There is no greater tool to distort the passing of time, than to be placed on hold by a call centre. The music is too tinny to be upbeat and even though the voice over is smiley and warm, it leads to thoughts of homicide. I made the tempting mistake of thinking I could make a "quick" call. As the minutes passed, it became an operatic melodrama.
I did the tracking on the website first. I expected to see something more recent than a visit to a western Sydney suburb three days ago. Was my package still there? Was it somewhere else? The website couldn't tell me.
I rang the number. To get to speak to someone, I first had to go through the same tracking process on the phone. I ended up in the same place, but this time, when I reached the end, I was able to say the word "consultant" so I could be placed on hold.
Well I was on hold for 20 minutes. That tinny music blared, only to be interrupted by overly cheerful announcements telling me I could get the answer from the website! I was at work and filed emails while I waited. That was the most useful part of the experience.
After 20 minutes a woman answered. I told her the story. She told me my parcel was in that western Sydney suburb. I asked her what it was still doing there. She suddenly noticed that it arrived there three days ago. She said it was probably on a truck and might still be delivered. I could tell she was faking. I asked her how she knew it was on a truck. She confessed that she didn't know; she was hoping. I pressed the point. She sighed. She asked me to confirm my business account details. I asked her what she meant. She told me the name of the workplace I was in. (The phones are jolly clever these days! We're all being watched, apparently.) She sighed, saying that she would need to put my personal details in. I provided them. This yielded nothing. She told me I was in the wrong section. I told her I said the word "consultant" when asked and here I was. She sighed again. She would have to put me through to another section. She couldn't do anything. I reminded her how long I had been on hold and that I wasn't really looking forward to another age of tinny music and falsely optimistic announcements from the voice over girl.
She was gone. I was on hold. The minutes ticked by. Slower than if I had been doing something enjoyable. My email in box was looking really good. I was scared I would run out of emails to file. It's amazing how much filing you can do in 30 minutes.
Neil said hello. I said hello. Another man said hello.
The line was crossed. The other man had been on hold for ages. Neil was confused. I was running out of emails to file. Neil concluded that we had a crossed line. He sensibly declared that he could only talk to one of us at a time. My details were the ones he had on the computer screen in front of him. YES! He would need to transfer Jamal.
With Jamal banished, Neil asked me how he could help. I was about to answer, but another man chimed in. I soon learned that his name was Eric. Neil explained that we had a crossed line and again demonstrated how clever he was. Eric disappeared. We started again. This time Brittany was also in the conversation. I started to laugh maniacally.
Neil concluded that this was a problem and said that we would both have to hang up. I was now 45 minutes into the phone call and hadn't resolved the issue. I wasn't giving up without a fight. I told Neil that someone would need to call me back. He promised they would; then said if they didn't I'd need to call back. I said it was unacceptable that there might be a possibility I would have to call back. I commented on how patient and good humoured I'd been so far.
Forty-five minutes later, my phone had not rung.
I called again. I went through the tracking process on the phone. I said "consultant". I went on hold.
By the time the call was answered by a person, I had run my errands in town, bought groceries and was on the train home, barrelling towards the inner west black spot where all phone calls drop out. North Melbourne is apparently in the wilderness of Melbourne.
I explained the black spot problem to Sue and asked if she would call me back if the call dropped out. She told me that wasn't possible. I got off the train. I stood on the platform as Sue clicked away on her keyboard and sighed and gave me no new information. Sue told me she really didn't know where the parcel was. She told me I couldn't complain until three business days after the EDD. That's the estimated delivery date. The EDD was the very day that I was filing my emails, having brief encounters with men called Neil and Jamal and Eric.
I asked how I make a complaint.
Sue told me I just needed to call. There was no hint of irony either.
This morning I woke up to an email from the recipient of the parcel to say it had arrived. I could have just asked, but had not wanted to spoil the surprise.
Happy Mother's Day Mum! Thanks for being my proofreader (after publication).
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Saturday, 9 May 2015
Saturday, 14 March 2015
Singing beside the seaside - Airey's Inlet Music Festival
Because of interstate travel this week, I missed my vocal group's rehearsal. It was our last in preparation for two performances at the Airey's Inlet Open Mic Music Festival, taking place this weekend.
I'd been diligently recording all our rehearsals so that I could listen and go over my parts in my own time. I don't usually do this, because I have a piano and just rehearse that way, but I'm not usually booked into the hotel suite that comes equipped with a piano, so did it this way instead.
On the four hour flights to and from Perth I spent the time listening and rehearsing. I thought I was doing it in my head, until the man sitting next to me said nothing, but conveyed, with a look that said, "What the hell are you doing? Please stop bouncing around in your seat!" (This man also failed to respond to the humour being offered with the coffee by one of the flight attendants.)
A beautiful day dawned. I stood out in the sunshine waiting for my lift to arrive with my music, doing some last minute reviews. As we snuck around the back of a cafe, right on the highway, to warm up, the passing traffic gave us some strange looks. A lone cyclist looked as though he was about to ride right off the road.
One of the songs we sang is "Waiting on an Angel" by Ben Harper. When rehearsing and thinking about this song I attached it to Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran, the two Australian men awaiting execution in Indonesia. It was all I could do to get through without tears taking over.
If you can get to Airey's Inlet tomorrow, it's worth visiting. There are nine music venues, ranging from marquees in car parks to corners of cafes and gallery spaces. The festival culminates in a performance by a "mystery guest" whose identity is a closely guarded secret.
I was so pleased to be a part of Mood Swing's performance today. Our happy, relaxed vibe created a beautiful exchange with the audience. Singing with and for other people is such a special gift.
I'd been diligently recording all our rehearsals so that I could listen and go over my parts in my own time. I don't usually do this, because I have a piano and just rehearse that way, but I'm not usually booked into the hotel suite that comes equipped with a piano, so did it this way instead.
On the four hour flights to and from Perth I spent the time listening and rehearsing. I thought I was doing it in my head, until the man sitting next to me said nothing, but conveyed, with a look that said, "What the hell are you doing? Please stop bouncing around in your seat!" (This man also failed to respond to the humour being offered with the coffee by one of the flight attendants.)
 |
| Vocal Group rehearsal - the devices come out. © 2015 divacultura |
One of the songs we sang is "Waiting on an Angel" by Ben Harper. When rehearsing and thinking about this song I attached it to Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran, the two Australian men awaiting execution in Indonesia. It was all I could do to get through without tears taking over.
If you can get to Airey's Inlet tomorrow, it's worth visiting. There are nine music venues, ranging from marquees in car parks to corners of cafes and gallery spaces. The festival culminates in a performance by a "mystery guest" whose identity is a closely guarded secret.
I was so pleased to be a part of Mood Swing's performance today. Our happy, relaxed vibe created a beautiful exchange with the audience. Singing with and for other people is such a special gift.
Sunday, 14 December 2014
Ritual or habit - Is there a difference?
Following on from yesterday's post about ritual and community, I've been thinking about whether any of the things I do constitute ritual. I think they do.
On Wednesday nights I drive over to the other side of town to meet with 20 other people in a hall attached to a Russian Orthodox church. It's choir practice night. There are the greetings as people trickle in. People connect with each other and new things are discovered. We stand in a circle to warm up with music that is familiar before learning a new song or working to develop a work in progress. New friends are made and professional connections forged. There is much laughter and warmth and it's very special singing in a group and making eye contact around the circle.
I think this is a ritual. It is regularly practised. It creates connection and leaves me with a sense of refreshment and connection. Is it any wonder that choirs have been used as an indicator of community health
Each night I light a couple of scented candles. Sometimes I think of something particular as I do and other times I just light the candle. The lighting of a candle often forms part of sacred ritual. This is an accessible and private ritual.
Knitting is something I do everyday, along with reading, walking, playing music and brushing my teeth. Knitting is part of my daily ritual. I slow down, sit down and take up my needles. My hands know what to do without even looking and I soon find my rhythm. I delight in the rich colours as every piece passes through my hands. If I'm knitting for someone else, I think of them while I knit. Soon I feel calmer.
Not so long ago, writing was part of my daily habit. Is a habit the same as a ritual? I think it depends. Contemporary language has appropriated terms like "ritual" and "icon" from religious context and placed them in a purely secular, often commercial context. Sporting heroes and pop star celebrities are now referred to as icons and mundane actions like checking your phone are often referred to as rituals. Reality dating shows like "The Bachelor" hold a "rose ceremony" to remove contestants and "Survivor" incorporates "getting fire to symbolise life" into tribal council. Perhaps these are examples of things that have become ritualised.
A search of the web for images of ritual resulted in pagan images. Interesting. To me a ritual has an element of purpose or mindfulness and something changes as a result of engaging in it. And there is an order or a sequence which is observed.
At the music camp I go to every year (Summersong), ritual forms part of the big celebration party held in the middle of the week. Often the experience is profound and individuals can engage in the experience as deeply as they wish. My first year at Summersong involved a moment that I can pinpoint as being life changing.
We were asked to think of something that we wished to give up. We then had to find a natural object that would embody this thing and bring it with us to the party. I thought about this, taking it very seriously; the idea resonated. After much deliberation I realised that I wanted to give up my hardness. After many years of being a union leader I started to recognise how the toughness I was required to have everyday had made me quite a hard person. I realised I had drifted a long way from myself. I found a stone from the lake bed to embody my hardness. As we filed into the hall we were greeted with deep eye contact and invited to sit and have our feet washed. It was exquisite. I clutched my stone and as I sat there, I could feel a hard lump rising through my torso. Soon, the tears started to flow. They continued for quite a long time. I was invited to discard my stone into a basket. As I did, the tears stopped. I felt like the hardness had left.
I don't know how this will sound to people who weren't there and I'm a bit nervous about sharing it. The reason I have shared here is to show that ritual does not have to be religious. The thing that defines an action as being a ritual, for me, is the notion of being purposeful and conducted in a thoughtful, conscious mindset.
As for the writing habit, I'm reinstating it and still deciding.
What rituals do you have in your life? Where did they come from? How do they affect you?
On Wednesday nights I drive over to the other side of town to meet with 20 other people in a hall attached to a Russian Orthodox church. It's choir practice night. There are the greetings as people trickle in. People connect with each other and new things are discovered. We stand in a circle to warm up with music that is familiar before learning a new song or working to develop a work in progress. New friends are made and professional connections forged. There is much laughter and warmth and it's very special singing in a group and making eye contact around the circle.
I think this is a ritual. It is regularly practised. It creates connection and leaves me with a sense of refreshment and connection. Is it any wonder that choirs have been used as an indicator of community health
Each night I light a couple of scented candles. Sometimes I think of something particular as I do and other times I just light the candle. The lighting of a candle often forms part of sacred ritual. This is an accessible and private ritual.Knitting is something I do everyday, along with reading, walking, playing music and brushing my teeth. Knitting is part of my daily ritual. I slow down, sit down and take up my needles. My hands know what to do without even looking and I soon find my rhythm. I delight in the rich colours as every piece passes through my hands. If I'm knitting for someone else, I think of them while I knit. Soon I feel calmer.
Not so long ago, writing was part of my daily habit. Is a habit the same as a ritual? I think it depends. Contemporary language has appropriated terms like "ritual" and "icon" from religious context and placed them in a purely secular, often commercial context. Sporting heroes and pop star celebrities are now referred to as icons and mundane actions like checking your phone are often referred to as rituals. Reality dating shows like "The Bachelor" hold a "rose ceremony" to remove contestants and "Survivor" incorporates "getting fire to symbolise life" into tribal council. Perhaps these are examples of things that have become ritualised.
A search of the web for images of ritual resulted in pagan images. Interesting. To me a ritual has an element of purpose or mindfulness and something changes as a result of engaging in it. And there is an order or a sequence which is observed.
I don't know how this will sound to people who weren't there and I'm a bit nervous about sharing it. The reason I have shared here is to show that ritual does not have to be religious. The thing that defines an action as being a ritual, for me, is the notion of being purposeful and conducted in a thoughtful, conscious mindset.
As for the writing habit, I'm reinstating it and still deciding.
What rituals do you have in your life? Where did they come from? How do they affect you?
Tuesday, 12 August 2014
Team work - 12 pianists and one piano!
I just watched this video of a performance as part of the TEDMED series. Twelve people play one piece on one piano. The music is interesting and we get to hear the full range of the piano being fully explored.
I watched it again and it struck me that this is a great example of a high performing team. Each member has a part to play. They are expert in the part they play. No one tries to take over someone else's part. They have to work physically closely together without distraction. They look delighted to be working together. We don't see the hours of preparation, both individual and team, that would have been required to achieve the performance we see in the film. We also don't see the debrief afterwards where there would be celebration of success and perhaps some private conversation about errors made. Perhaps they would also plan for their next piece of work.
I'm sure there is a leader. At times I think I spotted one, only to think I saw someone else. I believe this is how it is in a truly high performing team - all members shoulder responsibility and accountability for the performance of the team.
Isn't that a team you'd like to be part of?
I watched it again and it struck me that this is a great example of a high performing team. Each member has a part to play. They are expert in the part they play. No one tries to take over someone else's part. They have to work physically closely together without distraction. They look delighted to be working together. We don't see the hours of preparation, both individual and team, that would have been required to achieve the performance we see in the film. We also don't see the debrief afterwards where there would be celebration of success and perhaps some private conversation about errors made. Perhaps they would also plan for their next piece of work.
I'm sure there is a leader. At times I think I spotted one, only to think I saw someone else. I believe this is how it is in a truly high performing team - all members shoulder responsibility and accountability for the performance of the team.
Isn't that a team you'd like to be part of?
Tuesday, 5 August 2014
Shaking my booty - memories of an undiscovered ballerina.
"Ah!" she said with a sense of realisation. "I see what you're doing."
I waited to receive my diagnosis.
"You turn like a ballerina," she declared.
That was quite unexpected. In all my life, I've never been told I do anything like an ballerina.
I've started a dance class. It's been a while since I took a class. I love to dance, but then I can't bear most people in the world of formal dance. I find the world intimidating. I can move, but usually the class goes too fast for me; I get left behind and before long, I feel useless and give up.
The class is not a ballet class, so turning like a ballerina is a redundant skill. The class is called Born to Boogie and is pitched for enjoyment, although we are learning a routine and will perform in a dance off with another class. I was doing so well until we came to the instruction to "turn". The first time I tried, I didn't make it all the way around. I tried again, and this time kept going. My legs were twisted around themselves like a corkscrew. I could not work out what was wrong. This is when the study was undertaken and the declaration made.
"Have you done some ballet?"
"A long time ago," I whispered.
"Well, it's obviously in your muscle memory then."
I didn't dare tell her that the sum total of my ballet training consisted of about two classes when I was five years old. I hated it. They made us dance across the room in front of the other girls. I was embarrassed. Clearly I hadn't yet discovered my performance gene. I felt ungainly next to the other, wispy girls. Wispy is an adjective that has never and could never be applied to me. Substantial is more likely to be used and that doesn't really work for a ballerina, even when swathed in pastel pink tulle.
I must ask my mother how I came to be at ballet. I was also having piano lessons and went to art and craft classes and judo lessons. Piano turned into a lifelong passion. There is evidence of my participation in art and craft still in my parents' house; it takes the form of lumps of yellow glazed clay dishes, loosely designated as 'ashtrays'. I remember nothing about judo.
I think I must have been a high maintenance child as I always had lots of extra curricular activities. When I was about twelve I went to "cooking for adolescents". You can be forgiven for thinking that the class was for parents so they could cook delicious food for the teenagers. It did turn out to be a cunning way to give my mother the night off as whatever I produced was taken home for the family at the end of the night.
There were eight of us in the class and Mrs Quade was the ferocious teacher. I was perpetually in trouble. Using the tubular spaghetti as a straw may have been one of my transgressions. I thought it was excellent. The cuisine was basic, but I learned some great skills, like how to skin tomatoes and make fresh tomato sauce. My family feasted on such delights as rissoles, sausage casserole and something called "Apple Windsor". I carefully wrote out all the recipes in an anthology book. (Do you remember anthology books? They were a bit larger than an exercise book, one page was blank and the facing page had lines. Both pages had a decorative border. They were for writing out poems and drawing a matching picture. Talk about redundant. Isn't the poetry supposed to paint the picture? I can't draw, and am still haunted by a lumpy drawing of a malformed eagle to accompany the words "He clasps the crag with crooked claw". Well, the 'claw' was certainly crooked.)
My first dance class was great fun. I was complimented on my positive energy again. It seems to be appreciated, but I just hope it's not what people say when they're thinking "oh god, where are we going to hide her?"
In the meantime, I turn like a ballerina you know.
Do you dance? Have you rediscovered a love for something you didn't enjoy in your youth?
I waited to receive my diagnosis.
"You turn like a ballerina," she declared.
That was quite unexpected. In all my life, I've never been told I do anything like an ballerina.
I've started a dance class. It's been a while since I took a class. I love to dance, but then I can't bear most people in the world of formal dance. I find the world intimidating. I can move, but usually the class goes too fast for me; I get left behind and before long, I feel useless and give up.
The class is not a ballet class, so turning like a ballerina is a redundant skill. The class is called Born to Boogie and is pitched for enjoyment, although we are learning a routine and will perform in a dance off with another class. I was doing so well until we came to the instruction to "turn". The first time I tried, I didn't make it all the way around. I tried again, and this time kept going. My legs were twisted around themselves like a corkscrew. I could not work out what was wrong. This is when the study was undertaken and the declaration made.
"Have you done some ballet?"
 |
| Making friends with my new jazz shoes - on the feet of a latent ballerina. © 2014 divacultura |
"Well, it's obviously in your muscle memory then."
I didn't dare tell her that the sum total of my ballet training consisted of about two classes when I was five years old. I hated it. They made us dance across the room in front of the other girls. I was embarrassed. Clearly I hadn't yet discovered my performance gene. I felt ungainly next to the other, wispy girls. Wispy is an adjective that has never and could never be applied to me. Substantial is more likely to be used and that doesn't really work for a ballerina, even when swathed in pastel pink tulle.
I must ask my mother how I came to be at ballet. I was also having piano lessons and went to art and craft classes and judo lessons. Piano turned into a lifelong passion. There is evidence of my participation in art and craft still in my parents' house; it takes the form of lumps of yellow glazed clay dishes, loosely designated as 'ashtrays'. I remember nothing about judo.
I think I must have been a high maintenance child as I always had lots of extra curricular activities. When I was about twelve I went to "cooking for adolescents". You can be forgiven for thinking that the class was for parents so they could cook delicious food for the teenagers. It did turn out to be a cunning way to give my mother the night off as whatever I produced was taken home for the family at the end of the night.
There were eight of us in the class and Mrs Quade was the ferocious teacher. I was perpetually in trouble. Using the tubular spaghetti as a straw may have been one of my transgressions. I thought it was excellent. The cuisine was basic, but I learned some great skills, like how to skin tomatoes and make fresh tomato sauce. My family feasted on such delights as rissoles, sausage casserole and something called "Apple Windsor". I carefully wrote out all the recipes in an anthology book. (Do you remember anthology books? They were a bit larger than an exercise book, one page was blank and the facing page had lines. Both pages had a decorative border. They were for writing out poems and drawing a matching picture. Talk about redundant. Isn't the poetry supposed to paint the picture? I can't draw, and am still haunted by a lumpy drawing of a malformed eagle to accompany the words "He clasps the crag with crooked claw". Well, the 'claw' was certainly crooked.)
My first dance class was great fun. I was complimented on my positive energy again. It seems to be appreciated, but I just hope it's not what people say when they're thinking "oh god, where are we going to hide her?"
In the meantime, I turn like a ballerina you know.
Do you dance? Have you rediscovered a love for something you didn't enjoy in your youth?
Monday, 21 July 2014
Heavy-handed security at the Forum Theatre - all over water.
During the week I went to see Dan Sultan play at the Forum Theatre in Melbourne. While the venue is pretty, it's really like a giant pub gig. I don't mind pub gigs, but I prefer them on a smaller scale. It turned out to be quite a bizarre night.
My friend and I had both been out and about during the day. She was coming straight from work; I had dropped into home to drop some stuff off and then head straight out again. After dinner nearby, we headed to the Forum. After showing our tickets we were stopped for a bag search on the way in. One of the security guys asked me if I was carrying any liquid (I wasn't) and cast a very cursory glance in my handbag. I walked through and waited for my friend. I looked up and saw her in animated discussion with a female security guard.
I heard my friend tell the woman, "I'm not tipping my water out!"
My friend left the area and we walked into the venue.
My friend had told the guard that she had some water and she was then told that she was required to tip it out. The reason given for needing to waste the water was "we sell water inside".
We hadn't been inside long when a male security person came and asked my friend to leave. Of course I went with her. I thought it was ridiculous that water should be tipped out for the purely commercial reason of securing sales of water for the venue.
This time, there was a different reason given: we might be carrying alcohol. We weren't and offered security the opportunity to smell the liquid. "We don't do that," came the response. Two other security guards stood around us. This was getting ridiculous!
My friend eventually pulled the water bottle out of her bag, only to discover that it was empty.
I've had a look at the "rules" for the venue. This is an over 18's venue and has this information on their web:
PROHIBITED
Alcohol, cans, bottles, recording equipment, lazers, studded belts or weapons can not be brought onto the premises.
It says nothing about water. Stupidly, my friend's empty water bottle was allowed in which is technically prohibited. I imagine they are specifically concerned about glass bottles which could end up being used as a weapon or missile. Just about everyone takes their phone into these venues and are visible in their use of them as recording equipment.
The whole approach is offensive: three men standing over a small woman because she was carrying water; unclear reasons being given and the compulsion to waste a precious resource.
The female security guard didn't even look in my friend's bag. She only knew about the water because my friend was honest.
This approach was in direct contrast to the approach taken at Rod Laver Arena when we attended the Keith Urban concert recently. Keith actually spoke to the crowd about behaviour and got agreement that security wasn't going to be an issue. It wasn't.
Even at the Melbourne Cricket Ground they take the lid of the plastic bottle, but let you have the water.
I often think there's a type of person working in security. They seem to derive disproportional pleasure from their petty authority and the fact that they can direct other people. I suspect they are powerless in other facets of their lives. (I know that this is a generalisation, but it's also been my experience.)
I was ready to stand in solidarity with my friend as far as necessary (but secretly hoping we would still get to see the show).
I'm very interested to hear the venue's response. I'll keep you posted.
My friend and I had both been out and about during the day. She was coming straight from work; I had dropped into home to drop some stuff off and then head straight out again. After dinner nearby, we headed to the Forum. After showing our tickets we were stopped for a bag search on the way in. One of the security guys asked me if I was carrying any liquid (I wasn't) and cast a very cursory glance in my handbag. I walked through and waited for my friend. I looked up and saw her in animated discussion with a female security guard.
I heard my friend tell the woman, "I'm not tipping my water out!"
My friend left the area and we walked into the venue.
My friend had told the guard that she had some water and she was then told that she was required to tip it out. The reason given for needing to waste the water was "we sell water inside".
We hadn't been inside long when a male security person came and asked my friend to leave. Of course I went with her. I thought it was ridiculous that water should be tipped out for the purely commercial reason of securing sales of water for the venue.
This time, there was a different reason given: we might be carrying alcohol. We weren't and offered security the opportunity to smell the liquid. "We don't do that," came the response. Two other security guards stood around us. This was getting ridiculous!
My friend eventually pulled the water bottle out of her bag, only to discover that it was empty.
I've had a look at the "rules" for the venue. This is an over 18's venue and has this information on their web:
PROHIBITED
Alcohol, cans, bottles, recording equipment, lazers, studded belts or weapons can not be brought onto the premises.
It says nothing about water. Stupidly, my friend's empty water bottle was allowed in which is technically prohibited. I imagine they are specifically concerned about glass bottles which could end up being used as a weapon or missile. Just about everyone takes their phone into these venues and are visible in their use of them as recording equipment.
The whole approach is offensive: three men standing over a small woman because she was carrying water; unclear reasons being given and the compulsion to waste a precious resource.
The female security guard didn't even look in my friend's bag. She only knew about the water because my friend was honest.
This approach was in direct contrast to the approach taken at Rod Laver Arena when we attended the Keith Urban concert recently. Keith actually spoke to the crowd about behaviour and got agreement that security wasn't going to be an issue. It wasn't.
Even at the Melbourne Cricket Ground they take the lid of the plastic bottle, but let you have the water.
I often think there's a type of person working in security. They seem to derive disproportional pleasure from their petty authority and the fact that they can direct other people. I suspect they are powerless in other facets of their lives. (I know that this is a generalisation, but it's also been my experience.)
I was ready to stand in solidarity with my friend as far as necessary (but secretly hoping we would still get to see the show).
I'm very interested to hear the venue's response. I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, 3 July 2014
Art triumphs over science
I had a satisfying moment yesterday when I was co-facilitating an education session for a group of second year nursing students. My co-facilitator was a very experienced nurse herself and able to cover all the clinical information that I don't know. (I cover the communication and empathy components). I love these sessions because I always learn things too.I
We had just watched a mental health simulation with a female patient who had come to hospital believing she was having a heart attack. She wasn't - she was having a panic attack and it was revealed she had a long history of severe anxiety and agoraphobia. There was plenty to talk about.
My colleague led a discussion about the appropriate drug choices and how they work. We also discussed the side effects and other physical impacts of the drugs. Then we talked about "S.L.U.D.": Salivation, Lacrimation, Urination and Digestion. One of the students asked was Lacrimation was. None of the group knew, but I did.
"It's tears," I offered.
They all looked at me completely surprised. (I'd shared that I had no clinical background.)
"The "Lacrymosa" in the Mozart Requiem, is the movement about crying. I just figured the Latin was probably related."
They looked at me completely surprised again.
This little moment reminded me how handy a broad arts education is. Language is the basis of our communication, understanding and knowledge and I can usually work out most things. It helped me on a game show once when I had to name the South American city who name meant "mountain view". "Monte Video", I answered. I didn't "know" the answer, but I'd worked it out based on the language.
Yesterday's insight wasn't even gained from a language class, but from long exposure to Latin and other languages when singing in choirs!
More and I more I realise how important and useful my broad arts education is. It helps me navigate the world.
We had just watched a mental health simulation with a female patient who had come to hospital believing she was having a heart attack. She wasn't - she was having a panic attack and it was revealed she had a long history of severe anxiety and agoraphobia. There was plenty to talk about.
My colleague led a discussion about the appropriate drug choices and how they work. We also discussed the side effects and other physical impacts of the drugs. Then we talked about "S.L.U.D.": Salivation, Lacrimation, Urination and Digestion. One of the students asked was Lacrimation was. None of the group knew, but I did.
"It's tears," I offered.They all looked at me completely surprised. (I'd shared that I had no clinical background.)
"The "Lacrymosa" in the Mozart Requiem, is the movement about crying. I just figured the Latin was probably related."
They looked at me completely surprised again.
This little moment reminded me how handy a broad arts education is. Language is the basis of our communication, understanding and knowledge and I can usually work out most things. It helped me on a game show once when I had to name the South American city who name meant "mountain view". "Monte Video", I answered. I didn't "know" the answer, but I'd worked it out based on the language.
Yesterday's insight wasn't even gained from a language class, but from long exposure to Latin and other languages when singing in choirs!
More and I more I realise how important and useful my broad arts education is. It helps me navigate the world.
Saturday, 28 June 2014
Lighting the fuse with Keith Urban.
On Thursday night I went with a friend to see Keith Urban at Rod Laver Arena. I'd never been to one of his shows before, but had heard good things. He had played the night before - his wedding anniversary - and was off to Narrabri in north-western New South Wales as part of his Light the Fuse tour.
We'd both had a long and busy day and had to prioritise dinner over the support act, Sheppard. We waited at the tram stop for about ten minutes and then were told, once we'd boarded our tram that we weren't going anywhere because they were waiting for the police to come and remove a drunken passenger from the tram in front. As we walked to the cab rank we passed a group of four Protective Services Officers standing out the front of Flinders Street Station. They are supposed to be the transit police, but they were no help at that moment. Two other pairs of women got off the same tram and I asked if they were also going to Keith Urban. They were, so four of us shared a $10 cab ride.
Our seats were fantastic. We were right up the front and it was such a pleasure to be at a big arena show and not have to rely on the screens to see the show.
The crowd was eclectic and the lack of cowboy hats and boots reflected that we were actually at a rock concert, rather than a country one, or even country rock. That was okay with me - I like to see talented musicians play anything (except any variety of Metal, as I've discussed before).
The music was great. The band was on fire. There were banjos and mandolins, but this was still a rock concert. Keith stopped for a chat early on and read the many signs held up by fans. He made it clear that we wouldn't be needing security tonight and gained the crowd's agreement to be well behaved. A girl holding a sign that said "Dad said he'd give me $100 if I get a selfie with you" was brought up on stage to get the photo. Keith was hilarious. The holder of another sign that read, "Kiss me. I'm getting hitched!" was also brought on stage. She was wearing her souvenir Keith Urban hoodie and was quick to answer when Keith asked who's playing at the wedding: "You are." he asked for the date and then told the band to mark the date in their diaries.
Further into the show, he walked through the crowd up to another microphone that had been set up half way up one of the wings of the arena. He played and sang from there. The crowd was going wild - except for the sour looking woman standing next to his left leg. She was so absorbed in her mobile phone and trying to work out how to take a photo - and pushing her husband out of the way - that she didn't see a thing. And her face was something to behold. I took some photos on my iphone, but really noticed a lot of people seemed to be only watching the show through the screen they held in their hands. What's the point of that?
At the end of the song, Keith signed the guitar he was playing and handed it to a boy who was wearing a Keith Urban t-shirt. The boy looked to be about eleven years old and he was beside himself with happiness and shock. It was quite moving.
The encore showcased some of the best music of the night and the band threw picks and drum sticks to the crowd. Keith's wristbands were also flung, one landing somewhere near us. People scrambled under chairs in the dark to find it.
After all the music had been played, the band took a bow and Keith stepped forward to thank us for coming. He acknowledged that it costs a lot of money to come to shows like these and he said he knew that most people wouldn't be able to go to every show they wanted to. That meant that we'd made choices and he really appreciated us choosing to come to his show. "Thank you."
Keith Urban is an incredible guitarist, pretty good song writer, vibrant performer and it would seem, humble and real. It brings something extra to the show.
We'd both had a long and busy day and had to prioritise dinner over the support act, Sheppard. We waited at the tram stop for about ten minutes and then were told, once we'd boarded our tram that we weren't going anywhere because they were waiting for the police to come and remove a drunken passenger from the tram in front. As we walked to the cab rank we passed a group of four Protective Services Officers standing out the front of Flinders Street Station. They are supposed to be the transit police, but they were no help at that moment. Two other pairs of women got off the same tram and I asked if they were also going to Keith Urban. They were, so four of us shared a $10 cab ride.
Our seats were fantastic. We were right up the front and it was such a pleasure to be at a big arena show and not have to rely on the screens to see the show.
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| Close enough to the see the man © 2014 divacultura |
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| Keith Urban © 2014 divacultura |
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| Guitar great © 2014 divacultura |
Further into the show, he walked through the crowd up to another microphone that had been set up half way up one of the wings of the arena. He played and sang from there. The crowd was going wild - except for the sour looking woman standing next to his left leg. She was so absorbed in her mobile phone and trying to work out how to take a photo - and pushing her husband out of the way - that she didn't see a thing. And her face was something to behold. I took some photos on my iphone, but really noticed a lot of people seemed to be only watching the show through the screen they held in their hands. What's the point of that?
At the end of the song, Keith signed the guitar he was playing and handed it to a boy who was wearing a Keith Urban t-shirt. The boy looked to be about eleven years old and he was beside himself with happiness and shock. It was quite moving.
The encore showcased some of the best music of the night and the band threw picks and drum sticks to the crowd. Keith's wristbands were also flung, one landing somewhere near us. People scrambled under chairs in the dark to find it.
After all the music had been played, the band took a bow and Keith stepped forward to thank us for coming. He acknowledged that it costs a lot of money to come to shows like these and he said he knew that most people wouldn't be able to go to every show they wanted to. That meant that we'd made choices and he really appreciated us choosing to come to his show. "Thank you."
Keith Urban is an incredible guitarist, pretty good song writer, vibrant performer and it would seem, humble and real. It brings something extra to the show.
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| In ballad mode © 2014 divacultura |
Sunday, 8 June 2014
Back in the olden days - when I wanted to be Tina Arena
I've started going to a new salon, closer to home, for my skin care. Yesterday I hit the jackpot when I met Amy, my new favourite therapist.
"Did they have treatments for that back then?" Amy asked.
As she started to look at my skin, she commented on the fact that I have no lines. I liked her immediately and then asked her, why I would, since I'm only 20! She laughed, a little unsure, but then realised that I was joking.
I commented on the flute music that was playing and why everyone seems to think it's soothing. It doesn't soothe me. It pierces something important in my brain. She offered to change it and then we forgot. She marked on my card not to play the flute music when I'm in.
We got talking about music and she told me that her mother is quite a good singer, "not professional or anything, but she sings at family functions".
I asked her if she's seen the TV show, "Nashville" and recommended it. She asked me if I watch "regular TV" and I said that I quite like "The Voice". We talked about the elegance of Kylie Minogue, the pure handsome masculinity of Ricky Martin and the eccentricity of Will.i.am. I can't remember what we said about Joel.
"Did you know there's a kids' version coming out?" Amy asked me.
Of course. This got me talking about Young Talent Time and how I wanted to BE Tina Arena.
Amy went quiet.
"I remember when Tina came on as a contestant. She was about 11 years old and was dressed like Pocahontas. She sang "Money, Money, Money" by ABBA. I thought she was fantastic. I wanted to be Tina Arena."
Any idea that I was only 20, was banished from Amy's thoughts.
We talked some more about my skin and I said that I wish I didn't have enlarged pores on my nose. This got me thinking about a girl at school who had had the most impressive crop of blackheads on her face.
"Did they have treatments for that back then?" Amy asked.
I burst out laughing. "What, back in the olden days?" I asked.
She told me that she didn't mean to offend me, she was just wondering.
I told her I wasn't offended, just amused about the picture she must have of life and skin care late last century. Surely we all scrubbed ourselves with carbolic soap and used methylated spirits as a skin toner, before flaying ourselves with steel wool if the acne was particularly bad.
To help her get over her embarrassment, I asked her where her mother learned to sing.
Amy told me her mother had been a nun from the age of 18 to 29. She was posted to Bourke in outback New South Wales as a school teacher and met Amy's father there.
I'd love to hear the rest of the story some time. I'd like to meet Amy's mother. Her daughter is lovely.
Friday, 25 April 2014
We've boundless plains to share - lest we forget
The alarm went off at 4:45am and I was immediately awake, despite being mid-dream. I could hear light rain falling on the corrugated roof and my resolve to attend the ANZAC Day dawn service in Tamworth nearly crumbled. I pressed on. We drove through the streets, deserted until we neared ANZAC Park, found a park and walked towards the crowd assembled in the pre-dawn.
The rain had stopped. The service was conducted with moving simplicity. The crowd was asked to join in for the hymn, "Abide with Me". I did, but couldn't hear many others. The bugler played "The Last Post", lacking power, volume and confidence, but adding in lots of notes not usually heard in the piece. (Bugles are very hard to play, especially if you're nervous or emotional.) The gentle morning warble of magpies filled the silences.
A piper played something I didn't recognise on the bagpipes and the kookaburras thought it was hilarious. My brother and I found that hilarious and had to avoid looking at each other to avoid ruining the solemnity of the moment. Meanwhile the kookaburras laughed and laughed and laughed.
Both verses of the national anthem, "Advance Australia Fair" were sung, including the lines about welcoming people who come here from across the sea: "we've boundless plains to share". There were a few more voices joining in this time.
We dispersed just as the sky was beginning to lighten. People staying to talk, look at the wreaths, while others took off to find their sometimes precariously parked cars.
We went back into town later for the march down Peel Street. As the bands played, the servicemen and women, and children from every school in Tamworth, paraded before an appreciative crowd. Overhead, planes flew in a formation that looked like the outline of an aeroplane itself. Tiny children, weighed down by the medals of a deceased relative, walked restlessly; others looked curiously at the crowd while waving, delighted to receive the occasional reciprocal wave.
I was heartened to hear that all but a handful of Australia's servicemen and women are back home. I hope the others return soon and that there is no need for them to go away again unless in a community assistance role. We are fortunate. I hope that today's reflection may cause our community to be appreciative of the fact that our citizens can generally live safely and peacefully, acknowledging that this is not the case for all people in the world. I hope that we can extend our hands to those people and be true to the words of our national anthem. Lest we forget.
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| Wreaths laid in Tamworth at the dawn service for ANZAC Day. Copyright 2014 divacultura |
A piper played something I didn't recognise on the bagpipes and the kookaburras thought it was hilarious. My brother and I found that hilarious and had to avoid looking at each other to avoid ruining the solemnity of the moment. Meanwhile the kookaburras laughed and laughed and laughed.
Both verses of the national anthem, "Advance Australia Fair" were sung, including the lines about welcoming people who come here from across the sea: "we've boundless plains to share". There were a few more voices joining in this time.
 |
| Flag at half mast as the dawn breaks in Tamworth this morning. Copyright 2014 divacultura |
We went back into town later for the march down Peel Street. As the bands played, the servicemen and women, and children from every school in Tamworth, paraded before an appreciative crowd. Overhead, planes flew in a formation that looked like the outline of an aeroplane itself. Tiny children, weighed down by the medals of a deceased relative, walked restlessly; others looked curiously at the crowd while waving, delighted to receive the occasional reciprocal wave.
I was heartened to hear that all but a handful of Australia's servicemen and women are back home. I hope the others return soon and that there is no need for them to go away again unless in a community assistance role. We are fortunate. I hope that today's reflection may cause our community to be appreciative of the fact that our citizens can generally live safely and peacefully, acknowledging that this is not the case for all people in the world. I hope that we can extend our hands to those people and be true to the words of our national anthem. Lest we forget.
Advance Australia Fair
Australians all let us rejoice,
For we are young and free;
We’ve golden soil and wealth for toil;
Our home is girt by sea;
Our land abounds in nature’s gifts
Of beauty rich and rare;
In history’s page, let every stage
Advance Australia Fair.
In joyful strains then let us sing,
Advance Australia Fair.
Beneath our radiant Southern Cross
We’ll toil with hearts and hands;
To make this Commonwealth of ours
Renowned of all the lands;
For those who’ve come across the seas
We’ve boundless plains to share;
With courage let us all combine
To Advance Australia Fair.
In joyful strains then let us sing,
Advance Australia Fair.
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
In concert - Bernadette Peters
I spent last night with Broadway star Bernadette Peters in concert. I saw her a few years ago at the Sydney Opera House and remember being a little disappointed. I put it down to the dodgy acoustics. When she came out and started with "Let me Entertain You" from the musical Gypsy, I wondered if it wasn't the hall that was the problem last time.
Before the show I struck up a conversation with a woman whose table I was sharing while I had a cup of coffee. She didn't really know who Bernadette Peters is and had won her ticket on the radio. I told her that she's 67 years old as the woman looked at her program. The woman told me that she hadn't looked as good as Bernadette when she was 25! I considered her now and believed this to be true.
Ms Peters looked fantastic wearing a spaghetti-strapped, soft lilac gown with just the right amount of sparkle and a split in the front of the skirt coupled with satin heels. She shimmied around the stage and wasn't always on the microphone.
Hamming it up during one of the best versions of "Fever" I've ever heard, the diva slinked her way up the stairs to lie on a black velvet pillow and strike a shapely drape on top of the piano, she sang the song with lust and wit accompanied by double bass and drums. Yes! This was great performance.
Charming conversation interspersed the evening. "Joanna" from Sweeney Todd started with a cracked note, but improved from there. I started to get a bit twitchy and then I realised what the problem was. Bernadette Peters is much more an actress who sings, than a singer who acts. She is at her best when there's an emotional or comic element to the song. Listening to her sing is not enough and will be a disappointing experience. If you can absorb yourself in the emotion of the performance, then the experience is sublime. Losing my Mind from Stephen Sondeheim's Follies was extraordinarily emotional and like watching someone have a break down driven by the grief of a broken relationship.
The show ended with the big Sondheim song, Being Alive from Company, full of hope (and a fluffed lyric or two).
For encore, Peter Allen's song "I Honestly Love You" left me with tears overflowing. She then shared "Kramer's Song" a song she wrote as part of a children's book written for an animal shelter charity. Kramer is her dog and it was lovely.
I'd love to see Bernadette Peters in a show, rather than just in concert. It must be incredible.
Were you there at Her Majesty's Theatre last night? Have you seen Bernadette Peters? What did you think?
Before the show I struck up a conversation with a woman whose table I was sharing while I had a cup of coffee. She didn't really know who Bernadette Peters is and had won her ticket on the radio. I told her that she's 67 years old as the woman looked at her program. The woman told me that she hadn't looked as good as Bernadette when she was 25! I considered her now and believed this to be true.
Ms Peters looked fantastic wearing a spaghetti-strapped, soft lilac gown with just the right amount of sparkle and a split in the front of the skirt coupled with satin heels. She shimmied around the stage and wasn't always on the microphone.
Hamming it up during one of the best versions of "Fever" I've ever heard, the diva slinked her way up the stairs to lie on a black velvet pillow and strike a shapely drape on top of the piano, she sang the song with lust and wit accompanied by double bass and drums. Yes! This was great performance.
Charming conversation interspersed the evening. "Joanna" from Sweeney Todd started with a cracked note, but improved from there. I started to get a bit twitchy and then I realised what the problem was. Bernadette Peters is much more an actress who sings, than a singer who acts. She is at her best when there's an emotional or comic element to the song. Listening to her sing is not enough and will be a disappointing experience. If you can absorb yourself in the emotion of the performance, then the experience is sublime. Losing my Mind from Stephen Sondeheim's Follies was extraordinarily emotional and like watching someone have a break down driven by the grief of a broken relationship.
The show ended with the big Sondheim song, Being Alive from Company, full of hope (and a fluffed lyric or two).
For encore, Peter Allen's song "I Honestly Love You" left me with tears overflowing. She then shared "Kramer's Song" a song she wrote as part of a children's book written for an animal shelter charity. Kramer is her dog and it was lovely.
I'd love to see Bernadette Peters in a show, rather than just in concert. It must be incredible.
Were you there at Her Majesty's Theatre last night? Have you seen Bernadette Peters? What did you think?
Friday, 4 April 2014
What I'm saying "thank you" for this week.
This morning I woke up at 5am, forty-five minutes before my alarm was set to go off. I'm grateful because it gave me time to wash my hair and still be at work on time. I felt better about myself today.
Thank you.
A participant in the program I have been facilitating this week, bowled up to me at the end of the two days, looked in my eyes, smiled and told me that I had really inspired him.
Thank you.
Another participant told me that he had realised that he has been badly behaved at work. He also told me that his behaviour had been bad for 40 years and no one had ever told him. He told me that he now knows he needs to change. He told me he needs help because he doesn't know how to make the change. I felt privileged to be the person he confided in. I had thought he would be difficult to deal with, but I had really enjoyed his participation. I told him so.
Thank you.
I was to meet a friend who is visiting Melbourne this evening. He received an invitation relevant to the conference he's here attending and had to change our plans. We're meeting tomorrow for lunch. I'll be much fresher and awake! (I'm very tired this evening.) I now get a bonus early night and still get to see my friend.
Thank you.
Listening to the story of a boy who fled Afghanistan at the age of 14 after his father was murdered and spent a year in immigration detention on Christmas Island, I thought about what I was doing when I was fourteen. I was at school. I was starring in the school musical. I was playing music. I was reading novels. I was hanging out with friends and writing letters to my pen pals. I don't think I would have been able travel alone to the other side of the planet and start a new life. This boy is now vice captain at his school and is relishing the opportunity he has to sit exams.
Thank you.
Lastly, I'm grateful for Survivor. Last night was sensational viewing in the Beauty, Brawn and Brains season. The show gave me a point of connection with one of the less engaged participants at today's workshop. I also had a fabulous debrief on the phone afterwards with one of my friends. (For the record, Cass did her dash last night and LJ is very nice to have around.)
Thank you.
And lastly, always, thank you for the music. This week I've been listening to Max Richter's The Four Seasons Recomposed and The Fray's album "Helios".
What are you saying "thank you" for this week?
Thank you.
A participant in the program I have been facilitating this week, bowled up to me at the end of the two days, looked in my eyes, smiled and told me that I had really inspired him.
Thank you.
Another participant told me that he had realised that he has been badly behaved at work. He also told me that his behaviour had been bad for 40 years and no one had ever told him. He told me that he now knows he needs to change. He told me he needs help because he doesn't know how to make the change. I felt privileged to be the person he confided in. I had thought he would be difficult to deal with, but I had really enjoyed his participation. I told him so.
Thank you.
I was to meet a friend who is visiting Melbourne this evening. He received an invitation relevant to the conference he's here attending and had to change our plans. We're meeting tomorrow for lunch. I'll be much fresher and awake! (I'm very tired this evening.) I now get a bonus early night and still get to see my friend.
Thank you.
Listening to the story of a boy who fled Afghanistan at the age of 14 after his father was murdered and spent a year in immigration detention on Christmas Island, I thought about what I was doing when I was fourteen. I was at school. I was starring in the school musical. I was playing music. I was reading novels. I was hanging out with friends and writing letters to my pen pals. I don't think I would have been able travel alone to the other side of the planet and start a new life. This boy is now vice captain at his school and is relishing the opportunity he has to sit exams.
Thank you.
Lastly, I'm grateful for Survivor. Last night was sensational viewing in the Beauty, Brawn and Brains season. The show gave me a point of connection with one of the less engaged participants at today's workshop. I also had a fabulous debrief on the phone afterwards with one of my friends. (For the record, Cass did her dash last night and LJ is very nice to have around.)
Thank you.
And lastly, always, thank you for the music. This week I've been listening to Max Richter's The Four Seasons Recomposed and The Fray's album "Helios".
What are you saying "thank you" for this week?
Monday, 24 March 2014
Discoveries - music sub-genres!
And we're back. Life has been overwhelmingly busy for the last couple of weeks and I haven't had the brain space to write. I've missed the discipline and noticed that I wasn't being as observant in the world either. Thanks to readers who have expressed grief at the lack of regular posts from divacultura. It's nice to be missed!
Yesterday I did something that I used to do all the time, but haven't done for ages. I went into a music shop and I bought a CD! I mainly buy my music online, but will buy CDs direct from artists when I attend a gig.
I'd just had lunch with a friend and we decided to have a post lunch wander. A nearby music shop, specialising in classical, jazz and soundtracks beckoned. Fatally, I plugged into the listening post and was seduced by long-buried Cuban dance music, West African desert music and something else that defies classification but is about birds. It was gorgeous. We even engaged in passionate and animated conversation with the staff member who knew about music and appreciated the conversation.
Having had a taste, we crossed one city block and went to a second hand vinyl and CD shop. The shop was located at the end of a narrow, grungy staircase and we were immediately in the middle of the Heavy Metal section. I decided to browse. This is one genre of music that holds no appeal for me. I just don't know how one accesses it to the point of appreciation. Obviously there is a way as many people embrace the form, but I just don't know what it is. Prior to yesterday, I was aware that there are a couple of sub-genres, for example, Death Metal and Thrash Metal. This section included others: Tech, Grindcore and Black. Most of the album covers were black or a variation on black. I might have been wearing a black jacket, but I felt like I couldn't have looked more incongruent if I had been wearing a cream cable knit jumper to a goth fest.
As I browsed, it struck me how difficult it must be to come up with a band name in the Metal area. Examples I noticed included: Trepanning (yes, that's usually a word that refers to drilling into the skull), Horrendous Injuries, Napalm Death, Cannibal Corpse. There are detailed descriptions of the various genres available on Wikipedia. It's actually fascinating and the drummers are incredible as they generally play very, very fast.
I moved to the next section and discovered a genre called "Krautrock". I'd never heard of this and it seems the genre was obscure to others as there was a helpful sign with information. Krautrock was popular in the 1960's and 1970's and is a "mix of anglo-american post-psychedelic jamming and moody progressive rock". It originated in Germany, in case that wasn't obvious. It was also about challenging formulas, like the three chord patterns that dominate rock and pop music. I have no idea what it sounds like.
Over in the punk section, I was unsurprised to find albums with titles ranging from the prosaic "Shit gets smashed" to the more political, "Social Unrest". Right next door I discovered another genre: Stoner Doom. Sounds cheery. My online exploration has revealed that "doom" is a genre of its own and that there are the following subgenres: traditional, epic, stoner, sludge, funeral, drone, death and black.
There were many delightful curiosities: only 9 albums in the 20th Century section, but 10 items in the Spokenword and Poetry section. Nearby, I resisted purchasing my very own copy of the Chipmunks sing the Beatles. My friend resisted buying a record (yes, an LP) of French poems read in French. Neither of us has the space to store physical copies of joke recordings.
Aimless wandering and browsing in company is a great thing to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I remember doing this in bookstores too. Now I do it online at home by myself. Tweeting about a discovery or exclaiming over an album title just isn't fulfilling.
What musical discoveries have you made lately?
Yesterday I did something that I used to do all the time, but haven't done for ages. I went into a music shop and I bought a CD! I mainly buy my music online, but will buy CDs direct from artists when I attend a gig.
I'd just had lunch with a friend and we decided to have a post lunch wander. A nearby music shop, specialising in classical, jazz and soundtracks beckoned. Fatally, I plugged into the listening post and was seduced by long-buried Cuban dance music, West African desert music and something else that defies classification but is about birds. It was gorgeous. We even engaged in passionate and animated conversation with the staff member who knew about music and appreciated the conversation.
Having had a taste, we crossed one city block and went to a second hand vinyl and CD shop. The shop was located at the end of a narrow, grungy staircase and we were immediately in the middle of the Heavy Metal section. I decided to browse. This is one genre of music that holds no appeal for me. I just don't know how one accesses it to the point of appreciation. Obviously there is a way as many people embrace the form, but I just don't know what it is. Prior to yesterday, I was aware that there are a couple of sub-genres, for example, Death Metal and Thrash Metal. This section included others: Tech, Grindcore and Black. Most of the album covers were black or a variation on black. I might have been wearing a black jacket, but I felt like I couldn't have looked more incongruent if I had been wearing a cream cable knit jumper to a goth fest.
As I browsed, it struck me how difficult it must be to come up with a band name in the Metal area. Examples I noticed included: Trepanning (yes, that's usually a word that refers to drilling into the skull), Horrendous Injuries, Napalm Death, Cannibal Corpse. There are detailed descriptions of the various genres available on Wikipedia. It's actually fascinating and the drummers are incredible as they generally play very, very fast.
I moved to the next section and discovered a genre called "Krautrock". I'd never heard of this and it seems the genre was obscure to others as there was a helpful sign with information. Krautrock was popular in the 1960's and 1970's and is a "mix of anglo-american post-psychedelic jamming and moody progressive rock". It originated in Germany, in case that wasn't obvious. It was also about challenging formulas, like the three chord patterns that dominate rock and pop music. I have no idea what it sounds like.
Over in the punk section, I was unsurprised to find albums with titles ranging from the prosaic "Shit gets smashed" to the more political, "Social Unrest". Right next door I discovered another genre: Stoner Doom. Sounds cheery. My online exploration has revealed that "doom" is a genre of its own and that there are the following subgenres: traditional, epic, stoner, sludge, funeral, drone, death and black.
There were many delightful curiosities: only 9 albums in the 20th Century section, but 10 items in the Spokenword and Poetry section. Nearby, I resisted purchasing my very own copy of the Chipmunks sing the Beatles. My friend resisted buying a record (yes, an LP) of French poems read in French. Neither of us has the space to store physical copies of joke recordings.
Aimless wandering and browsing in company is a great thing to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I remember doing this in bookstores too. Now I do it online at home by myself. Tweeting about a discovery or exclaiming over an album title just isn't fulfilling.
What musical discoveries have you made lately?
Wednesday, 12 March 2014
Cuban jazz gets feet tapping
Last night I had the great pleasure of hearing Cuban jazz pianist Roberto Fonseca play with his band at the Melbourne Recital Centre. Woooo-eeee! It was amazing.The only thing that would have made it more amazing would have been the space to get up and dance! Within the constraints of my chair, I was dancing anyway. The band was interesting - double bass/bass guitar, drum kit, a second percussionist with congas, djembes and various other things to hit and rattle (he also sang vocals occasionally) and kora, an African stringed gourd instrument. There was also clever use of recorded sounds and vocal tracks. They were a tight ensemble.
I was selling CDs afterwards (my friend is the tour promoter) and we sold every one in a flash. The album is the Grammy nominated "Yo". I was so pumped after the show, it was hard to sleep.
Roberto is playing The Basement in Sydney tonight. Even if jazz isn't your thing, if you like music at all, this is a band to see and hear, they are an incredible ensemble.
I was selling CDs afterwards (my friend is the tour promoter) and we sold every one in a flash. The album is the Grammy nominated "Yo". I was so pumped after the show, it was hard to sleep.
Roberto is playing The Basement in Sydney tonight. Even if jazz isn't your thing, if you like music at all, this is a band to see and hear, they are an incredible ensemble.
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| Roberto Fonseca and me after the show. © 2014 divacultura |
Monday, 10 March 2014
Cultural intake - what I've been seeing and hearing lately
I've had a cultural kind of weekend.
Friday night, I went to the Melbourne Recital Centre to hear the Balanescu Quartet play. Well, it was quartet plus occasional drum kit and looped recorded sound. Visual interest was added with film, including projections on the back of the music stands. Perfect! This was always redundant space and it's great to see it used for something other than advertising!
Anytime I hear music played in Elisabeth Murdoch Hall it is magical. The sound is incredible, no matter what is being played.
On my daily walk past the Malthouse Theatre, and on my way to the Balanescu Quartet, I stopped in at the box office and bought a ticket to see Simon Stone's production, "The Government Inpsector". It was to be a production of "The Philadelphia Story", but rights were refused and this production cleverly turns this rejection into an opportunity. I needed to see it out of curiosity, if nothing else.
I had the best seat in the house (centre front) and laughed myself sick for the duration. It was a matinee though and I wondered how the "language" would go down with the audience. I walked out still laughing, but noticed the rest of the audience seemed quiet, reserved and then I overhead one woman say to another, "Well, it takes all types of people doesn't it?" The I noticed she had been sitting beside me. Was she talking about me or the play?
It's delightfully creative and refreshing. Who needs to see another production of "The Philadelphia Story" anyway? The Age has a review here.
Yesterday, it was off to the movies to see "Her", the film that won the Oscar for best original screenplay and has one of my favourite actors, Joaquin Phoenix. It's an interesting premise and I would suggest, is actually a science fiction film. It's set sometime in the not too distant future where technology is familiar but can do just a little more than what mine does for me right now. Phoenix plays Theodore, a man separated from his wife and living alone with only virtual reality "people", the receptionist at work and a woman who lives in the same building for company. He purchases the new OS1, a "smart" virtual assistant, customised with a female voice (played by Scarlett Johannson) and falls in love with her. There's a suggestion that she also falls for him.
Cut 30 minutes out and it would have been fantastic.
Oh, and get the two women sitting next me, chatting away as thought they were alone in their loungeroom, to SHUT UP!
Tomorrow night I'm off to see Cuban jazz pianist Roberto Fonseca at the Melbourne Recital Centre. I'll be selling CDs too, so if you're there, come and say hello.
What have been doing lately?
Friday night, I went to the Melbourne Recital Centre to hear the Balanescu Quartet play. Well, it was quartet plus occasional drum kit and looped recorded sound. Visual interest was added with film, including projections on the back of the music stands. Perfect! This was always redundant space and it's great to see it used for something other than advertising!
Anytime I hear music played in Elisabeth Murdoch Hall it is magical. The sound is incredible, no matter what is being played.
On my daily walk past the Malthouse Theatre, and on my way to the Balanescu Quartet, I stopped in at the box office and bought a ticket to see Simon Stone's production, "The Government Inpsector". It was to be a production of "The Philadelphia Story", but rights were refused and this production cleverly turns this rejection into an opportunity. I needed to see it out of curiosity, if nothing else.
I had the best seat in the house (centre front) and laughed myself sick for the duration. It was a matinee though and I wondered how the "language" would go down with the audience. I walked out still laughing, but noticed the rest of the audience seemed quiet, reserved and then I overhead one woman say to another, "Well, it takes all types of people doesn't it?" The I noticed she had been sitting beside me. Was she talking about me or the play?
It's delightfully creative and refreshing. Who needs to see another production of "The Philadelphia Story" anyway? The Age has a review here.
Yesterday, it was off to the movies to see "Her", the film that won the Oscar for best original screenplay and has one of my favourite actors, Joaquin Phoenix. It's an interesting premise and I would suggest, is actually a science fiction film. It's set sometime in the not too distant future where technology is familiar but can do just a little more than what mine does for me right now. Phoenix plays Theodore, a man separated from his wife and living alone with only virtual reality "people", the receptionist at work and a woman who lives in the same building for company. He purchases the new OS1, a "smart" virtual assistant, customised with a female voice (played by Scarlett Johannson) and falls in love with her. There's a suggestion that she also falls for him.
Cut 30 minutes out and it would have been fantastic.
Oh, and get the two women sitting next me, chatting away as thought they were alone in their loungeroom, to SHUT UP!
Tomorrow night I'm off to see Cuban jazz pianist Roberto Fonseca at the Melbourne Recital Centre. I'll be selling CDs too, so if you're there, come and say hello.
What have been doing lately?
Tuesday, 18 February 2014
A Bruce story and mixed messages from the stadium.
Melbourne was buzzing with Bruce Springsteen stories over the weekend. People were wearing tour t-shirts, old and new, and the name of The Boss could be heard when eavesdropping in cafes.
The Yarraville Festival was on Sunday and before I headed off to see the show, I had a poke around the stalls as there are often some interesting wares to be found. As I asked a stall owner about a dress, she told me that she was very excited because Bruce Springsteen is in town and "everyone is talking about it!" She then asked if she could tell me her Bruce story. Naturally I said yes.
"Well it was a few years ago and I was at the concert down the front. My boyfriend at the time was six foot four and I'm quite short and was surrounded by really tall people. I couldn't see anything. My boyfriend told me to get up on his shoulders and I did. Anyway, I was there waving my arms around - it was great, I could see everything - and then Bruce paused and started to wave his arms from side to side, then I realised that he was waving at me! I waved back! We did that for about twenty seconds!"
Her excitement over this 20 second exchange was equivalent to the level I would display if I'd been invited for a night cap and a private audience after the show. That wasn't the end of the story...
"And the other day, I came across this video on the internet. It was made by fans, for fans and anyway, I watched the whole thing - it went for about half an hour and then right at the end, there was me waving to Bruce and he was waving back! I reckon they had me there for about 6 seconds! At least I know it really happened!!!"
She laughed as the endorphins surged as she relived the experience. I'd have to call an ambulance if she'd had the night cap.
At the gates to the stadium we went through the usual bag search and noticed that all drink bottles were having their lids removed and anything over 1 litre was being confiscated. I asked why, wondering if was a cynical attempt to boost bar sales.
"Well see that lid?" the security woman held up the pale blue lid of a Mount Franklin bottle of water.
I nodded.
"That's a potential weapon. People were throwing them at Bruce."
Her grim delivery of the message nearly convinced me until I saw the size of the stadium. The world's greatest baseball player would have trouble getting that lid to hit its target. And what kind of fan wants to throw bottle tops at The Boss? A friend later told me that the lids are confiscated so that full bottles of liquid can not be thrown.
As I sat in the stadium before the show began, I noticed all the signs around the stadium.
One sequence that had me puzzled was the invitation to "join the conversation" via this billboard:
This was immediately followed by severe warnings that photography is forbidden in the stadium. That third icon represents Instagram, the photo sharing social media platform. Most people would obey this sign and ignore the other.
Lastly, there was the sign that said "Text anti social behaviour to [phone number]". The idea of personal safety within a stadium environment is important and while I think it's great to provide a way for people to report bad behaviour, this instruction is very ambiguous. It could mean:
The Yarraville Festival was on Sunday and before I headed off to see the show, I had a poke around the stalls as there are often some interesting wares to be found. As I asked a stall owner about a dress, she told me that she was very excited because Bruce Springsteen is in town and "everyone is talking about it!" She then asked if she could tell me her Bruce story. Naturally I said yes.
"Well it was a few years ago and I was at the concert down the front. My boyfriend at the time was six foot four and I'm quite short and was surrounded by really tall people. I couldn't see anything. My boyfriend told me to get up on his shoulders and I did. Anyway, I was there waving my arms around - it was great, I could see everything - and then Bruce paused and started to wave his arms from side to side, then I realised that he was waving at me! I waved back! We did that for about twenty seconds!"
Her excitement over this 20 second exchange was equivalent to the level I would display if I'd been invited for a night cap and a private audience after the show. That wasn't the end of the story...
"And the other day, I came across this video on the internet. It was made by fans, for fans and anyway, I watched the whole thing - it went for about half an hour and then right at the end, there was me waving to Bruce and he was waving back! I reckon they had me there for about 6 seconds! At least I know it really happened!!!"
She laughed as the endorphins surged as she relived the experience. I'd have to call an ambulance if she'd had the night cap.
At the gates to the stadium we went through the usual bag search and noticed that all drink bottles were having their lids removed and anything over 1 litre was being confiscated. I asked why, wondering if was a cynical attempt to boost bar sales.
"Well see that lid?" the security woman held up the pale blue lid of a Mount Franklin bottle of water.
I nodded.
"That's a potential weapon. People were throwing them at Bruce."
Her grim delivery of the message nearly convinced me until I saw the size of the stadium. The world's greatest baseball player would have trouble getting that lid to hit its target. And what kind of fan wants to throw bottle tops at The Boss? A friend later told me that the lids are confiscated so that full bottles of liquid can not be thrown.
As I sat in the stadium before the show began, I noticed all the signs around the stadium.
One sequence that had me puzzled was the invitation to "join the conversation" via this billboard:
 |
| © 2014 divacultura |
Lastly, there was the sign that said "Text anti social behaviour to [phone number]". The idea of personal safety within a stadium environment is important and while I think it's great to provide a way for people to report bad behaviour, this instruction is very ambiguous. It could mean:
- I send a text message with the words "anti social behaviour". What happens next?
- I could send a message that is an example of anti social behaviour, for example "$#%^ off". What happens next?
- I could send a picture of someone behaving badly. What happens next?
I suppose what they want is for a text message with details of who, when and where the behaviour is occurring so those fifteen year olds wearing a high-vis vest with the word "Security" emblazoned on the back could receive a message through their ear piece.
There was no anti social behaviour near me and I resisted the urge to be mischievous by sending pointless text messages.
I hope Bruce wasn't injured by a stray bottle top.
Monday, 17 February 2014
An audience with the Boss - Bruce Springsteen plays Melbourne.
Bruce Springsteen has long been one of my favourite songwriters. Ever since my grade eleven English teacher encouraged us to analyse lyrics, as well as poetry, for one of our assignments. I remember studying "Scarecrow" by John Mellencamp, "Four Walls" by Cold Chisel and "Born to Run" by Bruce Springsteen. So when the opportunity to see him live came up, I seized it with both hands.
I remember that he played at Lang Park in Brisbane after the "Born in the USA" album was released. I was at boarding school in Toowoomba, so the feasibility of going to a mid week gig in another city was zero. Bruce has been to Australia many times since then, but it has never really worked out.
I've heard people rave about him in live performance, but you have to be one of the tiny people in a huge stadium crowd to fully appreciate the extent of his artistry in performance. There was not a single moment when I felt taken for granted or that he was bored or not enjoying fully, his work.
The wonderful Dan Sultan kicked off the show at 5pm. I love Dan's music, but his smaller band and sound really suffered in the sound mix designed for the fat, saturated sound of Bruce and the E Street Band. The bass guitar was distorting and dominant over all the other sounds. Still, it's great exposure for him.
Hunters and Collectors re-formed to play this gig and it was great to hear them play their hits. It's been a while since I've seen a rock band with a french horn in the line up - if ever - so that was also a treat.
The Boss came on at 8pm and was on stage until about 11:45pm. No one could complain that they didn't receive value for money! I debated with my friend about what the first song would be and suddenly it was 1985 again as the instantly recognisable opening bars of "Born in the USA" hit us. It was on! Apart from every song, the absolute highlight was hearing that they were going to play the whole "Born to Run" album from start to finish! I was in heaven! Hearing this album (released in 1975) as a whole body, was an interesting opportunity to consider Bruce Springsteen's evolution as a writer. The perspective in 1975 was much more individual with stories about people from a personal level, while his more recent songs take a broader political perspective - they're still about people, but it's a broader perspective.
I had an emotional night. Joy was my main feeling, but I had a few tearful moments too. (The story leading into "Growin' Up" and the song itself were deeply affecting.) I think I was overwhelmed. Suddenly I understood all those pictures of girls crying at Beatles or Elvis Presley concerts. It can just happen when you're feeling open and receptive to the music.
While I was well out of reach to have any direct interaction, it was lovely to watch the crowd interactions. Those big screens and fabulous directors of photography did a wonderful job, capturing a huge event with a sense of intimacy.
I looked around the crowd and noticed how different we all seemed, yet here we all were, celebrating and united by music created by a great artist. If you're vaguely interested in music, writing or performance (he's a master of creating tension and holding a crowd) and have never seen Bruce Springsteen live, put it on your list!
I kept notes of the set list and include it here (if there are any errors, please let me know):
Did you go? Have you seen The Boss before? What did you think?
I remember that he played at Lang Park in Brisbane after the "Born in the USA" album was released. I was at boarding school in Toowoomba, so the feasibility of going to a mid week gig in another city was zero. Bruce has been to Australia many times since then, but it has never really worked out.
 |
| The crowd gathers inside AAMI Park. © 2014 divacultura |
The wonderful Dan Sultan kicked off the show at 5pm. I love Dan's music, but his smaller band and sound really suffered in the sound mix designed for the fat, saturated sound of Bruce and the E Street Band. The bass guitar was distorting and dominant over all the other sounds. Still, it's great exposure for him.
Hunters and Collectors re-formed to play this gig and it was great to hear them play their hits. It's been a while since I've seen a rock band with a french horn in the line up - if ever - so that was also a treat.
The Boss came on at 8pm and was on stage until about 11:45pm. No one could complain that they didn't receive value for money! I debated with my friend about what the first song would be and suddenly it was 1985 again as the instantly recognisable opening bars of "Born in the USA" hit us. It was on! Apart from every song, the absolute highlight was hearing that they were going to play the whole "Born to Run" album from start to finish! I was in heaven! Hearing this album (released in 1975) as a whole body, was an interesting opportunity to consider Bruce Springsteen's evolution as a writer. The perspective in 1975 was much more individual with stories about people from a personal level, while his more recent songs take a broader political perspective - they're still about people, but it's a broader perspective.
I had an emotional night. Joy was my main feeling, but I had a few tearful moments too. (The story leading into "Growin' Up" and the song itself were deeply affecting.) I think I was overwhelmed. Suddenly I understood all those pictures of girls crying at Beatles or Elvis Presley concerts. It can just happen when you're feeling open and receptive to the music.
While I was well out of reach to have any direct interaction, it was lovely to watch the crowd interactions. Those big screens and fabulous directors of photography did a wonderful job, capturing a huge event with a sense of intimacy.
I looked around the crowd and noticed how different we all seemed, yet here we all were, celebrating and united by music created by a great artist. If you're vaguely interested in music, writing or performance (he's a master of creating tension and holding a crowd) and have never seen Bruce Springsteen live, put it on your list!
I kept notes of the set list and include it here (if there are any errors, please let me know):
- Lucky Town
- Death to My Hometown
- High Hopes
-
- Born to Run
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
- Ain't I good enough for you
-
-
-
- Encore
- This Hard Land (just Bruce, his guitar and harmonica)
Sunday, 9 February 2014
Campanology campaign - a resounding success!
When I arrived at 8:45am yesterday I felt as if mere hours had passed since we finished Friday night's dress rehearsal. We were issued with our celebratory orange t-shirts and my heart sank. Since spending all of 2007 wearing an orange t-shirt (I wasn't in prison, I was organising the Your Rights at Work campaign), I am under no illusions about my relationship with orange. It is good for accessorising, but wearing a whole garment in the colour makes me look like I am either very sick or have drunk too much red wine on a hot day. I decided to accessorise with an over-the-top floral crown to draw all eyes away from contemplating me in an orange t-shirt.
 |
| The score for the piece we composed for the Melbourne Recital Centre's fifth birthday. © 2014 divacultura |
It was a beautiful evening and people looked at us curiously as we draped ourselves around the wave sculpture near Hamer Hall. There was magic as I struck the first note and others joined in. The rehearsal went well with only a few adjustments to make.
We were blessed with a glorious morning yesterday. The light dappled through the trees along St Kilda Road. I felt a profound sense of celebration and reverence as I struck the first note again. People stopped and looked. Some even smiled. Many of them asked what it was all about and I happily told them. Crossing Southbank Boulevard we encountered a man who was impatient for us to cross. He waved at the flashing red man on the traffic light and turned in front of us. We continued the tintinabulation. As we reached the Melbourne Recital Centre there was a crowd of people waiting for the doors to open; it was our job to open them.
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| Federation Bells - that's "E" on the right. © 2014 divacultura |
We went up the stairs to Elisabeth Murdoch Hall and continued to play as patrons took their seats.
Naturally the piece concluded with a rendition of "Happy Birthday" and three cheers.
It was a truly joyous experience and energy was high as we returned to the VIP room. Contact details were swapped and t-shirts were peeled off.
 |
| The "backyard". This is normally a carpark. © 2014 divacultura |
I went downstairs to the backyard which had been astro-turfed and turned into a festive party venue. I ate a taco from the taco truck and listened to the Welsh Men's Choir. I played a tune on the decorated piano which was sitting on the footpath and then found a seat to take in some of the open jazz jam. A house band welcomed soloists on a variety of instruments to join them for a song. It was terrific to see so many teenagers taking the stage with their saxophones, guitars and trombones. I wasn't sure if they accepted singers, so I just enjoyed the show. As people rode the escalators to the next level they swung their hips to the music and smiled. Any wonder anything with a swinging beat was considered "devil's music". Never know what an escalator ride and jazz could lead to.
I decided to leave before the day became too hot. As I was walking back to the city, I stopped off at the National Gallery of Victoria. An artist was working in the foyer. Dozens of plastic mesh rectangles had been embroidered with words in black and the backgrounds needed to be completed in white. About ten people were stitching when I arrived. It was lovely and cool in there so I decided to find some words that appealed and contributed a few stitches.
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| Leaving my mark © 2014 divacultura |
After four rows I left. My body was starting to feel the work of carrying and playing that bell and I needed to rest.
As I made my way home I felt so happy to live in a city where there are public spaces and events with really interesting and welcoming things to do on a very hot day where retreat to an air conditioned space is top of the agenda.
Noticing my body this morning, I decided that indulging in campanology is an excellent upper body work out and a very enjoyable one too. I now realised why a hunchback rings the bells!
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| The bells go back in their cases. © 2014 divacultura |
Thursday, 6 February 2014
Ringing the Federation Bells - it's a celebration!
I made a decision to join in with something this week which has made my first full week back in the world of work and home very intense. The opportunity is unique and I'm glad that I decided to join, even though I'm limping towards the end of the week.
This weekend marks the fifth birthday of the Melbourne Recital Centre. Five years ago I was lucky enough to have a tour and experience the building the day before it opened to the public, thanks to local ABC radio. We even sang Happy Birthday in honour of Dame Elisabeth Murdoch after whom the main hall is named. Now I am working with a group of complete strangers to compose and perform a work on the Federation Handbells.
I've never played handbells before, let alone the special ones, but I figured that I was probably going to be at least as musical as anyone else joining in. Apart from the musical experience, I was curious about the process that would be used over only two workshops, each 2 and a half hours long, to make this happen.
I attended the first workshop last night, after a very long day and found myself being asked to have ideas. Ideas are one of the things I'm pretty good at having, but I had to work a bit harder to keep my brain switched on because I was mentally and physically exhausted after two days playing a bully. Switching on my creative brain proved to be invigorating and I'm pleased with the contribution I made.
There are about fourteen of us in the group, including the musical and the theatrical facilitators. Mostly women and one girl who I think would be about twelve years old. Most people contributed original ideas or enhanced another's idea in some way. We composed the whole first half of the performance. Our score is written in coloured felt tipped pens on a giant roll of butcher's paper laid out on the floor.
At the break, one of the women asked me if I was a "professional plant". I pictured myself as a rose bush, then a cactus and then I realised what she meant. I asked her what I would have been planted for and she said "to come up with ideas". I laughed and told her that that was just me playing. (I did have a brief worry that I had contributed too much, but no one in the group or either of the facilitators was giving me the oh-do-be-quiet-eye, so I relaxed.)
We will compose the second part tomorrow night and have our one and only dress rehearsal. I'm excited to be involved, but wish the forecast for Saturday was a bit easier to anticipate. The temperature is forecast to be 40 degrees Celsius on Saturday.
If you're in Melbourne, it's a good excuse to get out of the house early before it gets too hot. We'll be starting near Hamer Hall after 9am and arrive at the Recital Centre's front doors by 10am. If you're not in Melbourne there's no need to miss out! You can stream the festivities. Check on this page from 9am (Australian Eastern Daylight Time). Click here for more information about coordinating time zones.
That's all I can tell you.
Oh, and I'll be playing "E".
This weekend marks the fifth birthday of the Melbourne Recital Centre. Five years ago I was lucky enough to have a tour and experience the building the day before it opened to the public, thanks to local ABC radio. We even sang Happy Birthday in honour of Dame Elisabeth Murdoch after whom the main hall is named. Now I am working with a group of complete strangers to compose and perform a work on the Federation Handbells.
I've never played handbells before, let alone the special ones, but I figured that I was probably going to be at least as musical as anyone else joining in. Apart from the musical experience, I was curious about the process that would be used over only two workshops, each 2 and a half hours long, to make this happen.
I attended the first workshop last night, after a very long day and found myself being asked to have ideas. Ideas are one of the things I'm pretty good at having, but I had to work a bit harder to keep my brain switched on because I was mentally and physically exhausted after two days playing a bully. Switching on my creative brain proved to be invigorating and I'm pleased with the contribution I made.
There are about fourteen of us in the group, including the musical and the theatrical facilitators. Mostly women and one girl who I think would be about twelve years old. Most people contributed original ideas or enhanced another's idea in some way. We composed the whole first half of the performance. Our score is written in coloured felt tipped pens on a giant roll of butcher's paper laid out on the floor.
At the break, one of the women asked me if I was a "professional plant". I pictured myself as a rose bush, then a cactus and then I realised what she meant. I asked her what I would have been planted for and she said "to come up with ideas". I laughed and told her that that was just me playing. (I did have a brief worry that I had contributed too much, but no one in the group or either of the facilitators was giving me the oh-do-be-quiet-eye, so I relaxed.)
We will compose the second part tomorrow night and have our one and only dress rehearsal. I'm excited to be involved, but wish the forecast for Saturday was a bit easier to anticipate. The temperature is forecast to be 40 degrees Celsius on Saturday.
If you're in Melbourne, it's a good excuse to get out of the house early before it gets too hot. We'll be starting near Hamer Hall after 9am and arrive at the Recital Centre's front doors by 10am. If you're not in Melbourne there's no need to miss out! You can stream the festivities. Check on this page from 9am (Australian Eastern Daylight Time). Click here for more information about coordinating time zones.
That's all I can tell you.
Oh, and I'll be playing "E".
Thursday, 30 January 2014
Clever marketing - another hat tale
I mentioned yesterday that I decided to succumb to the lure of the wildwest and buy a cowgirl hat when I was recently at the Tamworth Country Music Festival. It is irresistible, but also practical when you're walking down Peel Street in the blazing sun listening to buskers or acts performing on one of the many stages.
On the Friday before the Australia Day long weekend I met a friend for lunch in town and noticed a growing crowd and queue right near the post office. I thought that there must have been someone very important and/or famous doing something remarkable, so walked around the corner to see why people were lining up. There was no country music star or even minor local politician or newsreader. People were queuing to get a hat!
The hat was nothing special, but had the right shape and the wide brim. Importantly it also carried the sponsor's logo on the hat band and could be had for a $2 donation to the McGrath Foundation. It struck me as a creative approach to marketing and fundraising all by giving the people what they want/need. Walking around the streets were heads promoting sponsor Toyota, people were protected from the sun and a charity had made some money and planted their name in the minds of people. Additionally, the hats were only available at certain times, so the notion of scarcity was created and the crowd and queues grew, drawing further attention to the various organisations. Brilliant!
Having made my discovery, I stepped back from the line. I was promptly asked by a couple passing by "who is there?"
I explained the people were queuing for a hat.
"A hat?!"
"Yes a hat," I explained the relationship to the McGrath Foundation.
"That's incredible!" exclaimed the man. "I never thought I'd see a queue like that for a hat! Must be a good sort of a hat!"
"Well see for yourself. There goes one now," I pointed.
And lastly, here are some more of my recent photographs taken while on holiday.
On the Friday before the Australia Day long weekend I met a friend for lunch in town and noticed a growing crowd and queue right near the post office. I thought that there must have been someone very important and/or famous doing something remarkable, so walked around the corner to see why people were lining up. There was no country music star or even minor local politician or newsreader. People were queuing to get a hat!
The hat was nothing special, but had the right shape and the wide brim. Importantly it also carried the sponsor's logo on the hat band and could be had for a $2 donation to the McGrath Foundation. It struck me as a creative approach to marketing and fundraising all by giving the people what they want/need. Walking around the streets were heads promoting sponsor Toyota, people were protected from the sun and a charity had made some money and planted their name in the minds of people. Additionally, the hats were only available at certain times, so the notion of scarcity was created and the crowd and queues grew, drawing further attention to the various organisations. Brilliant!
Having made my discovery, I stepped back from the line. I was promptly asked by a couple passing by "who is there?"
I explained the people were queuing for a hat.
"A hat?!"
"Yes a hat," I explained the relationship to the McGrath Foundation.
"That's incredible!" exclaimed the man. "I never thought I'd see a queue like that for a hat! Must be a good sort of a hat!"
"Well see for yourself. There goes one now," I pointed.
And lastly, here are some more of my recent photographs taken while on holiday.
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| The ever-present Alfie - just hanging around. © divacultura 2014 |
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| A magnificent pair of eucalypts stand against the brilliant cerulean sky. © divacultura 2014 |
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| Afternoon by the dry creek bed. © divacultura 2014 |
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