Darling Don't You Go And Cut Your Hair

The last haircut I had was early August in London. As part of what was meant to be somewhat of a renewal for me, I decided to do something I'd never done before - I went to a "stylist". I was hoping that a new styled haircut would be a factor in not only giving me a boost of confidence in my new life overseas, but also help me to finally attract a mate. Back in 2001 I was working for Enron India in a warehouse in Borough, just south of London Bridge. It was during this job that I befriended a young Namibian man called Dieter. When I first met Dieter he had flowing ginger locks almost shoulder length and a full and manly beard. He looked like a Germanic Jesus. One day Dieter came to work with a fetching new haircut, heads turned and comments were made. I approached Dieter and said "Hey man, sexy new haircut", he responded "Yeah man, Base on Berwick Street, you should go get yourself one". And so five years later I decided to take his advice. Base is located down the "colourful" end of Berwick St. There's the markets selling banal items with the spruikers constantly talking football, and that little alleyway full of porn shops. Base is situated on the right of the markets (if you have your back to Oxford St.) and next to the Music and Video Exchange where I once bought a 7" of "Birthday" by The Sugarcubes. Whilst the head massage I received whilst getting my hair washed was magnificent, upon leaving Base I had what I considered only a reasonable haircut (and a sizable hole in my wallet), and so since then I have been cutting my own hair.
Back in Grade 5 I had a crush on this girl called Melissa Fox. Unfortunately for me, Melissa didn't want anything to do with me. Thinking that it must have had something to do with my hair, I decided to give it a trim. The results weren't as impressive as I had hoped, and in a wit beyond her years, Marie Psiakis made the observation that while Vanilla Ice had "channels", I had "patches". At the beginning of Grade 6 I decided to get an "undercut" and was convinced that this would finally be the hair style that would convince Melissa I was worthy of her attention. The morning before I went to school with my new haircut I was looking in the mirror and thought to myself "It needs something else, something really special", and so I took out a jar of hair gel and spiked it. Bruce Samazan was the teen heart-throb at the time and I thought if I spiked my hair like his Melissa wouldn't be able to resist me. I was wrong. Upon arriving at school I walked past her and she laughed, a cruel and brutal laugh. I was heartbroken.
Since then, however, my skills at cutting and styling my own hair have vastly improved and I am actually more pleased with my hair now than I have ever been. That said, it has still yet to bring me the affections of any nice girls.

Introducing The Band

I make no secret of the fact that I detest summer. My Celtic complexion burns with the slightest exposure to the sun and my ability to sleep in temperatures over 18 degrees is non-existent. So when summer hits, I disappear. You won't find me at the beach in a speedo, nor will you find me roller-blading along Beaconsfield Parade in bike shorts. All summer long I will be inside, preferably in front of an air-conditioner.

On one of these unbearably hot days a few weeks ago I was bunkered down reading a book of short stories about my ancestral home of Wales when I decided to form a band. Whilst the book was no substitute for, say, a spot of bird watching in Snowdonia, it did provide enough inspiration to rekindle my desire to express myself through the art of music. One could say I heard it from the valleys and I heard it ringing in the mountains that the band would be called The Emergency Kisses, and they would be destined for big things.
I had formed a couple of bands previously, there was the vocally-vegetarian Swedish electro-poppers Jag Älska Grönsaker (I Love Vegetables), and the political Québécois rap group Reste Ensemble (Remain Together). However both bands never quite made it due to some unforeseeable difficulties. Jag Älska Grönsaker had to sell all our instruments to pay legal fees as some band called "The Smiths" objected to our album title "Meat Is Murder". Whilst Reste Ensemble only lasted one gig after we got tomato'd off stage at a Quebec City arts festival during our pro-federalism anthem "A Vote For Charest". Later that evening I was stuffed into a sack made out of the Fleurdelisé and rolled down a hill, gaining two broken ribs and a new found respect for René Lévesque.

These were tough lessons, but ones that I think have equipped me well for my current project. I have a better understanding of what I want to convey with The Emergency Kisses, and also the street smarts to implement the vision. I'm a little older, a little wiser and a lot more savvy.

Whilst The Emergency Kisses are definitely a pop band, I feel it is important that the band push boundaries on both a musical and socio-political level, as well as providing a desirable aesthetic. And so to this extent the band are the perfect combination of the feel good pop hooks of La Casa Azul, the electronic experimentation of Broadcast, the shady anarchism of Godspeed You Black Emperor!, the feminist rhetoric of Kathleen Hanna and the razor-sharp cheek-bones of Suede's Neil Codling.
In fact due to the band's broad range of influences, their intellect, wit and conscience they have already been described by one notable critic as "the Thomas More of indiepop; truly a band for all seasons"

There is a definite, almost tangible buzz surrounding the band at the moment. Why just the other day I walked into the bar Troika and as I was ordering a vodka cranberry overheard the following conversation between two young girls sitting near the front window:

Girl A: Isn't that the guy from The Emergency Kisses?
Girl B: Yeah, I think it is. Have you heard them?
Girl A: No, not yet, but a friend of mine says she has their demo and it's awesome.
Girl B: Really? Does the band have a Myspace page?
Girl A: I don't think so, I think Myspace might be a bit passé now
Girl B: Wow, he's a real 21st century renegade.
Girl A: I know, and such a dreamboat as well! I'd love to get to know him better.

The Emergency Kisses are a band for the people. I'm not content with critical acclaim and the adoration of the hip and beautiful, that's too easy. Spreading the word to the masses will be the band's next objective, an objective I'm dedicated to achieving. But this isn't for me, it's for them. The public needs a band like The Emergency Kisses. The band are a wake-up call as well as a celebration. The Emergency Kisses are the rain to break the drought.

God Is On My Side

Saturday's Australian contained an interesting opinion piece by Christopher Pearson titled Rudd Needs To Learn That Real Christians Are Cultural Conservatives. In a previous post on this very blog I claimed the opposite, so I was very intrigued to read Pearson's article.
For those who don't know, Christopher Pearson is, somewhat amusingly, both openly gay and vocally anti-gay. He believes he is able to circumnavigate his problem by remaining celibate. In a weird way you have to have some sort of respect for a man so dedicated to the conservative agenda that he would actively campaign against his own instincts and desires.
Pearson's article is a response to the piece that new Labor leader Kevin Rudd wrote in the October issue of The Monthly magazine where he attempted to reaffirm Christianity as a religion of social justice.
Pearson can't handle it. Apparently, this will lose Rudd "a lot of votes". According to Pearson the primary aspect of Christianity is the Incarnation. Well, yes, obviously a Christian is someone who believes in the Incarnation and the Resurrection. However, I would contend that as Jesus "died for our sins" that lends a certain amount of weight to the idea of "sin". While to many the Crucifixion could seem like a bit of a "get out of gaol free" card - "we can vote for a government that locks innocent people fleeing persecution up behind razor wire and not have to feel bad because Jesus died for our sins" - I hardly believe this was Jesus' intention. And this is where I believe an interesting debate lies; the idea that the worship of God is more important to the religion than the Word of God. My stance on the issue of worship is that as a supposed perfect being, God should have a little more humility than to desire to be constantly praised. After thousands of years of being lauded surely God would just be thinking "Alright, I've got a mirror, I know I'm awesome, so how about you go feed some kids in Bangladesh or some shit?" That is to say, the teachings of God (compassion, tolerance etc) are the essential elements of the religion. God revealing Him/Her/Itself in the form of Jesus was surely only to facilitate this?
As Rudd points out in his essay, Christianity was initially an oppressed religion borne of an oppressed people (the Jews), and while it is no longer an oppressed religion, it should remain a religion for the oppressed.
The situation nowadays, where many "Christians" are heavily aligned with a self-centred political philosophy that actively campaigns against minority groups and the less fortunate is very strange indeed. It's a wonderful example of the corrupting influence of power.

Pearson can't help but indulge his own public self-flagellation by bringing up the subject of homosexuality. Citing Leviticus and his belief that "...2000 years ago the Jews took a very dim view of homosexual acts."
It frequently amazes me how the both the "Christian" Right and conservative commentators constantly harp on about the evils of homosexuality. The Bible contains one line in Leviticus (a book hardly noted for its modern relevancy) about homosexuality, yet it is treated like it's the major theme of God's Word. These people seem to ignore the fact that the essence of The Bible are the concepts of compassion, tolerance and respect. "Christian" anti-gay activists use the religion as a shield to hide their own prejudices.
But, also, it is even more astonishing is that these groups ignore the fact that Christianity's primary source of guidance is the New Testament; books that were written to supercede the teachings of the Old Testament. And so to this point one could say that a significant aspect of the religion is theological progress. How can one be positive that the New Testament is a definitive full stop on all spiritual matters? These were teachings of the times and for the times, as the Old Testament was beforehand. And as we should all realise; times change. One could accuse me of pre-empting the Word of God here, and, well, yes I am. But as I'm suspicious of His/Her/Its existence in the first place it's not such a big deal for me.

Rudd's piece was written in the memory of German Christian theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a man who was executed by the Nazis for his opposition to their policies. Pearson very cunningly was able to dig up some anti-abortion quotes of Bonhoeffer's in order to dampen any prospects of him becoming a progressive champion. I find it very deceitful the way conservative commentators try to paint those who are pro-choice as "pro-abortion". Nobody is pro-abortion. Nobody goes around slapping fives shouting "Hey, let's go get an abortion today!" But there are circumstances where it is completely inappropriate for someone to have a child. Can you imagine how horrific it would be for someone to have a child that was the product of rape? And not just for the mother, how would the child feel if it were to ever find out? The fact that most of these "pro-life" commentators are male speaks volumes about this example.

The title of Pearson's article contains some specious reasoning. The Howard years have shifted the political landscape in this country significantly to the Right. It is not just those who describe themselves as Christians who have become more culturally conservative, but a broad spectrum of society in general. Part of this is due to Labor's inability to offer an alternative vision. There is hope that Rudd's piece in the Monthly is an indication that he is willing to articulate a more progressive outlook for the country and not just win back a critical mass to the ideas of political social justice, but maybe having some influence in winning back those who describe themselves as Christians to Christianity as well.

Arch Of A Journey

Having returned to Melbourne and feeling compelled to embrace the city, I thought, what better way than to become intimate with its most iconic form of transport, the tram? I could periodically take various routes and document sights and the adventures I would have. This would not only lead to a broad discovery of the city, but also act as a precursor to my desire to write a book on the London bus network. The idea seemed to have merit and so I selected the 112 for my maiden voyage. However, things took an interesting twist when I noticed a drawing of Kat’s on the cover of the M magazine that comes with The Sunday Age. Whilst my initial reaction was one of delight for Kat, I soon found myself wallowing in the reality that while my friends and peers are making constructive contributions in areas of their interest, I was still, what my mother calls, “a drifter”. So I devised a plan to rectify the situation. I would jump a tram, write up my story and pitch the idea of a weekly adventure on a different tram route to various sections of The Age and hope that one would find the idea of worth.
In the past few years, The Age has become increasingly Melbourne-centric. Its desire to promote and celebrate the city has become an obvious and constant theme in its content. I figured, because of this, such an idea would carry a fair amount of weight.
After getting caught up in the hullabaloo of the festive season, it wasn't until a few days ago that I was able to find the time to embark on the journey. I took the 96 down to Fitzroy St. and walked over to the intersection of Park St. where the 112 begins. I decided not to use my iPod or read a book during the trip. I thought it was imperative to be all eyes and ears to truly envelope myself in the experience. However, whilst the tram was sitting on Park St. waiting for it scheduled departure time, I pulled out the light paperback James had slipped me the night before; Alain de Botton's aptly titled "On Seeing And Noticing". I flipped to the chapter "On Single Men" and was engaged by the line "Women should be grateful for the despair of unattached men, for it is the foundation of future loyalty and selflessness." I’ve always thought that I would make an excellent boyfriend, however I’ve never had the opportunity to test this belief. The above quote did give me some reassurance though. Unfortunately, the quote also delivered me a certain melancholy which would accompany me for the duration of the journey.

Traveling along Park St. is a pleasant experience as it is not a shopping strip or major artery, but a residential street. I used to take this tram quite frequently in the late-nineties when the old "W" class trams were still being used on the route and would feel a certain quaint and idealised nostalgia. Nowadays the number 30 is the only route to run the "W" class trams. Rapacious modernity will always be triumphant. The route would reveal further examples of this truth as I traveled along it.

The problem with catching a tram from St Kilda is that inevitably it will be occupied by “St Kilda types” – English geezers needing excitement, collar-up guys, and those with a the misguided belief that they are culturally astute sophisticates. A conversation took place behind me concerning The Cat Empire and I rest my case. "The river has a right side and a wrong side" sang The Lucksmiths, and I can't help but agree.

The tram moves along Albert Road and past the old Lakeside Oval, now "Bob Jane Stadium", and the second saddest sight on the route. If it wasn't bad enough that the Swans flew north to attempt to introduce a decent sport to heathens in Sydney (a sport they don't deserve), the ground is now home to South Melbourne FC, who, with the invention of the "A League", have been relegated to the Victorian Premier League. Ok, so nobody likes the ethnic divisions of the traditional Melbourne football clubs, and although I am enjoying the wonderful success of the Melbourne Victory in the A League, there is a certain soullessness to these newly formed teams. Obviously, they can't help but lack a history, but they also lack community. Whilst we may support the Melbourne Victory, we don't love the team as the Greek community (and others) loves South Melbourne. The Victory are a fully grown tree supplanted in one's backyard, never nurtured from a sapling and with roots than may not take hold.

On Clarendon St. a tourist couple from Brisbane hop on, sit opposite me and start pointing out the obvious points of attraction to each other; the casino, Flinders St. Station from across the Yarra and new Spencer St. Station as the tram turns into Collins St. This is particularly frustrating. I want my idea to embrace the more subtle aspects of the city, the audience I envisage don't care for the casino and they know what Flinders St. looks like, these things aren't interesting to people who live in the city. And so to avoid their inappropriate chatter I had to resort to the iPod for the length of Collins St, up MacArthur and halfway along Brunswick St. when they finally departed.

As the tram moved across Alexandra Parade and up towards St Georges road, the saddest sight on the route was revealed: the old Brunswick St. Oval. I harbour a fairly strong desire to one day proudly stroll the length of Brunswick St in my old Fitzroy jumper and then maybe stop to have a kick on the oval, or maybe to burn an effigy of Ross Oakley. From the time of my birth up until I was around 17 football consumed the majority of my time. However, with the destruction of Fitzroy my interest in the sport waned. I still recognise it as the sport of the gods and pity those who believe otherwise, yet without a team to support there's nothing to really draw me in. It is more than unfortunate.
I try to put all this behind me as the tram moves along St Georges Road. As it crosses Normanby Avenue I start to ponder a little query that has been bugging me for a while. You see the term "by" or "bie" was Old Norse for farm. Towns like Derby in England and Lockerbie in Scotland derive their names from the period of Danelaw in Britian (circa 900 - 1100 AD). The current Normandy region of France was also conquered by these Norse men (Normans), and so it fair to believe that the original name of the area would have been Normanby (as towns in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire are named). So sometime during the last 1000 years or so there was a consonant shift that led to the region being transformed to Normandy. As the Normans were very quick to adopt French (or Norman-French as their dialect became known) as their language post-conquest, it could be fair to conclude that Normandy is a francisation of Normanby. However no material on the region I can find makes any mention of this consonant shift. It's very curious indeed.

The tram ends its route in a partially abandoned shopping strip in West Preston. Several shops are boarded up and it has the feeling of a place only visited by regulars. I hoped off the tram, treated myself to a couple of Curly-Wurlies, and started to sort through my scribbled notes as I hopped back on the tram for its return journey. Obviously, any published piece would be a lot more succinct and streamlined than this, but I felt the need to display a broad range of knowledge that could be adapted to different locations around the city. I'm hoping that someone will think that the idea has enough merit to at least be "kicked around", as I believe that's what these media types do with their ideas. I'm upbeat about the prospects of developing this, and hopeful that this idea won't suffer the same fate as that West Preston shopping strip; partially abandoned and only visited by regulars.