The bits of stuff that fall in the cracks between Life, Music and outrageous fortune.		  
 
 
 
June
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A nice old building in Adelaide		 SA reflections
26.6.06 - Somebody told me recently there are no weatherboard houses in Adelaide, which I found hard to believe, so last time we were over I looked. I did see some outside the metropolitan area, but none in Adelaide itself, so I might have to concede that it's true. In any case, it's always a pleasure to walk around the city and enjoy the ambience created by so many of the old sandstone buildings that have been preserved and /or refurbished. Of course there are many of Australia's finest and longest-established vineyards in the city's surrounding settlements where the European theme is even more pronounced - it didn't take too much effort to imagine we were back in West Germany when we were having breakfast in Angaston for instance - the coffee, the toast and jam took me back to Winsen Aller in 1983. Or 1984 - I forget. Now I'm staying up too late to watch the World Cup (again). It's in Germany, (he said, trying to justify this unconnected drivel). C'mon Aussie!
 

Happy birthday to me - with Liz, Dick and Mares		 Mike's birthday bash passeth all understanding
21.6.06 - It's well over and done with now, but I turned sixty-one on Thursday last, and celebrated with a luncheon at the trusty Nostril with the other Rudds (pic). You can see that I'm already glowing with an Italian rosso coursing through my veins, and there was more to come, and so it's not surprising I triggered an erratic heart episode later on in the day, which undoubtedly contributed to my not sleeping at all that night, which was not a good idea with Bill and I having to rise at 6.00 am the next morning to travel to SA.
So, nearly a year after gaining my Seniors' card, what have I got to show for it? A couple of trips to the movies and an all day pass on the Metro. It's not good enough - I'm obviously going to have to work harder at this old thing..
 

Peter Houghton transmogrifies		 The Pitch
13.6.06 - I was rueing the fact that I'd managed to deafen myself (again) when I caught a glimpse of the time. Natasha had invited me to the dress rehearsal of Peter Houghton's one-man show, The Pitch, which opens tonight (Wed.), so I quickly shut down the studio and headed for the historic La Mama theatre in Carlton. It appeared that I was one of only three guests - you can't get much more exclusive than that - and you can't actually get a much more intimate space than La Mama either. Houghton plays would-be film script-writer Walter Weinermann pitching a screenplay according to a typical Hollywood agent's formula, in the course of which he does more than passable impressions of Clint Eastwood, (or Russell Crowe), Catherine Zeta Jones, Anthony Hopkins, Chris Rock, Bob De Niro and Sean Connery et al, playing the lead roles in his constantly evolving 'hit' movie, as well as incorporating a subtext of his imagined budding personal relationship - and somehow the tiny La Mama space seems awfully crowded.

Having trouble remembering the most simple of lyrics, I'm in awe of somebody who can remember a whole seventy minutes of script, and then bring it to life with an energetic and, importantly for a bloke suffering from tinnitus maximus, intelligible performance. It was only after the show that the actor himself and the director Anne Browning revealed that he'd left a whole section out, which, disconcerting as it was for him, wasn't evident to this audient. There again, I'm accustomed to trying to make sense of foreign movies I come in half-way through on Foxtel.
La Mama, you will have gathered by now, is a tiny space - it's just a room, and a pretty crappy room at that. Stage lights hanging from the ceiling are the only real clue that it's a performance space, and if the actor so desired he could lean over and dribble on you, you're so close to the action. The props for this show are minimal - although you'll be surprised at the potential for weaponry that a simple table and piece of electric cable provide - but slick props aren't what this show is about. It's about the power of imagination, and Houghton's The Pitch took me on a cinematic journey with exotic locations and scrambled plots, with action, romance, pathos and weird oriental music, with a cast of thousands and an astronomical Hollywood budget. When it was over, it was hard to believe that it all came from just the one man. How come he's not famous?

The Pitch opens tonight and plays till the 25th of June at La Mama 205 Faraday St Carlton bookings 9347 6142
 
1) I hadn't picked the 'who' thing, but I'll pass it 2) Luke the Scarecrow on a natural high Life is but a dream..
7.6.06 - Some of my more obsessive readers might remember my quibbling about this sign (pic. 1) a little while back. Well, the last time I lunched with bro' Richard I noticed some sensitive person had taken matters into their own hands and offered the signwriters some guidance. There's hope yet.
Last night Chris and I
popped down to Aquinas College in Ringwood and took in years seven and eight's production of The Wizard Of Oz, in which my sort-of nephew Luke (pic.2) was taking part as the Scarecrow. While Luke is showing some musical aptitude on guitar and harmonica, he apparently has no ambitions to take the stage, so it was an even more commendable performance - he literally threw himself into the role, and bounced back for more. He had to contend with his voice breaking during rehearsals and so was modelling his startling new basso voice whilst convincingly searching for that elusive brain. I also liked the fact that he was unselfconsciously enjoying himself. Chris enjoyed the show, despite feeling obliged to audibly scold the players for not being funny on a couple of occasions.
The dream bit? Answer me this: why would I think of the Bedser twins for no apparent or useful reason, only to see an article about them in The Age a couple of days later? Who thinks of the Bedser twins at any time these days? And, how many times do I think of somebody out of the blue only to be called by them on the phone within minutes, hours or days? Quite a few times, I tells ya! Life may be a trifle boring at the moment, but it's also a little spooky.
 

Jon meditates before his talk		 Jon Cattapan retrospective
1.6.06 - My artist friend Annita invited me to go with her to an exclusive discussion night - the artist in camera - at the Jon Cattapan retrospective exhibition at the Ian Potter Museum of Art attached to Melbourne University. I'd met Jon previously at Annita's show at the Meat Market, and was hugely impressed when he stood in for the designated speaker at the last moment and talked spontaneously about Annita and her work for five or so minutes with a deal of affection and unhesitating accuracy. At this exhibition, called The drowned world - works and collaborations, he was talking in depth about a collection of his own work, as distilled by Dr Chris McAuliffe from thirty or so years worth of paintings and drawings, and it was a highly entertaining and revealing couple of hours. I was given pause to reflect on the often parallel courses artists and musicians travel, and Jon mentioned the impetus music and musicians had given him at various critical times in his career. (The painting in the photo (left) was
inspired by a night at the notorious St Kilda nightspot, Bananas). I was privileged to join Jon with Annita at Jimmy Watsons after the presentation and spend another entertaining hour or so chatting over a fine glass of pinot. For a man who's chosen such a solitary occupation he makes a charming and lively table companion, with many fascinating tales and observations about his travels, having lived variously in New York, India, the UK and Italy. If you're familiar with Jon's work, or if you'd like to check it out for the first time, this show gives you a unique overview of the Cattapan oeuvre. The exhibition runs till August 6th.
 
 
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