Listen: Heavenly Beat ‘Messiah’

by

By that guy from Beach Fossils. Woo! I’m writing all day tomorrow and training up a new sub-editor at work. I’ve applied for a new internship recently. Maybe I’ll get it. All I know is I did get a gig as a contributing journalist for an upcoming magazine. Keep your eyes peeled.

Check it out here-

http://www.purplesneakers.com.au/2012/05/listen-heavenly-beat-messiah/

REVIEW: Groovin’ the Moo Festival, Canberra

by

Sunday the 13th of May was a good day. A free day. A wonderful day. I loved that day. We had driven three hours west the night before. Stayed overnight at the boyfriend’s parents’ home. Saw The Kransky Sisters in Goulburn. They’re talented. They are not my thing.

We drove off at about 12. An hour and a half ‘til Canberra. ‘Til live indie tunes. Radiohead was cranked up to 11 all the way.  And we bore the brunt of the brutal weather. Fuck it was cold. We’re from Sydney and we’re used to coastal warmth. Not this. Big arse coats over the indie gear I wear out in my town, tight jeans, sneakers…

Industry VIP passes for us. Free as free can be. A perfect excuse for a weekend away. And there we were. Beneath a cloudy sky, we could feel the pulsing bass from the outskirts of the university where we parked. I took to standing in the sun as much as possible. Oh and the lines.. so long.. to go to the bathroom, to eat, to drink… Fuck that. We had the VIP section. No lines. Loads of cider. Party.

Sitting on a hill, clutching a pear cider, it was about time to listen to some music. The Maccabees played their original brand of indie bliss. I just wanted to sit and chill and let the sound wash over me. And it was lovely. And they’re worth seeing. For a perve and for a bit of fun. And you know who played afterwards? One of the best acts of the day, Andrew W.K. He wore all white. He used his blazer to play his keyboard. He jumped around and chanted ‘PARTY’ into the microphone. W.K. knows how to start the party. He could motivate me any day. I was having way too good a time watching his theatrics.

But off we headed to watch my boss, Purple Sneakers DJs. We had our groove in the Moolin Rouge tent. My boss drank a bottle of Jager. We kept dancing. The tent was completely full. Everyone was feeling on top of their game. Shouting, hollering, dancing, singing along. Tits bouncing in air. Jumpers were being discarded like loose change. This was party.

Afterwards we could hear Parkway Drive. I chewed on my gozleme, kept drinking and pretended it wasn’t happening. It was an effective way of coping. Ball Park Music played perfect pop as we looked for merchandise. No Kimbra shirts? No thanks. And then it was time to stake out Wavves. Beni was interesting in that tent. To say the least. I was not prepared for sweat. For dancing. For male dancers in thigh-high, heeled boots doing gymnastics on stage. But we were almost at the front and it was worth it. Jackets removed. Time for surf.

Wavves rule. Enough said. You can check out my review of their sideshow on Purple Sneakers. They didn’t play with the same fervour at Groovin.’ They seemed unimpressed. The crowd didn’t thrash around as much as they should have. Just pushed and shoved a little. Just squealed. Boring. But awesome. Because Wavves are awesome and I just wanted to hear ‘Green Eyes.’

And then we went to stake out Kimbra, the love of my life. And listening to Public Enemy while waiting was all I could ask for. They’ve got a great manner with the crowd. They’ve got chutzpah. I love chutzpah. And they’re really really really good at what they do. And then of course was Kimbra. Bliss. Light of my life. Love. Love. Love. Her outfit and her dancing were so sensual. Her voice soars. Her voice soars above me, above the freezing cold, above the people gathered before her. I was staring up at her in awe. I want to be her. I want to be as beautiful and wonderful and musically skilled as her. I will never be her. Sob. She was gorgeous and inspiring. All her songs- new and old- made me swell up a little inside, singing along with glee.

And off we drove. Back into the cold Canberra night in a car. Back to Sydney for uni and work first thing in the morning. I had a lovely day with the boy, the bands, the booze. That’s how to do a festival. Camp out for the bands you need to see. Coast along otherwise, sitting in the sun and being wonderfully impressed by bands you’d never heard of and/or bothered to listen to.

In Defense of Literature

by

So I wrote an article entitled ‘In Defense of Literature’ a couple months ago about the loss of the Queensland Literary Awards.

Pick up a copy of UTS Vertigo to read it! Also there are a couple reviews of Lawrence Arabia and King of Devil’s Island.

Enjoy!

 

Review: Husky, Oxford Art Factory 03.05.12

by

This was a good show. I maybe go to too many gigs. GROOVIN’ THE MOO CANBERRA TOMORROW. Will keep you updated.

Check it out here-

http://www.purplesneakers.com.au/2012/05/review-husky-oxford-art-factory-03-05-12/

A Spy in the House of Love

by

‘For a moment she saw her love anxieties as resembling those of a drug addict, of alcoholics, of gamblers. The same irresistible impulse, tension, compulsion and then depression following the yielding to the impulse, revulsion, bitterness, depression, and the compulsion once more…’

Anais Nin’s A Spy in the House of Love (1954) is the best novella I’ve read since The Lover (1984) by Marguerite Duras. I tell myself, Hannah, read more women writers, I swear you wont regret it. And I never do, especially when most of the novellas are full of figurative language and smut. I love figurative language AND smut! It’s my lucky day!

It’s one of those novels you can just throw yourself into and finish pretty quickly. I read it over the space of a few days whenever I was outside of the house and waiting or “studying.” But you know, as a little feminist who feels empowered when someone writes about a) a woman in the ‘40s experimenting with her sexuality and b) her crippling anxiety/paranoia, I just felt comfortable and enthralled with this novella. She felt like one of those characters you could relate to, so long as you’re female, semi-neurotic and like the idea of flouting societal norms. Oh look- that’s me!

I also find Anais Nin pretty inspiring. As a woman writer who knows how to utilise poetic language, create poignant and original characters, write about relationships and most importantly, write sex, she is the kind of person I aspire to emulate. Especially with the writing sex thing. Although I don’t intend to write erotic novels, I intend to write erotic scenes in my novels, and I think we can garner a lot from the way in which Nin delicately broaches the subject. Plus as a human being, Nin lives the dream, as in she could hold her own next to the no-holds-barred smutty smut smut of Henry Miller. She could flirt with the guy and have an affair with him and really not give a damn. Why do I envy that? Because I think Henry Miller is a hottie! And because this is female sexuality! Feminine interpretations of sex are rare in literature and free-wheeling young characters/women in real life are underrepresented and often dismissed.

Sabina, the protagonist, is caught between personal preference and social norms. She still feels guilt for her extramarital relations and is incredibly dependent on her husband Alan. We are invited to understand and sympathise with her confusion, her experimentation and her anxiety. She is an actress in the truest sense of the word, forever playing a role, a character and struggling to reconcile her many fluid identities. Every simile, every description of place and most importantly every person adds to a sensual tapestry and our understanding of Sabina and of Nin herself. The postmodern fragmented self is given form here. It is beautiful and poignant: an important work for women and writers everywhere.

Yes. This book will stay with you, urging you to create more, to explore, experiment, to be a better writer! And it’s an exemplar for how to write sex. I loved it, so maybe you will too.

‘You are like a person who consumes herself in love and giving and does not know the miracles that are born of this.’