Magnificently Fucked-Up

There are plays, and then there are plays.August: Osage County, showing at Circa Theatre until May 7, is one of the latter. Having wowed audiences from London to Broadway, Tracy Letts’ Pulitzer Prize winning play has finally been given its eagerly anticipated Wellington incarnation.

Set in the oppressive heat of late Oklahoma summer, the play details the story of the Westons, an average family at its most extraordinarily dysfunctional. When the brooding, alcoholic patriarch Beverley (Ray Henwood) mysteriously disappears, the entire family converges under one equally stifling roof. As the details of Beverley’s disappearance unfold, a series of long-held secrets emerge from the woodwork. Thus the floodgates are opened for ensuing truth-torrent and the family’s disturbing realities are revealed through incredible acting and impeccably convincing ensemble work.

Jennifer Ludlam-spectacularly reprising the role that won her great critical acclaim in Auckland-plays Beverley’s wife, Violet. Rendered semi-coherent by her addiction to prescription drugs, the volatile matriarch is brutally truthful and hideously manipulative, yet possesses just enough vulnerability to make her human.
While Michelle Amas as the strong-willed eldest daughter, Barbara, and Victoria University’s own Lauren Gibson as the pot-smoking teenage grand-child were personal favourites, there is not a single weak role in the thirteen-strong cast. Particularly intriguing is the character of Johnna Monevata (Anya Tate-Manning) a Native American housekeeper who acts as an enigmatic observer and pillar of stability amongst the unfolding chaos.

What is most incredible about August: Osage County however, is that the work explores seemingly universal elements of family dynamics in the most sensationally fucked-up of situations. Letts’ script is simultaneously thought-provoking and hilarious and utterly unafraid of questioning some of our most purportedly fundamental values.

Whether you are a regular theatre-goer or not, you are doing yourself an injustice if you don’t see August: Osage County. Admittedly the play is three and a half hours long, including intervals. But don’t let that discourage you. By the first interval I was intrigued, by the second interval engrossed and at the end, during the standing ovation, simply wanted to see it all over again.

This is Foreign Land.

See our city reflected in the harbour.

Skyscrapers, church spires, and city lives,

distorted by velvet folds of rippling water.

Wellington is an island,
connected to the rest of this land by sea.

We speak different words here,

all a new language.

By custom and by fashion,

this is all but foreign land.

Drink we not water,

but sustenance derives from small coffee cups.

A world of liquid black gold

embracing cappuccino harbour.

Dress we against wind,

and it undresses us.

Upturned umbrellas

and snatched-at skirts,

blowing hard against the solace of souls.

Down Ngaio Gorge,

round motorway corner 

and grand harbour opening-

This is Wellington now.

But evening star rises,

Shines bright over silhouette hills-

They see it too.

In Cape Reinga, Bluff,

all here below a southern cross.

On sunshine days

                          we drop airs, don jandals,

dive waves, light barbies-

perhaps like Kiwis after all.

Through love affairs

with Artisan beer,

and long black lunches,

at our truest we know

                                                          It's sunshine on ocean that's liquid gold after all.

Wasting Light- It's all Rock n' Grohl

What do you do after playing at Wembley to 86,000 people?

You make a record in your garage of course. And do a fuckin’ good job of it.

After reaching this absolute pinnacle of rock n’  roll stardom- not to mention a performance with Paul McCartney at the 2009 Grammys and a side project with Led Zeppelin’s John Paul Jones- you might have been forgiven for thinking that the Foo Fighters had nothing left to give. Yet, out of Dave Grohl’s San Fernando Valley garage comes a refreshing step back to the band at their greatest and truest, and one of their best records yet.

Wasting Light, released in stores on April 12, heralds the fully-fledged return of stalwart guitarist Pat Smear and is overseen by Nevermind producer Butch Vig. Fortunately however, the record is far from Cobain-esque, nineties grunge nostalgia. Rather, as reflected in the Foo’s innovate decision to release the entire eleven tracks free online, Wasting Light seems a relevant, but grown-up product of fifteen years of Foo Fighters history.  From the moment Dave screams “These are my famous last words” in the very first line of the emphatic opener, “Broken Bridge,” the listener is treated to an aural smorgasboard of styles guaranteed to leave you simultaneously trembling and singing along.

From the Probot reminiscent metal riffs and dirty whiskey vocals of “White Limo” to the pure-pop groove of “Dear Rosemary,” the rock giants’ monumental seventh album contains enough variety to never let you quite settle in too comfortably. While Grohl ventures slightly toward lulling country ballad territory with “These Days,” the album’s more melodic moments are interjected with timely gravel gargling choruses for good rock n’ roll measure.

With the knee-tappingly catchy “Back and Forth” and feel-good finale in which Grohl sings of “learning to walk again” the gargantuan rock LP remains satisfyingly cohesive by always feeling fundamentally Foos at heart. Unlike its recent predecessors, Wasting Light is rocky enough to satisfy the die-hard elite of “I’ve liked them since forever” fans, but full of the catchy radio-hooks that may well lure in a new generation of followers.  After all, when a man can play the triangle at a rock concert (as I saw him do at Vector Arena in 2008) and make it look bad-ass, you know he is timeless.

The famous five-piece have, this year, reasserted themselves as the rock n’ roll nobility of our generation.  Somewhat ironically, for an album recorded in a garage, Wasting Light screams quintessential Foo Fighters arena rock. Dave Grohl and his band learnt to fly back in 1999, which is lucky, because in 2011 they’re jumping off a musical cliff with potentially their most audacious album thus far. Yet somehow, it seems more classic Foos than ever.

Daringly deemed by many their best album since The Colour and the Shape, Wasting Light is a must-buy, not just to play in the car, but to put into the stereo and blast the goddamned roof off. 

On repeat.

You can listen to the entire album online- here.


Also, they've released a documentary on the making of this album, titled Back and Forth. I'm not sure when (if) it'll be available in New Zealand but it looks pretty damn Grohltastic. You can check out the trailer here.


Also, kudos to Luke for his superb efforts in helping me edit this.

Sombrero Centrale

I've come to the conclusion that "Mexican" is the greatest possible theme for a party. Despite the harzardous potential of dozens of extremely wide sombreros at eye level,  Frank's 21st was one of the most wonderful night's I've had in a long time. And one of the most impressive 21sts I've been to yet, which, given that I'm currently nearing the end of a whirlwind "21st season," is a pretty big call. The beautiful house was adorned with fairly lights and costumes ranged from life-sized tacos to human pinatas. The most essential part of the theme, tequila, was devoured liberally by all.  

I love the idea of 21sts- of a group of people harking from all over the country and all different times of a person's life, coming together entirely for the purpose of celebrating that person. Certainly speeches must contain a necessary element of embarrassment, but ultimately the hilarity is a mark of how fond we are of those we're laughing with.

My workmates asked me recently, "What are you going to do with your life when your friends stop turning 21?" 

To be honest, I'm not sure, I may have to make younger friends. How I love thee, 21sts.

Happy birthday Franko.

Putting on our make-up.

Even wrestlers need their Fix.

The handle bar or the walrus?

Baby Bandit.

Colonial Mexicans.

Loose Ecuadorian Bananas

NB. This photo is blatantly not from Ecuador

After  summer's last dash of too-good-to-true sunshine, the days are getting shorter and it's time to don the boots and scarves. But with Hitachi heat pumps, winter is the new black. Or so the Loose Ecuadorian Bananas would have you think. Their latest single is a shameless plug for heat pumps and features a near naked ukelele orchestra. It's witty, tuneful, entertaining and bordering on inappropriate. I highly recommend a listen.
Plus, every youtube view brings them one step closer to $10,000 in prize money, and us one step closer to the raging Ecuadorian party they're going to throw if they win.

"Go Shawty..."

...It's your birthday."

Or rather, it was.

This week has been a delightful combination of almost too-good-to-be-true amounts of autumn sunshine, cider, afternoons on the boat sheds, pasta, home-brew beer, "death wish" cocktails and ROFL-worthy fun. It's certainly made me appreciate just how much I love and value these incredible friends I'm so privileged to have in my life. I'm so grateful for their unbelievable generosity, compassion, and ability to have an outright crazy time on any night of the week.

A week which culminated in the thankful aversion of a minor crisis when Bryony demonstrated the female capacity to multi-task by simultaneously playing kitchen menace and fire-fighter.

What a wonderful way to turn 21.

With my gorgeous flatmates.

Autumn sunshine on Oriental Parade

Sarah does uncanny impression of a $30 cocktail glass

Two of my favourite people

These last few photos are courtesy of my wonderful friend Raiko, talented photographer and MC extraordinaire...

Shots to start the night, Good Luck Bar

Look at these salty kids go.

Love to all my wonderful party goers.

KALEIDOSCOPE IN THE SKY- STAR TRAILS OVER EVEREST

On first glance this picture looked like a psychedelic product of someone's late night photo-shopping.  Rather it is a product of several arduous months spent by photographer Anton Jankovoy camping at the foot of Mount Everest. These star trails, captured above the Himalayas, took hours to capture and expose- to the point where Jankovoy resorted to meditation in order to endure the sub-zero temperatures. All for a few incredible photos.

Now that's inspirational. Click HERE to find out more.

.