Monday, December 29, 2014

Dr Spock & The Salad Dressing



I look like some kind of alien. Like Dr Spock's cousin who hates - fucking HATES -  the way The Dreaded One is drizzling the salad dressing.

Except Spock probably wouldn't hate.

Still. Jesus. So glad I don't see me from the outside. It's difficult enough from the inside.

Monday, December 22, 2014

Maitreya 2015

Today, working in my cafe, a bright little moment that cheered my internally gloomy mood...

A new regular came in and asked for her coffee. I remember her from her first visit because she looks interesting and familiar amongst our otherwise pretty straight and corporate clientele. Suits and ambos and doctors and nurses, and this cool looking one with her tatts and specs and unruly hair, her bright eyes and that smile.

During the transaction of coffee and money, she notices my wrist band from last year's Maitreya festival, and says, "That was a fun party."

"Have you seen the photos of the new site?" I ask.

"No, but I'm excited because I hear there is water."

We talk for a bit more. I like her smile and her happy eyes, and I wonder if some day soon, we might be friends.

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Not A Review Of The Very Excellent Nick Cave, Melbourne, December 2014




I'm not reviewing Nick Cave from last night because I was just a punter... and yet today as I made another punter's coffee, sentences like this drifted through my mind...

"Counterpointing the gorgeous simplicity that is Nick Cave's lyrics, vocals and piano of, say, The Ship Song, were other songs of a more chaotic nature. I would loved for it to have been Stagger Lee (he was never going to play that one), but it was probably Higgs Boson Blues or even something more fucked up, in which each performer seems to go off into their own crazy world for a while and do their own fucked up thing... Warren Ellis hunched and terrorising a small stringed instrument, making it squeal and cry and howl; Nick Cave might also have been howling, or hitting some random metal things; somewhere some kind of crazy bell and keyboards and strobing lights and savage lyrics that make sense in a darkly supernatural way. It's crazy, cacophony for sure, but it's the most wonderfully harmonious and exciting cacophony you're ever likely to hear..."

Back in the real world: And here is your soy chai latte.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Grease The Musical, Regent Theatre, Melbourne, Review


                                                                Photo by Jeff Busby

Grease, The Musical
Regent Theatre
10th December, 2014

Reviewed by Lee Bemrose

The latest in an increasing number of musical reviews by someone who doesn't usually go to musicals, but sometimes seems to quite enjoy them when he does go to them, if they are good.

Mention Grease and most people will probably think of the 1978 movie starring John Travolta and Olivia Newton John and which holds number one position as the biggest movie musical box office hit of all time. It's interesting to note that the original stageplay was produced seven or so years before that, and in its early days was apparently a much different creature - rougher, edgier and with a lot to say about the development of American teen and pop culture.

But the movie cleaned up Grease and turned it into a kind of shiny cartoon, and this stageplay is basically a faithful reproduction of that shiny cartoon. As much as I enjoyed this production, I'd be really keen to see one more faithful to the original concept.

If you don't know the story, it's a romance about teenagers Sandy and Danny who meet while on holiday. The romance ends when the holiday does, only for it to be reborn in a different form when Sandy unexpectedly enrolls at Danny's school, Rydell High. Danny's a greaser with a womanising reputation to uphold, and Sandy's a bit of a goodie-two-shoes. No one thinks they are right for each other. Danny snubs her whilst still having feelings for her, until Sandy has an epiphany; maybe if she tarts herself up and acts tarty like the other tarts, Danny will fall for her properly. She does indeed tart herself up and Danny does indeed fall for her properly. The end.

Not ever having paid much attention to the storyline or the message, I was a little surprised by what the story was saying. Nothing here about being individual. Nothing about staying true to yourself. Everything about bowing to peer pressure and blending in. The realisation that Grease was saying that true love is only possible when you tart it up a little had me and my plus one, The Dreaded One, bursting into song on the way home: "You're the tart that I want, you are the tart I want, ooh, ooh, ooh..."

But Grease as it is here is not really about the story or the message; it's about the music. The music provides a very efficient distraction from the message because it's mighty fine music. This is a slick production oozing with talent, and there is no way of not smiling, seat dancing and maybe even singing along on occasion.

The songs are such a star that the show starts with an instrumental medley of what we are about to hear, just to whet our appetite. To us ancients in the audience, these are very familiar tunes.

The show proper gets off to a clunky start with the teacher treating the audience like her class and teaching us the rama lama ding dong part of We Go Together. I reckon there's only ever about 10 percent of an audience who wants to join in segments like this, with the rest of us just wanting to sit back and be entertained. The director knows this too, which is why revver-uppers appear through the audience to try to get things going. Very awkward segment that went for too long and didn't add anything to the show.

While I've got my negative pants on... Bert Newton as DJ Vince Fontaine... hmm. A cynical person might suspect that Mr Newton was not hired for the part based on his acting talent so much as the name of a national treasure being the drawcard for a certain demographic. There was no attempt to become the character, he was just Bert Newton saying the lines of another character. When the energy of the show was humming along and the Radio WAXX DJ booth rolled out it was like burning up the quarter mile only to hit quicksand. But hell, at the end he seemed to enjoy being up there on stage and the old dears probably got a kick out of it so whatever.

Just a second while I take off my negative pants... there... and put on my positive pants.

The good bits were very good indeed. Songs like Born To Hand Jive (John Paul Young still has the stuff) and Greased Lightning are loads of fun and are done here so well. Lots of infectious fun. As is the very funny Beauty School Dropout... hilariously kitsch. Slower, emotional songs like Sandy and There Are Worse Things I Could Do were also done to perfection, the latter revealing an unexpectedly vulnerable side to the hard, sassy character Rizzo. Lovely.

The encore closing the show was lots of fun and the entire, large cast had clearly enjoyed themselves. My only gripe here was when John Paul Young cheekily sang the opening lines of Love Is In The Air... And. Didn't. Keep. Going. Very funny, you utter bastard tease.

Apparently the very early productions of Grease went for a raw, rough production, the very opposite of what we have here. It's a stunning spectacle of a show that looks and sounds great, and for the most part you'll enjoy yourself almost as much as the performers do. (Just don't think about the message too much).

Now playing at the Regent Theatre, Melbourne.
For more info, go to the Grease website.


Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Some Girl Kissed A Girl I Know

Jesus - previous post an awesome song by the genius that is Tom Waits, followed by a Glee version of a Katy Perry song... WTF?

This parallel universe blogging is due to the funny story an acquaintance told me recently. She was at a club, having a great time. A girl approached her and asked if she could re-apply this acquaintance's lipstick. Said acquaintance thought it was a cute offer and said sure. Said acquaintance closed her eyes and pursed her lips, whereupon Lipstick Grl proceeded to totally pash Purse-lipped Acquaintance. Apparently there were equal parts tongue, utter shock and mooshed lipstick in the encounter. That's lots of tongue and lots of shock, and a LOT of mooshed lipstick, in case you are wondering.

Reminds me of another lipstick-in-a-club story involving yours truly, but that's another story. Might post that tomorrow with another astonishingly unexpected music clip.

Monday, December 08, 2014

Hold On

I've posted this clip here before. It's Tom's birthday today, I believe. He's 65 and doesn't like to fly, so in all probability I will never experience him playing live unless I go back to the U.S. Bummer. First world problem, for sure, but bummer.

Nick Cave next week which will be amazing. Another of the boys I like to sing out loud to.

For now, listen to this song and watch this clip. So fucking sweet and sad and just beautiful. Tom has said that he likes beautiful melodies telling him terrible things. Maybe that's true, but he also likes to tell us beautiful things to sweet melodies.

Sunday, December 07, 2014

the broken pencil

but when there is no more funny shit,
no more laughter,
no more silly,
too much serious,
too much conflict,
too much hate,
not enough love,
not enough compassion,
not enough sharing,
of too much food,
of too much shelter,
of too much stuff,
you find yourself
in the dark
alone,
silently screaming the question:
what is the fucking point?

no surprise
that there is no answer,
because there is no point.

Wednesday, December 03, 2014

Alyx Dennison at Catfish On Gertrude Street

Just saw this local performer again tonight. Amazed at her talent again. So impressed with her singing, song-writing and her affinity with kookiness. She is very funny, and this was a good thing to do on a wet Wednesday night.

It was a short tram ride up the road to a place across the road from our cafe, and so many places were full. Food was being eaten, music was being heard... life was being lived.

Sunday, November 30, 2014

That Thing We Have

Yesterday The Dreaded One and I spent the day drinking and eating and laughing. This might seem like an unremarkable thing - and when you think about truly remarkable things like black holes in space and the very concept and bigness of the universe, it is pretty mundane.

But it's been a long time now, (30 something years? Get outta here!) and we still don't feel the need to dilute each others company with the company of others. We love the company of others, when they're the right people, but equally, we're happy to just hang out with each other.

I never really tire of looking at The Dreaded One. She is amazingly pretty. She stands out in a crowd, has her own very individual sense of style, and it's stylish. I feel very lucky.

But it goes deeper than that. We spend all day long working together in a potentially volatile environment. Dealing with customers and food and deadlines and the myriad other issues we have to deal with all day long (and the days are long), we probably should encounter more friction than we do. There is friction but we try to make it fleeting and just get on with things. And I like to listen to her as well as look at her.

Then we come home together. Often I will walk home from the cafe. Sometimes I stop off for a beer, staring out through a window and letting my mind wander. Then I'll come home and jokingly ask how The Dreaded One's day was.

And then it's the weekend. Yesterday we spent the day drinking and eating and laughing. Just the two  of us. Often I think she is immune to my sense of humour. She's had a lot of time to get used to it, and lately it hasn't even been around much. But it was there yesterday and she laughed genuine laughter. We still seem to enjoy each others company.

I don't know exactly what it is, but I like that thing we have.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Where Do You Stand On Michael Buble?

Watched Michael Winterbottom's The Trip To Italy starring the hilarious Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon. Loved it. Envy them for this being their job, but feel lucky to have been to so many places that were the setting for the movie... Naples, Amalfi, Ravello, Pompei...

I initially thought this shot was from the wonderful hotel we stayed at in Sorento - Villa Oriana Relais - but it wasn't. Must have been very close by though because the view is very similar.

Very funny movie, one you can watch over again and I probably will. Loved the first lines in this about where do you stand on Michael Buble? Hilarious.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Another Muso In The Cafe

The person who works for us in Grumpy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome had a friend call into the cafe for a bite to eat. He's a friend of hers from Sydney. Met them afterwards for a drink. Seemed like a really nice guy, full of life. He lives in our old Sydney hood, so it was nice to find out how the place is going. Talked about pubs like The Hollywood, The Cricketer's and The Hopetoun, which is still apparently boarded up and abandoned.

Turns out he's Simon Day from late 80s/early 90s band Ratcat. I had no idea. I know several songs, very evocative of a time before electronic music almost fully hijacked my attention. (Still love some non-electronic/guitar driven music, of course, but psytrance etc). I really liked their sound and it's fun to listen to this stuff again.

Ratcat are playing a gig at The Corner Hotel on Tuesday night. Hmm.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

A Wish In The Darkness

I choose not to hate religious silly-billies who kill other religious silly-billies. I'm atheist; your books, to me, are nonsense but it's okay to study your books in my part of the world. I'm atheist, I do not believe there is a God (but there is a small part of me me who isn't sure... think about the universe for long enough and you come to the realisation that you know nothing).

But for fuck sake, please stop screaming at each other that God is great as you slaughter your fellow God-worshipping humans. Stop raping in the name of God. Stop murdering in the name of a Great Creator. Stop mutilating your Creator's creations. Stop believing that you are God. Stop destroying lives. Stop creating sadness and despair. Stop your pointless war of hatred against people who just want and deserve to enjoy a brief and peaceful life on Earth. Stop poisoning younger generations in other lands with your hate. 

Just. Fucking. Stop it.

Monday, November 17, 2014

A Restaurant Called Lee ho Fook

Here is a (very short) review by me of a local restaurant, Lee ho Fook, which is mentioned in the opening verse of this Warren Zevon pop classic from the late 70s. Amazeballs. Like, how did they do that? It boggles the mind. I mean - it's 2014 and, like, time warpy weirdness. Aaaah-ooooh...

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Martha By Tom Waits, Just because.

Some vintage Tom. I think he wrote this when he was 22 years old. So simple, so perfect. It's amazing to think he got even better over the years. I love his funny stuff and his wild stuff, but I think I love his love stuff the most.

Friday, November 14, 2014

Oy Vey

I have of late - but I know wherefore not - started saying Oy vey, a lot.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

I Have Of Late - But Wherefore I Know Not - Lost All My Mirth...

Back in the day when I started this blog, the whole point was to train myself to see the funny shit that is going on all around us, all the time. You can see shit happening and go hey, that's fucked up, or you can see shit happening and go hey that's fucked up, but imagine if this unexpected funny thing happened... how funny would that be? Or imagine seeing it from this angle? How great would that be?

Squint a little and you will see it.

Sadly, I don't have any of that left. Apparently I have lost my mirth.


Thursday, November 06, 2014

Ooh - Scary Like A Viking

Grumpy: Do you mind shaving my head, The Dreaded One?
The Dreaded One: No, Grumpy, not at all.
Grumpy: This time, can you give me a Mohican stripe?
The Dreaded One: A Mohican?
Grumpy: Yeah - so I look scary, like a Viking.
The Dreaded One: Scary like a Viking? Sure, no prob.
A short, buzzy time later...
The Dreaded One: There. All done.
Grumpy: Cool. Do I look scary like a Viking?
The Dreaded One: Yes, you look scary like a Viking.


Wednesday, November 05, 2014

Almost Live On International Radio

Last Saturday I slept in like a boss. I really look forward to sleeping in after doing a full week of early starts. I got up just after 9.30, trudged upstairs and checked my phone; one voice message. I phone in to listen to the message, and unexpectedly there's the Northern hemisphere twang of a guy who does a show on CBC Radio in Vancouver. He wants me to phone him back so that we can have a bit of a chat. He wants to interview me but doesn't say what about. I think maybe he's got the wrong person but he leaves me with his studio number, his cell number and then says he'll also email me at leebemrose666@gmail.com

This is all very odd, he definitely seems to have all the correct contact details.

Still feeling sleepy, with a bit of confusion thrown in, I check my email, and there's a message from the same guy. He wants to interview me about Creepypasta. It's Halloween and I'm guessing he's read this story I wrote for Soot Mag.

He really wants to do this but it has to happen before 7am Melbourne time. He called me originally at 5am. I have waaaay missed this boat, baby. Bummer. Could have been fun, but I'm not sure how coherent I would have been at 5am or 7am. I didn't feel like I was going to be coherent for another couple of hours yet.

Tuesday, November 04, 2014

I Want To Write A Story

I want to write a story, a made-up story. I used to write made-up stories all the time, hardly have the time or energy these days. But now I want to write a story. I want to do it in one draft, in several sittings. No revisions allowed.

The story... it's about this guy. Not me. It's not going to be an I story. I did this, I did that. He? Third person? Hmm. No. My trusty, unfashionable, my favourite second person. It's going to be a story about You.

You work in a cafe. (I know what you're thinking - it is a story about the author after all. But it's not. You have to trust me on this).

So you work in a cafe. You make coffee and serve food and make sure everyone is happy, gets their food and coffee on time. You're not great at the coffee but you're not bad, getting better. You get your fare share of compliments. You never intended to be the barista. The person who was meant to be the barista didn't show on the first day the cafe opened. She was hungover and someone had to make the coffee so you stepped in. That first day was nerves and shaky hands and flaky excuses and more than a few dodgy coffees. But you've gotten better. Sometimes all the ingredients - the grind, the dose, the steamed milk, the decorative pour - they all come together in a satisfying way and you know they are going to enjoy this coffee.

Another thing you do is you get to know people. All kinds of people you would probably never meet. You get a glimpse into all these diverse lives. People in the street catch your eye all the time, the pretty ones and the broken ones, the lonely ones and the old ones. All so different, trapped in their worlds, but you pass on by, wondering but never knowing.

But here in the cafe, you get to meet them, and you've only just realised what a cool thing this is. Not really a people person, you've had to learn how to talk with them, the way you've had to learn to steam the milk to silky perfection. Not that the talk is ever silky perfection, but it bumps along in it chunky way. They are rarely long meandering chats, being interrupted as they are by other customers or deliveries or the metalic screech of the coffee grinder. But here and there, in short bursts, a bigger picture emerges, a fuller view of the person is seen. The pretty ones, the broken ones, the lonely ones and the old ones, you get to know them and you realise that like you, they all have stories.

Where to begin? Who shall we meet first? Let's start with Hector, the only customer you've actually kicked out of the cafe...

To be continued.

Sunday, November 02, 2014

Wonderful Eyes

You see beauty a thousand times a day. It's the strangers with their hair and their tattoos and their piercings so exotic. The high-heeled girl from that designer shop just down the road, with her half shaved head and those eyes... those eyes... those completely wonderful eyes. And the random strangers with their accents and their histories, and the locals and the regulars with their quirks and must I sit here at this table or can I sit at that table over there? You see the scars and the bandages and you see and hear the wounds. You see and listen to the damaged ones, and you try to make them feel comfortable and at home, because you're welcome here. And it's all kind of beautiful.

Tonight I saw beauty again. In the mirror, Ann's eyes squinting as she shaved my head. Not aware of me. Not aware that I was looking at those amazing brown eyes. She trimmed and fluffed and squinted, and I had a few moments to look into her wonderful eyes and think, yeah you, you beautiful you.