[This is transcribed more or less completely and without editing from my notebook, in which I took sporadic notes during my trip. I had wanted to drink a lot more coffee and alcohol and to review/judge more places, but illness got the better of me.]
13 April - Melbourne
1030hrs, Tullamarine: No idea Tullamarine was like in the country. This is ridiculous. Also big props to the old man who kept me from reading my book during the flight.
Here are some things I learned about him. He:
13 April - Melbourne
1030hrs, Tullamarine: No idea Tullamarine was like in the country. This is ridiculous. Also big props to the old man who kept me from reading my book during the flight.
Here are some things I learned about him. He:
- flies twin engine planes. Why he isn't flying one today is a mystery.
- also buys and sells trucks, the purpose of his journey to Melbourne today, because I asked.
- has like a nephew or something studying in Melbourne. Law. Rents a three-bedroom with two mates, share a car from the commute. They have a written contract to not bring anybody into the house, women et cetera. They sound like the most obnoxious wankers. Suited to one another.
- is a massive gambler, as is his wife. He resolves never to spend the principle when he makes a win, he is something like four grand down over a couple of decades of roulette.
- takes only ninety minutes to warm up to a person before he breaks out the racisms and begins talking about how They have all the jobs at airport security and the post office.
- interprets people looking down at their books after lengthy silences as cues to resume speaking.
1045: To Southern Cross Station, this place looks just like Sydney. They still have MX and they still have Creamfields. Cultural capital my arse.
COFFEE #1: "Reg." FW. Grinders @ Fresh Connections Cafe. Hot, bland. Regular is HUGE.
Kinfolk - non-profit hippy cafe cnr. Bourke/Spencer. Communal tables. Ladders as bookshelves. Pumpkin soup, kumara, ginger & dill yoghurt. 3 1/2 stars. When you leave they ask you to put a coffee bean in one of four jars. Each jar represents a Cause. They divvy up the profits according to the weight of the jars. I went for Palm Island indigenous education.
COFFEE #2: Reg FW takeaway from Kinfolk. Not too bad. 3 1/2.
Lt. Collins St: I mean this city is European in the sense that there's no room to walk.
1300, Elizabeth St, CBD: Thanks to the kindly hipster who showed me how to use the ticket machines on the tram. Apparently they are exactly like Sydney buses machines except with inexplicable teeth at the hole.
1330, North Melbourne: 'I love people in glasses who have just come out of the rain. It's funny.' Check-in at the YHA. Chicken snags. BBQ sauce abandoned in YHA kitchen with rubbed off best before date.
My bearings are fucked. There's no sun to tell the compass by. The problem stems from I have no idea where the airport is in relation to the city, so from this everything's off. Maps take forever to read.
1650: Something about standing in the middle of a road about the size of Anzac Pde just seems intrinsically foolish. Tram stop.
Convinced the grizzled blue collar type just gave evil eyes to the Indian who got on at the back & evaded fare.
1715: I think my confusion using the Metcard the 1st time stems from the misguided assumption that the ticketing system in this city is somehow more advanced that Sydney's.
The wide empty streets & the verandah post architecture make this seem like a massive country town.
1800, Brunswick St, Fitzroy: Intersections have cars stop 2m before pedestrian crossing lane to allow for bikes to skitch up the inside lane & get 1st go in the line. NICE. The future, ladies & gentlemen.
1830, Collins St, CBD: Overheard on a tram:
"I want to go see Dr Zhivago."
"What's that?"
"It's a new musical. I don't know what it's about."
"Oh, I thought it was an actual doctor."
"I saw it on a commercial."
Two observations about the tram system:
2000: COFFEE #3: Gelato Shop, N. Melbourne, Elizabeth St nr Queensbury St. Far too sweet for anyone's taste + the fact that he joked w/ me in directions to the Arthouse: 2 1/2.
Daniel: Also do you know how to get to the Arthouse from here?
Old Italian man: Arthouse?
D: Yeah, it's a music venue? Apparently close to here.
I: Ohh, that's three or four kilometres that way.
D: What? Really? I was told it was...
I comes out from behind counter, leads D to door.
I: Yeah, I'll show you where to go, you head down this way here about forty five minutes, and it's just over there.
Points across intersection at the Arthouse.
N. Melbourne along Eliz St etc has the sense of the dilapidated forlorn about it. This is one of the last Arthouse shows. It feels a lot like the Annandale, inside & around.
Interesting not only that parallel areas in 2 cities have similar origins, but that they have such similar timelines of development/decline - here & Annandale.
The queue stretches around the corner. Handsome moustachio'd indie boy and pretty indie girl stand on the corner. I wonder why.
The group of girls in front me me are causing a hold up at the entrance. Apparently they have a bundle of tickets, and one person less than the number of tickets. They step outside. "Anyone want a ticket?"
Cries of "Yes" from the back.
"My girlfriend left her ticket in Tasmania!" That seals it.
1815: There is no easy way to say "I'm on the list" w/o sounding like a knob or being overly friendly/apologetic for being on the list. Either way you're a knob.
House music is a combination of hardcore punk and the Weakerthans.
It must be difficult to tailor music to a show if you don't really know the artist or their scene.
Indie couple sit on sofa across from me. If I were a taxidermist I would kill them and stuff them and I'd have to poison them so their clothes don't get ruined.
2010: First line of 'Heat Exhaustion' = 5 people in the crowd ahead of me drink. Weirdly synchronised.
Chalkboard @ The Arthouse reads:
COFFEE #1: "Reg." FW. Grinders @ Fresh Connections Cafe. Hot, bland. Regular is HUGE.
Kinfolk - non-profit hippy cafe cnr. Bourke/Spencer. Communal tables. Ladders as bookshelves. Pumpkin soup, kumara, ginger & dill yoghurt. 3 1/2 stars. When you leave they ask you to put a coffee bean in one of four jars. Each jar represents a Cause. They divvy up the profits according to the weight of the jars. I went for Palm Island indigenous education.
COFFEE #2: Reg FW takeaway from Kinfolk. Not too bad. 3 1/2.
Lt. Collins St: I mean this city is European in the sense that there's no room to walk.
1300, Elizabeth St, CBD: Thanks to the kindly hipster who showed me how to use the ticket machines on the tram. Apparently they are exactly like Sydney buses machines except with inexplicable teeth at the hole.
1330, North Melbourne: 'I love people in glasses who have just come out of the rain. It's funny.' Check-in at the YHA. Chicken snags. BBQ sauce abandoned in YHA kitchen with rubbed off best before date.
My bearings are fucked. There's no sun to tell the compass by. The problem stems from I have no idea where the airport is in relation to the city, so from this everything's off. Maps take forever to read.
1650: Something about standing in the middle of a road about the size of Anzac Pde just seems intrinsically foolish. Tram stop.
Convinced the grizzled blue collar type just gave evil eyes to the Indian who got on at the back & evaded fare.
1715: I think my confusion using the Metcard the 1st time stems from the misguided assumption that the ticketing system in this city is somehow more advanced that Sydney's.
The wide empty streets & the verandah post architecture make this seem like a massive country town.
1800, Brunswick St, Fitzroy: Intersections have cars stop 2m before pedestrian crossing lane to allow for bikes to skitch up the inside lane & get 1st go in the line. NICE. The future, ladies & gentlemen.
1830, Collins St, CBD: Overheard on a tram:
"I want to go see Dr Zhivago."
"What's that?"
"It's a new musical. I don't know what it's about."
"Oh, I thought it was an actual doctor."
"I saw it on a commercial."
Two observations about the tram system:
- It depersonalises the provision of public transport services: it is difficult to thank a tram driver.
- It is easier for smug douchebags to get away w/ not paying the fare, and feel good about beating The Man.
2000: COFFEE #3: Gelato Shop, N. Melbourne, Elizabeth St nr Queensbury St. Far too sweet for anyone's taste + the fact that he joked w/ me in directions to the Arthouse: 2 1/2.
Daniel: Also do you know how to get to the Arthouse from here?
Old Italian man: Arthouse?
D: Yeah, it's a music venue? Apparently close to here.
I: Ohh, that's three or four kilometres that way.
D: What? Really? I was told it was...
I comes out from behind counter, leads D to door.
I: Yeah, I'll show you where to go, you head down this way here about forty five minutes, and it's just over there.
Points across intersection at the Arthouse.
N. Melbourne along Eliz St etc has the sense of the dilapidated forlorn about it. This is one of the last Arthouse shows. It feels a lot like the Annandale, inside & around.
Interesting not only that parallel areas in 2 cities have similar origins, but that they have such similar timelines of development/decline - here & Annandale.
The queue stretches around the corner. Handsome moustachio'd indie boy and pretty indie girl stand on the corner. I wonder why.
The group of girls in front me me are causing a hold up at the entrance. Apparently they have a bundle of tickets, and one person less than the number of tickets. They step outside. "Anyone want a ticket?"
Cries of "Yes" from the back.
"My girlfriend left her ticket in Tasmania!" That seals it.
1815: There is no easy way to say "I'm on the list" w/o sounding like a knob or being overly friendly/apologetic for being on the list. Either way you're a knob.
House music is a combination of hardcore punk and the Weakerthans.
It must be difficult to tailor music to a show if you don't really know the artist or their scene.
Indie couple sit on sofa across from me. If I were a taxidermist I would kill them and stuff them and I'd have to poison them so their clothes don't get ruined.
2010: First line of 'Heat Exhaustion' = 5 people in the crowd ahead of me drink. Weirdly synchronised.
Chalkboard @ The Arthouse reads:
Frank Turner
(UK)
Isaac Graham
(Sold Out)
(UK)
Isaac Graham
(Sold Out)
The pot/pint difference (as opposed to the lesser middy/schooner difference) encourages more women to drink beer, I'm thinking.
2145: 'You can't play a wrong note on a harmonica.' Fuck off Frank Turner. I've done it loads of times.
2220: If Mel. is the exciting culture city where is the boring city?
People are never drunk enough to enjoy opening acts properly.
2230: Converses doused in some girl's spilt beer. She's apologetic. I had dodged the afternoon rain but was no match for the Arthouse.
Night time Mel has the same colour as Syd. Bare, neutral yellow streetlights, neon blue lights identifying establishments to avoid.
I fear that when I sing along my growl alienates nearby fans. (To the east, rawr).
2330: Oh my God I just stood up and realised how intoxicated I am.
The amount of times I've said "You're 'right" to people tonight. Melbournians are so apologetic.
If Isaac comes to Tas. Lachlan Hayes owes a drink. Pint.
Lachlan Hayes lowest airfares guaranteed.
Indie couple = Lachlan + Jedda. Jedda did not leave her ticket in Tasmania, she never bought one. A deception has been played.
Lachlan plays me in pool. Lachlan wins. I show them Pie Face.
Melb is fucked on a week night.
Arriving drunk @ 3am @ the hostel I think I interrupted a midnight rendezvous outside.
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