I’m growing – GROWING damnit!

At the moment I’m reading a book called “Non-Zero: The Logic of Human Destiny”.  In it, Robert Wright applies game theory (non-zero vs zero-sumness – don’t worry, the book explains it) to cultural and biological evolution to “isolate the impetus behind life’s basic direction”.  In the first section, which I’m currently reading, he applies this theory to the entire evolution of civilisation.  The next section will do the same for biological evolution, with the intention in the end to show how the direction of life on this planet so far gives us a clear indication of where it is going.  I can’t wait for that part! 

Basically I’m hoping this book will explain the meaning of life to me.  No pressure, Rob me old mate.

But as this book progresses through it’s sweeping evaluation of the evolution of the world as we know it, I’m noticing another pattern.  A pattern all scientists are aware of (2nd law of thermodynamics anyone?), it was only in reading this book that it’s truth and application to life became clear to me. 

What I noticed is this: chaos breeds growth and progress.  Stability (/peace) breeds stagnation.

Now I guess it depends what you want from life and what you see the point as being.  Maybe stagnation sounds pretty damn calm and lovely and who cares about a bit of algae around the edges.  But personally, I can’t see why we’d come here just to stagnate, why we’d be here if not to grow and progress.  And growth doesn’t happen when everything’s hunky dory – why would it?  There is no impetus for change or innovation when everything is just dandy the way it is.

Chaos breeds growth.

In which case I must be almost 6 foot frickin tall by now. 

Which is a good thing… Right?

More Wackness Than Dopeness

Part homage to the nineties, part coming-of-age story, The Wackness is a little indie movie that has been getting great reviews, about a teenage boy who swaps marijuana for friendship and counselling sessions from a barely-holding-it-together psychiatrist while harbouring a crush on said psychiatrist’s step-daughter.To be honest, I didn’t get what all the fuss is about with this movie. It was kind of like a depressed Juno with way more grit and way less sweetness. It seems like Stephanie (the step-daughter) may equally have been talking to the movie’s writer/creator as to protagonist Luke Shapiro when she says:

“Know what your problem is, Shapiro? It’s that you just have this really shitty way of looking at things, ya know? I don’t have that problem. I just look at the dopeness. But you, it’s like you just look at the wackness, ya know?”
This movie certainly seems to emphasise the wackness. But to me it was redeemed by a standout little moment towards the end as Luke is stepping into an elevator and savours the experience of one of life’s true wacknesses:

Luke Shapiro: Do me a favor, Steph?
Stephanie: Huh?
Luke Shapiro: Don’t say nothin, ok? Just stand there til I leave. I wanna remember this. I’ve never done it before.
Stephanie: Never done what?
Luke Shapiro: Had my heart broken.

Life might be wack a hell of a lot of the time. But if you can savour every little bit of it, wack and dope, then maybe you’re getting the point.

Word.

Watchmen – Made to be watched by men?

Some of the most gratuitous violence I’ve ever hidden behind my hands from (granted I generally avoid violent movies at all costs). Superheroes. In lyrca and PVC. Having sex. Nuclear explosions. Awful, awful pseudo-philosophising. Innards.  The Forrest Gump soundtrack.Did I miss something?

If the point was that human beings are by nature base, violent and depraved, then it was really best demonstrated by the fact that so many people put so much time and effort into creating and viewing this movie in the name of entertainment.

That’s all I really have to say about that. One for the fans maybe. I didn’t get it.

He’s Just Not That Into You – and you are NOT the exception!

He’s Just Not That Into You has to be one of the first self-help books to be turned into a fictionalised Hollywood movie. It is based on the book of the same name – which to be honest, I haven’t actually read. Let’s bear in mind that it was written by former Sex In The City writers, one of whom is a comedian. Yes. As the man said himself in an interview I read recently, if you’re taking relationship advice from a comedian, it kind of says something about the state of your relationships.

Where do I even start with this movie? Initially, it seemed to be making some very valid points. Especially for someone like me who saw so much of herself in the bumbling, eager and self-doubting Gigi – a sweet girl who’s just looking for love and just doesn’t quite know the rules of these things. I’m pretty sure I’m not quite as cringe-worthy or as silly as Gigi but to be honest, I see far more of myself in her than I should really admit. How many girls didn’t quietly identify with a girl who, when told she shouldn’t go out with guys who aren’t that into her, wonders innocently “But then who will go out with me?”

So at first the message hit home – look at how pathetic you are, the movie cried! Can’t you see how obvious it is, dummy? If he doesn’t call, if he doesn’t text, if he treats you like crap, if he won’t marry you – he’s just not that into you! Don’t listen to all the people who have stories about friends of friends who ended up being the exception to the rule. You are not the exception, you are never the exception, don’t sit around waiting to be the exception. You are the rule!

This was up until about the last 10 minutes of the movie. And then, true to Hollywood and yet completely going against the entire message and premise of the whole movie, the final 10 minutes proceeded to undo everything the whole movie had been putting across. Suddenly the rules went out the window and all the girls were the exception. Suddenly the jerk really did care, the commitment-phobe really did want to get married – suddenly it seemed that maybe, just maybe, if you wait around for him just long enough – maybe you really will finally be the exception, maybe he really is into you after all and just didn’t know it. They actually took the whole ‘just get over it, be strong and move on’ message and totally turned it around, and in doing so perpetuated just exactly what the book and the first part of the movie was trying to make you let go of.

If the people sitting behind me in the movie weren’t sure of what I thought of this movie from my splutterings up til this point, I’m pretty sure they had a fairly good idea when a wedding festooned yacht exploded victoriously on screen and I couldn’t quite hold back the exclaimation of ‘Oh come ON!’ that burst forth in disgust.

The other bone I have to pick with this movie is the way it portrays women as pathetic, grasping beings just desperately groping after a man. The man, of course, being the one in control, who can grant or withdraw his attention at his cold-hearted whim. The basic message I got was: just accept that men are jerks and stop sitting around expecting them to act in any way like decent human beings.

I went to this movie as a fun ‘girl’s night’ with my female friends. We all came out of it feeling utterly defeated and drowned our incredible despair in glasses of wine, sitting around in stunned silence, occasionally muttering ‘man, I feel so depressed!’. I came out feeling so incredibly glad to be single and felt like I never ever wanted to go near another man ever again. This was about the time I started contemplating the advantages of life as a crazy old cat lady. I actually felt kind of disgusted at the thought of the whole male gender and didn’t want any of those bastards anywhere near me.

Well, when I say we all felt like this – I should say, all of us who were single. The one of us who was newly in a couple admitted to tearing up a little at the yacht scene. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Do I sound bitter?

The worst part of it is that it wasn’t even funny. It was really more cringe-worthy than funny at any point. It was long, not funny, internally contradictory… I’m struggling to find any redeeming feature at all. Even the hot guy somehow lost so much hotness by being a complete asshole.

I would really love to hear a male perspective on this film. Are all guys really like this? Is there any hope?

Perhaps I better start adding cat food to my shopping list…

Sheba Williams Album Release Gig – SFBH, Wellington, 22 November 2008

[Update 1 Dec 08: published here]

Having been promised an ‘electrifying stage show’ from ‘a performer unlike anyone else in Godzone’ by practically every events website in town, Sheba Williams had a lot to live up to when she took to the San Francisco Bathhouse stage on Saturday night (November 22^nd, 2008) to support the debut of her self-titled first album.

However, it would have taken the most hardened cynic not to sense, as the pulsing drum beats were joined by guitar, trumpet, saxophone and bass, that something very special was about to happen.  And then, there she was, replete with headdress and various leotards throughout the night, commanding the stage with the graciousness of some majestic African queen.

Not just another singer behind a microphone, Sheba Williams is a writer, musician and performer extraordinaire.  Quite appropriately, she has coined her own genre to describe her music: ‘Calyptro’ – a sound unlike any other, a fusion of hip-hip, soul, funk, electro, afrobeat, and then some, calling on influences as varied as her Caribbean heritage, her Aotearoa upbringing,  and her extensive travels, ranging from Berlin to Kyoto to Shanghai.  This merges into an exotic and vivacious sound unable to be boxed into any particular place or time.  Standing in the San Francisco Bathhouse on Saturday, you could have been anywhere in the world, and were somehow being taken to a place quite beyond it.

For example, what Kiwi girl couldn’t sympathise when she prefaced her song ‘Shy Guy’ with the dedication “This is to all the Kiwi guys – so dear to my heart, so far from my ass”, before launching into her song about the reticence of Kiwi men in their (lack of) amorous advances.  But far from leaving it there as a witty little ditty, the song progressed into a tour de force of the world, the afro-Kiwi diva singing verses in Chinese, Korean and German.

With music that was like Fat Freddy’s mixed with Cabaret mixed with afro-carribean funk, and a stage performance that was a patchwork quilt of theatrics, dance, amazing instrumental solos, and uniquely Sheba monologues and stories from her travels, this really was something else – a true show, and one unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.  Did I mention those leotards?

While Sheba owned the stage like some kind of worldly African queen, she never let you forget that “My grandmother lives in Parnell, bitch!”  A Kiwi girl who grew up in ‘the KKKs: Khandallah, Karori and Kelburn’ and yet made belting out Chinese rock ‘n’ roll in a red silk cape and leopard print leotard into an art form.  A gracious regent of her avid crowd and minions, she ended the show by thanking pretty much everyone under the sun, and had seemed just as happy to gyrate her fantastic figure to the skilful funk of her superb supporting band or hand over the stage to the antics of her supporting dancing act, as she was to take the microphone herself with her powerful and playful vocals.  Later in the night she could be found cavorting in full costume at the back of Mighty Mighty, a royal gracing the masses.

Her debut album can be seen as a metaphor for herself, a wide-ranging collection of pieces into an eclectic whole.  It comes in two parts: the 12-track studio-recorded Black Album, and the White Album, consisting of a live performance recording, three music videos, and an excerpt from her as-yet unpublished book Shanghai Sheba and the China Monologues, some of which she has read on Radio New Zealand. 

This was a true performance by a true performer, a unique and yes, I would even say ‘electrifying’, experience.  I would go so far as to say that Sheba Williams is not just ‘unlike anyone else in Godzone,’ but that you would be hard-pressed to find any one comparable in the world.  A world and law unto herself, she really must be experienced to be fully appreciated – but until she graces a stage near you, you can just do as she suggested and ‘buy my CD, then rip it and give it to someone for Christmas.’  Really.  She’s cool with it.

Seeing her emerge from backstage at the end of the night, I couldn’t resist grabbing her attention to praise the awesomeness of her show.  Her response – to kiss me graciously on the cheek and then admonish ‘Don’t wash that off!’ – really summed up the whole experience:

Sheba, the down-to-earth diva.

www.myspace.com/shebawilliams

www.shebawilliams.com

Body Corporate ‘Howlaround’ Release Gig (Wgtn)

[update 19 Nov 08: this review has now been published here]

My first thought, on hearing that Auckland band Body Corporate would be playing their Wellington release gig for debut album Howlaround at The Adelaide, was: ‘well, that’s a little random’. The Adelaide is what I would tend to describe as a ‘seedy old man pub’ on the outskirts of Newtown, one of Wellington’s dodgiest suburbs (slowly becoming the height of contrary cool for the mere fact of its dodginess).

As it turns out, I was right – ‘random’ really is the best word to describe it. But that, however, is precisely the point, drummer Paul educated me (myself being newcomer to this whole alt-indie business). Preferring to steer clear of the mainstream masses and play just another standard bar like just another standard band, they purposely seek out the random backstreet pubs wherever they go – which, after their launch gigs in Auckland on Friday (November 14) and Wellington on Saturday (November 15), will soon be including some gigs in Australia and the South Island as well.

Well, random is certainly what they got. My friend and I arrived painfully early due to my chronic over-punctualness (really must work on the ‘fashionably late’ thing!), but there was a certain enjoyment to be found in watching The Adelaide metamorphose from old man pub to… well… old man pub with some devoted and swaying indie fans in it. The place is a strange breed of venue – it has the atmosphere of an old school English local where the village drunks go on a Sunday to shoot pool, have a nosh up and drown in beer – and yet, high above, the walls are scattered with gothic photography of girls crying blood with flesh-stained teeth. As my friend said, you kind of get the feeling that at midnight the place becomes some kind of vampire coven, ghouls crawling out of the walls to drink each others’ blood. Even the girl behind the bar sported the blue hair of anarchy and damn-the-man-ism, and we arrived to be greeted by a lot of pirate speak, before the barman admonished the punters to ‘leave the normal people alone’.

Being preceded by quality toe-tapping to fairly fun and vivacious Wellington band Cougar Cougar Cougar (who seem to be invariably described as a ‘dirty 3-piece rock ‘n’ roll act’), drummer Paul exited my barrage of questions to join his Body Corporate mates in playing a sweet but very short set for the oddly assorted ‘crowd’ that had accumulated. Trying to blend in to a crowd of at maximum about 14, each doing their own little unique sway in an audience about three meagre lines deep (highlights being Random Old Drunk Guy Who Hates The English and the chick with the Emilie Le Strange hair cut who proclaimed to all and sundry that her beer was ‘cumming’), I was reminded of two things. Firstly I couldn’t quite escape flashing images of the closing credits of that Simpsons episode where grungy audience members sway morosely to the Smashing Pumpkins. Secondly, I kind of had the feeling like I was hanging out at my mates’ place, watching a bunch of guys jam in the back of the garage and sharing a beer. Which I found myself enjoying rather much more than feeling like just another skirt on Courtenay Place.

Their all-too-brief set was followed by an all-too-lengthy one by Wellington indie-progressive-rock band Captain Sergeant Major, playing what Paul described to me as ‘math rock’. I dunno about that – all I know is there was a hell of a lot of long boring guitar and not much else. The drummer himself proclaimed somewhat indignantly after the first song “You all sat down! We made you all sit down!” Technically proficient certainly – but not exactly foot tapping or even hold-your-beer-and-sway inducing.  Just not my cup of tea, I guess.

When I told Paul that his band should have played longer, he told me that it’s best to be considerate when there is a band on after you. He had told me previously that the band was really just an excuse to have a good time with mates and play a bit of music. The debut album itself was released only on vinyl (complete with mp3 download voucher – as the 3 News article said “They may be romantic about the vinyl, but they are not stupid”), ensuring only a particular subset of people with a certain dedication to their music, and to music in general, as buyers. And finally I realised that, rather than some misplaced modesty or typical Kiwi tall-poppy-avoidance, perhaps this choice of album medium and release gig venue was exactly what they were after. Who wants hordes of meat-market teeny boppers wielding made-in-China CDs hoping to hear something just like the band that played last night, when you can carve out a little niche of truly dedicated fans and experiment a little? Sure, it means you’ll be playing about 4 songs to a ‘crowd’ of 14 in a seedy old man bar to release your album which most people don’t even have the mechanism to play (download notwithstanding). But it also means you’ll be playing whatever the hell you want to play however the hell you want to play it, and your fans will feel like they’re part of some special little club that includes you. It also helps when they buy you beer.

Somehow though, I couldn’t quite escape the feeling that they could back themselves just a little bit more. Maybe they don’t want to be music for the masses, but surely they could at least play more than 4 or 5 songs for those dedicated enough to brave The Adelaide and its resident Old Drunk Guy to see them perform. A good night – but one that left me feeling like I wanted more. Which, come to think of it, is probably not a bad result at all.

www.myspace.com/thebodycorp – Aussies and South Islanders keep an eye out early 2009 for the post-Christmas leg of their release ‘tour’!

Day of Art and Fun in Welly!

Wow, what a brilliant day I had today!

Went and investigated some options up at the Vic campus, which was nice because Vic is such a great Uni and it reminded me of the great time I had there doing my BA   Sat in the little graveyard perched on a stone overlooking Wellington city and harbour, basking in the sun and generally revelling in the gloriousness that is Wellington on a beautiful sunny morning.

Then I wandered down to the Weltec campus to ensure I was enrolled for the summer – I am going to be doing a Certificate in Art & Design in an attempt to find my avenue of creative expression, give some things a go, and just generally have some fun and a play around!

While at the Weltec city campus I had a wander around the exhibtions of the current Creative Technologies students to get a feel for the place (on til November 18 for anyone interested, at 11 Church St).  I have to confess, I just don’t get ‘installations’.  Like, you know – let’s lie some things around the floor and say it’s art.  How is that art?  To me art is either meaningful or beautiful or both.  What is meaningful or beautiful about random stuff scattered around a room?  But maybe I’m just uncultured or old fashioned or something

Then, on pure spontaneous impulse, I went to a lunchtime Catholic mass at St Mary of the Angels church just down from Weltec, which was a very interesting experience.  I just happened to be passing and thought: ‘well, I’ve never done that before’.  Quite peaceful and nice actually, I found it surprisingly enjoyable.  Cool church too.

Then, on wandering through Civic Square to find a perch to eat lunch, I stumbled across the Cartooning for Peace exhibtion:

Cartooning for Peace display in Wellington

Luckily I had my handy dandy cellphone camera with me, you can check out the rest of the photos I took here.

I spent a glorious lunch on the bridge from Civic Square, overlooking the boatshed and Wellington Harbour, being whispered to by the stone, and feeling in the sun and wind that right there was really all the church or temple I needed.

On the way back to Cuba St I discovered that the Cartooning for Peace exhibition continued inside the Michael Fowler centre, with a display of tons of political cartoon which were really cool – it’s really neat how they can put a concept so poignantly in pictures which wouldn’t be expressed nearly so well in words.

Then I wandered the funky awesomeness of Cuba St, ending up at another Weltec visual arts exhibiton at Thistle Hall, which was much more to my artistic taste – I especially liked the realist painting of Helen Clark with a Moko, which had obviously prompted the ire of a Maori gentleman busy arguing with the poor young girl supervising the exhibition when I walked in, over the respectfulness of painting someone without their permission, and somewhat contrarily, why there wasn’t also one of John Key.

This was followed by rather too much time spent in Real Groovy, which has to be the randomest collection of stuff in a store ever.  Where else could you find a bin of $2 Shakespeare next to Britney CDs, heavy metal T-shirts and books of surrealist comics?  Gotta love it!

A little trip to some wonderful little arty, knick-knacky stores like Magnolia and Koru and finally, that bookshop to rule them all, Auntie Bees, and the day was complete.

Wellington speaks to my soul!

Circus As Art – Seriously Sophisitcated

Hear the word circus and what connotations immediately spring to mind?  If you’re anything like me, images of pathetic clowns pulling off tired slapstick jokes on a floor of sawdust spring to mind.  Sad, neglected animals being bossed about by rotund ringleaders under a red and white tent and children in spandex flying from rooftops.

Which was why I was intrigued by the tagline of Adagio, the most recent offering of Wellington’s Downstage Theatre:  seriously sophisticated circus.  Not to mention its rave reviews.  Circus?  Sophisticated?  Serious?  Critically acclaimed?  Devoid of dirt-smeared toffee apples and animal rights activists?

Having secured tickets to the final night of the extended season (November 1^st, 2008) and having coaxed some long-suffering and equally culturally adventurous family members to accompany me (heaven forbid I not be acquainted with the individuals who sit silently next to me in a darkened theatre while I watch a show), it was with curious anticipation that I sat in Downstage’s slightly rickety stands, hearing the rain rattling furiously at the walls and wondering what was about to come.

Whatever I had expected, it wasn’t the delicate, playful and masterful piece of theatre which filled the next seventy minutes.  The word ‘adagio’ is actually a musical term which indicates the piece should be played ‘slow and stately’, which turned out to be a perfectly fitting title for this well-crafted piece of theatre.  Picture, if you can, finely interwoven threads of music, dance, theatre, incredible displays of acrobatic skill, and subtly cheeky comedy, all sewn imperceptibly into one another and pulled off with epicene charm and playful mastery.

Picture a circus in which the place of the traditional ‘clown’ is taken by a romance-novel writing mime and a Pacific Islander with talent as surprisingly large as his belly.  In which the ‘death-defying feats’ are replaced by elegant, almost sensual displays of acrobatic artistry.  And where else but here could you find rugby and ballet intertwined into something that is somehow equal parts amusing and beautiful?

Actually, no, scratch that.  There’s no way you could imagine it if you tried.  Adagio was quite simply unlike anything you’ve seen before.  It is a terrible shame the season has finished, otherwise I would be highly recommending all and sundry to see it and see it now!  I can only hope that this original creation has not been bestowed upon its last audience, and that its gentle sense of magic continues to whisper softly to the hearts of the rest of those lucky enough to have had the experience, as it does to mine.

Blindsight

Today I went to one of the films on for the Wellington Film Festival called ‘Blindsight’. It was a documentary about a blind American guy who took 6 blind Tibetan youth on an expedition to climb the peak next to Mt Everest. This guy, Erik, lost his sight when he was 15 and yet went on himself to climb Mt Everest in 2001. He came in contact with a blind German woman who had journeyed alone to Tibet and started up a school for the blind there in Lahasa. In Tibet, they believe that people are blind because they did something wrong in a past life and are being punished for it. So blind children are outcasts, viewed as sinners – in one disturbing scene, two blind children are pushed while walking down the street by an old woman who tells them they deserve to eat their father’s corpse. So this German woman opens a school for the blind and takes these kids in and tries to instill in them the idea that they can achieve things in life and are just as worthy as sighted people.

As the film tells its story of the expedition being put together, it interweaves snippets of the everyday life of these children and their families. It is heart wrenching to see and hear the matter-of-factness with which the families talk of the disappointment and disgrace of having a blind child. One mother says of her son, ‘he was a clever child. But now look at him’, while he sits beside her with who-knows-what running through his head, his expression indiscernible.

Cue the American heroes to save the day, to give these kids the American dream – that anyone can do anything they put their mind to. Erik and his trusty band of Western guides prepare 6 blind kids, as well as the German lady and her partner, and they all set off on this awe-inspiring expedition to climb the peak just a step down from Mt Everest.

Of course, if this was some big budget movie or even a best-selling book, they would all have made it to the peak and screamed from the summit of their heroism in overcoming blindness and adversity and reaching the ultimate goal. The really meaningful thing about this story is that they didn’t. They made it to Advanced Base Camp, which is still an altitude over 21,000 feet. A couple of the kids were getting altitude sickness, and they were sent down. The Americans wanted to push on, to take the rest of the team to the summit, to achieve their goal. But the German woman said, wait a second, what are we doing this for? Are we doing this for the kids, or because we somehow want to prove something? On the way up she said the kids didn’t enjoy just climbing, climbing, climbing – they wished they could stop and sense and feel things and sing songs and tell stories. And at this point, when half of the children had gone back down, she felt that reaching the summit hadn’t been the point for her. To her the point of the expedition had been to teach the kids about solidarity and taking care of the weakest link in a team and caring for each other. And so they all turned back and went down.

That was what really hit home to me. They all had a goal – but along the way they had reassessed what that goal actually was and what was really important. Getting to the top of the mountain would have sounded good and made a good movie – but in the end it wasn’t the right choice. The Americans would have pushed on regardless, just to get to the top of the mountain, to be able to say they had done it, to look good, to not risk being perceived as a failure. But that wasn’t the right choice for that team at that time, and in the end they were all better off for having turned back.

And the kids still did get that sense of self-worth that the whole trip was meant to be about. For them it was never about getting to some arbitrary peak. For them the excitement was in knowing that this team of people believed in them as capable human beings, believed they were capable of anything they set their mind to. And they carried that with them afterwards, and began to dream of the lives they were capable of having.

And it made me think – what are our mountains? What are the peaks that we want to be able to say we have scaled – and in the end, are they really what is important? Maybe we all have a summit we want to be able to say we have climbed – and maybe if we become too focused on it as our goal, we miss the really important stuff along the way. Maybe sometimes it’s ok to stop and go back. Maybe forsaking the important things in life to reach some arbitrary goal is the real failure – maybe success is knowing your motivations, and knowing when to let some goals go.

Maybe we’re all just climbing blind. And if so, you better be sure you’re enjoying the climb, because the peak is just another bit of dirt under your feet and a dream of what might be in front of you.