know what? - it doesn't matter. The professional status of the interviewee often seems to be irrelevant, because the majority of WTFs are basically intimate conversations between two human beings.

Perhaps it's the fact that Maron has been through the emotional wringer in recent years that people seem to be able to be open up to him about surprisingly intimate details of their lives. Maron himself also seems to have a sixth sense about guiding subjects towards incidents and emotions that most people would have a hard time talking about. The most striking example of this was a two-part episode featuring The Onion writer Todd Hanson. Maron felt Hanson was avoiding an issue after their initial interview and convinced Hanson to sit down for a second interview. Hanson then admitted that in 2009 he tried to commit suicide - in the very hotel where the interview was taking place! It's engaging stuff that easily could have slipped through the cracks from a less skilled interviewer.

Todd Hanson

I was initially a little wary when Maron decided to expand his interview base of comedians to also include actors and musicians, but these interviews turned out to be just as intriguing. I think it helps that I am in my early forties and Maron and I have similar tastes in music. Some musicians he has interviewed are among my all time favourites, such as Nick Lowe and Lucinda Williams. Even musicians I'm not familiar with such as Jakob Dylan have been interesting, because Maron has used his magic on them to bring out some trademark candour.

If I had to choose my least favourite aspect of the podcast, it would probably be the live shows. These usually consist of a panel of comedians in front of a live audience. They are perfectly entertaining, but lack the intimate one-on-one of the 'garage' interviews. I am, however, not averse to Maron's stand-up and actually went to see him about two years ago at The Melbourne Comedy Festival. He seemed a little disappointed that the room wasn't full, but continued on good-naturedly. I especially liked the aspect of his act where he would take out his note book and try and remember what hastily scribbled ideas for jokes actually meant in hindsight.

I saw Maron after the show and had a brief chat to him. I wanted to tell him that even though the show wasn't full, there were a lot of Australian comedians in attendance, including, Peter Hellier, Tony Martin and Gatesy from Tripod. I didn't, though - I thought it might seem a bit condescending. Maron gave me a 'WTF' sticker which I have proudly displayed on my car ever since. Recently, someone rear-ended my car and I remember worrying that I would lose my sticker when the hatchback door was replaced. This seemed more important at the time than the cost of the damage, or the fact that my daughter was in the back seat. Luckily the pane of glass with the sticker wasn't replaced. Oh - my daughter was okay as well!

Maron's pet-peeve recently seems to be that people tend to fast-forward through the introduction and outros of the podcast and only listen to the actual interviews. This is a shame. I love hearing what Maron has been up to - updates on his relationship with girlfriend Jessica, news on his bipolar father and mother with an eating disorder and, sadly, the disappearance of beloved cat and show mascot 'Boomer'. He even has helpful tips on how to 'season' cast-iron frying pans if you would care to listen.

Mel Brooks

Recently the calibre of interviewees has really laid testament to the success of the show. The one-two punch of having comedy legends Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner interviewed in the same week was especially triumphant. Brooks was clearly impressed with Maron's historical perspective on comedy and even suggested Maron would be a great late-night TV talkshow host. Maron's phoenix-like rise from the ashes has not only been noted by Brooks, but also other television producers and book publishers. Maron will star in a new comedy series later this year based loosely on his life and the podcasts and will release a book of comedy essays. His last comedy album 'This Has to be Funny' was something of a cult hit and he has recently started appearing in movies such as 'Sleepwalk with Me' and on old-pal Louis C.K.'s show 'Louie.'

Maron has confessed on more than one occasion that he doesn't deal well with success and has often counteracted this success by 'daring people to like him.' Looking back on WTF, it is this adversity that made the show appealing and a dark part of my soul almost wishes something bad would happen so we don't lose the wounded and cornered Marc Maron we have come to know and love. Mostly, though, I have faith that the newer, happier Marc Maron is mature enough now to enjoy his success. We like you Marc Maron - deal with it!

 

Apollo 13

I'd like to think I'm pretty forgiving of most people's faults, however, I just can't stand it when people are late. If I had to trace this hatred for tardiness back to its origin, I think I'd find it evolved from almost any family holiday I've ever taken. We just never could get away on time!

No matter what the destination, there always seemed to be some incident that would arise to delay our departure, usually involving arguments over the ridiculous amount of paraphernalia we would attempt to pack for even the shortest holiday. After a long and laborious process of spacial visualisation, we would depart several hours late and then sit in stony-faced and cramped silence in the car for several hours until we reached our destination.

One particular holiday debacle has always stuck with me. I don't remember where we were going, or any events on the holiday, but I vividly remember the comedy of errors that led to this particular late departure.

I suppose I would have been about ten years old when we were preparing for this fateful trip. We had no pets that required high maintenance, but I had a salt-water fish tank in my room in which I kept some semi-exotic reef fish which included a star fish, a sea anemone, a clown fish and a blue damselfish that had a striking yellow tail. Perhaps rather incongruously, I also had a whiting which I had caught fishing. It was too small to eat. He ended up being a pet instead! It sounds pretty weird in hindsight. Why didn't we just get a dog?

Anyway, my father and I had to move the fish tank downstairs to the garage, so the neighbours could feed the fish while we were away. We emptied about half the water from the tank and stored the fish in a bucket until we had completed the transfer process. Unfortunately, we were over-confident in regards to our furniture-removal abilities and the shifting weight of the water caused the tank to slip from our hands after only a few steps. The tank smashed on the floor, resulting in saltwater, seaweed and rocks being strewn across the carpet and sentencing my fish to a hellish existence inside a cleaning bucket.

My dad must have noticed the look of horror on my face and in that instant decided that the mission brief had changed. The fish were no longer simply being transported to another area of the house - now they had to be rescued! My fish were like the astronauts in Apollo 13 - there had been an accident and now their lives were in danger. The moon was unfortunately no longer in their grasp.

We lived about a fifteen minute car ride away from Cleveland Point at the time. My dad and I decided our only rescue option was to release them back into the bay. We parked near the boat ramp at Cleveland Point. The tide was partially out, revealing an expanse of thick grey mud, perpetually slimy rocks  and sharp mangrove roots grasping towards the sky. We took our scaly heroes down the slippery concrete boat ramp and released them into the shallow murky waters.

The whiting took off into deeper water straight away, no doubt pleased to be back in his natural environment. My other reef fish were a different story. They languidly drifted about, not seeming too sure what to make of this new world. Their bright colours were a striking contrast to the dull-grey of the Cleveland Point mud, which made them appear especially vulnerable.

The astronauts had been rescued and returned to earth, but it seems the world had changed around them. They were probably expecting bright corals, clear waters and a vast variety of oceanic life that you might expect on The Great Barrier Reef. Instead, they now resided in shallow murky water that seemed to stretch on forever, concealing all manor of hidden dangers.

My dad assured me that the fish would be alright, but I had my doubts. It seemed we were about to go on holiday, but the holiday was over for my beloved pets. This incident may have contributed to my life-long hatred for tardiness, but the secret hope that my fish survived only helped to fuel my belief in self-delusion.

God-speed John Glen!

A Blank Slate

A while ago I was browsing through my favourite record shop, 'Round and Round Records' on Sydney Road at Brunswick, when I was surprised and delighted to find an old friend working behind the counter. I offered a friendly 'hello' and a warm smile that only comes effortlessly through years of acquaintance. I was surprised to find that my 'friend' behind the counter didn't return my affections and remained stony-faced. Sure, we had never been especially close, but what had I done to deserve this scorn?

It was then that I realised the person behind the counter was merely a doppelganger of someone I had met twenty years previously.  In a different city! I felt mildly embarrassed and explained to the man that I had mistaken him for someone else. For some reason, I also asked if the man knew my friend. Of course he didn't, but said he'd look online to see if he could find some pictures. I begged him not to look while I was still in the store; after all, my friend was now 20 years older and didn't look the same. Maybe the record-store clerk might have taken offence?

My embarrassment would have been more severe in this situation if this sort of thing didn't happen to me all the time. I often find myself walking down the street and waving at people I think I know, only to realise after passing them and receiving a blank stare, that I'm imprinting on strangers the faces and personalities of people I've met long ago, as if time had suddenly stood still somewhere in the late 1990s.

Memory is a funny thing. I don't know if I'm alone in remembering things in non-chronological order, but I suspect I'm not. I think memory to me is something like a book. When I read a book I often don't remember all the details, but the bits I like tend to stay with me and are stored away for future reference, with the less important details being discarded and slowly dissolving over time.

Incidents of mistaken identity do tend to send me on something of a lonesome reverie, though, and I find myself dredging up details of the past that are hidden deep within the memory banks. These are mostly memories involving friends and good times, but also things I wish I could forget, like missed opportunities, stupid things I've done and time I've wasted through what more generous people might refer to as my 'laconic' attitude to life. I have more correctly diagnosed this attitude as 'sheer laziness'.

It was during one of these recent reminiscences that an answer occurred to me regarding a question I had long considered: Why would anyone become a Scientologist?

Admittedly, I know very little about the so-called 'religion', but what I do know makes it sound like a cynical bunch of bat-shit crazy money-grubbing individuals taking advantage of naive and emotionally vulnerable people. From what I understand, when you join Scientology you're expected to not bring any of the baggage of the past with you and start again as a new person. This one aspect sounds tremendously appealing. Maybe if I was freed from the shackles of my friends and family, my past and, invariably, my immense wealth, would I be truly free to fulfil my potential and become... What, a senior member of the Church of Scientology?

Hmmm... Doesn't sound as appealing as I first thought. Maybe my past isn't dark enough to warrant me taking such drastic measures. It seems I'm not yet vulnerable enough to be preyed on by such an organisation. Perhaps after I've murdered someone and can no longer live with the torturous memory, then I might reconsider my position. Until then, I think I will be happy with mildly embarrassing myself in front of strangers who I profess to know and feeling the occasional pang of guilt about things I've done in the past.

Just like most people, I suspect.

Vinyl is Final

Besides listening to the radio in the back seat of the family car, my earliest memory of recorded music is the vinyl record. I remember tagging along when I was about six or seven with my dad when he went to visit his friend Ron. They hung out and listened to records and chatted about things. Wow... It's almost like they were real people! I would casually listen to the records they were playing, but never really approved. I came to realise that before you can discover your own music, first you have to suffer through what your parents are listening to.

My dad wasn't really much of an audiophile, but seeing as I was a kid in the 1970s, I distinctly remember dad having a very large and cumbersome brown wood-grain quadrophonic audio system featuring speakers that he had made himself. Of course, having a system like this meant you had to own music that could be appreciated on such a system, which unfortunately meant that my dad owned a lot of records that had very lofty ideas about their own importance by bands such as 'Yes' and 'The Allan Parson's Project.'

Yes 'Tales From Topographic Oceans' cover

As a Star Wars fan, I was in two minds about these records. I loved the fantastical sci-fi and fantasy imagery that appeared on a lot of Yes albums by artist Roger Dean that spread out in multiple gatefold sleeves, but the po-faced seriousness and pretentious virtuosity of the music itself mostly left me cold. There were musical exceptions, of course, that to me seemed to have the whole package. Pink Floyd had great artwork by Storm Thorgerson and their music had enough surrealism and Monty Python-esque English quirk to make them a little more accessible to my young ears. I also don't mind the Allan Parson's song 'Eye in The Sky'. He produced a lot of Pink Floyd albums and it would appear that some of their pop sensibility rubbed off on him (at least for this one song).

Pink Floyd 'Animals' cover

When I finally started buying music myself, I didn't really buy vinyl. By this time it was the 80s and the cassette tape seemed to be the way to go, with the Sony Walkman being the technical marvel of the day. Mix tapes and portability seemed more important than the ritual of sitting down and stroking your chin whilst contemplating intricate sonic tapestries. The only drawback with cassettes is they just don't last long and there's nothing more depressing than hearing the weird frequency modulation of a favourite cassette that has just been played too many times.

When the compact disc came along it solved this problem because the sound was a digital file and couldn't be altered from being played too much (unless you scratched the disc). Audiophiles lamented at the time that the sound quality was nowhere near as good as vinyl, but I couldn't really tell the difference. The square shape of the CD cover did, however, remind me of the once-great importance that album cover-art had as part of the overall package and how it had become emasculated by this new medium.

It was only when MP3s came on the scene that I really started to think about how I listen to music. Being the capitalist that I am, I felt kind of cheated by having to pay for music that just existed on my computer or iPod and I didn't feel like I physically 'owned' it. I think it might just be a psychological thing, but to me MP3s didn't sound as good. Once again, though, I'm no audiophile and all I can say is there seemed to be a 'vibe' missing.

One thing that I know is true is that a lot of modern recordings are over-compressed or 'brickwalled' so they sound louder on the radio. For this perceived payoff, the result is less dynamics in the music. This is why if you buy a vinyl recording of something like The Rolling Stones' 'Exile on Main Street' it's going to have a lot more dynamics than a version that has been remastered for CD or MP3. They didn't brickwall recordings in the 70s and vinyl recordings sound more like the artists originally intended - with more 'air.'

A lot of vinyl detractors will say they don't enjoy listening to vinyl records because of the surface noise and the pops and scratches detract from the listening experience. I disagree with this. I love the sound of surface noise because it feels like the record has been enjoyed. I would even go so far as to say I love how every time I play the Blondie album 'Eat to the Beat' it always skips during the song 'Union City Blue.' This song is my all-time favourite Blondie song and to me the fact that it skips during this song means the last person that owned this album also loved this song. Sure - it is annoying not to hear my favourite song all the way through - but at least it's an interesting loop!

The other great thing about vinyl is that now I can cheaply re-purchase vinyl versions of all those cassettes that I destroyed in the 1980s. These mostly consisted of artists such as Roxy Music, David Bowie and T-Rex, which are all readily available from second hand record stores throughout the western world. I can also purchase things on the cheap such as Dr Hook records and claim that I was being 'ironic', when, in fact, I would have happily paid full price for them! One of these days someone is going to cotton-on to how truly ground-breaking 'The Hook' were and re-issue their albums at full price, but until then it will be our little secret (*wink*).

Since getting back into the turntable it occurs to me that I've been trying to educate my daughter about what I consider good music by playing her things like Devo, David Bowie, Kraftwerk and Roxy Music. She's almost the same age now as I was when I first listened to music with dad and Ron. Maybe I should be playing her the same stuff that I was subjected to so she will end up having similar tastes to me... 

Maybe Yes weren't that bad after all... 

I wonder what dad and Ron are up to these days?...  

We should hang out!

 

David Byrne: How Music Works

I can always rely on Santa to bring me a good book for Christmas and this year he didn't disappoint. David Byrne's musings on the unique place music holds in culture is simply titled  'How Music Works'. It's not your average rock biography.

Byrne explains in the introduction that you need not have any knowledge of his personal musical career to enjoy the book. This is true, but I think the most fascinating aspects are derived from Byrne's unique perspective as a performer who has managed to last 30 years in the cut-throat music industry. It's hard to think of too many who have managed such a feat and, sadly, I think it is probably becoming harder to sustain a career in almost any artistic pursuit.

The book begins with Byrne explaining how music evolved to suit the environment it is played in: Tribal drums filling the vastness of an African savannah, orchestras projecting a sense of awe in concert halls and the simple bombast of stadium rock to reach the ears of those in the back rows in outdoor arenas. It's when he talks about the appeal of the tiny punk club CBGB's (where Byrne's band Talking Heads got their break) that he really starts to develop his own musical thesis.

CBGB's was a struggling biker bar on the wrong side of the tracks in Manhattan when bands such as Blondie, Talking Heads and Television started out. These bands had nowhere to play and CBGB's had nothing to lose by putting them on. It was a match made in heaven. The music played (out of necessity) was devoid of pretense and theatricality and while the musicians were not necessarily virtuosic, the club was a nurturing and non judgemental environment for bands to develop. Byrne points out that music in many forms represents what CBGB's offered: A sense of community, a shared cultural understanding and (for performers) a chance to express themselves creatively and communicate in ways that they might not be able to in ordinary life.

Of course, Talking Heads outgrew this tiny little club and I think one of the reasons that Byrne continues to be vital as a performer is because he continues to be open minded about music and does not slip into dogma that scenes such as punk in the late 70s clung to. He discusses 'the myth of authenticity' that punk bands championed which favours 'rawness' over theatrical performance. Talking Heads initially were raw simply because they were three shy friends testing the musical water on stage, but Byrne's open mindedness and increasing interest in other art forms such as Kabuki and Javanese shadow puppetry transformed an awkward club band into a massive ensemble with lighting and choreography (as well as a big suit) for the concert film 'Stop Making Sense'. Byrne rightly argues that music can also be spectacle.

He also discusses music technology and how it is only a recent phenomenon to be able to listen to recorded music. He explains how technology has changed an audience from primarily enjoying the live experience to being one that expects bands to reproduce their recordings perfectly on stage. He is refreshingly not snobbish about the quality of MP3s and considers them important in the same way mix tapes were to introduce people to new music. I agree with him wholeheartedly when he laments that recorded music has turned people from participants in making music to simply being passive consumers. There surely was joy to be had from family sing-alongs around the piano! - even if it was corny.

It's when he discusses the songwriting process and recording techniques that it becomes helpful to have at least a passing acquaintance with Byrne's oeuvre. Talking Heads started out as a band that made pretty straight ahead and sparse pop songs, but as they developed, so too did their stage show and they started to work more collaboratively using studios and technology in innovative ways, as well as incorporating what might be called 'automatic writing' techniques when it came to developing song ideas and lyrics. There are also interesting questions answered from a fan's perspective as to why after years of experimentation they suddenly reverted to a more straight ahead pop approach for the albums 'Little Creatures' and 'True Stories'. It turns out that Byrne needed to write songs in order to get funding for his 'True Stories' movie. I suppose for Talking Heads it was experimental for them to dabble with mainstream pop.

The most eye-opening section of the book deals with the financial realities of recording in the 21st century. Byrne bravely details his expenditure and subsequent profits from two recent albums: The solo outing 'Grown Backwards' and the collaboration with Brian Eno 'Everything That Happens Will Happen Today.' Byrne explains that he spent most of his hefty advance from the record company to record 'Grown Backwards', which made it difficult to make a healthy profit,  even though it sold quite well, whereas 'Everything That Happens' cost very little to make, sold well and was distributed independently which essentially cut out the record company middle-men. Songs from 'Everything That Happens' were also licensed to the Oliver Stone movie 'Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps', which also would have added substantially to the coffers. Byrne is cagey about his licensing arrangements, but I suspect it is probably his biggest source of income these days, especially when every movie seems to use 'Once in a Lifetime' as lazy shorthand to denote that a movie is set in the 1980s. Byrne is adamant that he never licenses songs to commercials.

Byrne uses the 'Everything That Happened' album as an argument that it is still possible to make money from recordings in a digital age and I do agree with him to a certain extent. He concedes that it is easier for him because he already has a public profile and audiences were keen to hear another collaboration with Eno. It is a bit beyond Byrne's scope to say how an amateur would fare independently, regardless of the quality of the material they present.  I think the one redeeming feature of having a record deal these days is the label can deal with the marketing and leave the creative decisions to the musicians. Other than that I think the traditional record company is a dying business model.

Byrne argues that it doesn't hurt to have a good business head on your shoulders, but I would argue most musicians are attracted to music so they can get away from the business world. The romanticism of being in a band is as important as the music itself. The Beach Boys would not be half as interesting without the mythology surrounding Brian Wilson and I bet most of the people who worship Brian Wilson's music also secretly wish they could spend a year in bed eating fried chicken, or else record farm animals in an expensive Hollywood studio on the record company's dime. When you consider the excesses of the past it is hard to get excited about some kid sitting at home with his laptop on weekends while he holds down a boring 9 to 5 job. Without the romantic appeal of the travelling musician you might as well just forget music and become a futures trader if you want to make money - or better yet - a games designer!

Looking at all the ways music can be obtained these days it still occurs to me that most music I listen to still reaches my ears via recommendations from friends or else artists I admire mentioning their influences in interviews.  There certainly are a lot more choice and an overwhelming quantity of music that was certainly not previously available. To me - and I suspect a lot of people - most of this music does not 'work', but I bet Byrne would argue that there is as much good stuff around as ever (and he'd probably be right). That's why I love David Byrne... he's forever the optimist!

What I Did On My Holidays

I've just returned to Melbourne after a couple of weeks in Queensland. During that time I visited two very different sea-related attractions that both had strong, yet seemingly opposite ideas about style and presentation when it came to 'family fun.'

The first attraction was located in Hervey Bay and was called 'Vic Hislop's Shark Show.' After my family and I walked through the massive set of shark jaws that also doubled as the front door, the attendant played a short video presentation featuring Mr Hislop describing what we might see inside. I enjoyed Hislop's overly-serious yet un-emotive presentation style, combined with the campy eighties-style production values, so I figured the exhibit was worth a shot. Besides, there were two more movies inside as well as a giant frozen Great White Shark.

The walls were adorned with preserved pieces of shark, gruesome photos of shark attacks, newspaper clippings and letters written to government conservation agencies by Hislop. We watched a video presentation in one room where Hislop claimed sharks were 'misunderstood.' This is where my latte-sipping inner-city Melbourne brain expected to hear an impassioned plea for conservation, but, to my surprise, Hislop instead went on a Captain Ahab-like tirade about what a menace sharks are and how they should be wiped-out. Perhaps he has a point about over-fishing by humans causing increased shark attacks, but his defensive style and ego-centric nature does not help to get his point across.

The preserved Great White Shark was impressive and scary, but it seemed an inauspicious end for such a terrifying and elegant creature to end up in what appeared to be a 1970s caravan that had been turned into a deep freezer.

I wondered what made Hislop so defensive as I walked through the exhibition. I suppose conservationists don't care much for self-proclaimed 'shark-hunters', but I thought it odd that Hislop didn't celebrate the shark. Even if he hunts them, they are still how he makes his living. I can think of a number of fascinating things about sharks off the top of my head that were not mentioned at the exhibition at all. Most of the plaques on the walls began with the pronoun 'I', so it is probably fair to say that the exhibition is more about the promotion of Vic Hislop, rather than the celebration of sharks.

Also, a lot of letters on the walls seemed to indicate that Hislop is fond of litigation, so maybe this is a good place to end my discussion of 'Vic Hislop's Shark Show.'

* * * * * 

Of course, the granddaddy of all marine-related theme-park experiences is Sea World and we went there  again this year to amuse our four-year-old daughter Clementine. We actually took her last year as well, but she didn't seem to understand much out of it. We were hoping this year she might. Who can say if she actually did?

The first noticeable thing about Seaworld is the massive sprawling carpark which is hotter than Hades, with no markings to identify where your car might be parked at the end of the day. 

The second thing you notice when you get in the gate is the massive crowd, which consist of distraught parents, over stimulated children, sulking tweens and confused-looking tourists. I didn't see any stoned teenagers ironically skulking-about, but they may have been at Dreamworld that day.

Seaworld is all about 'synergy' these days. Instead of the water ski show I remember from my youth, there is now a Spongebob Squarepants water show presented by Nickelodeon, with accompanying products that can be purchased from a conveniently located pavilion. All the attractions are set up in this manner, but Spongebob annoyed me the least because I'm actually a fan of the show and it occurred to me while watching the Spongebob show that a giant water-skiing foam replica of an animated talking sea-sponge was probably the most self-aware thing in the park.

I genuinely enjoyed the sea lion show and the dolphin show. The animals were impeccably well-trained and the corny story shoe-horned into the sea lion show at least had a message of conservation. Unfortunately, this reminded me of 'Vic Hislop's Shark Show' and I wondered if PETA and conservationists ever got on the case of Seaworld for mistreating animals during the training process in the same way they seemingly harassed Hislop. I wish I could have just enjoyed the shows for the simple entertainment that was intended, but I've always been suspicious of theme parks ever since finding out that Walt Disney was a Nazi sympathiser. 

My daughter Clementine seemed to enjoy Dinosaur Island the best, which, in her typical style, was the one exhibit she almost blew a gasket about and made us promise not to take her to. Go figure.

The most uncomfortable aspect about the park in summer is the relentless heat. This, combined with almost no shade, teeming crowds and sprawling areas of paving or bitumen, make escape almost impossible. It is easy to see why the air-conditioned penguin enclosure and the water park are among the most popular attractions.

I couldn't get the sun off my mind for the whole day and I found myself casually checking the skin of other patrons to see if they were prone to any imminent melanomas. I was horrified to find that the back of one middle-aged woman looked like a relief-map of the planet Mercury, with dark-spots and fissures that looked like tectonic plates shifting under intense volcanic activity. I felt like mentioning that she should probably get this checked out, but I didn't want to spoil her day.  

Besides the animal shows, I also enjoyed the monorail ride, not because of the ride itself, but moreso the fifty per cent of passengers who seemed to remember and sing 'The Monorail Song' from The Simpsons.

The attraction I was most looking forward to was saved until last. The water park at Sea World features a water  slide several stories high which I predicted would be the perfect way to end an exhausting, sweaty day. I was slightly annoyed that there was a five dollar cover charge on top of the exorbitant entry fee to the main park, but nothing was going to stop me from achieving my goal of conquering the aquatic tower of terror... except my daughter. She refused to wear the wrist band that indicated we had paid the entry price and even though we assured her it was not compulsory, she refused to enter the water. Stooping with arms hanging limply by my sides, I sulked my way out of the park. Through sheer serendipity we somehow managed to stumble across our car in the parking lot.

I ultimately had a good day at Seaworld, but that night I had a restless sleep. The unconquered water slide haunted my dreams and teased my troubled mind in the same way as the fires of Mordor must haunt Frodo Baggins' dreams, or else the Great White Sharks must haunt Vic Hislop's... 

Perhaps Vic and I aren't that different after all!