In eight days’ time (Sunday 30 October 2016), Overheard Productions is closing its doors OR it might be transitioning into something similar only different.
Yeah, I’d put money on the latter!
Hold on. 30/10/2016 = 13 = 4 = death. Strangely appropriate in one way, but a bit final given my plans! Meh, that numbers game is like a horoscope to me. Interesting for shizs and giggles, but not to be taken overly serious.
[Just look over there while I throw some salt over my left shoulder and turn around three times.]
Over the next eight days, I’m going to (as time permits) resurrect some old interviews and sound files. I’m paying these days for unlimited Soundcloud space, so I might as well make use of it.
This is one that I strangely never attached to a WordPress document, which is very weird since it’s one of my favourites with one of my all-time favourite on air/screen people.
When the Spicks and Specks offered me a choice of Alan Brough or Myf to interview, I did think that Alan would be a fascinating man to speak with given his encyclopaedic knowledge of music and his brilliantly dry and funny wit.
I was like a cat on a hot tin roof, though not as alley cat-like as my daughter figured (as mentioned in the interview).
Myf is currently presenting the lunch show (11am to 2pm ADST) on Double J radio (digital radio, online and Channel 200 on Free To Air television). Though at the time of writing (Saturday 22 October 2016), I believe she may still be overseas and the chair is being skillfully warmed by the aforementioned Alan Brough.
No, that must have been a pack of lies, as my late mother would say. Looks like she’s back!
This is a common occurrence, that thing what just happened here about half an hour ago.
After a fairly rugged day, I was choosing to turn off the brain – the analytical, always-thinking, always-connecting, always spotting opportunities or potential brain.
With a remote control device, nay, two remote control devices in hand/s: terrestrial AND satellite television, and the owner had gone to bed with her laptop and dog, so the televisual airwaves and receiving flat-screen monitoring thing were mine, all mine.
And then I happened to look at social media and there it was: a friend was sharing some banal meme about cats or food or hovercraft or I honestly cannot remember what it was. And he was starting into a long line of banter on the same topic.
There’s nothing wrong with that. I do it meself. At some great length.
After I’ve spent hours and hours at all hours of the night and day, day and night, pushing other people’s barrows using my own peculiar mad skillz, for other people, pretty much 99.36% of the time pro bono, the other 0.64% for a contra deal (no cash changes hands).
One thing that I sometimes, often times, ask in return is that the recipient of such largesse (albeit in a skills transfer sense) does is to just share some stuff that isn’t about them.
We do love the introverted creative artist. Deeply. And I have a whole article to share (probably fecking sooner than later… my dictionary declares ‘fecking’ a word – hooray!) soon on introversion and extroversion from my very much layman’s perspective.
But here is the root cause of a lot of my frustration dealing with musicians and artists GENERALLY as I have done for these past eight years and… well, let’s actually say 11.5 years: you shit me to tears at times!
Ask a direct question and you get your motives questioned.
Ask them to perform a task and everything but will be achieved. I have a classic example here, but it would be too pointed… wait a minute, they don’t read my stuff. Let ‘er rip.
No, they do, actually, so let’s keep that one for the book. Released in 2017 through that publisher you may have heard about before but may not.
Make a simple statement and just watch the assumptions, and false conclusions, and non sequiturs that start sprouting up like bamboo.
Here’s a recent salient example. An American muso shared with a muso friend on Facebook a picture of a rain-spattered window with the simple caption: “The devil’s beating his wife again”.
I pointed out mildly to start with that this was pretty offensive, and on the first mild challenge, I countered that it was a ‘fucking dick act’ and should never have seen the light of day.
By the time the originator had chimed in to the discussion, between the two I’d had at least three accusations aimed at me that were all patently false: they were putting words into my mouth. I parried and objected.
The last time I went back to counter their ripostes, I’d either been blocked by the first guy or the post had been deleted. I’m ok with either or both.
If you’re casual enough about domestic violence to use it in a laconic reference to the weather, get out of my face, postcode and hemisphere. Oh, they already got the last one sorted. Sweet, but stay off my news feed too, Chuckles.
But back to the apathy thing.
I won’t go into it all again here, but the only way for independent artists to survive if they’re going to use social media as a tool, crutch, aid, whatever is to take a peak outside their own little world and start sharing others’ stuff.
It’s so crashingly, stupefyingly simple and it takes less time than it does to make one banal multi-paragraph comment on your mate’s meme he pinched off The Chive.
But tonight when I saw this muso starting to get in to some massive, trivial piece of fluff, I mused that I had emailled him directly and almost begged him to just share this other touring person’s post so that they too might live. And eat. And etc.
Ignored. But you’ve got to see this cat juggle an apple, a copy of Mein Kampf, and a dildo.
I’ve had it. I’m up! I’m dry! Spent!
I’m a communicator, but I cannot communicate with influence sufficiently to sell this message, so I’m going to stop trying.
Overheard Productions is closing down on Sunday 30 October 2016 at 18:36, and that is the second time it’s moved, but I’m fairly sure it’s the last time.
Why? Because that night I will be admiring the last rays of light from a rural property on the north-west outskirts of Brisbanalia, with another day or maybe two of guaranteed roof over my headness before I move on to right now I’m really not sure.
But at that time, a great weight will have lifted off my shoulders, because at that point I shall step out of the metaphorical phone box, allowing my long cape to flap in the breeze and I shall bellow unto the pool, spa, and surrounding properties:
“I’m just a gal who CAN say, ‘NO!’ now!”
Forza last Sunday in October.
Overheard Productions – but not for very much longer
Currently skulking in the Moreton Bay region but moving south to the Gold Coast on the morning tides and prevailing northerly winds
Earlier this week, we announced a very short closing down sale to last until 18:36 AEST (Gold Coast, Australia) which meant an elapsed time of about four and a half days.
Sadly, this week has been high-JACKed by a bit of illness, some frustrating global and national organisations behaving very badly, and just two or three individuals in my worlds acting like petulant pre-school children.
Actually, that’s an unfair comparison: I know many very mature pre-schoolers.
We’ll have a bit more to say about the reasons for this decision at the end of Sunday 23 October, coming as it does only about six weeks before the 13th anniversary of the business starting in Canberra, Australian Capital Territory.
And no, that’s nothing to do with the fear of reaching 13. Numbers for us are like horoscopes: they’re a bit of harmless fun, but not to be taken seriously. Take 50, for example. (Everyone thinks I’m in my forties!)
But for now, let’s just say that there are new chapters to be written, projects to put in place without distractions, and maybe a few legacy barnacles collected along the way that we’ll happily scrape off the hull as we shut the doors.
There will also be some thanks and acknowledgements because it’s been quite a ride. When I started the business, bursting out of a small business forum like a man possessed, I was a cashed-up (sort of, actually, no not really but I was on a good salary) salaried worker, and had a stable apartment that I was renting in inner Belconnen (across the road from the Gull Service Station).
Today, I literally have no idea where I will be come 18:36 on Sunday 23 October 2016.
I could have an educated guess which state I’ll be in (dazed and confused), but that’s it. And as for salary now, well, let’s just say I’m looking forward to getting a new business going in the not-too distant, funded under the NEIS scheme. That entity is a bit of a mystery as I still have a business and financial plan to develop, and grants to finalise.
For now, let’s just say the next eight (lucky 8) days shall be diverse, unpredictable, challenging, fun, and a lot of hard yakka while I sweep up the floors and clear out the cupboards. Yes, those were metaphors!
Come with? It might be fun!
Overheard Productions (but not for very much longer)
Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia (until Monday morning)
Admittedly, this photo is a few years old now. So it’s even better to stick it here as a flag in the soil now, the night before this [was] all to kick off.
Because tomorrow it starts. [It didn’t.]
Good luck to all who sail in her. RESET – SATURDAY 06:36
So we got to 36 words last night. I’d been up since 1am that day, with only a one hour nana nap.
When it got to late in the evening, only one Guinness at the Bowlo, one Bulmers at the Surf Club, and a night cap back home, I’d spoken with 36 people in three different languages – four if you count gibberish – had published one interview, and was valiantly trying to line up six more.
But this time yestetday I saw a sign.
It’s why I’ll be heading south soon, and by soon I mean, today.
And there I will start my journey.
I actually used that word. The j word. It’s in my top ten swear jar words.
SLAP! Ouch!! Testicles were not designed for rough treatment unless that’s your thing in which case fill your boots.
In more recent times, Karen Green has been very active on Twitter, sharing thoughts, links and events about social justice. It was this interest that led to a chain of events that saw her enter a portrait of Kon Karapanagiotidis of the Melbourne-based Asylum Seekers Resource Centre in the 2016 Archibald Prize.
Kon Karapanagiotidis by Karen Green. Entry in 2016 Archibald Prize. Reprinted with kind permission of Karen Green.Continue reading →
This is the audio file wrapped up in a bit of Overheard FM nonsense. The full written version will be here on Monday 17 October 2016 at midday AEST, 10pm Sunday Kentucky, US and 3am Monday UK time.
To tell the story of Harry Manx would take several lifetimes, and hopefully a progression of life-forms over those lives to tell the story, because the story is so mesmerising and complex that we would not be very present and in the moment of most of those lives and that could put the telling of the tale at risk as we would not be making gradual and continuous improvement as…
I believe the expression you’re looking for is, “Ain’t nobody got time for dat!”
Harry Manx has already begun his 2016 Australian tour which will take him from Sydney down to Victoria (where he is on stage tonight, Friday 23 September in Frankston) then around to Queensland, South Australia, Perth and up to Broome and Darwin, ending in the beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, I-may-be-a-little-hereditarily-biased New South Wales locales of Katoomba.
Ah, Katoomba. If there’s a more intimate, special venue than Clarendon Guest House, I want it stuffed, mounted, and hung above my fireplace – or I at least want an invite to your venue that can safely kick the Clarendon into a cocked hat. Or any poultry millinery for that matter.
So it’s a very eclectic path Harry treads, and look, I’d draw you a picture if I had a free hand, but imagine a much-twisted paper clip that’s been sitting on your desk all day on a slow Friday when you’ve been watching the clock since 9:36am – now you’re in the ballpark.
OR picture a moose that somehow wandered into your yard, found your sippin’ liquor in the shed, and is now making a bedraggled, loquacious and somewhat winding stagger back to the forest by a circuitous route, two-thirds of it sideways. You got it! Continue reading →
I’ve said it before and will keep saying it: you just cannot make this shit up!
Three days after the Friday night police incident where a whole passenger train was detained for ten minutes while members of the QPS swarmed around the Lota station, and after many phone calls, I’m still in the dark.
I’ll give you the Wednesday updates later, but for now, here is where Ankerss Ahrr-Whey tracks down a neighbour of mine to find out what the heck is going on.
Garry briefs us for a short while until his meal starts to go cold and his accent ships off from north England to…. we’re not quite sure where.
And for those of you who saw the teaser, you know want some more of this:
(A little tip for amateur video-ers, Youtubers: if you’re recording a live performance, be sure to include even just a little of the applause at the end. Otherwise, it’s a bit like a door slamming shut in your face when you stop talking with a friend. I was going to go with a butt cheeks analogy; aren’t you glad I didn’t?)
And now that we’ve gone there, let’s go here. Muggins is there, front and centre at about 0:10. A time of my life when song just took me somewhere I’d never been before.