Red Means Glow: The Life And Love Of A Music Whore

Let me keep my faith and innocent eyes...

2008-05-21T01:44:00.000-07:00

It is nearly 7pm, and the office is empty. Strangely (cough), rather than embrace the freedom and actually leave at a decent hour, I am sitting here listening to Delta Goodrem. And not just any Delta. Innocent Eyes. The album that started that torrent of Delta insanity that would come to be known as UBER PLATINUM.

This whole journey started early this morning when I was exposed to a stash of old Delta footage. Interviews. First TV appearances. And perhaps most importantly her appearance at the 2003 Logie Awards. Back in the day I think I watched this about 70 times on VHS. I was in Year 12, and plagued by many a thing. Looking For Alibrandi was a defining dialogue in my life, and I was bathing myself in a world of Delta, Chantal, Patty and various other Canadian artists in a bid to retain some form of sanity. So right now, here I am... sitting in a big corporate office, surrounded by piles of albums I'll never listen to, reflecting and thinking about times where $3 microwaveable burgers were a highlight of my week.

I think Delta and I have a lot in common. Things came much easier back then. You didn't have to fight as hard to find those moments of creative spark. Those moments of inspiration seemed to fall infront of you, like frozen vegetables falling from a farmyard sky. It is different now, of course. You have to work at feeling inspired. Psych yourself up. Motivate yourself to think differently and not get caught up in a current if normality and homogeneity.

In the words of Avril: I'd rather be anything than ordinary, please.

Get a little warm in my heart, when I think of winter...

2008-05-07T05:56:00.001-07:00

I promise this blog won't be entirely music-centric. I know in order to maintain a steady and large readership I need to live a lurid life of high drama, sexual promiscuity and social domination - and then commit every lurid detail to the interwebs. (Thanks for the advice, Flip)

With that said, anyone who has read my previous ramblings about a certain Hillsong-funding-barrista-extraordinaire will know that the extent of my lurid promiscuity is switching from skim to fullcream.

Winter, however, is oft my season of love. Admittedly, I say it too much thesedays for it ever to possibly eventuate this season but it does allow the mind to wander.

Winter, too, brings with it a new musical mood. There is, sappily, nothing I like more than a slow walk home in the burgeoning darkness, complete with silverly cold aural landscape provided by Apple Inc. Previous winters have seen artists such as Damien Rice and Brooke Fraser drift in like a creeping fog, until they are so omniscient that there is little else to see.

This winter, thus far, belongs to Tina Dico. She keeps me company on the journey home and her morose melancholy inspires me, just sometimes, to take that second glance.

Holy Bardot, take the pressure down...

2008-05-07T05:31:00.000-07:00

Having a blog comes with a set of pressures one might never expect. Having been a punch-as-proud blog owner for, erm, approximately twenty minutes now I am experiencing this rabid bird of expectation in full flight.

One could perhaps say that I am never one short on words. I'm rarely satisfied with just the 23 useful letters in the alphabet. I tend to use lots of combinations of them to get anything done. And conjunctions make me just the slightest bit aroused.

I've been called witty, I can't lie. One perhaps might even mexican-stretch as far as to say that, friends, I am quite the PUN MACHINE. (Insert label: pun machine. Or perhaps Machine Pun Fellatio. No?) Yet when faced with the yearning finger'wagglins of a white box my creativity abandons me. Suddenly I am as dry as Belinda Chapple (if she were a dessert) or a cheeseburger without some humourous cat attachment.

Maybe I'll just show a video clip.

Tell me, honey, what is it that we do?

And so it begins, dear friends.

2008-05-07T04:54:00.000-07:00

Random observations and ramblings. The occasionally insightful vociferation. A few lustful words. And a whole lotta love/music.

Life on the inside has never looked so verbose.