Music For Small Audiences

Fun means different things to different people. An activity that one person sees as an exciting adventure - say free solo rock climbing, slam poetry or building a ship in a bottle - another is just as likely to see as profoundly terrifying, unpleasantly fiddly, or excruciatingly boring, with each the others nightmare. The extent to which a given commitment is seen as an opportunity or an obligation is really just a function of perspective, appetite and appreciation. Even the most arduous journey or pedantic detour can be seen as an odyssey or rite of passage with a strong enough rose tinting to the glasses. I am reading a book in which the author suggests that success in life is driven in part by the extent to which we are able to make peace with boredom, and to stay engaged with a habit, task or body of work even when our interest level wanes. The author suggests that the mark of whether you are made for a task is not just whether you love it, but rather whether you can handle the unpleasant parts of the task more easily than most people. Find a task that you enjoy that others complain about, he suggests, and you will have found an activity worth focusing on as a hobby or vocation. This mix was recorded live a few weeks ago. It starts and ends with two lovely bits of vinyl I recently picked up, and has some very groovy tunes mixed in from start to finish. I hope you enjoy it.

While the events of the past twelve months have provided plenty of reasons to be pensive, persnickety and petulant, I am feeling optimistic and inspired at the moment. It has been a year of limitations, worries, uncertainty and introspection, but as the calendar year ticks over and we try to imagine a new post-pandemic normal, I cannot help but feel a sense of optimism for what urban professional living and working will look like if and when we get to the other side of all of this. As a white collar office worker - a knowledge worker, as Peter Drucker would describe me - I need to be near a computer and a telephone to do my job. In the before times, this meant long days in the city, and daily commuting from home to work and back again. I guess I had always accepted that the price of full time employment was daily tripping to the city and back. But 2020, and the hundred day hard lockdown that Melbourne endured in the name of ensuring a public health victory, rewrote a lot of these rules by proving what was possible. Reconnecting with my colleagues at work over the past few weeks, we have had some boundary-pushing discussions about what work really needs to look like, and what our future workplace can be as a result of all of this. Rather than going back to work as we knew it, we may well be going somewhere new, where work is less about where you are, and more about what you do. As a circadian slave often energised at weird hours, the idea of being able to fully flex both time and space is truly mind expanding. Here is hoping the adventurous vision holds.

I enjoy long distance running with good music as a physical and psychological release. In particular I like the out-and-back style run, heading out to a distant point and then turning around to head home. Running out, there is a sense of adventure and commitment, knowing that every km out is a km that will need to be covered again on the way back home. More often than I should probably admit, I make a bit of a banking airplane figure with outstretched hands and some verbal sound effects as I make the turnaround. As the way out becomes the way in, the mindset shifts, from exploration to recovery. There is of course a global pandemic raging. It has been going on for a while now. With the reintroduction of community transmission here in Victoria just announced as I write this, we are clearly nowhere near the end, or even anywhere near the beginning of the end. However, with multiple vaccines approved and in the process of being deployed, my hope is that we are at least coming to the end of the beginning. With any luck we are turning the corner for the return trip home to some semblance of normalcy, even as we accept that things on our return may not be how we left them.

In audio editing terms, normalisation is something you do to a recorded signal in order to proportionally recalibrate it, so that the loudest peak in the program material corresponds to the highest signal intensity possible without distortion. You do not actually lose anything in the process. It is just that the levels are reset to a new standard. With our very last active COVID case here in Victoria given a clean bill of health and released from the hospital this morning, the second wave of the pandemic has now completely subsided in Australia. As the freedoms return, we are performing a similar reset. It is a recalibration towards a new normal, a reconsideration of what the best and worst case scenarios are, a relook at what we can reasonably roll with, and a rethink as to what our acceptable maximums and minimums really are going to be across a range of different variables at the end of all of this. Having seen through a challenging winter, we are now preparing for a cautious southern summer of comparative freedom and warmth. Have we normalised the impossible, or merely the incredibly difficult? Without the benefit of hindsight it is hard to say. What I do know is that all around the world, every country, every city, every family is at their own point of the pendulum that seems to endlessly swing between triumph and disaster. Each is doing the best they can with the knowledge and beliefs they have, each finding their own path towards their own new understanding of normal.  

Early November 2020. Not quite summer in Melbourne, but certainly not winter. Yesterday I wore a scarf over my sunburn. We are not quite free of restrictions here, but certainly not as held back either. We have spent more quality time with friends over the past week than we did during the six months prior, but while things are improving they are far from normal. There are still no jet planes in the sky. The counting of votes from an American election has been going on for a number of days, with no clear result quite at the moment. In time, all of these things will come to resolution.

Hemingway once said that big things happen slowly at first, but then suddenly. Time itself has felt a little weird in recent weeks, a mix of slow and sudden that has felt more than a bit bananas. Hard to believe that our city has been in some stage of restriction or lockdown for seven months now. Thankfully, daylight savings changes have bought us an extra hour of evening sunshine here in Melbourne, and as the days continue to lengthen I feel like we have finally returned to the stage where there are more hours of daylight than work in the average white collar WFH workday. At a global level, I have been riveted to what seems like a spiralling finale to a very weird and drawn out American leadership story. The time zone difference between North America and Australia is such that the headlines come thick and fast in the middle of the night, which does not help the already disrupted sleep cycles and disorienting rhythms of pandemic lockdown life. As befits the stretchy sense of time and timelessness we have felt these recent weeks, this mix starts off very slow before stepping through some of the deeper, more emotive tracks I have been listening to on repeat in recent weeks, along with a few timeless classics and some very groovy techno. It was recorded live as a therapeutic session in our locked down living room a few weeks ago. Wherever you are on the continuum between 'time flies like an arrow' and 'fruit flies like a banana', let these tunes bring you a bit of peace and perspective while we ride things out.

The first few days of spring have arrived here in Melbourne, and with it has come a sense of renewal and energy. The days are getting longer, minute by minute. Slowly but surely the weather is warming. The trees are starting to blossom. The birds are busily staking out their territory for the coming summer, while the city itself starts to slowly awaken and lockdown restrictions begin to relax. When movement is restricted, it is easy to draw deep meaning and morals from the sorts of things that have perhaps always been going on but have never before been noticed. The sights and sounds of our neighbourhood, from the soap operas of the skies to the secluded alleyways we have passed many times and are only just now noticing, have in recent months amplified our senses, our empathy, and our connection to place. More concretely, I have also taken the opportunity presented by our second lockdown to rebuild and upgrade my DJ booth. This mix is the first mix recorded with my new S4 MKIII controller. As always, it reflects the mood of the day. While you may not be able to hear the newly tidied wiring in the recording itself, the mise en place of a well configured booth is inspiring.

Melbourne is in to a Stage 4 lockdown as I write this. This includes the closure of all nonessential businesses, an evening curfew, a heavy police presence and serious penalties for being anywhere other than home without a valid reason. It seems to be making the news worldwide, based on the condolences and words of support that are coming through. There are pretty clear restrictions as to what we can do, and where we can do it. Limiting, yes, but also inspiring in a way because it gives us such a clearly defined space to exist in over the weeks to come. I have always been fascinated by the possibilities that restriction creates. In music, often the most memorable melodies and vocal lines are those kept to a few notes and based around repeating motifs. Techno as a genre is based in its entirety around repetitive, slowly evolving loops and subtle sonic tweaks. Haiku and limericks require steadfast adherence to structure and meter, while charcoal sketches and watercolour paintings leverage a limited palette to better involve the imagination in artistic appreciation. I suppose it might be a tad optimistic to suggest that constraints are usually advantages in disguise, but I do think that constraints eliminate the paralysis of choice. With respect to Henry Ford, it is not hard to pick a colour when black is the only option.

I keep a lot of lists. One of them is called Things I Already Know. It is reserved for things that I have very clearly learned, the hard way, and then seemingly forgotten, only to be reminded all over again the next time it happens. Nobody likes to step on a rake or slip on a banana peel twice. I have recently made a new addition to the list as a result of unexpected household events. This new entry reminds me that where it comes to household plumbing, while preventative maintenance may be less exciting than waiting for things to burst, preventative maintenance is also a lot cheaper and more convenient than dealing with an unexpected midweek 3am water pipe disaster. Check your flexi hoses. Circumstances here in Melbourne are similarly coming back around a second time, with the city having just entered a second period of extended lockdown as of this morning. As a city, it seems we knew what to do, then we forgot, and now we are being reminded again of what we once already knew. This mix is a three hour set, mixed live and livestreamed into the cars and living rooms of a few close friends the weekend before last. It contains a number of recently released songs that I have been eagerly waiting to get my hands on, as well as a few fresh revisits to a few classic tunes from a simpler time. As befits the current state of things, it is in equal parts comforting, moody, wistful and relaxed. Whatever level of freedom you are able to enjoy, I hope it brings you a bit of peace and calm for the road ahead.

The reticular activating system is a short, pencil-sized piece of the brain located just above where the spinal cord is attached to the brain. It acts as the gatekeeper of information between most sensory systems and the conscious mind. It decides what needs our attention and what can be safely ignored, and highlights the things in our universe that align with its priorities and concerns. Fight or flight, when all you have is a hammer everything looks like a nail, and all that sort of stuff. With all that is going on in the world, it can be easy to get drawn into focusing on far away events, and to lose perspective on the many peaceful mysteries unfolding in our more immediate vicinity. At the risk of stating the obvious, recent weeks have reminded me that shifting focus and stepping away from the stimulus even just for a little bit can work small wonders in resetting the sensors towards a more positive heading.

It has been a few months now that social engagement has been curtailed. Australia has managed things well by the look of things, with intergovernmental cooperation sustained, and policy decisions driven by science and fact, rather than ideology or ignorance. For the moment, we remain in a state of suspended in home animation, ready to take flight when the moment is right, but happy to chill in the meantime. While we are not out of the woods yet, there is definitely a light at the end of the tunnel. Nonetheless, as I write this on the eve of Mothers Day, it seems the backlog is growing of family to embrace, friends to see, things to do, and places to go. This mix was recorded live last weekend, and livestreamed to a few of the people that, if I had my way, would have instead been in my living room that night. As with all my mixes, the lyrics paint a picture across the arc of the set, and set a bit of context for the mood of the day. While we may be locked down safe at home, we can still connect, reflect, and enjoy putting together plans for the not too distant future. Look forward to seeing you all again soon.

After a bone breaks, there is a short period of time during the reparative stage of the healing process where the area around the fracture is stronger than it was before the injury. Having broken a few bones over the years, this period of extended staying at home feels a bit like a period of recovery after an injury. There is reduced movement, a focus on wellness, and a paradoxical sense of both peace and impatience towards an anticipated return to something approaching normalcy, while also recognising that things may never quite be the same even once the healing is over. The political, economic, social and public health ramifications of all of this will undoubtedly be profound. As such, it is both a turning point and a time for reflection. With luck, the path forward will see us strengthen, rehabilitate and rebuild to a future state that is stronger, more resilient and more supportive than that which we leave behind.

What an extraordinary time we are living through. With a global pandemic raging, it seems the whole world is focused precisely on a single little organic particle. I have high hopes that the collective undivided attention of the best and brightest minds on earth will bring us through the current storm of uncertainty, despite what feels at the moment like considerable turbulence and disruption. While settling in to close quarters for an extended period of time with limited provisions may not be universally seen as a good time, I can think of at least one group of people who pay large sums of money for the experience, with some even seeing it as the height of minimalist luxury. I am of course talking about bluewater sailing. And so with necessity the mother of invention, we have through the combined power of imagination and technology recently embarked on a transoceanic journey, plotted out on an oversize world map on our dining room wall, and supported by the realtime sailing simulator Sailaway. Leaving behind the empty parties and strung out streets of lockup life, we set sail from Rodd Island in Sydney a week ago. Having worked our way up the NSW and Queensland coast with favourable winds, we are scheduled to arrive in New Caledonia this evening. Hard to say where this journey will end, but while we are on it we will do the best we can to make use of the time, sense of the circumstances, and see some sights along the way. Bon voyage!

Melbourne summers seem to go on forever, with plenty of sunshine and long warm evenings. Unfortunately, the winters seem to go on forever too. Even before coming to Australia, I often thought that the length of a year felt like exactly the amount of time one can remember what a season feels like, so that when each one comes it feels like a distant but not quite forgotten memory. As the old saying goes, what goes up must come down. It certainly seems to have been true through the summer of strangely intense weather we have had here in Australia, from fires to rain to hail to record breaking heatwaves. Yet just when we thought we had seen it all an entirely new meteorological marvel arrived, in the form a torrential rainstorm filled with mud. It started as blowing sand, then turned to rain, and by the time it was done the entire city was coated with a thin film of red dusty grit. Truly something for everyone these past few months. What a summer indeed.  

And so it is now 2020. It has been an interesting few weeks here in Melbourne. Australia has been making headlines around the world due to a particularly severe bushfire season, and there have been a few days of smoke across the city that made things all feel a bit surreal. On a personal level, multiple overseas visitors have helped see the local sights through a fresh lens, while a minor knee injury has meant a bit less movement than might have originally been anticipated. Recent weeks have also seen us gain a bit more familiarity with the local wildlife, too. Perhaps it is the time off that has allowed us to stop and look up for a bit, and to take a bit more accountability for nature and our surrounds. Wherever the shift in perspective has come from, it has been a welcome addition to our world.