The Null Device
A piece on the amazingly talented composer and vocalist Lisa Gerrard, who recently won an award for her score for Gladiator. I didn't know that her career started when she played at pubs in Brunswick Street (though I had heard that the first Dead Can Dance album was recorded in Belgrave, a few kilometres from where I used to live).
Manufacturing dissent: A good look at teen-angstcore band Limp Bizkit. Fronted by thirtysomething millionaire and Interscope senior vice president Fred Durst, probably the most conspicuously artificial, and meticulously engineered, example of consumerist rebellion, even more so than Marilyn Manson. Then again, this is an example of music as Hollywood spectacle, any resemblance to real life being purely coincidental, and should not be mistaken for music as sincere expression. Oh, the postmodernism of it all.
I went to the Empress to see some bands tonight. First up was a guy named Other People's Children, with a Korg monosynth and some backing tracks on MiniDiscs, playing various ambient electronic pieces. Next up was PSX, a sort of jazzy semi-electronic band (whom I saw supporting Clann Zú last week); their female vocalist was absent (having come down with bronchitis), so the male vocalist took over some of her parts, and they also played a number of instrumentals. Finally, on came a band named Immaculata, and in one instant, the venue filled up with the vampyre aristocracy of Melbourne. Immaculata are a sort of slightly camp two-piece goth band, who sound as you might expect (a bit of cheesy Boxcaresque synthpop, a few Depeche Mode-inspired dirges with kickass beats, some industrial thrashcore guitars, some melodramatic music-hall-style singing from the bloke in the ruffled shirt and studded leather jacket, and a song about gunning down jocks and preppies in high school (or something to that effect); though Andrew Eldritch-style baritone vocals were conspicuous by their absence). Anyway, I got the feeling that they were taking the piss; especially after they did a cover of Divine's You Think You're A Man. Quite appropriate; I think someone should do a Goth Tribute To Stock/Aitken/Waterman (unless Cleopatra have already released one of those, with the typical contributions from Leaetherstrip and various aging synthpopsters).
Oh great; soon we'll have disposable paper mobile phones clogging up the landfills and leaching toxic chemicals into the water table. As if one way to get cancer from mobile phones wasn't enough.