Category: Miscellaneous

Monks of Mellonwah Are Becoming Addictive

Take a great big cooking pot; put in some experimental Incubus, a pinch of epic theatricality from Muse, and spice it up with Red Hot Chili Peppers. Leave to simmer under the baking Australian sun and what do you get? Monks of Mellonwah have this stew coursing through their veins but still manage to be original.

This alt-rock/indie band from Sydney (Vikram Kaushik – vocals, Joe de la Hoyde – backing vocals/guitar, John de la Hoyde – bass and Josh Baissari – drums) has been together since October, 2009, and they are as tight as the proverbial drum. They’re going from strength to strength having gained lots of airplay and have also developed a fan base from their national and international tours. Plans for 2014 tours in America and Europe will promote their latest offering, which is their debut full-length album, Turn the People. A&R Worldwide signed the band, and they can certainly hold their own with the likes of stable mates, Muse and Coldplay.

Turn the People has actually been part released, teasing and drip- feeding fans with tantalising selections. Volume 1, released in June, 2013, is titled Ghost Stories. This was followed up in October, 2013 with the second volume, titled Afraid to Die. Volume 3, with the title, Pulse is scheduled for release in March, 2014, along with the album in its entirety. Having already heard (and reviewed) Volume 2 – Afraid to Die – I’m familiar with the four songs on that EP that appear on the new release, namely title track Afraid to Die, Downfall, Alive For a Minute and I Belong to You. My earlier review of the first three tracks reflected my great enthusiasm for the music but inability to connect to the lyrics. However, the powerful ballad, I Belong to You blows me away, always threatening to make me cry.

As for the remaining tracks on this new album, the opener, Ghost Stories – Intro is 57 seconds of a strange, otherworldly instrumental. This is followed by Ghost Stories, an epic drama with inventive, unnerving and menacing lyrics. You can feel the kick of Kiedis and Co. on the aggressive rock of Vanity and the gentler Pulse, which also has some gorgeous harmonising.  Tear Your Hate Apart has exceptional vocals and dark lyrics.

A frenetic outpouring puts you within those “hallowed walls” in Escaping Alcatraz. Sailing Stones rocks along, with a surprising Arabian Nights-like instrumental break.  The track, Turn the People has great imagery and ends with soaring guitars.  Sky And The Dark Night – Part 2 – Control, as the title implies, is part two of an earlier release – more great imagery and guitar virtuosity.

Superb production, arrangements and musicianship are in evidence throughout. Lyrically, the simpler and more direct ones work better for me. When they rock, they rock hard; when they go the electronic route – it’s inventive, and vocalist, Vikram Kaushik has the emotional weight to take you with him to some sublime places. The cover art indicates this is going to be experimental and outside the norm, but what I like about this band is you never know what’s coming next.

Turn the People is an emotional rollercoaster – the kind of album where you’ll hear something new with each play. This band is really getting under my skin.

Soundcloud (https://soundcloud.com/monksofmellonwah/sets/turn-the-people) 

 

D.I.Y – Insert Sanity Here

 

 

Congratulations, you are now the proud owner of one of the most sophisticated piece of equipment known to man, please unpack carefully.

Sanity is generally a given for most of us; in fact unless your parents are direct blood relatives or the midwife that delivered you preferred to opt for a crowbar when extracting you, you should possess at least some realm of sanity.

But what I often mused on was “So what drives a man insane?” Well obviously you have: repressed childhood, abusive family and such like, which create people like Fred West; it’s an egg timer effect, it trickles away and you’re medically insane.

But that wasn’t what I was musing on, what I was musing on was the notion of why a person of reasonable social stature would go from well-mannered work colleague and friendly smiling neighbour one day and then transform to assault rifle wielding madman that wants to take out as many people as possible before turning the gun on himself the next day.

I have that answer.

D.I.Y . . . the mother of all emotional dispositions that the human mind can cope with.

Regardless of the job at hand, I would rather try my hand at D.I.Y and repairs on my household than pay someone else to do it properly. In fact unless my house is a burning mass or a Boeing 747 has ploughed through the neighbourhood I will generally be found trying my hand at doing the work myself before admitting defeat. I have, however, had some proud D.I.Y moments; I beamed with pride at my laminate floor laying skills, or at least I did until I read that even that fat retard’o Russell Grant can do it.

I even once tiled my bathroom, sure it’s still not entirely finished (three years later) and some of the tiles form ramps which would be useful if you could defy the laws of gravity on a motorbike, but hey, I did it with my own bare hands damn it.
Like most men (and dyke woman) I own power tools. Ok, unlike most men I go for the cheap alternative over the expensive models. I was quietly confident that my Homebase own brand 8 Volt battery powered drill would make mincemeat of any material including diamond.

So putting a roller-blind up was merely child’s play . . . right?

With a childlike enthusiasm and a song in my heart I took to what should have been a relatively simplistic task for even the most ham handed person. So after some basic preparation such as using my fingers to measure the distances out and a few test holes drilled; I was well and truly on my way to enjoying the thrill of new blinds, this clearly was to be a moment in my life to be proud of.

Until of course I encountered the lintel.

For those that don’t know, a lintel is a basically a load bearing chunk of metal that stops your house collapsing onto your beaming head after you open the window to breath in the morning air and wave to your elderly neighbours who are having angry sex in their greenhouse.
I have encountered lintels before, and unless you have the kind of hardware only available to James Bond villains then you’re going to struggle eternally when trying to drill a hole into it.

But of course with alpha male determination I switched my cheapo drill to hammer mode and my reasoning to “primate” and applied a pressure that was almost hernia causing, such was my ambition to get through the metal bastard.

As with all things in life I don’t see the point in spending decent money on tools, food, medicines et cetera, but surely a drill-bit only comes in one variety right? No. Apparently my Argos made drill-bits have the mining qualities of Daniel Day Lewis in ‘My Left Foot’, so what happened when I tried to drill through the lintel should have been expected.

With the hole drilled approximately an inch deep you can only imagine what happened when the shitty Argos drill-bit met construction grade metal . . .
The drill-bit flexed and eventually bent itself into an L-shape, thus gutting the wall as opposed to drilling it. Within a few short seconds I resembled a 9/11 escapee as the plaster broke away in the same manner you’d expect if I had taken a shotgun to it.

Never wanting to admit that it was my fault I took to blaming the wife with a scream of “Why do you always buy such cheap shit?” I was of course blaming the prone roller-blind that lay inanimately on the floor and not my ham-handed self.
By the time I had managed to get the blinds up I was covered in plaster dust and rage; it looked as if I had emerged from a coalmine, when in fact I had only drilled eight holes. A thick spittle had formed into the corners of my mouth and the wife had pretty much packed her things into a travel case. It was at this point I quietly reflected at my previous D.I.Y attempts.

The bird table that strikes fear into the heart of small children and has killed more birds than actually providing a well-deserved pit-stop for our avian friends.

The three legged table I once made, admittedly I ran out of wood, but I thought it was quite jaunty, but you couldn’t sneeze/talk/look at the thing without fear of a catastrophic collapse.

The loft ladder that is such a fucking liability that I often ask the wife to open it whilst I watch with nervous anticipation from behind a Perspex screen whilst also wearing a crash helmet and having 999 on speed-dial.

The skirting board that juts out at a seriously dangerous angle like a crude medieval ankle breaking device.

The simple repairs to my previous shed (R.I.P) that resulted in the windows suddenly being blocked out with liberated pallets and the door opening only enough to slide one hand through.

Anything related to D.I.Y I will always attempt before admitting defeat but I feel I should look back upon these rambling notes before I take on any more homely tasks.

Insanity . . . insert drill here.

Football – Likes and Dislikes!

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I love football. I love the rituals. It’s a dance. It’s geometry and physics and sometimes it’s guts and glory. At its best, it is poetry in motion. I have watched football all my life. Whatever is wrong with the modern game and there is a lot that is wrong, one can’t blame it on the game. It is, after all, people that spoil things, not the sport itself. For me, football has always been the Beautiful Game and it always will be. As for the other rubbish – well, it breaks my heart.

What I Like

Going to Live Games

Saturday is different. Saturday is special. There is the thrill of anticipation. Walking into the ground is like no other feeling. It’s a cathedral. It’s a theatre of dreams.

Sweet Georgie

His image adorned my bedroom wall. He made a lot of other players look like they were still in the 1950s. He was gorgeous. His balance and his ability to go past countless players was a joy to behold. I still miss him.

Glorious Pele

At 17 years old, the Brazilian genius was hoisted on his team-mates’ shoulders, having scored two goals in the 1958 final to clinch Brazil’s first World Cup victory. Scoring unbelievable goals throughout his career, he was a great ambassador for the game. Unfortunately, he was targeted in the 1966 World Cup campaign and literally kicked off the field against Portugal.

Bicycle Kick Goals

When a bicycle kick connects with the ball, it’s a triumph of spatial awareness and timing. When it’s a bicycle kick goal, the wow factor doesn’t get any more wow, as recently exemplified by Zlatan Ibrahimovic’s goal for Sweden against England from 30 yards.

Good Chanting

Good-natured banter gets the atmosphere going. It’s part of the game, along with pie and peas at half time and contributes to the local mythology of clubs. Each generation re-invents their own traditions.

What I Don’t Like

Tuneless National Anthems

National anthems (with the possible exception of the French one and the American one) are completely devoid of a decent tune. How many of these dirges have we sat through. Players half-heartedly mumble along with these apologies for an anthem, without a discernible melody.

Are You Blind, Ref?

Dissent. Aggressively going after the referee / assistant referees. Groups of players surrounding the referee to make their case. We see it every week. It’s bullying in the workplace and we shouldn’t stand for it.

How Far Can I Spit?

Really? Do you have to? Can you not carry a ‘kerchief embroidered with your initials in the corner and gob into it, discreetly?

Going for Broke

Why are clubs allowed to get into millions of pounds of debt? And why do they? A major factor is the wage bill for the squad. Let’s not forget that players in the lower leagues are not millionaires. So, let’s look at the clubs in the higher echelons. Working class fans struggle to afford tickets for a game and the superstars are bathing in champagne. I’m not recommending going back to the days of retired players facing dire straits and having to sell their medals and players’ incomes should reflect a career’s short span – up to a point. The minimum wage was a good idea, but so is a wage cap. It’s gotten out of hand.

Twits on Twitter

Players making crass remarks and comments on social media is getting out of hand too. At least they weren’t doing any harm when they just played golf on their time off.

Dive, Dive, Dive

This is my pet peeve when it comes to actual play. It’s endemic. And you can’t blame referees for getting it wrong sometimes. If the governing bodies and managers wanted to wipe it out, they could do. School kids copy this behaviour and it moves down the generations. Some media pundits give it tacit approval. It’s cheating. And it’s ruining the game.

On the Move

Nobody – not players and not managers – stays with a team anymore or hardly ever. It’s difficult to identify with certain players who keep on moving and it takes away the identity of clubs.

Sorry, We’ve Got Replica Shirts To Sell

The FA Cup is real glory stuff. All footie fans know this. I was disgusted when Manchester United didn’t defend their trophy in 2000, instead competing in some World Club Cup nonsense in Brazil. Was this a football decision? Of course not. It’s called ‘spreading the brand’. Yes, football is a brand now. Just like coca-cola.

Wembley Non-finals

Wembley is for internationals and club finals. FINALS. It’s the national stadium and having semi-finals played there takes away the special nature of finals.

How Many Mascots Do They Need?

When one little boy or girl walked out with the team, it meant something. Now, there is one for each player. That’s a lot of mascots.

Bad Chanting – Hatred, Racism and Homophobia

Chanting that Liverpool fans are always complaining, post-Hillsborough. Chanting anti-Semitic chants at Tottenham fans. The list could go on. Whether it’s one person (on or off the field) or a crowd, it is vile.

Not Having Goal Line Technology

Why don’t we?

So, what are your likes and dislikes? You don’t need to be a football fan to join in. Bring it on!

Christmas – Likes and Dislikes!


What I Don’t Like

Carol singers who only sing a verse and a half and then start banging on the door to demand money.

People who only go to church, once a year, at Christmastime because “the church looks so nice at this time of year”.

Finding myself in a supermarket on Christmas Eve, getting squeezed in the crammed aisles and having to pass jars of cranberry sauce down the line of stressed out shoppers.

Being forced to wear a paper hat.

Someone asking for the one drink I forgot to get in.

Not one decent film on TV that I haven’t seen before.

Office parties. Poor food and poor conversation; so much forced jollity and no one wants to be there.

People who shake presents vigorously, as if that will make them give up their secrets.

Men who only cook once a year, on Christmas Day and think they deserve a medal.

Running out of room in the fridge.


What I Like

Playing with Lego / trains / shiny red fire trucks with small children who don’t mind me playing with them.

The smell of a real Christmas tree.

Lying on the sofa munching mince mobile casino pies and drinking mulled wine in front of an open fire.

Watching someone else do heaps of washing up after Christmas dinner.

Hearing The Pogues on the radio and their Christmas classic, Fairytale of New York, knowing that lots of people have never bothered to actually listen to the lyrics.

Listening to Christmas carols (even though I’m an atheist and, of course, I don’t join in).

Bread sauce (okay; that’s a weird one).

Watching someone’s kid play with the box after opening a very expensive toy.

Christmas pudding and custard (or rum sauce or brandy sauce).

Santa

Jesus (even though I’m an atheist – he was pretty cool).

Reading about the World War I Christmas truce when both sides dropped their guns and played football on Christmas Day.

Woolly jumpers with reindeer on, or snowflakes or Santa.

Eating up Christmas leftovers for an entire week (this means minimal cooking required).

So, what do you like / dislike about Christmas? Come on, let’s start a national debate!

Podcasts – An Alternative To Bad TV

Rightly or wrongly, I was rather quick to blame a recent spell of forgetfulness on an assumed wasting away of what Hercule Poirot would call my “little grey cells”. I suspected immediately it was partly influenced by our current evening television scheduling for in the main, prime-time TV being what it is (or rather what it has become), I felt certain it was having an adverse effect on my cognitive abilities. Today’s frightful concoction of reality shows and soap operas all blended together within a barrage of overtly annoying advertisements meant that while watching TV, my brain was completely surplus to requirements. Yes, I needed my eyes in order to see the characters on the screen and my ears to hear the steady stream of flapdoodle emanating from their mouths, but my brain? Not needed at all. So rather than forcing my precious cerebral matter into temporary dormancy for a few hours every evening as I sit glued to my TV, why don’t I let it go out for a walk by itself, around the park or along the seafront perhaps? At least it’d be getting some exercise.

Obviously this wasn’t a viable possibility but nevertheless, drawing a line firmly in the sand, or in this case, the living room carpet, I decided to try a little experiment and to abstain from regular evening viewing for as long as I could. And to help me achieve this incredibly far-reaching goal, I finally took up the advice given to me about a year ago by a friend who commented that I must surely get tired of listening to the same music on my iPod day in day out and why didn’t I listen to a podcast instead? At the time, I had no idea what a podcast was but having delved and explored, I became enlightened and learned that a podcast is simply a digital episode of a programme, any programme, be it old or current radio broadcasts or a series of discussions or informative dialogues from anyone who wants to share something with the rest of us. And six months on, I’ve become a rather avid podcaster, or is a podcaster the person who records a podcast? Perhaps I’m a podcastee then. I don’t quite know. Oh dear, this terrible withering of my brain! Oh, beware all you who sit in front of your HD TV flat-screens from dawn ’til dusk, beware the degradation of your cerebral cortexes. Anyway, I’ve become an avid listener of podcasts and I’m feeling rather confident that the atrophy of my encephalon has reduced considerably, nay perhaps even reversed such has been the steady curve of my learning.

I’m truly astonished at the amazing selection of listening material available online and I virtually guarantee that if you can think of a subject, any subject at all that has ever been discussed by human beings since they stopped their cave-painting in favour of a civilised confabulation around the evening fire, it’s highly likely there’s a podcast covering it. Politics, philosophy, music, current affairs, education, sports, science, cooking, entertainment, it’s all there and the best part is, it’s all free!

My personal favourites at the moment are found in the history category. For some reason, I can’t learn enough about the past. Perhaps it’s because I’m getting old and as my future gets shorter its significance lessens and so I find greater comfort in looking back, who knows, but I’m thoroughly enjoying learning all about the Second World War in one particular podcast, the history of England in another and an extremely entertaining and interesting selection of historical topics (usually people and events) from around the world in another. Compared to the (mostly) colourless and irksome voices from the television, these podcasters (note to self: investigate to see whether that is the correct noun) with their great passions for their subjects are inspired listening and I’m seriously considering putting the TV on eBay.

But won’t you miss the dramas and detective shows? I hear you ask. Not at all, I reply and I’ll tell you why. Because among these great online libraries of digital recordings can be found the types of show of which you speak. And to mention just two of my favourites – The Adventures of Philip Marlowe and Richard Diamond, Private Detective – both radio detective dramas from the 1940s and ’50s and both an absolute thrill. You can find all manner of others too if you look, Sherlock Holmes and Sam Spade among them as well as westerns like the Long Ranger and Gunsmoke.

I find it immensely rewarding listening to thespians of fine vocal ability acting out these stories while unseen studio hands create precise sound effects to bring life to their make-believe scenarios; their efforts really do install perfectly vivid images in my mind, the way that good story-telling should. It’s interesting too to listen to these old shows and to remember that the past generations who had nothing more to bring entertainment into their homes than the modest radio, a Bakelite tabletop set perhaps, would have considered them compulsory listening as they sat around comfortably beside the hearth and tuned in for the weekly instalment of their favourite characters. It doesn’t take much for me to picture a gentleman of similar age sitting comfortably by the fireside, slippers warming his toes and pipe smoke yellowing his moustache and Brylcreemed hair.

Another added bonus to this form of programming is that you don’t have to be sedentary all evening to enjoy it which means you can put the kettle on or get the washing in whenever you so desire, not at the prescribed time dictated by an ad break. If you are like me and are partial to a gentle stroll in fair weather then your podcast can engage or amuse you as you wander which is to my mind, making very good use of time. Now whilst I am not opining that all TV is hopeless – certain well-produced dramas are well worth sitting down to as are numerous documentaries and wildlife programmes – I am saying that I’ve realised (hopefully just in time for my cerebrum) that it’s far too easy to simply sit in front of the “box” all evening and to let the controllers of our national broadcast stations fill our minds with all sorts of intelligence sapping nonsense.

Maybe now I’ll even join the ranks of those listeners dedicated to The Archers.