Lake Mungo and the Meaning of Home

In 1974 the remains of Mungo Man were found on the shores of the former Lake Mungo in western New South Wales. His bones were transported to places far away for the purposes of science. It was these bones that proved conclusively that humans had lived in Australia for at least 50,000 years.

After four decades, and after much lobbying from Aboriginal people from the Lake Mungo region, Mungo man was returned to his resting place by the lake in 2017.  An elderly Aboriginal woman commented:

“He needs to go home. His soul’s just wandering around lost. It’s not good for him. It’s not good for us. It’s not good for anyone. He needs to go home so his soul can rest.”

When I heard these words it was as if I was appreciating the wisdom of the ancient hosts of our land in a way I never had before. Tears flowed as the profound message in those simple words echoed deep down in my soul. We all need to go home. And the elderly woman was talking about a man 50,000 years old as if she knew him. She cared about Mungo Man’s soul. No matter how long ago he lived. She and other members of her community have a responsibility to take care of their ancestors and their land. And a man or woman and their land should not be separated.

I went to Lake Mungo recently – an extraordinary place. The public can’t visit the final resting place of Mungo Man, but you can visit the extraordinary wall of sand dunes that run along the edge of where Lake Mungo once glistened in the sun. The Visitors Centre refers to local Aboriginal groups having cared for the land around Lake Mungo for 50,000 years. Note, not lived in, but cared for the land. Their very existence in the land of their ancestors assumes they are its custodians. Another simple, powerful message.

There is something deeply primal about the notion of home. It strikes at the very core of what it means to be alive, to be human. It evokes feelings of warmth, safety, and contentment. Home is a place where you feel comfortable and know intrinsically how to behave. No pretence is needed because at home you are your natural self, and for many it is a place they return to again and again – in both the literal and metaphorical sense – for sustenance.

For some others this may be precisely why they leave home for they crave something other than safety and comfort. Or their experience of home was so dreadful that they leave never to return. Oscar Wilde wrote that ‘no man is an adult until they leave home.’  In many cultures it is a mark of respect earned if you have left your homeland and lived much of your life in foreign shores. It conveys a certain worldliness somehow, a strength that you have struck out on your own and succeeded without the support of your family, relatives or culture – the immigrant. And though an immigrant at the end of their life might long to return to their homeland or have their ashes scattered in the fields or rivers of home it rarely happens. In the modern world a great many people leave their home never to return.

So what of their souls? Is the soul of one born in Wales and buried in Australia doomed to wander for eternity? If the Mungo elder is correct then that would be the case, and we all therefore suffer. Could there be a different set of rules than those that govern the belief systems of Aboriginal Australians? Is that the case for those who choose to leave their place of birth, and are happy to remain away, and who come to some spiritual reconciliation with a different place of their own choosing; a place they came to as a foreigner but came to regard as their home; their spiritual home? Can you in effect choose where your soul calls home?

The Aboriginal belief that one should be buried in the land of your birth works for a culture and time where most people would not have strayed far from their ancestral home. Though there may be some deep primal appeal attached to this notion, it can’t be a matter of absolute fact. It is culture and context specific.

It is interesting though to contemplate what home means for each one of us. Is it a house? A suburb or town? A land or country? Or is it being with a certain person, or being in a certain state of mind? Does listening to a particular piece of music make you feel at home? The possibilities are many. Is the state of feeling at home literal and physical or more metaphorical and symbolic where in fact the physical location has no bearing at all on the notion of feeling at home?

For my own part it has been all of these things at different times.  In terms of physical location I can variously claim to feel at home in a particular suburb where I have lived much of my life, or more widely the whole city of Adelaide, or more widely still the land of Australia. I do honestly feel at home in locations where I have previously lived or visited frequently – Holland, or Cambodia. And mysteriously, or perhaps even mystically, some places seem to take hold of your soul for no obvious reason. Israel worked like this for me. I felt a strange and strong affinity with Israel from the moment I arrived there. And there are other times when it is only in the company of my partner that I feel truly at home.

So is home where the heart is? It turns out the heart can be at home at any number of places, but perhaps not simultaneously. Perhaps home is simply where you are at any given moment that you’re feeling good about yourself and your place in the world.

To return to Mungo Man, or any other deceased being that has been interred, it seems obvious that they should just be left in peace, and it seems quite feasible that a disturbed body may trigger the wandering of a consequently restless soul.

More photos HERE

The Ugly Australian

I initially wrote this song about travelling in Greece. I was a deck class passenger on a ferry between Athens and Israel and I was give this inedible food for dinner. I kicked up a fuss with the ferry staff and they agreed to give me some other food and allowed me to sit in the first class lounge while I ate it. The food in truth wasn’t that much better, and after a short time all the lounge staff logged off and turned off most of the lights as they went.  As I sat there in the half-darkness eating this dreadful food I realise I’d been had! It was the kind of thing that made you want to go home.

Thirty years on I realised that if I just tweaked the lyrics a little and wrote them from the perspective of a refugee stuck on Manus or Nauru I have a similar but different song.

You put shit food down in front of me and expect me to eat it

You put me up in the first class lounge with my anger and expect that to placate it
I’m on a foreign boat in a foreign sea in times foreign to us all At times like this I’m wonderin’ why I’m so far from my native shore I’m going home

I’m tired of the ever moving ground
I'm tired of the ever changing ground
Australia will you wait for me with your long and golden shore?You’re a land of sun and dreams they tell me but I wanna know for sure

Are you keeping up with fashion? Are you keeping down the poor?
Are you looking down the barrel? Or has nothing changed at all?
But I’m coming home

So I’m coming home

TAKE 2: 2018

You put shit food down in front of me and expect me to eat it

You stick me out on an offshore island with my pain and expect that to placate it
I’m in a foreign place in a foreign sea in times foreign to us all

Australia was what I was looking for – why I left my native shore
But I can’t go home

I’m tired of the never changing ground
I’m tired of the never moving round

Australia I will you wait for you with your long and golden shores
You’re a land of sun and dreams they tell me will I ever know for sure?
I have no home

Are we closing up the country? Have we shut down all the doors?
Are those in need not welcome? When did we get so mean?

They can’t go home
They have no home

On Australian Identity

Ever since I taught Australian History to high school students I have felt uncomfortable using Anzac Day as a cause of celebration, let alone espousing it as some kind of event that forged our national identity.

From a historical perspective the verdict is pretty clear: the ANZAC campaign was a disaster. Australian and New Zealand soldiers were used as decoys and sent as lambs to the slaughter to distract the Turks from another region the British intended to attack. It was a disgrace that was best forgotten.

Yet we go on making it bigger and grander with each passing year. Richard Flanagan in his recent address to the National Press Club says that in his family Anzac Day was always about remembering those who went to war, and especially those who didn’t come home.  From around the mid-80s, in the hands of politicians – beginning with Bob Hawke – it has become something else. It’s become a patriotic rallying call to define who we are as a nation and the values and beliefs that go with it, and if you don’t subscribe to those beliefs you are somehow un-Australian. Well let me say right here and now that I am un-Australian. Which of course just means that I think differently to those who hold up the ‘Anzac spirit’ as some kind of mirror that all Australians must look into to find themselves.

I do a lot of walking around Australian towns and cities, and as I watch the churches become homes, cafes and bars, and the war memorials shine and proliferate, and see the vast sums of money being spent on more of them at Gallipoli, France, and here in Adelaide, it’s become clear to me that Australia’s real religion is war, or at least the memorialising if it. It feels like an unhealthy obsession.

What bothers me, and as Flanagan noted is really quite dangerous, is none of this is up for discussion with mainstream Australia. War, and the militarisation of national memory, is a no go area. Question its relevance or importance and you are immediately dismissed as un-Australian, left-leaning, hippy, radical or some other insult that consigns you to the margins. It’s a closed book, and sadly is in large part based on myth rather than fact.

We are going down a dead end street that offers no solace for the growing number of Australians who are unhappy – who smash up churches and graves, eat themselves to obesity, or express their life’s emptiness through road rage….

Flanagan wonders whether there may be another path Australia could take to seek the roots of its national identity. We have been given the priceless gift of sharing this remarkable continent with the oldest unbroken culture on the planet. This could be our legacy to the world. Why isn’t there a national museum dedicated to our indigenous culture? Why would we rather spend $100 million on a war museum in France honouring the lives of those who died fighting for another country’s wars rather than spend that money on a national monument honouring Australia’s vast pre-history? Why aren’t we standing on the hilltops boasting about the fact that we host an ancient civilization whose ancestors are still with us? And this story happened on this land – not in Turkey or France or Vietnam. These are the real, authentic stories of our ancient land: our true past. Who knows - it might even make us feel more connected to it, and perhaps lead us to appreciate the unique place in history that our co-existence with the earth’s oldest culture affords us.

The Colour Orange: the Pauline Hanson Musical

A Space Called Thelma – Rajopolis, Tue 27 Feb

Pauline Hanson may have drifted out of the news again lately, but she is still rich fodder for humour. And in this case the perfect subject for musical comedy. No wonder Flaming Howard Productions got the Sydney Fringe critics’ nod for this show. It’s wonderful.

It must be said upfront that they should be playing at a much larger venue because  1) they had difficulty fitting themselves all on stage (the drummer was off stage and unseen!!) 2) they deserve an audience of hundreds.

This is a full tilt musical. A five piece band, and five singers/players. And they were all great – there is no suggestion of a weak link anywhere. The songs were infectious and funny, the singing was marvellous; staging and choreography spot on, and costumes all eye-catching and appropriate.

And then of course there’s the story of the woman we all love or hate. Tracking through Pauline’s political life from 1994 to the present, we meet various characters who have assisted her rise and fall and rise again along the way: co-founder of the One Nation party, David Oldridge; when jilted he goes off bleating to a vindictive and narcissistic Tony Abbott, who is made to look and sound even more ridiculous than he does in real life - superbly played. Other famous redheads are featured – Todd McKenny in his role as co-host of Dancing with the Stars, and ex-PM Julia Gillard gets a brief cameo.

The various players who took turns being Pauline all did a great job. As did the whole cast. Like I said, not a weak link anywhere. Writing, direction, staging, singing, acting, and musical arrangements all come together in the hands of very talented cast and deliver a show that is upbeat, energetic, classy (in a fish and chip shop sort of way) and funny.

And just in case you thought it’s not right to elevate this woman to national icon status in routines of harmless fun, we are sent home with a serious reminder of how this all came about.

I can’t speak highly enough of this show. Level of difficulty – 10.  Do yourself a favour and go and see these heroes in Pauline’s story. They deserve a crowd.

(This review also published in The Clothesline.)

THE CHOIR OF MAN

The Flamingo at Gluttony, Tue 20 Feb

There was already a lot happening on and around the stage as the audience shuffled in to the venue for the Choir of Man. It seems we’ve entered a pub, and it’s bustling with activity. Some people are ushered to the fully functioning bar to get a drink, and the show begins.

The Choir of Man are nine men welcoming you to their local. We are introduced to all of them in turn – the talker, the dreamer, the womaniser – time is taken to sketch out a little of each of our guests. This is a pub where you will not be a stranger. If you come for a drink you can sit in silence, talk your head off, or just chew the fat, but you will not be alone.

Most of the musical material is not unaccompanied. Each of our hosts take turns in leading the next song, often accompanied by guitar, piano, ukulele or other instrument. While this adds great variety to their arrangements it also presents some staging problems. It’s always difficult to balance multiple moving sounds in a tent but as engaging and joyful as they were, the songs with instruments didn’t showcase their vocals well enough – I wanted the voices louder. In the unaccompanied pieces their voices rang out loud and true and showed how they good they are.

The Choir of Man has other things to say apart from their music. Don’t sit with your woes alone, don’t keep things bottled up inside. Share your feelings, and if it’s your turn to listen, then listen. “When the choir is working well it’s because we are listening.”

If you’re lucky you’ll be one of many audience members who scored free beers (yes – they give away free beer!)

The show just got better and better as it went. A great communal vibe, lots of positive energy, and infectious music. Go and spend some time with the Choir of Man. You’ll go home feeling much better.

(This review also published in The Clothesline.)

Moodle Good Practice

Originally posted on Wikispaces at http://moodlegoodpractice.wikispaces.com/ in 2011 but migrating here due to Wikispaces' sad but inevitable impending closure. Many links may no longer work. This is more for the historical record.

SOME EXAMPLES (and they were hard to find, or extract from people!)

1. Open Learn – the Open University http://openlearn.open.ac.uk/
Lots of unfacilitated open courses to browse. Check out their excellent list of Learning Tools.

2. On Moodle’s own demo site at http://demo.moodle.org/ there are just two courses offered (use logins provided at site):
i) a Moodle Features demo
ii) Film Studies Module

A more recent demo site from Moodle is at http://school.demo.moodle.net/

3. On the Moodle commons I found this good example on Digital Photography
http://moodlecommons.org/course/view.php?id=5
4. There are some showcase geography Moodle courses on Wycombe High School moodle here I came across the other day:
Krankenzusatzversicherung günstig
http://whs.moodledo.co.uk/course/category.php?id=106

5. Two great examples from Wallace Web Design: (thank you Richard)

i) Career Awareness
ii) Using Quizzes and Assessments in Moodle

More examples from Wallace Web Design at http://moodle.wwdad.net/moodle/

6. Online Facilitation course & others on OER site in NZ
Online Facilitation course by Joyce Seitzinger (little old now, we've made improvements since, but still)
Instructional Design for Blended Learning course by Sue Dark & Anouk Janssens
7. UVCMS Online demo courses : http://test.uvcms.com/mhr/

8. A selection of Moodle sites on a slideshow from Miguel Guhlin. (Links on the sites shown in the slides are clickable.) Useful to see the various ways teachers have exploited the basic Moodle interface. Download Moodle courses you can restore from backup here . Also, a wealth of Moodle related resources, including videos online at http://mguhlin.net/moodle

9. Linux for Education - this site has a bunch of courses, no authentication/login/registration is necessary.

10. A Moodle for a primary class - Second grade in Tampa, Florida. Our wireless has been bad for weeks, so I don't add as much content as I should. Week 6 is a good example of what the Moodle looks like during a week of full connectivity.

User name: pbguest
Password: guestpb

11. Leeds City College - check guest courses

That’s all I’ve been able to find so far that I think are worth showing. There have to be hundreds more. PLEASE ADD THEM.

( Very few did. - Ed) 

What is a blog?

Originally posted on Wikispaces at http://blogsineducation.wikispaces.com/ in 2007 but migrating here due to Wikispaces' sad but inevitable impending closure.

What is a blog?


A blog is an abbreviation of ‘weblog’. It is a web based journal or diary where entries are posted and arranged chronologically. They are typically free, and are found all over the Internet. The most common free blog hosting services is Blogger, but many educators are using Wordpress (http://wordpress.com/) or Edublogs (http://edublogs.org/) for educational blogs. These days many LMSs now have blog tools built in to them.


Why would I use a blog for my students?

• To have all their work in one place (writing, images, video, etc)
• So students have a portable ongoing record of their work (like an e-resume, or eportfolio)
• So students can read and comment on each others’ work
• Perhaps make student work available to a wider audience beyond the institution or college
• To improve student writing skills
• To encourage and promote digital literacy
• To use as a reflective journal for students who may be off campus
• For a teacher to write regular reflections, summaries, etc about the class
• A way to give students ownership of a personal space - a web site that encourages active engagement by the students and teacher

Some Examples of the use of Blogs in Education

• Bakery: http://www.thebakerscrust.blogspot.com/ (seems to have grown crusty) (Hunter TAFE, NSW))
• English as a Second Language: http://ourclass08.blogspot.com/ (Sydney Institute of TAFE)
• Business English course, Argentina: www.busyenglish.blogspot.com
• Professional Development - Designing for Flexible Learning Practice: Graduate Certificate in Tertiary Learning and Teaching, Otago Polytechnic in Dunedin, NZ. http://flexible-learning-course.blogspot.com/
• TAFE SA staff: for info on using blogs in IVEC and Cert 3 Womens Studies contact Karen Middleton

Resources:

• Why Should Students Blog? - http://classroomblogging.wikispaces.com/
• WIKIS AND BLOGS - Tools for learning: http://margoconnell.wikispaces.com/wikisandblogs=

Steve Foster

I guess I was 18 or 19 when I first heard Steve Foster play. I used to attend the lunchtime concerts held in Union Hall at Adelaide Uni. They were usually band gigs, but Steve played a couple of shows there on his own. I was smitten on first take. I had been playing guitar for a while, learning the same few chords that most beginners latch on to and I thought my guitar playing was pretty average.

Steve had just released his Coming Home in a Jar album, and most of the songs I heard him play at these Union Hall concerts were from that album. They were strong songs – catchy and meaningful. And by and large simple. Steve used chords I played, and didn’t use any fancy picking. He just strummed. And the songs and his delivery of them were beautiful.

It was a moment when I thought “you know, I could do this. I know those chords, I can strum, and I have a reasonable singing voice. “ It was a moment I’d never forget. I learnt a couple of Steve’s songs and had great pleasure over the years telling people who liked them that they were written by Steve Foster, the Adelaide Steve Foster. (There is a much more famous Stephen Foster – the American songwriter responsible for a great many famous songs like Oh Susanna and Camptown Races.)

Steve left Adelaide for Melbourne and ports beyond in an attempt to make the big time and for whatever reason he didn’t quite get there. He should have – he got close – but that’s a story for others to tell. In my eyes he was certainly good enough.

Fast forward to 2016 and the Adelaide Fringe. Steve was back in Adelaide and performed his Dylan & Donovan: The Prophet, The Poet & The Sorcerers’ Apprentice at the Semaphore RSL Club. It was a wonderful show. As I wrote at the time, it was a real treat to hear that beautiful musical soul sing and play and tell his stories again.

Some months later Steve contacted me. He wanted to meet for coffee and thank me for my review – he figured it had gone some way to getting him invited to the Edinburgh Fringe. I hope it was that way. If so, it would be some repayment for the enormous influence Steve had had on my musical development. I was really pleased to be able to tell him firsthand about the impact his Union Hall concerts had had on me.  I told him how he had unknowingly helped me believe in my musical self.

Steve was to do another show featuring songs of the sea in this year’s Fringe but alas it won’t be happening. Steve died yesterday. One of Adelaide’s finest voices will sing no more. Thank you dear man. Rest in peace Steve.  

Collecting People

As people that have been part of my life start to die around me it occurs to me that in a sense one collects people. You gather around you people who make you feel good, or make your life better and richer. With friends and family you do this by enjoying their physical presence, but there’s a whole host of other people you have never met who mean a great deal to you, and who you will likely never meet.

In recent weeks I feel like I have lost 2 very dear friends – Vin Garbutt and Geoffrey Yunupingu. They were both extraordinary singers who filled my heart with joy and wonder and since I first heard them – Vin Garbutt in a folk club in Zaandam in Holland, and Gurrumul at WOMADelaide – I have collected their songs on record and tape and CD, and tried to see them live whenever possible. They were an intrinsic part of my world. They both gave me emotional highs of happiness and wonder. Vin also made me laugh. They made me feel fantastic and I took on the values they represented – dignity, compassion, joy, passion.

My world made sense with Vin and Gurrumul in it. I had sought them out on multiple occasions, and could play their music anytime I wanted. I can still do that, but something deep down has changed. I can no longer see them live. I can no longer imagine them playing live to others. I will no longer read reviews or see film clips of their recent concerts. They now become a memory.

They were part of who I am, or was. I was someone who loved their beautiful singing. I loved the way they looked, the clothes they wore, the way they spoke and carried themselves on stage. They were familiar to me. I had made them part of my psyche; they represented a part of how I viewed the world. They were singers that touched me deep in my soul. They both made me cry regularly.

It seemed a little cruel to take these two remarkable singers so close together – to rid the world of such voices in the space of a few weeks. We have lost two beautiful souls and a great many beautiful sounds.

And as I live on, I realise that bit by bit the people that I have collected; the people I have discovered that both nurture and nourish my soul – the singers, the writers, the speakers, my friends and family – will disappear. Until one day I will too.

In the meantime I either go on living feeling like I’m losing people and things I love, or better, try and continue to live and acknowledge the role they played in creating me, and making me who I am.

If you live to really advanced years this must get harder and harder – to have so many of your light posts disappear so that it’s just you and a few of your favourite things left – so it’s seems that I must collect something new. Find other ways of replacing what Geoffrey and Vin gave me; augment their memories with new songs, new books, new movies, new conversations - to make sure I don’t shrivel under the weight of sadness and disappointment their passing has wrought. Collect, assemble, and welcome new ideas, new experiences, and new people. I’m sure there are worlds I know nothing about…..

Patmos 1981

Psili Amos, Patmos. (Image courtesy of patmos-island.com)

Many years ago in pre-Internet days a friend (Peter) and I spent a week or two on the Greek Island of Patmos. Peter recently wrote up his diary entries of the time, and it inspired me to finally record a song I wrote as I left the island by ferry on a wet and windy night. It's called Lights Across the Water. The lyrics are printed below. I may elaborate on the background to the song at some later date. But for now, here it is.

LIGHTS ACROSS THE WATER

I'm on a late night journey across the sea

Wind and rain callin' out to me

Lights across the water

Callin'  out to me

Golden man smiles through his beard

Lady on his arm is cryin' tears of fear

He doesn't even hear her - her screaming agony

And the wind across the water 

Brings sweet misery

The lights across the water 

Are callin' out to me

It's time to leave this island home

Time to break this island's hold on me

And sail across the water

To another land

The wind across the water

Is callin' out to me

Copyright Michael Coghlan 1981

Talking to the Other Side

It has been measured and noted recently that the impasse between left and right, liberal and conservative, Democrat and Republican in the Disunited States is greater and more bitter than ever before. Obama referred to this in his parting speech. Though not as extreme as the DS, there’s probably something similar occurring in Australia.

Since the shock of the Trump election there has been a realisation that democracy needs meaningful conversations to take place across this political divide. America, and democracies in general, need healing, and need to find a way to talk to each other across the chasm to aid this healing.

Robb Willer, psychologist, in his TED Talk about how to have better political conversations reveals that the political divide in the DS is underpinned by a moral divide. Each side of that divide has its own set of values. In broad brush they look like this:  

And in essence, as long as the values of each side remain steadfast and refuse to accommodate the point of view of the other, no one is ever going to change their mind. He argues that if a liberal thinker wants to change the mind on some issue of a conservative thinker then you have to do it by appealing to values that the conservative relates to – patriotism for example. Or respect for authority. And vice versa of course.

Now it turns out that someone else using a different set of data – a study comparing what parts of the brain are used predominantly by liberal and conservative thinkers – came to the same conclusion. That we need to use the language and perspective and values of the other side if our appeals to them to see an issue differently are to get any traction. What this study found is that liberals and conservatives use different parts of their brain to process information. Not exclusively, but they each have a tendency to use a part of the brain more than others.

• Liberalism was associated with the grey matter volume of the anterior cingulate cortex
• Conservatism was associated with an increased right amygdala size

Amygdala – seat of fear

Cortex – logic, rational argument, ideas,

• Conservative brains are more active in declarative and episodic fact-based memory and negative emotions like fear.
• Liberal brains are more active in terms of emotional awareness and empathy.

For more on this go to my podcast on the topic.

References:

http://factmyth.com/factoids/liberals-and-conservatives-brains-are-different-on-average/

Turns out there's quite a lot of commentary around this issue in the American context:

https://braindecoder.com/post/politics-neuroscience-1282982492

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/calling-truce-political-wars/

http://www.alternet.org/news-amp-politics/how-conservative-brains-are-wired-differently-and-what-means-our-politics

http://www.salon.com/2014/07/29/secrets_of_the_right_wing_brain_new_study_proves_it_conservatives_see_a_different_hostile_world/

https://www.ted.com/talks/robb_willer_how_to_have_better_political_conversations#t-265472

CD Review - Trout and Toolbox

TROUT AND TOOLBOX
Ray Smith

Some musicians seem able to move happily between different musical worlds. I first became aware of Adelaide based musician, Ray Smith, when he was playing in loud, experimental rock bands like the Sympathy Orchestra. Sometime later I heard him accompanying himself on acoustic guitar and was immediately struck by the depth and resonance of his voice. Those deep and resonant vocals are front and centre on Trout and Toolbox.

Trout and Toolbox is a collection of folk songs with very strong connections back to Ray’s native Cumbria in the north of England. All but one of the tunes are original, and there are telling turns of melody that derive from the mournful, haunting sounds of traditional English folk music. And so too does much of the subject matter – mills closing down, life as a weaver, and a song of praise to northern landscapes. It’s almost as if Ray is unveiling his past while he tries to reconcile his origins with the person who chose to migrate to Australia, and in that sense it’s quite a personal collection of songs.

Trout and Toolbox is book-ended with an unnamed instrumental piece that features some rich and melodic acoustic guitar tones that aptly signal what’s to come, and neatly wraps up the package after the final song.

Billy is a tale of war beautifully arranged for guitar, flute and violin. A Sense of Place is an endearing tale of a couple who have spent most of their life together and learnt to appreciate that a sense of place can be as simple as ‘the smile on your face’. There’s some lovely lyrical images here – ‘he will wash and she’ll carefully dry the plates’; ‘he always checks his tie’s straight in the mirror in the hallway.’ A curious feature of this album is the fact that Ray Smith’s vocals still sound like he’s living in Cumbria, and it’s quite pronounced on this song. It’s often hard to tell where people come from once they start singing, but not so in Ray’s case. It adds a layer of authenticity that appropriately gives greater weight to the idea of place. There’s a sting in the tail here as the final verse addresses Australia’s Stolen Generation being robbed of their sense of place – ‘a national disgrace’.

Using the metaphor of migrating birds, Migration focuses on the tension between staying and leaving. Punchy guitar underpins a melodic air that feels quite ancient. A mini jig/reel on accordion mid-song and again at the end briefly lightens the mood, but the prevailing feeling is one of a difficult reconciliation between the state of migration and the desire to stay home.

The Weaver Is much very rooted in the context of industrial England. Another strong vocal features curious phrases like ’watch your shuttle”. The cornet part by Kerryn Schofield lends an anthemic feel and in what feels like an intentional romanticising of the passing craft of weaving, breaks into a last post type coda to conclude what is quite a lovely song.

The Mill continues with a similar theme. “There’s no need to hurry now; soon we’ll be leaving the town.” There’s no more work because the mill is closing. It reminds me of Eric Bogle’s lament about the disappearing Australian farmer, and the emotion etched into this story is exquisitely wrought on violin by Emma Woolcock. The warmth and resonance of her playing is just delicious.

Tallahassee takes us to the other side of the Atlantic searching for a past lover. Curiously the narrator learns that his old Tallahassee flame no longer lives there and had also migrated to a land far away. This song feels and sounds quite different to the other songs on this CD and is steered along by fiddle that sounds more American than English, with acoustic bass from Tamas Smith.

Planxty Isaac is an instrumental track with acoustic guitars dancing in a bright and chirpy tune in a style similar to that of Canadian guitar virtuoso, Leo Kottke. Guitars here cross the oceans with influences from both sides of the Atlantic.

In Now, written by Nic Jones, the migrant pleads the case for the present moment in an attempt perhaps to convince himself that he made the right choice to leave all those years ago. “The now is here; so simple and clear; the past is gone.” Cornet provides an anthemic backdrop again, and the tone of the guitar picking is warm and resonant.

And then, and it feels like the whole album has been leading up to this point, the migrant returns home. To see ‘that broad fen again, feel the wind blowing cold from the glen; to hear the curlew call and the ocean roar’ and where ‘he’ll be home again once more’. Cue Cumbrian pipes! Home Again is another haunting and captivating melody with tentacles stretching back to Cumbria. There is a plaintive sadness here.  Australia has been good for Ray Smith. But there’s clearly part of his soul that will always be in Cumbria. I hope he continues to bring that part of his musical soul back to our shores because it has a wistful depth and wisdom that reconciles past and present, and delivers perspectives in songs that are rich in melody, warm in feeling, and resonant with meaning.

(This review also on The Clothesline.)

Don Henley in Adelaide

Don Henley

Entertainment Centre, Wed  15 Mar

A concert by Don Henley, co-founder of the legendary Californian band The Eagles, with a handpicked band of 15 musicians was always going to be good. Henley has lost nothing of his vocal capabilities – he still hits the highest notes with ease, and he clearly enjoys playing rockier numbers. He and Glenn Frey always wanted The Eagles to be more of a rock band and he can now live out that dream.

There were plenty of quieter, almost acapella, or country style numbers that featured wonderful ensemble vocals, but the bulk of the show was firmly in rock territory.

Several things stood out – Henley’s voice, the superb back-up vocals from the female chorus, a spectacular light show, and the fact that Henley himself has become quite chatty on stage - unlike the vaguely disengaged persona he appeared to be in The Eagles. He comes across now as a generous and friendly guy, humble and sincere in his appreciation of the audience’s love of his music. When he wasn’t singing he wandered to the back of the stage out of the limelight.

The band ranged back and forth across four decades playing hits from the Henley canon. All 16 members of the band sang on the opener – Seven Bridges Road – in a thrilling start. Witchy Woman, One of These Nights, Life in the Fast Lane, and Boys of Summer are well known Eagles songs that got royal rock treatment. A couple of songs from his more recent Cass County album were done as duets with one of the female singers with impeccable harmony.

Desperado was dedicated to Henley’s recently departed songwriting partner Glenn Frey – the first song they wrote together. Hotel California got a gig, and was as good as ever, complete with duelling guitars on the closing part of the song. But I missed Don Felder and Joe Walsh. And I missed Glenn Frey. At times those absent names were very present in the memories of the earlier versions of these songs.

Henley would be very aware of this of course, but all he can do is play the songs he wants to sing with respect for those who helped him get to where he is. And he does all of that in spades. He seems to have grown into something of an elder statesmen of rock as he tells the tales behind the songs with the wisdom (and occasional wit) of hindsight, and he has assembled an impressive band of musicians of all ages to bring his history of rock to modern audiences.

It was a slick and polished show. The time flew by and it was all of a sudden time to bid farewell to a remarkable talent who has entertained several generations of music fans now for 45 years. And given how good he looked and sounded tonight I wouldn’t be surprised if he does it for quite a bit longer.

This review also published on The Clothesline.

WOMADelaide 2017 - Day 4

There wasn’t much music programmed for the early part of Day 4 so it seemed like a good time to go to Speakers Corner and hear what people were saying about religion and the environment. The session was chaired by an unorthodox, unruly, and occasionally funny Fr Bob Maguire. On the panel was a scientist, a rabbi, and a Muslim academic. (Could be the first line of a joke …) It was perhaps a rare occasion when all religions represented agreed – there is a dire need for more to be done to awaken interest in their respective flocks about sustainability and the environment. Prof Mohamad Abdulla said it best – religious leaders simply need to take a more active role in engaging their congregations about the environment.

What followed made it a tough day for me musically! I have written elsewhere about how the music at Womad has changed over the years, and I realise that there is a generation change going on among Womad audiences, and I’m part of the generation slowly being transferred out! I found plenty of stimulating and enriching music on days 1-3, but it just happened that most of what I chose to see on the final day was part of a trend towards anonymous global funk, where everyone basically sounds the same.

Wikipedia defines funk “as a music genre that originated in the mid- 1960s when African American musicians created a rhythmic, danceable new form of music through a mixture of soul music, jazz, and rhythm and blues (R&B). Funk de-emphasizes melody and chord progressions …. and brings a strong rhythmic groove of a bass line played by an electric bassist and a drum part played by a drummer to the foreground.”

Note the part about de-emphasising melody. Global funk is my term for any world or ethnic music that has corrupted its origins with an excessive reliance on rhythm and percussion. And once that happens they really do all sound much the same. But I acknowledge too that time after time I walk away from acts featuring this type of music while hundreds of others are drawn to it like moths to a flame. Melody is irrelevant to them it seems and they dance with joy and abandon to this anonymous global funk. So it is I concede MY problem.

After an initial skim of the weekend program I decided that Lamine Sonko and the African Intelligence were probably going to be just another global funk band and decided to give them a miss. However the video on the Womad website featured Sonko playing some great acoustic guitar with just one other acoustic guitarist so I decided to give them a go. Sonko’s guitar, as played on the demo clip, got about 30 seconds airtime before the 11 piece band just crawled all over it and went funk. Very misleading video.

I thought I’d try the music of another recent immigrant to Australia, Natalie Rize, from Jamaica. Various flags were draped over the speaker boxes to nice effect, and for some unknown reason the bass player appeared in jet pilot overalls and bomber helmet. Natalie herself was full of energy. She’s a compelling and elegant performer but this is a form of reggae very different from the Bob Marley days. A VERY loud bass drove the show, and there was tons of percussion and for mine, everyone was just playing too much. Reggae works best when the arrangements are sparse and there’s a recognisable melody line. No such thing in this performance. Just a wall of sound where nothing had space.

Mercedes Peon is from Spain and has spent much of her life preserving and playing the indigenous music of Galicia. For a second time I found that a promotional video for an artist on the Womad website was totally misleading. Peon’s promotional video featured her as the lead singer in a big band with a female chorus. What we got at Womad was a one woman show using various forms of electronica, looping vocals and occasional bagpipes to launch an aural assault on the audience. Any semblance of the original Galician tunes was lost in the mix.

I wandered back to stage 2 and found The Piyut Ensemble from Israel, an all-male group of 8 singers, a string player, flautist, percussionist and 3 clappers singing pieces inspired by ‘African and Middle Eastern traditions of Jewish liturgical poetry, (and) synagogue melodies’. Their acapella like arrangements were pure in form and quite hypnotic in their insistence. Not particularly tuneful as some devotional music can be, but it was certainly high energy, authentic, and positive in intent.

Nhatty Man and Gara is another foreign artist who has relocated to Australia. Originally from Ethiopia, reggae is part of their sound but it’s much bigger and louder than that. ‘Ethio-jazz’ the program called it but for me it was just another incidence where all the players just get bogged down in yet another example of anonymous global funk. I did enjoy their brass section however.

I was becoming dispirited. Days 1-3 provided plenty of variety and purity of ethnic sounds. Day 4 seemed to be loaded up with bands that all sounded pretty much the same. The Specials were still to come – an old favourite from years back – but that was 2 hours away and I’d run out of steam. A four day festival feels too long. No one forces you to go all 4 days of course, but 3 days feels about right.

Interestingly, the undoubted highlight of the day was non-musical. Les Goulus are a crazy French troupe who are hilarious at pretending to be equestrian show jumpers in their giant horse puppets. A very funny interlude on the way between stages. 

I’m beginning to see why Peter Goers can say how he loves WOMADelaide but can’t stand the music!

POST SCRIPT

Big ticks to Womad management for ensuring people could take in plastic bottles of water. And it was very noticeable that what had become a growing, annoying, and unnecessary police presence (with sniffer dogs!)  over the last couple of years was scaled back. Good move. Womad does not need heavy handed policing.

WOMADelaide is still a wonderful event. It’s still an enchanting world of fantasy for all ages, and still has a magic about it.

Two weeks later: came across this Playing for Change video. It embodies what WOMAD once was.

(This review also published on The Clothesline.)

WOMADelaide 2017 - Day 3

I felt like a fair weather friend as I arrived in the late afternoon after the rain had stopped. I tried not to look anyone who had weathered the days’ rain in the face as I took my place on the soggy ground out front of the Zoo stage for Indian classical music singer, Sudha Rajunathan. She introduced her music as “a treasure of South India” and said she expected an audience who can appreciate the finer points of Indian classical tradition. Just in case we didn’t she shared earnest information about each piece her trio played. She’s an extraordinary singer. Nothing seemed beyond her as she pitched high and low and quivered and slid between notes of the various ragas they played for us. Very pure, unadulterated ethnic music that for some would be an acquired taste. As is often the case with Indian classical music there was a lot of mimicking the vocal sounds by accompanying instruments - violin and tabla. It was a real treat.

I had heard Aziz Brahim talk about the plight of her Saharawi people on day 1 and was looking forward to hearing how she translates her ideas into song and I wasn’t disappointed. She has a musical connection with the Tuareg people of North Africa, and much of the music reminded me of the desert rock sounds of TInariwen from several Womads back. The sound is cool and cruisy and Aziza’s vocals float delightfully across the top of her 5 piece band. There’s a lot of space in the rhythms and at times the lead guitar parts sounded very much like white blues guitarists of the 70’s. Think Al Kooper for those who might remember.

Bebel Gilberto from Brazil was the next main attraction on the Foundation stage. She looked bewitching and her band – including 2 classical guitarists – sounded smooth and classy. It felt a bit like nightclub music. It was quite jazz oriented and featured some superb percussion from the drummer, but there was something strange about a singer intent on providing endless opportunities for photographs of her sexy poses and flaunted sexuality. She is Brazilian after all, but it didn’t feel quite right at Womad.

I had intended to catch some other music before the live performance of Koyaanisqatsi by the legendary Philip Glass Ensemble but I noticed the space in front of Stage 2 was filling up fast so I found a spot where I had a good view of the screen and killed half an hour there watching the crowd gather. That was a good decision. Koyaanisqatsi packs just as much punch as it first did on release in 1982 – perhaps even more so. Stunning images of life on planet earth were projected behind the Ensemble as they faultlessly delivered the dramatic soundtrack for the next 90 minutes. I seem to remember talk of Koyaanisqatsi being something that was great to watch while under the influence of whatever drug you might choose, but these days it felt more like a serious reminder to us all that we humans live on a beautiful planet that we need to take better care of. But down the back there was the unmistakable odour of marijuana so I guess for some it’s still a case of the best way to experience Koyaanisqatsi is to be stoned! I’m sure they loved it. 35 years on it is still a remarkable sound and vision experience – stoned or otherwise.

(This review also published on The Clothesline.)