Castlemaine’s Jazz Jam

July 4, 2021 - 10:04 pm 5 Comments

The Maurocco Bar at the Midland Hotel would have to be one of my favourite places in all of Castlemaine, Victoria.  Not that I’m much of a drinker. . . but what I am is a live music tragic and this venue presents some magnificent live music on the first Sunday of the month at 2.00pm. 

Also known as the Castlemaine Jazz Jam, it is a gathering of fine musicians who perform together in bands or who come together singly from the local area or from Bendigo, Ballarat and even Melbourne just for the afternoon.

Currently the Midland is undergoing a bit of refurbishment. There’s scaffolding around the outside of the building. But inside, in the Maurocco room, it’s like you just stepped into Rick’s bar in the film Casablanca. 

Last month, because of Lockdown in Victoria, the jazz jam was cancelled. This Sunday, July 4, it was restored to its usual standard of excellence. There were 9 bands or sets  playing three numbers each.

First up was the edgily named Running with Scissors— the moniker adopted as a tribute to muso Russell James who coined it, but who passed away some eighteen months ago. Don Calvert sang “The Way You look Tonight “ and played bass guitar, with Bronwen Algate on keyboard and Brian Paulusz on lead guitar. Bronwen sang the heartrending “I’ve Got a Right to Sing the Blues” and added flute to their third number, “Samba d’Orfeo.” A great start to the afternoon.

Next was Norm Gray who sang and played trumpet with Bronwen again supplying the keyboard accompaniment, Bill Thomson on drums and Rene Rulin, the double bass. They performed a sweet version of “A Foggy Day in London Town,” “I Remember You” and “The Lady is a Tramp.”

Maine Course followed with Jaz Stutley doing the vocals, Bill Thomson on drums, Brian Paulusz on lead guitar, and Don Calvert, bass. Starting with “Young at Heart”, they played the gently meditative “Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars,” and then the delightful—if little-known—Billie Holiday song, “My Mother’s Son-in-Law.” Jaz always comes up with just the right song for her voice and relaxed, cheeky presentation. I always look forward to her performances and am never disappointed.

Number 4 on the bill was Blue Tango. Singer Lynne Gough was accompanied by Dave Richard on guitar and Pip Avent on tuba.  Some of the audience couldn’t resist joining in their version of “Shine on Harvest Moon” before they presented a 1910 ragtime number called “The Oceana Roll” which was featured in a film made in 1952. From here they invited more audience participation in a song from that Hillbilly Shakespeare Hank Williams, called “Mind Your Own Business.” It was really good fun.

Mining Cole came next and no, there is no misspelling of an environmental anachronism here, for this band was mining Cole Porter. They sang “I’ve Got You under My Skin,” “I Love Paris” and “Just One of Those Things.”

Vida Jazz, featuring singer Tania Petrini, Bruce Millar on bass and Bronwen again on keyboard, had three more excellent musicians with them today: Leigh Benewith on trumpet, Julian Harrison on flute and Bill Thomson on drums. They performed “Indeed I Do,” “All or Nothing at All” and the deceptively difficult but beautifully presented “One Note Samba.”

Philip Cheek and his tenor sax were next, accompanied by Bronwen on keyboard, Bill on drums and Bruce on bass. They played “Infant Eyes,” the Charlie Mingus number “Nostalgia in Times Square,” followed by Horace Silver’s song, “Nica’s Dream.” Phil is another muso who will stretch the limits of your musical knowledge with his choices of material and will often surprise you.

The Maggie Jackson Quartet may have been one musician down today but they played with their usual seamless style and savoir faire, Maggie singing and on keyboard, Bill Thomson on drums (yet again) and Rene Rulin on double bass. Maggie sang “I Get a Kick Out of You” then switched to vibraphone to play “In a Sentimental Mood” which had to be one of the highlights of the whole afternoon because the three players were in perfect sympathy with each other. They finished off with “Pennies From Heaven” before inviting the ninth act today, Steve Howard, to join them. Steve ended a wonderful gig with “My Baby Just Cares For Me,” “Around the World” and “All of Me.”

Since the depredations of COVID-19 are still being felt even in Castlemaine, we were missing a few of our regular musicians today. So many thanks to those musos who filled in for the people who couldn’t be with us. Bill Thomson was our only drummer—we usually have at least three—and he did a sterling job playing for anyone who needed him. Likewise Don, Bronwen, Brian and Rene stepped up to the mark and helped out other players. Thank you too, you were all wonderful!

The 3-Chord Club

June 26, 2021 - 4:31 pm No Comments

      THE 3-CHORD CLUB

 John Hannah started the 3-Chord Club in October of last year with the help of Rob Williams, Peter Marples and his partner, Gwynn James. Considering the range and variety of talent  presented last Sunday, June 20, 2021, at the Guildford Hotel, it’s going from strength to strength.

First up, Sean Kenan, who usually dazzles us with his fiddle, banjo or dobro playing, surprised us all with a charming little shadow play, a kind of silent movie he operated solo behind a screen.  

Next was Dean Richards who presents his own material—often tales of perfidy and love-gone-wrong set to some techno wizardry which brought to my mind that virtuosic Japanese electronic music man, Isao Tomita.

Charlie Steel followed with On the Breadline  —‘I don’t need the kind of things that shiny money brings.’ Charlie too, writes a lot of his own material which is evocative and poignant. (Remember his gorgeous song about travelling through the dark on the V-line train?) “Down the Lost Highway” and “I Don’t Want to Die with Dirty Hands” were his offerings on Sunday.

Richard Weis, the next act, is new to the 3-Chord Club, but a consummate musician on chromatic harmonica, all the same. He had some really funny patter, too. He verbally offered us a whole range of musical styles he was prepared to play us, including Holocaust music—which, he pointed out to us, kind of puts the Lockdown and the COVID-19 pandemic—at least in Australia—into perspective.

Banjo Baz, aka Barry Fitzpatrick, was number 5. After his turn on stage he told us he was nervous, showing us still-trembling hands, yet he put in a wonderfully professional performance of banjo picking, from the very lyrical “Tennessee Waltz” to Barry and Robin Gibb’s  “You Don’t Know What It’s Like to Love Somebody,” then had us all lustily singing “Country Road” with him. 

Next were a couple of delightful out-of-towners (from Melbourne) who played us some World Music that had everyone stamping their feet in time with the music and ‘encore!’-ing. Jonathan Hicks played banjo mandolin and fiddle and Sue Ferguson piano accordion. They were accompanied by our Bill Thompson on drums. Starting  with a heavily rhythmic Russian folksong, they ended with an Italian partisan song. Stirring stuff. 

Sugar and Spice was in the 7th slot. These ladies—Vanessa Craven and Z’dene Schwanmeier—have appeared several times before at the 3-Chord Club. This Sunday I was charmed by “We’re Still Friends”—an original work—and “You’re Leaving” sung and played on a Dobro or Resophonic guitar accompanied by ukulele bass.

Jude Warren usually plays with Steve Cole and Russell McKenzie but this Sunday Steve was unable to attend. Jude sang “Once in a Blue Moon” and the Jo Stafford hit, “You Belong to Me.”  Her style this time was more intimate and restrained, a gentle contrast to what was to follow.

The last item was some rowdy, rollicking Old Time Chicago Blues and didn’t we lap it up? The performers, Darryl Pyers and Kez come from the lovely town of Dunnolly. Tall, slim Kez with long blonde hair under a black cowboy hat, mini-skirt and boots, managed to look kind of enigmatic until she got down to the business of playing her guitar—when she wowed us. Darryl’s gravelly voice was perfect for the genre though I didn’t catch too many of his words. But these guys ended this gig on a very high note and we hope they’ll find their way back around these parts sometime very soon. 

The 3-Chord Club, an Open Mic event,  happens on the 3rd Sunday of the month at the Guildford, starting at 2.00pm. You have to book but it’s still only 5 bucks to get in—which has to be some kind of miracle considering the quality of the music.

Sunday, June 6 2021: A Truly Memorable Gig

June 8, 2021 - 8:47 am 4 Comments

So we’re just out of Lockdown in rural Victoria. It’s been cold, but when a friend mentions Mel (Melinda) Traves will be performing at the Taproom in Castlemaine, I immediately phone my partner. He says of course we should go, failing to mention that his footy team, the Blues, are playing at the same time. I only twig this when we are driving to the venue. The radio is on and somebody either has or has not kicked a goal. Not sure which. Look, I’d be feeling really guilty about this if it was anyone other than Mel performing tonight.
At the Taproom we learn that we should have booked. I say the people who told me about the gig tonight would have booked us in with them. We sign in, the masked lady behind the bar checks the list and our names are not on it. She says we can stay—it is early and my partner has just ordered pizza and Ginger Kids—until the people whose table we are sitting at arrive to claim it. They’re always lovely at the Taproom.
Anyway the legitimately-booked people do arrive into about the third song Mel is singing with an amazing young guitarist whose name is Charlie Bedford and they graciously invite us to stay at their table. We move down a bit, encroaching on another table where the people are equally kind. We count heads in the Taproom. We’re just under the prescribed limit. Just.
Long, slim Charlie with silky blonde hair that keeps falling over his face, is the other part of Mel’s band, The Great Unknown, here tonight. The other three are in Lockdown in Melbourne. My partner leans closer to me and says, “This kid is incredible and I don’t think he’s even started shaving yet!” Somebody at the next table reckons he looks 14. I would’ve said 17 but he must have been learning to play that guitar in utero to have reached the standard he’s offering tonight. Charlie also maintains a confident patter with Mel between songs and when he sings he enunciates so clearly you hear every word.
Mel of course is Mel. Fabulous voice with a range of between two and a half and three octaves and always the consummate performer. They do an adorable version of “Aint Nobody Here But Us Chickens” and “Little By Little (I’m Losing You)” with just the right amount of pathos, when I notice that the Taproom that is usually abuzz with background chatter is listening intently. This is particularly gratifying to me. When I go to a gig it’s always to hear the music.
It’s when Mel invites Joe Polidoro onto the stage that something happens that can only be explained as the juju born of brilliant musicianship and an intelligent, appreciative audience. Joe’s softer acoustic guitar sound is equally virtuosic. The two guitars now become interactive, ending each song with extended riffing that suddenly seems to make the memory of those duelling banjos somewhat effete. Mel is laughing, shaking her head at the two of them but the audience is electrified, urging on this glorious misbehaviour on the stage. Joe is smiling, perspiring, Charlie is offering another challenge, Joe rises to it, offers another.
Suddenly the gig ends and the audience members are almost as exhausted as the musicians, but aware that they’d just been part of something that they really couldn’t have been expecting on this cold night in downtown Castlemaine. They may be wondering what just happened, but feeling as I do, that they’ve been transformed into gladder, even wiser versions of themselves. If The Great Unknown minus 3, plus 1, is as amazing as this, what’s it like when the complete band gets together?

Serendipity in finding the Best Show on Television: Professor T

October 11, 2017 - 11:08 pm 9 Comments

SERENDIPITY in finding THE BEST SHOW ON TELEVISION: PROFESSOR T.

My father used to like the word “serendipity,” which means of course, the faculty for making fortunate discoveries by accident. It was apparently coined by Horace Walpole in The Three Princes of Serendip. (No prizes for guessing the heroes of this tale were lucky chaps). Dad used to derive double pleasure from his serendipity: the revelation or treasure-trove itself, and the chance to tell everybody about it using one of his favourite words.

So now I must tell you about my serendipity. I’m still reeling from the great good fortune of trawling through the many and varied offerings of the On Demand feature of our excellent Special Broadcasting Service—or simply SBS to the connoisseur—to discover the funny, witty, stylish example of the crime genre from Belgium, Professor T. Since I don’t own a television set, absolutely loathe the commercial television channels (haven’t watched one in years) I hadn’t heard or seen anything about Professor T. But I read the On Demand program blurb, saw the first show in the first series on my computer, and was so completely, irrevocably hooked, it was as if I’d been sucking it up intravenously for years.

Professor T is good. In fact it is the best television crime series I think I have ever seen. And when you recall programs like Cracker or those excellent Lynda La Plante creations such as Prime Suspect or Widows, you have to admit that over the years there has been a lot of competition. Since I’ve written a few crime novels myself, all of which have won minor literary prizes or commendations, I believe I am in a position to comment on the genre.

Crime writers know that their chief protagonist should be flawed. Phillip Marlowe, for instance was a drunk who tended to fall for the wrong gal. Professor T, Jasper Teerlinck, is a brilliant psychology and criminology lecturer who is a double blessing at Antwerp University because he can impart his knowledge to his students—he can actually teach! Yet he has a slew of neurological disorders—among them mysophobia, a pathological fear of germs and contamination by same. (Yes, I know Hercule Poirot and Adrian Monk had that problem, but Prof T does it better). The manifestations of these problems alienate him from many of the people he encounters in his work, yet—and this is another big plus—throughout the series his character is seen to grow. We learn more and more about the man as the series progresses. The same is true of the other leading characters. Don’t we get fed up with  those television series where the characters are the same at the end of their run as they were at the beginning! Even worse are the ones whose characters are not fleshed out at all but appear as mere stereotypes, as in “cosy” crime stories like those penned by Agatha Christie. (Though she’s great to read in hospital when you are in pain because you can always easily predict whodunnit—unless you’ve given up caring after the first page). Midsummer Murders is another such example: watching paint dry is probably a tad less boring.

The result of character development is empathy. Sabatini said “to understand is to love” in his novel Scaramouche. We viewers love those characters we think we understand, warts and all. Empathy is a big feature of Professor T. The police in the Antwerp P.D. actually seem to like and look out for each other. What a refreshing change from those hard-bitten a- – -holes who are constantly competing and marking their territory rather than cooperating! I’m pretty certain cooperation gets quicker and better results. Even the perpetrators of some of the crimes are treated with empathy. There is less of the good guy vs bad guy mentality and more of the frail human being who is capable of making some bad decisions.

Another gold star for Professor T is the almost palpable sexual tension between the Prof and Christina Flamant, the Police Commissioner with whom Jasper had an affair many years ago. She is approximately his age, an intelligent, attractive middle-aged woman rather than a vacuous twenty-year-old sex bomb.

Now I don’t want to give away any more about these two excellent series. No spoilers. Have a look at them yourselves and prepare to be beguiled, as I was. Am. The acting is excellent. Koen de Bouw as the Professor is wonderful as is Goele Derick who plays Ingrid Sneyers, the long-suffering faculty secretary. The young Inspectors, Annelies Donckers (Ella Leyers) and Daan de Winter (Bart Hollanders) are as decorative as they are convincing in their roles. Then there is the city of Antwerp itself: elegant, stylish, sophisticated. Professor T is a veritable feast for the senses.

Day 3 BWF 2017

August 15, 2017 - 10:30 am 4 Comments

She Followed Her Heart was the title of the session featuring Marie Munkara, a survivor of the Stolen Generation.  Since it was staged in the lecture room of the La Trobe Art Institute—another excellent venue—this much more intimate atmosphere allowed the audience to interact with the author and her story. Karin Altmann struck just the right note as the convenor of the session, enabling a fascinating story to unfold and the audience members to feel they were part of the unfolding.

In 1963, the author was taken from her full-blood Aboriginal mother. She was three years old. The rationale for this bureaucratic act was  that  having a Chinese father, Marie was considered to be too white to be brought up by her natural mum. She was adopted by a white couple who were strict Catholics—though apparently not so when it came to their own behaviour, for, from a very early age, Marie was sexually abused by her white father. His wife, knowing that this was happening, merely averted her gaze. When she was 28, Munkara discovered her Aboriginal origins and set out to find her birth family. This is where the humour of the book, Of Ashes and Rivers that Run to the Sea, is generated: a rebellious young First World woman is suddenly thrust into the Third World, and she’s not going quietly. Shamefully, third world conditions still exist in Aboriginal communities today, a point which Marie Munkara makes very clear in this book. It is part of its humour, which is  irreverent and subversive enough to compel the reader to  follow Marie’s search for her Aboriginal identity. However any fair-minded reader would understand the anger that it thinly veils.  Without the humour this story could be very hard going, for this is a subject which many white readers would find too confrontational to be starkly enunciated.

 

Poetic State was the last session for me at this year’s BWF. There were others that I would like to have attended, but couldn’t do so since they were held at the same time as those I did attend. The Moral Tightrope was another I would like to have caught, but it was rather late in the day for my friend and I, who had to return home. So I am reiterating my hope that the organisers of the BWF recorded the sessions. Many would make excellent radio programs—for the community FM or RPH stations if not the ABC. Just a thought.

Three of the four editors of the new Contemporary Australian Poetry anthology were the speakers at Poetic State. They were David Musgrave, Judy Johnson and Martin Langford. The fourth, absent member of the editorial committee, was Judith Beveridge. Simon Patton competently convened the session.

Poetry is the poor relation of the other writing forms. The economy doesn’t like it much, therefore there are relatively few publications around. Schools—unless individual teachers are passionate about it—don’t seem to bother teaching it much any more and it has  disappeared as a subject of serious study from many universities. However, if you were to ask some elders in our community if they liked poetry, they would probably give you a verse or two of  “I Love a Sunburnt Country” or “The Man From Snowy River,” for example, poems they learned at school, even though they may have completely forgotten what they did last Friday.

Contemporary poetry is harder to negotiate for readers than the traditional, narrative forms, however, and as the poetry in the anthology comes from the last 25 years of Australian writing, it is contemporary. Judy Johnson said that each poem in the anthology has a cultural voice, which defines it as Australian, as well as the poet’s personal voice. Martin Langford said that there is a “sense of space” in Australian poetry, and that it has a “groundedness”  to it. Scientific observations, for instance, are  reflected in colloquial language.  Simon Patton believes that Australian poets project a sense of estrangement from the environment. (Is this a clue as to why we allow so many abuses to our environment?)

The introduction to Contemporary Australian Poetry points out that publishers such as A&R, OUP, Penguin and Heinemann, have stopped publishing individual collections, yet small, independent publications have been proliferating. It also says “there are more people writing poetry of publishable standard than ever in this country” so clearly, many Australians love their poetry.

For me this was an interesting session, giving me much to ponder. In fact, the  BWF  as a whole was a very valuable three and a half days.

Though this may seem a statement of the obvious, the best Writing Festivals are not just Wordfests, they are also Thinkfests. Ultimately they become Talkfests. Of course, they are equally an opportunity for writers to be introduced to their reading public and to sell their books. Bendigo, once again you’ve created a splendid environment to facilitate such activities and you’ve got a lot of tongues wagging about important issues. Well done! Now, dear readers, you can see why I so love the month of August.

 

 

Day 2 BWF 2017.

August 14, 2017 - 7:59 pm No Comments

Having missed The Pleasures of Leisure with Robert Dessaix and Caroline Baum—which I heard was wonderful—I’m wondering if the Bendigo Writers Festival is recording any of the sessions. If so, I would like to acquire a copy of this one.

In the slot at the Capital Theatre after Caroline and Robert, David Marr was predictably sublime. His subject was The White Queen aka Pauline Hanson. His Quarterly Essay on the same subject is as much about her followers as it is about herself:  not the poor and disenfranchised as they are often represented to be, but members of the Middle Class who have jobs and, quite possibly, Subarus. They are secular, not at all religious, they do not attend churches—a glaring difference from the followers of Donald Trump, who have also been characterised as “fundamentalists” and “knuckle-dragging rednecks.” Yet it’s possible Hanson sees herself as the Antipodean component of the Donald Trump entourage. Marr describes Hanson’s maiden speech and those that followed, as “evangelical meanness.” Yet these were the very speeches that John Howard himself dipped into, though presented in another guise.

Pauline Hanson, says David Marr, is the “classic Liberal.” She was endorsed by the Liberal Party for an unwinnable seat (Ipswich, Queensland,  historically held by the Labor party) made a thriving business from her fish and chip shop in Ipswich, and then expelled from the Party for embarrassing comments  about Aboriginal people—which John Howard (remember the Intervention?) and the mining companies used to their own advantage. Howard actively courted the 25% of the electorate that voted for her, using such Hansonisms as “I can choose who comes into my house” regarding Australia’s Refugee Policy.

When Hanson was convicted and jailed for electoral fraud, One Nation toppled. But she’s back, and David Marr cautions us against underestimating her. She is a brilliant communicator, he says, despite her grammatical glitches, and she  hates progressive elites with moral views as much as she hates to see money spent on people who are out of work. Rather like John Howard. In fact, when an audience member asked facetiously if Pauline Hansen is the love child of John Howard, Marr said, “No, they are twins, separated at birth.”

 

The next session at the Capital was scheduled as Uncomfortable Truths, and was supposed to be about The Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Abuse and George Pell. However, since the Cardinal has been charged by the Victorian Police with multiple historical sex abuse offences himself, the program was changed to The Long Goodbye, about the slow death of The Great Barrier Reef.

This session emerged from yet another Quarterly Essay, this time by Anne Krien, using the title originally used by Raymond Chandler for one of his crime fictions. Though to any fair-minded person, the destruction of the Great Barrier Reef falls into the category of serious crime, it is sadly, no fiction.

A passionate voice for it, Anna Krien gave us some sobering facts and figures about our Reef. Coral bleaching is a sign of  stress. Eighty to ninety precent of the far north of the Reef has bleached and most of it died instantly. At the moment the southern part of the Reef is okay, but with pressures from Adani, the mega coal mine, how long will this last? Thousands of kilometres of mangroves have turned white and the Murray has had massive algae bloom because of the increase in the temperature of the water. If you’re wondering why the Queensland government is flirting with Adani, it is because so far it has spent 10 billion dollars on coal-related infrastructure, and wants to get that money back.

The NSW Anti-Corruption Commission should be rolled out across the country, says Anne Krien, requiring transparency about everything from what land is dug up to where the minerals are sold. The revolving door between lobbyists and their staff and the politicians must be shut.

 

The Art of Debate, something I had eagerly anticipated, was for me, the low point of the Festival. Perhaps if it had been run as a debate, or if the rules of debate were adhered to, a more coherent discussion would have emerged. As convenor, Annika Smethurst seemed to have no control over the journalists—one representing a Murdoch newspaper and the other the Guardian—so that the most interesting speaker, Kon Karapanagiotidis, seemed hardly to get a word in. Though I was more inclined to agree with the sort of things the Guardian journalist was initially saying, she basically hogged the discussion, speaking far too long (though the Murdoch journalist did start the proceedings with a very long spiel) that she quickly became very irritating. She did not project or vary her voice effectively, so that much of what she said became towards the end of the hour just a blur of undifferentiated sound. Or rather, noise. I would have liked to have asked a question about the way the journalists were batting around the terms “Left” and “Right” regarding the major political parties, and to Kon, about why there was no public debate re the plight of our asylum-seekers. But of course there was no question time, the Guardian journalist was hanging on to the bitter end, so no one else could get a look-in. Ironic when you consider the title of this session was “The Art of Debate.” Quite a few people walked out. I wish in retrospect, that I had.

 

Music for Meditation in the Engine Room at the Old Fire Station, brought back our sanity. There were two musicians, Michael Johnson on harp and Evripides Evripidou on guitar. . . Or were they really two angels in the guise of mere men? My friend and I were feeling rather bludgeoned by the last session and the meditation with beautiful music was sweetest balm.

 

Bendigo Writers Festival 2017

August 11, 2017 - 10:58 pm 2 Comments

August  is a great time of year for me. Not only is Old Man Winter losing his teeth and voluptuous Spring just around the corner, but it is also the time for the Bendigo Writers Festival.

Now if you read this blog last year you would have seen what I thought were the highlights of the BWF 2016: Julian Assange via video link-up appearing at the gorgeous Ulumbarra theatre, the always charming Anne Summers, Kerry O’Brien talking about his biography of Paul Keating, a blogging workshop, local poets’ and artists’ collaborations, and much, much more.

Today was the stunning start of the BWF 2017— though there was an excellent writers’ workshop delivered by Cate Kennedy in the Trades Hall yesterday, called Into the Vortex, which seemed to get a lot of creative juices flowing.

Bendigo has many stately, elegant, and rather beautiful buildings of huge historical significance which often become venues for festivals, yet today the BWF excelled itself even further by locating a session at the Dunolly Courthouse and yet another at the Maryborough Railway Station. Driving 55 or so ks from Castlemaine to Dunolly was a joy. Glorious countryside, not a lot of traffic, and the subject of the talk we were to hear was pure seduction: The Songs of Trees presented by the American-based British biologist, David George Haskell.

This gentleman’s premise is that all of nature—and this of course includes us, humanity—is intertwined. And that if we take the time to really connect with the other parts of nature, listening to trees, for instance, we will gain some rather extraordinary insights into the world, and yes, even into ourselves. Perhaps we have to re-learn to listen. He pointed out that all trees have their own wind sounds and rain sounds and they are a veritable nexus of interconnections. Quoting Iris Murdoch, who referred to “unselfing” as a way of our becoming part of the whole of nature, he spoke of the sounds trees make as they grow and then  produced the “sonnification”  of a twig which expanded as it absorbed water and shrank as its fluid evaporated. A computer program converted the sounds picked up by stethoscopes listening to the tree songs into electronic piano music. Which we heard today at the Dunolly Courthouse! Mind-boggling stuff. Gloriously mind-boggling stuff.  You can read David George Haskell’s book  The Songs of Trees (Black Inc 2017) to learn more about this intriguing subject.

After some probing questions from an intelligent and articulate audience, we had another treat in store. The local CWA provided us with a delicious morning tea. Actually it was such sumptuous fare that the friend I had driven to this event and I, couldn’t even look at the possibility of lunch. Such gracious country hospitality!

More delights followed in the drive back to Bendigo for the rest of the festival. (Sadly, we wouldn’t have made it to Maryborough in time for Bryan Dawe’s session). We just had to stop at Dunolly and Tarnagulla and have a look around, because they are such beautiful little towns. We were in thrall to the landscape.

And now I am about to backtrack. . .

One of the things I always notice about a successful Writers festival is that complete strangers will come up and talk to you about what they’ve been hearing. There is a such a frisson of excitement in the air it’s like the electric charge before a storm, and yet it is generated by the flow of new ideas.  People want to share their thoughts with others. . . or perhaps by saying them aloud they are explaining them to themselves.  This happened in the Dunolly courthouse around lunchtime. People were excited.

David George Haskell, a scientist who invites us to experience nature through our senses, can also write. This is the very first paragraph in The Songs of Trees:

“For the Homeric Greeks, kleos, fame, was made of song. Vibrations in air contained the measure and memory of a person’s life. To listen was therefore to learn what endures.”

This is both poetry and prophecy, and I love it.

 

Arrived in View Street, Bendigo, the arts precinct of this fine city, my friend and I located the Capital Theatre (next to the Bendigo Art Gallery) to catch some more sessions before returning home. We were spoiled for choice, but were particularly impressed by one which introduced us to two women who have written books about the attractions and traps of excess. Jenny Valentish focuses on addiction in her book, Woman of Substances, and Brigid Delaney takes on the so-called “wellness” industry in Wellmania.

Jenny Valentish gave us a personal eye-view of drug and alcohol abuse which was heart-breaking in its  candour. Since  addiction to alcohol and illegal substances  is much more widespread in our communities than most Australians will readily admit, this is not only a timely book, but one which we should all make a point of reading. No doubt someone quite close to every one of us could benefit from the courage of Ms Valentish.

Brigid Delaney spoke of  con-men (and women), the snake-oil salesmen who claim to have alternative cures for incurable diseases or maybe just recipes for turning us  into the shapes and demeanours that are the wet-dreams of  admen . . . all at very substantial costs to ourselves, of course. Posing as good business practice and therefore sanctified by the market economy, the extremely lucrative wellness industry may even be killing some of us.

Interestingly, during the interactive part of this session, when the authors were asked about strategies to prevent both individuals’ abuses of substances and corporations’ abuses of individuals, they came up with a similar answer. Clearly since governments are not interested in protecting their citizenry—especially when there is money to be made pushing the poisons and potions—we should look to smaller community gatherings  such as Alcoholics Anonymous. Or  from groups who organise retreats to focus on more spiritual solutions. The answer, they suggested, will probably only be found in our own grass-roots communities.

The Lure of Crime was another session I had been eagerly anticipating, yet I was disappointed that there were only two writers of the crime genre (Ray Mooney and Robert Gott), for the third (Claire Corbett), appeared to be a speculative fiction author. Since crime and speculative fiction are two distinctly different genres, and both have legions of fans who are not necessarily interested in the other, I felt there was a mismatch here. I would like to have heard more from Ray Mooney, whose personal experiences may well have informed his writing, but found the interviewer did not really pick up cues from this author to probe more deeply into his work.

But tomorrow is Day 2 of the Bendigo Writers Festival, promising a wonderful array of high-protein brain-food. See you there.

 

 

 

Last of “On the Reno” for 2016

November 27, 2016 - 7:48 pm 4 Comments

20161002_reno_1058Because Christmas is rapidly approaching, this blog will be in recess for the rest of the year. Here are a few photographs of the work done and yet to be done. Three more rooms to go! Have a great Festive Season!20161120_reno_1092
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Victorian Ash sideboard purchased from Robert at the Artists' Market, Castlemaine

Recycled Victorian Ash sideboard purchased from Robert at the Artists’ Market, Castlemaine

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On the Reno: Part 13

November 20, 2016 - 10:04 pm 2 Comments

This week I decided to take the advice of my good friend Vicki, from Banyo in Queensland, and slow down and take stock of what has been happening. The library that I had built for me was also going to double as a guest room. I have put a lot of books on the shelves, trying to sort them logically into categories for ease of retrieval. Because I wanted to paint the room I have been sleeping in, I moved my old bed into the library/guest room while waiting for the new one to arrive. And guess what! I had the perfect sleep. The PERFECT sleep. Though there are no blinds on the front windows yet, the shelf nearest the door affords the sleeper complete privacy and also offers protection from the morning sun. And imagine waking up surrounded by some of your oldest and dearest friends! It is also a little like sleeping in the Captain’s cabin of a ship—with no attendant seasickness or violent storms to sink you. It’s very nice. Peaceful. Ideal for an insomniac like me because instead of worrying about being awake, I only have to lean across the bed to find the book I want. (And there are certain books I know that will send me to sleep).

Difficult to do this room justice with a normal lens. Perhaps I'll get hold of a fish-eye to give you a better idea.

Difficult to do this room justice with a normal lens. Perhaps I’ll get hold of a fish-eye to give you a better idea.

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On the Reno: Part 12

November 13, 2016 - 7:48 pm 2 Comments

Last week featured some photographs I’d taken on my mobile phone of the early days of renovating this very old miner’s cottage. I guess it was also a reminder to me to try to avoid a fairly pernicious and uncomfortable disease which seems to afflict many newcomers to the goldfields: E.R.F.

The symptoms of E.R.F., aka Extreme Renovation Fatigue, are headaches, glazed eyeballs, lack of sleep, and a bad attitude. This bad attitude can actually jeopardise all your past efforts, and therefore your future relationship with the key person/s in the continuing saga of your house: your builder and his or her close associates (aka the people who are doing all the hard bits in the restoring to life  of your very own, and therefore very valuable, piece of history).

So when s/he has just created the library/bedroom of your dreams, plus the study you’ve been hanging out for for a decade and asked you whether you want to work on the guest room next or to refurbish the back shed as the studio that is also on your wish list, and your bank balance seems to have disappeared with the finality of the alluvial gold on Ten Foot Hill, and you are too exhausted to  even think about the next step in your renovations, please don’t say, “I don’t bloody know! Can’t you see I’m sleep-deprived and feel more like the walking dead than the townsfolk from that  ABC television series, “Glitch.” Smile as sweetly as you can at your Angels of Mercy and offer them all a cup of tea.

And have one yourself, for God’s sake, AND STOP BITCHING! La via continua and it is good.