Dead Eyes Opened

Is there anything more depressing than a media scrum and the press conference that follows it when a politician is being pursued today? At the Addison Road Community Centre in Marrickville I witness the background reality to how politics is played out for the public’s so-called benefit – looking into a glass bowl full of piranhas pursuing their ‘Gotcha’ moments and simplistic ‘angle’ journalism. 

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City of Light

The fine art of forgetting is perhaps The Necks strongest attribute. A concert by the Australian three-piece slips between the tautly engaged and extended atmospheres of organic drifting, utilising bass, piano and percussion to become something so trance-inducing you lose track of where and whatever you are…

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Intuition Kingdom

One year in, one year out. Not too sure what to think of the times we are in. It feels as if we are all sliding towards a date with destiny. And despite the information that pours down over us every day, most can’t see what’s on that horizon…

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What’s Beauty to Do?

I wrote this very short and personally reflective review piece for a newspaper column last year that focussed on this kind of response to artworks. Did not make it through the editorial process but I always thought it had something special to it. Some things never fit right even when they are true…

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Dog Day Afternoon

Damien Minton invited artists to reinvent Snoopy and Peanuts for a group exhibition at the Sheffer Gallery in Darlington. Somewhere along the way it became a riposte to lockdown isolation and apartness in the time of COVID-19.

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Food Pantry Banjo Ballad #1

The words of the songs take on the strange timeless energy of old storytelling that needs repeating, and hard-won wisdoms that need to get won again…

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Rebranding Sunrise

Must have been channeling something special when I wrote this piece on the axing of Melissa Doyle from Sunrise in July 2013. Somehow I reimagined co-host Kochie as some kind of psychedelic Godfather figure of the infotainment Age. Reads to me like genius now. Acid news still might work its magic as an angle… an idea ahead of its time!

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Heroes, Just for One Day

I was always really proud of this story. A stonking hot summer’s day in Sydenham with my youngest son and his scooter buddies at a skatepark opening. Wrote the whole thing on my iPhone, sitting there in the concrete trenches among all the skateboard and scooter action. Youth and young manhood, a state of grace, a slice of nowhere.

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Fire and Ice

In this regard, there seems to be an archetypal story uniting the constellation of works being played tonight. One that might tell the tale of a man caught between two worlds; a man who must play out a fated role, with a woman’s suffering or absence haunting him, with a lost child or shadow brother in danger, with an act of violence made necessary along the way, on a journey through places hot or cold – and always endless– where his spirit might be purified and put to rest, and some idea of justice or balance be restored. I don’t know if that is the story. But it sounded something like that to me as I dreamt and woke again.

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Wild Colonial Boys

At a venue called The Factory, I join an unusually busy line-up for an obscure band called The Barking Spiders. My wrist is stamped with what looks like a bird’s wing – and in I go, to a not-so-secret warm-up show by the legendary Australian group, Cold Chisel.

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