what rhymes with chaos?

My Dearest Target

My Dearest Target,

How are you? I trust you are enjoying the start of the Christmas period, which I imagine major retailers look forward to with all the anticipation of a sex addict awaiting a holiday in Ibiza.

Yesterday I was perusing your shelves in search of a toiletries bag that I had believed I would require for my planned trip to New York. As it turns out neither the toiletries bag nor the trip to New York will now be necessary as my girlfriend decided to break up with me a few days before our one year anniversary and thus reduce me to an irrational, quivering wreck engaged in peculiar behavior such as writing elaborate complaint letters to department stores, but that’s neither here nor the other place.

Whilst waiting in line to make my purchase I was subjected to your holiday promo clip. Now, aside from the fact that this insufferably saccharine commercial featured lots of sickeningly elated blonde white people and storks carrying babies (when was this thing written, the 1950s?) the ad and its ridiculously loud music were repeated and repeated over and over again and again and again. It was interrupted by only the intermittent PROCEED TO CHECKOUT FIVE announcements, making me feel as though I was alternating my time between some Kafkaesque consumer hell and some Kafkaesque bureaucratic nightmare (Kafka really was the king of literary misery wasn’t he?)

If I had to listen to a Target ad on infinite loop my writing would have been even MORE despressing!

I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but incessantly repeated music is actually one of the most popular modern forms of psychological torture. During the Bush era two of the favourite bands used at Guantanamo bay were Nine Inch Nails and Massive Attack. Quite ironic given the fact that both of those bands despised the Bush administration. Do you think they got paid royalties for public broadcast each time their song got repeated? 

Once in India I took a 20 hour jeep ride from Srinagar to Leh, and the MP3 player kept skipping back to the start of whatever song it was playing. We asked the driver to just turn it off but he told us that without music he would fall asleep and at this point we were on a tiny Himalayan mountain road with a steep ravine right reaching ominously out beneath us so we let him have his way. Just before we finally reached Leh, we heard the first ten seconds of the song Gimmie More featuring the delightful opening line “It’s Britney bitch!” over and over and over (and over). By the time we reached Leh we had been reduced to giggling, hysterical lunatics.

 

Try listening to THIS 500 times in a row...

So as I’m listening to this syrupy commercial on infinite repeatrepeatrepeat, I’m thinking, what effect is this having on the staff here? Surely this can’t be psychologically healthy? Finally the all-commanding screen interrupts the commercial and instructs me to move to the checkout. I always do what television tells me, so I dutifully obeyed and handed my soon to be redundant travel toiletries bag to the young man behind the counter.

“That’s a total of five cents.” Says he. I looked at price tag, which quite definitely stated $9.05, and I thought to myself, surely I must have misheard him? It can’t possibly be some sort of 99.45% Christmas discount? I passed him $20, and he handed me back $19.95. I took the money in my hand and was open to say something along the lines of “Whaaaaaaaaat?” when the all-seeing monitor demanded that I vacate the checkout so that it might be utilised by another obedient consumer.

In conclusion: perhaps you should reconsider the all-seeing monitor playing your advertisements on infinite loop, not only for the effect it has on your staff, but the effect it has on your profit margin.

AND A MERRY CHRISTMAS OR WHATEVER THE HELL ELSE YOU BELIEVE IN TO ALL!

Swarm regards

J.M. Donellan

 

Illustrator acquired!

 

Ladies and Gentlememes,

I am so excited about this announcement THAT I AM GOING TO USE CAPS UNTIL THE END OF THIS SENTENCE! My publisher, Odyssey Books, and I have found an illustrator/cover artist for Zeb and The Great Ruckus (the novel that will inspire a generation of children to pick up guitars and quills and paintbrushes and initiate an artistic insurrection.) Kathleen Jennings is a brilliant illustrator, writer, lawyer and translator (I can only assume she possesses some kind of superpowers, time machine, or small clone army), and was recommended to me by my friend and contract advisor Alex Adsett. Both Kathleen and Alex are fellow Brisbanianitesistsians. 

As soon as I opened up the link to Kathleen’s page and saw a sketch of a Dalek holding a parasol, I knew she’d be perfect for this project. The work of Roald Dahl and Quentin Blake heavily influenced this book and I wanted to have someone who, like Blake did for Dahl, would do both the cover and the internal line sketches. I’m really excited to see what Kathleen comes up with, you can and should check out her work HERE or follow her on twitter here. Alternatively, you could follow her in real life wearing a trench coat and dark sunglasses but I think the police frown upon that kind of thing and anyway you don't even know what she looks like.

I hope something fabulous has happened to you today as well, and if it hasn't I hope it does soon. FIREWORKS AND GUITAR SOLOS FOR EVERYBODY!

 

  

Bright Eyes @ the BNE Hifi reviewed for Rave magazine

 

Just a quick sidenote: If any crazed stalker fan wanted to murder Connor Oberst, it would be really hilarious to creep up behind him and sing the line "turn around bright eyes..." from this song before getting all Charlie Manson. Original article HERE.

The Hi-Fi - Thu Nov 17 Darren Hanlon’s story songs, presented here in simple format with just guitar and drums, are an excellent start to the evening. Kevin Devine, a surprise last-minute addition to the bill, launches into 30 minutes of captivating songs that are delivered in everything from a whisper to a primal scream and leaves the surprised crowd spellbound. Connor Oberst and the accompanying six musicians that compromise the Bright Eyes cohort walk on to rapturous applause and launch straight into Four Winds. Oberst and co. present the bulk of the songs tonight in a majestic, almost gospel format, playing a slew of their better-known tracks and a few hidden gems across a massive two and a half hour set. The band gives the impression that they are having a brilliant time on stage (with the exception of the keyboardist who looks about as thrilled as a hung-over misanthrope filling out a tax return). Their performance is somewhat grandiloquent, Oberst at times getting his Bono on and reaching out to the hands of the adoring crowd, but this has never been a band to do things by halves. They close with an epic rendition of Road To Joy and an almost religious performance of One For You, One For Me.

They Will Have Their Way BNE review for rave magazine

view and comment on the original article HERE.

Photo: Rebecca Reid QPAC – Mon Nov 7   A well-dressed, predominantly middle-aged crowd takes their seats facing the massive stage backdrop of intertwined red and blue trees that looms over two drum-kits and an extensive array of instruments. Sally Seltmann opens with a haunting, loop-driven rendition of Four Seasons In One Day. Lior steps up next for Into Temptation before Clare Bowditch strides on stage to make the first use of the complete backing band tonight (two drummers, guitar, bass, keyboards). The singers who make up Seeker Lover Keeper then join her for a breath-taking interpretation of Fall At Your Feet. When you’re singing with Sarah Blasko, Holly Throsby and Sally Seltmann on back-up vocals, you know you must be doing something right. Throughout the evening the performers seem to be absolutely reveling in the chance to be performing these timeless songs with such an incredible cast. There are a handful of by-the-book covers (like Lior’s pedestrian performance of Mean To Me) that don’t really cause much of a stir. But the real joy tonight is seeing Neil and Tim Finn’s body of work re-imagined by such incredible talent. Alexander Gow delivers an excellent rendering of I Feel Possessed, Blasko’s self-described ‘Tom Waits-y’ version of My Mistake is pure mischievous genius and Bowditch’s leading of the crowd in a mass multi-part sing-along for Better Be Home Soon is an undeniable highlight. Paul Dempsey, however, is an absolute show stealer. He gives Chocolate Cake a solid workout and his frenzied version of I See Red sees him running off stage in front of the audience like a man possessed. The full cast, complete with a total of four guitars, two drums, a slew of tambourines and a sonic wealth of voices, concludes with It’s Only Natural and Weather With You before a standing ovation brings the evening to a close. JOSH DONELLAN

 

Can you hate the artist but love their art?

I have a conundrum, my dotcomrades. I recently read a post by one of my writing heroes that made me want to transform his body of work into a paper-mache sculpture of his own severed head. Frank Miller’s work has been an inspiration to me ever since I was a kid. His work on graphic novels like Sin City is nothing short of legendary. Miller was among the forefront of writers in the 1980s that convinced wider audiences that comic books weren’t solely a medium for brightly coloured, cliché-ridden characters. His work demonstrated that comics could be an excellent medium for communicating gritty, grisly stories. 

"You know what makes me mad? When people think I am a graphic novel adaptation of that quirky 90s sitcom 'Spin City.'"

However, around a week ago, Miller wrote this post discussing his opposition to the occupy movement. Fair enough, everyone’s got a right to their opinion. But he then proceeds to call them ‘louts’ ‘thieves’, ‘rapists’ and ‘pond scum’ and furthermore make the insane argument that because ‘America is at war with Islamicism’ then all other struggle is basically a waste of time. It’s one thing to disagree with a political movement, but to so hatefully vilify them and then start making insane Islamophobic connections is quite another. I mean, I'm strongly opposed to the values of the American Tea Party movement, but I'm not going to go around addressing them with awful and unjustified slurs. Particularly when they are weird and crazy enough to embarrass themselves on their own without needing my help. 

 

"Yeah! Cut funding to education! Who needs it?"

I now look at Miller's work with a feeling that I would describe as a combination of 'cute little puppies being shoved in a blender' and 'listening to Duck Sauce's Barbara Streisand on repeat for 36 hours.' Is it really possible to enjoy the output of an artist, which is an indubitably brilliant collection of work, whilst hating its creator who, according to recent evidence, is something of a fuckwit?

I’m reminded of a costume party I attended a few years ago when a Michael Jackson song came on the stereo and everyone proceeded to whoop and holler and dance around the living room until some girl ran towards the stereo yelling “NO! TURN THAT OFF! HE IS A PAEDOPHILE!” I have to be honest, she seemed a little crazy, and not only because of the Britney Spears costume she was wearing. A bunch of people turned to her and said, "Relax, it's just a song!" But maybe she had a point. Lately I feel like that girl dressed as Britney Spears. And not in a closet cross-dressing kind of way. 

There are plenty of other examples. Bill Murray, famous for both his extraordinary body of work and his idiosyncratic approach to the movie industry (he doesn’t have an agent, manager or email) has a record of domestic violence. Jack Kerouac was infamously racist, the Nobel prize winning author V.S. Naipul recently made some insanely sexist remarks and James Brown also had a history of domestic abuse. You can see him drunkenly-sort-of-half-denying-it-in-between-singing-his-own-songs-and-wearing weird-giant-yellow-glasses here:

  

I'm not able to separate the art from the artist. Every time someone puts on 'Papa's Got a Brand New Bag' a part of me lights up and wants to dance whilst my guilt complex simultaneously kicks into overdrive. I feel like I'm placing one hand on the world's largest diamond and the other in the hand of a rabid crocodile (crocodiles can get rabies, right?) What about you, residents of internetland? Can you happily sing along to Wonderwall despite the fact that Liam Gallagher is a pretentious, arrogant git? I'd love to hear your thoughts (just not the really weird ones, even I have my limits).

In conclusion: seriously Frank, what the fuck. 

 

The String Bridge is a thing that you should acquire post-haste.

 

Dearest humans and computer literate apes of earth, I come with glad tidings! My friend and fellow 100 Stories for Queensland contributor, Jessica Bell, has just released her new book The String Bridge. Recent research indicates that acquiring this book will make you more attractive, intelligent and improve your bowling average by 23.5%.

The book is being released with a soundtrack written and performed by the author, which is pretty damn impressive if you ask me. You can get the soundtrack for FREE (my favourite price) if you purchase the book on November 11^th and email the receipt to jessica.carmen.bell(at) gmail(dot)com. I guess you could also just email her inspiring quotes, recipe ideas, and your top ten make out songs if you really wanted. Just don’t try adding her to any spam lists though because Jess is a poet and everyone knows poets are the toughest bastards around and she may just find a way to clip you over the ears via skype.  

 The String Bridge has received a bunch of rave reviews (by which I mean highly complimentary reviews, not people on pills listening to Underworld in brightly coloured clothing giving it the thumbs up) but you should read it yourself because you are smart enough to make your own opinion. 

You can get more info and check out Jess' blog here: http://thealliterativeallomorph.blogspot.com/ (she's pretty easy on the eyes, just quietly) and she has some great insights into the creative process. 

Alternatively, you could watch Zelda vs Ice Climbers.

 

BLACKLIGHT featuring Pigeon / Lunch Tapes / The Medics reviewed for rave magazine

View and comment on the original article at Rave Magazine HERE.

BLACKLIGHT: The Medics / Lunch Tapes / Pigeon / Boss Moxi

Lightspace - Fri Nov 4 The promoters of tonight’s event describe the venue, Lightspace, as a ‘classy warehouse.’ Sheer white curtains adorn the walls and stage, candles cast flickering shadows and my friend (name withheld by request) comments that the luxury hand soap in the bathroom is worth $40 a bottle and she is considering relocating it to the interior of her handbag. From the very beginning, it is clear that this is not going to be your standard warehouse party. Boss Moxi are the first of four bands this evening, they greet an initially sparse crowd with a sonic smorgasbord of bouncy psychedelic rock tunes and twin guitars soaked in delay. There are a few average tracks scattered amongst their better material, but songs like Esso and Hospital Drums are catchy enough to make this a memorable performance. Halfway through, the second guitarist switches to saxophone and their act really starts to pick up. The last few songs bring their set to an explosive, frenetic finish.   Pigeon are next on the bill, and their five members proceed to set up an impressive arsenal of brass, electronic and rock instrumentation. Essentially, Pigeon sound like The Knife jamming with the Happy Mondays in Ibiza in the ‘80s whilst watching Eurovision. The really appealing thing about watching this band is that you just don’t know what’s going to happen next. Their five members switch from laptops and synths to guitars and drums to brass and back again. The crowd responds to their brilliantly unpredictable performance with a frenzied display of raving and moshing, and by the time they pull Boss Moxi’s sax player onto the stage for a ‘sax off’, this has become one of the most outstanding local shows in recent memory. From this they segue into a bizarrely brilliant synth and brass cover of Phil Collins’ Another Day In Paradise with a quick cameo appearance from the iconic sax solo from Baker St. Watching this band play is 16 kinds of fun, and by the time they finish the crowd is soaked in sweat and smiles.   Announcing this is their final performance “as Lunch Tapes” I can only guess as to whether the band means they are planning a name change or undergoing some kind of superhuman metamorphosis. Playing a fun, energetic selection of loud ‘70s psychedelia-influenced rock songs, Lunch Tapes’ standout track The Thrills Of Being Young exemplifies their whole approach to performance: violinist Harriet Straker adding lift and energy to their sound, and lead guitarist Julian Holland playing some absolutely blistering licks. I look forward to seeing Lunch Tapes 2.0.   The Medics are the last in an extraordinary line-up tonight. Their four members (and their hair, which is collectively shaggy enough to clothe a small Alaskan village) don their instruments and begin. Their classic rock band line-up looks almost underwhelming after this evening’s selection of violins, trumpets, synths and saxophones, but they have an undeniably commanding presence. Somewhat reminiscent of The Temper Trap, they play a series of epics that ebb and flow from quiet, dreamy moments to soaring electric crescendos paired with ethereal vocals. However, the band sometimes gets a little lost in themselves, during one particular odyssey the audience performs that awkward ‘clapping at the assumed end of the song only to discover that there is another section’ two times over before the song eventually ends. Finally, a storm of drums and throbbing bass and strummed guitars brings the evening to a close. JOSH DONELLAN

 

Zeb and the Great Ruckus: coming at you like a rampaging bewilderbeast in 2012

You might recall a little over a year ago I posted that I had finished my children’s fantasy novel Zeb and the Great Ruckus, and went on to describe how it would transform your child into a ninja-scientist-guitar-soloing human rights champion. Well, it’s taken a while, but I have finally inked a publishing deal in order to bring this little beast out into the light. When I returned from an eight day trek across the Ladakhi range of the Himalayas a few months ago I found an email in my inbox informing me that I had been offered a deal with Odyssey Books (who also published Foley Russel and That Poor Girl by my friend Rebecca Bloomer).  

 



The email that informed me of the offer was sent via satellite to Leh, the prayer flag drenched capital of Ladakh, India, located 3500m above sea level. I received it whilst typing away drowned in the delightfully rousing aroma of yak-scented mountain gear. It was five years ago in that  same city, whilst sitting on the rooftop of a ramshackle hotel  and staring out at the Himalayas, that I began writing my first novel A Beginner’s Guide to Dying in India. Receiving this offer for my new book in that same city was a beautifully cyclical moment.

Here’s a brief synopsis: 

Zeb lives in the land of Bravura , where the oppressive Czar and his legion of Admonishers have outlawed art and music. The mystical Alephs, magical mouthless creatures that eat music with their ears, have long since disappeared into hiding.  When a letter from Zeb’s departed father urges him to seek out a legendary musician rumoured to be living somewhere deep in the forest, Zeb must set out with his best friend Flip to seek him out. Armed only with a ball of magic clay and a harmonica, Zeb and Flip face wolves, clockwork birds, an army of Admonishers and the bewilderbeast in their quest to find the lost musician and the Alephs and bring music back to Bravura.

As a teacher I got sick of reading stories to my students that were populated with saccharine characters, cheap wish fulfilment and 1950s values. 

I wanted to write the kind of book that makes kids shake their heads and articulately explain why they disagree instead of just nodding their heads when told to do so. 

I wanted to write a book that makes children appreciate the fact that art is not just a sprawling mass of pretty pictures and three-minute pop songs, but the most powerful communication tool in existence. 

I wanted to write a book that kids would read in their youth and return to in adulthood.

I wanted to write a book filled with explosions, clockwork birds, steel guitars and vats of weaponised toffee.

 

        +           +       =  ZEB

 

Zeb and the Great Ruckus is that book. It’ll be in stores sometime in 2012, which, according to various sources, may well be the end of the world. So at least you’ll have something fun to read during the Apocalypse.