Surprise

Hi there,

It's me again, after a heck of a time. I'm still here and thought I'd better sign on once again.

It's been a pretty hectic year creatively, with lots of projects finally realizing fruition. A quick outline:

* An Infinity Room (A.I.R.)
I finally introduced my own ensemble, An Infinity Room. Named after a series of paintings by Rachael Freeman and of course the famous dot works of Kusama. This is, of all things, an electric organ/synthesizer ensemble. I spent a month trawling the countryside for odd, misshapen keyboards. I then exhibited them for a week at Canberra Contemporary Art Space and have performed with them as a group a couple of times hence. Big plans to tour the UK at some point next year.

* Super Critical Mass
The BIG project, for 100 performers all playing the same type of instrument. We of course launched this at CarriageWorks last year and have now presented it in a new way at the Brisbane Festival as part of the Under The Radar series. A week of flutes appearing in all sorts of nooks and crannies such as shopping centre escalators, open air malls and train stations. A new work of mine for around 20 flutes. Plans again to take this project to the UK, as well as other cities in Australia like Melbourne and Canberra.

* Loud And Soft
Finally, a label! Formed with my oldest working colleague Luke Jaaniste. We've yet to release anything but be patient .. it's designed to focus on works with simple architectural premises yet lush sound results. Stay tuned.

* Stammer
More from this long-standing project, again with Luke. In this instance, subjecting a number of turntables to the same LPs with blocking factors such as piles of coins, creating unusual loop-based works.

More to come ...

J

Review

It's been a good year for my music - and, by Dog, it's about time.

Ten years ago, by contrast, I was a mess. I spent my entire undergrad degree in a perpetual state of fright and ennui. A seven-year writer's block. I was far too rigid, paranoid - and, dare I say, lazy - to write even the simplest of pieces. In fact, I failed my third year because in place of the required hour of music I submitted two 5-minute sketches.

This year, however, I've felt much more revived and courageous. It's as if I've finally had it with wondering "what if?" and "when will I?" and "why didn't I?" and just fucking got off my arse to write stuff. And, happily, opportunities to write have come thick and fast.

Things began promisingly, with my first ever New York premiere: three electronic pieces set to dance by Alice Lee Holland and performed by a new group in Brooklyn. Later I had my first Los Angeles premiere: "Hundreds Of Exploding Suns" for bass flute and electronics, performed by my great friend Antares Boyle.

Between June and October I wrote my first album-length work, an electronic score for Alice Holland's "Preparing To Be Beautiful". We enjoyed five sold-out shows at the Artrage festival in Perth and we're aiming to present the work at future festivals. Working alone at the computer offered me the liberty to explore a number of elements I've been keen on for years: assymetrical rhythms, tautly driven dance music, spacious and reflective electronica.

In late September the Sydney Children's Festival picked up "Critical Mass", a show I'd been developing for the past couple of years with Janet McKay. It was a great success, both artistically and audience-wise, and likewise I was able to explore elements I've long held dear: large-scale bodily choreography, installation, structured improvisation. At the risk of sounding immodest I think my own contribution, "Ascending Children", finally captured my interest in simple, closed forms elegantly and beautifully.

I also managed a few smaller commissions: "Night Nurse (This Thing Deep Inside You It Will Kill You)" for amplified rock quintet, written for Chronology Arts and premiered at the Sound Lounge in Sydney, and "Conception" for 4-part choir and chamber ensemble written for the Stations Of Creation project. Plus, through my Bundanon residency I managed to chip away at a few ongoing pieces including an orchestral chaconne and some piano studies. I also also finally finished a work that, although minor, had preoccupied me for about 6 years: "B Is For Body (In 3 Parts: Feet, Heart, Head)" for celesta/harpsichord/fortepiano.

The main breakthroughs, I think, have been internal. A renewed energy, urgency and aggression towards success. A new bravery. A new industry and confidence. I'm not sure that I've had a Eureka moment, a sudden grand insight into how my music should sound like from now (although I do recall lying in a depressed, feverish haze earlier in the year thinking it was time to be really, seriously courageous with my music - so perhaps that counts). Rather, it's been a slowly building sense of momentum, I guess, and a sense of anger at my previous squandering of time and energy. So I predict bigger and better things to come.

But damn it, why couldn't I have done this well when I was being marked for it?

Now

In the Sydney Festival's long-awaited program I notice that Fourtet will be "improvising in real-time". Er, right - like there's an alternative?

Taylor

I am listening to the album Landing by Taylor Duepree. From what I have read he is an American sound artist who runs his own label and is also a graphic designer. I have never seen a photograph of him but in my mind he is handsome and dreamy, with only a very light beard and an ash-brown fringe that occasionally falls over his eyes. He has a quiet confidence, a charisma, that draws to him both men and women. His parents either work or worked in quietly confident industries, like sociology studies or architecture. They gave him such an exotic name because they knew he would grow up to be a much-loved kind of person. He knows how to handle money and has a clean, minimal and well-designed wardrobe with a nod towards the street. He has a very expensive Apple computer but deliberately makeshift furniture. Compared to this imaginary Taylor Duepree I feel failed and timid.

Bald

It's always bugged me ... just why were Arnold Schoenberg (A) and Mstislav Rostropovich (B) so bald?

I mean, so much more bald-looking than anyone else?

Other people with receding hairlines (C & D) seem to get away with it.

Well, except this guy (E).

And there's no guaranteeing that having hair will make any difference (F).

But with the two maestros, you just can't avoid it. It's serious 'elephant-in-the-room' stuff.

Maybe they just had more forgettable faces. Kind of pudgy and loose. Or weren't especially attractive in the first place. Or because they sometimes dressed like The Beatles but looked so much more professorly. Or maybe that they grew the side bits just a little too long in a way that emphasized their cue-ball domes more than usual. Or maybe because back in the 60s when the world was actually in black and white the lack of hair was all the more shocking (G). And standing next to hairy people didn't help (H).

I used to feel really sick looking at photos Schoenberg; he was so drab and stern and proper and empty (I & J). Like he had an inflamed pancreas and hadn't yet informed anyone. It used to turn me off modern music.

Perhaps he could have compensated: gone all open-shirt and hot chick like Leonard Bernstein (K) or simply worn a hat like Francis Poulenc (L).

Or at least just tried to smile more (H).




Damn it, man, your material was hard enough to sell as it was - next time, get a combover or a makeover, or simply write a damn good tune.

Fear

10 things that I'm afraid of.

1. Lakes.
2. Vomiting.
3. Being bashed.
4. Cancer.
5. Boredom.
6. Not achieving my goals. Failing.
7. Being left behind.
8. Being secretly hated.
9. Sunrise.
10. Camping.

Glitch

It happens so often yet I thought this place was immune.

I was in my local death metal/emo/hardcore CD store, only barely fitting in in my standard blacks (considering my lack of piercings, tatts, hairdye or youth). The sales assistant terrifically cool, robotic, bloodless. On the stereo, a typically grinding track with obligatory Cookie Monster vocals.

Suddenly the growl be-be-be-beca-came a-a-a gl-gl-glitching stu-stu-stu-u-u-u-u-tt-tter, as the CD began to stuff up. And suddenly the previously bloodless assistant st-st-stuttered into gear to change the disc as quickly as possible. Just like at your local Starbucks. God knows we don't want to be offended.

Cookie Monster lost his 'tude.