March 23, 2004
More hot pies!

Swing your razor wide, Sweeney! Hold it to the skies!
Freely flow the blood of those who moralize!

— "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd", Stephen Sondheim.

It was over a (successful) lunch meeting with Bill that I learned about the upcoming release of "Sweeney Todd" on DVD.

I've never had the occasion to see a live performance of this particular Sondheim musical nor a recorded one, but I had the strange fortune of actually having performed it as part of a semi-professional orchestra/band with a student cast almost 10 years ago. There is simply no better way to appreciate Sondheim's genius other than to perform it. His work is technically and musically challenging, having been able to perform "Sweeney Todd" at all felt like an achievement in its own right. 10 years later, the mind-blowing lyrics still stroll around my head on days when I'm not too careful.

Google found this interesting essay on the history of the real-life character of Sweeney:

For two centuries theater-goers and penny dreadful fans have been thrilled with the exploits of Sweeney Todd, the murderous barber who dispatched his customers with a flick of the razor and then had his lover serve up the remains in a tasty meat pie, but few gave much thought to whether or not it was a true story. Long before there was Freddy Krueger, or even Jack the Ripper, there was the legend of the Demon Barber of Fleet Street, and most readers assumed it was just that – legend.

[...]

But most myths and legends have a basis somewhere in truth, and Sweeney Todd is no different. There really was a mad barber, he really did use a trapdoor and straight razor to rob and kill customers, and most did end up as filling for meat pies.

Serious stuff, isn't it? All this to say I'm over the moon that I get to finally see a Broadway production of "Sweeney Todd" on DVD. The catch is, I'll be out of North America on April 20, so I'll have a while to wait. But well, I can't have everything, can I?

(Later .... Hmm, the true story makes the musical sound rather tame in comparison.)

Posted by sniffles at 10:53 PM | Comments (4)

March 16, 2004
Musical wimp

So, I hopped onto #evolt this morning ...

[10:16] *** Join to #evolt completed in 1 seconds.
[10:16] <garrettc> aha... speak of the devil
[10:16] <garrettc> hey steph
[10:16] <thebot> steph is *rrooaarrrrr*
[10:17] <sniffles> hey garrettc
[10:17] <sniffles> who's speaking of the devil?
[10:17] <garrettc> me
[10:17] <garrettc> about you
[10:17] <sniffles> what rumours might you be spreading? >:)
[10:17] <garrettc> I have a bone to pick with you... what do you have against TCTC? *:)
[10:17] <sniffles> lol
[10:17] <sniffles> they suck live!
[10:17] <garrettc> do not!
[10:18] <sniffles> i suspect someone fucked up the mixing
[10:18] <sniffles> :)
[10:18] <martinb> tctc?
[10:18] <sniffles> but they really sounded pretty boring.
[10:18] <garrettc> probably... they're very loud
[10:18] <garrettc> The Cooper Temple Clause
[10:18] <martinb> right
[10:18] <sniffles> but you know, Calla is a difficult act to top :P
[10:18] <garrettc> they're not boring, do you have any of their recorded stuff?
[10:18] <sniffles> not yet, i should, you think?
[10:18] <sniffles> they are just *too* loud that you can't make anything out
[10:19] <garrettc> wimp *:p
[10:19] <sniffles> it's called musical elegance :P
[10:19] <garrettc> well *you* call it musical elegance, I call it wimp *:)

Unfair! I hadn't had my coffee yet.

Posted by sniffles at 12:51 PM | Comments (1)

March 15, 2004
The wind carries a tune

At the edge of the water, the wind blows with frightening gusto. Without the shelter of civilisation, the trees still being bare, it appears to glean much enjoyment from whipping my hair and my thoughts into a thousand little knots.

I am a claypot, broken then crudely pieced back together; where fragments had gone missing, they left behind rough gaping holes. When the wind blows, it blows right through my brain.

The river carries its cargo. Both ways, and noisily. Every few steps, I hobble awkwardly as the wind sneaks under the sole of my shoe; for some reason, only on my left. Non-meetings, non-conversations. Non-smiles, non-laughter. The anti-ness of existence written into the road signs, the diamond amber of the traffic lights, houses clustered close together with no breath of life under the weight of the day's grey.

I am an upside-down bottle, deep green and empty of nothing. I forget what I once contained.

The wind carries a tune. One way, for now, gliding down from the north, driving me south. I sing along to it, a song dissipating into the furious eddies of dust.

Posted by sniffles at 11:58 PM | Comments (5)

March 12, 2004
Border crossings

On the way down to Boston last Friday, it was about 1 a.m. when our bus reached the border. As customary, I had to go and pay the US $6 for entry into the United States. Standing to one side was an older officer, obviously off his shift, having a discussion of sorts with the bus driver. He glanced at my passport, "Australia, eh? What are you doing there?!"

"Well, it's the bottom of the world," I said. "You kind of just ... fall down there."
He chuckled. "Where ya heading to?"
"Boston," I replied.
"Boston?! What are you doing there for?"
They joked that I must have a boyfriend hidden down in Boston. (Ugh.)

"I so want to go to Australia," said the bus driver. "They've got this big fence which go right through the middle of the entire country to keep the dingoes out. Would love to see it."

At 1 a.m., I wonder how boggled my eyes could've possibly looked. Wow, not sunshine and surf, but a fence! Yes, the famed dingo fence that stretches some 5000km from the bottom of South Australia up to northwest Queensland. I really ought to have bought the bus driver a Tassie Lager for originality. Visit Australia for a fence, fancy that.

Posted by sniffles at 11:06 AM | Comments (8)

Calla ... at the Cabaret

Earlier this evening, Calla opened for The Cooper Temple Clause at the Cabaret (I know it's ticked over midnight, but I haven't gone to bed yet so it's still today, right?). Having heard their stuff a few months ago, I wasn't going to miss it if I could help it.

After Calla finished up a much-too-short gig, I stayed for about four songs of T.C.T.C. before giving up. Sorry, but there's just something fundamentally wrong with three blasting guitars, one thumping bass, and two massive wheedling electronic/keyboards set-ups onstage when you can't even distinguish the sounds with a trained ear. Apart from that, well, I found them musically pretty bland in proportion to the equipment they have floating about on the stage.

I wandered out into the hall and found the guy who tore off our ticket stubs sitting next to an empty table with Calla CDs. "Sorry, I'm not authorised to sell them to you," he shrugged. On the desk sat a plain, lined notebook which bore the scribbles: "Back in a while (aut to lunch)". (In hindsight, I should've picked up a pen and drawn a Charlie) ...

So I hung around for a while and chatted to various people who wandered by (also having given up on T.C.T.C.! I'm not the only snob!), whilst waiting for someone to come back so we could buy some CDs. As it turned out, one of the guys hanging out in the hall actually worked at the Cabaret and remembered me from the afternoon I came by to get the tickets. Such a strange little world.

Eventually, they came back. My brain did a skip and a hop when I realised it was the members of the band who were selling the CDs themselves. They had gone to Chinatown for a bite. "Which place did you go?" I asked. I think it was the drummer who answered, "The first one, we were starving." So if you missed Calla tonight, you missed them playing a great gig on empty stomachs.

I'm simply not good enough to remember the set list, but few bands I have seen have the ability to whip up such an atmosphere from mere opening beats. Their soaring guitars that push you to the edge of discomfort — at the some time, hypnotic vocals to rein you in — all against the persistent underlying percussive beats marking out the painful passing of time. And ohh the guitar coda ...

"When are you playing in Montreal again next?" I queried, feeling oddly bold.

"Before the end of the year. We're currently recording more songs, so after that's done, likely before the end of the year. Montreal is one of our favourite places to play." (Yay!)

There you go, straight from the horse's mouth.

Posted by sniffles at 01:15 AM | Comments (3)

March 02, 2004
Listen to the rhythm of the ...

I walked out of the door this morning, groggy from the lack of sleep, and a most unexpected thing happened: it rained.

First thought: can't remember where the umbrella is.
Second thought: can't be bothered going back for it anyway.
Third thought: hey, it's raining! We must be above 0 degrees! *

Wow, that's quite something.

So, then I started trying to think of all the songs with "rain" in their title.

"Rhythm of the Rain".
"Blame it on the Rain". (haha)
"November Rain."
"Purple Rain".
"I Wish It Would Rain Down".
"Singing in the Rain".
"Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head".

Why aren't any of these "rain" songs less than a decade old? Did singing about rain go out of fashion? Someone's gathered a whole list of rain songs, but before you look, which ones can you think off the top of your head?

* Celsius, dudes.

Posted by sniffles at 09:51 AM | Comments (21)

March 01, 2004
Charlie in the tropics

Charlie arrived safely today for Wena, our favourite Asian food-blogger in Kuching. Yay!

N.B. "Kuali" is the Malay word for "wok".

Posted by sniffles at 09:31 AM | Comments (4)