The Make it up Club.. A weekly exploratory . Improvisational non-forms. A forum for VCA's mavericks and rebels to unlearn what they've gone done learned, for outsiders (bums like me) to waltz on in and vomit up lifes pain, a forum for jazzists, spazzists and wack-outs to co-mingle with their own, to render music into secret code, to activate the electricity of the moment, to toss about a meme or two. And read books.
So I ramble on up into that temporary autonomous zone we call the Make it up Club. Oh, that room. Played their before, one of my first gigs since moving to Melbourne was a relatively high profile one - supporting Mick Turner of the Dirty 3 no-less. Now there's genius. First act on that night was
a duo, drums/guitar - Maria Moles and Adam Halliwell. Now there's genius. Gretsch drum kit, the finest of the finest - Maria Moles is a firestorm. I have never before enountered such control - such fire - but cold fire - fast, faster than fast - busy jazz improv like, like yeah, busy busy. Adam Halliwell was able to granulate his sound at will - his arsenal of pedals all neatly arranged, each one crowned with 9v adaptor - his was a scratching, uncomfortable rhythm juxtaposed beside reverberant, spacious sounds. The effect was poignant - a conversation - a dialectic - a drummers flurry'n'racket fleshed out with flailing fish-outta-water gat gack. Audience's nervous system was locked in place. I drank more. 'How does one top that?' I guess it ain't a competition. Or is it?
I drank - nice generous rider might I add. And second was the VCAs Julius Millar. 6 or 7 sharp pieces of guitar angularity. Wack a doo doo fuck me you ugly son-of-a-bitch. This was like a masterclass. 6 pieces, each representing a different aspect of guitar. In all its ugly beauty. A favourite for me was the ultra-granular crunch of 'part 4'. Or was it 'part 5'. By that point my nerves disallowed care. Care (cremation of). Oh what. What? What?? No plugging in of the old backing tracks into the old PA system for me this time, me hearties. 'Twas risk taking behaviour. So any 'cheating' or 'play-back' I was able to fall back on was reduced to an esoteric piece o' sound-piss. A super drone. So a whip out Steven Coes magic shawm and go blaaaat! blaaaaaaaat! blat. Then bang on the tom. A little bit like this old show ---http://vimeo.com/81371817
Not even (owls). All there is is Brahman - but you know it. Oh flipper. Pointless outings, all hardcore in essence, domestic hell awaiting one, nevermore - nevermore. whats the point, Charlie? Glitch it? Make it industrial? Minimal? Critical? Nasty? Dirty? Lazy? Dorky?
A combination of all the above perhaps. But this is hand-to-mouth Melbourne, and we work and we work and we work. And i tell you what, Phelps, try to actually spread the vegimite ON the toast next time would you. Please. Dont paint the walls with vegimite. Ok? If this is NASA - what are all these foreigners doing here? A concerned demeanor? The lab. The lab. Hey corrupt rich fuckers - eat my perenium.