Time to get the knuckles and keyboard aquainted once more… well, in the context of personal wibblings at least. There’s certainly no shortage of typological tapping and general wordy fingering in the day job scenario. Computers are currently serving us well. The discerning drags, drops, and considered mouse-clicks of Lala in her role at the radio staion are steadliy building an invisible mountain of music at a rate our listening buds can barely keep pace with, but they’re getting stronger by the day. There’s a decent live scene in town, and few tickets are finding there way onto the cork board by the kitchen. We caught Plants and Animals at Lucky Bar – a long narrow brick-walled venue that feels more like a corridor that serves drinks than a club, but the stage is elevated, so the performers can be seen easily from the back. Anyway, they were great and their LP, Parc Avenue, always get us up and dancing stupidly when we’re wondering what in the blazes we are doing here.
As for “Flight of the Conchords”, I’m not sure what they are listening to … what i can guess is that a lot of people are listening to them. They are playing at the Sasquatch festival in Washington in late May, and are no doubt booked up on a ridiculous number of North American tour dates. Are they the biggest thing out of New Zealand or what? Everybody I’ve met asks if we have heard of them (immediately after they ask what part of Australia we come from). The goofs at TVNZ did these fellows and their creative entourage the greatest favour in the world by rejecting their TV series pitch.
Speaking of Sasquatches, we haven’t seen one in the wild yet, but Martin and Amy caught a rare glimpse when we took a nature stroll to the Niagra Stream Trestle. At the time Laura and i were distracted during a Peanut butter and Jelly sandwich exchange , but they, noticing movement amongst the firs on the other side of the gully, witnessed a furry rear end slipping into the undergrowth.
A few days ago we were barefoot and biffing botchy balls around like it was midsummer. All dosed up on UV we skooted into town after pizza, wahooing on two wheels through the quiet streets, to “Big Bad Johns” an infamous breeding ground for crazy fun germs of whimsy. There, beneath one hundred brassieres suspended from the beams and large rubber spiders on trip wires, another slightly unhinged evening in Victoria was born.
