Anyhooo oh reader, keep a look out for the Hot Palms, keep em bookmarked next to your Advaita Vedanta index and yer Craigslist and yer Spacedaily.com..
Next up was The Bleach Boys. Lo and behold we were duped - this act was neither ensemble nor boy-band. The Bleach Boys was one Maya Kjellstrand, a solo sound artist and her work transported me back home to None Gallery or Lines of Flight (which is on as we speak - no longer a Dunedin based event), immersive, ever-so-slightly sci-fi, the sonic strains and drones that you tap into as you oscillate b'tween sleep and thee bill/fee/fine/rent-burdened waking-state(oh sleep! for those few hours, the bills have been payed in full), a wonder to behold. Sound-Art is pure joy in my book. Kjellstrand's performance was a demonstration, live treating and aesthetic tampering with pre-prepared sounds, she journeyed into tactile production-line schtick with manual switching of cassettes, the effect reminiscient of how computers in the 1950s were operated. Maya has a track on the fabulous 'Ladyz in Noyz Australia' album, hosted on bandcamp. Check it oot.
And then Crude appears, an experimental act with a goofy performative bent, I attempt to inject humour and a kind of corny kiwi compere-ship into the line-up, wack the old dick smith mp3 player into the amp and wail over such hits as 'Summer Part One' and 'Grandmother' and 'Hey Hey Commando' . All in all this time the Crude attack works and the small crowd is entertained for a bit. Reviewing your own gig. Its a uroboric feat. Its self-indulgence gone awry. It needs to be done. Grey on grey. Like a rhinestone cowboy. Melbourne Fringe. Oh yeah, i need a freaking haircut. The yoga of objectivity. Nascent nascent nascent. Umbilical. ottos first flat. Pain and class. Meditate. vEDANTA pANCHADASI