Karaoke Call

BY AMBER EASBY

I can barely hold a tune and rarely know the words to even my favourite songs. Maybe that is why I love karaoke so much.

Until last night, I hadn’t karaoked in Auckland before. We tried Coherent, having heard about Sally’s killer rendition of Nothing Compares 2 U there a couple weeks back. We were hit with a $20 door charge. It was probably our casual attire (I had worn the same outfit for basketball) so we decided to try our luck elsewhere.

We settled on the old Paradise bar – I am not even sure what it is called now. The host was turning away customers and the place was empty. He gave us a room when we persisted but was reluctant to serve drinks. He said he was working until 8am but they were only open until three. Shady.

The selection was limited and the songbooks, difficult to navigate. It didn’t matter though. We were in a safe place, free of judgment and wait-time for the mic. One hour and $50 later, we had sung nearly twenty songs.

Highlights: Henry’s Lose Yourself, Helen’s Let's Dance and Gemma’s Say My Name. I highly recommend Lovefool as a fun and easy song to sing, especially if you need to redeem yourself after a harder-than-you-thought classic. Gemma’s rendering of Don’t Stop Me Now captured the overall spirit of the night. The finale was a heartwarming group effort: California Dreaming.

I am still feeling the Love Buzz from our efforts and am dying to karaoke again soon. Any recommendations for a new venue?



***

BDO

BY AMBER EASBY

We made it to the stadium in good time. We arrived a little before 4pm, having missed the traffic and spent $20 on a car park close to the front gate. The security was more relaxed than I remembered – a quick glance in the bag, no physical pat down. As a teen, I hid a cask of wine in my underwear to avoid confiscation. My brother once went to the grounds a week in advance to bury a bag of weed and a bottle of Jack Daniels. This time, I was happy to make it through with my water bottle.

Dizzee Rascal had just started in the Boiler Room. The tent was packed and like stepping into a steamy shower of sweat. For the first time, those bikinis and bare chests made sense to me. I was expecting to see a skinny little kid but Dizzee was totally buff! It was a fun show and overall, the best sounding performance of the day.

We queued for the next 45minutes for the Immortals Lounge. It was only worth the wait for the use of clean, flushing toilets. You could also drink beer from a bottle. I tried Steinlager Pure for the first time and was disappointed. Sure – it’s natural but so is urine.

If I see a band I like at a festival, it usually makes me wish I were seeing them at their own (indoor) show. This was particularly true of Arcade Fire. The barricading of the main stage floor made it impossible to see or hear anything, unless you were the die-hard Rage Against the Machine fans who staked their claim (I am watching a lot of Deadwood) early on. I have seen this system work well overseas but here, it was poorly implemented. Long lines and confused security guards meant the flow of the crowd was heavily restricted. I was stuck on the periphery and might as well have been listening to the radio.

We ditched Arcade Fire to see Battles. They were a little too techy for me but Henry loved them. Maybe it is a dude thing. Gemma and I sat at the back and were still able to hear well. I had hot dogs and chips with the good tomato sauce - delicious! Henry sent me text message that I got four hours later, saying “Believe it or not, this is their hit song."

Determined for a more satisfactory main stage experience, we made our way to Bjork a little early. We caught the end of Shihad, a band that must organise their entire year/career around playing the Big Day Out. We managed to secure a slightly better spot. I stood on my tiptoes for as much as I could for Bjork. The marching band of Icelandic teenagers, the costumes, Bjork’s spidey hands – it was an amazing show. Unfortunately the creep factor was growing in anticipation for ‘Rage’. One guy was yelling, “You suck” throughout. I was stuck behind a loud stoner couple who thought they had lost their weed. If I had been at the movies, I would have ssshed them. When they finally found it (in their pocket), they started to roll a joint. One dude wedged himself between Gemma and me, hoping to catch the joint as it was passed back. Another apologized for pushing in with a slow, inappropriate rub of my arms and a “sorry babe”.

We made our way back to the Boiler Rom for LCD Soundsystem, which was everything you would hope. T O T A L D A N C E P A R T Y. Still, I couldn’t help but worry about the muddy ground ruining my shoes or the young girls wearing t-shirts that said, “I am with the band”. During North American Scum, a sixteen year old pushed me out of the way in excitement and I realised, I no longer have the ability to enjoy the festival for what it is. We skipped The Clean to avoid the traffic and were in bed by midnight.



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Let's All Plunder Vinyl From Real Groovy

BY DAVE TAYLOR

You're probably all well aware of this, but Real Groovy is a national treasure. If Nicholas Cage was a kiwi, he'd star in films about trying to find it.

Unlike record shops in London or New York, the racks are raked over relatively lightly. And the prices are a steal. What you can pick up there for 2 bucks would cost you 20 quid on Berwick Street.

As music becomes easier to obtain and more freely distributed via the interweb, I find myself drawn more and more to vinyl. You want the latest release? You can grab it off the internet and stick it on your ipod along with millions of other people. You want to hear a 1960s album by Peg Leg Sam? Well, more than likely you'll have to come round my house to hear it because I bought the only copy Real Groovy had. It's not been re-released on CD so it's not been digitised and let loose on the planet of sound so you won't be able to pinch it off the 'net.

I encourage any of you with a passion for music to head down there. If you see an album that:

a) has a nice cover
b) is by a band you've not heard of
c) is priced at a dollar

then buy it! You might be buying an undiscovered gem - for a third of the price of a Magnum ice cream.

Since moving to Auckland last year, I've taken pot luck on a lot of dollar albums (and some pricier) from Real Groovy. As a result, I have a big stack of totally shit schmaltzy 70s country albums. But I also have a stack of amazing albums which
I would have been hard pressed to find anywhere else.

The purpose of this monthly column is to share some of the best discoveries with you. I'm aware I'm slightly contradicting my 'you can only get this at my house' argument by digitising these tracks, but there you go.

So for my inaugral column, I've picked out records by 60s pre-teen sensations, The Bantams, great 70s country by Loudon Wainwright and an album about being a mental patient by Don Bowman and Chet Atkins.

Beware the Bantams - The Bantams

These guys look like a 60s version of Hanson - three blond mop topped lads not yet into double figures agewise. They look slightly disturbing, and I was worried about the people at the counter thinking I was a peado when I went to pay for it. But it was worth it.

This track is their version of the classic Suzie Q. It's got an awesome garage rock production and fuzz guitar lick running through it. The boys do their best to sound older than they are and only the yelp in the middle reminds you that their balls haven't dropped yet.

> Download Suzie Q

Attempted Moustache - Loudon Wainwright III

OK, so a little easier to get this on CD. But I got this sucker for a dollar, and it's truly awesome. The cover photo makes me laugh - anyone who's tried and failed to grow some top lip furniture for Movember will feel a little better after looking at it.

This track is a fine ditty about random acts of violence. 'let's burn down McDonalds' sings Loudon 'tomorrow is sunday / there's going to be parades/back at the house/i've got some grenades'.

Loudon is sooo much cooler than his irritating son. Or at least, he was back then.

> Download Clockwork Chanteusse

Fresh from the Funny Farm - Don Bowman

On this record, there's Chet Atkins' impeccable country picking (knowingly lampooned on 'world's worst guitar picker'), some nice kitschy country close harmonies and Don Bowman singing about being incarcerated in a mental asylum, in the voice of a southern simpleton.

This track is about writing a letter to his sweet heart from inside the funny farm. 'I'm writing this to you with the blunt end of a spoon' says Don and we all share his pain.

> Download Letter to Ellie Mae

I hope you enjoy the tracks. If you do venture into Real Groovy and take a punt, I'd love to hear about it. Join this blog and add your comments below.

And I do like contemporary music too - read all about it at www.artrocker.com



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My Chemical Romance Vector Arena

BY SRIWHANA SPONG

The 6th of December is predictably dark and miserable. It rains and my feet get wet, which is not a good start. But on the corner of K rd and Pitt street Niki gives me three picture discs: Teenagers, Famous Last Words, and I Don’t Love You, and when I see Stevie dressed in a red and black tuxedo jacket I know it’s going to be the only night in the 07 calendar. I then spend a long but rewarding time drying my shoes and inner soles under the hand dryer in the Carlton Hotel/Club/Arms……who can remember? Its name is as innocuous as its décor.

Downtown the merchandise caravan looks like it has been invaded by a thousand teenagers with their mothers’ eftpos card. There is nothing left, but as Justin points out, ‘that logo makes everything look shit’. Which is true. It is pretty desolate outside the arena, but I am beginning to realise that I might be a late twenties minority. Justin buys beer, and gets ID’ed. The guy even checks the back of his drivers license??? I always love entering the Vector Arena, emerging into that warm blackness latent with expectation. Our seats are entry D, door 2, row P, seats 16 and 17. In front of me is a mini black parade of 12 year olds in tour t-shirts. The stand out, and my envy, wears a black and gold marching jacket. Someone I met for the first time earlier that night at Gambia Castle has ended up in the seat next to me. I can only conclude that some strange magic is crackling in the air tonight. We are to the side of the stage, and very close. Through my monocular we can read the set list, and Justin and I pass the time by texting my siblings downstairs that Gerard is whispering the song order in my ear backstage.

The lights get cut, and darkness prepares to crawl onto the stage. When the band finally begins its ascent Gerard waits at the bottom of the stairs, his long white fingers clutching the balustrade, head bent. Waiting. The new king of rock theatrics takes his sweet time before ascending to face a dark landscape full of screaming girls. And then a stream of profanities, flames bursting from the stage with a searing heat, fireworks so loud that every time they explode I jump. For a Guy Fawkes baby this feels like the day I was born.

Mama we all go to hell, but tonight it feels like the doors of heaven have split wide apart. Thousands of outstretched palms appear like daisies opening to the sun, and Gerard Way master of the dark and theatrical, snarls, spits and swears on all. High points are everywhere, the graph flatlines against the roof of heaven. Ray Toro gives a guitar solo, and Justin and I are blinded by a shard of light that explodes from his axe. A moment full of so many clichés, it somehow feels like genius. The night is one big anthem. When I don’t Love You grips the Vector Arena in its bitter embrace, thousands of cameras spontaneously puncture the darkness, and Gerard leads his underage parade to the stars, with the mother of all melodies. Cancer, which is surprisingly good live, envelops the arena in a hush so soft you could almost hear the grim reaper drop his scythe. The Black Parade, ‘the Bohemian Rhapsody of our generation’ (Justin), storms to an end with a fall of blistering auburn fireworks that rain down like tears.

MCR weave an hysterical gothic tale, unafraid in the face of a blinding melody, and as consciously over the top as Lisa Minellis’ false eyelashes in Cabaret. For all their blackness, these orchestraters of lyrical doom, are still good catholic boys, and what they inspire is more ethical hedonism than Rimbaudian tabletop antics. Like true showmen they save the best till last. Famous Last Words is a storming, scornful ode to the end of something you hoped might just last forever.



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Rosy Parlane / Sweetcakes : Compact Listen

BY HENRY OLIVER

Rosy Parlane:

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chip/click … chip/chip/click/chip … chip/chip/chi
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krCH/CH … CH … chchch … sh/sh/ch/ krCHHHHHHHHHHHH

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chip/click … chip/chip/click/chip … chip/chip/chip
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krCH/CH … CH … chchch … sh//ch/chip/chip/churp
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

SSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSHHHHHHHH
churp/churp/chip churp/churp/chip churp/churp/chip
SSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSHHHHHHHH
churp/churp/chip churp/churp/chip churp/churp/chip
SSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSHHHHHHHH
churp/churp/chip churp/churp/chip churp/churp/chip


ddddddddddddddddddddddddAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
DDDDDDDDDDDDDDuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
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DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Hussh…

Applause


Sweetcakes:

Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
huhhh
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
Huhh
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
huhhh
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
huhh
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
Beeeeeb
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
Chick Chick/Chick
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
Chick Chick/Chick
Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh…
Chick Chick/Chick

bbbbbbbbbbbbuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrBBBUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
rrrrrrrrrrrrbbbbbbUUUUUUrrrrrrrrrBBBBBBUUUUUURRRRRR
Crash/crash/bang/bang/crash/thud/thud/thud/shh/hhhh
bbbbbbbbbbbbuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrBBBUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbUUUUUUrrrrrrrrrBBBBBBUUUUUURRRRRR
Crash/crash/bang/bang/crassssh/thud/thud/shhh/shhhh
bbbbbbbbbbbbuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrBBBUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbUUUUUUrrrrrrrrrBBBBBBUUUUUURRRRRR
Crash/crash/bang/bang/crash/thud/thud/thud/shh/shhh
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbUUUUUUrrrrrrrrrBBBBBBUUUUUURRRRRR
Crash/crash/bang/bang/crasssh/thud/thud/shhh/shhhhh
bbbbbbbbbbbbuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrBBBUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbUUUUUUrrrrrrrrrBBBBBBUUUUUURRRRRR
Crash/crash/bang/bang/crash/thud/thud/thud/s/shhhhh
bbbbbbbbbbbbuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrBBBUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbUUUUUUrrrrrrrrrBBBBBBUUUUUURRRRRR
Crash/crash/bang/bang/crssssh/thud/thud/shhh/shhhhh
bbbbbbbbbbbbuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrBBBUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbUUUUUUrrrrrrrrrBBBBBBUUUUUURRRRRR
Crash/crash/bang/bang/crash/thud/thud/thud/shhh/shh
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbUUUUUUrrrrrrrrrBBBBBBUUUUUURRRRRR
Crash/crash/bang/bang/crasssh/thud/thud/shhh/shhhhh

Click/Click

Hussh

Applause




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Auckland Chamber Orchestra

BY FIONA CONNOR

Auckland Chamber Orchestra
Summer
Auckland Town Hall on Sunday the 25th at 6pm
(breaking up is hard to do)

Tonight I sat in the first row next to Ben at the Auckland Town Hall
and watched the show. I had seen the poster near K Rd on Saturday and
was impressed by it's cool graphics.

I bought two tickets over the phone for nineteen dollars each. We
were close enough to see sweat beads and eye movements. It was
intense Ben said he could smell grandmas. We were as well lit as the
players I closed my eyes to hear better. It was really beautiful
and we came out better off I think.



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Three Liam Finn Shows and a Baby

BY SALLY CONOR

Before I begin, let me get one thing straight: I am not stalking Liam Finn. The fact that I went to all three of his Auckland shows recently is not testament to any slavish fandom, unlike the fact that I attended both Ryan Adams shows in August, which sprang from my abiding obsession with and slightly scary infatuation with said musician. Don’t get me wrong. I like Liam’s music a lot and I really enjoy his gigs. But I don’t want any of you getting the wrong idea. Having said that, I found myself showing up to all three shows. Mostly coz my friends did. But it turned out to be a very interesting exercise in how live music can be transformed by surroundings, audience and the relative drunkenness of the performers and punters alike.

Thursday 8th November, Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Newton
The only dry show of the three, and boy was the lack noticeable. The audience were all weirdly respectful and quiet. Almost too quiet because in between songs where there is usually the din of conversation and bar-fights and shouting, there fell an expectant silence. As the applause died from the previous song, the audience seemed to collectively say “That was nice, now what are you going to play next? Huh? HUH??!” Enjoyably for us, the result was BANTER. With the musicians also stone-cold sober, the on-stage banter was of varying quality, but most of it was very funny. The best call of the night was when Liam’s tour partner EJ Barnes told him his face “looks like a vagina”. We all cheered and clapped whilst wondering, are you allowed to say ‘vagina’ in church?
The show itself was awesome. The acoustics of the church really did the music justice and when things got noisy and experimental, our enjoyment was enhanced by feelings of delicious guilt brought on by listening to crazy rock ‘n’ roll music in a house of God. When our eyes wandered from the antics of our hosts, the church provided gorgeous architectural eye-candy of jewel-bright stained glass, warm polished wood and pleasing proportions and shapes. And down the front, the cutest baby in the world was running riot clad in little yellow headphones. It was really funny. And all of this was made possible as a result of the gig being held at a church. The family-friendly atmos, lack of mood-altering beverages and beauty of the room really made the music the focus of the night and I left feeling as if I had just worshipped at the altar of sweet riffs and loop-pedals.
(NB Me and my companion for the night enjoyed the evening so much that we resolved to attend an actual service at the church the following Sunday. We showed up but pathetically wussed out in favour of worshipping the divine Coffee and Croissant at Benediction. At least the café had a religious name.)

Thursday 15th November, The King’s Arms Tavern
I think most people have experienced a night at the King’s Arms when it is sold out - shoulder-to-shoulder packed, hot, smelly and often unpleasant. Feeling unwilling to tackle the mosh, my friend and I stayed down the back most of the night which I later regretted as it was probably the finest show of the tour. Liam was in fine voice and at his daring best in terms of pushing the boat out with experimentation. He played an incredibly gnarly drum-fill at one point. EJ was wearing a really beautiful velvet mermaid dress and was forced to sing one of her own songs by Liam which actually provided a really nice change of pace. Everyone sang along to the big numbers, especially ‘Gather To The Chapel’. Are these things possibly due to the fact that everyone was lubricated by alcohol? Probably. I think it is no accident that drugs and alcohol are so indelibly associated with music. They really do seem to facilitate risk-taking and freedom of expression and awesome drum fills. The crowd was a lot noisier than at the church but then the response to the music was also a lot more enthusiastic.
The King’s Arms isn’t the most inspiring of venues but the way it compresses people into a narrow space seems to create a special kind of atmosphere and focus of collective energy which may have something to do with its longevity as a venue. I wish I’d been right up the front in the thick of it.

Saturday 17th November, The Leigh Sawmill Cafe
On arriving, the first thing we heard was that the musicians had all gotten completely wasted in Wellington the night before and hadn’t been to sleep. Support act Dictaphone Blues appeared wearing a scarf around his head which he said was “holding my brains in”. Our expectations for the show dropped a bit. Then we found out that we weren’t allowed to order food so started drinking on empty stomachs which raised our expectations again (hurrah!). I found scotch and soda to be a very agreeable alternative to dinner. One of my favourite things about the Leigh Sawmill is the way people seated upstairs can peer down at the stage from behind the musicians. With the stage surrounded by expectant punters, the room starts to feel a bit like a coliseum (Which way will it go?? Thumbs up?? Or thumbs down??!!). Watching how performers react to scrutiny is always sadistically fun. Tonight, they responded with alacrity. Liam and EJ were definitely a bit quiet on the banter front (which was a shame as they’re so good at it) but otherwise showed no signs of party fatigue on stage, playing a blistering set that included a tremendous Neil Young cover. You know a musician is good when every time he starts a new song, you say to the person beside you ‘oh THIS is my favourite’ which is more or less what I did. But the highlight was the final song, ‘Wide Awake On The Voyage Home’. A beautiful, elegiac sprawling thing that was the perfect send-off and the enthusiastic country crowd sang along and provided thunderous applause.

Three different nights, three different venues, three different levels of inebriation all made for three incredibly varied but similarly awesome musical experiences. I think the church gig was my favourite for the sheer beauty of the building and the way the unusual circumstances produced a really enjoyable variant of the normal rock ‘n’ roll show, what with vagina talk and cute rampant babies and all. When musicians get creative with venues like this it really pays off for everyone involved and with our already dire number of venues for gigs and the rumoured imminent demise of several other key sites, experimentation like this ought to be encouraged, nay, ought to become the norm. Now if only we can find a way to convince the Church that whiskey and soda promotes holiness in heathens…



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Fair Go

BY AMBER EASBY

The Auckland Vinyl Record Collectors Fair took place at the Polish House, Morningside on Saturday November 3rd. The fair ran from 10am to 3pm. Henry and I were driving down McDonald Street at 10.05am, when I saw a fat, bald, middle-age man running to his car with a stash of records. We had arrived.

There was a $2 entry fee into the hall. The doorman asked if we were looking for anything in particular. We answered, hoping he might point out a few sellers. Nothing. He asked how regularly we bought records. We answered and he responded. “Really?” The $2 token was also a raffle ticket. “Make sure you hold onto that. There are some good prizes.”

The Polish House is a small hall but there was a decent amount to look through. I was surprised at how many people there were, though I was only one of three women. I saw a friend flicking through some magazines. “Its all fucking junk. Same shit as last year” he said. I asked what he had looked through. “Nothing. I can’t fucking be bothered.”

Henry and I split up - Henry was on LPs, I was on 45s. My first purchase was a lot of fifteen singles – mostly Motown and Disco, all in good condition - for $20. The seller was eating a sandwich and took a good ten minutes before he noticed me. I later saw him staring into the distance, picking his nose, while another customer waited to pay.

My next purchase was from a nice elderly man. His singles were expensive but when I showed him what I wanted, he cut the price in half. I bought six 45s for $10, including a great Marlene Dietrich E.P and a Dolly Parton/Porter Wagoner (R.I.P) duet.

The proceedings were interrupted by the first, probably last, competition of the day. There was a small stage and the doorman had a microphone. If you guessed the record playing, you won a $5 lunch voucher. Not a single person tried. I could hear my friend calling “turn it off” until the song finally ended.

My third transaction was a mistake. Riding high from my previous scores, I hastily chose some 45s from the stack. I misheard the seller and ended paying twice as much as I wanted. I was too shy to say anything, having just been introduced to the seller by another friend. I am still suffering from post-purchase remorse after spending $20 on three singles I wasn’t even that excited about.

I bought another sixteen singles in my fourth and final acquisition. 1960s Beat, Rock and Pop – all for a buck apiece. Three grumpy men sat behind the table. They were like Statler and Waldorf, the guys who heckle form the balcony in the Muppets. I overheard them critiquing my browsing technique. “At that rate, she is going to be there all day.“ Annoyed, I called for back up. Henry checked the condition of each record as I flicked though more.

I was down $66 but had nearly forty good records to show for it. Henry found five LPs he considered to be a bargain. In true Henry fashion, he spent $40 dollars but saw a $50 return on an HDU album he sold on TradeMe later that day. Maybe we should have stayed for the raffle. GRADE: G+/VG



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