The Bedroom Philosopher: Wit-Bix

Some 10 days after it started, I finally got to see a Melbourne International Comedy Festival show at the weekend. My plans for another month of dawn to dusk comedy coverage were scuppered by the unexpected and distinctly unpleasant arrival of a $2000 bill from the Australian Taxation Office. Apologies to impoverished comedians and under-attended shows everywhere; blame ‘The Man’.

Fittingly my first 2011 show was Wit-Bix by the Bedroom Philosopher, the person responsible for my favourite MICF moment last year: Songs from the 86 Tram. Whilst that was a poignant snapshot of Melbourne society, brought to life through clever songs and artfully observed characters, Wit-Bix is akin to watching the accompanying bloopers on DVD. If 86 Tram was Smoke, here is its Blue in The Face.

Loose and shambolic where 86 Tram was carefully structured and multi-layered; Wit-Bix has no narrative, no over-riding theme, and regularly makes no sense at all. There are still funny and lovely little songs – including a couple of numbers ably backed by his Awkwardstra – but they have little in common beyond displaying the Philosopher’s knack for musical diversity. If any of this sounds like a bad thing, please be assured that it is not. The change of pace and format reveals a whole lot more about Justin Heazlewood (the man behind the specs) than Songs from the 86 Tram allowed for. Some is a little predictable – mini-rants about bogans and jokes-by-numbers comedians offer nothing new – but the rest is a series of left and right turns, each highlighting a different angle of the Philosopher’s comedy philosophy.

Long term fans of Lime Champions might have expected the cute, semi-tragic interplay between two laptops with male and female Stephen Hawking voices or the big band-esque number about getting a new hairdresser. I suspect they might not have anticipated the creative use of Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game and a tray of kitty litter that is worth the entrance fee alone.

It’s fair to say that a few in the audience found the diversity a bit much. A painfully honest stab at addressing guilty feelings about indigenous Australians was clearly a bit serious for some of the Saturday night crowd who seemed curiously more at ease watching their host almost impale himself on a snare drum when some showing off seemed to go horribly wrong. It’s a sign of the random nature of the night when it’s unclear whether that was some Jackass / Jacques Tati slapstick or just our host being a bit enthusiastic and un-co.

There’s no doubt that ‘Beddy Phil’ (his new P-Diddy-esque street moniker) trades on being an awkward margin-dweller and Wit-Bix certainly highlights the pros and cons of that approach. He may never get to write 'as seen on Good News Week and Spicks n Specks' on his posters, but for those of who see that as a good thing he will always be compulsive viewing.

The Bedroom Philosopher’s Wit-Bix is on at the Melbourne Trades Hall, Corner of Lygon and Victoria Sreets, Carlton until 24 April 2011. Times Tues-Sat 9.30pm, Sun 8.30pm.

Feed Me Melbourne

It's been a long dark winter but fortunately I have survived. I can attribute this to central heating, kindly donated downloads of the season 4 of Mad Men and the warmth and comforts of eateries Melbourne wide. I thought it was time to repay the favour, so thank you Ancient Romans for inventing hypocaust, thank you Matthew Weiner for giving us Sterling Cooper et al and thanks to the following fine establishments for keeping my belly full and my tootsies warm.

Felices, 141 Greeves Street (Smith Street end), Fitzroy

We went to Felices the morning after the general election, looking for something to take away the sour taste of the night before. Fortunately this decidedly european cafe (plain timber walls, fussball, large mirrors) with its beautifully uncomplicated menu was able to deliver more than Julia and Tony. We ordered croissants and toast with our coffees, and both came accompanied with generous serves of marscapone cheese, fresh marmalade and one of the nicest strawberry jams I've tasted. Recommended to people who don't want eggs with every breakfast as well as anyone who likes to eat under a giant aeroplane; there's one attached to the roof. If you'd like to see it check out these great pictures at Fitzroyalty, a blog dedicated to all things Fitzroy.

Tabet's Bakery, 607 Sydney Road, Brunswick
There's been a lot of coverage of the hidden delights of Sydney Road in the local press this year, probably as more and more journalists are forced away from the increasingly expensive inner city and head towards the 'burbs. It's true that there are a great many outlets on the main road north out of melbourne, covering a wide range of cuisines and an even broader range of quality. Always reliable however is Tabet's - a lebanese bakery with an exceptionally cheap yet delicious range of bready cheesey products. Both the haloumi pies (essentially a lebanese pastie) and spinach and cheese pies are amazing and for just $2.80 you can eat like royalty even on a budget. Heartily recommended smothered in Masterfoods Hot Chilli sauce.

Salford Lads Club, 1 Fennell Street, Port Melbourne As an indie tragic it's hard to go past a cafe that takes it's name from a place in Greater Manchester made famous by Morrissey and the Smiths. Before you Mozophiles get too excited this isn't a Smiths tribute cafe and there was nothing beyond the name and the This Charming Man ringtone of the owner's phone to link it to Steven, Johnny and the other two.


Having done the pilgrimage to actual SLC and been hassled by actual Salford lads I am pleased to report that this relatively new cafe in Port Melbourne was far more welcoming. The decor inside this industrial setting is an homage to cycling, and there were several old racing bikes and jerseys around the place - as well as a Huddersfield Town banner. Sadly I'm unable to provide much comment on the highly interesting and varied dinner menu as we only went for breakfast. I am happy to report though that the coffee, eggs and homemade baked beans were top drawer and the Northern Breakfast (replete with black pudding) looked good enough to turn Morrissey himself back to meat.

Zingara, 875 High Street, Thornbury

I have double praise for Zingara in Thornbury. Firstly for not making a fuss when our dog started going crazy and almost upended our table when he saw pigeons for the first time. Secondly (and most importantly) for turning out the finest caesar salad I've ever had. Not eating meat makes a good caesar hard to find. Some places do a salmon version but they're few and far between. Thankfully Zingara have thought outside the chicken box and offer a delicious charred king prawns alternative every bit as good if not better as anything I ate back in the meat days. A great choice for these warm spring afternoons, with or without crazy puppy as a dinner guest.

Mamasita, 11 Collins Street, Melbourne

I haven't seen this kind of buzz about a food outlet since Speedy Peppers finally brought take-away pizza to East Yorkshire in the late 80s. Every bloody newspaper and magazine has been crapping on about Mamasita for months now, as if they were serving up Michael Jackson steaks. Sadly the main thing people have to say is 'boo hoo me, I had to queue for hours to get in.' Well here's a couple of suggestions. Firstly don't go the same week as there is a newspaper or magazine feature about it; there's more people can read than just you. Secondly, try avoiding going along at 7pm on a Friday. Everything is busy at 7pm on a Friday cretins. I've been twice, had awesome times, lush modern twists on mexican food (the corn is particularly recommended, as are the soft fish tacos and chilli chocolate), been well looked after by the helpful staff who protected me from the most vicious chillis and hey, never had to queue once. Yay Mamsita.

Twee are the World

Please understand. We don't want no trouble.

We just want the right to be different. That's all.

Liner notes to Pulp’s Different Class, 1995

Melbourne played host to its inaugural Finders Keepers markets this weekend, with hundreds of people descending on a Docklands pier to check out stalls crammed with homemade clothes, jewellery, cards, home decorations and other kooky knick-knacks. In a celebration of the craft of craft, shoppers milled the converted warehouse to the sounds of angelic voiced singer-songwriters with acoustic guitars and xylophones.

Despite what I’m about to say, I think the Finders Keepers markets are a great thing. Set up to showcase the work of emerging designers and artists from around Australia and New Zealand, they bring together creative people who care about art and design, who seek more than financial reward from their craft, who value the handmade over the mass produced, and being an individual over blending into the crowd. My problem (and I will state categorically, it is my problem) is why did everything seem so, well, samey?

Crafty folks have been happily knitting one and pearling one in contented nerdy obscurity for decades. A ragtag mob of (mostly female) cross-stitch enthusiasts, sewing machine owners, Fimo manipulators and people who make those odd stuffed knitted dolls that always show up at school fetes and op shops. I come from a family of such people, their walls adorned with framed cross-stitch creations of their own hand depicting (for example) the alphabet alongside a cute woodland cottage. There is not a child born to this family that has not been clad in hand-knitted swaddling clothes. I myself have enjoyed many a pair of delightfully impractical woollen socks. It kept Grandma happy, it keeps my aunty happy and it keeps my cousins happy.

The craft scene as represented at Finders Keepers is a little different. It is post-modern and knowingly retro. It is two parts Anne Taintor, one part Fanny Craddock, a dash of Alice from the United States of Tara and (this is where I come in I guess) a spoonful of Morrissey. It takes the skills honed at nanna’s knee and seeks to cutesy them up. Gone are the useless woollen dolls, replaced by… useless woollen cupcakes. Goodbye cross-stitch pictures of doe-eyed Huckleberry Finn type children, hello woollen recreations of the cover of Belle and Sebastian’s Tigermilk.

This nu-craft was thrust into the limelight almost as soon as the global financial wobble became a full-blown crisis. The future was homemade. Recycle. Grow Your Own. Make Your Own. Craft (as I was reminded by a badge I saw yesterday) is the new black. Knitters (I was told by another) ain’t quitters… This is all well and good really. Rampant mass commercialism is evil. People should think for themselves. Using your brain and your hands is wonderful. Recycling is the future. Vegetables are rock and roll. What isn’t clear is why, when you have so many clever, interesting and artistic people all beavering away, do so many of them make the same thing? Here’s a quick run down of the totems of nu-craft on display several times over at Finders Keepers…

• Buttons as badges and brooches and earrings and basically anything. Especially buttons with material on
• Birds – predominantly of the owl variety (which is a shame because I do like an owl, despite the fact that they are not what they seem) though equally popular were birds in cages with variations on door open/door closed. Oh the symbolism.
• Fonts – WORDS. And LETTERS. In DIFFERENT FONTS. In FRAMES.
• Impractical Jewellery – especially earrings made out of found objects that look nice on a table on a velvet cushion but are not conducive to hanging comfortably from your lobes
• Things made out of old children's books – ‘Fanny and Dick were amazed to see how many things they could be exploited for.’
• Rabbits - cuwte lickle snuffle bunnies. On adults.
• Butterflies – oh yes. Butterflies. Fly my pretties. Next stop, unicorns.
• BIG patterns – their name is prints. And they is funky. And they is everywhere.
• Big Glasses – I expressed my angst about this alarming trend for enormous glasses last year. Did anyone listen? No. Many gigantic pairs spotted wandering around Docklands with little tiny people in cardigans underneath them.
• Antlers – mostly deer related (lots of fake hunting trophy heads) though a few creative souls had gotten all Island of Dr Moreau and started welding antlers to anything in sight
• Silhouettes – see most of the items in this list but without the filly-in middle bits
• Laser Cut everything – literally anything on earth that a laser can cut a shape into or cut something out of. See silhouettes. I did. Several times.
• Big things on chains - assorted random large items hung between two ends of a chain to be worn like an ineffectual breastplate
• Old Cameras - a shame this one, because I quite like the aesthetic and the symbolism of an old camera. Still that doesn’t mean I want to see t-shirts, jewellery, purses, cushions and wallpaper of old Pentaxes and Polaroids everywhere I go. Stop. You’re spoiling it now.

In case you think I’m being mean, I’ll reiterate that lots of the items on offer were splendid. Beautifully made, intricately detailed, lovingly imagined. I also get that all tribes have their trends. Punks, Goths, Mods, Emo Kids, Rude Boys (and Girls), football fans, bikers – there’s always something gangs build their identity around. The difference with this kind of art is that the unifying point is philosophical. It’s not based on a look or a person or a thing, but an idea - an appreciation of the personal.

Of course I can craft precisely nothing (though I am good at growing potatoes) so really have no right to criticise what people choose to make and sell. Perhaps I’d be less bothered if Finders Keepers had been billed as a celebration of (and place to buy) all things cute and mid-20^th century retro, but as a ‘showcase for emerging designers and artists’ I don’t think that was the point. In the end I came away from Finders Keepers with the distinct feeling that too much of a good thing is still too much. In the art world nothing kills an original and personal idea like a backdrop of sameness, which - unless it’s just about the money - surely defeats the purpose.

For more about the Finders Keepers markets click here or visit thefinderskeepers.com

A Dirty Protest

The company that runs Melbourne's reliably tardy city rail network is called Metro Trains. They have a handy, accessible and, one would assume, popular complaints hotline - details of which can be found here. I say this principally for the benefit of the person responsible for the extravagantly large human turd which was freshly laid on the floor of our train carriage at some point today.

I appreciate that you, Sir or Madam, share the frustrations of your fellow travellers at Metro's mostly inept service, however if I may speak on behalf of those of us who had the dubious pleasure of seeing and smelling your magnificent (though none-the-less revolting) foot-long log, I would like to suggest that you curtail any future dirty protests against Metro you may have planned and just send an ineffective email for them to ignore like a normal person. Much obliged.

Whilst in some ways I have admiration for you as the poopertrator of what was no doubt a rather public and acrobatic undertaking (I for one find standing on these trains a challenge at times, given the lack of proper hand holds) I will qualify this by saying I am still haunted not only by the sight of your monstrous Richard III, but also by seeing the hopeful faces of my fellow commuters on spotting an empty bank of five seats quickly turn to horror as they discovered why.

Judging by the look on the driver's face as we alerted him to the presence of your not insignificant contribution to the public transport debate(one of weary resignation that his faith in humanity had been confirmed once again) I suspect you may may not get the credit you deserve from any resultant action by Metro Trains as a follow through of your Phantom of the Plopera activities. Still, I trust you feel relieved in more ways than one to have exercised your civil rights today.

(post script punchline: from Metro's actual Passenger Charter

The Metro Promise: What you can expect from Metro:

1. Clean, comfortable, safe and punctual rail travel

You couldn't make it up etc).

OFF is on...

With the Melbourne International Film Festival now but a strip of celluloid flapping around a brightly lit spool in an empty cinema, it’s time to start the Other Film Festival, Melbourne’s annual celebration of film by with and about people with a disability. The Festival runs from today until Sunday at the Melbourne Museum in Carlton Gardens, Carlton.

Dana Nance and Kyra Kimpton (courtesy Restless Dance Company)

This year’s program includes local and international films from countries as diverse as Russia, Poland, Iceland, Israel, Italy, South Korea, the UK and USA. You can have a look at trailers for movies on You Tube (click here) or on the official Other Film Festival website. As well as the movies themselves there will be appearances from festival guests, including:

• Deaf US stand-up comedian CJ Jones and filmmaker Hilari Scarl who will present their documentary See What I’m Saying
• Canadian director and cinematographer Rob Spence, who developed the Eyeborg (the world's first prosthetic eye-camera) after losing an eye in a teenage shooting accident
• Filmmaker Genevieve Clay (Be My Brother) who will participate in a panel with Australian actors with a disability on challenges they face
• Actor/director Clayton Jacobson
• Festival patron Adam Elliot (creator of Harvie Krumpet and Mary and Max)

Still from the film A Broken Puzzle

For those wanting to round off their evening’s film watching with a bit of post-movie dissection, there is The Other Club. Running from nearby Charcoal Lane in Gertrude Street, Fitzroy throughout the festival it offers a chance to unleash your inner film critic in the company of festival guests and filmmakers from around the world.

Full festival passes cost just $120 and tickets for single sessions are $12, which includes free entry to the Melbourne Museum. Tickets available by email at mmbookingsteam@museum.vic.gov.au

The Other Film Festival runs at the Melbourne Museum from Wednesday 25 August to Sunday 29 August 2010. Click here for a look at the full festival program or visit www.otherfilmfestival.com.

Ours Not to Question Why

'Thou shalt not question Stephen Fry' said Dan Le Sac in his 2007 bleepy electro-sermon Thou Shalt Not Kill. Quite right, nodded listeners across the land in earnest agreement; quite right sir. Question Stephen Fry? The Stephen Fry? Encyclopeadius Stephenus? The Lord of the Twitterverse? Why sir the very idea is preposterous. It simply will not do. Of course one should not question Stephen Fry. He sir, is Poppins-esque; practically perfect in every way...

So it was and so it continues to be. Quite when one Stephen John Fry stopped being just another Blackadder alumnus, Hugh Lawrie's comedic other half and that bloke who ran away to Belgium and became the Lord Privy Seal of gently pompous mirth and sardonic wit and Knower Of All Things is hard to gauge, especially from here in Australia. Yet there is no doubt that right now in 2010 he occupies a unique space in public life - a unilateral kind of critical and popular adulation enjoyed by perhaps only Jarvis Cocker, Brian Clough, Terry Wogan and John Peel.

Fry's deification is all the more remarkable in Britain because unlike Jarv, El Tel, Cloughie and Peel dear, darling Stephen is resolutely, irredeemably and slightly apologetically posh. Articulate, verbose and unashamedly intelligent he speaks as though he has a whole plum duff in his mouth and is ever so gently pompous. This is enough to get you stabbed in many parts of Britain, yet even a cursory glance at the internets shows that there are at least eight online campaigns for Fry to be elected UK Prime Minister. If people could be granted keys to an entire country then Stephen Fry would be in need of a very large novelty key ring.

“I stooped to pick a buttercup… why people leave buttocks lying around, I have no idea”

And the rest of the world? Well even the afternoon spent in his company at the beautiful Regent Theatre in Collins Street yesterday only happened because several ute-loads of Australian fans twittered and blogged and pestered their hero into submission after his announcement of Sydney-only shows. A Melbourne date was quickly added and when tickets sold out they chucked in a matinee just to meet demand. The room was still full - not bad for a man who started his own show by admitting he isn't a stand up and doesn't have an act.

Advertised as A Talk with Stephen Fry our session with his Royal Fryness feels more impressive in retrospect than it was at the time. Speaking unaccompanied for over two hours straight without ever losing his way, being boring or losing any of his lustre was quite some feat. I say in retrospect because at the time I think I was lost in some kind of pleasant hypnosis, quite unaware of just what a nice time I was having until Stephen said he'd better wrap up soon to appreciate just how effortlessly good it was. I remember thinking 'oh what a shame, please, do go on... '

So what does everyone's favourite clever person talk about for two hours? Well, himself of course. From woe to go we were regaled with anecdotes about the formative incidents in his life, and in particular his childhood and adolescence when he was apparently 'an evil little bastard.' Stories of public school life and beatings, regular suspensions and expulsions and his eventual arrest and imprisonment for credit card fraud by the age of 17 will be familiar to anyone who has read his novel The Liar or autobiography Moab is my Washpot. Still these tales only gain in the retelling, particularly because of the perspective and self-realisation the adult Fry now has.

Much of the show is spent working through an invisible wish list of Fry topics including his spell at Cambridge University Footlights, working with Lawrie, his love (and portrayal) of Oscar Wilde, technology (a white iPhone 4 is proudly revealed), Tw*tter and his struggles with bi-polar disorder. This latter topic is still clearly difficult for Fry and even he can find little in it to laugh about it, even amongst such an understanding and partisan crowd (he does a rather better job in the TV special The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive). Interestingly I think people understand it's a big part of what makes him who he is more than he realises, but it makes sense that it's painful in the eye of the storm. Still, eternal credit for honesty and trying to explain why.

I suspect that this quality is a big part of what people love about Stephen Fry and why he is currently so popular. His intelligence, wit and charm make him admired, but his self awareness and honesty make him loved. Rather than being the latest in a long line of brilliant but impenetrable English comics - Sellers, Milligan, Morecambe, Williams, Cooper - people like Stephen Fry because feel that they know Stephen Fry. In an age of self-help and analysis, reality television confessions and tabloid exposes, people see Fry as someone who has seen it all, come out the other side, can tell us some of it was a bit shit and then make a joke about it using the word floccinaucinihilipilification... en Francais. Frankly, what's not to love about that? He may not be the messiah, and he was certainly a very naughty boy but if a little charm gets you a long way yesterday showed why Stephen Fry is so far ahead of the rest.

Substance over Style

Melbourne has many fine venues for live music but it's fair to say the Festival Hall is not one of them. An ugly rectangular brick-concrete warehouse with a stage plonked in the middle of one of its overlong sides, it offers restricted views for anyone unfortunate enough to be stuck far away in the banks of seats on either flank. Alternatively, you might get lucky like we did and spend an evening sharing the floor with twice as many people as should be allowed, many of them kindly smoking in your face and spilling drinks over you as they push their way backwards and forwards from the bars. Nice.

Good job then that both LCD Soundsystem and Hot Chip had the goodies to make us forget that we don't have tickets for Splendour in the Grass in balmy Queensland. This may be a shitty bunker in wintry Melbourne that would make a better abattoir than a concert venue but it doesn't mean we can't have a dance.

First up is the Chip who rise above the unimpressive sound quality to get everyone excited. In an hour's set clearly designed for summer festivals they play spruced up versions of all their hits (Shake a Fist is the only notable exception) including a magnificent Ready for the Floor and a slow building Boy From School. The best is the title track from their latest album One Life Stand which, whilst not quite as good as this version they did with The Roots, is still a bit of class.

Other highlights of the night include a large fish-eye lens video image of a missing member of the group singing backing vocals; some of the best dance-like-nobody's-watching-even-if-everyone-is moves by a keyboard player in classic Yacht Rock attire; several episodes of Beta Band-like swapping of instruments; and the world's slowest and most unerotic striptease by singer Alexis Taylor who peeled off layer after layer of unattractive eighties leisure garments, ending with a shapeless baggy t-shirt and a baseball cap that had clearly been attacked by a bedazzler. Should this sound in anyway like a bad thing, I assure you it wasn't.

If Hot Chip are unlikely pop stars it's no wonder LCD Soundsystem's James Murphy wanted to tour with them. Neither band are likely to attract much mainstream attention during their stay in Australia which really is how it should be. Regardless, Murphy is a consummate star. His David Byrne/Black Francis voice is the perfectly imperfect accompaniment to the sublime noise his band can conjure up and much of the time it is nothing less than hypnotic.

2007's Sound of Silver is one of my favourite albums of all time so songs like Get Innocuous, Time to Get Away and All My Friends were always going to be amongst my highlights. Still this is to understate just how incredible these songs are live - akin to watching A Certain Ratio and Can onstage with Dig Your Own Hole era Chemical Brothers. Equally impressive are Losing my Edge and Yeah, the latter's title repeated and repeated and repeated and repeated relentlessly until everyone in the room submits. It was towards the end of this particular song that a young lad in a wheelchair was hoisted high into the air above his friends' heads in a feat of human kindness and endeavour which almost made up for the terrible beer farts that someone kept unleashing on the crowded dance floor, but not quite.

As I said in one of my very first posts on Mint Custard, I was a latecomer to LCD Soundsystem - blissfully ignorant of their significant pleasures until stumbling across them by accident at a Big Day Out. I'm glad I've had the chance to make up for lost time, especially as this is supposed to be their last year as a group before Murphy calls it quits. Despite assuring the crowd that they'd be back in Australia within a year it already seems a tragedy that music this good might never get played live again. For those who haven't experienced it, it's not too late for beginnings...

Metaphysical Graffiti

For those who've never been Melbourne is quite famous for its street art, with many blog sites, webpages, books and documentaries made about the paint, stencils and paper transfers that cover the city. Graffiti is so accepted as part of Melbourne life that even the government got a bit upset when the council painted over a painted over a Banksy original by mistake.

Tagging aside I'm all for a bit of brightening up the place, especially when it's as lovely and colour-coordinated as this bit of wanton destruction on a North Melbourne train platform.

I like it all the more for the rounded corners of the stickers. Bravo you sweet and tender hooligans...

"It says green for go, for the people in the know...

but for the others all it says is red for stop... ah ah ah..."

"Because I Look Great in Tulle"

This Monday 17th May 2010 is IDAHO which stands for International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia (kind of, but who's counting?) Several hundred people turned out at the State Library in Melbourne today to to mark the occasion and to support Equal Love, a year long campaign of action for same sex marriage in Australia. Here's a few pictures, including one of (Sir) Ian McKellen who got the crowd nicely hyped up before all the politicians and activists took to the stage.

The title of this post is taken from my favourite homemade banners on the day. This was another lo-fi gem. One I didn't get a picture of was the gently Church-baiting 'Jesus Had Two Daddies...'

Yo Gabba Gabba's Brobee shows his appreciation of the Lady GaGa stand-in

The Sir Ian love-in...

Lady Gaga (the no frills version) does her best to Sydney-up a Melbourne crowd

For more information on other IDAHO activities around the planet visit the official website here. For more on the Australian Year of Action for Same Sex Marriage check out the Equal Love website here.