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Sydney City Limits

Centennial Park

Sydney, Australia

February 24, 2018

Austin City Limits Festival has found its worthy equivalent in the Southern hemisphere: With the name being more than a subtle hint to its big sister, Sydney City Limit incarnated the first time in 2018 against the lush backdrop of Centennial Park.

With its eclectic line-up curated by the fine heads that gave birth to arguably the most revered festival on terra Australia, i.e. Splendour in the Grass, geared towards an all-age crowd,

To pay respects to each of the more than thirty acts that graced the total of four stages would be too much for the confines of this review, so let us focus on the cream of the crop of the artist roster that was well calibrated and comprised both of international independent royalty as well emerging locally grown talent:

It proved to be difficult to catch a glimpse of all the great acts that at times were scheduled simultaneously.

What a joy it was to the grande old diva Grace Jones incarnate in the flesh. Eccentrically poised, on point, only clad in body paint and a hint of Chanel with attitude galore she prowled the stage, dominated and held the audience in the palm of her hand. Glad to have witnessed Andy Warhol’s muse in the flesh and has left her indelible mark on both the 1970s and 80s.

At the same time, an inspired Beck incarnated with a fun filled set that showcased his qualities as an entertainer and musicianship, that did not have to rely on any of his crowd pleasing chart topping hits. Charming.

An early highlight was Sydney-based Gang of Youth’s energetic set that effortlessly ran the gamut from melancholy to uplifting emissions, which was their last show before their impending world tour. Make sure to catch them if they come your way to see some of Australia’s current finest rock exports. Impressive.

Dune Rats were as enthusiastically received as ever with their gimmick spiked performance and odes to brews and THC. Think a Simpson episode come alive, including inflatable beer cans.

We have sung the praises of the multi-instrumentalist Tash Sultana within the confines of Scene Point Blank for quite a while and what has been predicted has become reality: Tash is on her way to become a global sensation and rightly so. A one woman, no bullshit band focusing on the essentials with talent galore that has grown used to bigger stages and works them expertly. Danceable, mesmerizing and infectious.

There is no shortage of summer festivals in Australia, however, the first Sydney City Limits proved that it was a much needed addition that created its own lane with its diverse line-up and chilled vibe: The audience saw a surprising big number of familiar and middle aged peeps mingling with the young.

On the beverage, food and market fronts Sydney City Limits proved to be an exquisite affair with craft beers on tap, outlets of Sydney’s more geschmäcklerische cuisine outlets proffering their best, a curated market offering everything from clothes to vinyl and none of the usual carnival low-fi high-carbohydrate affairs in sight – SLC was all about the protein in every sense of the meaning.

The bar has been set high - something to look forward to in 2019 . . .

Tropfest 2018

Parramatta, Australia

February 17, 2018

Tropfest first incarnated in 1993 in a bid to establish a foundation and a forum for filmmakers to blossom and bloom. Since its humble beginnings within a café in Sydney’s inner west, it has organically grown to become a veritable big player in the film industry attracting tens of thousands of cineasts, with its mission, i.e. to be an enabler for emerging talent and celebrate every fact of what Australian film has to offer, intact.

The twenty-sixth Tropfest was held for the second time in Parramatta, where it incorporated not only Saturday’s flagship event in the lush surroundings of Parramatta, but also Trop Junior for filmmakers under the age of fifteen, and a range of cinecentric TropTalks, the educational arm of Tropfest presented in collaboration with Western Sydney University, where topics shaping the status quo of the movie industry were debated.

The vanquisher of Tropfest 2018 was the twenty-three year old Greta Nash from East Melbourne with her coming-of-age film Two Piece, thematically centered around body image and the insecurities that come with the awkwardness of being caught in the twilight world of becoming an adult

Her short film was collectively selected by the judging panel headed by Academy Award winner Susan Sarandon, Oscar-nominated actress Rachel Griffiths, Garth Davis (known from his movie Lion), the celebrated  documentarian Jennifer Peedom (of Mountain fame), and Australian Rob Collins, the actor known from Cleverman.

Nick Baker and Tristan Klein from Sydney’s inner West came in second took with their short film Rock Bottom, and the triumvirate was completed with Damian McLindon and his opus The Last Time I Saw You. Hugo Johnstone-Burt  was awarded the Best Actor Award for Combination Fried Rice and his delivery as a deliveryman plagued by fear.

John Polson, who created Tropfest, declared “Candle” as the “Tropfest Signature Item” for 2019, i.e. it has become the theme or item filmmakers must include in their short films in whatever capacity they choose.

The “7 Second Film Competition” component of 2018’s Tropfest is a telling name for the category it stands for, i.e. filmmakers presented with the challenge to create a short film that focuses on the theme of ‘nothing to prove’ in, well you guessed it, just 7 seconds.

Ben Kumanovski came out first with his film In-Laws.

Tropfest‘s Craft Awards have also been announced, recognising excellence in seven fields:

• Screenwriting: Damian McLindon (The Last Time I Saw You) 
• Cinematography: Lachlan Thompson and Nick Ward (Boys Don’t Cry) 
• Editing: Ben Joss (The Last Time I Saw You)
• Scoring: Megan Carnes (I’m Still Here)
• Design: Elena Lyons-Dawson (The Last Time I Saw You) 
• VFX:  Nick Baker and Tristan Klein (Rock Bottom) 
• Sound: The team from The Last Time I Saw You  

Fifteen-year-old Tadji Ulrich became Mr Trop Jr, with his short film Outcasts Anonymous. Inspired by Taika Waititi’s What We Do In The Shadows.

His drollery follows a support group for supernatural beings.

Summa summarum, Tropfest with its new home in Parramatta is one of THE Sydney summer events, which makes for a great day out for the whole family – no matter if you are cinephil or not as the event is framed with a myriad of performances, with this year the never not delightful Tim Minchin being the icing on the cake with his witty and subversive appearance.

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photos by @ka.vv

Surrealism, Art, and Modern Science

Relativity, Quantum Mechanics, Epistemology

Yale University Press

The interim between the two World Wars.

Worlds in upheaval.

Technological advancements.

Progress in the world of physics.

Albert Einstein’s theory of relativity superseding Newton’s two hundred years old theories on mechanics.

The art movement known as Surrealism.

This book takes an interesting angle on how the tapping into the unconscious and more often than not irrational, interacted and at times depended on physical innovations and theorems, i.e. relativity, quantum mechanics and the impact it had on the perceptual grip we believed to hold on the world when it came to explaining how and why things work.

Based on a solid foundation of going through individual innovative theories of the early twentieth century, connections are made to how these were applied by the luminaries of the surrealist movement, with a focus on one of its epicenters, i.e. Paris.

All the usual suspects are there on both sides – physics, science and surrealism – Einstein, Dali, Bohr, Bataille, Schrödinger, Breton, Planck, Caillois and Ernst, with light being shed on how these seemingly unrelated disciplines go in tandem and become something bigger than the sum of the individual components would suggest at first sight.

The tome offers interesting insights for both the inducted art connoisseurs and scientists immersed in their respective habitats, but also for the interested on the outer spheres, who are taken by the hand and offered a hand on the way down the rabbit hole of artistic and scientific synergy.

A book as an homage to the fusion of revolutionary forces and a testament to how each can be corresponding equivalents of each other.

Anthrax

Skyway Theatre

Minneapolis, MN

February 24, 2018

I have a pinched nerve in my neck. Self-diagnosed, but diagnosed nonetheless. It’s from shoveling snow. We’ve had so much snow this year. It doesn’t just snow a little at a time either. Every time it's snowed it’s been some sort of snowmadeggon extinction level event. It’s snowed so much this year that my sidewalk looks like Planet Hoth. And I don’t have a snow blower because I’m not 50 years old. Using a snow blower if you’re under 50 years old is some real bourgeoisie shit. In fact, living somewhere where it doesn’t get cold or snow is some real bourgeoisie shit. But I’m not going to get into all that right now. Just know that if you live somewhere were it doesn't snow or get cold I'm judging you. And if you do live somewhere where it snows and use a snowblower and you're under 50 years old, I'm also judging you.

So I’ve got this pinched nerve in my neck that makes it so I can’t turn my head to the side or look up and down, and here comes another giant snow fall. And wouldn’t you know it, this particular snowpacolypse happens to also be the night Anthrax comes to town. There’s a travel advisory too.

So naturally I’m going to go. But first I must procrastinate and pretend that I’m not. Unlike the pinched nerve in my neck, which, fingers crossed, is only temporary, procrastination is an ailment I’ve suffered from my entire life.

According to the press email Anthrax is scheduled at 8:30 pm; after Havok and before something called Killswitch Engage. So I spend an inordinate amount of time hem and hawing about whether or not I should go even though I’m definitely going to end up going. I secretly hope it gets cancelled. I go so far as to text the on-site contact to ask if it’s been cancelled yet. I get no answer. I continue hem and hawing right up until the time Havok is supposed to be go on, which is just enough time for me and the pinched nerve in my neck to shovel again, jump in my wife’s car, drive downtown in a travel advisory, park in my secret spot, trudge five blocks to the Skyway Theatre, and walk in minutes before Anthrax take the stage.

And that’s exactly what I do.

I find a comfortable spot stage left against a wall, and survey the scene. The place is packed; near if not at capacity. Mostly middle-aged folks with greying hair. There’s a punk dude with liberty spikes but he’s confusingly wearing a Staind T-shirt. A few younger kids are dressed like what you would dress like if you looked up “thrash metal” in Google Images. (I don’t have to describe this do I?) Everyone reeks of cigarettes and body odor. Most are drinking. I have forgotten my ear plugs, so I fashion some from a napkin I’ve had in my pocket from six months ago when I bought my co-worker a cup of Tim Horton's.

Anthrax run on stage, go into “Among the Living”, and the place erupts. A wave of relief washes over me as I realize risking it to get here was the right decision. Fists and devil horns shoot into the air. After everyone is good and warmed up and the requisite “Hey Minneapolis, how the fuck are ya’s?!” are out of the way they head into “Caught in a Mosh.” Everyone goes B to the nanas and I go, “Ouch!” I am immediately reminded of the pinched nerve in my neck. There will be no head banging for me tonight. Hell, there will be nary a head nod. I’m not so much a participant tonight as I am an observer.

The Skyway has really nice sightlines, as nearly the entire place is sloped. This makes it easy to see the whole stage from any vantage point without much obstruction. So when bassist Frank Bello goes running up the stairs on the riser to swing his hair wildly next to touring drummer Jon Dette, while Joey Belladonna stands below, flanked by axemen Scott Ian and Jonathan Donais you get that picture perfect heavy metal concert moment. You know, the kind of image that would adorn the inside of a double gatefold back in like, ’87. The light show is fairly streamlined but cool; alternating between white strobes and a Hulkamania-like red and yellow hue that shoots green lasers into the crowd. The sound is great too.

Belladonna asks, “What’s up freaks? Andybody got the fucking time?!” And then they play, you guessed it, “Got the Time.” The guys take full advantage of the large stage, running and leaping across it like toddlers that ate too many cookies at the daycare birthday party when rad dad wasn't looking. At what, 35 years or so, it’s amazing how much energy Anthrax puts into their live performance. Bello, Belladonna, and Ian move about like it spry teenagers still living out their wildest, thrashiest, heavy metalist fantasies. And the audience gives it right back. There’s a very large man next to the side bar that is battering about so carelessly that he’s moving the entire bar structure. It’s entertaining but the wait staff seem scared.

Two from the latest record, For All Kings (“Fight ‘Em ‘Til You Can’t” and “Breathing Lighting”) are bookended by two from Spreading the Disease (“Madhouse” and “Medusa”). It’s no secret Belladonna is a huge Vikings fan. He attempts to get a Skol chant going but to no avail. Giving in, he shrugs his shoulders and says, “Next year?” Then he dons a Vikings cap that someone tosses on stage and they tear into “I Am the Law.”

It’s weird, for a band that was once considered the knuckleheads of The Big Four, only Anthrax has truly outlasted, and remained entrenched in their thrash roots. Sure the other three still exist as well, but in no way whatsoever do they resemble the versions that rose to prominence. Meanwhile Anthrax put out arguably their best materiel three decades into their existence (see Worship Music) and maintain a rigorous tour schedule. This is the fourth time I've seen them since Belladonna reentered the fold, and it's just as forceful and entertaining as the previous three. While there are a few mainstays in the setlist, they switch it up every time they come around.

The show is rounded out by “Be All, End All”, my personal favorite “Antisocial”, and the closer “Indians.” The “war dance” part “Indians” leaves the mosh pit depleted of energy, dryness, and clothing. The band comes to the front of the stage and takes a bow the way metal bands do. And I head for the door with a gigantic smile on my face the way guys who have a pinched nerve in their neck who have to drive home in their wife’s car during a travel advisory only to shovel some more snow but who have just seen Anthrax so they don’t really care do.

Setlist:

Among the Living

Caught in a Mosh

Got the Time

Madhouse

Fight 'Em 'Til You Can't

Breathing Lightning

Medusa

I Am the Law

Be All, End All

Antisocial

Indians

Nathan G. O'Brien lives in Minneapolis. He publishes Soda Killers Magazine, and hosts HotDogDayz Radio. He goes the chiropractor next week to get his neck checked out. Follow him on Twitter at @OMG_NOB.

Futurism: An Anthology

Yale University Press

Now, this one is a no-brainer. As in, for anyone remotely into what happened in the twentieth century in the realms of design, architecture, social movements and freethinking, this tome is a must-have.

The facts:

1909.

Italy.

Industrialization.

Speed.

Youth.

Technological advancement.

Throw all of that into a blender, pepper it with any medium of artistic merit – be it paintings, sculpturing, designing, film, fashion, literature, music, et cetera and you got yourself the quintessence of what is considered “futurism”.

The probably most prominent and well-known emission from said period is Filippo Tommaso Marinettti’s Futurist Manifesto, which did not lack impact.

In essence it was a declaration of war with everything traditional and advocacy of everything new and original – at any cost, ridding the world of anything that would hold up progress. Needless to say that such an ambitious and remorseless approach resonated with representatives of all facets, including Italian fascists.

Originally published to honour the hundredth anniversary of the movement, this is the ultimate comprehensive anthology of all relevant texts – be it manifestos, poems, instructions, etc. – pertaining to the genesis of the futurist avant-garde movement.

What makes it specifically appealing is the accompanying visual component illustrating sketches and the myriad of voices that enable a holistic approach for the reader to form his own opinion and interpretation.

A one-stop book that works on many levels and that can be used for many purposes – research, referencing, inspiration or sheer enjoyment.