Living in a Trumped World

I’ve been meaning to write about this since the day Trump got elected and Leonard Cohen died. Seemed fitting somehow that Leonard would not want to live in a Trumped world. He no longer belonged. His vision and compassion was no longer wanted. I was filled with a deep sadness on both counts, and part of me wanted to go wherever Leonard went. Follow class and dignity to wherever it resides.

Like many have shared I felt something died the day Trump was elected. It was as if I awoke from a dream that was revealed to be a sham. I had been living believing that slowly we were progressing as a species. Sounds stupid and naïve to write it, but that’s honestly how I felt. I felt we were evolving, and Cohen was the embodiment of that. I felt we were making progress in being more compassionate and understanding with each other. It was not OK to bully people; being gay was OK – nearly; the position of women had attained something approaching parity; cultural differences and the value of diversity were being slowly recognised as an asset to a country, to a company, to the planet; most nations had agreed on some kind of action – however small – to negate climate change; the world was moving towards clean energy.

And then someone who believes in none of these things was voted in as the president of one of the world’s most powerful nations. 28% of Americans voted for a lying, ignorant narcissist, and thumbed their noses at women’s rights, blacks, gays, climate change, etc in the process. They simply wanted to return America to a time of near full employment (cars, manufacturing) and where men could abuse any woman they wanted with impunity.

Clearly a quarter of America’s population felt left out of the political process as they saw their lives slip into underemployment and poverty. Mexicans and Muslims, and anybody else who looked different to them, were taking their jobs and they’re angry. They have every right to be. I realise now that it’s one of the many failures of democracy and its elected representatives to adequately explain what is going on – what globalisation and automation are doing to the job market; why jobs are disappearing. No support offered in terms of meaningful retraining, and certainly no longer term vision of where retrenched manufacturing workers might fit in a new economy once traditional sources of employment dried up. People outside of politics who weren’t concerned with presenting false promises that everything would be OK had been saying for years that traditional manufacturing industry in the West was collapsing, and that alternatives needed to be explored. But nothing was done, government subsidies propped up dying industries and then the GFC blew it all apart. No conversations with affected workers took place about what the future might look like and what their options were. They were left high and dry by the political classes to fend for themselves and fed up with the whole goddamn business they voted for Trump. No matter that he had 5 kids from 3 wives; no matter that he’s filthy rich and a compulsive liar.  It really didn’t matter who Trump was, what he said, or what he believed, as long as promised to stick it up Washington and bring back the good old days.

It’s hard to see how Trump is going to keep this miserable 28% happy. Infrastructure projects might do it for a while. But the bigger picture for me is where to from here for the planet; where to from here for do-gooder lefty leaning liberals in Western countries like Australia. For people like me. How do we reclaim the agenda? How do we get things like the rights of minorities back in focus? How do we bring back compassion as part of a nation’s psyche? Somehow we need to talk with these people who are angry; we need to acknowledge their anger; and we need to present them with viable alternatives so they don’t feel like all those ‘others’ are wrecking their life, and taking away what they see as rightfully theirs.

OR

Maybe they’re kind of right. Maybe as a species we simply don’t act to save ourselves until we reach crisis point. That’s what we’ve always done.  Maybe we need a war. Maybe we need to see and feel the results of massive dislocation of the economy due to climate change. Maybe when Tuvalu and Kiribati disappear the rest of the world might take notice. Maybe most of us are simply unable to think about others and the future for more than few well meaning minutes. And not until shits hits fan will we act. We can only focus on ourselves and the present.  Perhaps the ability to foresee the consequences of our collective actions merely screens the inward looking shallow nature of our true selves?

Maybe we can entertain notions like equality and gender equity when most of us have adequate employment and a living standard that is pretty comfortable. But when things slip back towards the poverty line we revert to self-preservation mode and inherently blame ‘the other’ for our woes.

I have never felt this way before. I’ve generally been optimistic about what the future holds. But I don’t like the circling China is about in the Pacific. I don’t like Trump’s disregard for old alliances and his reckless willingness to discuss using the US’s nuclear capability. I don’t like the hopelessness of the UN as a body without any clout. (Israel routinely ignores it and does what it likes and always gets away with it.) There is no global political leadership. As eloquent and articulate and loving as Obama obviously was, he too was unwilling or unable to effect widespread meaningful change. (Except inside America’s border with Obama care. And what of a people who seem angry that someone dared to help those who need a hand paying their medical bills??? What is with these people???)

It seems quite feasible to me now that a large war is not too far away. It’s not Trump’s fault. Our ineptitude has bred his success. He’s just another card in a collapsing pack that adds to the instability – he doesn’t have the intelligence to be part of any solution.

I was in Vanuatu working with vocational educators when Trump was elected and Cohen died and I was desperate to talk to someone about it. I broached the topics with the people I was with. Their response? Is there an election happening? Who is Donald Trump? What’s wrong with him? And they’d never heard of Leonard Cohen. So there’s another kind of naivete that exists in many parts of the developing world. Their world is far from perfect but they are not tormented by the horrendous and sad stories that our 24/7 media world feeds the globally connected citizen. Trump and Cohen are irrelevant to them. They go about peaceful lives doing what they can to make a living and feed their families and don’t seem any less happy for it. They certainly don’t have the material means to travel but their disconnected cocoon of a tropical paradise seems to deliver a kind of peace and resignation that is far from the angst that my newly discovered naivete wreaks upon my being. Perhaps I’d have been better off being born in Vanuatu.

Anthrogeography

Back in 2008 Clay Shirky flagged the en masse arrival of the digital photographer in Here Comes Everybody. I’ve been thinking again recently about my daily obsession with walking the streets and taking photographs. I take photographs and I’m therefore a photographer, but I’ve never been comfortable with that tag. To me photographers are people who have fancy equipment, have studied or mastered the art of composition, know how to compensate for poor light, when to focus close-in or retreat to the panoramic level and so on. I can do some of these things – as far as a top of the range digital camera will allow – but the fact is I’m not really interested in mastering the technical side of photography. I take photographs sure, but I take them mostly for other reasons, and technical excellence is low on my list of priorities.

I have been looking for a word that better describes what I do. It could be something as simple as a visual diarist. It feels like what I do is a cross between photography and anthropology so perhaps I’m an anthropographer? And guess what? The word exists. Anthropography is “The branch of anthropology that deals with the actual distribution of the human race in its different divisions, as distinguished by physical character, language, institutions, and customs.” While that is close, that is just part of what I do. Then there is the similar related field of anthrotography:

"Specialising in the science researching the origins, history, and development of biological characteristics, social customs, belief systems, and indigenous linguistic variations of humankind. The anthrotographer takes photographs for the purpose of sharing knowledge and spreading joy."(https://aspicyphoto.wordpress.com/what-is-an-anthrotographer/) It seems to be a less accepted term than anthropographer and may have been invented by someone trying to do what I am exploring – exactly what it is I do with photographs.

Let’s look at the elements of each of these disciplines and see how well they describe what I think I do – or not.

• the actual distribution of the human race in its different divisions, as distinguished by physical character, language, institutions, and customs

I do take photographs of people of different cultures, and try and emphasise different physical characteristics. For example:

I also try and try catch glimpses of different cultural practices: 

Drinking Kava

I try and capture examples of different linguistic traditions: 

Bislama Language of Vanuatu

• The anthrotographer takes photographs for the purpose of sharing knowledge

This has been a significant drawcard for me. Based on the assumption that your photos are shared with others – an essential element of the whole process – I was intrigued early on just how much random information I picked up from others’ photos, and what others could teach me about my own. It is common practice to ask the online community for assistance if for example, you don’t know the name of a bird or flower that you have photographed. Inevitably in time someone will provide the answer.

• The anthrotographer takes photographs for the purpose of … spreading joy.

This can be the joy of learning; the joy of sharing photos of a shared experience, or joy in and of itself:

The anthro prefix in these fields of endeavour denotes the study of humanity. But what then with photos of landscape or nature? 

There’s no evidence of people present – deliberately so – so the anthro tag does not apply to all I do. So something that denotes observation of earth or nature needs to be part of the description. ‘Geo’ seems an obvious candidate but geographer is already taken, and I don’t want the anthro aspect completely sidelined. So what about anthrogeography? It does exist according to Google, but it seems to have been superseded by anthropogeography - a branch of anthropology dealing with the geographical distribution of humankind and the relationship between human beings and their environment. The relationship between human beings and their environment. This is getting closer. But I want a term that encompasses observation of humans and the environment or natural world not only in isolation, where they exist independent of each other, but also how they interact with the other.

While trying to decide what it is I do I realise that it’s about

1. people
2. places
3. the mutual impact people and places have on the other

And a final aspect that others have been quick to point out about my photographs – what happens when people leave the scene: the process of neglect, incremental change, and slow decay. It is a significant theme in my work but I think it can be included under the third point above.

Anthropogeographer sounds clumsy to me, and if anthrogeographer has been superseded I could reclaim it and redefine it. Or I could start brand new with geoanthrographer, but it’s difficult to pronounce.

“So you’re a photographer Michael?”

“No. I’m an Anthrogeographer.”

“What’s that?

“Someone who photographs people and places and how they interact.”

“Ah…interesting…’ J

I don’t expect to start a new movement. I could perhaps be accused of being a wanker. But I really do want a term that makes it clear that what I do is not based on an interest in photography as a technical discipline. I am much more interested in where photographs can take you; how one might use them to create a dialogue between us about the nature of existence. So for now, I’m a anthrogeographer! (This may change ;)

Thoughts After My Second Visit to a Tiny Island Nation

Tuvalu is a magical place. It’s like I’m smitten. But it’s an ambivalent relationship. Love the place but can’t wait to leave. Happily cruising back to Suva on a Pacific Thursday afternoon and feeling content to be going home to Elizabeth and safety. The remote location and the isolation that comes with it is hard adjust to. But I’m filled with visions of classic tropical enchantment. It reminded me of Kuta, Bali in 1973. Narrow roads through vegetation hiding houses and families and yards. The laughter and noise of family life wafts through to the road and leaves you with a half sketched out idea of what life might be like back in there.

But what you can see is an eclectic mix. And not everyone is going to come to the same conclusion. I see beauty, intrigue, relics, mysterious pathways that the children disappear into. You can see wrecks of cars and boats, piles of leftover building materials, empty squashed plastic bottles, rickety wooden platforms, assorted litter and a general inattention to tidiness. Basically it’s beauty or mess – both are there in abundance and it’s your call. You see what you’re looking for.

There’s barely a house on Funafuti that wouldn’t be classified as a slum or ruin in suburban Australia. Banged together collections of wood, plastic, corrugated iron, and always with a 4 poster covered wooden platform in the yard for families to hang out on in fresh air, in the shade, or out of the rain. Life is essentially held outdoors. There are some proper houses – wooden boards, louvres, a tin roof perhaps – but they too have the family platform, the litter, and the rambling dirt tracks winding back from the main drags. And everything ends at the sea.

On average, Funafuti (Tuvalu’s main island) is about 100 metres wide so you can always hear the sea. The coast too is either a sad affair littered with ex-engines, left behind thongs or items of clothing on a charming foreshore that leads to a calm lagoon that is often glass like smooth. At dusk some make it a ritual to bathe, or in the case of young boys, jump around like monkeys off the sandbag groyne that’s there to help reclaim land. Pure unadulterated children in paradise stuff. A joy to behold. And they happily share it with you the stranger – showing off their best moves and flashing full faced smiles.

About 100 metres away, just short of the other – ocean – coast, the 15-40 year olds gather on the town’s runway for the daily sport carnival of rugby, volleyball and soccer. Barefoot they bound around the warm tarmac throwing themselves at various balls. All again with copious dollops of laughter – a signature of Tuvalu. A true tropical paradise.

Fawlty Towers Live - Her Majesty’s Theatre, Thu Oct 28

Many of us have seen episodes of Fawlty Towers multiple times. We know and love the characters. We know the lines. We know the madcap plot twists. Hence the excited sense of anticipation about how it might translate to the live stage. John Cleese has taken 3 of his favourite episodes and cleverly reworked them into a two act stage play.

And it works. Wonderful comedic writing, zany story lines, quirky characters, and liberal dashes of good old-fashioned slapstick guarantee that much. And a well-seasoned cast deliver mostly storng performances in a fun evening of timeless frivolity.

It was impossible not to compare with the original – Aimee Horne as Polly was perfect, as was Paul Bertram as the eccentric and forgetful Major. They could have walked on to the original set of Fawlty Towers without anyone noticing. Deborah Kennedy was superb as the deaf and potty Mrs Richards, Blazey Best did a great job of reminding us just how much of a tasteless tart Sybil is, and Syd Brisbane channelled Manuel beautifully.  

Then of course there was Stephen Hall’s daunting task of taking on the role of Basil Fawlty. He deserves spades of accolades for simply daring to take on what would have to be one of the more impossible acts to follow in the history of show business, and he largely succeeded, especially in the secoind act where he seemed more comfortable in the skin of the more manic Basil. One could quibble about aspects of his performance but his ability to realise a believable character is central to the whole show working and he definitely achieves that. If we had never seen John Cleese in this role it would be hailed unreservedly as a great performance. He is not John Cleese. And Cleese’s Basil Fawlty has already gone down in history as one of the great comic characters of the 20^th century.

Those who were expecting something more original than a carbon copy of the original characters, plots and dialogue may be disappointed. And sticking so close to the orginal begs for comparisons to be made. As one astute observer commented, it was like going to see a cover band play all of your favourite songs. You know they’re good – not as good as the original versions - but you go along anyway to remind yourself how much you love and enjoy all those songs. And so it was with this production of Fawlty Towers.

The fantastic set was very true to the original with an added vertical dimension with both floors of the hotel visible simultaneously. The famous lines were all there (“Would you like me to move the hotel a little to the left dear?” “Don’t mind him he’s from Barcelona.”) and it flew by in a flash. Lots of chuckling, permanent nostalgic grins, but not much uproarious laughter. More like a comfortable night out with an old friend that you love dearly.

(also published on The Clothesline)

Are WOMADelaide and the Adelaide Fringe Losing Their Soul?

A couple of weeks ago English comedian Alexis Dubus begrudgingly conceded that he was done with the Adelaide Fringe. He had watched it change into something that no longer met his needs and he no longer wanted to be part of it. At the risk of starting a bandwagon I may have reached the same point with WOMADelaide. And for a veteran who has seen all but one of them and who often said that ‘WOMADelaide is my religion’ this is no small matter. If I did nothing else each year, I always attended this that was the greatest show on earth.

I saw things at WOMADelaide this year that I have never experienced before. Bins were often overflowing with rubbish, stages were named after sponsors, and technical stage problems were common. I can’t be sure but it seems that the only explanation for the technical glitches is that new crew were involved. Novatech? I heard more feedback in the first three days of the festival than I’d heard for the last 10 years. WOMADelaide had raised the bar in many areas, and one of those areas was stage management. Feedback just never happened. When performers were unable to hear themselves in the foldback, it was sorted within 30 seconds or so of a performance getting underway. The sound crews were slick and professional. For some reason this year that standard was let drop and it was sad and embarrassing.

But the main reason for my doubts about whether I’ll attend WOMADelaide again are based upon the music and programming. There is no doubt that over the years the program has been changing incrementally in favour of acts that are essentially bands, and mainstream acts like The Violent Femmes because they pull large crowds. These kinds of acts are primarily designed to get people up and dancing. The D in WOMAD stands for dance, so that’s fine, but it’s about the percentage of these high voltage acts that are now crowding the program.

I’m a WOMADelaide purist. What first attracted me to the festival was the truly exotic – Russia’s Terem Quartet, a lone kora player from Africa, throat singing from Sardinia, Madagascar’s Justin Vali Trio – music you would never hear anywhere else, and where you felt extraordinarily privileged to witness things you otherwise had no access to. Mostly these musical events happened on the small stages where you had the opportunity of a more intimate musical experience. Adelaide music magazine editor and critic Robert Dunstan once wrote “as I stood among the Moreton Bay fig trees with the sun going down listening to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, I found myself thinking ‘I have never been happier’.” These kinds of intimate and exotic musical experiences at WOMADelaide can still happen, but they’re getting harder to find.

The bulk of the program now features what I have taken to calling ‘global funk’. It matters not where the performers come from – Africa, Europe, Latin America, or their Australian based derivatives – all of these bands have percussion and electric guitars, and after a few songs in desultory recognition of their origins, they descend into a frenetic version of global funk played at loud volume and high speed. (It’s interesting at these moments to close your eyes and see if you can pick where the players come from.) It is music designed to whip up dance frenzies and the masses dutifully oblige. But WOMADelaide diehards like me keep seeking that magical moment on the smaller stages where I hear something that I’ve never heard before, and that challenges my musical horizons. And after this year’s event I realised that it is no longer worth the money or the four days trying to find those magical exotic moments. There are too few of them.

WOMADelaide has gone mainstream. It is now mostly about high energy and frantic rhythms.

I can accept that things must change. It has been 24 years after all and nothing stays the same. I understand the need to change the programming to attract new audiences. And organisers would be foolish to continue to cater for the original Boomer types who were there at the beginning because we are beginning to disappear! There is some sadness in the realisation that it may be all over for me and WOMADelaide, but there’s a realistic acceptance too that the beast I fell in love with has changed. As it had to. I am enormously grateful to have had 22 years of musical wonderment. It was an organic experience that WOMADelaide performers frequently commented on, but it is now more about heaving masses and loud electronic rhythms.

In this quest to attract greater crowds WOMADelaide has become more commercial. What was a highly innovative and exotic experience now threatens to sound and feel like ‘just another festival.’ It was more than that once. It has lost its innovative edge.

And so back to Alex Dubus and the Adelaide Fringe. He is saying similar things about the Fringe and that in fact it is fringe no more. It too has caved in to featuring many mainstream acts to bring in the crowds and the strategy has worked. Again in 2016 it was bigger than ever. But perhaps bigger is not best. It seems that perhaps both the Adelaide Fringe and WOMADelaide have lost their ‘fringe feel’ in the quest for larger crowds. They have drifted away from the core mission that initially inspired them. Of course there is still evidence of ‘cutting edge’ acts in both festivals, but it’s about percentages and the truly fringe acts out there on the creative margins are being squeezed out by established artists and bands with bigger sounds. Perhaps it’s time for the artistic directors of these two events to get together and discuss where these festivals are heading. They are both still wonderful events, but they are changing and are being threatened by commercial imperatives. A conversation about their artistic soul and raison d’etre is needed.

Otherwise we may soon be attending the [insert major sponsor] WOMADelaide festival where every stage has a named sponsor.

(also published on The Clothesline)

Deluge

Plant 1 Bowden, Tue 8 Mar

Five concurrent plays performed simultaneously in a pit of foam rubber on the site of the old Clipsal factory. Sounds like a recipe for total confusion but no, it was surprisingly cohesive.
Four years in the making by drama students from Flinders University this production explores the themes of alienation and information overload in a hyper connected world. It takes a while to sort out who’s talking to who but once that’s achieved it was easy enough to take turns focusing on the conversations that criss-crossed the performance space – in much the same way we’ve learned how to digest the information we want to hear from multiple streams of media in the contemporary world. It’s a cacophony if you try and take it all in, but quite manageable if you split your focus to those parts you find more interesting.

Two online gamers at opposite ends of the space did a great job of remaining connected. A couple who share a pregnancy are not sure how close they want to be. An earnest young man espouses the virtues of the Bahai religion on his YouTube channel, and gets side-tracked into another play when he spots a young woman who he feels is in need of spiritual assistance.

At several junctures the conversations dovetail as if they are on the same wavelength before drifting off again into separation. “We are all connected.” These could be random coincidences or a higher power exercising subliminal control.

It’s an intriguing premiere of a brave concept. Beautifully played, and artfully directed by Nescha Jelk, it subtly increases the level of angst until the various characters are eventually driven to physical closeness in a chaotic finale.

A really enjoyable spectacle and experience. The minimalist lighting was eye-catching and super effective, and there’s a delightful irony in the fact that this fable of modern life takes place in a relic of an industrial era that’s coming to an end.

(also published on The Clothesline)

Exquisite Corpse

Space Theatre, Adelaide Festival Centre, Mon 7 Mar

Wikipedia tells me Exquisite Corpse is an old parlour game where people used to take turns writing stories by building on the work of the previous player. For this project the idea was extended to include twelve composers and two visual artists. Each composer built on the last piece of musical notation from the previous participant to create a collaborative score, and the visual artists did similarly.

It is important to understand the collaborative nature of this work to appreciate the final product. If it at times seems fragmented it’s because no one composer had an idea of what the final piece would sound like. Given the circumstances, it’s remarkable to say that it did by and large come across as a unified work, and that’s due to the artistry of the Zephyr Quartet. Two violins, a viola and cello bow, pluck and strum their way through a frequently changing soundscape that has many moods. I preferred the moments where all instruments were being bowed in traditional fashion but the experimental passages were often more rhythmic, and it was intriguing guessing where it would go next.

And then there were the visuals. Projected on screen throughout were a series of bizarre drawings of a surrealist world that reminded me of the animations of the type that the Monty Python team made famous. The Python versions we know were harmless fun and devoid of meaning. But what of these? Did they mean anything? Were they connected to the music is some way, and if so, how? While quite charming and often amusing (it didn’t seem appropriate to laugh) I ultimately found them intrusive. Rather than complement the musical score, I was being distracted. They were too assertive; too pronounced in their presence.

What worked well were the coloured tubes that snaked around the stage and emitted various hues and frequencies to create a pleasing aura of colour and movement around the quartet. For me, this was all the visual effect I needed.

It was like being at two performances – one musical and the other visual. I could enjoy one or the other, but not both simultaneously. But kudos to the Zephyr Quarter for this brave idea – musically it largely worked for me, but overall it felt like a metaphor for modern distracted life: there’s just too much going on.

(also published on The Clothesline)

John Cleese and Eric Idle - Together Again At Last For the Very Last Time

Adelaide Entertainment Centre, Tue 1 Mar, 2016

In truth John Cleese and Eric Idle could have served up anything and I’d have been happy. I just wanted to pay homage to these comic masters who together with other members of the Monty Python team turned comedy on its head 40-plus years ago. The good news is they are still masters of comedy.

Things began unconventionally of course as we hear Cleese muttering that we don’t have to start on time and we can just show them some videos. So we got five minutes or so of a greatest hits collection of some of their best work before the stars of the show sat down for a relaxed chat about how the Python crew met, and the early shows they worked on with Peter Sellers and David Frost et al.

They then swapped stories about their favourite sketches from the past – complete with video clips. It was fascinating to hear them critique each other and comment on what they each considered was their best work.

Two live sketches followed and showed they haven’t lost any of their comic timing and sense of the absurd. Great stuff.

After interval John Cleese talked about the nature of comedy, what makes people laugh, and his love of the dark side of the genre. A string of politically incorrect jokes targeting various racial groups followed and Cleese drew spontaneous applause when he lamented the inability of contemporary society to distinguish between what is just teasing in good humour, and what is racist and mean spirited.

Eric Idle returned guitar in hand to demonstrate what a capable player and very fine songwriter he is – even if his songs are by his own admission a little on the filthy side.

They joined forces once more for a Q&A session with the audience and provided quick and witty off the cuff answers, and more good natured banter about the other Pythons – especially Michael Palin! Contrary to what is sometimes reported it is clear they have a great deal of respect and affection for the other members of the Python team, but that doesn’t mean they don’t make jokes about them at their expense!

The show predictably closed with the song that has become the most requested song at British funerals and we all sang along karaoke style.

An insightful, entertaining, and very funny show chock full of stories, jokes, sketches, videos, and songs that revealed their enormous comic talent. The Python era may have been their peak of commercial popularity, but they are still quite simply very funny guys who love making people laugh. “Say no more.”

(also published on The Clothesline)

Vin Garbutt in Adelaide (18/2/16)

Vin Garbutt is one of that wonderful breed of British folk singers who effortlessly combine comedy and music. They have you laughing away at their stories between songs and then melt your heart with delicious melodies and the joys and sorrows of the people they sing about.

For over 40 years Vin has been travelling the world mesmerising audiences with an extraordinary voice, an endless swag of wonderful songs, and an infectious warmth and love for humanity. In what could well be his last Australian tour he seemed anxious to give thanks to all those who have enabled his extended career.

The bulk of his songs have always featured stories about the little guy – the people who have worked hard or who life has treated harshly and who have no voice of their own. He has a knack for uncovering such stories, mostly from his native UK, and crafting songs around them. Like the miner who became a seamstress when he lost his job in the mines (Silver and Gold); the former musician from Iran who became a teacher (Teacher From Persia), the retired steel worker who took to growing vegetables in his tiny allotment (Man of the Earth). Stories like this have been a driving force behind his success. The purpose of Vin Garbutt’s version of folk music is to bring these stories to light. And to entertain of course.

And he does it such a joyous way that there’s nothing gloomy about it. Life can be tough but there’s always a funny story around the next bend. For Vin Garbutt life’s a wonderful and melancholy thing.

His quirky on stage demeanour is cheeky and endearing, and his care for his audiences and the gratitude for the life he leads is abundant.

“All the very best” he says every time he raises his glass to take a drink. Right back at you Vin. You’re a treasure. 

(Also published over on The Clothesline)

Penny Arcade - The Longing Lasts Longer (Feb 14th, 2016)

“Turns contemporary stand-up on its head” – yep. I’ve never seen or experienced anything quite like this. The promo continues: “you will never be the same.” Big call. Not quite true, but The Longing Lasts Longer made my brain work overtime. “Thinking is hard people” Penny Arcade said as she implored us to stay with her while she expounded on her unique take of the universe. You will likely be confronted with phrases you’ve never heard, and ideas you’ve never thought about. This is performance art. Intellectual comedy. And it’s been a long time coming.

Initially using New York City, her home of 50 years, as a metaphor for all Western society she tells us how it’s changed. How it has become gentrified and commodified. She tracks through the decades from the 60s onwards with reference to the friendship and work she’s done with famous friends, and then devotes a lot of time explaining how anyone born post 1980 was born into the fog of consumerism. It would be hard for anyone under 35 not to feel targeted, but Penny Arcade is not blaming then. She blames their parents.

Essentially this is a 75 minute monologue on how one intelligent, articulate and entertaining person who dares to take risks, sees the world.  It’s all done against a soundtrack of instrumental segments of very familiar tunes from “four decades of pop culture”. Occasionally lyrics are left in so Penny can inject her own commentary into the lyrics as she does with a couple of songs from Van Morrison and it feels like she was rapping with him – to great effect.

How much you enjoy this show is going to depend very much on whether you are prepared to think, really think, and whether or not you agree with her view of the world. I agreed with most of what she was saying – it was revelatory and refreshing – so I loved it.  Cherish individuality and authenticity. Never lose your sense of adventure, and above all, love yourself. If you’re listening you may end up loving Ms Penny Arcade.

(Also published on The Clothesline)

Did virtual learning ever take off?

Today over on Facebook a former TAFE colleague, Kate Wise, wrote:

"Thinking of our virtual learning Michael. Did it ever take off? Missed those wonderful sessions with the rest of the world.

Did virtual learning ever take off?"

 It certainly did. Virtual learning can mean different things but Kate is referring to those international events hosted by the Australian vocational education and training (VET) sector where scores of people, and sometimes hundreds, joined live virtual classroom (webinar) sessions from across the world to discuss educational issues. They were enormously popular and most everyone who joined those sessions would testify to their effectiveness. The model worked brilliantly for professional development.

I always found it frustrating that the same model never really worked for classroom delivery in the VET sector. It got some traction in higher education, but even there the predominant model turned out to be the one way non-collaborative lecture style webinar offered by tools like Echo 360.

It seems that there were too many hurdles and ideological leaps for the average teacher to teach their classes this way. What’s interesting is that the corporate word adopted this model with gusto and today virtual meetings for companies with a distributed workforce is commonplace.

Virtual learning is also used as a synonym for online learning. Online learning is everywhere these days, but the model that has been widely adopted is essentially the set and forget model that offers little real interaction and almost no real time virtual sessions. Many people who were employed as e- or online learning specialists in professional development (ie people like me) have been discarded and deemed unnecessary. The prevailing model is still static content plus quizzes. It was decided that nothing more was necessary.

So people like myself who were encouraging a richer form of elearning that emphasised collaborative approaches with a synchronous real time component are left bemused that we spent so much of our professional lives promoting a model we knew was powerful and effective but in the end was deemed superfluous. It still sits uneasily with me. It feels sometimes as if I wasted my time; that my belief in this richer model was misguided and naïve. But I’m left with the memory, like Kate, that some remarkable and deep learning occurred in those virtual sessions sponsored by the Australian Flexible Learning Framework. But we failed to in our quest to have that model become part of standard delivery.

Making Meaning

I read today – I think on the ubiquitous Facebook – that if you don’t write about what you think then no one knows what you think. That seems particularly pertinent to me now in the ‘post permanent job - pre-retirement’ phase of my life. I was an educator. I didn’t appreciate till it was all over how much I enjoyed talking to groups of people. Classes. Of course the purpose of the classes was not for me to talk, but teachers do. Inevitably at regular intervals you got to talk about what you believed and thought. It’s part of the bonding process that needs to happen between educator and students. Students need to get to know you and trust you before they accept what you say as having value. So they ask you questions. That doesn’t happen to me much anymore J

My life now has long gaps where I can’t talk to groups of people. I rarely now have classes. And I find myself wanting to say things when I don’t have a ready-made audience. So it’s a good time to start writing again. There have been multiple occasions over the last 18 months where I’ve wanted to say things about all manner of topics: the state of the Australian VET system, the whole sorry Islamist phenomenon, the continuing role of the Internet in upending life as we know it, the state of Australian political life and its corruption by the major parties, the secrets to effective management (I have just been reading Fullan on change), the drift towards the public disclosure of every facet of life in social media, why I don’t want to do that, how social media has become mainstream and has consequently lost its sense of innovation and challenge….I could go on.

I used to write a lot. I used to write dutifully for about 30 minutes each day. That’s how these pieces came into being. It used to be called journalling, or keeping a diary. As someone once commented, I blogged, as many others did, before blogging was a thing. Along the way I got waylaid by images. I became entranced by the daily posting of photos on Flickr – a disease I caught from, and am eternally grateful to, Alan Levine. The 365 project he suggested – posting a photo for each day of the year – changed my life. I became a person who preferred to express and share their life with images. It has been a joy and a revelation about the power of random serendipity. (see more here). I’ve come to realise that what I have been doing with the posting of images of my daily life is in some sense trying to make meaning of my world.

Making meaning is a common concept in many disciplines. Humans by default try and make meaning of what is happening around them, and if for whatever reason that ability or opportunity to make meaning is denied us we are not at peace. It is not a conscious process; it is just what we do if we are a healthy functioning citizen. Apart from the field of linguistics and language learning I always struggled with this concept of making meaning. I wasn’t sure what it was or if it was even necessary. It’s one of the many insights that appear to accompany the process of getting older and contemplating one’s own life coming to an end. (No I'm not dying!) I do now try and make meaning out of things; for me now it is occasionally a conscious process. I’m no longer just satisfied to just do or experience something. I want to explore why I am doing it; I want to know what it means.

It crystallised for me very clearly when I watched the Lazarus video from David Bowie on the day he died. It was inspiring to watch this work from someone who, though dying, was intent on making meaning of existence and what was happening to him for the entertainment and cultural enrichment of others. Through art. Reinterpreting the last days of his life to make it more powerful and leave us all with an instructive culture artefact rather than just tears and sadness.

I could go on…..

..... but before I go I just want to acknowledge and thank my dear friend and colleague Stephan Ridgway for the amazing work he did in the Australian elearning arena over the last 15 years. Stephan today became another casualty of an Australian VET system that is methodically disposing of anyone with a sense of innovation and who might dare to do things differently. Today was Stephan's last day at work for Sydney Institute of TAFE. As Robyn Jay wrote, "with grace he goes."

Bit of a Brick

Have loved this song forever, and have played it many times live. Currently rehearsing it with a couple of friends to play live at the end of January.

Gurrumul

There was a moment at Womadelaide a few years ago when Gurrumul silenced a crowd of several thousand mostly white Australians with songs sung in ‘language’. We had no idea what he was singing about, but we knew somewhere it was about things like hills, stories from the Dreamtime, ancestors – things of antiquity. He was the voice of ancient Australia and he had us in the palm of his hand. It was one of the most profound cultural moments I’ve ever experienced. And this concert was another night of magic with this remarkable singer. Billed as the gospel songs tour, it featured several songs from Gurrumul’s past on Elcho Island that are more like hymns than the gospel sounds one associates with black America.

The show began with safe territory – two of Gurrumul’s better known songs – Wiyathul, and Bapa, a dedication to fathers everywhere, and they set the inspirational tone for the rest of the evening. When long time Gurrumul collaborator Michael Hohnen announced that they were now going to play the religious tunes it seemed a little superfluous, as these songs are deeply spiritual in the effect they can have on an audience.

Nevertheless, local Adelaide choir Women with Latitude joined the band for the religious/gospel part of the set and it’s a match made in heaven. They provided a beautiful soft backdrop to Gurrumul’s timeless vocals, embellishing every note with a restrained ethereal presence. When they did crank up the volume later in the show on a Gurrumul original, while singing in his native Yolngu tongue, the whole effect was superb. It was quite noticeable too that as soon as multiple voices are added to Gurrumul’s songs you can hear the link with the islander music of the Pacific.

There is something intangibly primal about Gurrumul’s ability to cut across Australian cultures with the voice of a songbird that soothes and caresses and delivers you to a place of immense joy and deep satisfaction. He is an extraordinary gift to this land.

Another original song, The Crow, was richly textured and again showed Gurrumul’s ability to portray simple symbols from the world of nature in a way that all Australians can appreciate. A catchy reggae tune closed out the evening. Just the standing ovation was left, which of course Gurrumul can’t see. I hope someone tells him about it. But my guess is he can probably sense it.  

Also published on The Clothesline

Boomers' Legacy

OK. I’m going to write this rather than talk it. In truth, I wasn’t a big fan of Stairway to Heaven. In fact the song drove me nuts. As a guitarist and busker I was asked hundreds of times if I knew how to play it but I never learned it. But the version of this song in this concert is a stunner. Nor was I a great fan of Led Zeppelin after their early years. Like many bands their best came early on and they never quite reproduced the edge of their early stuff. So the reference to Led Zeppelin being the ‘wind beneath the wings of a generation’ was really using them as a metaphor for all the music that served that function. It could have been The Who, Stones, Beatles, Animals, Hendrix, etc – it was the collective impact of new rock that sustained the cultural change.

What of that change? Yes there were early utopian claims that the Age of Aquarius would herald the age of peace and equality, but it clearly didn’t happen. So what did change? It definitely drove a wedge between mine and my parents’ generation. By the time I was 20 I was living a life that was eons apart from theirs. The outward expression of this gulf was our appearance. We let our hair grow, wore daggy or weird clothes, stopped going to church and moved in to shared houses. Youth embraced a new freedom that was missing in previous decades, and the stifling tyranny of the family unit was broken. And rock music was our music, our mouthpiece. It’s not just the music that did it – it was a mix of many things – but the music was the outward expression of liberty that youth had discovered.

The legacy of this time can still be seen in a myriad of things:

·         It is now for example quite OK to go to a fancy theatre in jeans and a t-shirt. Or the CBD. Or anywhere. This breaking down of a strict uniformity of dress code for all began in the late 60s.

·         It began a globalisation of the world. People like Dylan helped people realise that struggles were the same the world over.

·         Young people started to travel – roaming far away countries for months on end.

·         People began to live together out of wedlock en masse and eventually wore down the importance of the institution of marriage.

·         Mainstream religion suffered a massive downturn in appeal. People began to look elsewhere – Buddhism, meditation, Eastern religions generally – for spiritual sustenance.

·         Communities based on very different values like Nimbin and others on the northern coast of NSW began to spring up all over the world. Many dropped out of a mainstream society that no longer met their needs.

·         Many more people began to take drugs and had their consciousness altered. There were plenty of casualties but no one who takes mind altering drugs can ever look at the world the same way again.

·         It did liberate women to some extent. Divorce became socially acceptable and single parents received social security to enable them to live a life free of abusive partners.

None of these things are final. They are processes of cultural change that are still evolving. It’s interesting to think about whether the Boomers created these changes, or whether they happened to them. It’s probably both. Things were changing rapidly, and they were the agents of change.

The fact is that between 1965 and 1975 the Western world changed dramatically. And behind it was this music, these anthems advertising and extolling another life and other values. The music you listen to in your teens and twenties is typically the music that stays with you forever. It is the music that was playing when you were becoming adult and working out who you were and what you believed, and it is woven into your DNA. It provokes deep emotion whenever you hear it. So I understand too well what Robert Plant was feeling as he listened to his song in that concert. Quite frequently, without warning, I’ll be listening to music of that time and tears will come. Tears for the memories, the intense emotions of love and love lost and youth and freedom and good times, for the people who have gone or who got lost along the way. And because these people who inspired us with their anthems of an incredibly exciting time are dying. Every time I see a musician from that time I am acutely aware that it is probably the last time I’ll see them.

We’re still left with a world of wonder and turmoil.

Perhaps the part of the legacy of the 60s and 70s I value above all else is the fact that I am friends with my adult children in a way that was impossible when I was 20. The world had changed too much and too fast for me and my parents to be anything but polite strangers. They simply had no clue who their children were anymore. So I, and many of my generation (Leigh’s going to tell me something different!) made sure as parents that we would never be strangers to our children; that we would never impose on them values that were not theirs. I am friends with my children, and the generation/cultural gap is small. But that is my life….. J  

"This Music Won't Last"

Sometime during my teen years I was watching rock/pop music on TV and my mother, a classically trained singer and pianist, assured me this music would never last. It was her way of telling me that she thought the music of little value and that I’d be better off spending my leisure time on other things. We often debated this question. I remember another day when I again was watching TV in the lounge and she came through from the kitchen asking ‘who is that with the beautiful speaking voice’? She was shocked to see a long haired, bearded and bizarre character speaking. It was in fact Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull.

I don’t remember really having any sense of belief at the time that the music I loved would last. As I grew older I learned that the pop/rock music of the 60s and 70s represented a radical change from what had gone before, both in terms of sound – they’re had been nothing like it – and the cultural values held by many of its exponents. Long hair and outrageous appearance and on and off stage behaviour was par for the course. As a teenager and early 20 something I was proud that I was part of a new generation that had at least in some sense changed the world. And it satisfied my natural tendency towards rebellion and rejection of my parents’ and mainstream values.

Last night a Facebook friend (who is incidentally also a good friend in ‘real’ life) posted a link to a video from a memorial concert in honour of the pioneer rock band, Led Zeppelin. The video featured a live performance of Stairway to Heaven by Ann and Nancy Wilson. Complete with choir and orchestra I really enjoyed this superb version of ‘Stairway’. But what moved me more was watching the reaction of three of the original members of Led Zeppelin – Robert Plant, Jimmy Page, and John Paul Jones. Once wild men of rock they were seated in the audience dressed in suits and had it seemed turned into thoroughly respectable old men.

Robert Plant seemed stunned at what he was witnessing. His eyes welled up with tears, and he stared at the performance happening on stage with a kind of ‘what have I done? what did I do?’ expression. But in a positive sense. It was as if he was realising for the first time the beauty and the power of the song he and Jimmy Page had created 44 years earlier. So Stairway to Heaven has lasted and has been enriched and transformed by a new generation of musicians. (John Bonham’s son played drums in this performance.)

My own eyes began to well up as I watched and listened to this wonderful rendition of ‘Stairway’ until I was finally quite simply crying. Crying In support of Robert Plant. As my wife commented I just want to give him a hug. Crying too because I remembered that comment of my mother’s all those years ago and I realised, if I hadn’t before, that the music of my generation has been validated. We weren’t just listening to a passing fad or an aberration in the history of music. We had been part of huge and powerful cultural change that has left an indelible stamp on the world. It did have value.

You could scoff and bemoan the fact I guess that the Led Zap boys are now respectable senior members of the community and wear suits – Robert Plant often performed bare chested for heaven’s sake – but they are no longer wild and provocative young men. They don’t need to be. They, and many of their peers, created music that was the wind beneath the wings of a generation and it is clear now that much of it will outlast them and the generation that is growing old with them.

I felt proud watching this performance that I had made the choices I had, that I had listened to this ‘devil music’ from an early age and I want to believe now that I knew instinctively all those years ago that something huge was happening, and that our music had value. It’s a big call but it felt like it validated much of my life and who I am.

For another example of how another wild man of rock has become part of the musical establishment watch Ian Anderson singing Wondering Aloud with a chamber orchestra.

You were wrong Mum.

ADDENDUM (3/2/24)

I have been reading Bob Spitz’s account of the Led Zeppelin story, and I have read things there that make me question everything I ever felt about them, and what I wrote above. We all know that the groupie phenomenon was part of the rock star lifestyle, and we have all heard tales of exploitation of women that don’t sit comfortably with more recent standards. But the disgusting depravity and debauchery of Led Zeppelin was beyond the pale. And the bullying methods employed by their manager against journalists, other bands, musicians, promoters, and bootleggers was nothing short of underworld thuggery. Violence and intimidation were his standard tools.

A very very seedy tale - there were seeds of evil within the Led Zeppelin camp – and right now I’m feeling they did not deserve their success. 

Frisky and Mannish - Adelaide Cabaret Festival

Taken by Rosie Collins

What a ride! Roaming spotlights playing over audience and stage at the start of the show suggested we were in for something big! Looking positively glamorous in gold, Frisky and Mannish enter the stage to form a beautiful tableau, and that was about their only serious moment. Everything about this show is over the top. I’m tempted to tag them the greatest hams in the history of show business. But this is a good thing.

Promoting themselves as a bridge between pop and cabaret they set about demolishing everything you may hold dear about either genre in a fast paced, tightly scripted and hilarious send up of a long list of songs and their performers. We learn that most pop singers (except for Katy Perry and her paean to plastic bags) don’t write their own material, and in fact 81% of all popular songs are written by the Bee Gees!! We learn too that Sinead O’Connor wrote way more letters of advice than just the famous one to Miley Cyrus.

There are so many really funny moments. A medley of songs revised for the Internet age inserts Google, tweets, and Facebook into the lyrics of famous songs. “I still haven’t found what I’m googling for.” (U2) A collection of Australian songs reveals their take on the Australian psyche, and a fast and furious trawl through candidates for a feminist anthem is priceless.

And just in case you might think they take themselves seriously, once they’ve finished taking aim at everyone else they turn the blowtorch on themselves.

This superb dismantling of popular culture is all done via bits of well-known songs with altered lyrics, and some of the funniest singing I’ve ever heard. They can make the most beautiful song sound ridiculous, and the most inane pieces sound like works of high art.
Outstanding performers; great writers. They try towards the end to take things seriously again for a minute but it lasts about 30 seconds before their wonderfully weird and demonic selves resume control. They close with a love song to us and all humanity but we know they don’t believe a word of it! Sensational.

(Also published on The Clothesline.)

WHAT TO DO WITH BIRTHDAYS ON FACEBOOK?

For the last 2 years I have faithfully responded to each and every Facebook birthday greeting received. This year I decided I wouldn’t. I like one friend’s somewhat cynical approach to this issue. The day before their birthday they posted: “To all my FB friends who will inevitably wish me happy birthday tomorrow – thanks in advance!” I contemplated changing my settings so my birthday wasn’t visible but of course I forgot.

On the other side of this FB birthday greeting equation I am unequivocal. I resent FB telling me that some friend or colleague is having a birthday. There’s a momentary pang of guilt as I choose to ignore that person’s birthday ie not send them a greeting. And what about all those I do know quite well, and care about, but if it weren’t for FB’s auto notifications, I would never know it was their birthday - what do I do on their birthdays? I usually ignore them too. And there are those who are really close and whose birthdays I probably know without FB’s help. (My mother used to keep a book for such information – it contained nothing more than a list of people’s birthdays that she wanted to acknowledge.) I might contact some of these close friends/family on their birthdays, or if I only remembered because of FB write something like, “FB tells me it’s your birthday…..” I’m just not comfortable claiming credit for remembering someone’s birthday when I actually didn’t! I know – I should probably get over it. Many others obviously have.

And the thing is I love receiving these greetings from around the world for that 24 hour period once a year. It’s a real buzz, even if most of those greetings would not have been sent if FB hadn’t displayed my birthday in your morning newsfeed. So to all those who did send me birthday greetings - thank you! I appreciate it. However, I have 400 + friends on FB apparently, and received about 70 birthday greetings. So what’s with you other 300?? Don’t care enough about me? Too lazy? Or maybe you’re a bit like me and you resent being prodded like a Pavlovian dog and decide you can handle the guilt of ignoring me, or some distant colleague, or long lost family member. You never needed to know my birthday before (nor I yours), and we all got on fine. And there’s the rub with FB. Where’s the limit? We know so much now about other people’s lives that in times past we never knew. And it was fine that we never knew. Wasn’t it?

Anyway, come May 26^th 2016 I hope many of you ignore my reservations about all this and wish me well. And happy birthday to you for whenever yours may be :)