General Clean Up Around The Site

When my brother was nepotistically working as a labourer on his former school's new construction and had run out of things to do he was told to go do a "general clean up around the site"...this involved taking: a broom, a shovel, a wheelbarrow and Nick Greene, and disappearing whilst people who had skills and things to do went about building the school (or if you'd talked to some mistaken members of the school board at the time, a place of adult excellence and learning....which explains why we got such oddly expensive chairs in the library and economics room).
Anyway, it's time I took a wheelbarrow and Nick Greene and tidied up some loose ends...because I don't have enough meat for a real post.

1) I have writer's block. Fortunately it looks like Silky-D may unexpectedly (no offence intended, rather a salty old sea local-furry-squid just telling it like he sees it) be stepping into the breach. Still though...its been a fairly productive 12 months...all I could squeeze out tonight was the other bit for, the as yet unheard by the fans, Hare Trigger and a worthless unintentional rip-off of Bob Mould's Sacrifice (Let There Be Peace) which will never leave my hard disk.

2) Two separate people have said to me that as Crafty was able to drum and sing during Someone To Tell Me he must be really good in bed. While I know for a fact he is excellent in bed it still surprised me that this was evidence...and of course there was my usual burning resentment whenever anyone else in the band gets complimented...what more do I have to do to hog the limelight?!?!? How did Dave sneak in there?!?!? Also, don't me and Paddy also play things and sing? Are we not also masters in the sack...I certainly think we are. I'm sure once we unleash our cover of Who Loves the Sun the world will see that Silky is also a kind and considerate lover.

3)I had a Harpo moment when I found out my mother reads this blog...she had been given the URL by the band photographer. Pointedly, she doesn't comment.

John Barleycorn Must Relive

Our gig at the Barleycorn approaches quickly.

Saturday the 28th of July will see us at the Barleycorn Hotel 177 Johnston St Collingwood. The mighty fine 7 Day Fools will no doubt be headlining that night so there are two good reasons to come along.

The mammothly successful badges that everybody liked so much last time? Yes, they'll be there so that makes it three good reasons to come along.

Silky's new Marshall AVT, Tedium's new Fender Hotrod and my new Tech 21 will all be making their stage débuts so there are a few more good reasons to come along.

And, of course, the audience will be treated to some hot rock. So who needs the other reasons!

Yes. I wish I would stop it

My beautiful speaker driver — lovingly rebuilt only last year by Australia's leading speaker repair specialist — may have been ruined last night when the odour of my burning coil filled the rehearsal room.

In what has proven to be a bit of a mistake I had borrowed Crafty's amp as my old and crappy Laney head had a loose plug or something and needed a little bit of repair. The Laney has given me difficulties in the past and while a loose plug is not what an experienced technician would call a tough job to repair I see it more as the latest in a string of disappointments than as the ultimate relationship-breaker.

And so I am contemplating using the Laney perhaps as an artistic installation: I want to explore the idea of stage equipment as places to put potplants on. Certainly not as a reliable way of getting people to hear what I play on a bass guitar.

But, as I say, I wasn't using the Laney last night. I had borrowed Crafty's amp: he drums these days but back when he was a bright-eyed, slim, handsome young man he preferred the bass guitar. In only one of a number of things that made last night's rehearsal unpleasant (others included an uninspiring halal pizza and having it driven home, as you can read below, just how bad we sound without one of our guitarists) my bass cab fried. The amp must have had too much juice for the box and there are absolutely no lewd plays on words that could be made from that sentence.

When we played at the Empress last year the screws pulled out of the chipboard of the speaker cab as we were loading our gear on stage, the driver fell out and I had to borrow a bass rig.

When we played at the Barleycorn a few months ago my speaker cab was irretrievably locked in the old Falcon and I had to borrow a bass rig.

Looks like I'm going shopping this weekend: We are playing at the Barleycorn in a few weeks and I don't want to have to borrow a bass rig.

I don't care what it sounds like. I just want the bloody thing to work.

Silky Come Home

In a frankly careerist move Silky ditched rehearsal in favour of chasing the capitalist dollar. Or, possibly, he is an exploited worker whose blood was spent last night oiling the wheels and cogs of the capitalist machine when that blood should have been sprayed from his strumming fingers as they impacted with tightly wound strings.
Sadly, work called and the band sucked as a result. Forlorn was the mood and empty was the sound. Riffs only half complete and a reminder of how ordinary was the material from previous bands, was all we could take away from a night spent like a three-legged dog in room 8 of Castle Midian.
Paddy destroyed another bass bin...or bass amp...or some nearby circuitry...I'm not really sure...I am sure that I wish he would stop it...and I am even more sure that he wishes he would stop it too. In an unusually expansive mood he said "I might buy a combo".

Caustic Acrostic

I have just spent a couple of days in the home of al fresco dining and bitter band disputes, Adelaide, with a salesman from the most rock and roll company that re-sells Avaya products, Les from NSC (a veteran of Squid Ink's legendary, but sadly unrecorded, first gig), and he shared with me some inspiring methods for many things. One of them I wish to apply to the band. I am not overly familiar with the self-help/motivational genre of books (arts graduates are well trained to sneer at such items with their invented verbs and passive voice) but there was an acrostic for success that caught my ear S.M.A.R.T. Now I wish to re-arrange them so they don't spell a word but make more procedural sense, i.e. S.R.A.M.T.
We shall acheive our goals and we shall make sure they are:

Specific
Realistic
Acheivable
Measurable
Timeframe (note to band, this would be better as an adjective like the others)

The last one we have trouble with in particular. I have two SRAMT objectives which I think are worth putting through this particular motivational wringer and see if they don't come out a bit drier at the end.

1) Record and put out the stupid and ever changing album. I have found the cash for the recording at Head Gap so we just need to decide on a date...and give it some SRAMT shape.

2) Play at the Big Day Out. Not this coming one but next (that is the Timeframe taken care of). This can be any festival really...I am so out of touch with the young people that it will turn out only bald men still attend the BDO and these days you flash mob (giving away my age again) or it all takes place on My Space (probably now just the province of pedarests)...none the less...gentlemen, let's SRAMT. I shall bring the butcher paper to rehearsal!

In more exciting news I have discovered that Mr Midian's name is Paul...and with this knowledge I feel I have gained something but lost much much more.

Quick catchup

Check it out. Albert Einstein action figures. Complete with some chalk in his hand. “This item makes a great gift!” Sadly they're sold out at the moment. I love the internet.

Anyway, plenty of action — if not on the blog then at least in the band:

Rehearsal this week saw the introduction of not one but three new songs from UT. Challenging riffs for the fretjockeys in the band and a sweet, sweet melody for Crafty to sing. But, my word, three songs in one week! We all saw the sweat on Silky's brow and the fear in his eyes.

It was demonstrated at rehearsal that being in a hard rocking band is a good deal easier when none of us have gone to our day jobs. Despite suggestions to the contrary we are considering giving our day jobs up.

The warm, friendly environs of the Barleycorn Hotel have called to us and we play there again with the mighty 7 Day Fools late in July.

Having heard the wonders of the new Marshall, at least half the band are considering upgrading their dodgy gear.

The Squids spent the long weekend being all social and visiting each other and being all nice and stuff. It was suggested that this may need to change: bands are often fuelled to produce greatness when the levels of creative tension are highest. Think of Jane's Addiction, The Beatles, Hi 5. Perhaps we ought to foster some intra-band fury. What's with this three song shit, UT? Oi, Silky: take that new amp and hit yourself with it. And where's your comment, Crafty?

A question that's been bothering me

When I was a lad somebody asked me a question and I've been wondering about it ever since. Why did the chicken cross the road? I was rather stuck for an answer so I went and asked a few other people why it crossed the road:

Max Merritt: It was slipping away from me and it broke me in two.

Peter Garrett: The other side of the road is the chicken's land.

Francis Black: I don't answer questions about chickens from mainstream media.

Beethoven: Pardon?

Bono: It was playing Jesus to the lepers on the other side of the road.

René Descartes: The chicken thinks it's crossing the road therefore it is crossing the road.

Crafty: “”

The Lady Silk: To escape from all these people talking about bloody amplifiers.

Darth Vader: Escape is not the chicken's plan.

Fish and Beethoven

I had the pleasure, on the weekend, of visiting my friends Mr and Mrs Tedium at their home. They had taken delivery of a piano during the week and I was keen to give it a thorough test-run.

So in between generous presentations of garfish and greens, tasty wine, flowing banter and rocking Sebadoh, I laboured to recall my repertoire as I played for my hosts.

It has been many years since I've had ready access to a piano: my own cannot fit in my little terrace house and I still miss it. Time — as it does, the bastard — has sapped away my powers.

I tried to play Beethoven's Pathétique but couldn't even remember enough to get out of the ‘grave’ introduction to the first movement.

I tried to play a Schubert sonata and got almost to the end of the exposition before my memory failed me (my technique had failed me long before but I bravely carried on).

I tried to play some of Khachaturian's delicious piano concerto and was rather pleased with how much of the first cadenza I'd remembered.

I didn't try to play any Billy Joel as UT was demanding.

The piano has a somewhat heavy touch and will need a good tuning up but sounds great, looks great and is tremendous fun to play. I'm sure the Tediums will enjoy it.

I pulled out my own keyboard last night, tried a piece or two and just wept at the plastic soulless thing. There is no comparison. Perhaps I can find room for my piano in my kitchen? Surely I don't need to eat as much as I need to play piano.

A New Hope

Star Wars gets a bit too much of a run these days when it comes to cultural references which no doubt please the marketing people for the last three well-after-the-fact-cash-in pre-quels (which, despite many claims to the contrary, appear to have been written after the three originals...."don't you see? George Lucas is such a talented genius that he could see the technology did not yet exist to do justice to the first three films!!! Jar Jar Binks was in the mix the whole time, don't you see, but back in the late 70s black-jive-talking culture was too close to black panthers for George to fully realise his hip take on inter-stellar negroes...and the wookie planet...you just couldn't find enough tall guys back then...George knew, and knows, his shit...cynical and poorly executed cash-in?!?!? You better step outside motherfucker!) but sometimes the words of yoda really do fit nicely when your arts degree has failed to arm you with a more literary equivelant of which I am sure there are many.

When asked (something like) is all lost now that something or other has happened to Luke (probably still sulking because his Uncle wouldn't let him go and get the power converters) yoda replies that "There is another".


And so there is!


Paddy, or Princess Leia...although I think the resemblance ends pretty quickly after the metaphor begins, has written a song! And it is a cracker...in fact it got complimented far more heavily than my new one...which made me feel a bit like Han Solo when he thinks that Leia likes Luke more than him..."Oh, I get it" is what I think he says, but he says this quite a bit in all the movies...George Lucas is widely lauded for his dialogue as I am for my lyrics.

In any event I have been humming it for the last couple of days, although I am disappointed that "Siren" became "Warning", in the bit about not wanting to know what it was for, in subsequent runs through.

Unfortunately I have not yet practised the riff, gifted to me, which overwhelmed me like the trap into which Admiral Akbar fell and caused Silky to grin like the Emperor feeling the hate swelling inside me.

Donkey Shelter Photo Day

And what a happy day it was. Why, you may well ask, has it taken so long to update everyone on this fine event. My fine mother, who has attended a gig of two of my former bands so I hold out hope that she may attend more, only just sent through the photos.
Above you will see a photo of UT with Tedium Senior and a fine beast behind (matching the two fine beasts in front! I encourage you to click on the photo and admire Gregor's theories at work!!), a photo of UT and UTsnr looking at Misty and a photo of me patting Snowy in my brand new Donkey Shelter cap. Why, Douglas, do you show us not only a picture of Misty, the famed and sponsored half-nag, but also this johnny-come-lately Snowy?
Because, friends, I was told by a shelter worker, whilst giving Baby May a good pat, that she believed Snowy, in the next paddock and usually unfriendly (I bet she says that to all the boys who manage to woo Snowy), to be a Hinny!
In my keenness for Snowy to be a Hinny I shall over look her egregious error in explaining (to me?!?!? of all people??!?! Has the crone taken leave of her senses? Does she not know to whom she speaketh?) that a Hinny is the offspring of a jack and a mare when this would produce a mule.
Anyway, the birthday was bookended in an odd way by patting and cooing at hard done by donkeys in the morning and clubbing recently caught trout to death in the late afternoon. Some people may see this activity as contradictory I see it as the actions of a renaissance man.

Charming Moments

Charming moment #1

Sitting with Paddy listening to the recording of the now famous "John Barleycorn Must Live" show. We chuckle as, in order, I fuck up, Silky fucks up, crafty fucks up and then in a burst of collective inspiration the three of us fuck up at the same time. After the warm chuckle subsides I turn to Paddy and ask "How do you stand it?" and Paddy replies cheerily "Well, I like you guys".

Charming moment #2

I text Silky to see if he can make rehearsal this week or is in regional Victoria as warned. The reply comes back:

Yep. Driving 2
echuca + listning 2
Barleycorn bootleg.

I see he spends his time as wisely as I do.

Been A Bad Boy

I am quickly developing an unhealthy obsession with Keith Moon.

This compulsion to honour all things Moon began many years ago when I was watching a video clip for the single ‘Who Are You’ featuring the band in the studio recording the song. Moon's headphones were gaffer taped to his head so that he could drum without them flying off. That is awesome.

But my obsession truly developed when I was taking a rest in the front bar of the Town Hall Hotel one recent sunny afternoon. The bar was running the DVD of The Who live at the Isle of Wight Festival and the fresh-faced little impish figure, pissing off Pete Townshend with his ADHD-style antics, launching into some outrageous percussive intro to some song certainly caught my eye.

Moon didn't use hi-hats. How cool is that! He just didn't bother with them. He had two kick drums and used them to lay down the rhythm of the song while his hands are filling the sound with what basically is a mammoth drum solo lasting the length of the set.

And he hit his drums hard. I sit at the bar sipping my tasty Coopers Red absorbed by the spectacle and I watch as Moon goes and bursts the head of one of his kick drums. He and one of the roadies are repairing the drumkit onstage as Townshend vamps for a minute or two. Rock and roll.

It's heading up towards thirty years since his death and I'm only now catching up but damn I really like his drumming.

Here is ‘Heaven And Hell’ — The Who's blazing opener from the Isle of Wight concert:

 

They could tell I was square and bitter about it...

A large part of the Squid Ink philosophy rests on a firm belief in empirical research and primary evidence. It is this part of the philosophy which fuels this post. Not only did two accused people in separate trials specifically choose not to have me on their jury but two people accused of growing cannabis in separate trials chose not to have me on their jury.
They were both from very different ethnic backgrounds and different parts of Melbourne, the main thing they had in common was having their day in the county court on the same day I showed up for jury service.
I was largely relieved not be chosen but interested by the information that two (which seems a fair sample) cannabis growers thought me less than ideal (although one waited until I stood up, walked to him, looked him the eye, walked to the jury box, handed my bag to the dude and had bent my knees to sit on the comfy looking jury chair before issuing the "challenge" as instructed by his very young and pert solicitor).

Sorry to all for this post's lack of relevance to the band.

Pay Misty For Me

I am always keen to put my money where my Hinny is. This is well known.
To this end, on sunday morning I was walking with purpose through Federation Square having just run around in a circle with 10,000 other people when I spied an unlikely scene.
Did my eyes deceive me or was a woman standing by herself with a donkey looking towards Flinders St station. As a big donkey fan I made a direct line for her and encouraged by her welcoming smile began patting the donkey with quite some vigour.
During the course of the pat I learned the donkey's name was Jimmy and he and his handler were from the Victorian Donkey Shelter, the only one of its kind in our fair state, the place to be. They had come to town for some children's thing later in the day. I asked if they had mules and they do....six.
My heart raced
"Do you have any hinnies?"
Her eyes widened and her smile grew. I began to tingle all over. "We had some hinnies...when we first opened...but not anymore." I hid my disappointment by bombarding her with hinny related questions ("can you tell the difference on sight between a hinny and a mule?" "I can't but others at the shelter say they can"...intriguing). Soon youngsters approached looking to pat Jimmy having seen how a man does it and I bid Jimmy good day and made off in search of rehydration.
Bouyed by the encounter I sought out their online presence and have sponsored a mule, Misty (pictured above), on the band's behalf.

Then why can't I paint you...

A very kind friend of the Ink took snaps of last night's gig at the Barleycorn and you can see how handsome we are here. Steve, the photographer, also has a video podcast called houndTV about dogs which you can check out here.
The gig was a roaring success and as always I am grateful to our friends for showing up! The buttons were a big hit and I am still proudly wearing mine.
Most excitingly there is a live recording of the gig but my brother stole and refuses to return it as I didn't give him his birthday presents, which he left in my car, for three months. If it is any good there will definitely be a mail-order live album (titles?? John Barleycorn Must Live?) at a knockdown price...we know no other way. Unfortunately the mixer fell for my showbiz trickery about our last song and ended the recording before Silky's incediary take on He's A Whore.

Stupid car

I intended to bring my bass rig along to rehearsal last night. I had just fitted a new set of strings on my dear Highway 1 and was dead keen to go all Jack Black on the Squid Ink posse with my groovy new strings and my Paddy Amp Sound.

Sadly all my flighty dreams crashed to earth — to solid rock, as UT would say — when the handle on the car broke. My speaker bin was sitting on the back seat and I could not get into the car.

“But Paddy, ” you helpfully point out, “surely you are simply able to enter the vehicle using the other door.” And you would be making a brilliant point if only the other door did not have a lock broken when the car was stolen last year.

The handle on one side is fine but the lock is broken. The lock on the other side is dodgy but eventually comes good but the handle is broken.

And my speaker bin is in the car.

And we have a gig in two day's time.

Mechanics claim that the sledgehammer is not an appropriate tool for car repair. I disagree.

Headline

Silky-D has made plenty in his time but in odd and happy news it seems we are now headlining on friday. Having seen first hand the ways of the journalist I decided to put some of my empirical research into action. I called Mike "Quarters" Quartermain, drummer for the Seven Day Fools, and told him I was Patrick Donovan from the Age and keen to get the skinny (authentic journalistic term) on why the Seven Day Fools would not be headlining on Friday night.
Quarters said:

"I too thought that strange...not that Squid Ink aren't at all capable of rocking the house late. I'll speak to our booking agent/manager/publicist/producer/lead guitarist."

Quite an insight, I'm sure you will agree. However...it seems we are on stage around 11pm.

Squid Tubes

Equipment Update:
Amp is back with new valves. Happy times and a sweet tone. They also fixed the reverb and the "tremelo" (please note everyone other than Fender amp manufacturers knows this effect as phaser).
Oz Rock Update:
Nothing makes one more glad one does not play in an Oz Rock cover band than playing in an Oz Rock cover band for one day. Long live the Ink. I shall not take your pleasures lightly.

Water cooler conversation

Excitement around the city is starting to build. The talk about the water cooler is that Squid Ink's gig at the Barleycorn (177 Johnston St Collingwood) on the 30th of March is soon upon us.

We have been struggling like builder's labourers in the sunshine to improve the material for your Friday night rocking pleasure. The current issues we have been working on are:

• Remembering the lyrics to Dead Pan
• Counting the lengths of solos
• Tempi
• General on-stage feng shui
• Accurately hitting the changes in Tyon
• When we should play Industry
• The papier mâché rocket ship that crashes into the stage during Mnemosyne
• It's all NFGE

There will be a door prize for the audience member that looks most like Geoffrey Rush. Remember to eat heartily before the gig: do not attempt Squid Ink Rock on an empty stomach.

Back in rehearsal

Exciting times in Squid Town lately.

We have decided on an album title, we are toying with a playlist and even have started talking about stage costumes. What do the general populace think about yellow jumpsuits? Too Devo, you think? Nothing can be too Devo.

Rehearsal this week was a joy. It was our first after a long break what with Silky-D out of town and the energy was high and the rock was hot. As, indeed, was the rehearsal room — note to self: bring ice vests and sweat bands to rehearsal next week.

The thrilling addition to rehearsal was the music stand. It is now only a short step to adding a bassoon to the lineup and giving Crafty some timpani to play.