Okay, so I think I put pressure on myself in saying I was going to catch up, and thereby was thinking too much about all the different people or pieces I needed to find and… I gave up.
So here’s the new deal. I do like doing this. I do sometimes forget that it’s here. So I’m just going to update it as often as possible. Not necessarily every day, but it’s still going to happen.
I had every intent of actually maintaining this as an Update This Thing Every Day blog.
I planned to put enough entries in the queue to tide over whilst I went away to Coachella.
It didn’t quite happen.
So I’m going to start afresh, and try to add extras when I can, because I hate lack of continuity when it was promised.
Today’s Art will come a little later in the day.
Emily Perkins.
Oh, where to begin.
This is what she looks like -
But more importantly, this is what she writes like -
“Mud in Your Pretty Eye
Nine years later, you’re leaving a bar with a friend and you see him across the wet road, getting on to a bus. From then, from the restaurant.
Francis
You always thought, Francis, rhymes with answers. Which it doesn’t, really. But you’d change the s of answers to be soft like his name. Francis, Francis, there’s no answers. It was a walking rhyme. A home from the bus-stop rhyme. The rhyme of a Fifteen-year-old girl who could feel sad every time she thought of that soft s.
Hands in gloves in the hot water in the sink, you’d turn around and be surprised again, every time, when you saw his face. His eyes crinkled up and were almost lost when he laughed. His laugh was nearly silent and you tried to match it. You and your friend Thea had developed the habit of snorting whenever you laughed. You tried desperately to curb this around him. At the restaurant. You never thought of it as going to work, you thought of it as going to see Francis. You barely remembered that you were a dishwasher.
Brideshead Revisited was on television at the time.”
It’s the beginning of the first story I ever read by her - Not Her Real Name, which is also the name of the short story collection it’s part of. She also has three novels - Leave Before You Go, The New Girl and Novel About My Wife, and she’s the single biggest influence on my writing. I love the way she uses words. Check her out.
Here is a blog you should check out - beth of all trades.
She’s a photographer, but she’s also the rock star assistant to a rock star - the aforementioned Amanda Palmer.
Her photos are beautiful. She’s even taken a couple of yours truly, your friendly neighbourhood garden variety arty blogger person.
I love Glenn Colquhoun.
He’s a NZ poet, and I’m sure that I’ll post more about him some other time, and explain why, and how, and suchlike. But for now, here is a poem by him.
AN EXPLANATION OF POETRY TO MY FATHER
To my Mum
And to my Dad
Who made me good
And made me bad
An apology
I was not a son to take the Word
of God to the whole world.
I was not a son to spot a fine
cow at auction.
I was not a son who was able to
fix the inside of dark engines.
I did not win the game
in its final minute.
I was not a son to sweat all day
on the end of a shovel.
I was not a son to remain calm
at the sight of my own blood.
I was not a son to capture the
hearts of beautiful women.
I did not save for a rainy day.
I was not a son to discover
the cures to rare illnesses.
I was not a son to bear you
a generation of fine children.
I was a son who believed
in the making of poetry.
Which is, I suppose, in the end,
pretty much the same thing.
I feel like it’s my patriotic obligation to relay as much information as possible via this blog about amazing New Zealand artists (of all art types, of course). I’ve done that a bit already, without even thinking about it, but I think I might go out of my way to ensure at least a couple a week feature on here. Because, who knows, one day I might suddenly get actual readership. That would be rad. But I think it’s worthwhile that I exploit the fact that I have friends in the US/Canada/Europe who may read and learn something about New Zealand artists they wouldn’t otherwise know.
Which leads me to introduce todays Warrior Against Bubblegum Youth (as appointed by me) - Dudley Benson.
You have to listen to him to really have any idea what he’s going to sound like - I can’t really think of anyone to compare him to. I could see him opening for Joanna Newsom, perhaps. But really, he’s rather unique. I’ve heard him referred to as ‘indie choir boy’ and ‘pocket symphonies’, and there’s probably a plethora of other definitions laid on him by reviewers. His MySpace says ‘indie/pop/experimental’ which I guess sums it up as well.
Basically, he was a church choir boy, back in the day. He plays piano, he plays harpsichord. When I saw him play live (in a church, no less) he had a guest harpist for some songs, a six person backing choir, and a string quartet. His opening act was a guy who does New Zealand bird calls (it was odd, but amazing). Dudley and the choir did a cover of Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love. It was amazing.
I wish he had more of his songs from his album (The Awakening) on his MySpace, because it’s amazing and awesome, and I personally way way prefer the original of I Don’t Mind to the Casiotone remix that’s online at the moment. The moral of the story? You should find a way to buy the album, online or in an actual tangible form. Do it. He is awesome. Here’s his MySpace, if you didn’t realise that the hyperlink on his name the first time I typed it was a link to it as well.
