Metior Magazine - Edition #12 by Metior Magazine

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Murdoch Empire Telegraph & Indian Ocean Review

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Edition #2 April 2014

Business As Usual

Murdoch Empire Telegraph & Indian Ocean Review – Since 1975 Edition 2, April 2014 Metior acknowledges that this is and always will be Aboriginal land. Metior is a Murdoch University student publication. For latest Guild news, events and info go to www.the-guild.com.au Find us on Facebook & Twitter metiormagazine metiormagazine Want to catch up on previous issues? Go to www.the-guild.com.au/metior Editor Olivia Gardner

Cover Photo Ben Ernst Bernard

Sub-Editor Madura McCormack

Photographers Adam Semple Ben Ernst Bernard Clinton Little Emily Johnston Isabelle Lange Lisa Townsend Maria Bergwitz Piotrek Ziolkowski Rebecca Ng Zachary Tilgman

Graphic Design Karmen Lee

Artists Krause Komics

Our talented team of writers... Jessica Senz Adam Semple Katherine O’Brien Cecelia Allen Lisa Townsend Clinton Little Maria Bergwitz Emily Hackeling Melody Vincent-Warwick Isabelle Lange Rebecca Ng Jesse Gambit Blue Zebedee Parkes Join us We love new faces, so come along to our next contributors meeting on the 17th of April at 4pm in the Guild Board Room. Metior’s deadlines for the next editions of 2014 is 9th May If you’d like to contribute writing, photography, poetry, illustrations or ideas please email us at metior@the-guild.com.au Editor Olivia Gardner

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Email metior@the-guild.com.au

Phone 0450 958 071

Address Murdoch University Guild of Students 90 South Street, Murdoch WA 6150

Email n.petersen@the-guild.com.au

This magazine is printed using vegetable based inks onto paper stock which is manufactured from pulp sourced from plantation grown timber. Both paper manufacturer and printer are certified to ISO 14001, the internationally recognised standard for Environmental Management. Disclaimer Metior is published by the students of Murdoch University, under the governance of Murdoch University Guild of Students. Content should not be regarded as the opinions of the Guild unless specifically stated. The Guild accepts no responsibility for the accuracy of any of the opinions or information contained within the magazine.

CONTENTS Prez Sez ��2 Editorial ��2 Creative Non-Fiction Lousemates..................................................................................14 Features Govt. puts the ‘n’ back in ‘cuts’ ��4 WTF, Dude?.....................................................................................9 Here & There................................................................................10 Sober Can Be Classy....................................................................11 Holy Fuck......................................................................................15 Nurses: From Zululand to Afganistan.........................................18 March in March............................................................................26 Surveillance and the Right to Privacy in Australia.....................27 Live Below the Line ...................................................................28 Bye. Gone.....................................................................................29 Fiction Boxes of Kiel ...............................................................................22 Photography Adam Semple................................................................ 3, 16 & 32 Maria Bergwitz..............................................................................4 Piotrek Ziolkowski.........................................................................6 Clinton Little .................................................................................9 Zachary Tilgman..........................................................................12 Lisa Townsend.............................................................................18 Ben Ernst Bernard...............................................................19 & 24 Isabelle Lange..............................................................................20 Rebecca Ng..................................................................................28 Emily Johnston.............................................................................29 Reviews Theatre ��30 Film ��31 Music ��32 Visual Art Krause Komics ��27

PREZ SEZ Words by Roland Belford Glory to Murdoch and her brave Eastern Precinct! What courageous vision to develop a greenfield site into a cutting edge research and technology park with an activated, inclusive community and vibrant town centre. As someone who has spent years playing SimCity 2000, I am of course an expert on all things urban design. What really impresses me is the cycling of buzzwords throughout every new development. Connected, vibrant, activated, sustainable, cutting edge and this Murdoch Eastern Precinct has the lot! They even found room to include the image of people enjoying a cup of coffee as cyclist stream by under the shade of trees. Imagine a future where people spend their entire lives in the 6150 postcode! Born in the maternity wing of Fiona Stanley, children grow up in the safe confines of Murdoch childcare, living in an apartment where horses used to frolic. After graduating from Kennedy College, the future’s youth can move out of home and into the squalor of the student village where their every maintenance request is met with a roll of the eyes. Tomorrow’s Murdoch students will spend their studying time flitting about between campus and their internships at innovative oil companies set to take up residence next to the Chelodina wetland. They can work at this oil company forever because as the intelligent and charming Deloitte employee informed the room full of University staff and other dimwits with no experience, “oil is the future and it will never run out.” Moving into adulthood, the future’s grocery needs can be met at the Murdoch supermarket and with online shopping covering the rest, middle agers in the future will never need to venture further than their apartment, working from home with fancy fibre optical broadbands. Perhaps as our hypothetical future explorer weakens in St Ives, towards the end of the 21st century, the politicians may’ve finally stopped dithering about and opened a light rail line through campus so our intrepid hero can cross Murdoch drive for the second time in their life to die in the same hospital where they were born.

EDITORIAL Words by Olivia Gardner You know, I write these things at the worst of times. Generally it’s at the death knock, when I can’t possibly delay it any longer. The magazine has come together completely and somehow in the midst of everything I leave my editorial – my one opportunity to share something insightful, something great, literally anything I want with you guys – to the very last minute. And so here I am, it’s two in the morning; I’m fatigued, uninspired and I think drooling ever so slightly. This is pretty much Business As Usual, for me. When I set out the theme for this edition I was thinking ‘yep sweet, this theme is pretty ambiguous, that’ll give us something to go with and let people find their own meanings within.’ And I think to some extent it has, we’ve tried to cover all kinds of bases in this edition, from the serious to the benign and quirky. Whatever your Business As Usual may be at the moment – and if you’re anything like me that’s staying up late and spooning a coffee while you freak out over some looming deadline, particularly with the semester now in full swing – it’s important to take a moment to step out of it all and consider what’s going on in the background, what are you missing because that fateful doctrine of Business As Usual has been engaged. A really important issue for us this edition was taking into consideration how funding cuts have been effecting not only university lecturers’ and employees’ jobs but how that has impacted students’ services on and off campus. So, there’s that, but all in all we hope you guys are getting by and still having somewhat of a good time along the way.

PHOTOGRAPHER Adam Semple

GOVT. PUTS THE ‘N’ BACK IN ‘CUTS’ Words by Madura McCormack & Maria Bergwitz Photography by Maria Bergwitz Arriving in busloads, students from the four major WA universities rallied together on March 26 in opposition of the Government’s proposed cuts to tertiary education. Armed with placards, banners and megaphones, about 100 people protested at the National Day of Action on Murray Street Mall in Perth. The event was part of a nation-wide movement to draw attention to the shaky future of university funding, with similar protests held in other Australian capital cities. Tertiary institutions are potentially facing funding cuts of $2.3billion following a bill proposed last April by the former Labor Government designed to pay for Gonski school reforms.

“But I consider this a victory for the movement, this is how we make change,” she said. According to Murdoch Guild President Roland Belford, Murdoch students have begun to taste similar streamlining measures themselves.

However, despite dumping the Gonski model and publicly condemning the cuts, Education Minister Christopher Pyne is still refusing to reverse them.

“I believe that the ceased library services for external students is a direct consequence of federal funding cuts.

Speaking at the event, Greens Senator Scott Ludlam expressed his concerns about the issue.

“It seems like the University is trying to maintain the same profit but with less resources at hand,” he says.

“Education is not a priority for this Government,” he said. “Abbott is on an absolute rampage.

Metior has approached the relevant bodies in authority but is yet to receive comments on these allegations, and advises at this moment that Belford’s statement should be read strictly as opinionated speculation.

“Every day there is some stupid act, it’s hard to keep on top of it all.” There have been no legislative changes to date, but according to media reports, universities have already begun budgeting in preparation.

Students enrolled externally at Murdoch University saw their library postal loan services terminated this semester.

‘Streamlining’ services The Curtin University delegation arrived in throngs, making up a large bulk of the rally to express their anger at recent staff cuts.

The service entitled external students to borrow library items online and have the hardcopies mailed to them.

Curtin Guild Education Vice President Miranda Wood said she speculates that recent events at the University have been results of pre-emptive budgeting.

With the axing of the service, external students now rely on eBooks, online journal databases, other academic libraries and public libraries.

In her speech, Wood told the crowd that 200-250 economic students had occupied Curtin’s business administration building in protest of the dismissal of a popular lecturer mid-semester on March 21

If items in Murdoch’s library catalogue are found to be unavailable online, staff offer to scan and email electronic copies.

According to her, the Head of School appeared ten minutes into the demonstration to speak with students.

However, with copyright laws restricting this service to provide a maximum of 10 per cent or one chapter per book, external students in remote locations are left unable to access hardcopy books in their entirety.

“Of course we were given a lot of corporate mumbo-jumbo.

GOVT. PUTS THE ‘N’ BACK IN ‘CUTS’ Words by Madura McCormack & Maria Bergwitz Photography by Maria Bergwitz ‘Police clashes’ The rally attracted a police presence of about 20 officers on foot, bicycle and horseback. Using her megaphone, Wood publicly questioned the motives of the officers when one of them was seen filming the crowd with a handheld camcorder. Police said the filming was only a safety precaution in case of any escalation to violence, noting that the area was under heavy CCTV surveillance to begin with. Wood and other participants expressed further anger when police denied the rally permission to march through the city as planned. The participants defiantly marched along Murray Street Mall chanting slogans and waving placards, but were blocked by a barricade of police officers at either end of the strip. According to the police, the protest lacked the proper permits and could not lawfully continue around the block. Protesters unleashed their vocabulary prowess, deeming the restriction by police a breach to free speech, but it must be noted that there was no violent physical defiance. The ABC reported this as a ‘clash’ between students and police, saying the ‘unrest’ occurred after students refused police orders to leave the area. No such ‘order’ was made beyond a request by police to march within the confines of Murray Street Mall. While budget cuts and changes to loan models still hang in the air, the event showed that students will not tolerate any threats to their right to an education. “All we want to say is, Abbott and Pyne, watch out, because we will get you,” said Wood.

SculptureS by the sea Photography by Piotrek Ziolkowski

WTF, DUDE?

Words & Photography by Clinton Little Let’s be honest, the vending machines provide more food options than the eateries we have on campus. The prospect of overpaying for a Snickers bar seems a lot more pleasant than the $10 you’d have to pay for something more substantial (with a soft drink! Oh wow what a steal). Other times it’s just better to starve until you get back home to whip up a bowl of two minute noodles – with an egg if you’re feeling classy. Until the likes of Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay come up with a cooking show that Uni students can actually use without savaging the purse strings, preparing food that satisfies the palate is but a faraway dream, or is it? Where’s the Food, Dude? is a new addition to Murdoch’s growing list of clubs and societies. The central idea behind the group is simple; food should be a conduit for creativity by thinking outside the pan. It was created when a group of starving Murdoch students came together and found friendship in their passion for food and a common disdain for the lack of on-campus options. World on a Plate Day was a recent event held by the group to bring people together to share food, exchange ideas, have some more food, digest for a moment and then maybe a little more food. Normally my somewhat sensitive stomach is not exposed to anything beyond the safe borders of cereal, sandwiches, meat and three veg, so it was with a little trepidation, an open mind and a bottle of Gaviscon in my man bag that I attended the event. Although there wasn’t the giddying variety of dishes on offer that I was expecting (to be fair I may have been watching too much MasterChef lately … unrealistic expectations etc.), the selections provided were tasty and an education for the palate. More importantly though, the event ultimately served the groups purpose of bringing people together. For a few hours, a dozen or so food aficionados lingered over spicy poha rice, finger sandwiches, pasta and delicious mini cupcakes. We talked food, affairs – both foreign and domestic – and future plans for the group. As more people join, and more food and ideas are shared, the group will evolve but so far it seems as though the goal of bringing interesting affordable food onto campus is being met. If sampling dishes from all corners of the globe alongside the company of other foodies is what you think life needs, find “Where’s the Food, Dude?” on Facebook or look for their Thursday Market Daze stall on Bush Court.

HERE & THERE

Words by Emily Hackeling Here, I wake up at 7:00am on my blanket-less fitted sheet to the absurd squawking of black cockatoos and the sunshine. There, my preset iPhone alarm was a beacon of reluctance, forcing me to peel myself out of down comforters and fuzzy socks.

Some say comparison is unhealthy. You’ll be too hard on yourself, they say. It’ll only bring you down. Focus on your own life, and use your skills to the best of your ability; don’t worry about what others are doing.

I take my time making dinner now. I used to zip around campus, viewing food only as fuel, my eyes glazed over, getting from the apartment to the newsroom, to the next interview, to God-knowswhere-else in an amount of time that might impress Usain Bolt.

But why? Why block others out? I’ve tried focusing on myself. So here I am now, on the other side of the world. I’ve learnt that it’s important not to lose sight of yourself, but to compare yourself. Go somewhere and be completely in it, no matter if it’s a small town in Oklahoma, a village in Peru or an island in the Mediterranean.

When I came to Perth for my semester exchange, it became my new home within two minutes of stepping off the plane. The heat, the people, and the attitudes – it’s all I’ve ever wanted in life. And on the bittersweet day I have to embark on my 27hour journey to the other side of the world, the experiences I’ve picked up here will no doubt be the biggest part of the baggage that I can’t haul back home.

It doesn’t have to replace your past entirely, and it’s only going to change you as much as you let it. The differences you accept, the ideals you reject and the decisions you make: these are all things you will learn in a new culture. And it’s the things that you observe and live through, but still don’t understand, that make the biggest impact.

Here, people walk slower, maybe because the heat won’t allow the near-sprint pace I’m accustomed to. They use words no one would dare speak where I’m from. They’re friendlier; they ask me how I am and don’t respect the same privacy boundaries. They have fun and they believe what I say – not because they’re naïve, but because they don’t automatically expect me to lie.

Sure it’s difficult to go somewhere new where people talk with accents, the air smells different and the general outlook on life is the opposite of what you’ve ever been taught. Rip currents will catch you and take you where they want, and you will have no clue where they might be heading. You don’t know where they will dump you, and if you fight it, it might kill you. “Swim with it, parallel to the shore,” they say. “Don’t fight it; don’t swim away from it.”

Priorities here are arranged in a way almost opposite of what I’m used to in my mini public Ivy League bubble.

To be immersed in a foreign situation, to recognize the similarities to and differences from my norms, to change my views and actively accept that I may have no clue as to what’s happening – this is why I came.

Where I’m from there is only higher and highest but there is no cutthroat competition either. There is only excelling, learning and gaining, but it is well-rounded with the unique Carolina ability to ditch sleep for four years and go-hard-or-go-home in school, extracurricular activity, and insane partying.

To read about others’ ways of life is proactive, and to observe others living differently is being informed. But to be in it, living it and experiencing it without trying to change it or fight it; that is true enlightenment

My love for that place and those people is inexplicable. Even though Murdoch has amazing instructors and programs, that’s not why I did an exchange, I could get all the classes and book knowledge I wanted back at UNC Chapel Hill. You see, there comes a point when you have exhausted your own resources. Maybe not forever, but for a period in your life, you’ll hit a roadblock, and the only way you’re going to get past that is to look to others.

Here, I’ve replaced my alarm clock, rediscovered the true priorities, gained vocabulary and a new appreciation for family. I’m still exploring and learning in the vast isolation, beauty and eccentricity of Western Australia, not knowing what else lies ahead or where the rip currents will pull me next. But on whichever shore I land, I know I will now see it with fresh, enlightened eyes.

SOBER CAN BE CLASSY Words by Madura McCormack Somehow its mid-afternoon, your head is pounding, the room is still spinning and the whole place reeks of alcohol. That smell is probably from your body metabolizing the excess grog and emitting it through your pores, allowing the aromas to mingle and somehow cling to EVERYTHING. Or, you could have puked on yourself. Ahh see, this would explain that puddle of kebab-textured vomz pooled six centimetres away from the toilet bowl. I’m not super familiar with the hip young lingo of getting drunk, but I dare say most of us have been ‘shitfaced’ at LEAST once. Come on, admit it, that seventh-ish tequila shot was not the best decision ever and probably not the worst of the night. Unless drunk you ended up in the middle of a Mexican parade clutching onto maracas in one hand and a taco in the other while simultaneously conversing in fluent Spanish, then to you señor, I tip my sombrero. You see, in order to create epic alcohol-fuelled memories, the key idea is to stay classy – according to DrinkWise Australia’s new campaign, “Sober can be classy, a vomit beard cannot.” The campaign is targeted at 18-24 year-olds and is designed to communicate to Aussie youth via the platform we supposedly spend the most time on – no, not the raised platform at that club you paid $20 to get into and ended up getting thrown out of – that other platform, social media. The ‘Drinking – Do it Properly’ movement tries to tell our demographic, ‘Hey, don’t be a f**kwit, put that drink down and get your head out of your arse’… and that chicks cleavage … but we shan’t go there. The campaign utilizes intellectually hilarious animation and a voiceover by Pierce Brosnan’s offspring – look it up on YouTube. Apart from being entertaining, the campaign does put across a very important message – that of moderation, responsibility and being smart when it comes to alcohol. And it IS an important message. Beyond ending up with a one-way ticket on the Porcelain Express (Economy-Class), alcohol combined with the lack of social responsibility and moral value has created issues that can’t be ignored. For example, DrinkWise claims 18-24 year olds indicate consuming 7+ standard drinks on a normal night out. Whatever, who cares about those statistics, don’t tell me how much I can or can’t stomach. But then you read things by the Australian National Council on Drugs that say 1 in 8 deaths of those under 25 are alcohol related. Wait, alcohol could get me killed?! You’re kidding! I mean WHO in their right mind does something stupid enough to get themselves killed?! Oh but wait, all it takes is for some drunk dude who thinks he has cojones the size of Brazil to Kamehameha your brain into slush with one VB powered punch. Shall we take a moment to pause here and remember those that have been the victims of senseless violence? Like the wasted youth of Thomas Kelly and Daniel Christie, both aged 18, their lives ended by KingHit’s. Or rather coward-punches. Of course, alcohol consumption doesn’t mean you’ll end up in a body bag; the key message of the campaign is to remind us to stay classy via moderation. But when do we know when to stop? Will this glass of unidentified wine-like thing be the drink that pushes me over the edge? (Of this table I’m dancing erratically on.) As with all other things, like exercise or cake, it’s about feeling your body and understanding that you don’t need to be drunk off your arse at 8pm to have a good time. Let’s aim for ‘slightly tipsy’, the level somewhere in-between ‘socially awkward’ and ‘stomach pump’. Everyone’s limit differs. You could be the bloke that drinks beer by the jug and never even has to take a leak. Or you could be the ‘one drip wonder’ that gets drunk when alcohol-laced spittle touches your skin. Think about it this way, no one really wants to wake up on the sidewalk using a pizza slice for a pillow. Wouldn’t it be better to drink and make merry, semi-comprehensible ‘intelligent’ conversations with your mates and wake up with a massive hangover the next day without dire consequences? Moderation saves lives, reputations and money. Unless it’s an open bar, then to hell with consequences, I can deal with that shit tomorrow.

PHOTOGRAPHER Zachary Tilgman

LOUSEMATES

Words by Jesse Gambit Blue I’ve lived with a myriad of oddballs, and I’m sure I’ve been someone’s story. It makes sense that your normal is not necessarily the normal of the rest of the village. My first was a Smeagolish Satanist with more personalities than you could swing your thing at and a penchant for screaming Cradle of Filth songs at all hours. He would hide in the washing machine so he could leap out at me in the morning and send me apology Post-Its under my door when he’d cooled down after periodically accusing me of trying to eat his soul with my Mi Goreng. I moved on to a house less than five minutes away with a creepy head tenant who had every flavour of Kraft Cream Cheese Spread (French Onion, Cheddar, Light, etc.) in the fridge and a rule of ‘no late night visitors’ which, going on the large crucifix in his bedroom, was a not so subtle referral to‘naughty fuckmonkeys’. Anyway, upon my deciding to leave, this guy waited till I’d moved my stuff out of my room and fetched cleaning supplies before locking me out and refusing to return my bond. Turns out he’d committed a couple of minor atrocities over east, and when I went with backup to reclaim my funds the next day, he’d fled. By this point I had nowhere to go and was sleeping on couches and in between the sheets of aforementioned‘fuckmonkeys’ who plied me with beer, cigarettes and those little cans of flavoured tuna. I found a permaculture farm to work for which is where I met my next housemate, whilst making a cup of ‘insta-cry’ –scraping crusty remains from an industrial sized barrel of International Roast. He mentioned he was looking for a housemate and seeing as he was 47 and I was 19, he could probably keep an eye out for me. Hindsight is a crafty mother. I suspect I was a little bratty, but also convinced that I’d be a disgustingly famous writer one day, and that every brilliant writer needs a few shitty experiences to evolve. That and I was bored and kept losing my jobs due to sadness, Sambuca, or the need for solitude (or all three simultaneously in a hammock.)

I then noticed he was also stumbling and I felt the olfactory assault of … something. I stepped forward and noticed the tower of dishes which had spawned whole colonies of bacterial fun, open Tupperware containers for me to inhale whatever had committed culinary suicide in them. The blankets on the couch were torn and an ashtray’s contents were scattered across mottled brown linoleum. I’m not sure why I stayed. Fast forward a few weeks and I realized why the dishes were tepees of doom and the carpet was always a little crunchy was because my housemate was a hopelessly alcoholic manic-depressive, with great aspirations to be the next DH Lawrence while posturing as Riff-Raff’s older brother. Eventually, I found myself moving my chest-ofdrawers against my door at night as the only deterrence against that uncoordinated twat. After a few weeks I started sleeping anywhere else to avoid handling such episodes as the one where he insisted on playing Billie Jean exactly one-hundred-and-twenty-one times at max volume, staggering about, slurring, ‘I… you know, I really think you ought to just let me… suck your toes…’ So I did what anyone in my situation would’ve done. I called my favourite metal-head friend, he brought his van, packed once my flatmate had passed out and we drove all night. I still hate the smell of Joop! cologne. Next, among others, there was the bulimic with one working arm who ate powdered milk from a bag and had a dog called Chicken, the bass player/romantic with undying love for John Frusciante, the hypersexual former foster kid who spoke with a really inauthentic British accent, and then the one who became the other half to my ‘mad-bitch-extraordinaire’,Wolverang. Part Rang, part epic facial hair. I wore his shirts while he baked whole chickens. He called out my selfishness and I forced him out of his crippling shyness. Our combined awkwardness was a meshing point and I maintain that we will torpedo rubber bands across the room at each other in whatever retirement/psychiatric care home we inevitably reside.

So I moved into this matchbox, which was actually situated in a really swish part of town, and did As long as you’re share housing, you’ll be someone’s what any classy younggun does when they move nightmarish lousemate or a victim of the crazies. But house. I picked up a bottle of cheap vodka, stumbled there are some gems to be met along the way. 14 through the front door and announced myself.

HOLY FUCK

Words by Olivia Gardner Holy Fuck is a Candian electronic band that has been kicking around for a good ten years, it’s a bit of a supergroup of solo artists who basically like to get together and use whatever weird and wonderful instrument they can find in a pawn shop to begin to create and record their own electronic music. We had a chance to chat to the band’s front man Brian Borcherdt ahead of their Australian tour. What drew you and Graham Walsh to deviate from standard rock music towards electronic back in ’04 when you started Holy Fuck? I wanted to experiment with trying to make electronic music, I wanted to do it but with very limited means, so instead of hooking up a laptop and just go and go and go with some software I really wanted to see what would happen if I went to a pawn shop instead and spent five dollars on a toy keyboard and brought it home and plugged it into the delay pedals and things that I already had laying around the house. I was really interested in seeing how far you could take something so limited to sort of mimic some of these things that are done with computers.

big concert, successful stages. We’re very grateful, but that said we kind of forget the fact that it was always a bit of a piss-take , you know, we kind of set about in the beginning with a very punk attitude about how we were going to make music. So, if you find yourself in front of thousands of people at a festival and something isn’t working, you know, you still have to laugh, you have to say ‘well we get what we ask for’ because we’re the idiots who decided this is what we’re going to do and I don’t want to totally lose that sensibility.

I also have my own selfish reasons for wanting to do this – basically one of the things that always frightened me about electronic music was the fact that I’m not very technically savvy and I’m very easily bored. I have a hard time learning to read a manual so I didn’t really have the right set of tools to even approach all the stuff that my friends were getting interested in and excited about. I felt like I couldn’t contend in that world so I tried to make up something of my own, sort of find my own way, you know, maybe through a back door or something.

From what I gather you guys are pretty laid back, I mean you make serious music but you also don’t take everything too seriously, which is cool. [Laughs] I think if we did we probably would have made some different decisions from the beginning. I was going to ask about the new album, how’s it coming? It’s doing really well, it’s about half done at this point and we are taking our time with it.

I was watching an interview on YouTube from like 2008 and I think Graham was talking about how you use instruments from the trash and I was just wondering, I think he mentioned that you were using film editing equipment or something at one point? Yeah, I still use that. [laughs]

So how long until it’s released to you reckon? I would love to say it’s going to be later this year but I have a fear it’s not going to be until this time next year. We are putting out a two song single for the purpose of this Australian tour, we’re really excited about that, with so much uncertainty of when the album is coming out its important for us to show that there’s something new.

With the practicality of using such old equipment on stage does anything ever breakdown on you mid show or anything like that? Oh yeah, all the time – it still happens, it definitely makes things hard but I think, I mean we’ve been lucky to be in a band that plays a style of music that can cross boundaries and I think we’ve done well on

You can catch Holy Fuck on the 8th of May at the Rosemount Hotel North Perth, May 9th at The Odd Fellow in Freo, or at Groove in the Moo in Bunbury on Saturday the 10th of May.

PHOTOGRAPHER Adam Semple

Nurses: From Zululand to Afghanistan Words & Photography by Lisa Townsend Nurses: from Zululand to Afghanistan is a travelling exhibition that aims to commemorate the sacrifices made by Australians during war. It pays tribute to the hardworking men and women, highlighting the personal stories of Army, Air Force and Navy nurses from the 1879 Zulu war up to the most recent conflicts in Afghanistan. The showcase began its journey in 2011 at the Australian War Memorial in Canberra. Currently showing at the Wanneroo Cultural Centre until April 27, Nurses will continue to tour Australia until the end of 2015. Nurses: from Zululand to Afghanistan takes you on an intimate journey through time and across borders, into the lives and hearts of the dedicated individuals who selflessly volunteer to serve their nation. Their stories are beautifully and thoughtfully delivered through an array of photographs, war memorabilia, personal items and handwritten letters.

“Stretcher after stretcher of filthy bloodstained bodies; the extent of their wounds was unforgettable.” SISTER DOROTHY GELLIE, NEW GUINEA - 1943

Remnants of their hardships radiate from the gallery’s glass cabinetry, and images of their proud grainy faces hang suspended in time, displayed simply and gracefully, keeping with the respect that they deserve.

“You were sending home week after week, planes full of young, mutilated people. Most people see amputated limbs as nice rounded finished off stumps. We didn’t get that. We had the ragged ends.” LIEUTENANT FAY LEWIS, VIETNAM, 1967-1971

The exhibition is unique as it tells the story of war from the female perspective. Throughout history, war stories have tended to be patriarchal, this exhibition gives the nurses a voice providing a glimpse into the softer, more feminine aspects of war (if that’s at all possible).

“There grew up between the Australian soldiers and the Australian nurses a comradeship which resembled nothing so much as the relations between brother and sister.” CHARLES BEAN, WAR CORRESPONDENT, WORLD WAR ONE The gallery is spacious and allows for many elements to be displayed, making the exhibition varied and interesting. But it’s not all deep history, there’s some great items on display from more recent times and Australian male nurses are commemorated too and quite rightfully so. I realised, while wandering among the ghosts and the memories, that this exhibition isn’t just about nurses in wartime, it is an exhibition about people and about Australians.

The stories in the exhibition are enthralling and it’s hard to imagine that most of these nurses were volunteers who even had to purchase their own uniforms. Often they were sent to serve in harsh, foreign conditions with poor sanitation and much of their time was spent treating disease rather than injuries. Many had very little training and only basic medical equipment but what they did have was an unwavering desire to do their bit for their country. The images, personal belongings and transcripts in the collection give voice to the untold stories of the nurses’ challenges in war, as well as their passion and determination to care for the sick and wounded.

Lest We Forget. Wanneroo Library & Cultural Centre Gallery Tuesday – Friday: 10am – 4pm Weekends: 12pm– 4pm Closed for Easter long weekend and Anzac Day

Wrapped around the gallery walls hangs an abundance of quotes from nurses experiences:

PHOTOGRAPHER Ben Ernst Bernard

PHOTOGRAPHER Isabelle Lange

BOXES OF KIEL Words by Jessica Senz

Santana sat on the red carpet of her bedroom floor, moving around manila folders overflowing with papers and photos. The moonlight streamed in through the window, casting a silver glow on all it touched. There were piles of brown cardboard boxes covering almost every inch of the room. Boxes full of cold cases that the world had long since forgotten. Except for Santana; she would not forget. She opened yet another folder, still not finding what she was looking for. It had to be here somewhere. She couldn’t rest until she found it.

“It’s weird, Santa, I haven’t seen you smile in almost four years because of these. I know you miss him, but he’s dead. Kiel’s dead.” Santana found herself staring blankly at the boxes full of her husband’s things. She wanted to look away, not give Jasmine the satisfaction of being right. She wanted to demonstrate that the boxes weren’t holding her back from living her life. That’s what she had to believe. “You need to get rid of them. What’s the point in keeping every little thing he had?”

The dim yellow light from the bedside lamp did little to help her eyes focus on the words in front of her. Or maybe her blurred vision was a side effect from only getting three hours sleep in the past three days. She rubbed her eyes, hoping that it would make a difference. Instead it just made things worse. Now she could barely see ten centimeters in front of her.

Santana didn’t answer the question. She had already engaged with Jasmine too much, saying something now would just add fuel to the fire. Instead, she moved her gaze back down to the pile of folders on the floor. Maybe if she pretended her sister wasn’t there, then she would leave quietly. Santana knew better though, because Jasmine never did anything quietly.

“Santa, I’m going home now!” her sister yelled from the kitchen.

“One day you’ll see sense, and throw all of this junk out.”

Jasmine’s shrill voice pounded through Santana’s ears, making her entire head ache.

Santana’s eyes started to see straight now, or enough to be able to make out what she was attempting to read. Her sister continued to hover in the doorway.

“Don’t tell me you’re still working”, said Jasmine, who was now standing in the doorway.

She moved a few more folders aside before finally spotting the one she was after. On the first page it read ‘Giles: Evidence’.

Santana looked up at her through tired eyes, not bothering to say anything. There was no point; Jasmine was only going to say what she always said anyway.

“Gottcha”, she said to herself. “You can ignore me all you want, but you can’t just ignore those boxes. One day they’ll have to go.”

“You’ve got to stop this, Santa. Your life is passing you by while you’ve got your head stuck in all of these cases. Pointless cases.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Jasmine was pointing to the boxes again. She didn’t look up this time, but instead started to read through the evidence summary. After reading the same sentence over ten times, she chanced a look at the doorway. Jasmine was no longer standing there. Filled with relief, she put down the folder and crawled over to her boxes of Kiel. Lying down in front of them she closed her eyes, welcoming the heat underneath her eyelids. This was where she felt close to him, safe in her impenetrable cardboard city. Without these boxes, she would have nothing.

“They’re not pointless, Jas. They’re people.” As soon as Santana heard herself say the words, she regretted them. This is exactly what her sister was hoping for. Another argument that went around in circles, ending with Jasmine storming out the front door swearing to never return. “They’re dead, Santa.” “That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve justice.” “Fine, let’s say they deserve justice, that’s all good and well. But what about these?”

Santana awoke suddenly to a strange noise coming from outside her window. It sounded almost like an angry mob of people. Opening her mouth in a wide yawn, she tried to massage the kink out of her neck. She threw her arm out to hoist herself up on a

Jasmine indicated the boxes that were piled up in the corner of the room. There were twenty seven of them in total, all marked with a red ‘K’. “Don’t start Jas, you already know.”

BOXES OF KIEL Words by Jessica Senz

box, but instead her arm fell to the ground. Looking around the room, she noticed something was different. It seemed emptier. The noise from outside was getting louder as she stood up and steadied herself. She walked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside, feeling the gentle warmth from the morning sun on her face. Outside, all of her neighbours were standing on the road. Some were on their mobile phones, while others were talking loudly amongst themselves. Strangely, they were all staring at her house. She followed their gazes up her lawn to where Jasmine stood. It was then that Santana saw what her sister was focusing so intently on. Panic filled Santana as she bolted out her bedroom door and down the hall, her bare feet slapping against the shiny polished concrete. The dark grey walls made an endless tunnel towards what she knew would be a red hot light at the end. Her shoulder grazed the wall, knocking off a framed photo. The glass hit the floor behind her and shattered into countless shards that looked like diamond sand. She didn’t stop her forward motion though, turning at the end of the hallway into the dining room. She took the corner too fast and smashed her arm on the wall. The pain was like a freshly lit fire, burning all the way down to her elbow. The brightness from the open blinds illuminated the white walls, causing her to close her eyes in a squint. In one swift motion, she turned the final corner towards the front door, coming to an abrupt stop. She began desperately fumbling with the cold, hard deadbolt to open it. She felt like a caged animal at the zoo, wanting to free itself and feast on the flesh of the children that had offered nothing more than cruel taunts and mockery. After a few long seconds had passed, she finally pulled the door open and lunged herself forward. The chilled air hit Santana like a chemical infused tidal wave, engulfing her entire body. The petrol scent was so strong that it felt like her nostrils were on fire.

in front of Jasmine. They were soaked in petrol, glistening in the sun. A shiny gloss that made them look like precious gems, which to Santana, they were. Looking back at her sister, she raised both of her hands up in front of her chest, taking short steps around the garden bed. She approached Jasmine the same way a wrangler would approach a wild horse when trying not to spook it. Santana had seen enough cases of police stand offs with panicked people to know that the outcome was rarely good. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She could barely hear the crowd of onlookers over the coarse drumming. She took a deep breath in an attempt to steady her voice. “You don’t have to do this, Jas. Just think about it.” Jasmine looked back down at her hands and slid the centre of the matchbox out. “Please don’t”, Santana pleaded, “I’m begging you.” Jasmine paid no attention, striking the match on the side of the box. The flame was tiny, yet seemed so big to Santana. Big enough to destroy her life. “This is for your own good, Santa, remember that.” “Don’t!” Santana screamed, throwing herself forward to stop what was about to happen. It was too late though, Jasmine had thrown the lit match towards the boxes that were piled up in front of her. All of the boxes marked with the red ‘K’. Santana was taken aback by the rush of heat that was radiating from the massive flames. It was so intense that it felt like she had been thrown in a frying pan. She dropped to her knees, silently watching her life being torched in front of her. Jasmine made no sound as she stood there watching the flames get higher and higher. Santana could feel the emptiness starting to creep in, a despair that offered no relief, the bright flames bringing a harsh darkness to her very soul. This was what she was most afraid of, losing herself by losing all of Kiel’s things. She knew she would never feel whole again.

Minutes passed as she sat on her lawn watching the boxes being reduced to a pile of ashes, the emptiShe looked over to where her sister was standing, a ness starting to take hold. But, the feeling was not what she had expected after all. She always thought fuel container rested by her feet. that it would give her a sinking feeling in the pit “What have you done, Jas?” of her stomach, a giant gaping hole in her chest “Nothing that I wouldn’t do again.” where her heart had once resided. Instead, it gave Jasmine’s voice sounded hurried as she spoke, dart- her a feeling of weightlessness. She looked through ing her eyes down towards her hand. Santana fol- the dull orange flames and smiled. She was finally lowed her stare to notice a box of matches firmly free. 23 planted there. She looked over at the pile of boxes

PHOTOGRAPHER Ben Ernst Bernard

MARCH IN MARCH Words by Zebedee Parkes

The March in March protest was one of the best actions I’ve been to in years. From the diversity of people that made up the 100,000 protestors from around the country – many for the first time – to the myriad of important issues reflected by intelligent and artistic placards. There was an electric feeling amongst the crowd at the Perth March in March, a sense that we need to see serious change happen and that we are prepared to fight for it. A visible movement against the government has begun and I feel inspired to be a part of it. Mainstream media has tried to discredit the protest by saying it’s unfocused and without clear demandsjust as they did with the occupy movement. But this couldn’t be further from the truth. Anyone who listened to the speeches or read the placards could see that people came with very clear messages and demands. End the detention of asylum seekers, take serious action on climate change, increase funding to education instead of cutting it, kick Monsanto out of Australia, get rid of anti-union laws, and respect other countries‘ sovereignty to name a few. It was precisely this breadth of issues that made the movement so powerful, with people coming from a diversity of campaigns to under an umbrella of unity. March in March created a space to talk about possible solutions and what a new kind of government could look like. One where decisions are made in the interests of the majority and not of the corporations. In order to have a chance at challenging corporate power we will require a sustained mass movement. The belief in the effectiveness of building a mass movement in Australia has taken a beating ever since the mass protests against the Iraq War failed to stop Australia being part of the invasion. However, an upsurge of broad community campaigns against the gas industry around Australia has started to restore some faith, particularly since the partial victory against the James Price Point gas hub in April 2013. With the March in March protests we saw a newfound belief in building a mass movement. You only have to look toward the enthusiasm around the country to hold more actions to see this belief. Students have a key role to play and not just because they are facing sweeping education cuts, possibly including the privitisation of HECS debt. The mass student movements in Chile, where hundreds of thousands of students have been protesting for free education, gives an idea of the influence student activism can have. A critical first step in building a genuine mass movement has been taken by the 100,000 people who came out to March in March proving that they will fight every step of the way. As the world is facing major economic and environmental crisis, the potentials of a serious mass movement in Australia is so high that everyone should consider how they can contribute to it. For more information visit www.facebook.com/marchinmarchperth2014

Surveillance & the Right to Privacy within Australia Words by Isabelle Lange For many of us, the value of privacy can be construed as a fundamental right. It is something meant to be preserved and protected so as to ensure its longevity. Yet increasingly our right to privacy is being overwhelmed as the rise of surveillance methods is exposed. With the advent of the global ‘online’ phenomenon, Australians are challenged with combatting this strong presence.

of an exception to the prohibition based on judgements of terrorism and extreme violence - grounds which although of importance, were never originally intended as concrete concessions. Perhaps as a direct result of this, the increasing calls from the left by those such as the WikiLeaks Party and Greens’ senator Scott Ludlum for greater government transparency has resulted in a senate committee inquiry into surveillance being granted. This investigation is currently seeking to enlist the testimony of notorious ‘haktivist’ (online activist) and WikiLeaks Party founder Julian Assange; best known for his leaking of sensitive Australian federal government information regarding the phone tapping of the Indonesian Prime Minister and his fellows. Although this act itself is evidence enough to be dubious as to the trustworthiness of whatever Assange’s claims may be.

Despite the desire for online anonymity and privacy, the internet is one of the most attractive mediums for surveillance. The seemingly endless supply of data from a vast amount of people provides organisations and individuals with a new method for gathering information – dubbed e-surveillance. It is this large data supply which fuels the current controversy surrounding the power of intelligence organisations to affect the Telecommunications (Interception and Access) Act 1979; An Act dedicated to protecting the rights of individuals by prohibiting access to their stored communications (sms, email, voice mail).

Whether or not the inquiry proves to be of any real use in the sense of policy reform may be considered of the least importance – especially considering the Liberal and Labor parties’ reluctance to alter our current protection laws. Perhaps most importantly, the ability to not only be able to put forth a proposal of this level of scrutiny to government but also maintain open communication channels with the public (in regards to privacy) signifies an interesting deviation from the mandate of secrecy usually penetrating surveillance discourse.

Recent amendments made in 2006 and again in 2007 allow warrantless e-surveillance of Australians through access to telecommunications data, an expansive power considering there were nearly 300,000 requests in 2012. This stunning information has arisen amid fears not only of widespread abuse by our federal intelligence organisations to undermine individual autonomy, but also the creation

Comic by Krause Komics

LBL JOURNAL

Words and Photography by Rebecca Ng Day 1 It’s a normal Monday morning and I’ve woken up to another day of work. Except that this week I’m taking part in Live Below the Line for the first time - living below the poverty line with just $2 worth of food per day for 5 days. This morning I looked at my rations of oats, rice, pasta, pumpkin, diced tomatoes, beans, milk, apples and a chilli, and wondered how I was going to get through the week. It turns out that day 1 wasn’t so bad after all, I even steamed my apple for desert and sprinkled oats on the top and voila! Apple Crumble! Day 2 Today is not a good day to decide I don’t like beans. Alas, I ate them anyway, gotta have some protein. I started to feel a little sick tonight but hopefully a good night’s sleep is all I need Day 3 Really not feeling it today, it’s a good thing I eat oats when I’m sick. I realised the family we had dinner with on Sunday had kids with tummy bugs, which explains my fever and nausea. This afternoon I sat down at the kitchen table feeling sick and sorry for myself. I noticed a letter addressed to me. The sender was a lady named Betty. The only Betty I know is a lady who works with street children in the Philippines. When I was in year 8 I asked if she could find a child for me to sponsor. She never did, so I wondered why she would be contacting me now, years later. I opened the letter.

diseases. That letter is all I need to fuel my fire and fight for this cause until the end of the week and until I see poverty eradicated! Bring on tomorrow! Day 4 I woke up this morning feeling 100%! My closest friends whom I thought would be the last to donate heard my story about the letter and understood what this campaign means to me personally, and they all donated, which is great! Way to make my day!

Dear Rebecca, Hello I am Angeline…I live in Cebu city near Stonino church but we don’t have a house that’s why we sleep on the streets.

Day 5 The last day. I actually have a heap of rice and oats left, but I don’t think rice will ever look as appealing again. I’m glad I’ve made it through the challenge. Although I was much better off, I do feel like I’ve had a taste of what it’s like to live in poverty. And my grand total fundraised is $700, I’m pretty happy with that. I’ll set my goal even higher next year!

I read the rest of Angeline’s letter, she is 16 years old and one of a family of 6. Her sister passed away in 2009 because she was sick and the family could not afford the medical fees to make her better. But the next part is what got me tearing up. Her mother earns 200 pesos a week, that’s less than 70c Australian a day! And that’s all they have to pay for all of their living expenses, not just food.

To sign up to do Live Below the Line this year, visit livebelowtheline.com.au

I thought – this is what we’re fighting for! An end to this thing called poverty that starves 25,000 people a day, which causes families to live on the streets and innocent people die from easily preventable

And if you want to lead the movement to end poverty join the Oaktree club and email Bec at: r.ng@oaktree.org

BYE. GONE.

Words by Ellie Griffiths and Photography by Emily Johnston After a year of touring and performing shows at events including Fringe Festival, Second Chance Theatre is entering its third and final year of University based productions. The first of their final three shows, titled Bye. Gone., is set in the future with World War 3 raging across Europe. It follows the story of two men who are brought together by chance but kept together by their similarities. They are both men of war; one a veteran and the other a young soldier seeking affirmation. Bye. Gone. touches on the doubt, guilt and failed relationships that surround the world of the two men as they struggle with their realities. Ultimately, Bye. Gone. is about taking responsibility. Scott McArdle, director and writer of Bye. Gone, explained that the idea for the show came from a really big fight he had with his mum, on his 20th birthday, resulting in no communication for about 6 months. Amidst his frustration, he listened to a lot of music, coming across one song in particular: Byegone by Volcano Choir. “I avoided copyright by splitting the name in two,” he laughs, “it created this image about this guy, that’s been away from home, rushing through the door and everything’s still kind of there, everything’s been waiting for him. This hopeful kind of image.” Even though he was angry with his mum, McArdle still wanted to patch things up; and this show is his way of saying that it is possible. According to McArdle, who is also the founder of Second Chance Theatre, the cast has formed a unique bond that emanates through their performance. He says this will force the audience to not only explore the themes at hand, but to also reflect on life. “We want the audience to think about what they’re watching” explains McArdle, “we want them to wonder, to explore, and to reflect on their own lives. Theatre really is life with the boring bits cut out, after all.” Beyond the artistry of theatre, McArdle believes it is important to make a difference in society on another platform. “It’s good that our audiences can feel things, and their lives are a little different depending on what they see, but we don’t make a huge change in the world if it’s just that! We need to donate to charity, so, for one, I feel a bit better about what we’re doing, but also, the company is making a bit of a difference.” Aspiring to help charities, Bye. Gone. will be donating to War Child Australia; an organisation that is dedicated to helping families and children affected by war. Although the show does not provide a literal portrayal of war, it is the underlying driver, making audiences more aware of the issue and its effects on families and children. Bye. Gone. is showing at the Murdoch University Drama Workshop, from April 24-26. Tickets available at: www.eventbrite.com.au/e/bye-gone-tickets-10660107669

THEATRE REVIEWS Townspeople and The Plague Words by Katherine O’Brien The audience is introduced to an earth-loving hippy called Lilian. David, who wears something vaguely resembling a toga and seems undecided as to whether he’s a virgin. ‘Thefuckingplot’, otherwise known as Imogen. Sylvia, who only speaks in stage directions and chain-smokes throughout the play. Then there’s Kantkegaard, a Scottish Viking. Theodore the librarian. Proxy-shit, with a giant beard, a staff, and fantastic dance moves. The Student, who does nothing but silently study. Murdoch Theatre Company’s ‘The Townspeople and the Plague’ opened on the 20th of March and played 4 shows over 3 days. Featuring an amorous love scene with a puppet, a spontaneous Vaudevillian dance number, a giant knitted penis, and a brilliant soundtrack, Murdoch Theatre Company’s most recent show was a great night out filled with bizarre happenings and constant laughter. Directed by Kate Willoughby, Townspeople is an absurdist piece that the playwright himself admits is ‘wanky’ and ‘postmodern garbage’. Written by Murdoch student Anthony K. J. Smith, the piece explores the purpose that art plays; whether entertainment is solely enough and if a plot is truly necessary. I’ve seen some pretty artsy pretentious postmodern shit in my time, but this piece was pretentious wank that works. There were some references in Townspeople that I understood, and many that I did not, but not once did I feel excluded or ignorant. Willougby explained that she tried to make it accessible to all, and she succeeded in this. She says what attracted her to the play was that it makes fun of itself, and doesn’t take itself too seriously, and I think this is essentially the brilliance of it.

Sex and Sensuality 2: The Second Cumming Words by Melody Vincent-Warwick After the success of ‘Sex and Sensuality’ last year, it only made good sense to fire up a sequel on Friday March 14th as part of Murdoch University Guild’s S.H.A.G Week. We were greeted at the entrance to Nexus theatre by a friendly woman sporting a sexy black skirt/red bra ensemble. Sitting in our seats, the pre-show music featured an array of sex-related ballads to get us in the mood for the evening while the soft red and blue hues illuminated the stage in a colour scheme reminiscent of Baz Luhrmann’s romantic epic ‘Moulin Rouge’. First cab off the rank for the night was Kathleen Camacho, who launched into the monologue Tit for Tat, lamenting the dilemmas of living with big breasts, or as she called them at one point: her “bodacious tatas.” Katherine O’Brien followed with Never Have I Ever where her character admitted she’d never had an orgasm. Her performance was tightly controlled and well-suited for the part. Philip Hutton lightened the mood and easily won over the audience with Hollywood Is Slowly Ruining My Life. He recalled the multitude of romance films that have shaped his ideas of love, and found that his expectations had been inflated beyond reality. Between A Cock and a Hard Place was performed by James Hynson, who delivered a compelling monologue that balanced both anger and humour as he explored what it means to be gay in contemporary society. The performances culminated with Kate Willoughby – a perfect choice ending. She was captivating, hilarious, totally relatable and quickly broke through the icky awkwardness that ensues when discussing *cough* masturbation. The monologues are a fantastic concept for expressing all our fears, fantasies, failures and fetishes regarding the hard-to-navigate world of sex. The performers delivered an honest, unabashed, sometimes funny, sometimes serious and ultimately cathartic set that prompted the audience to consider their own hang-ups and hook-ups and how to view them from a healthy perspective. Having made its second appearance in less than a year, this show will inevitably return for a third round. 30 Ménage a trois, anyone?

FILM REVIEWS Nebraska Words by Cecilia Allen Nebraska is a 2013 American comedy-drama starring Bruce Dern, Will Forte and June Squibb. It was directed by Alexander Payne and written by Bob Nelson. The film centres around an alcoholic elderly man who is struggling to come to terms with his now lack of independence. Woody (Bruce Dern) receives a coupon which he believes to be a million dollar prize waiting for him in Nebraska. There is just one problem, Woody lives in Montana and cannot legally drive anymore, so he decides to walk, unfortunately he does not get far before he is picked up by police and returned home by his son David (Will Forte). David learns of Woody’s intention to get to Nebraska to claim his prize but after seeing the coupon realises it’s a scam. Kate, (June Squibb) Woody’s wife, is fed up with his determination to get to Nebraska and wants to put Woody into a retirement home. After much thought, David who is also dealing with his own misfortunes in life agrees to take Woody to Nebraska. Whilst on their journey an incident causes them to stop in Woody’s old home town. Slowly people begin to learn of Woody’s one million dollar prize and suddenly everyone wants a piece of it, including family and friends he has not seen for some time. The movie is filmed in black and white adding to its overall bleakness; however, the cinematography is to be admired. Will Forte, Bruce Dern and June Squibb give performances of a lifetime. There are some hilarious moments and some serious and realistic moments too. Some may not like the lack of overt drama but the film ticks all the boxes for a great film and is well deserving of its high praise and Golden Globe nominations.

Monster Fest 2014 Words by Cecilia Allen (27th March- 2nd April) at Luna Palace. The tag line was: Feed your Beast! And what better way to do so then the Perth Monster Fest! Over seven nights of absolute gore, horror and just some of the downright weirdest but highly entertaining films returned for this year’s Monster Fest. There were World Premieres, Aussie Premieres, Q&As with international and local guests, workshops, bands, DJs and more. Horror fans were not be disappointed with the line-up of cult and horror delights. I had the pleasure of attending the opening night where Murderdrome was shown – so what do you do when a demon spirit hungry for human souls is created by some romantic rivalry? This Roller Derby, slashing mayhem will show you! Directed by Melbourne’s Daniel Armstrong it spent three years in the making, the film has been a sold out success. Cherry Skye a roller derby star catches the eye of Brad, they instantly connect and its love at first sight. Unfortunately Brad’s ex and Cherry’s roller nemesis Hell Grazer isn’t too happy about this. The tension generated by this rivalry cooks up a demon-spirit a roller derby satanic killer, hungry for human souls. In order to fix what has happened Cherry must compete in an apocalyptic roller rink known as the Murderdrome. A fantastically entertaining film – although not for everyone – it will certainly please fans of horror and will no doubt gain some fans for the genre. Other films from the festival included Chocolate, Strawberry, Vanilla – a psychological thriller about an Icecream van driver. The search for Weng Weng – the true story about a real-life midget named James Bond. Ravens Cabin – where several teenagers deep in the Australian Bush are kidnapped and tormented. Plus much more! For more information about Monster Fest or any of the above films visit: http://monsterfest.com.au

OLIVER TANK

Words & Photography by Adam Semple The first time a truly powerful song hits you there isn’t anything technical about it. Nothing calculated or analysed, just rhythms and tones that hit your soul right where it needs it. Oliver Tank does just that, and like the sharpness of a Russian cheese he teaches the haters of violin to love, the hysterics of dub-step to relax, and the hottest cups of tea to quiver in pools of goose bumps. It’s not just the fact that his sounds have such a specifically unexpected vibe, something from then and something from tomorrow, but never in my life did I expect to be punched in the gut, so blissfully, by a xylophone. It was phenomenal. To see Oliver Tank and his balanced, perpetually prompt bass and his fluttering synthetic vibes, it was fantastic. Tank’s music is a concoction of backing hymns, a deep flailing bass, and the pop of that finely strung electric xylophone mingling with his voice from somewhere nobody else has ever been. The young Melbournian’s performance on Perth’s leg of the Slow Motion Music Tour was one of those evenings that you look back on and giggle with the thought of just doing it all over again. As much as Tank’s sounds would nourish the soul more effectively in a further intimate setting, unlike the elongation of The Bakery, the Perth music scene vibes were still buzzing off those black walls and kind-of-grandiose shipping containers. The Bakery is a brilliant spot for those whom haven’t been. The structure is box-sectioned fun, and the variation of music they exhibit is a fortunately innovative spread for such an isolated city as Perth. Hidden behind a car park in Northbridge’s West, The Bakery tends to remain free from those sort of people who thrive on removing their shirts at festivals to express manhood, that modern mating call. It is usually on the priceyside-of-life for entry, but this can be expected in the most isolated (and one of the most costly) capital cities in the world. It also seems worthy considering the niche factor on a lot of their shows. Oliver Tank and his counterparts on the Slow Motion Music Tour let us taste some sweet melodies in the relaxed bakehouse environment. It was splendid, but if you missed it get your hands on some digital tracks, lay back, and feel that thumping viscosity wave through you.

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