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Remember when I said in my last post that the success of You Are Here had emboldened me to push my artistic practice further than ever before? Well, the above photo demonstrates the ridiculous consequences that have since been unleashed.

20130305-150811.jpg I've covered my bodypaint exploits in detail in a previous post, but it's worth noting that the above job was the result of about 90 minutes of tireless effort by You Are Here visual-artist-in-residence George Edwards and our operations manager Karmin Cooper. The paint job was my cockamamie way of contributing to The Beach, a day festival in which we made over the rather scum-tacular Tocumwal Lane into a fully-blown faux beach party.

20130305-151331.jpg After basically sandbagging my way into the first You Are Here, I was fortunate enough to be invited back as a festival co-ordinator for the second one. Reuniting with my fellow co-ordinators (such as the inimitable Sarah Kaur, pictured above) felt a lot like returning to some kind of awesome summer camp, or a new school term at Hogwarts.

20130305-151745.jpg Apart from all the runny-roundy supervisory duties, I was again tapped for a bunch of performance and writing roles. These included: The You Are Here Music Quiz, in which I insulted the hard-core quiz night culture of the Phoenix bar with such concepts as The Iron Man Challenge (in which different musicians competed to see who could teach a drunken punter the riff to Black Sabbath's Iron Man the quickest).

20130305-152708.jpg The B-Ball Band Bash, in which four of Canberra's most semi-athletic bands competed in round robin four-a-side basketball to decide the running order of their gig (I acted as one half of the commentary team alongside Naomi 'Mad Milthorpe' Milthorpe).

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20130305-153734.jpg Easily my most ridiculous/greatest achievement was the Ghost EncounTour, in which I took a small group through the spectral hotbed of the Centerpoint building and performed a short exorcism. The EncounTour wasn't even part of the program, it literally grew out a jokey conversation between David and I on day 2 of the festival and escalated almost as a creative game of Chicken that I don't think Dave realised we were playing. The whole thing was heavily improvised in the moment but seemed to make a heady impression on several of the attendees (I'll see if I can work out how to imbed the video in this post ).

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20130305-154328.jpg Of course, focusing on my events undersells the ever-increasing scope of the festival, which took in an even bigger range of visual art, theatre and dance than the previous year. Our crowd numbers increased steadily across the ten days and before we'd finished You Are Here 2012 we were already deep in brainstorm mode for this year. Scant moments after I had wistfully put my lanyard in the drawer, the guy approached me about graduating my role for 2013 from co-ordinator to producer. I like to think I kept an inscrutable poker face as I said yes, but the truth is that this festival is the most worthwhile creative project I've ever been involved in, so the more I can do to push it on and up the better. Which leads to my current, comically over-committed state! Next post: You Are Here 2013!

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Over the summer of 2010/11, as I was putting The Last Prom together and struggling to build my PT business, my friend Dave Finnegan was put in a sticky situation. Dave (pictured below dancing next to me), a writer and impresario whose experience and reputation far outstrips his still-tender years, had been approached by the Canberra Centenary and asked to fill the fringe-arts-festival sized gap in their program.

20130227-135155.jpg They have him 3 months, a pittance of funding and a High Concept: each event of the festival would be staged in vacant or repurposed shopfronts and public spaces in the Canberra CBD. Under the pump in all but the most literal sense, Dave went to his known contacts first. This is where I got lucky.

20130227-135755.jpg Ever the opportunist, within one conversation I had up-sold my fledgling pop group into a live-concept-album-themed-costume-party-band-night. For some reason Dave placed his trust in me, and The Last Prom became the opening night event for the Inaugural You Are Here Festival in 2011.

20130227-140404.jpg It took place in a big stone room that was a Dick Smith's and is now a MacDonalds. For the ten days of the festival Dave and his team of 14 or so festival co-ordinators/artists took this space over as our festival hub. I was one of them, acting as a runner or artist supervisor and producing another two or three small events (like the wrestlers and circus performers tuitional jam pictured below). One or two of my bands snuck onto the other live music bills, and a lot of my friends in the Canberra arts scene were involved in one way or the other.

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20130227-141056.jpg It was, for me, an unprecedented experience. For someone who spent their whole time scrabbling around in the arts with a small immediate circle of collaborators, to suddenly be part of a larger machinery of super-skilled and super-positive artists with a little bit of money and marketing behind us was a quantum leap. Attendance for the festival blew expectations out of the water, and I was left emboldened to push my art farther than ever before.

20130227-141532.jpg Stay tuned next week as the saga propels us into 2012!

Heartbroken Assassin is part of the multimedia blitz that is You Are Here. Without divulging too much, it’s a webisode series – part musical, part blood splattered action flick – that takes place over the course of the festival, using its performers as actors, and its events as plot points and backdrops. Because we’re fond of a challenge, we’ll be releasing an episode a day – it’s like a 24 hour film challenge… TIMES TEN.

Recognising how long filming, editing and uploading will take each day, we’re doing what we can ahead of time. Yesterday, my recording studio/spare bedroom became a revolving door – actors and singers, trumpeters and drum programmers. Often they were the same people – Nick’s co-songwriter for the project is also our fight coordinator (our friends have many talents). We spent six hours hammering down the musical bedding. The episodes are short, thus so are the songs, and we knocked over 80% of what we need. It’s purposefully raw (a counterbalance to the music’s melodrama) but I’ll still spend a fair bit of time mixing and adding instrumental embellishments.

We also filmed a scene that doesn’t take place at a festival event. That leaves two more we can film in advance and then it’s All. Systems. Go.

It’s the most ambitious thing Nick or I have shot, and aside from the The Last Prom promos, our first filmed narrative work. Yippie kay yay.

Over the last couple of nights, I’ve had to re-create my Sunshine Sally edit, at a higher resolution. All up, it’s taken about five hours (not including a couple of hours spent trying to figure out a workaround). A little frustrating, but there was a silver lining. When most of your musical pieces last between 30 seconds and a minute, a standard song can feel like a lifetime. I got to go back and tweak two of the longer scenes, cutting a minute’s worth of footage. It makes a huge difference to the film’s momentum, and will spare the band some needless repetition.

Sunshine Sally 'SHINE TART'

Rehearsals are going brilliantly – we’ve now covered over half the movie. The first half has a lot more turnarounds, so getting across the final half will be even quicker. From there, it’s a matter of playing it over and over and developing some muscle memories.

One month to go!

This afternoon I stumbled across an email, dated four years ago to the day. It’s a list of songwriting tips, put together at the behest of a good friend. At the time I was playing in four bands, and writing the best songs of my life for The Bluffhearts. I stand by it all, and offer it unconditionally to my fellow tunesmiths.

  1. The only thing worse than being too obvious is not being obvious enough.
  2. The first song I ever wrote was a literal account of a carefree afternoon. It had three verses, a key change for the chorus, a bridge and about eight chords. It took several weeks to finish. The last song I wrote has just three chords and took half an hour to write. It is a much better song. Distil, distil, distil.
  3. If you hear the same chord progression in more than one song, that means it’s up for grabs. Talent borrows, genius steals.
  4. You don’t always have to live it to write it. Songwriting is about feeling – if you can conjure up what it would feel like, write about that. You don’t have to be cuckolded to imagine how it feels. Diane Warren, writer of Aerosmith’s smash Don’t Want To Miss A Thing, answered “Oh god, no! I have a life!” when asked if she had ever lain awake just to watch someone breathing. If you have no imagination, you will struggle to write songs.
  5. It’s fun to write in character. Take a step outside yourself.
  6. Your limitations + your influences = your style. Accept your limitations as hidden strengths – for example, if you have a limited vocal range (like mine), you are forced to write melodies that more people can sing.
  7. Lyrically, it’s best to start with the title. You can build a whole song (or album) out of one good phrase or thought.
  8. Performing songs is entertainment. Therefore, they should be entertaining. Too many people forget this.
  9. The best way to win over a crowd? Be really, really good. If you’re not very good, act like you are.
  10. Never apologise on stage. Never. Never make excuses (“I have a cold tonight…”). Nine times out of nine the audience won’t even notice. But if you tell them you’re shit, they will believe you. Har Mar Superstar would finish a song and shout “Give it up for me I’m fucking awesome!”. People believed him.
  11. If you can’t think of something to write about, you can’t go wrong with sex.
  12. First thought, best thought. Overthinking is the death of creativity.
  13. I use a rhyming dictionary from time to time. If I know what I am trying to say but can’t find a way to make it fit, then I look up options for the first or second part of the couplet. I used to consider this cheating, but it’s the same as looking up a chord. It has made me a better songwriter – ’nuff said.
  14. Collaboration rules.
  15. If you’re stuck, start humming and strum G. It’s The People’s Key for a reason.
  16. Not every song you write has to be THE BEST SONG IN THE WORLD. If you are trying to write THE BEST SONG IN THE WORLD every time, you will end up with an awful lot of overblown songs. Don’t force it – you don’t have to use every trick in your arsenal every time.
  17. If you do write a song that you think is just ‘okay’, step back and see what you don’t like about it. Are the lyrics lousy? Is the melody too plain? No song is ever all bad – take out what you don’t like and start again.
  18. Never waste a melody. If it’s not strong enough to be the hook, use it somewhere else in the song. Transfer it to another instrument, use it to spice up the bass line, make it the outro, just don’t waste it.
  19. Keep everything. If I think of a good couplet or melody, I write it down or record it on my phone straightaway. Paul McCartney used to say that he never wrote down a tune – if he didn’t remember it the next day, it wasn’t worth remembering. There’s probably some truth in that, but I ain’t no Paul McCartney.
  20. A strong theme really, really helps. That’s the cool thing about country music – everything relates back to the chorus or hook. That returns to starting with a good title or phrase – the rest of the lyrics are just tangents from that, like a fishscale. Writing something without knowing where you are going is much harder and generally makes for an ambigious mess of meaningless piffle. If you can’t extrapolate a whole song from your title, then it ain’t a good title.
  21. Quantity is not the inverse of quality – once you’re on a roll, keep banging them out!
  22. I like religious imagery (Outta Bablyon, the Tower of Babel in Fruit First, Noah and his ark in Try Not To Think About It). To paraphrase Tom Waits – a little religion, a little weather, a broken heart and some sex. Put three chords under it and voila!
  23. The lyrics don’t always have to match the music – sometimes it’s better if they don’t. Not every minor key song should be a lament, and vice versa. Hank Williams knew this well – catchiest songs about suicide ever written.
  24. Confidence is key. Have faith in yourself.

Luke suggested that I write about my ever-increasing pre-occupation with painting my skin at gigs. I suppose if this post reveals anything about my personality (aside from my child-like hunger for attention) it's how little encouragement I need to push something to the extreme. 20130122-151929.jpg It started with The Missing Lincolns set at Corinbank 2010. Luke was living in Cairns at the time so it was our first show in almost a year. Between that and the opportunity to play a big festival stage, I became obsessed with laying on some kind of arresting spectacle. 20130122-152454.jpg Without telling the other guys, I devised a fairly random costume concept, inspired by the character King Peacock from Alan Moore's 'Top Ten' series. A phone call to Mum and a visit to Lincraft and my outfit quickly took shape. I can still remember the look on Luke's face when, minutes before we took the stage, I threw a jar of yellow paint at Gleeson (our tirelessly dependable drummer) and asked him to rub me down. Gleeson took it in stride. 20130122-153038.jpg It's funny to think of now, but I was terrified. I'd never been shirtless in public before! That said, it was the day that I discovered the freedom of extreme costuming. I wasn't just Nick anymore- I was King Lincoln, Harbringer Of The Sun, and the only logical behaviour was to rule the stage like a king. 20130122-153420.jpg It was a few months after that The Last Prom started to take shape as a band/theatre project. Once I realised I was going to be performing as the Antichrist fronting The Four Horseman Of The Apocalypse, the door was opened for some fairly 'statement-y' looks. 20130122-153637.jpg 20130122-153653.jpg 20130122-153702.jpg 2012 involved a full theatrical season of Last Prom shows, along with a resurgence of The Missing Lincolns in the wake of Luke's return. People were still talking about the Corinbank show, so to my mind there was no room to go backwards as far as on-stage presentation. 20130122-154015.jpg 20130122-154031.jpg 20130122-154040.jpg Bodypaint has largely given way to coloured hairspray, which has proven to be a quicker process both in application and removal. With so many gigs and promotional shoots, it felt like I spent half of last year either painted or washing paint off. Many was the time I'd be halfway through a workday and have a client point out where I'd missed a spot. 20130122-154402.jpg Expect me to take things to an even more ludicrous extreme in 2013, and not just in the bodypaint stakes. I'd like to finish with a shout out to the talented visual artists who have stooped to working with the blank canvas that is myself, particularly Julia Johnson and George Edwards. For more of their work, watch this face! 20130122-154724.jpg

Happy New Year Everybody! I was sure to have a slothful festive season, as this year is shaping up to be the busiest of my entire life, both professionally and creatively. First off the rank was five days in the studio with Cracked Actor, tracking our new full-length record.

Cracked Actor is the only band I play in where I don't contribute songs. My beautiful friend Seb is the song-writer and frontman, and his pensive art rock is a bracing contrast to the red-meat-indie-pop I usually trade in.

20130113-232042.jpg Seb brings a meticulous sonic vision to the band, and the quality of his song writing has turned me into a faithful solider. Seeing him construct his tracks from a latticework of guitar and vocal overdubs left me somewhat intimidated by the knowledge that he'd been carrying the whole picture around in his head for months.

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20130113-232611.jpg We'd originally done 5 days of pre-production and arrangement work in July (the grandparents of our guitarist, Jordan, let us use their house in Ulla Dulla. Shout outs!) and I realise know how much time it saves you in the studio. It's an approach I'll definitely rip off for my other bands in the future.

20130113-232925.jpg The most exciting part is that we were first cab off the rank at Sam King's brand new studio, I Am Merloc. So new, in fact, that it isn't even finished! Sam, if you're reading this I'm sorry for showing the place in it's bare condition. Suffice to say that it already has the most exciting room sound in the city limits. Here's to 2013, the year of new recordings!

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The inaugural Shine Tarts rehearsal took place tonight – we were down two members, but still had a core crew (which can only happen when you have a six-piece band).  My doubts were washed away almost immediately – the songs are not complicated, but I was still impressed with how effortlessly everybody picked them up, and how quickly it sounded like a band.  This is going to be amazing.

We ran the entire set, and while there were a few standouts, everything sounded good.  I also got a sense for the sound of the actual band, as a separate entity, discrete from the idea of it in my head.  It’s funkier than I imagined, a bit tougher, and jammier.  Which is all great.

There’s plenty of tweaking to be done, and I’m anticpating some drama synching to the film.  But right now, I’m psyched, and very pleased with my choice in bandmates.

Things have happened quickly since I last posted about Sunshine Sally.  Then, I was 70% happy with the demos – that figure’s now hovering around 90%.  I’ve trimmed two songs, bringing the total to 12.  I’ve also re-recorded some of the demos, swapping out my vocal placeholders for the melodies on guitar or keyboard.  Sonically, it’s now consistent.

Sunshine Sally

It’s definitely a soundtrack by a pop musician – there’s no swelling orchestral arrangements or avant-garde electronic flourishes.  The closest comparison I could make is to Badly Drawn Boy’s About A Boy soundtrack -wistfully upbeat, acoustic-driven pop, with a mix of vocal and instrumental tracks.

Sunshine Sally

The band will be billed as ‘SHINE TARTS’ – it’s an ocker term from the movie (not actually in my edit), meaning a ‘good sort‘ or ‘top bird’ or the like.  We start rehearsals this week.  Part of the challenge I set myself was to work with people I’ve never played with before.  It’s an eclectic group, and I can’t wait to get in the room and see what we can cook up.