Issue the First Volume Two! Februarch 2013
This is a magaz ine called
R U SP s free. Also, it i
AARON NOBES
THEORIES
The Runt (Gluttony) Rymill Park/Mullawirraburka Crn East Tce & Rundle Rd Adelaide Feb 15-17, 19-24, 26 - Mar 1 All tickets $13 www.adelaidefringe.com.au/fringetix
March 5-16 9.00pm
Full ad -Amos
Rhino Room
MICHAEL BOWLEY presents
One Man Island
Contents 25
Rubbin’ Hard For The Money An interview with local erotic masseuses
19
Samuel Pepys
Sex, Drugs & The Coronation of Charles II
35
Like, Culture’n’Stuff, with Tony Duggan 8 & 44
Episode 4: The Writers
43
Aural Delights
What You’re Missing On spurmag.net
...you won’t know unless you go to spurmag.net
36
Guantanamo Baywatch, Clairy Browne & The Bangin’ Rackettes
FILM Zero Dark Thirty! Silver Linings Playbook! Ryan Gosling! We tell you what’s worth watching
www.spurmag.net
spurmag@spurmag.net
Welcome to
SOUR
Issue 1, Volume 2! Dear Reader, You are a worm. Your face is redolent of that last slice of pizza, lingering for the past week in the fridge. You should be wiped away like the crust on my eye-rim after a long nap. You exist on the other side of hope. You thrive in the gaps between happiness. I would sell you down the river at a loss.What’s that awful smell? - COnt. on p..18 Also, a very special mention to Haneen Martin, who did the artwork on the contents page and p.23. She has a show at the Reading Room on March 20. Finally, a big fat sorry to Chris Kemp, author of the interview with Jay Kristoff (Issue the Third, Volume 1), whose name we didn’t mention when we should have. We are worms. Love, SPUR Magazine
Your editors: Sam McDonough, James McCann and Serrin Prior.
Your music reviews made me so mad my kidneys shrivelled into little sweetmeats and blood came out my ears and the ghosts of my ancestors rose from out their graves and indicted me with my past sins and secret shames. I wrote a letter about it, before I realised that you probably don’t have a postal address.
Thanks Duncan! We appreciate your words of vitriol. If we can’t inspire in our readers the same love that we cherish for them, then we’ll take blind hatred as a close second.
In the event that your kidneys are imploding whilst reading this, perWhere can I shove this letter so that haps you will find the words of the incomparible Lennon & McCartyou’ll learn, you cretins? ney a soothing tonic: Yrs. lovingly, Love, love, love, love, love, love, Duncan M. Turner love, love, love. There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done. Nothing you can sing that can’t be sung. Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game It’s easy. There’s nothing you can make that can’t be made. No one you can save that can’t be saved. Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time - It’s easy. All you need is love, all you need is love, All you need is love, love, love is all you need. Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love. All you need is love, all you need is love, All you need is love, love, love is all
you need. There’s nothing you can know that isn’t known. Nothing you can see that isn’t shown. Nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be. It’s easy. All you need is love, all you need is love, All you need is love, love, love is all you need. All you need is love (all together now) All you need is love (everybody) All you need is love, love, love is all you need. Love, SPUR Magazine P.S. You can find your review of Guantanamo Baywatch’s Chest Crawl on page 43. Hopefully now it is sweet sweet honey, rather than blood, that is coming out your ears. Note: Anyone with a letter to shove at us can drop it off between pages of the following address: Book of the Dead 893.1 B72.B.M Barr Smith Library University of Adelaide
WHAT YOU’RE MISSING ON SPURMAG.NET...
Reflections On How To Pass Uni And Still Be A Mad Dog Gamer
Paul K Stalenhoef
Doritos Kid says why eat one chip, when you can eat five and have your ma bring you more when you’re done? Just like every year, the video game entertainment happiness wizards decided to release a bunch of highly anticipated titles at a critical time in our university semester. In 2011, I was too busy rimming the sky and having shouting matches with dragons in order to properly focus on life. (I’m talking about Skyrim not about the last decent house party I went to.) In the last month or so, Halo 4, Pokémon Black/White 2, Ass Creed 3, Borderlands 2, X-Com Enemy Unknown, and
COD Black Ops 2 all formed a coalition to ensure my underwhelming performance at uni. How can I resist Master Chief riding on the back of a Tyrranitar demanding that I uncover the Templar conspiracy? How dare the developers rain down fun and pixilated rainbows upon humanity? Couldn’t they wait another week until I had finished my riveting Ecology assignment about Koalas or shrub monsters or whatever it is that I study?
Now, I’m not going to presume that I can actually offer any tips to my gaming brothers and sisters out there about effective time management. We all have our own way to please the virtual lords. Instead of sacrificing a fair maiden, we sacrifice our time, instead of killing one lamb to ensure fertility in the soil we kill 200, 000 bandits and use our XP points to unlock a cool hat. Gamers have evolved time management strategies catered around their own sadness; it’s an individual and sacred pro-
Want to read the rest? You know where to go.
TRAVEL
Home & Away Like many a young, pampered English fop before them, droves of Australian twenty-somethings choose to spend their Summer vacations abroad. It seems no young Australian is can justify their existence nowadays without The Europe Trip. The Europe Trip is undertaken by Australians between the age of 18 and 30 who fling themselves across the ocean to the ancient colonial powers. Come the end of The Europe Trip, those lucky – and wealthy – enough to have undertaken it, return with wistful eyes, cultured airs, and anecdotes to trump those who at stayed home, eating Tim-Tams with Aunty Jude. Frustrated that such trumpings inevitably seem to occur, this writer has decided to take a stand, and give fodder to the cannons of those who have been hitherto fodderless. Which is to say, I want to show you that your Trip doesn’t need to include Europe to be heaps good – we have some little-known wonders right here at home.
For those old enough – and daring enough – to enjoy it, one of
the main attractions of Hindley St must surely be The Palace. Built on the remains of an old flour mill, The Palace that we know and love today is immediately recognisable by its bright red exterior. The place has become iconic in recent years after being used as the setting for Australian director Baz Luhrmann’s award-winning film, The Red Mill! (2001). Now, for a not quite modest price (from $95 to $200), you can can experience the real thing, and delight in a dinner and dance spectacular. Yes, you’ll see a lot of boobs, but what must truly be admired is the poise, elegance and almighty flexibility of the talented performers who grace The Palace’s stage. Chase that green fairy and have a night you will never forget (or, will forget the entirety of by the next morning… Either way, you’ll have had a charming time!) Take a walk up Montefiore Road,
and just before you reach Jeffcott St, you’ll come across Light’s Vision. Often thought to represent that most punctilious of town planners, Colonel William Light, this inspiring statue in fact depicts Christopher Columbus, who was often referred to by his patron, Queen Isabella I of Castile, as the ‘Luz de mi vida’ (‘Light of my life’). Originally, the statue’s outstretched arm was to be pointing in the direction of the New World, which Columbus ‘discovered’ in 1492. However, directly in between the statue and the New World lies Portugal, a country was, and remains, in fierce rivalry with Spain (the financier of Columbus’ voyage). Thus in order to avoid giving any undue attention to the enemy, the statue was placed so that Columbus would
instead be pointing to his hometown of Adelaide. Go see it for the stunning view (it is said that Columbus was so sure there was no better sight -- vision, if you will -- on Earth, that he set out on his voyages in order to prove himself right). mer lock-up hold a screening of The Blues Brothers, a none-toosubtle homage to the prison’s last occupants no doubt, who were said to suffer greatly from depression during their stay. Apart from tours of the grounds and the odd movie night, the Gaol is also home to the official jewels of the Governor of Adelaide, when they are not being used in their official capacity. Opening just last year was a new exhibition, Gubernatorial Jewels, which for the first time allows the general public viewing access to these priceless treasures. What are you waiting for? Go get yo’ bling on! But not literally. The last person to attempt to take the jewels (Colonel Blood in 1671), was hanged, drawn and quar-
tered. Don’t be that guy. If you’re in that most uncomfortable of situations (don’t worry, we’ve all been there), when you’ve got too much money to know what to do with it, a little trip to the Skycity Adelaide will surely set you straight. However, you may have to borrow your New South Welsh cousin’s ID, since Adelaidean natives are forbidden from entering the gaming rooms. If you’re willing to take the risk though, you won’t be disappointed – James Bond creator Ian Fleming used Adelaide Casino as inspiration for Casino Royale (1953), an indication that the au-
thor most likely had a good time on his visit. So there you have it – four reasons to stay at home next Summer and enjoy what your own city has to offer. Oh, and if you have time, you may also want to check out… The Art Gallery of South Australia, which houses art by Australian icon Sidney Nolan, Walter Sickert, member of London’s the Camden Town Group, Pre-Raphaelite J. W. Waterhouse, Romantics J. M. W. Turner and Lawrence Alma-Tadema, and he who needs no introduction, Andy Warhol. Parliament of South Australia, where we were the first in Australia to give women the vote, legislate against discrimination based on age and legalise sexual activity between consenting males. People power!
SPORT
The Rumbling Heart of Festival Season Dave Webb, unabashed Clipsal fan, lays down some V8 lovin’, as he urges you to don the flannel, grab a bourbon, and enjoy Adelaide’s favourite blue collar spectacular.
I
t’s nearly here! March is coming -- the time of year when Adelaide comes alive. The city is forced from hibernation by a variety of sounds, lights and smells, bringing with them a vast array of performers and visitors from all four corners of the world. This year the Fringe is bigger than ever, with the organisers adding even more days to the biggest Fringe festival outside of Edinburgh. The Adelaide
Festival, Womadelaide and other slightly less well-known events will also be descending on ‘The City of Churches’.
I recently learned what the term ‘bump in’ means; it is the time when the stage managers start to set up the venues for the festival. The ‘bump in’ for this showcase However there are four days in the of speed and engineering starts festival season that literally drown months in advance, compared to out the competition and dominate the weeks that it takes for Fringe. the city like nothing else. The residents of the east parklands start grumbling in January The Clipsal 500. that their dogs cannot do morning ablutions without the workmen
assembling the stands disturbing This is the time of year when the litthem. tle boy inside me starts banging on his cage to get out and watch over a The Clipsal 500 gets its name from ton of machinery, computers, and the fact that it is two 250 km races flesh hurtle around the streets of over the Saturday and Sunday. The my town. For 361 days of the year race is held in the waning days of I am paid to prevent people drivsummer in weather as changeable ing too fast. For four days I want as the iPhone cover of a teenage girl. them to go faster. Watching these The drivers can face temperatures modern day chariot races leaves in excess of fifty degrees inside the me wide-eyed in wonderment. The cabin of their supercar, then within noise out of the cars is phenomethe space of twenty-four hours be nal. The drivers push the cars to litsliding around on a track which has erally the very limit of what physics been soaked by the unpredictable will allow. There is a point at which rain. any normal human being will think ‘that’s far enough’. These guys look With the qualification days run- at that line, turn their nose up and ning on Thursday and Friday and push past it to the point where the numerous support races, the drone line is a dot. of these highly engineered family saloons becomes a constant Drivers will be getting into the seats soundtrack to life in sleepy little of their new cars for the first time Adelaide. Such is the lure of this for championship points, and they siren call even Ennio Morricone may be wearing the new colours of sat up and took notice of it. In fair- different teams - in certain, almost ness this was because it disturbed unforgiveable circumstances, they his concert, when he was conduct- will have moved from Holden to ing an orchestra playing his most Ford, or vice versa. popular pieces for a sell-out crowd. In hindsight, the River Torrens, at There is an extra twist to this year’s nearly a kilometre away, was prob- opening race, however; for the first ably too close to the track. time in a very long time there will be two more manufacturers lining The Clipsal is the first race of the V8 up on the start/finish straight in supercar season and so petrol heads the parklands. Nissan and Mereverywhere wait in anticipation for cedes have thrown their respective the release of the tickets. Since los- trucker’s caps into the ring and will ing the F1 to Melbourne (get over be pushing the ‘true blue’ Ford and it, it was a long time ago), Clipsal Holden teams. I’m by no means has been the focus for South Aus- staunch follower of any of the curtralian motor racing fans. The city rent teams, essentially I will go to becomes a writhing mass of beards, the first day of racing, find the Merbedecked in flannelette and Ford or cedes with the best colour scheme Holden badges. Bourbon becomes and nail their colours to my mast. the drink of choice and dentists stake out prime locations to hand This will add a whole new dimenout more flyers than desperate up- sion to the competition, four teams and-coming comedians. may mean that the Vodafone 888 team loses their strangle hold on
the competition, then again they may not. I am a great believer in competition and progress, I hate the idea that when people are good they get ‘handicapped’, I’m equally opposed to the idea that if you aren’t very good that you are given an advantage. I cannot for the life of me agree with the AFL draft system, but that’s another story for another time. So if the Vodafone team keeps marching relentlessly on then so be it. The other teams just have to get better. Hopefully the famed German engineering will lead to a more open championship. All of the above ingredients mean that this will be a break out season for the country’s most blue-collar pastime. I know that most of you reading this will baulk at the idea of spending any time in the natural habitat of the Bogan, but I assure you, they will be so distracted by the high octane fuel and the smell of burnt rubber that they won’t even know you exist. I implore you to spend some of you festival budget on at least one day of this cacophony for the senses. You will literally feel the noise, as the cars pop and roar past you. You will see the power as the cars accelerate out of a corner and the back ends squirms around before hunkering down and transferring a bucket load of torque onto the circuit. If you take V8 supercars on face value they are ‘just cars’ driving around a track, take a slightly deeper look and your eyes will be opened to a whole new world of mechanics, physics, and heroics.
TOM HELPS YOU OUT
ARTS GRADUATE FINALLY USEFUL IN HELPING POLICE TALK DOWN SUICIDAL MAN WHO ONLY SPEAKS LATIN Gina Redding, Local Reporter Scenes of horror were closely avoided today in Sydney’s east as a suicidal man was talked down from an apartment balcony by police, with the co-operation of an Arts graduate wandering past, marking one the first times that someone with an Arts degree has actually proven to be useful in civil society. Blake LeFevre, who graduated with honours in 2009 from the University of Sydney, couldn’t be happier that people don’t consider him a useless academic anymore.
ganic gluten-free bread store, and I noticed that this man was babbling what seemed at first to be incoherent, but when I listened closer I noticed it was the dead language of Latin, which I majored in with a minor in Gender Studies. I assumed that the reason this was all he was speaking might be because he was part of the upper Catholic Church, or maybe he was a motto writer.” “I went up to the police, who were looking baffled, and while I don’t normally assist members of the State because of my anarcho-communist leaning, a humanist streak arose in me like phoenix rising and told them I could translate to help out. I had a long conversation with the man, had to correct his grammar in times where he confused the ablative with the vocative, we discussed 2nd Century continental history for a while and then eventually convinced him to come down and share a chai latte with me.”
“Well, I was just sitting in a Paddington cafe, re-reading Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground, when I saw there was a commotion in the side street by the cafe. There were all these people gathered round an apartment block as a man was about to jump off the rooftop. I was about to go over immediately, but then I stopped for a minute or ten to contemplate the nature of suicide and death as an unknowable. I think, Police chief Stavros Giannopoulos obviously, this man had not read Le said that this was the first time he Mythe de Sisyphe.” Blake recounted. and his team had ever encountered a positive encounter with an arts stu“So I eventually walked past where dent or graduate, as they had only the crowd was gathered, only be- last week arrested around a dozen of cause I was on the way to the or- them at a Marxist rally.
Blake LeFevre, unlikely hero and future welfare recipient The man eventually edged his way back inside the building around 3.30pm and before taken to hospital for recovery, got the chance to meet his saviour Blake. “It turns out that he was speaking Latin because he was also an Arts graduate. We’re very depressed people.” Blake said.
Tom Murphy blogs at http:// tomhelpsyouout.tumblr.com/
o x ti !!
D n O
1) 2) 3)
VOX POP
How do you know you exist? What is your favourite way to forget your own mortality? Would you rather kill a baby kitten, or eat a baby kitten?
Kat
1) You don’t. You just have to take it on faith if you choose to believe it. 2) I don’t think you should ever forget it. 3) If those are your only two choices, and you’re hungry...
Ling
1) That is a sick question. Am I real? Well... I can feel my heart. 2) Forget my mortality? Oh – sorry? Why should I forget my mortality? 3) Eat a baby...? Kill a baby...? Wait – a cat? I don’t know how to answer this.
Gerry
1) ... 2) ... 3) [stares accusingly] I can’t win at this question.
Nick
1) 2) 3)
That’s a tricky one. Uh, these questions are crazy. Kill.
We’re looking at you. Oh you handsome devil! You sweet being! You perfect mixture of wisdom and kindness. Please do us the great honour of printing your fine words in our humble magazine. Let us shower you with metaphorical kisses. Literal kisses provided upon reciept and consideration of a headshot. Review a movie, we will give you FREE TICKETS and in return all we ask is your glorious insights into the silver screen.
Your poetic brilliance knows no bounds, you should let the world experience it gushing through their eyeballs into their malleable brains.
You’re hilarious, make a point of it and let us know. You are greater than your fixie. Operate in more than one gear.
Write for us.
We asked our literary friends, all of whom love SPUR, why you should write for SPUR: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that an unoccupied student wth an article to publish should do so in Spur, lest they be thought of as sweaty testes.”
Jane Austin
When I awoke my hand was mangled. The key was in that same hand. The key was Spur, and he was dead. I was dead, but I wasn’t certain.
Samuel Beckett
And if the writing is good and true and rightous and beautiful then send it to the magazine is itself good and true and rightous beautiful. Now who wants to watch me fight a bull!
Ernest Hemmingway
cont. from p.6: It’s you. You are scum beneath our toes. The rabid dogs of Sodom would chew you up and spit you out, for distaste of your fetid stench. Get a job.
You can write it eating pie. You write in the sky. You can publish it in Spur. You can flublish it in flurr.
You have never attempted to write for SPUR. If you did, you would fail. Why have you not tried to write for SPUR?
Dr. Seuss
Franz Kafka
submissions @spurmag.net
HISTORY
Samuel Pepys:
As happy a man as any in the whole world, for the whole world seems to smile upon me! - Samuel Pepys
Sex,
Drugs,
and the Coronation of Charles II Daryl McCann recounts some adventures from the life and times of that most winsome of diarists.
W
e know that the day before Charles II’s coronation on April 23rd, 1661 a royal procession on horseback took place. The king’s coterie, in a tradition long since abandoned, passed between The Tower of London and Whitehall. We know it had been raining that week and people worried further downpours might spoil the pageantry. We know all this and much more thanks to Samuel Pepys’ inimitable Diary. Treating themselves to “wine and good cake”, Pepys and his nine-member party enjoyed an unimpaired view of the regal cavalcade. Pepys had the foresight to hire a room for the occasion from the flag-maker Mr Young: “The King, in a most rich embrodered suit and cloak, looked most nobly.” Pepys sounds like a modern-day fan at a concert convinced the object of his veneration has spotted him in the crowd: “Both the King and the Duke of York took notice of us as he saw us at the window.” At some stage in the course of events the garrulous and lecherous Pepys struck up a conversation with the ladies ensconced in the adjoining gallery: “One of which, over against us, I took much notice of and spoke of her, which made sport among us.”
The following morning Pepys was up at 4:00 a.m. trying on his special velvet coat; a coat so special he was going to be wearing it in public for the first time. The seating arrangements in Westminster Abbey turned out to be far less convivial than Mr Young’s. After The King, in a most rich embroidered waiting seven hours suit and cloak, looked most nobly. for Charles to make his entrance – “in his robes, bareheaded, which was very fine” crown on and sceptre in hand, en– Pepys found his view of the cor- tered the hall “under a Canopy onation ceremony obstructed by borne up by six silver staves”, his the people in front of him. The only imperial-style contrivance cargenuine moment of excitement oc- ried by six obliging barons. Three curred after the crown was placed lords of the realm, Northumberupon Charles Stuart’s head and a land, Suffolk and Ormond, arrived “great shout” erupted amongst the at the function on horseback and assembled. Pepys took his leave of impressively enough remained so the abbey “a little while before the throughout “all dinnertime”. King has done all his ceremonies” on account of the need “to pisse”. The intended high point of the evening was the King’s Champion, “all Pepys made his way around to in armour on horseback”, flinging Westminster Hall where 10,000 down his gauntlet as a challenge revellers, including his wife Elisa- to anyone present who would deny beth, were preparing to eat, drink Charles Stuart “to be the lawful and enjoy “Musique of all sorts”. King of England” Though Pepys appreciated this carefully choreoThe guests almost certainly let out graphed performance, his favourite an appreciative gasp when Charles, moment came later in the proceed-
“
”
ings: “I took a great deal of pleasure to go up and down and look upon the ladies…” Only after King Charles left the hall, bringing to a close the formal side of the festivities, did conditions take a turn for the worse: “…it fell a-raining and thundering and lightening as I have not seen it do some years. ” Pepys dismissed as “foolery” the suggestion that the good weather of the previous two days could be construed as “God’s blessing” on the coronation. Our diarist, with his eye for the folly of others, adopted a similarly sceptical attitude when he and Elisabeth joined the local celebrations in Axe Yard. In the Diary he dismissesthe practise of drinking the King’s health on bended knee and upon a pile of wood destined for the bonfire as “a strange Frolique”.
“ ”
This is an echo of his response twelve months before – “a little too much” – to all the bonfires and bell ringing that accompanied the return of Charles II to England. After all, Charles I had been executed as recently as 1649 and Charles II was persona non grata all the time Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658) remained alive.
ing”. The Diary does not disclose if the special velvet coat was removed before Pepys tumbled into bed. Claire Tomalin, in her magnificent biography, Samuel Pepys: The Unequalled Self (2002), argues that Pepys (1633-1703) used the mechanism of diary writing to observe, record and reflect upon the uniqueness of his own nature with all the curiosity and detachment of a modern scientist. Fittingly, Pepys would one day become the President of the Royal Society. His Diary could just as well be a research project on the peculiar mating habits of an African primate, rather than the mating habits of a London-born primate called named Samuel Pepys.
At some point in the evening, Pepys ordered his tipsy wife and female servant off to bed, and then took off with a number of friends for the house of Mr Thornbury, “who did give the company all their wines, he being the yeoman of the wine-cellar to the King”. The men drank “the King’s health and nothing else” until one of them collapsed on the floor and vomited. Pepys crashed for the night at his employer’s place Charles II’s lack of sexual probity and later woke “wet with my spew- must have had some effect on the behaviour of Pepys, not to mention all those other Restoration rakes and scoundrels. Certainly the monarch made no secret of his fourteen illegitimate children; and openly paraded his lovers at court, to the extent of disconcertingly “toying with his mistresses”. Many of Charles II’ women were clever and vivacious albeit from modest backgrounds. Born in the slums of the East End, the big-hearted Nell Gwynne had been a whore in a bawdy house and a theatre orange-seller before arousing Charles II’s interest with her stirring performances on the public stage. One of her rivals, Moll Davis, was a singer-dancer-comedienne; Pepys admired her singing and noted her “very fine legs”. Davis was also known for her vulgarity and avarice. Elisabeth Pepys, according
[Moll Davis,] the most impertinent slut in the world.
“
[Pepys] became an aficionado of non-penetrative sex in the style, if not the manner, of the forty-second president of the United States
”
to a Diary entry for January 1668, ambitious young carpenter at the thought her “the most impertinent Deptford shipyards and by 1665 slut in the world”. Pepys had the authority to put work this man’s way. Mr Bagwell, in a sorry case of quid pro quo, deEvery new development during the cided to put his wife Pepys’ way. In Restoration era, including the Great the ensuing years, Mrs Bagwell – “a Plague of 1665, saw an upswing in pretty woman” – proved compliant Pepys’ infidelities. At times the only in this exploitative arrangement. constraint, other than being found Pepys was bemused whenever she out by Elisabeth, seems to have expressed a high regard for her apbeen fear of venereal disease. The palling husband. treatment for “the pox”, a lengthy course of mercury, was as likely to Pepys’ Diary entry for October send a person mad as the disease 25th 1668 captures the moment itself. Doubtless this is why Pepys when all the philandering came never availed himself to the charms undone. Elisabeth opened the bedof London’s 3,000 prostitutes. Pepys room door that evening to discover devised two solutions to the vene- Deborah Willet, the eighteen-yearreal disease threat. First, he became old maid-cum-family companion, an aficionado of non-penetrative propped up on Pepys lap. Though sex in the style, if not the manner, Elisabeth was “struck mute and of the forty-second president of the grew angry”, she stormed out beUnited States. Secondly, and more fore fully ascertaining “at what she problematically, he pressed himself saw”. This might have been just as upon those who might be expected well since Pepys “was at a wondernot to have contracted “the pox” – ful loss” with his hand up Willet’s young virgins and married women. skirt. The former Elisabeth de St Michel, an attractive, elegant and Despite his genius as an adminis- self-possessed woman by all actrator and phenomenal work ethic, counts, made her husband pay for patronage was not immaterial to his perfidy. Pepys’ illustrious career, which culminated in his becoming the Sec- For days after day Pepys writes of retary of the Admiralty. Patronage his wife’s “mighty rage” and “ravalso played a role in Pepys’ sexual ing past midnight”. Elisabeth forces relationships, including one with him to dismiss Willett. The discovthe aptly named Mrs Bagwell. Wil- ery of a secret assignation has her liam Bagwell happened to be an threatening Pepys that she will “slit
the nose of this girl”. One night he awakes to find an incensed Elisabeth wielding hot tongs in front of him. The Diary ends in May 1669 with Pepys and his wife reconciled and the promise of a glorious holiday in France ahead. The tragedy is that on their return a fever brought Elisabeth low. She died in November, aged twenty-seven, leaving Pepys almost inconsolable. What about Deb Willet? She appeared lost to history. In Samuel Pepys: The Unequalled Self, Claire Tomalin conjectures that Pepys never tracked down Willet. Remembering his wife’s “rage”, a “remorseful” Pepys “was likely to have felt such a search would border on sacrilege”. This lapse into sentimentality surprises. In 2006, to my delight, new evidence came to light. Deb Willet had apparently married a certain Jeremiah Wells, an unemployed theology graduate, in 1670. The young virgin was now the married woman. Financially strapped, she turned to none other than Pepys for assistance, who responded in his usual expeditious and professional way. Jeremiah found himself appointed chaplain on a ship – the benevolence of Samuel Pepys knew no bounds. Daryl McCann has a blog at http:// darylmccann.blogspot.com.au
OPINION
ABORT THE ABORTION ...according to Michael Arnold. (Yes, he’s white, middle class and male, but at least hear him out.)
T
he debate around abortion has been one of the most heated debates in recent Australian politics. All too often, both sides descend into emotional name-calling rather than reasoned debate. One of the main reasons for this, in my view, is that we are asking and answering the wrong questions. Supporters of the right to abortion are in favour of women’s rights to have control over their own body. They argue that legislation prohibiting abortion is an unacceptable infringement of women’s freedoms—and, given that a large majority of legislators are male, it’s easy to argue that men don’t fully understand the issue from a woman’s perspective. Furthermore, advocates of choice argue that the conservatives and classical liber-
als who make up the bulk of the anti-abortion movement should actually support the right to abortion, since those very same conservatives and liberals are usually the bastions of freedom and choice. And they’re right, at least to an extent: if the debate was purely an issue of women’s choice, the liberal opponents of abortion would be rather hypocritical to deny women the right to an abortion. But there has always been an important restriction on the exercise of choice. People are only entitled to make choices which do not di rectly harm anyone else. An abortion ends the life—if it can be considered a life—of an unborn child, and thus causes direct harm. The debate over abortion is not a debate about choice, nor is it a debate about freedom, nor a conflict between the public and private spheres. In the words of John Stuart Mill, abortion is not a ‘self-regard-
ing action’. Rather than arguing against women’s rights, liberals argue in favour of the rights of the unborn child. To a liberal, unborn children are human beings, and all human beings have basic rights which must be protected. The most important of these is the right to life, which is obviously incompatible with abortion. Of course, some may argue that an unborn child isn’t a person and, as such, can’t hold rights. Why, though, should a child acquire rights only when it is born? Unborn children have heartbeats and brain activity just like children outside the womb. Can there, then, be a particular point at which a foetus becomes a person? Surely there cannot, since any boundary after conception is as arbitrary as birth. There is no logical reason why a foetus which is five weeks and six days old is of any greater or lesser worth than one which is six weeks
and one day old. So on one hand, supporters of the right to abortion are arguing in favour of the woman’s right to choice; on the other hand, opponents of abortion argue in favour of the child’s right to life. The key point here is that neither side is arguing against anyone’s rights. Both are simply asserting the validity of their respective rights. This is part of the reason why public discourse surrounding abortion is often so vitriolic: we aren’t directly engaging each other. The most important question is not whether the right to choice or the right to life are valid—they are. The question we should really be asking is which right takes priority: the mother’s right to personal sovereignty, or the child’s right to life. Let’s start with an obvious example. During pregnancy, a mother makes travel plans, and in order to be able to travel more conveniently, decides to have an abortion. This is clearly morally unjustified— the convenience of the mother cannot outweigh the child’s life. Now let’s consider another example. A mother becomes aware of complications with her pregnancy which could lead to her death during childbirth. An abortion in this case is still not justifiable—the mother does not have the right to take the child’s life to protect her own. This is not self-defence; the baby is doing nothing to attack the mother. Rather, the child’s very existence is what threatens the mother. An abortion in this case is no more justifiable than a starving person murdering someone else to steal their food. The only way this can be justified is if society decides to value one life more than another—a concept repugnant to many ideals of a liberal democratic society.
Lastly, I want to discuss the ramifications of conception through rape. I would argue that the circumstances of conception should be irrelevant to the child’s rights, since the child has not chosen those circumstances. Although the suffering may be greater than otherwise, it still does not outweigh the child’s right to life. I’ve so far only discussed the morality of abortion, rather than its legality. The two are not necessarily linked— many acts considered immoral are not made illegal, and liberals are usually among the first to argue for morality to be separated from the law. However, abortion is different because it is not a self-regarding action. In this case, the state has a duty to protect its citizens, whether or not the action being taken against them is moral. On a legal note, one argument which is often used to against outlawing abortion is that some women will abortions anyway—so-called ‘backyard abortions’. This argument, however, is unjustified. A law is not useless simply because a small minority choose to ignore it. If laws against homicide have failed to eliminate murder, should we legalise that? Of course not. The law is intended to be a model which ought to be followed; it is unreasonable to expect that every person will follow every law. This is, of course, just one side of the argument. Yes, I’m a male who’s against abortion, but I hope I’ve shown that my view comes from reason, not emotion. I also hope that we, as a society, can have a reasonable debate on the issue, rather than the hate-filled rants of which both sides are guilty. I think taking the debate in the direction I’ve outlined here—a discussion of rights, not people—can make some progress in that regard.
The question we should really be asking is which right takes priority: the mother’s right to personal sovereignty, or the child’s right to life.
LADIES & THE SMALL SCREEN
The Hart of the Matter:
Is Miranda Good For Feminism?
L
ast night I saw the final episode of the third series of the BBC sitcom Miranda. It finishes with its customary shot of the cast making their goodbyes to the live studio audience as the credits roll. It had been a rollercoaster of an episode, ending with Miranda between two men on bended knee asking her to marry them. In true Miranda style, Hart saves this from becoming tacky soap-opera material by parodying 1940s melodrama. The camera switches to shots of the cast sporting over-the-top theatrical expressions as Miranda is forced to make the momentous decision. Miranda is one of my guilty pleasures. The BBC sitcom, featuring actress and comedian Miranda Hart has a kind of love-it-orloathe-it quality; you can either
handle the ‘70s-style talking to the camera, slapstick and farce or you throw up in your mouth a little. I don’t know exactly what it is that makes me love it - or what makes me so shame-faced about enjoying it.
people’s hearts. If you’ll pardon the pun. In the words of one critic, her show is “soft and warm”, like the “comedy equivalent of wearing a onesie”. I think my uneasiness with it lies somewhere else: one of the reasons I get uneasy is that there are aspects of the sitcom that don’t sit comfortably with my feminist beliefs. Whether it’s how I justify the fact that half of the plot revolves around whether Miranda will finally get it on with Gary or the way that Miranda almost always manages to have some sort of wardrobe malfunction, it makes me start to ask some awkward questions about what exactly I like about it.
On a basic level, it’s uncool to like ‘70s-style revival shows. Shows like Mrs Brown’s Boys have found a popular following but the majority of people who can claim to have “highbrow” taste fail to be enamoured with men pretending to be Irish matrons. Self-aware, talking to the camera is really uncool in an age where the mockumentary style of The Office, Getting On and The Thick of It reign supreme amongst lovers of satire. Physical comedy is definitely uncool. But Miranda For a start, Miranda is unashamfeatures all of these hallmarks of edly physical in its approach to uncool and still manages to win comedy. The show if full of gags
involving clothes coming off, inadvertently passing wind, and falling over and off things. So much so, that Hart was invited by talk show host Jonathan Ross to demonstrate how she falls off a bar stool. There are frequent jokes about Miranda’s height and size, particularly the running joke that she is referred to as “sir” by strangers.
“Although Miranda is basically incompetent at most things, the show says that it’s okay to be crap at stuff if you’ve got a heart of gold”
Should we feel uncomfortable about the fact that Miranda is one of the few women in comedy with her own sitcom and she goes for physical comedy, often regarded as the lowest common denominator? Doesn’t she set a bad example for female comedy? Worse, isn’t she just perpetuating the idea that women who don’t fit normative standards of beauty are easy targets for ridicule?
plummy accents and a tendency to say “such fun!” She and Miranda tend to be antagonists, whether it’s because Penny is trying to set Miranda up with the frankly insane first cousin Benjy, to get her married or insisting on calling remote controls “doubreys” (um, what?). But put all of this aside, and you see Penny is actually quite an admirable woman... In her own way.
I’m not sure. While I generally tend to find slapstick silly rather than funny, I admire Hart’s fearlessness about her body. First of all, she goes for slapstick while most other female comedians do not. She is willing to draw attention to her physicality - she’s not afraid of appearing on television in a tummy-tucking body suit and a moustache. It’s a wholesale rejection of normative standards of female attractiveness if there ever was one. And it seems to work: Miranda wins the affections of Mike, who appreciates her quirkiness, and Gary, who shares her playfulness. She’s okay as she is, and it didn’t mean losing weight, getting a high-powered job or suppressing her child-like pleasure in little things. Miranda’s relationships with other women are also pretty complex. Miranda’s mother Penny, played by Patricia Hodge, epitomises all of the ridiculousness of women in their late 50s and early 60s with
Apart from her desire to see Miranda hooked up with an eligible beau, Penny is a go-getter. She’s constantly out doing things (almost every scene involves her announcing a series of activities she’s got to get done that day), she apparently still has a sex life (unlike most older middle-aged women on TV), at one point she runs for local council, and when it all boils down to it, she really loves Miranda, despite her tendency to make downright rude statements about Miranda’s personal life. Stevie, Miranda’s best friend, is also a sometimes antagonist. A pintsized ball of energy, she’s efficient, has considerable business acumen, and likes to draw attention to her “allure”. Although she and Miranda occasionally oppose one another, their relationship is, at its heart, affectionate and supportive. Compared to the Vicar of Dibley, who is constantly rolling her eyes at her verger Alice Tinker, or Jill in Nighty
Night, who is an outright sociopath seeking to destroy the lives of all the women she meets, Miranda and Stevie have a kind of solidarity together, enjoying Indian banquet ready meals and ‘Miranda and Stevie’s Okey-Dokey-no-Place-forBlokeys-Karaoke’. Stevie, like Penny, is a go-getter, attending and inadvertently leading a business seminar, attending language classes and managing Miranda’s shop. She’s also confident in herself, insisting that she has “the Allure”, unlike Miranda, who is sexually clueless. While we never see Stevie really develop any kind of relationship with the opposite sex (apart from a fling with Miranda’s old French teacher), she’s assertive and self-assured. Miranda’s strength as a sitcom really lies in its wobbliness. Although Miranda is basically incompetent at most things, the show says that it’s okay to be crap at stuff if you’ve got a heart of gold and don’t try to suppress your personality. And Miranda is surrounded by women who do occasionally nag or compete with her - but their bond is also one of genuine affection. The attraction between Miranda and Gary (or Mike), is mutual, based on an equal appreciation of each other’s positive traits. So is Miranda good for feminism? She might be problematic, but in a weird way, she’s admirable- and not in the ways we think of when we talk about feminist role models. She is sweet, she is rather funny, and she is herself, and I don’t think any of those are things I wouldn’t want to be myself. Vedrana Budimir
INTERVIEW
Rubbin’ Hard For The Money Serrin Prior explores Adelaide’s seedy underbelly, only to find that it isn’t all that seedy. Names of people and places have been changed for obvious reasons. Take a journey not so very far away, to a leafy, affluent, Eastern suburb. There you might find, hidden discreetly from view behind a brushwood fence, an elegant old house (of the long hallway-ed, wooden floored, high ceiling-ed variety). This particular sandstone isn’t home to a corporate baby-boomer couple, however; The Hood (as it’s advertised in the Personal Pages of a newspaper you’ve probably read) is a place where mostly men can come. To come.
when they have a job they can’t readily acknowledge. I also spoke to the receptionist, Belle, whose biggest annoyance is vacuuming at the end of the day.
First to the nitty gritty – what do the masseuses actually do? Jasmine describes how her “massages are performed naked, both the client and [her]self, and involve a range of techniques, from standard to therapeutic, to sensual, erotic and intimate touch”. She also adds that “they do not include oral or sexual Now, before you make any assump- intercourse, or penetrative touchtions, this is not a brothel. At least, ing”. it’s not a place that provides ‘full service’ (that is, penetrative sex). It Now, a question that you may well does, however, offer sensual mas- be asking yourself (if you get past sages at prices that preclude the the slight embarrassment at having merely drunkenly curious. And of had the thought in the first place), course, included in the fee is your is why clients would only go for a massage when they could go somevery own ‘happy ending’… where else for full service. Belle has Welcome to the world of the a couple of theories. A massage, she says, “is a total body sexual experirub’n’tug. ence that lasts the entire booking, I had a chat with Ariel and Jasmine, whereas full service could be only a a couple of the “erotic masseuses”, few minutes’ pleasure.” Then there’s to find out what it’s really like be- the guilt factor: “Perhaps [the clihind that closed door – as well as ents] don’t consider themselves what it’s like for them outside it, cheating (if they’re partnered),
Phallic flora and fauna by Demi Lardner
with the ending being only hand to disagree with the possibility of relief ”. this outcome, saying that “even if society was more open i.e. laws As for the workers themselves, were changed etc., people will still neither of the women I talked to maintain their prejudice and opinseemed particularly concerned that ions”. She goes on to say that, even their work would be an impedi- if society did become more open ment to them forming or maintain- when it came to the sex industry, ing relationships. Jasmine describes it wouldn’t make her life any easier, her partner as “very supportive and since “[she] would still keep [her] open-minded” and says that they profession a secret because you just “openly and honestly discuss [her] don’t know what someone is going job”. Ariel, who has remained single to think and who they will tell”. during her time as a masseuse, says that she would “cross that bridge What with the need for secrecy and when it arises” if she was to meet possibility of prejudice, why do the someone with whom she wanted a job at all? While Ariel mentions serious relationship. Being a very flexibility as a benefit, as well as its social person and meeting lots being “a bit of fun”, both women of people though, she says that it agree on one point – “the money is “does feel strange telling white lies great”. As for Belle, she too enjoys to people about where you work or the flexibility, and particularly apwhat you’re up to”. preciates “NOT being stuck in an office”. In legal terms, South Australia seems to be a little confused about As for the misconceptions that are how it feels concerning the sex in- out there when it comes to this dustry; brothels are illegal, as are kind of work, both Ariel and Belle soliciting and procuring, yet pros- mention how there’s this idea of titution itself is not. Where the types – “the type of people who work of a sensual masseuse fits into work in these places and the type this… To be honest, I’m not com- that frequent them”. Belle lists pletely sure. Suffice it to say that them, revealing no pattern: “our this work is at least on the fringes clients are lawyers, builders, the elof the law. One argument in the de- derly, care-givers, retired, athletes, bate for liberalising our sex laws, is the disabled or maybe even your the that if sex work were decrimi- father”. (!) Ariel agrees that there nalised or legalised, then society “really is no type”, saying that the would eventually come to accept same goes for the working women, it; it would be normal, tax-able who include “mothers, students, work like any other. Jasmine seems business owners and profession-
als”. Furthermore, Jasmine explains that for most of the women, this isn’t their primary job. “Most girls have another job, or study, or have many projects they’re working on, which is why this on-the-side job is so convenient, it allows you the freedom to focus on these other avenues of your life that don’t offer as much financial reward but offer a lot of personal reward”. While this all seems fine and dandy, there are those who would say that the women working at The Hood, and other similar establishments, are being exploited and put at risk in a workplace that could never be properly regulated. On the latter point, Belle describes a couple of the safety measures already in place – cameras are positioned outside and “women have the right to refuse clients if they don’t want to see them”. As for the former, she asserts: “I hear ‘my body my choice’ in terms of reproduction/terminations etc., but never in terms of the sex industry... It’s a job, just a job.” My interview with Belle finishes with the following, curious revelation: “Next time your doctor is running late, it’s not because he’s held up in traffic, it’s because he’s had an early appointment with us!” Well, you never know.
ATHENS OF THE SOUTH
Youth Driven Revival Ex-pat Christopher Meadows delivers a hopeful report on a newly reinvigorated city. Guess what? You’re living in it. In the dying minutes of a long haul flight from Japan, I peered wearily out of my porthole window. After traveling for almost 18 hours, I was about to finally touchdown back in Adelaide. I’ve been working overseas for several years now, only to make my regular once a year Christmas pit stop to visit family and friends. As I gazed down at the landscape of my hometown, it all began to look very familiar; the sprawling suburbs of quarter acre blocks connected by a vast grid-like network of streets and edged by a range of tinder dry hills. The only change I had particularly noticed the last time I had taken this flight home was the sudden proliferation of solar panels that seemed to have taken position on many a suburban rooftop, otherwise everything seemed pretty much the same as the day I left. However, this time, as we neared the centre of the city, the outlook appeared noticeably different, with the demolition of the Adelaide Oval grandstands and the construction of the new hospital nearby providing a scene not unlike the result of a giant bomb hitting the city. Not being used to the sight of such significant building changes altering the face of my home town, it was
quite a shock, but as I was to discover, things were indeed changing in dear old Adelaide and not just along the banks of the River Torrens. At this point I must confess that the development of Adelaide has provided me with much consternation over the years. I grew up during the Don Dunstan decade and remember the era as an optimistic time in which we boldly shook off the title of ‘The City of Churches’ to become more flatteringly referred to as the ‘Athens of the South’. This was well before the State Bank disaster, when the future looked bright and the government hadn’t yet sold off so many of our more valuable assets in order to re-coup the banks mammoth losses. By this stage, the influx of immigrants during the ‘50s and ‘60s had begun to make its presence felt, and we became increasingly exposed to new and exotic forms of food through the various restaurants that had began to spring up in and around the city. By the 1970s, I remember tasting my first pizza and visiting the Glendi Festival to experience an authentic Greek souvlaki. My mother even started to delve into cooking curries at this time, even
if they were completely out of the packet. Adelaide had a newly built performing arts centre that would be the venue for the ‘Festival of Arts’, which was soon to become the envy of other states. We had the South Australian Film Corporation single handedly reviving the dwindling national film industry. The Chappell brothers were leading the Australian cricket team and our local football league had record attendances, proving that it was just as good as the VFL. The promised mining boom was just around the corner and everything was looking rosy. We were now known as ‘The Festival State’, a centre of diverse cultural experiences and economically on the move. Outwardly we appeared to have a vision of exactly where we were going… So what went wrong? Somewhere along the line, Adelaide managed to replace the buoyant optimism of youth with the doubt and uncertainty so often the bi-product of adulthood. While we might have secured the Australian Grand Prix for our events calendar, it did in some ways, only act to cloud our longterm vision for the city. Were we
aiming to be a major international destination or hoping to retain the reassuring scale of the big country town that was being guided by the profound vision of Colonel William Light? Our lack of decisiveness may have indeed been the reason why the Grand Prix circus had suddenly deserted us, leaving the taste of bitterness and envy toward the Vics, who had shown the assuredness that we had lacked. Like a ship without a rudder, we had lost our sense of direction and slowly began to slip behind the other capital cities, who had on the eve of a new millennium, began to flourish and grow. It may have been our geographic location, our smaller population, lack of immigration or simply the weight of our government’s financial debt, but the optimism of the 1970’s had passed us by only to be replaced by an era of restraint and indecision. We had become the nerd in the schoolyard; constantly afraid, full of self-doubt and afraid of commitment. Not surprisingly
we became the butt of many tedious jokes from our more prosperous interstate neighbors, who seemed to revel in our insecurities. Sadly, we had lost confidence, afraid to make tough and decisive decisions that would allow us to progress in a mature manner. This was evident through a number of the choices made by some of our esteemed leaders … the doomed Multi-function polis, the Victoria Park fiasco, archaic city building restrictions, the ludicrous oneway southern highway, an embarrassing Le Cornu site, the unimaginative response to an Adelaide Hills scenic cable car proposal, puritan Christmas shopping hours, failed Victoria Square and Port Adelaide redevelopments, to name but a few. When an interesting idea was actually proposed, it became hamstrung every step of the way; decisions were tentative and constantly required public approval, only to be scuttled at the first sign of any notable resistance. It’s a wonder projects like the Ad-
elaide Hills tunnel, the Glenelg marina and the extended tramline ever managed to make it beyond the launch pad! While it wasn’t the only reason, it was probably my somewhat jaded view of Adelaide development that contributed to my decision to eventually leave to seek work overseas. Yet connections of a lifetime are not so easily broken and these days there wouldn’t be a day that goes by that I don’t read South Australian news or listen to local radio online. While Adelaide still often reflects many of the usual cautious, insecure traits, I have from a distance recently sensed that the tide is perhaps turning and a new era of optimism is beginning to return.
The Adelaide Oval redevelopment has not surprisingly sparked much debate and as one who spent many a day watching cricket at the old ground, I am more than sad to see the historic ground as I knew it disappear. However, I recognize the significance of this bold decision to create a year-round city sports stadium as one that may be just the catalyst to inspire a new vision for Adelaide. It’s development will come at a very high price, but hopefully it will not only help to revitalize the unTo think, it only cost five million dollars to destroy the old Adelaide Oval. der utilized River
Torrens area, but provide a much needed visual statement about our future as a city. While much of the media attention seems to be on the budget and quality of the design, it seems that what is far more important is what it might symbolically represent in signaling the resurgence of our city. Similarly, the ongoing development of inner city apartment living continues to provide positive steps toward longterm urban renewal. This not only remains essential in halting our vast urban sprawl, but to also inject much needed life into the city beyond business hours; something I like to refer to as ‘avoiding the tumble weed effect’. Yet it must be said that urban living cannot be totally effective unless a significant proportion of the proposed accommodation remains affordable in order to attract one of the key ingredients that will ensure the revival of Adelaide … youth! While this factor might appear to be quite obvious to most, it seems that this sizable slice of the population has not always been a consideration in the long-term vision for the city, despite the fact that our size and layout has always suggested that we were ideally suited to become one of the world’s great university cities in much the same way as Oxford or Edinburgh in the UK. Instead of developing policies and infrastructure to attract ‘youth’, we have in the past tended to rely on shops, entertain-
In the brave new Adelaide, citizens can look forward to doing a lot more sitting and talking. ment venues and the odd event to provide a token experience of city living, before eventually returning them back to the blandness of the more affordable suburbs. Although encouraging significant shifts in population is desirable, it cannot easily be manufactured or manipulated, just as human behavior cannot always be anticipated. You only need to ask the architects of the Myer Centre in Rundle Mall who incorporated the novel addition of a roller coaster at its top level, only to find the notion quickly rejected by the general public, resulting in a decline of upper level retail rentals that is still evident today. Likewise, who in the 70’s and 80’s would have anticipated the decline of bustling Hindley Street and the eventual resurgence of the sleepy East End? As we have learnt from experience, effective city planning does not simply translate into micro-management, but should aim to provide the necessary environment to encourage ideas, initiative and en-
terprise aimed at delivering an effective balance between economic growth and community lifestyle. If an economic and social resurgence is to occur, our decision makers must be prepared to dramatically reverse patterns of behavior that have become ingrained over the last thirty years. They must enact the unthinkable by encouraging progress and embracing change! This is something that has not been a strong suit of the Adelaide establishment in recent years, but is something that the youth of our society are particularly inept, being far less bound by conventions of the past and quickly able to adapt to changing circumstances. What they lack in finances is often replaced with initiative, ideas and sheer energy. We have certainly seen this with the emergence of the various festival events that now add a sizable contribution to our state’s economy. The most successful of these events are essentially youth
driven, both in their planning, organization and attendance. The Fringe Festival is a great example, becoming internationally recognized as one of the most divergent art festivals in the world, attracting an increasing number of visitors while also unearthing some wonderful local talent. Such success has also increasingly provided positive undertones that continue to permeate throughout the wider business community. It is doubtful that without the popularity of such festivals, the city restaurant and café scene would be quite as prolific and judging by what I saw this year, there seem to be even more patronised than ever. I was also pleasantly surprised to discover the latest dining phenomenon of ‘food trucks’ and ‘pop-up’ food stalls, which appear to be further contributing to the unique atmosphere of the city. it is also encouraging to see the government prepared to offer cheaper liquor licenses in order to encourage small bars to open across the city precinct. Such initiatives offered to young entre-
preneurs should continue to be encouraged and will in time result in the development of new and exciting social precincts within the CBD. The recent Adelaide Council policy to develop a bike friendly city has also been a positive initiative aimed at attracting the young and the young at heart, which in time will also change the face of the city. This is a somewhat obvious direction that has been late in arriving considering the overwhelming success of the ‘Tour Down Under’ cycling event, which has been held in and around the city since 1999. The development of clearly defined bike lanes is the first obvious sign of the new policy, while a new free bike hire scheme is also a positive beginning. However, following the lead of other green-minded cities, the council must continue to follow this up with further initiatives that will result in less traffic in the CBD, allow designated road closures on the weekends and develop expanded bike sharing systems. Extended
tram services and improved bus/ rail services will all contribute to make Adelaide a much more accessible place to visit and experience. Another component vital to the quality of city life is a vibrant market scene and thankfully Adelaide decision makers are beginning to realize the importance they play in not only supporting small businesses, but adding yet another dimension to the retail experience. Having somewhat of an addiction for such places, I have seen many markets worldwide and feel I can speak authoritively on such matters. With this in mind I can unbiasly declare that the Adelaide Central Market remains one of the best meat and produce markets in the world! We have by either accident or good management been able maintain a truly authentic shopping experience which is now becoming nationally recognized as a result of the ever expanding media driven obsession with food. This has been further complemented in recent years by the Adelaide Showground Farmers Market, which continues to generate much interest along with the Gilles Street Market, Adelaide Night Market and several others. These are the sorts of spontaneous gatherings that in time take on a life of their own and add a certain indefinable personality to a city and thankfully it appears that this is finally being recognized. As I again boarded the plane for my return flight back to Japan,
Yes indeed. The sitting and talking may also include reclining.
I began to reflect about what I had seen over the past two weeks. This year’s visit had been very different and while most of my friends and family hadn’t particularly noticed any changes to their city, the benefit of time and distance had provided me with a fresh perspective on Adelaide. It wasn’t just the sudden popularity of the beard or full arm tattoos (both rarely seen in Japan), but rather the distinct hint of a newly found sense of confidence in itself. No longer the nerd, Adelaide was beginning to show all the tell-tail signs of becoming cool! From what I could determine, this was in no small measure due to the energy and enterprise of Genera-
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It wasn’t just the sudden popularity of the beard or full arm tattoos...
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could eventually become. As various building projects currently get underway, the physical nature of the city was indeed changing, but more significantly so it seems was the collective psyche of the community as a whole. Whether this positive momentum will continue or we again slip back into the malaise of the past, only time will tell. I will certainly continue to monitor the progress of my hometown from afar and look forward to the return trip, if only to witness the next stage of Adelaide’s much anticipated youth driven revival.
tion Y who, in all manner of ways and without even realizing it, were reinvigorating much of the vision of the Dunstan era. Despite global economic hardships and national political discontent, they manage to project a distinct air of optimism for the future; something that is quietly helping to shape a more Christopher Meadows has a blog focused vision of what our city at http://sketchyimpressions.blog-
Julia Clarke
CULTURE
Like, Culture ‘n’ Stuff with your host, Tony Duggan
Episdode 4:
The Writers If we were to do a cultural survey amongst our friends (real and facebook) and ask them whether they attended the opera, the affirmative response rate would probably be fairly low. I’d guess the same for the ballet. What about classical music concerts? “I’d love to but I just can’t seem to find the time!” And despite my staunch
promotion of it in Episode 1, I imagine that even regular visits to art galleries would be trumped by regular visits to coffee shops and nail parlours. But if we were to ask: ‘Have you ever read a book?’, then we might get somewhere. So I venture to suggest that literature (and no, Fifty Shades of Grey is not literature) is one of the most commonly
sampled forms of culture. As such, it is my legitimate focus this month. More specifically, I will look at the Writer’s Week shenanigans that form part of the Adelaide Festival, as well as some other connected writerly things that are happening here in the good ol’ S of A. Adelaide Writers Week is the oldest
literary festival in Australia. A huge became so disillusioned that he range of genres will be catered for, contemplated suicide. In none of and a cast of hundreds of bearded these 3 cases was he consoled by and non-bearded writers will be the quasi-noble background of his arriving from all over the outside family upbringing. He certainly world. Last month I singled out didn’t imagine himself as a guest of Wil Anderson from the rest of the honour (in my opinion anyway) at Fringe acts for a good kicking. (Met- any future Adelaide Writer’s Weeks. aphorical, that was; I don’t want you to think that I walk around like Thankfully, St Aubyn has chansome kind of intellectual skinhead nelled boot boy with a copy of Nietzsche these brutal experiences into a sein my hands and the dried blood of ries of bitingly witty novels about any unfavoured artists on the steel the ‘fictitious’ Melrose family; the caps of my 18-holed-Doctor Mar- stories mostly told through the tens-booted feet.) I’ll be doing the eyes of Patrick Melrose, a fictionsame kind of critical victimisation al character whose life path bears again; although this time I will be singling someone out of the Writer’s Week line up for the opposite reasons. And seeing as I am writ- [St Aubyn] begins the novels ing for SPUR here and not a feebler in misanthropic agreeance publication, I am allowed to intro- with Schopenhauer ... that duce them like this: Edward St Aubyn is a literary genius and every- “human existence must be a kind of error.” one else on the schedule is boring and pointless.
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Edward St Aubyn is British. He was born in London in 1960 and was educated at Westminster School and then Keble College, Oxford. His novels have been shortlisted for the Booker and have also won the Prix Femina Etranger (whatever that is – sounds a bit too French to me). The UK’s Guardian (the gatekeepers of ecumenical journalistic cynicism) has used words such as ‘profound’, ‘humane’, ‘mordant’, and ‘deft’ in relation to his work. Well gee whizz, you’re thinking, that’s all looking pretty peachy isn’t it, Ed? Good on yer, mate. But it’s not quite as simple as that, for we could also list the following facts about St Aubyn’s life: As a child, he was raped by his father. By sixteen he had became a heroin addict. Eventually, by his late twenties, he had
”
an uncanny resemblance to that of Edward St Aubyn. The books are shot through with a sarcastic, world-weary but magnificent sense of comedy that runs parallel to the straight edges of the English class system that it attacks. From Some Hope: When she had first met David twelve years ago, she had been fascinated by his looks. The expression that men feel entitled to wear when they stare out of a cold English drawing room onto their own land had grown stubborn over five centuries and perfected itself in David’s face. It was never quite clear to Eleanor why the English thought it was so distinguished to have done nothing for a long time in the same place, but David left her in no doubt that they did.
Here we have the skerrick, the mission statement almost, of Aubyn’s quest: i.e. to comment upon, to question, to assassinate the very notion of that hereditary superiority and snobbish recalcitrance that the middle (once called the ‘upper’) classes in England reserve as their personal modus operandi. I have tried to avoid using the words ‘the crumbling aristocracy’ but I feel they are just too damned accurate as a descriptor of Aubyn’s ultimate target. The sadly-missed journalist, essayist, and contrarian Christopher Hitchens was never short of an accurate observation of society, and his assertion that ‘nobody is more covetous and greedy than those who have far too much’ rings ohso-true here amongst the decaying, poisoned structures of a certain type of family character formed during the peak of the British Empire yet unable to accept its demise. With a cool poetic detachment and via some clever (but not too show-offy) prose we see how Patrick Melrose stages a one man attempt to finally smash that system from within. I shall let you discover for yourselves whether he finds any heroic salvation, although I will at least tell you that he begins the novels in misanthropic agreeance with Arthur Schopenhauer (the grim but important 19th Century German philosopher) and in particular Schopenhauer’s belief that “human existence must be a kind of error.” Personally, this is why I am so interested in seeing St Aubyn the writer in real life. He can allegedly be a little, ahem, ‘frosty’ in interview situations, not suffering fools or sycophants gladly. So it might
be an interesting face-off between and I promise a free limp hand- our fallen national hero Michael Adelaide’s legendary niceness and shake to anyone Hutchence (God bless his pervy litBritain’s equally legendary gloom. tle soul). But then if you have a genuine axe to grind (and a wish to grind it with elegance and precision, as Aubyn does, through the Cabriole legs of an 18th century Queen Anne dining table perhaps) it would be disappointing for your fans to come along expecting this but instead meeting a chirpy, Paul McDermott-esque entertainer. So I hope that he displays none of the forced bonhomie often trotted out at literary festivals. In fact, I believe that I will only be truly happy if St Aubyn singles me out from the crowd when I clap politely at the end, and then comes over and punches me in the face as a literal comment on the despotism of social niceties. Looking every bit the tortured Now THAT would be proving that writerly soul, Edward St Aubyn he really means it. who prostrates themselves on the stony ground before me and pubWaging cultural war on one’s own licly declares their love for culture class is a theme that I shall return to, (‘n’ stuff). A warning though: some most comprehensively in the forth- of it is staged in tents, and with the coming episode devoted entirely to current inclement summer weathParade’s End, an astounding (oops, er this may cause you to have to I’ve given away my supposedly-un- remove your tie or even your waistbiased opinion already) new British coat. But never fear – for the sake television production of the tetral- of SPUR’s sartorial credibility I ogy of novels by Ford Madox Ford, shall remain in formal (i.e. normal) published between 1924 and 1928. dress. There may be 10.2 million Downton Abbey this is not. It is men in Australia who are all curmore about the chances of achiev- rently dressed as toddlers but I am ing class mobility and the crushing not one of them. depression that an attempt at it can often bring down upon the hopeful I will finish by pointing out that, escapee. The show is yet to air on unbelievably, Edward St Aubyn is Australian TV, but with some fair- not the only writer in the whole ly basic Year 6-level downloading world. There are others. And some hackery it can be yours. of the good ones even live here in South Australia. Excellent writers So there we have this month’s call that do not feel the need to be as to action. Go and see Edward St confrontational as Aubyn; who do Aubyn at Writers Week. It’s at the not need to use ‘words as weapbeginning of March. I’ll be there, ons, sharper than knives’, to quote
So my other urging this month (hey, I write this column; I’m allowed to have as many monthly urges as I like) is to insist that you attend one of the regular evening events put together by Caroline Reid, the creative writing guru and theatrical polymath behind ‘Spineless Wonders Presents..’. The premise of SWP is a bit like David Beckham: charming and simple. Under fairy lights at The Wheatsheaf pub in Thebarton, stories happen. Out loud. Basically, the format is that living Australian writers (many of whom are indeed published by Spineless Wonders press) have their work read out by professional actors. Usually there is music too. Occasionally there are even choirs. No, really! And there is certainly always beer and wine, two good reasons to attend even if you don’t like literature. There will be four events in 2013: Feb 12, May 14, August 13 and November 12. Overland magazine (who, for the unknowing, are one of THE heavyweight journals of creative writing in Australia) compared these SWP events to New York’s ‘Selected Shorts’ events. High praise indeed. So please go, and remember the simple pleasure of what it was like to have people read to you. Indulge your imagination and escape from the daily grind for a few hours. Because I for one agree with what Bertrand Russell said: ‘A great deal of harm is being done in the modern world by belief in the virtuousness of work.’ I hope you have a great time. However, please understand that there will be no readings from Fifty Shades of Grey.
Zero Dark Thirty FILM
Capture Bin Laden? All in two-and-a-half hours’ work. for condoning torture, and the allegation is a fair one. Sleep-deprivation, confinement and beatings are counter-factually portrayed as techniques which got reliable intel on bin Laden, but publicly-available materials contradict this narrative. US Senators Dianne Feinstein and Carl Levin, who headed an extensive review of the CIA detainee program, have stated in an open letter that coercive interrogation did not lead to any useful information on bin Laden’s location. A leaked letter to US Senator John McCain, from then CIA Chief Leon Panetta, supports this assessment. For all Bigelow and Boal’s claims, in numerous interviews, that Zero Dark Thirty takes an ‘almost journalistic approach’, the film dramatically misrepresents the utility of torture in the hunt for bin Laden.
Following the success of their Oscar-winning collaboration The Hurt Locker, Kathryn Bigelow (director) and Mark Boal (screenwriter) focus on the mission to capture or kill Osama bin Laden. Significantly, the project was green-lit before the al Qaeda leader was discovered and killed in his Abbottabad home in May of 2011. Consequently, a film was already in motion that was interested in the questions surrounding such a mission rather than one bent on a hard conclusion where we bag the baddie. Historical circumstances gave the team a unique opportunity to give us both films, and with authority and discretion they delivered on So was the film justified in portraythat possibility. ing torture at all? Certainly, it forces the audience to confront a deed The hunt for bin Laden is shown that was done, and decide for itself through the perspective of CIA whether it was worth the insubagent Maya, played judiciously by stantial intel it provided. There are Jessica Chastain, who we are first further hints in Maya’s portrayal introduced to as a rookie analyst that the filmmakers are not so jinobserving her first ‘enhanced’ in- goistic about coercive interrogation terrogation. This torture scene, as some reviewers have alleged. the first of several, sets much of the emotional tone of this mov- Maya’s main character trait is conie which is mostly a word-heavy, viction. Throughout the film, in action-sparse procedural. It is the face of doubt from her peers, confrontational viewing, and we she is certain that her lead will give find ourselves identifying with the her the location of bin Laden. In a slight, timid Maya as she struggles monumental scene, she is even givwith the abuse she is witnessing. en license to dress down a superior This film has been widely criticised who wants her to drop her atten-
tion from bin Laden and focus on terrorists cells in the United States. “If it wasn't for [bin Laden],” she retorts, “Al Qaeda would still be focused on overseas targets. If you really want to protect the homeland, you need to get bin Laden!” This statement can be dismantled, considering that the 1993 Trade Centre bombing and the attempted 2010 car-bombing of Times Square were not orchestrated by bin Laden or even conducted at his behest. Maya is the hero of the hunt for bin Laden, and the film justifies her fanaticism, but it also gives us plenty of room to consider that she could have easily been wrong. Several times characters state that the case for WMDs in Iraq was stronger than Maya’s case that bin Laden is hiding in a Pakistani city rather than an Afghani cave. Zero Dark Thirty is surprisingly strong cinema, managing to avoid most of the pitfalls that betray similar films. It is honourable to the victims of terrorism, whether they are from Saudi Arabia, Britain, Pakistan or the United States. And, unlike Argo, it gives the Muslim populations it depicts the dignity of being portrayed as ordinary, industrious people. Fine performances, careful pacing and understated action sequences make this an engaging, smart Big Hollywood film. Justin Boden
Serrin & Ryan Saw A Movie:
Serrin:
Silver Linings Playbook
Ryan:
We saw it. Now we talk about it.
Ryan: How the #*$% did this get a by-Doo ending.” Best Picture nod?!? Serrin: The depiction of mental illness was not annoying, however Serrin: I’m inclined to agree with Pat (Cooper)’s behaviour as a reyou on this one; though, my “What covering mentally ill man certainthe-?” is more bemused than an- ly was – asking Tiffany (Jennifer gry. You seem to be genuinely rag- Lawrence) how her husband died ing that this film has received such minutes into meeting her was a accolades... Yet, it’s charming but deliciously squirmy moment. So not smarmy, has a few moments – many films cast mentally ill charyou know the kind I mean – and is acters as tragic heroes or quirky well acted. What’s your beef? loners; Silver Linings Playbook, ever so refreshingly, has Pat be itchingly Ryan: It really wasn’t even funny. annoying. Some of the most comYeah, the whole scene where he pelling scenes are those in which throws the Hemingway book out he comes up against his loving, yet the window was amusing for a bit equally neurotic parents (Robert but then it just gets grating. Brad- De Niro and Jacki Weaver). I’ll give ley Cooper’s character is a com- you one thing though – the ending plete and utter ass, which is fine was more than a little disappointcause that’s what he’s good at play- ing (epic Dirty Dancing style dance ing, but it also gives me absolute- routine aside). While it seems by ly no reason to give a damn what the final scenes Pat is putting his happens to him. Midway into the book-throwing, window-smashing movie he could have been run over ways behind him, the same can’t reby a truck and I’d have stood up ally be said for Tiffany. The ending and cheered. And then the whole only reinforces this, cementing her depiction of mental illness is an- as merely a prop for his recovery. noying and everything but at least It’s a shame – she was an interesting there’s a point to it, until the movie character that deserved more than decides to throw it out the window the script gave her. so it can have what I’ve best heard described as a “Mega-Happy Scoo- Ryan: Yeah, Lawrence’s character
could have been handled a lot better. My main problem still lies with Pat though - I hated him, and if you have no reason to empathize with the main character then you have no reason to care what’s happening on screen. You can do unlikeable protagonists if you give the audience a reason to keep hoping they’ll get their act together and start being likeable, for example, Flight makes Denzel Washington an alcoholic ass but still manages to make you hope that he’ll put down the bottle and stop being a jerk. Silver Linings Playbook on the other hand… doesn’t. Serrin: I think you’re missing the point – you’re supposed to find them annoying! In any case, for once I can say that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is on my side, along with mostly everyone else – so chances are you’ll like this film, too. Rachel Getting Married did it better (now there you’ll find a black sheep character to hate, Ryan!), but if you want something a littler lighter, yet still thoughtful, Silver Linings Playbook is worth those two whole hours.
Lincoln Daniel Day-Lewis stars as Lincoln in Lincoln, the most promising made for TV movie of 2012. Steven Spielberg has done an excellent job of presenting the American Civil War and the struggles of emancipation in a manner compelling enough that we will sit through advertisement breaks, but not so gruesome as to spoil our afternoon tea. James McCann
Gangster Squad
MORE FILM!
Flight
Denzel Washington plays alcoholic coke-sniffer Whip Whitaker, a pilot who happens to end up flying a poorly maintained plane while heavily intoxicated. When the plane starts falling apart in midair and Whip pulls a miracle out of his but in order to successfully crash land it he ends up a hero. Then the Federal Aviation Administration investigators show up and his life is put under the microscope. Washington’s ability to make Whip simultaneously a complete and utter abusive ass and a sympathetic guy you can root for pretty much carries the film all on its own, but sadly that’s really all there is to it. John Goodman gets some laughs as hippy/ drug-dealer Harling Mays and the aerial crash sequence is extremely well done (as are a pair of tension-seeking scenes in the third act), but it drags its feet for way too long through the middle and throws in a whole bunch of characters that aren’t important enough to be there but compete for screen time nonetheless. Ryan Mac
If you’ve already seen Jack Reacher and want to kill two hours with another light action movie you could do a lot worse than Gangster Squad. The forties setting and style are well done, Sean Penn has a respectable turn as “The Bad Guy,” and Ryan Gosling steals the show as the only man on an elite team with some common sense. It also handles its female characters better than these things typically do, and is surprisingly willing to play some of its action scenes for laughs rather than tension in a welcome change of pace. Ryan Mac
Fancy yourself a critic? A fan of sophisticated cinema, you say? Hate every single word you’ve read in the review section so far? Well do something about it! If you want to review films for SPUR, we’ll hook you up with tickets granted you reciprocate with around 400 well-crafted words, bursting with cinematic insight. Email us at submissions@spurmag.net
DOCUMENTARY
West Of Memphis The truth really is stranger than fiction; it's also sadder, more frustrating and ultimately more unsettling. The 1993 murders of three eight-year-old Boy Scouts in West Memphis and subsequent conviction of the 'West Memphis Three', had all the elements of a Stephen King novel, complete with reference to satanic cults. Only, for the three men who were (almost certainly) falsely convicted (two to life in prison, one to death), it would take eighteen years to come to a conclusion‌ Of sorts.
scend into the made-for-latenightTV shock fest that it could have. Well, mostly not. There's a brief slip into melodrama when we're shown the testimony of the Stevie Branch's sister Amanda: now in her early twenties, she is clearly struggling with a horrific past, of which a murdered brother is only a part. She is shown being questioned by a psychologist - a largely unnecessary grab for pathos, in a documentary that doesn't lack for it. Still, overall, the film is far more calm and reasoned than it could have been - especially considering that, at the end West Of Memphis follows director of the day, it sets out with several of Amy Berg's 2006 documentary, its own points to prove. Deliver Us From Evil (which shows the Catholic Church's attempts to Far from being content at exposcover the tracks of pedo-priest Ol- ing the flaws in the 1994 trial, and iver O'Grady), and she certainly establishing very convincingly the hasn't gone for lighter subject mat- three men's innocence, the West Of ter here. This latest offering pres- Memphis takes a step further and ents the (mis-)trial of the teenaged presents the case against another WM3 in all its farcical glory, and suspect. The decision to follow this the subsequent campaign (which rabbit-hole is slightly troubling; featured the support of several ce- having already shown the devastatlebrities, including Eddie Vedder, ing effects of being (most probably) Peter Jackson and Johnny Depp) to falsely charged with this murder, it set the men free. seems at least a little irresponsible that the film-makers would then Despite all the horrific, juicy mate- go and point the finger at anothrial, West Of Memphis does not de- er - no matter how suggestive the
evidence. On the other hand, the deal struck that allowed the WM3 to be released effectively closed the case against further investigations (no more from me on that note I don't want to ruin the delicate stench of bureaucracy that surrounds the surprising conclusion to their ordeal). As such, this documentary is serving as more than mere story-teller - it is also an actor in the on-going story, in the effort of finally - finally - reaching a conclusion that sees the right person behind bars. Sad as it is, the shocking state of the criminal justice system in the U.S. is nothing surprising at this point. What makes the story told by West Of Memphis so astonishing, is that three men, (almost definitely) innocent, managed to escape the penal black hole. When we look past the three boys who lost their lives, and the three others who lost eighteen years, the fact that we shouldbe so relieved, even surprised, when justice is done (after the very real possibility that it wouldn't), is the real tragedy here. Katie O’Hara
DVD
At The Video Store:
Total Recall Gives Dick The Dicks “Jesus Christ!” A man stares at the ruins of Sci-Fi-Sydney. “I know, it’s hard to believe,” empathizes his woman. “Are you all right?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” “You sure?” They kiss. Roll Credits. Meanwhile, back at the grave Philip Kindred Dick is turning like a rotisserie chicken, making spirit wishes that Len Wiseman had been a wiser man and totally distanced himself from the ‘inspiration’ Dick provided … Not the inspiration he provided Len, of course, because this Total Recall has clearly never been to Inspiration Point - but the inspiration Dick gave to the makers of Earlier Recall which inspired Len that Total Remake would be another excellent high-kicking opportunity for wifey, Kate Beckinsale. I’d say “I’m sorry to spoil the ending” but really this is a service – now Trite Recall is out of the cinema you are very unlikely to reach the end. If I didn’t enjoy playing Count the Cliché I would never have made it. And for Count the Cliché this film is a winner. I’d hate to spoil that pleasure for you if future-you is ever trapped on the couch with a broken leg and a brok
en remote so will limit this review to the following examples: baddies who survive an explosion; goodies who survive an explosion; goodies that shoot with incredible accuracy whilst running, jumping, and standing still; and baddies that shoot with incredible inaccuracy whilst standing in military shooting formation, prepared, ready, aiming, firing at their highly visible target. It also contains: super flying cars of the future that don’t have air bags; identical fashions to today; and a chemistry-free zone between romantic couples.
is revealed, because, although the viewer knows the entrance to the back might be blocked and the stairs may prove inaccessible once the characters get there, at least we know where they intend to go. In Can’t Recall, the viewer can’t recall where the hero is going or what he intends to do when he gets there because he literally can’t recall and so it is just running and hiding and being shot at again and again and… Fondly one remembers The Fugitive who was chased and chased for two whole hours, though it never got boring because we knew where he was going and could join the good doctor in figuring out just how he was going to get out of his predicaments. So, finally, do good actors know when they’re in a clunker? Total Rolecall is impressively cast but you do feel for them. Did Bill Nighy’s look of intestinal agony reflect an indigestion of indecision - to tear up his contract or remain in Total Shit? Was pointing with his middle digit a necessity of his finger condition or a Freudian rebellion? And what of the suffering of the great Philip K? Perhaps we should take his own prophetic advice: “The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.”
This film does, however, provide a brilliant lesson in the importance of having characters state their aims. So much of Total Repetition is about running away/being chased, but so rarely are intentions stated. Suddenly the view realises the plot importance of lines used so frequently in other films like “I’ll go round the back, you take the stairs” Fiona MacAdam
Aural Delights
MUSIC
Chest Crawl, Guantanamo Baywatch Dirtnap Records, 2012
Baby Caught The Bus, Clairy Browne and The Bangin’ Rackettes
Let me preface this review by saying that, by and large, I hate revival music. You know, modern rockabilly, fake blues guys, all that stuff. Hate it. Stray Cats especially. That's what makes this album such an anomaly. It's definitely a ‘60s surf album, what with all the reverb and snare drum rolls and instrumental numbers and whatnot. The unbelievably good guitar licks help, and all the songs have bags of attitude without any of the posturing that characterises most of the bands that try to do this sort of thing.
Clairy Browne and The Bangin’ Rackettes are in a league of their own. As if from another era this nine piece band from Melbourne have a unique sound that demands your attention. They have come a long way in a short time with their first album Baby Caught The Bus, playing shows all over Australia and touring America and Europe.
Side 1, Track 1 is ‘Barbacoa’, and the chorus of this instro is the best thing that's been done with an electric guitar since its invention. The song is catchy and badass and all by itself makes this album a winner. Two vocal tracks follow: the cheeky ‘Boomeranga’ and the tongue-in-cheek, mournful ‘Sad Over You’. Jason Powell's vocals might be a bit too abrasive for everyone's tastes, but even so, the instrumentals are strong enough to put this firmly in the Very Good Album camp. In fact, the lo-fi screechy vocals are part of what gives Chest Crawl its sense of humour, which helps to remove it from camp cheeseball. There are more saucy vocal numbers on side two , but what stands out is the instrumental ‘Massage My Taj Mahal’. It's about four-hundred times dirtier than any of the surf that was made in the sixties, and the guitaring is crazily good. There's a clip of this song being performed live somewhere on YouTube, and I promise you'll enjoy it, even if you don't feel like listening to the album. Aw, hell, here it is: http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5umAdCTc_o
The front woman and self-professed diva, Clairy Browne, has a strong voice with the smoky appeal of Janis Joplin, the strong serenade of Aretha Franklin and a soft sultriness that allows your mind to drift. Her Bangin’ Rackettes perfectly harmonise with Browne throughout the album; there is not a note that goes unsung. All the while your ears are given the added pleasure of impeccably timed drums, the smooth dance of the bass guitar, the blow of the sexy saxophone, the hypnotic keys of the piano and the expert sound of the electric guitarwinding around each other, ebbing and flowing and causing your feet to tap, your head to nod and your mouth to smile. But it isn’t just their sound. To really get involved with this band you have to see them play.
I hope this review is published in print so you have to type that URL into your phone or whatever.
They are performers as much as they are musicians. They dance you into a euphoric mood and you will find yourself swinging your hips whether you wanted to or not. You’ll be in awe of Clairy Browne’s insouciant confidence while the Rackettes pull you in with their rousing choreography and the rest of the band dazzles you with their sheer talent. The timing, the energy, the love of what they’re doing is intoxicating.
Duncan Turner
Jas Shenstone
WHAT ELSE YOU’RE MISSING ON SPURMAG.NET...
The End Of A Game Of Risk: A Poem By Gloria Wang
The wedding is off.
...actually, that was the end of the poem. But for more Gloria Wang, you know where to go! P.S. Adam! Gloria says hi.
No Laughing Matter
THE SHREW THAT WOULDN’T BE TAMED:
FRAN FINE Bryn Adams
When the world's most Jewish woman, Fran Fine, appeared at the doorstep of Maxwell Sheffield's Manhattan townhouse, she appeared to be nothing more than a naive, hideously undereducated, aging woman. However, behind her classless jibes and vulgar Jewish dialect, lay calculated and sinister intentions. Poor, unemployed and living with her parents at the underquoted age of twenty-nine years, Fran Fine did not arrive at Mr. Sheffield's door by chance. Rather, upon seeing Mr. Sheffield listed in Esquire Magazine's column 'New York's Top Ten Most Eligible Widows', Fran tracked down Mr. Sheffield's home in the hope of charming the vulnerable, grieving and (most importantly) rich theatre producer with her carefree Jewish sass.
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Mr. Shef-field!
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Fran Fine's plan worked swimmingly, as she was hired to be the family's live-in nanny by Mr. Sheffield out of desperation and loneliness. Constantly depressed (though putting on the brave face of all good British gentlemen), Mr. Sheffield would never get over the tragic skydiving accident that killed his dear wife Sarah - when the parachute failed
to open it caused the female adrenaline junky to fall swiftly to her death (and to the death of Sarah who was unfortunately hailing a taxi in the very spot that skydiver was destined to crash land).
ish her skills as a nanny, but also her attentiveness as a daughter and granddaughter. Fran's mother Sylvia, the long time sufferer of a debilitating over-eating disorder, continued to eat heavily to the point of disgusting obesity. This Upon her hiring, Fran would take acted as a substitute for her daughliberties in Mr. Sheffield’s luxu- ter’s absence and provided her with ry townhouse - eating the family’s entire food supply, drinking Mr. Sheffield’s impressive vintage Perhaps liquor collection, and using the townhouse's curtains to fashion the greatest increasingly disgusting garments tragedy, was for herself and her best friend Val the declinto wear to Mr. Sheffield's many expensive galas (none of which they ing condition of poor, were invited to).
“
Seduced by Fran Fine's nasally siren song, Mr. Sheffield would become an increasingly distant father. Instead of using her shifts to care for the three children Margaret, Brighton and Grace, Fran would only cater to Mr. Sheffield, locking herself and her employer in his office for an afternoon of frugal Jewish sex, whilst downstairs the children would go unsupervised and hungry. One might have expected the family butler, Niles, to provide for the children in the absence of their father and the nanny. However, Niles was consumed by a passive aggressive sexual relationship of his own with Mr. Sheffield's business associate C.C. Babcock. A cold and cruel woman, C.C. never quite learnt how to love. She would substitute traditional displays of affection for routine physical abuse, tripping, scalding and occasionally using her car to run her heartthrob Niles down after he had finished his daily eighteen hour shifts. Fran Fine's infatuation with her employer would not only dimin-
demented Grandma Yetta
”
an escape from a difficult marriage to a Jewish quadruple amputee, who was confined to the bedroom and thus never seen. Perhaps the greatest tragedy, was the declining condition of poor, demented Grandma Yetta. Formerly New York's most famous Jewish prostitute (placing her 847th overall), dementia and numerous hip replacements required from years of horrendous workplace injuries, left Grandma Yeta a sad, confused, mess of a woman. Often, Grandma Yeta would expend what was left of her diminishing mental and physical capabilities by escaping from the nursing home she had been placed in by Fran using Mr. Sheffield's money. However, each time she would visit her daughter Sylvia or her granddaughter Fran to beg for her freedom, they would only laugh at her, mistaking her desperate pleas for the ramblings of a
thrifty, demented, and extremely horny elderly woman. Meanwhile, forgotten amongst this Judeo-sexual quagmire were Mr. Sheffield's poor children. The eldest daughter Margaret, a quiet girl desperately low on confidence, would be heavily influenced by Fran Fine and C.C. Babcock (the only female role models she had) during her teenage years. As a result, Margaret would adopt the cold, loveless exterior of C.C. along with the low aims and work ethic of Fran. Margaret now works as a seamstress, using her trust fund to live beyond her means in the hope of soon marrying well. Middle child Brighton, who never truly felt loved by his distant father, would transition from seeking attention through the performance of childish pranks around the home to committing more serious criminal offenses such as armed robberies and drug possession. He has been in and out of jail numerous times. Despite spending a fortune on counseling, never did Mr. Sheffield realise that all of Brighton's problems could be fixed by a single hug from his father. Finally, youngest daughter Grace, who as a seven year old was deep in therapy when Fran Fine first entered the family, grew up spending most of her childhood under Fran's guidance. The now trampy Gracey has converted to Judaism, and developed an over-eating disorder much like Sylvia and Fran. She now works in a bridal shop in Flushing Queens, hoping to one day marry her poorly educated boss. Still married to Mr. Sheffield, Fran stays at home as a lazy housewife, growing fat from Niles' cooking, pleasuring Mr. Sheffield on call, and slowly diminishing her husband's savings on numerous tacky outfits and hairstyles.
www.angushodge.com presents...
ANGUS HODGE HAS
PENT UP REGRESSION
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Young and fresh... with Hodge hitting the mark every time...
-RIP IT UP
“
”
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Brilliant...I chuckled the whole way through...I didn't want the show to end!
-BUZZC UTS
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