Zoe Keating Plays Escape Artist

Not just for cello lovers, but anyone also interested in what can be done with looping software. Pretty amazing stuff.

I love love love this piece of music. I saw Zoe Keating a couple of years ago in a show at the Sydney Opera House. It was kind of a cabaret/burlesque night MC'd, I think, by Meow Meow and Amanda Palmer. From memory, if Amanda Palmer wasn't very pissed she was doing a damn good job of faking it. Which is fine because she was hilarious and could belt out a tune regardless.

But Zoe Keating stole the show for me. Play this clip through your big speakers and you'll get where I'm coming from. If you ever have the chance of seeing Zoe Keating live, just do it. DO IT.

A Week At The Office

Today while manning a kitchen at Sexpo, I was surprised to feel in a good enough mood to be singing (quietly) out loud. My song of choice? It's Scandal In New York, featuring Uta Dare. I'm used to the Satoshi Tomiie remix so it was interesting to hear the original. Almost as interesting as it is to hear me singing the lyrics (you have to hit the 6 minute 40 second mark before the fun lyrics kick in).

Can't remember if I told you, but The Dreaded One and I are booked in to play a set in a few months in spite of never having DJ'd. We've got a pretty interesting track selection going, and Scandal In New York is one of my tracks. I'll probably make it the Satoshi remix, but the original is pretty good. So far, our set is going to kick some major butt. We're thinking our DJ name will be Grumpy & Stompy, because I am Grumpy and she wears Swear boots, which are stompy. Also, it's going to be a psytrance gig which involves a lot of stomping.

So, anyway, Sexpo. Got a call from someone looking for casual staff and I only had a couple of days at The Big Pointy building so I said I'd do three days at Sexpo. It's been funny and shit at different times. The food standards... well there are no food standards. It's fucking horrifying actually. I'm embarrassed to be seen there wearing my chef jacket. But it's swapping dollars for hours so there's no real room for weirdo concepts like professional pride. I do wish I had my shit together enough not to have to do silly jobs like this though.

Having said that, it's had its moments and the people are good (one of the service staff was one of these girls) and I've never seen porn stars in the flesh or giant walking penises before, so it's one to chalk up to experience. Got asked by a cute promo chick if I was going to the afterparty and I said probably not. She pouted and giggled off somewhere I'm kind of thinking I might try to find her and say oh all right you've talked me into it.

Both days so far have seen me start off in a foul mood because I am just used to things being better. Standards at The Big Pointy Building are high, man. This morning started off so badly - first job for me was to change the deep frying oil after I told them the night before it needed to be done earlier the previous day - that I swore if anyone gave me any shit I was going to leave. Someone asked about stock and I replied, "How would I know - I haven't looked yet because I'm changing the fucking oil."

Ooh. Cranky Lee.

Not a good start and not really a dynamic day, but you put the systems in place and do the best you can and you lighten the fuck up. Seriously, how can you stay Grumpy when a giant penis has just walked bobbingly by?

Also, I had been to see some really good theatre the night before. Go see Bubble if you're in Sydney. Really good stuff. Pity I wasn't reviewing. Maybe I will here later. I am going along to see Our Country's great for review tonight.

And the other night during a function at The Big Pointy Building, who should come into the kitchen to say hello? David Helfgott. What a bizarre and wonderful experience it was to meet him. Remarkable human being. A lovely little moment.

So, you know, I really shouldn't complain. I really should start off each day feeling happy, even if I am temporarily serving up bought-in, pre-packaged slop to the Sexpo punters.

The Wet Spots: Questions Please

I have to interview The Wet Spots in the next couple of days. They're a musical comedy act from Canada who apparently sing songs about things you shouldn't put into your bottom, doing the labia limbo (I'm hopeless at exotic dancing so I don't think I'll attempt that one), a strange sounding activity called 'fisting' (which is probably a typo that was mean't to be 'fishing'), and apparently their show involves a fair bit of arse-spanking too.

I think they sound like a bit of a crack up. They'll be appearing at The Studio, Sydney Opera House between February 27 - February 29. My deadline to have the story done is February 19. Check out their website and their blog and if you can think of any questions you'd like me to ask them, leave them in the comments box and I'll see if I can include them in the story. If I get enough entertainingly raunchy and twisted questions I'll do the whole piece as a Q&A, with credits to the filthy minds who came up with the questions, of course.

And if I don't get any interesting questions... you're all a bunch of lazy bastards and you can go to hell.

Ooh - update. I've just been reading some of Cass King's writing. Very funny stuff and well worth checking out.

House Head

Check it out. I call the Opera House The Opera Home because these days I am either Faux Chefing there or seeing theatre there to review, then The Dreaded One comes home with this so that if we wake spooning, I have a fluro pink image of The Opera Home burned into my eyes. Fucking sensational.