Porcupine Tree and mini-breaks for over 45's

I've had a wee holiday. A "mini-break", if you will.

It all started yesterday. Sunday 7th February 2010 (and yes... the fact that it was the anniversary of "Black Saturday" does not escape me as I shall never forget the 2009 version of this date for the rest of my days). I left for Melbourne on the bus + train combo we endure just because we live so far from the "suburbs" etc etc (dramatic eye-rolling of course).

The trip was uneventful and restful. I was pretty sleepy for most of it but did manage to get a listen of the new album by Porcupine Tree on the ipod. The music made me smile as always. Dramatic, theatrical, eminently moody and exacting - listening to PT is a surreal experience akin to a joy-soaked bath in healing but ominous looking black mud! I couldn't wait to see them live even though I little knew what to expect other than that their sound seems to thrill me ways I can barely describe.

It was really quite hot when I arrived at Southern Cross Station on the edge of Melbourne CBD. I generally like to walk the CBD, eschewing the fantastic public transport system for "Shanks Pony" because well 1) I need the exercise any chance I get and 2) its faster than waiting around for anything and 3) everything in Melbourne CBD is tucked within a very compact 2.5kms walk from anything else really...give or take a few metres. It only ever takes me approximately 20 minutes to walk to Bourke St. Mall and not much after that to get to where I generally stay on solo trips such as this one, the trust old Victoria Hotel in Lt. Collins St.

Mind you... that last 5 minute crawl up the hill to the doors of The Vic is torturous and will guarantee burning hamstrings and the feeling of blades turned upwards into the soles of ones feet on really warm days - particularly for the grossly unfit and overweight such as myself *sigh*.

The Vic's rooms are are arranged in an Escher'esque way - aka. in labyrinthine but sort of logical confusion. It took me nearly 15 mins from alighting from the first floor lift to find my room. I got hopelessly lost up in there you know! Then again, I'm the "Least-likely-to-know-which-way-is-East-even-if-the-sun-were-rising" kind of girl so that was probably to be expected.

I finally found room 119 tucked into a tiny cul-de-sac through doors, down stairs, up a ramp, down a corridor, around a corner. It was spacious with a double bed made from the off-casts of some cement factory; however, given as I am, to preferring firmer mattresses than overly-soft, it suited me fine. The room was really hot though, so I was grateful for the small air-conditioner set into the wall. The one small window above the air-con was darkened with a small slatted blind, the slats closed, making the room very dark. I rather liked it this way. My bathroom was barely the size of a postage stamp with the barest essentials required for ablutions. Quite frankly, having a door on the bathroom was superfluous and my feeling is that swinging saloon doors or a sliding door would be a far more agreeable option. The swing door took up most of the space and as I was on my own, the need to close it seemed a bit over kill really except for the fact I kept banging my hip against it as I washed my face or brushed my teeth.

When I had finished surveying the room, I dumped my bag on the bed and grabbed key and wallet and promptly wended my way back down the labyrinth of corridors and ramps to the lift well. I was on a mission now - food! One of my biggest weaknesses as a single 48 year old female is the obsession with both food AND girth all in the same breath and mindset. It's the most fundamentally annoying conundrum.

I want to eat really great tasting food but on the condition that I add not one iota of a gram of fat to my already overburdened frame. In fact, I want to eat really good food such that my body says with grateful happiness "Oh Thank you so much! I am very well fed! I do not need to reserve all these extra calories you just devoured and store them in your thighs and arse, just in case I need them for later when I think I might, potentially, be starving; so I will release these calories into the ether and stay thin because I'm perfectly happy to do that for you!" etc etc.

Sadly, my metabolic rate is such that gaining weight is easier than breathing - no matter how "healthy" the food is or appears! These days, losing the kg's requires the disciplinary skills of a regimental instructor in an army boot camp and I actually rather despise following "rules" - even the ones I make for myself. So, there I sat in bakery eating great food and I am still purring at the memory of pastry crumbling over my lips in all its decadent, delicious, and malevolent beauty. Sluggish metabolic genetics and a predilection for sugar + butter is a cruel disease!

I digress:

I wondered if I should go "do something" while there in Melbourne on my own. No children to groan at me as I perused the Masters in the National Gallery: no friends to get tetchy with me as I wandered around the alley ways looking at cafe menu's "deciding" where I was going to eat later - having just had lunch: no schedules other than an 8pm appointment to see a band. Bliss.

I opted instead, for a "Nanna nap" in my cosy little hide-away hotel room. And just as well I might add. My day had started at 5am that morning and the thought of having to fire on through until well after midnight just made me cave. The nap was divine except for a surreal and rather realistic dream where I kept hearing noises from my minuscule bathroom and on rising from my bed (plank), noted that there was a coterie of American High School girls and an older female "Chaperone" who looked like she might have come straight from the set of "One flew over the cuckoo's nest"! Their room was apparently adjunct mine and we were forced to "share" the bathroom. This did NOT please me one bit. They literally invaded my space and as the room shifted and morphed into other rooms with doors that wouldn't close I was "forced" to stand my ground and demand that everyone fuck off immediately in the nicest possible assertive way I could. This was a blimmin' dream I might add and I was rather bristled by it but also sort of assured that my confidence is perhaps coming back. Despite that dream though, the nap was restful and I got up about 5pm to prep for the concert.

Now, given that I AM 48 years old, I decided not to get just too carried away with all things "primping". The chances of me needing to impress anyone were far too preposterous to give any credibility to. I just wanted to look presentable and as "normal" as I possibly could. I had had an inkling for days that women in my demographic are not normally associated with 'Difficult-to-categorise-progressive-hard-rock-bands', so I just preened enough to feel comfortable that I was not going to frighten children and left it at that.

I decided that I actually wasn't "that" hungry and eschewed a large meal for dinner. I walked up Bourke St to The Palace so that I could get a sense of the lay-of-the-land so to speak. I wasn't sure if I was going to actually hang outside the front doors or not at this point as it was a good two hours before they would open: I did however, want to be sure that I had the right place and that all was in order. I opted for a small take away meal that I actually didn't finish and knew it would be enough to tide me through. I had packed "light" opting only for the two pockets in my pants to carry bare essentials.

There was a queue already forming outside the doors of The Palace. In the end, I bought a bottle of water from the 7 Eleven just a bit further down and chose to go stand in that queue. There were perhaps 20 or so people already there. Most were youngish, slightly geeky looking and they appeared to be the sort of expected "type" who would probably choose to listen to the music of Porcupine Tree. A young woman was standing in front of me with her boyfriend chatting to some blokes in front of them. She looked at me and without batting an eyelid said aloud but quietly and quite politely

You do not look like someone who would normally be seen at a concert like this!

We ended up laughing and chatting, both of us amused and amazed at how the power of music has a way of drawing unlikely people together. Personally, I was awe at the lengths people actually went to, to get to this concert. The girl and her partner were from Perth, opting to visit Melbourne for the first time ever just to experience Porcupine Tree up close and live! Another guy just in front of them in the queue was effectively a bona fide groupie having been to heaps of PT concerts in Europe and who had apparently, travelled from "Goodness-knows-where" to see them in Australia too. I met another guy later on from New Zealand who had travelled over, specifically to catch these guys in concert! A band with that kind of geographical pulling power must be worthy of attention surely?

The two hours waiting in the queue for the doors to The Palace seemed to go by really fast! I didn't even get that nervous "need" to go find a tree so to speak! That in itself was amazing (or I was very dehydrated! One of those options!).

Once inside I was surprised to see that this was in fact not so much a theatre as a club. The floor space dropped in graduated stages via short steps. The huge boarded space directly in front of the stage looked inviting and I "might" have stayed down there for the duration except my feet and legs were killing me and I needed to find that "tree" by then anyway! I went upstairs to the first level mezzanine and found what I was looking for. I also found a rather comfy armchair perched on steps. The whole place is effectively one giant bar with alcoves where one can be plied with alcohol or water in exchange for vast sums of money! I decided that since I had what I thought was a pretty prime piece of real estate - aka that big squishy and comfortable armchair - I wasn't going to go frolicking about looking ridiculous by ordering Lemon, Lime & Bitters and a bottle - small - of water. I parked my weary butt and waited.

The support act finally came out not much more than an hour later. Sleep Parade were cute, young and yet just seemed a bit desperate to me in some ways. It might be a common problem for supporting acts starting on their journey to fame and infamy. To me SP just seemed to be trying so very hard to be counted as serious prog musicians - which I suppose they are. To my naive and untrained ears they sounded tight but not really relaxed enough as a unit to lift their originals into the Memorable category. They definitely show promise though in the progressive rock market. So? That being said, they'll no doubt be on the lips of generations much younger than me in the years to come. Indeed they are probably to quote the lead singer:

...luckiest bands in Australia to be chosen to support Porcupine Tree. [unquote]

Watch this space. :)

At approximately 9:45pm, Porcupine Tree opened. I stood immediately, mainly because the two TALL guys just in front of me also stood. *sigh* Why is it that tall people don't naturally select the very back row as a matter of course? I will probably regret in the ensuing years not being pushy enough to scramble a spot on the railing right down at the front of the mezzanine overlooking the ground floor and with a perfect view of the stage! I could see okay though from where I was if I ducked and dived and generally stretched in and around the tall men in front of me. I could see the bare footed Steven Wilson (be.still.my.beating.heart.) and the amazing Gavin Harrison on the drums, Richard Barbieri on the keyboards and other eclectic sound morphing devices and Colin Edwin on the bass. They had a fifth member as a guest performer - an Aussie - but I missed his name and did not recognise him unfortunately. My apologies if he ever happens to read this (*smirk* - astonishing ego have I yes? *smirk*). Let's just say he fitted in perfectly well! :)

The band played most of the first seamless track from their new album "The Incident" which was released last year. I'd been listening to it for a few days prior so by the time they started playing it I was beside myself with joy and excitement. I just could not stop grinning like a fool! I had no children with me to embarrass and it was...is... highly unlikely I will ever meet anyone of the people at that event again, so I let my body "talk" with the music as it is always inclined to do so. I moved, jiggled, swayed and generally bounced along with sheer unadulterated pleasure! I had fun!!!! Amazing, awesome, wonderful, In-this-moment-I-am-happy fun!

The visual effects on the screen behind the band lent a surrealist landscape to the sound. And what sound! Effortless and inspired sound coming from depths of human suffering and yet morphing that suffering and pain into irrepressible cause for joy within my own soul. HOW can music be this Good? Guitar riffs morphing into psychedelic arpeggio's made of synth and keyboard then crashing over you suddenly, wave upon wave of heavy metal beat, interwoven with poetic, melancholic and ethereally beautiful melodies. I am awed at the musicianship quite frankly. Not one member of the band grand-standed; nor did they make a big show of anything - it was all about immersion in the sound; the music.

I of course - being very old and very practical - had brought along earplugs! I AM very grateful I did this because I snuck my right one out periodically to get a sense of how loud it was. Oh my giddy aunt! If I had have been down on the floor in the crowd - I am sure I'd be in the emergency dept by now screaming for my hearing to return and holding bloodied towels to the sides of my head. It was deafeningly loud. The earplugs actually made the experience MUCH better for me. I could clearly hear every note, every beat, every melody and every word! I went to bed later that night with no ringing in my ears and I can still use a phone without having to shout at people to "speak up"! :) A worthy addition to any concert attendance.

After a short break, the band returned to sing some old favs from earlier albums such as "Fear of a Blank Planet" and "In Abstentia", both of which get a regular airing in my iTunes playlist and on the ipod too :) Bliss....pure bliss to know this music even though I hardly know what the titles of the songs are really. I realised this because a bloke kept turning in the quieter moments (rare and profound), to ask what song they'd just played. I never knew what to say other than I "knew" the song but couldn't remember what it was called! *blush* I know - I am hardly an expert on these things. He kept saying "Amazing band!" over and over with each new song having never heard of PT before in his life until that night when a mate had dragged him along. A new fan born I reckon :)

When I finally made it out not long after midnight, I was so pumped and excited, I felt as if I was 16 years old again and as light as air. I sent a few text messages to let the kids know I was okay and proceeded to walk the few blocks back to The Vic. I had been more than a little worried about being on my own at this hour walking back but it was fine really - lots of people about and very well lit, much safer than it all seems in theory I guess. I settled into my room after a lovely hot shower. I hadn't realised how sweaty and icky I'd become standing for hours in a darkened club but there you go - live and learn! :)

I lay in this morning and leisurely pottered about my room on waking, packing up and moving through some exercises to relieve the stiffness in my legs and ankles. I guess this stiffness came from having to teeter on the edges of steps in order to see over tall people the previous night. :) I had a divine breakfast/brunch at Gordon's in The Causeway of light rye toast with sausage, tomato and cheese and a long Earl Grey tea *mmmmmm*. Then I wandered, rather aimlessly, and very leisurely, back towards the station for my train/bus home.

Again, the journey was uneventful and as I read my book and listened yet again to PT on my ipod, I could not stop smiling and feeling utterly relaxed and content with the state of things in this moment.

A blissful couple of days and I'm still purring.

Hope for Haiti Now Album

Apple cobbled together a few of its pals to make a music tribute and raise money for the victims of the recent Haiti Earthquake.

The album is definitive 2000's pop + 20th Century classics, some apparently re-worked by the artists especially for this album.

Most tracks have a slightly more down-tempo feel which I suppose is to demonstrate respect but also appeal to a much wider than usual audience. As a result, I find it a bit a heavy on occasion as if its too earnest, too forced. I imagine most rock and pop stars must absolutely dread a world disaster these days! Disasters must mean an expectation that their profession will automatically line up for the fund-raising effort. The charity burn-out factor must be becoming a bit of an issue. Surely? Making and selling a music CD IS an easy way to "raise money" but its getting a bit tired! Where are the big Hollywood movies being donated to "raise money" for example? I might just be naive perhaps.

This album features most of the male and female A-Lister's of modern pop including Madonna, Christina Aguilera, Wyclef Jean, Bono, Justin Timberlake and so on. I am listening intently but did they HAVE to include Beyoncé's vocal theatrics? *sigh*. Might be just me - but her version of Halo on this album grates and comes across as forced and overly theatrical "compassion". It's the most irritating track and I skip it on each listen now.

Stand-out tracks for me are Bruce Springsteen's version "We shall overcome", Taylor Swift's "Breathless" (beautiful pop!) and Dave Matthews and Neil Young's version of "Alone and Forsaken" (brilliant stuff!). Then there's "Lean on me" by Sheryl Crow, Kid Rock and Kieth Urban. The weirdest track is Wyclef Jean trying to do a out-of-sync coolness (not!) version of "River's of Babylon" which is just "meh!".

At AU$13.99 (via direct download from iTunes) its not too bad value though its hardly going to be a memorable album in years to come I reckon. Overall, the album is too chunky, too serious, and feels more like a brick - albeit plated gold - than a feel-good treat and a thank you for my donated funds!

The album is apparently doing well though in sales and has raised a modest amount for the Haiti Appeal. Yes! US$3m + to date is "modest" in this situation. The Haiti crisis is going to take years to mend. It will cost billions to fix and a few sales of a CD aren't going to make too big a dent in that required amount. Truth be told - the money raised doesn't always get to where it is meant to go either! Once the ordinary folk of the world realise this travesty of justice... who knows what will happen to "Charity" then?

The organisations that can clearly demonstrate an ethical distribution of donated funds will prevail. Let's hope so anyway!

carpets in the halls of hearts

Soft. Deep, like the coat of a wintering cat,
my heart feels full and sensuous;
luxuriating as I am in the pleasure of this touch
upon its long, un-walked halls.
Toes curling in delightful wonder,
on a carpet of alluring possibilities.
It's not the room at the opposite end
that holds my enthrall,
but the sense of the way there -
each step a wondrous epitome of discovery.
New love in every sinuous move -
every fibre beneath my feet,
a growth towards completion.

the ubiquitous resurgence of emotional turbidity

Cloudy. Cloudy thoughts like those kinds of clouds raging across an unsettled sky. The questions are the clouds.

What is actually necessary? What is actually required? What is beneficial?

I "know" idealistically what I want but what I want may not be what is beautiful or perfect or desirable over the long haul.

The answers are feint; hidden as they are behind impenetrable mists of confusing needs and wants, idealistic propensities and zealous pragmatism.

There are times when my desire to know the future and its promises, becomes an intractable and unwieldy yoke. This may be one of those times when I probably could allow the question clouds maelstrom their way across my Thought Sky, without wishing for those answers to upset the swirly chaos.

Perhaps in the interests of simple Experience, its time to allow my questions to remain unanswered and be unfettered by fears of an impossible-to-know future and simply enjoy the ride.

Welcome romance...eschew what if's....

....simply enjoy the ride.

The cool, calm quiet

It's going to be hot here in the next few days! Damn hot! Forecasts suggest in the realms of the low 40's Celcius (104F and then some). The temperatures these past few weeks have been up and down and all over the place. The highs and lows of the weather seem to be matching the roller-coaster ride of my life this past few years!

Right now it's very mild. There's a tinge of coolness on the air as if Mother Nature is blowing softly across the landscape with her lips pursed: much like a mother blows on her little child's food to take the edge off the heat. Respite.

Inside my own heart, I am also aware of a kind of coolness of spirit. A calm gentle mildness of Being. It's nice! My life has seen all manner of upheavals this past few years. Death, disease, anguish, pain, intense loneliness along with mountain top highs and euphoric moments of pure joy. It's been a roller-coaster that's for sure.

I used to think I would be partial to a roller-coaster but having experienced a real one in recent years I know I am not. Either I left my roller-coaster riding experience too late in life or I am simply far too acutely aware that these mechanical beasties have way too many bolts and bits that could shear off at ANY moment catapulting the riders all over the place! No thanks! The rattling, straining, speed and hurtling downhill pace of the roller-coaster is not for me. Far too scary.

Thank God (literally), we really can't read the future for if we could know about the little bolts, the noises, the squeaks, the down hill runs, the straining up hill climbs too well.... most of us would probably stay at home - in bed - under the covers and plead for Him to make us die!

Yes! My life has been a roller-coaster this past few years. Has it been fun?

*wry smile* No!

Yes!

Sometimes maybe on occasion.

Today as I sit here before heading to work, I am blissfully aware of an inner calm - a sort of peaceful acceptance that my life is my own and my roller coaster ride is perhaps coming to the end of its current session. However brief the hiatus between this last ride and any prospective future one will be, I will enjoy the cool, calm quiet of these moments very much indeed.

Silent Night

It is Christmas Eve 2009.

Mellow air and warmth caresses this evening like a kind of balm. Christmas Eve has always had a sense of the unabashed Holy about it. Years ago I used to spend this night in a frenetic anxiousness and the crazed and over-extended ardour of The Director. I revelled in the Chaos of Christmas Eve and relished the crowds at Church, the heat and noise and blustering nerves in my belly as my theatrical homages to Divinity were splashed across the Worship/Premier Night stage.

I always spent Christmas Eve essentially alone even amidst the people. My children were my saving grace, giving me purpose and reason beyond the recognition of the Christ Child. I was a studious and well organised Christmas Eve Mum so as to ensure my babes were able to wallow in the magical wonder of Christmas morning surprises.

I was married back then but still effectively alone.

Tonight, I am also alone. I am observing the ever present beast named Loneliness, wending its way around my ankles like a black smog, slung low to the ground and threatening; but I am used to being alone on Christmas Eve, so it can never really harm me. I am used to being immersed in the silence of this night. Loneliness will eventually give way to contentment again but it can be a struggle sometimes even so.

It may well be that there is a rhythm to my character that defines Christmas Eve as a sort of sacrosanct hermitage of the soul... of my soul. It seems that each year at this time I do retreat into the centre of my inner world more and become more reflective and muted - less inclined to socialise or engage with others in grand gestures and party oriented persona's. Not that I really engage with others much these days anyway. The dynamics of my current lifestyle are not conducive to it.

There was a woman alone on the street today. She was stranded and surrounded by all her belongings in suitcases and bags, sitting on a box and sobbing for she has nowhere to go. She had apparently been thrown out by her partner from her home. My cynical suspicious nature wonders but well yes...she was...she is... effectively homeless. Her bruised and beaten soul screamed "Victim" at the top of its metaphysical lungs. Even the Salvo's had no place for her in the inn tonight.

Is she the Christ child come to earth in disguise to find those worthy of grace?

There is none before or since who can be worthy such a thing! And besides, it has already been given and it is sitting there waiting patiently for us to unwrap it like a child on Christmas morning. That's all. Christmas Eve is supposed to remind us of this Truth. More often than not, we just see what we want to see and never mind the rest.

So, Christmas Eve has a polish and a patina of its very own for me. It's a haven and a hell, a beautiful paradise of impeccable spiritual retreat as well as a kind of purgatory I must travel through towards genuine humanity - and elusive intimacy - again.

Tonight is THIS Christmas Eve. in 365 days I will have grown and been moved, and changed by the circumstances of life and will have most likely re-shaped my perceptions yet again. We will see!

affairs of an online monster

Short, short story time! :) Dashed this one out in under 30 mins. It probably needs 'work' but hey? I just blog for the fun of it - not because I'm a perfecto editing freak. This is really just to ease me back into this space gently. If you enjoy it - good for you! If you reckon it's autobiographical...*smirk* ... maaaayyyyybbeeeeeee......but I'm not telling! :p

***
Judy was an affable and rather entertaining girl with a quirky grasp of English and a despotic attitude to all things prudish.

In the real world, she daily presented herself with a kind of equanimity that was at once baffling and intriguing because people got strange sensations and vague hunches that she was really a mess of chaotic undercurrents of troubling emotional genius under all the placid crust.

She beguiled people into thinking she was a sweet, vivacious and very contained soul. An easy laugh and a wicked sense of humour belied her rather straight-laced and kind of primmish posture.

In truth Judy lived a double life of sorts. Every bit her Self in both of them though. In one life she had all the hall-marks of the complex simplicity, we call Average, which all human beings are prone to displaying in society. She was both an individual and yet she '"belonged" to the groups she was aligned with, absorbing their customs, emotional energy and directive pace, easily in sync with anyone else in the group. She was simply an Average woman. Nothing more, nothing less.

In the other life, Judy was anything but Average! In her other life she was Extraordinary. She was beautiful - extraordinarily so. She was incredibly clever - extraordinarily so. She was wise and charming and witty - extraordinarily so. For Judy, there was no masks to be worn or persona's to adopt. She was intrinsically her Self in this world no less than she was her Self in the other world.

But the difference remained. In one life she was stymied by the faulty misappropriation of identity through absorptions of other people's expectations. In the other life she was utterly free to be everything she was - as she perceived herself to be. In one world she had to use voice and gesture and body to convey her nature and she was embarrassed by that, perpetually so.

You see, her body was not beautiful. Her face was neither beautiful but nor was it grossly ugly either. She was, if anything, merely plain and ergo invisible to most people. Just another person - no more - no less. No one knew her clever turn of phrase or her biting intelligence and her skill in pulling eclectic and unrelated data together into coherent concepts that actually made some kind of logical sense of the world.

The other world knew this about her and apportioned it; but in this world, there were also words and a characterised representation of her Soul, drawn like the wife of Roger Rabbit. Her avatar was in effect the very mirror of her Self as she aspired to be but could not for genetic and rather mundane earthly reasons (like food and exercise for instance!).

Nevertheless, Judy was simply incredible online. Masterful and confident. Assured and gracious. Warm, witty, lovely and very nearly darling. She was also completely and determinedly independent. She could date male avatar representations without ever having to pine for the smell of their skin on her own. She could fuck them without ever having to flush with utter embarrassment at the mere thought of nakedness in a real life man's presence. She could engage males and females in warm and intelligent conversations with nary a flicker of small talk - the usual dance of wary guarded anxiousness between strangers.

In that world, she was a queen of her own making. She could be free to be exactly her Self with no apprehensions on how that Self might be rejected, engaged with, entertained or absolved. She was everything and nothing and it didn't matter and that mattered a very great deal.

And all the while, Judy crept backwards from having to be courageous about engaging in one world and leaped forwards to being utterly poised and self-possessed when engaging in the other. One world had to have her... the other world was her choice.

No one else was the wiser as to the dichotomy of her being.