Category: frontpage
October 8, 2004
ausculture.com’s guide to the HSC
As most of you will know — at ausculture we’re all into jumping onto whatever bandwagon we can find. From reality TV to politics we like to tickle whatever you fancy… whenever you like.
Considering my infallibility on all things life related, and the HSC being (almost) life related I thought I’d take some time to give the young people some helpful advice on the HSC. I present to you the ausculture.com subject-by-subject guide to the HSC.
I do realise that I probably shouldn’t be encouraging large numbers of seventeen/eighteen year-old HSC students to visit ausculture.com (for our sake; not theirs) but, you know, bandwagon.
[Those of you in states other than NSW can substitute whatever you like for HSC]
ausculture.com’s subject guide
I’ev left out a number of subjects for no particular reason.
Biology
The online SMH biology guide begins by stating that the examination is “like most things in life, you get out of it what you put in.”
Pun intended? I think that about covers biology right?
Textiles & Design
Those of you taking this subject probably did so because you sucked at everything else.
My advice? Make as much fun as possible of any friends you have doing real subjects that actually have to study. You’ll feel better about yourself — honest!
Physics
Physics used to be a serious HSC subject… now it’s a joke.
If, for some strange reason, you’re going to do Physics at university then I suggest you start studying for that now… This course won’t help much.
Music
Stop wasting your time studying music. If you want to be a successful artist these days you’d be better off learning how to impress reality TV judges instead.
Mathematics
If you were too stupid to learn the course throughout the year then chances are you’re too stupid to learn the entire course in the morning on the way to the examination. Give up.
Business Studies
If you really want to succeed in business then the path of least resistence is not this course and any tertiary courses that might follow it.
The path of least resistence is actually cleverly hinted at by the acronym for this course — BS.
Engineering Studies
Didn’t you draw the short straw? Last I checked this was not a pre-requisite for any Engineering degree in the universe. Poor you.
English
You’d be surprised how far you can get by actually reading the set texts.
If you’re doing extension one (the equivalent of the old three unit) then it’s all about something called appropriations. What a trendy word.
Advice? Use the phrase “inexorably intertwined” whenver possible. Apart from that the syllabus from year 7 right through year 12 is horribly inadequate at teaching actual writing and composition skills so most of you are screwed. Give up.
Drama
Admit it, you did this course so you didn’t have to do any work — studying for it would be against your principles so don’t.
That’s it; did I miss many? Do they still have Life Management studies?
Posted by Patrick at 1:33 AM Link | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)August 21, 2004
In search of Australian snow culture
On a recent trip to Australia’s Snowy Mountains I took a moment between exorbitantly priced shots of schnapps to look around for a distinctly Australian style of snow atmosphere.
Amongst my childhood memories of 1989 there are some songs I can’t stand (Collette “Ring my Bell” and anything by the Proclaimers comes to mind), some rather good trashy music by Transvision Vamp, a horribly bad duet by Kylie Minogue and Jason Donovan and a first encounter with the Snowy Mountains of Australia. I don’t voluntarily listen to the popular music of the time any more but I do still visit the snowfields of Australia on an “almost annual” basis.
When I first saw the snow at Perisher in September of 1989, had it not being for the fact that I was still quite young, I suspect I would have been thoroughly underwhelmed by the whole experience - Perisher in September often looks more like a lamington than it does a ski resort. As a child, however, it was a fantastic holiday with the lack of snow not even apparent to me.
Fast forward to 2004 and I’m spending the second week of August skiing at Perisher. Since 1989 I’ve only ever skiied (apart from a brief attempt at snowboarding about five years back) in Australia (never skiied overseas) and only ever at Perisher and anything nearby (never skiied in Victoria). My complete lack of experiential scope then must make me perfectly suited to go hunting for something unique to skiing, as an Australian, in Australia.
The easy answer would be that - like the Australian music industry - it’s small, patchy, and too often attempts only to badly imitate it’s international bigger brothers. Still, similiar to our music, The Snowy Mountains are our snowy mountains and we love them nonetheless.
We love our snowy mountains, much as in the snowy mountains we love our schnapps, vodka and imported beers like Stella and curiously, Corona. At least, they seem to love them these days. From memory, the whole Australian skiing experience was less trendy back in 1989. Of course, it might just have been me that was less trendy, but I distinctly remember bad fluoro coloured ski clothing, one piece suits and lots of skiiers going down the mountain using the rather horrid looking Arlberg technique (Snowploughing). It all seems to have become much trendier with the increased popularity of Snowboarding and the resulting entrance of major surf apparel brands into the marketplace. Yet, I don’t think that’s peculiar to the Australian ski experience. So I need to look elsewhere.
Perhaps the Corona might lend some clues. After all, why is a Mexican pilsenser so popular on the Australian ski fields? Why in August 2004 are Corona selling yellow beanies to patrons in a pub at Perisher? Oh, and why, why am I wearing a Rip Curl branded ski jacket?
Is it an odd conglomeration of cultural oddities on our far from impressive snowfields that makes the Australian experience or is there something else behind the increasing fascination that a reputedly beach crazy population has on the Snowy Mountains? Snowy mountains that as a result of climate change, in just twenty years time, may not get any natural snow at all.
That there might not be any snow at all in the Snowy Mountains twenty years into the future is a disturbing insight. More disturbing still are development proposals for some of the major ski resorts that include large cinema complexes. I think that to find what it is that draws me to the slopes each year I need to look at why exactly these two points make me uneasy.
The snow is an obvious point and not specific to anything obviously Australian. What I think really alarms me is the second issue. Why exactly does the idea of large scale development in the Snowy Mountains not sit well with me? Why indeed.
I’ve always considered the iconic Aussie character traits - laid back, easy going and down to earth to be on the whole misleading. To me, the nation of coastal city dwellers I have grown up with don’t resemble even slightly the mythical literary constructed peoples that inhabit Australian literature. Sure, I’ve been to small country towns and encountered people who might superficially resemble someone out of a Henry Lawson story. I’ve even driven through what could possibly resemble a Les Murray Sawmill Town” but ultimately, I’ve always though that the country I grew up in throughout the 80’s was really nothing like that at all.
Even today though it’s that same character type that often endears itself to the Australian people. That Pat Rafter be voted Australian of the year in 2002 and seems to be well-recognised and well-liked well after his retirement as a tennis player should give some weight to such an argument. Whilst I don’t think it’s a character that is well representative of a majority of Australians - I do think it’s a character type that many Australians like to identify with.
That brings me back to the Snowy Mountain atmosphere and why further “developments” don’t sit well with me. The place I stay when I go skiing is a place that feels slower, quieter and more laid back. It doesn’t have a television and while there’s a telephone line there’s no computer and as such, no internet. It’s an atmosphere that rubs off onto many (though not all) people that stay there. An atmosphere that makes the people more like the mythological characters that were once supposed to be iconic of Australian culture.
I think it’s the snow and the mountain terrain that helps this slowing down to happen. Walking in snow is difficult - especially uphill after a day of skiing and a few beers. Being forcibly slowed helps some to find a pace that lends itself to a different kind of thinking.
That this is the essence of the Australian snow experience is an alluring prospect. Yet, as I look at my bank balance after it’s all done, I see that it comes at a price. Moreover, I’m still stuck with an uneasy feeling that there’s no Australia to be found where I’m looking for it and that like most mythologies, it has vanished without a trace the instant I’ve tried to grasp it.
Posted by Patrick at 6:26 PM Link | Comments (14) | TrackBack (0)August 10, 2004
Pop vs “Real Music”
Ahhh, yes – that old chestnut. Which genre is superior, and more importantly, which genre should be crushed like a bug under the boot of a hefty Latvian goat herd? The answer is, quite simply, neither. Both have a place in the musical landscape, and true music lovers will be the first to tell you so.
“They’re manufactured! They’re not proper musicians! They haven’t slogged their guts out for years to get where they are! They’re not original at all!” scream the antipop brigade.
Blah blah fucking blah. You know what would be truly original? A new argument which isn’t just a regurgitation of some tripe a tosser in the university bar told you when you were young and impressionable. Who says the latest pop star hasn’t slogged his or her guts out? Perhaps they’ve been attending dance and singing lessons several times a week since they were a kid? Perhaps they’ve been doing session work to earn enough money to live on while they try and make it as a pop star? How is that any less hard work than practising your guitar every night, busking to earn cash and doing gigs whenever you get the chance in order to pursue your rock star dreams?
“But.. but pop is crap! Pop has no place in the charts!” they continue, clutching at their Triple J Hottest 100 compilation.
A pop group has just as much right to be on the charts as any rock band, and it’s absolute arrogance to say that they don’t. I ask you this question - what did you listen to when you were a kid? I’d love to hear of an eight year old who enjoys Jeff Buckley’s B-sides, or a seven year old who is a huge fan of The Smiths. I like to think I have a very broad taste in music but when I was a little kid, I loved four things and four things only: New Kids On The Block, Kylie Minogue, Belinda Carlisle and Collette – yes, she of Ring My Bell fame. I was only eight years old and personally I was rather impressed I owned an album - any album - regardless of what it might have been. As I got older, I explored more and more different kinds of music. I was lucky enough to have older sisters, one of whom foolishly left her CD collection behind when I was thirteen years old and she moved to the UK. Cue a teenage Jess spending hours in her bedroom marvelling over Soundgarden, The Pixies, Lemonheads and Nine Inch Nails (and learning how to refer to herself in the third person, apparently - twit.)
But the point is - if I didn’t have my beloved pop stars as a child, if I didn’t spend hours listening to “Cover Girl” and dreaming of Donnie Wahlberg as my future husband, I may not have developed a love of listening to music full stop. Thus when I hit my teenage years, I would have ignored my sister’s CD collection and chosen to rollerblade instead - leading to me now being in my early twenties with no love or appreciation for music at all. So why stamp out pop when it has a perfectly respectable place in the development of music appreciation? Pop’s very name stems from the word “popular” - and kids, just because something’s popular and “commercial” doesn’t mean it’s shit - it may be popular for a reason (ie: it’s catchy, fun and enjoyable). Likewise, just because something’s unsigned and independent doesn’t ensure it’s quality either - sometimes, unsigned bands are unsigned for a reason, namely they’re terribly bad.
“But… most of these singers don’t even perform their own material! Talentless!”
Another idiotic argument as far as I´m concerned. Some people write music. Some people perform music. Some very talented people are able to do both, and the kudos directed at them (when the music itself is of good quality) is well deserved. But saying someone is talentless because they’re not a songwriter themselves is just ridiculous. Dusty Springfield, one of the finest female vocalists in the last fifty years, didn’t write her own stuff. Hell, most classical musicians don’t actually ever perform their own stuff but rather choose to play works written by other people when they´re playing in concert. Are you going to tell a classical pianist that he’s completely talentless after he’s finished performing a note-perfect rendition of Rachmaninov´s Piano Concerto No 3?
A new cause has emerged in recent years that the anti-pop brigade have embraced whole-heartedly. That’s right, apparently “stupid reality TV stars are hitting the top of the charts at the expense of proper Aussie rock bands”. I would have to disagree with that. Firstly, while I admit my memory of anything that occurred more than five minutes ago is generally hazy at best, the sad truth is I don’t recall Guy Sebastian´s debut single knocking an original Aussie rock band from the top position of the singles chart - Delta Goodrem perhaps, but not some band full of Aussie underdogs who walked uphill both ways in the snow wearing nothing but a potato sack in order to get to band practice. It is improbable (but not impossible, right Missy Higgins?) that Aussie rock or indie artists will manage to reach #1 in the singles chart. “Unjust!” I hear some of you cry, and you’re spot on - it is unjust that some great rock singles don’t get the recognition they deserve. But that’s the Top 40 singles chart for you - it’s nothing new. Meaningless, catchy pop (reality TV bred or no) has always featured prominently in the top end of the Top 40, and on commercial radio too - it’s a case of “chicken or the egg” as to which one caused pop to heavily influence the other.
On the upside, the Australian albums chart is often dominated with national rock success stories. Bands like Silverchair, Something For Kate, John Butler Trio and more are finding their albums are reaching #1, and personally I think that’s more an indication of success than simply selling a few thousand copies of your single. If anything, I’m pleased to see an increase of Aussie content in both the album and the singles chart, regardless of whether it’s pop or rock.
One good thing about Australian Idol which I think is often forgotten at times (other than by Marcia Hines, who mentioned it in a Daily Telegraph article a few weeks ago) is that Australia has been lacking a pop star we could call our very own. “Who gives a shit?” one might say. Well, I do, if it means that our charts and airwaves are swamped by ugly boy bands from Ireland, brainless American bimbos with a penchant for vocal aerobics, or posse´s of ‘gangsta’ rappers who wouldn’t know a decent tune or lyric if it busted a cap in their ass. Word. At the very least, be grateful that the teens of this country are buying Australian.
I find it slightly amusing that many out there who count themselves as “real music fans” (cos like, they were into Nirvana totally before April 1994) are so doggedly trying to label anything Australian Idol related as trash, despite the fact that this year’s bunch of hopefuls contains quite a few talented individuals. Take Chanel Cole for example. I promise you, if the naysayers had stumbled across Chanel singing in a dingy city pub and hawking her independent releases, they would have creamed themselves over her. But no - she entered their consciousness through Australian Idol and therefore she’s utter dross - no matter that in actuality she’s a discerningly accomplished singer. Just as pop shouldn’t be dismissed in an offhand manner as terrible, neither should reality TV show contestants be breezily categorised as ineffectual performers - at least without objectively listening to them first.
The wannabe-cool hipsters seem insulted that pop dares to exist when it’s so often superfluous and lacking depth. Hello! That’s exactly what pop is for! It’s not asking to change the world; it’ll leave that up to the idealistic rockers like Bono. No, pop just wants to put on its shiny gold hotpants and hit the dance floor - it’s here for a good time, not a long time. Acting disgusted over the frivolousness of some pop is as pointless as being disgusted with McDonalds for being fast food. Pop is what it is, and it certainly doesn’t owe the beret-wearing pretentious wankers of society any apology just because it’s not angst ridden or performed by a singer-songwriter in a decrepit city venue.
Don’t get me wrong - a lot of the pop songs that make the charts can be safely filed away in the ¨Shithouse¨ folder. Not all pop is good, so don’t think I’m defending everything that falls under its sequinned banner. By the same token though, as I mentioned above, not all rock is good. Hello, all you whiney middle-class American white boys singing about how no one understands you! Embracing an entire genre regardless of the quality of individual songs is as futile as dismissing an entire genre. What ever happened to listening to the actual song and deciding whether it was good or not depending on how it sounded?
I have found (after over-dosing on generalisation pills) that there are three kinds of modern music fans.
Firstly, you have the rather scary devout teenage pop lovers. Usually illiterate, always fanatic, this group is largely ignorant to anything musical that hasn’t appeared in the Top 30 count down. Many of the pack are found in Delta Goodrem´s online forums, but they can be also found petitioning for Australian Idol contestant Rob “Millsy” Mills´ movie G’Day L.A to be turned into a Hollywood blockbuster. It is this frenzied, hormone-charged breed of teen that gives pop lovers of the world a terrible reputation.
Secondly, you have the complete opposite - the ubercool more-alternative-than-thou people. Their standard opinion is that singer-songwriters are the only real musicians in the world, and anyone else (all pop stars included) should burn in the depths of Hades. Many people question just what sort of horrendous childhood could lead to such aggression towards something as trivial as pop. In most cases, a scenario involving teenage friends discovering a particularly dodgy album in their collection (think Roxette, Bros, Indecent Obsession) and the humiliation that followed was enough to encourage the troubled teen to turn to angsty rock\metal\anything-with-a-remotely-alternative-vibe. They’ve carried this musical chip on their shoulder into adulthood, and can usually be found venting angrily about the importance of “real music” and often leading pub debates on why pop is ruining the music industry.
The third kind of music fan is the kind who likes music, full stop. If it sounds good, they’re interested. They’re enlightened enough to be aware that some pop songs have brilliant melodies, something that some indie songs are sorely lacking. They respect songwriters, but they don’t automatically assume every songwriter is good simply because they play their own stuff. They know not assign independent bands instant credibility without listening to their work, and they also know they shouldn’t dismiss a pop star´s credibility and musical credentials simply due to the type of music they sing. Uninterested with image or impressing anyone else with how alternative and music-savvy they are, this third kind of fan is a genuine music lover though they’re less noticeable than the more-alternative-than-thou breed of fans, mostly because they’re not often found wearing ridiculous clothes from St Vinnies, drinking soy lattes in Newtown and spouting off about how “music is like, totally my life - but not that ‘commercialised’ crap…”
It’s interesting to me that every real musician (the good and versatile ones without attitude, not the rubbish stare-at-my-shoes-and-whine-while-strumming-guitar-look-at-me-I’m-a-moody-rocker brand of musician) I know has a healthy taste for pop - good pop. I can’t stress this enough. Perhaps it’s because as songwriters themselves, they can see the genius of Britney’s Toxic. Maybe it’s why we’re all partial to Murder On The Dance Floor. It could well be that as aspiring rockers, they’re aware of something that is often missing in rock songs nowadays - the hook. Good pop is pure hook, and perhaps adopting more pop sensibility into rock music is a good thing. In any case, it’s certainly not something to be afraid of.
This rather long and unstructured rant is nearly over, so I’d like to send out a final message to the different kinds of music fans I mentioned above.
Scary Devout Teenage Pop Lovers - I hope that at some point you will learn that death threats are not the best way to defend your idol’s reputation on various websites, and I also hope you will open your minds and ears to the wonderful, diverse world of music out there.
To all the More-Alternative-Than-Thou group out there - I beg of you, take the time to actually listen to songs instead of instantly dismissing them because they don’t fit your ideal of clichéd “proper” music. Pop is your friend - nay, it´s more than a friend. It’s the drunken vapid floozy you go out with now and again when you want a cheap, dirty night of fun. Resisting her lusty charms in order to stay at home constantly with your lovable but often stern wife (indie\rock\metal\etc, for those of you not digging my metaphor) means you’re missing out. ausculture.com encourages your musical infidelity!
Finally, to the I Like Music, Full Stop bunch of music fans - to you, I simply say keep on keepin’ on. The meek may inherit the earth, but who cares? You’ll be heading straight to musical heaven to form a band with Jimi Hendrix, Britney Spears, John Bonham and Cher - or something.
Posted by Jess at 3:33 PM Link | Comments (30) | TrackBack (1)June 23, 2004
ausculture me!
Having seen the movie Super Size Me and been horrified by the effects of excessive exclusive consumption of McDonalds on the human body I decided to run an experiment of my own. What would happen if someone read only ausculture.com for an entire month?
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Day one (June 22nd 2004)
Feeling fine. Got a bit bored at 2:13PM, decided to go through the archives. There’s certainly alot of useless crap, I mean, interesting information here.
Day two (June 22nd 2004)
Found myself wondering how this obvious gem went largely unnoticed. Did a search on ausculture.com for “gretel nude” in an attempt to understand why we get so many people from google for that particular search. Funnily enough, we don’t have any relevant pictures (thankfully).
Day three (June 23rd 2004)
Got lost whilst driving today. Partly because I couldn’t read the street sign or a map as per my “reading ausculture only” rule. Also realised that it will be difficult to do my tax return whilst enforcing this rule. Wondering what happened to Jess doing a fortnightly analysis of the search phrases that bring all the wonderful people to ausculture. Was it just another of ausculture’s unfulfilled promises?
Day four (June 24th 2004)
ausculture has been giving me a headache so I went to get an eyesight test. I didn’t read any letters (as per the only ausculture rule) and was pronounced blind.
Day five (June 25th 2004)
Watching paint dry. Enough said.
Day seven (June 27th 2004)
Passed out on day five somewhere between reading out excessive coverage of I’m a celebrity get me out of here (a show I never saw) and a post about Lee Hanson. Have woken up late on day seven. I’d think I’d rather not read anything at all today.
Day nine (June 29th 2004)
My spiritual advisor has urged me to stop this nonsense. I’ll see how I feel on day ten.
Day eleven (July 1st 2004)
Call it cheating, call it failing.
Either way, I’ve been reading Scott Plous’ “The Psychology of Judgment and Decision Making.”
That being the case I didn’t manage a whole month of ausculture.com. Of course, there’s a very big question mark over whether I ever really tried, applied myself, gave it my best shot, knuckled down or anything similar.
The end.
Posted by Patrick at 3:00 PM Link | Comments (6) | TrackBack (0)May 17, 2004
Songs I Perhaps Shouldn’t Like But I Actually Do
And I’m Listening To Them Right Now…
Oh sure, they’re not the coolest collection of tunes. You might not find them on some uber-trendy New York bands Rage playlist. But they will make MY playlist because I love them, and not in that Macquarie University student ironic way either.
Meatloaf - Bat Out Of Hell.
I really, really love this song. I don’t know exactly why - perhaps it’s the overblown theatrics of the whole thing, perhaps it’s the cheesy sound of the motorbike starting up after the sensitive chorus bit. In any case, the whole “And like a sinner before the gates of heaven, I’ll come crawling on back to you” bit gave me goosebumps once. And I wasn’t drunk.
Melissa - Read My Lips
I take the piss out of this song, but I still listen to it loads. So I have concluded I actually do like this song in a lame eighties (or worse - early nineties) way, and the whole “If you wanna wait till later, hands off my detonator” hilarium is just a bonus.
Bon Jovi - Lay Your Hands On Me
Pure. Cock. That’s Jon taken care of, meanwhile this song is Pure. Cock. Rock. I had never heard this tune before until about 2 months ago, so perhaps it’s appeal will wear off soon. In the meantime, I love it - the overblown guitar solos, the stadium anthem appeal of the chorus, everything. I think Jon Bon Jovi is a cunt for being completely arsey about The Darkness in Britain’s Now magazine a few months ago but then, I don’t like anything Bon Jovi have said or done since 1993. I think when they started waxing Jon’s chest, they took away his sense of fun.
Journey - Don’t Stop Believing
Where has this song been hiding all my life?! I first heard it during the flick Monster, where it played as Charlize and Christina gazed into each other’s eyes at some sad roller disco and realised they wanted to rub each other’s naughty parts. Excellent. I’m surprised I never heard this before considering my sisters (who are a decade older than me and thus eighties teenagers) were huuuuge Journey fans. In fact, there is a brilliant photo of my sis (I won’t say which one in case I am beaten to death), permed mullet fluffed to perfection and wearing a hideous Ken Done-esque oversized jumper, sitting next to her state of the art record AND tape player with seven Journey tapes placed on top and making a thumbs up sign with the cheesiest grin ever. I would scan it but again, I’d be in more trouble than Toadie is with Rocco! This is obviously well before my sisters became cool and glamorous and gorgeous. And single, lads!
Rod Stewart - Rhythm Of My Heart
Flashback five years to me, eighteen, dreaming of boozing it up in London and forced to work as a Franklins check out chick in order to earn enough to achieve this goal. The only song I liked on the terrible Franklins FM (instore radio) was this one - it’s sea shanty vibe, complete with bag pipes and Rod at his very best, mean you can’t go past this cracker of a tune. I am also quite partial to Rod’s “The Motown Song”. Many people would think that Rod is about as Motown as Craig McLachlan, but they’d be wrong - he can get down and soulful with the best of ‘em.
Dave Dobbyn - Slice Of Heaven
What a glorious piece of music Slice OF Heaven is! As close to a Kiwi anthem as you can get, I reckon. If there’s one thing better than a “nah nah nah” chorus bit, it’s a “BAH nah nah” chorus bit! It’s a rollickingly good song, and I am unashamed when it comes to loving it so. Bloody fun to play on the guitar too.
Belinda Carlisle - Runaway Horses
I am a Belinda fan full stop - I could have easily chosen Leave A Light On (George Harrison guitar solo!), Summer Rain, Heaven Is A Place On Earth or The Same Thing, I think Belinda is completely ace. But I chose Runaway Horses because it has horse galloping sounds that build up to the last killer chorus - horse sounds! Cos it’s called Runaway Horses, see? This makes the song brilliant for aural consumption while driving, because you can making galloping sounds by banging your hands on the dashboard! I have no life…
The Divinyls - I Touch Myself
Chrissie Amphlett at her very best. For a while I wasn’t sure if I preferred this or Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore, but I’m going for this one cos Chrissie simulates an orgasm, and it’s brilliantly over the top. I also didn’t “get” this song for years (I was young and naïve) so I have fond memories of when the Buffy gang discussed it.
Leonard Nimoy - If I Had A Hammer
Well, it’s Leonard Nimoy, isn’t it?
May 14, 2004
Sedate Rock - An Epidemic
ausculture.com makes the following plea to musicians everywhere - put an end to Sedate Rock!
You know what I’m talking about. The kind of rock music that puts you in a coma, it’s so innocuous. Now, it’s not bad per se, it probably makes quite pleasant background music, and it might even come with decent lyrics, who knows? It could very well be performed by an artist with credibility coming out his or her arse. However, it’s the inoffensiveness of the tune that actually offends me. Where’s the limb? Why aren’t you out on it?
Sedate Rock has insidiously spread itself across the globe with the ferocity and strength of a particularly bad strain of herpes. But who exactly is behind it, and what’s caused the outbreak?
Two things spring to mind straight away - surfers, and Dido.
Dido is the driving force behind Sedate Rock’s cousin which is even more horrible in the eyes of some - Sedate Pop. Thirty-something mothers and sensitive new age men went out in droves to purchase Dido’s brand of sleep-inducing pop, thrusting both her albums “No Angel” and “Life For Rent” to the top of the charts. Her collaboration with naughty rapper Eminem gave her credibility in the eyes of those with none. “But of course she’s cool and hip! She sang with that rapper bloke who says naughty words! It doesn’t GET much more street than that!” Did it matter to the gazillions out there who purchased the album that she sounds like a cat in labour as she whinges about one thing after another? Well, of course not. They barely listened, just played it in the back ground of their dinner parties. They then purchased Norah Jones’ “Come Away With Me” so they could tell people how into jazz they were. It is many of these wannabe-hip record buyers who went on to catch a nasty case of affection for Sedate Rock.
But what about the surfers? How are they to blame? To put it simply, they want to listen to music around campfires on the beach while they get stoned. Which is a valid lifestyle choice, of course, and sometimes quite a pleasant thing to do! So in between catching waves and smoking joints, they started swapping tapes of Jack Johnson’s music. Jack Johnson is probably a nice guy. His music is nice. His lyrics are nice. He performs on stage wearing t-shirts and jeans. Isn’t that nice? So down to earth! BUT WHAT IS EXCITING ABOUT HIM?! Diddly squat, my friends. But hey - I didn’t mind. Diversity is nice in music, isn’t it? And stoner-surf music has it’s place. If his fans don’t seem to mind he’s playing the same song with different words each time, so be it. So Jack Johnson starts selling a crap load to surfers, which in turn led to the exposing of the Sedate Rock virus to millions more on the radio and on MTV. There was a market out there, and out came droves of Sedate Rock pushers from their verandahs and onto the charts.
In Australia, on the heels of the Jack Johnson success, came others. Pete “Would you like a sedative or a song - why not have both?” Murray arrived on the Australian charts with his tune “Feeler”. A great tune, no doubt. Lovely. He followed it on with “Lines” - not as good, but not half-bad. But then came the Sedate Rock anthem - the frustratingly dull “So Beautiful”. If listening to a beefy bloke whine slowly over a monotonous chord progression about some silly wench is your cup of tea, so be it. I personally had never heard anything more stagnant in my life. And for some bizarre reason, people loved it. It was heard constantly on radio and bars added Pete Murray to their jukeboxes where it was played almost as much as The Best Of Cold Chisel. Boozy corporate folks who popped into the pubs across the city after work selected it to show just how on the pulse they were when it came to rock. But this isn’t rock! It’s not even slow rock! It’s just slow, painfully, hurtfully slow.
Pete can write a tune - “Feeler” proved that. But he’ll need to pull out a big gun for his next single in order for me to forgive him for inflicting “So Beautiful” on me. But he’s not the only one, not by far. John Mayer also hit the Sedate Rock big time with “Your Body Is A Wonderland”. Surfers continued to buy Jack Johnson, and even managed to encourage Ben Harper to explore his bland side with “Two Hands” and “Diamonds On The Inside”. More beach bums armed with acoustic guitars came out of the woodwork and can now be seen playing their tepid brand of rock n roll in pubs across the city. They might be talented musicians but they all sound the same!
There are countless more people behind Sedate Rock that I can’t be bothered to acuse. Sedate Pop also thrives on the charts. Where’s the excitement, people? It’s nothing against acoustic stuff, or even slow music - I’m quite partial to Coldplay (though some argue they’re pioneers of Bedwetting Rock - I disagree personally) and I love Ryan Adams to bits. I can’t quite explain what makes something slow and beautiful, and what makes another song slow and banal, despite me managing to write loads on this topic in an attempt to - but to paraphrase Justice Potter Stewart’s comment regarding pornography - I can’t pinpoint exactly what makes something Sedate Rock, but I know it when I hear it. And I want it to end!
Top Three Sedate Rock Songs
Pete Murray - So Beautiful
Jack Johnson - Taylor
Dave Matthews Band - Gravedigger
April 15, 2004
All about Cosima
In a bold move that parallels “The Passion of the Christ”, ausculture.com has tackled one of the most influential personalities of our era - Cosima De Vito.
For those that don’t know, Cosima ejected herself out of the running for “Australian Idol” explaining that she had developed throat nodules.
The good news for Cosima fans is that Cosima is back with…a vengeance and is soon to release a single. But who is Cosima De Vito? Ausculture.com has the answers.
First of all, Cosima reached the top three of Australian Idol.
She withdrew from Australian idol due to “nodules”.
In her spare time she doubles as a breakdancing superhero called “C.”
To relax, she does yoga and swims at the beach.
She will not be starring in “G’Day LA,” Millsy is.
she is a Scorpio.
There is an unofficial Cosima website at www.cosimadevito.com
There is a movie about MC Hammer, it is called “Too Legit: The MC Hammer Story,” I have seen it.
There is no movie about Cosima…yet.
Update: Read the latest ausculture.com rant about Cosima.
Posted by Patrick at 11:50 PM Link | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)February 28, 2004
My Idol
Something is rotten in the state of Australian culture. No, it’s not ausculture.com.
Apart from my distaste for reality television in general, I also have a very real distaste for the transplanting of the school talent quest format to a national television festival.
When I was growing up I never much liked school talent quests. Sure, there were the obvious moments of brilliance such as the obligatory Irish dancer or bad rendition of “Greatest Love of All” but overall, the talent quests at school were crap…
I don’t think they’ve improved any.
Everyone’s favorite person who didn’t win Australian Idol Millsy, has confirmed that he will be starring in the upcoming Australian movie “G’Day LA.” Millsy plays an outback camel racer Ryan “Rhino” Cobb.
A movie entitled “G’Day LA”, about a camel racer, starring Millsy. I can hardly think of anything more Australian, we can only hope that Cosima will sign up to play his trusty sidekick.
As the Australian Idol judges remarked that Millsy was destined for stardom, I’m quite confident that the movie will be a huge sucess and propel Millsy into the stratosphere with such megastars as Paul Hogan.
Then again, I remember the judges at one school talent quest proclaiming that the young girl whose haunting rendition of “Greatest Love of All” we’ve all heard was also bound for stardom. Last time I checked she hadn’t got there, yet. Still, those judges weren’t working for a major record label.
I’m still waiting for Australian television networks to have a competition series for some traditional Australian skills such as drinking beer.
Posted by Patrick at 3:26 PM Link | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)February 4, 2004
TV Fever
Inspired by the nonsense television on our screens at the moment, and continuing our habit of pilfering our own material from old websites, here’s some television shows we expect (or at least hope) to see in the future.
The Blossom Girls
Two of television’s best loved shows are being combined in order to create the ultimate sitcom!
Blossom Russo (Mayim Bialik) - left orphaned and alone after a tragic accident where her shelf of hats collapsed, instantly crushing her entire family (and best friend Six!) - moves with her Aunt Blanche (and Blanche’s friends - Dorothy, Sophia and Rose) to a quiet little town called Petticoat Junction, where the elderly yet feisty ladies now own and run the Shady Rest hotel.
Chuckle as Blossom ends up on the receiving end of an Alzheimers-suffering, bed-wetting Sophia’s witty (and yet often confusing) barbs! Be moved by Dorothy and Rose’s burgeoning romance, which proves that age is no barrier to love (even that of the grey muff-diving kind).Watch the sparks fly as Blanche has a torrid affair with store owner Sam (and the rest of the male population of Hooterville!).
And don’t miss Joey Laurence’s cameo as the ghost of Blossom’s recently departed (and mildly retarded) brother Joey!
The Bills
Three unlikely recruits discover they’ve been teamed up to crack a murder mystery when they join London’s Sun Hill police station. Bill Cosby (The Cosby Show), Bill Oddie (The Goodies) and Billy Idol (80’s popstar and NRL Grand Final mime) join forces as The Bills - mismatched collegues who eventually become a super-sleuthing task force, the likes of which has never been seen at Sun Hill.
Highlights of the first series of The Bills include touching scenes where Bill Oddie and Bill Cosby try to communicate with their mute partner Billy Idol, and also great sadness when the gang discover Bill Cosby’s daughter Rudy is working as a prostitute in London’s East End. Don’t miss this fantastic new spin-off from the hit series “The Bill” , due to appear on the small screen shortly on your ABC!
Home Saints
Australian television’s most celebrated hospital drama All Saints has merged with one of our most successful soaps Home & Away - what a brilliant, Logie-winning move by Channel 7!
After a mass tuberculosis outbreak in Summer Bay, the entire town is admitted to All Saints hospital, where they are cared for by the dedicated staff of Ward 17.
Terri (Georgie Parker) begins to develop feelings for new hospital stud Donald Fisher, but is Mitch too distracted after recognising Sally from a porno he owns to notice his lady being stolen from right in front of him? Meanwhile, Von begins a “flaming” affair with Alf Stewart, but any private moments the two attempt to share in the hospital storage closet are rudely interrupted by the irate ghost of Ailsa.
Bron discovers that Sally has the worst case of herpes the All Saints gang have ever come across (so to speak), while Connor wonders whether Irene’s drinking problem has returned. Could it be vodka in the drip she contantly drags behind her stumbling carcass?
Coming Soon
Surprise Sopranos
Aristos and The Sopranos “surprise” a nominated target, and try to murder them with whatever the unfortunate person has in their trolley! A sure fire “hit”! Stay tuned to Channel Seven for more details.
Hey Hey It’s Sunday
Jana Wendt and Daryll Somers co-host Australia’s newest cutting edge current affairs show. Hard hitting interviews are followed by hilarious light entertainment in this original idea from Channel Nine.
Laurie’s Kitchen
Laurie Oakes takes over from that fat lump Huey to present a fabulous cooking show for all the family! Keep watching Channel Nine to hear a new catch cry of “Laurie Oakes………………………… Kitchen”
Family Strokes
When both the Drummond family AND the Keaton’s are forced to move to Tasmania as part of a witness protection programme, things get unexpectedly heated both between and in the families. A shocking new drama from Channel Seven.
Dr Quinn The Vampire Slayer
When a hell mouth opens up in the old West, Dr Quinn (Jane Seymour) discovers that the local shack that contains the high school is actually a breeding ground for evil, and more shockingly - she has been chosen to exterminate it.
February 2, 2004
Your Body Is A Wonderland
… But John, your face is a bloody disgrace!
Last night I stumbled across John Mayer performing live on cable TV channel musicMAX’s ‘MAX Sessions’.
Now, first things first, I should explain the past that Mr Mayer and I have. John Mayer is one of my “musical flings”. I had a brief and passionate obsession with his album which lasted a good six weeks, before I suddenly couldn’t stand it and removed the CD from my stereo and placed it back on the shelf, where it’s remained ever since.
It wasn’t particularly anything that John did that caused this - I guess my obsessions just tend to burn out. His voice, which I originally found soft and emotive, began to irritate the fuck out of me - I wanted to scream “Damn it John, why do you sound like that! There is no need to breathe every word out like some kind of chronic asthmatic!”. His music, which I had loved and enjoyed, suddenly sounded more and more middle-of-the-road. Why hadn’t I noticed this originally? Finally, he got it on with Jennifer Love-Hewitt, something that troubled me deeply.
He’s not the first musical fling I’ve had. My first was Alanis Morrissette. I had no interest in Alanis during her initial stage of success. But in 1996, while in London spending Christmas with my sister, I discovered her album in my sister’s collection and became obsessed. Jagged Little Pill was all I listened to, day in and day out. I love every whimper, every whine. After six weeks I came back to Australia believing myself to be converted for life when suddenly….. it was gone. That passion had dissolved and to this day, I still twitch a little uncomfortably when forced to listen any songs on that damn album. Again, not her fault, I’m just fickle I guess.
But I digress (rather a lot). So there I am, flicking through the channels as I am wont to do, when I stumbled across John performing live. I’d never seen him sing live, so I stayed to see what it was like.
The answer? Painful. Not just for us, either! John’s expression while singing could be compared to that of someone getting a rectal exam… with a chainsaw. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, some of the worst face pulling in the history of rock. And was it annoying? Was it ever! It did something I never thought possible - it beat David Gray’s Head Wobble as the Official Most Annoying Singing Trait Ever. Dave’s been relegated to second place, while Craig Nicholls from The Vines remains steady at Number 3 with that stupid fucking eye thing he does while singing.
But here I am, just whining about the grimaces! There’s more! For some unknown reason, John also likes to randomly jam his tongue out of his mouth while in the middle of singing a verse. Seriously. He looked absolutely spazz-fucking-tastic. I’ve searched far and wide on the Internet to find some photos of this facial phenomenon, but regret to inform you that the ones I have found don’t do justice to his deformity.
On the upside, through out the puzzlement and confusion I felt while watching John’s face twitch and contort beyond recognition, I listen to his songs and was reminded as to why I like them. I still want to buy him an asthma inhaler, but I do still have some remaining affection for a few of his songs. I guess I’m a sucker for AOR. Whaddyagonnado?
The Big O Reviews
Matrix Revolutions
Once again, we’ve pinched an older, more distinguished article from the past and stuck it up here (with the author’s permission, natch).
Ol Shirley, the gifted Sydney writer\boozehound, has kindly allowed us to republish yet another of his pieces - a review of the last Matrix movie. Insightful? Bitter? Mentions a macaque? You betcha. We wouldn’t have it any other way.
Last night I finally got around to seeing the third installment in the Matrix movie franchise.
You know its been a tough night when you spend most of the drive home talking about the trailers before the movie. It’s even tougher when one of those movies is a jungle romp starring “The Rock”. (Incidentally go and see this movie - it has a rather angry looking macaque in it.)
I’ve never been a huge fan of the whole Matrix machine. I thought the first one was pretty cool however. As a computer nerd I found the whole idea of computers simulating a virtual world whilst enslaving people in a hellish reality was quite intriguing. Kinda like working at Microsoft and having an X-box at your desk to distract you from leaving the building.
Anyway, Matrix was released way back in 1999 and its special effects scenes have been copied by everything from “Shrek” to “A Beautiful Mind”, and as such a whole bunch of internet geeks became pseudo-cool by sporting black trenchcoats and saying “There is no spoon.”
The sequel, Matrix : Reloaded came and went earlier this year, to mixed reviews and some conjecture. “Reloaded” raised more questions than it answered, and turned what was essentially a plot worthy of a Sega Master System game into a biblical struggle of philosophy and technobabble. However, “Reloaded” was redeemed by jaw-dropping special effects and fantastic fight sequences.
Several months later “Revolutions” turned up on our doorstep like the proverbial flaming pile of shite and slipped into cinemas everywhere. Critics had already rubbished the movie for its pretentious dialogue and non-existant storyline, but I was still open minded. These same critics are the ones who awarded a Best Director Oscar to Ron “Richie Cunningham” Howard over Peter Jackson back in 2001.
Anyway, clearly I’m stalling. It behooves me to have to write this review. I really don’t need to tell you how bad the movie is, you’ve probably heard it a hundred times over from your neighbour, your local magistrate, Keanu Reeves himself.
Speaking of Keanu, perhaps the best thing about the trilogy is that he gets less and less lines to speak as it progresses. Mr Reeves is best known for his work playing himself in the sublime “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure” but this was at least 15 years ago. The world has moved on from “Woahhhh”, but clearly Keanu hasn’t. As the movie’s protagonist Neo, he sleepwalks through his lines with all the enthusiasm of Big Kev at a vegan restaurant.
Lawrence “Boys N The Hood” Fishburne has clearly been eating pies with Shane Warne since the first Matrix film and as such has really stacked on the kilos. Unable to fit in his sleek leather jacket any more, he spends most of the movie in a heshan sack quoting from Socrates and Plato and eyeing the off-screen buffet longingly. He clearly doesn’t want to be in this movie. Neither does Carrie-Ann “Ian” Moss as Trinity, Neo’s love interest. As my good friend Steve Fellows pointed out , she is very severe looking. So much so that you almost feel that if she were to smile once it would shatter her face. Although, I suppose there is little to grin about when you are named after Sydney-based private school and spiritual home of the boatshoe “Trinity Grammar”.
A cameo appearance from great Australian actor Bruce “The Mouth of Sauron” Spence as the Train Master adds initial promise to the movie but he disappears about 20 minutes in and is never seen again. Nor is uber-babe Monica Belluci, who is there to provide some much needed but all-to-brief cleavage distraction for the restless internet nerd boy fan base.
Even the trilogy’s one redeeming character Agent Smith , as played by Hugo Weaving, is reduced to a hammy comic book villain. The film’s finale, in which he battles Neo along a crowded street and then kilometres in the air “Superman” style, feels more like a Dragonball Z cartoon than a serious resolution to the trilogy’s only interesting storyline. As an aside, I found myself chuckling when I saw the thousands of Agent Smiths lining up on the road to watch the battle - the resemblance between Hugo Weaving and Roseville’s own Michael Anderson is uncanny!
The movie’s inherent flaw is in the fact that it is set almost entirely in the sci-fi equivalent of Wollongong, the last human bastion of Zion. And the problem here is that Zion is just plain boring. Caves, cabling and pipes everywhere. It looks worse than the supposed horrible machine city on the earth’s surface, which at least has a decent light show and clever looking buildings.
With all the action set in this yawnworthy cavern of boredom, there is very little time devoted to the film’s namesake, the Matrix itself - hence there are few new special effects or physic-defying battle scenes. The ones you do see seem almost tired and rehashed, as if they finally ran out of ideas in 3D Studio Max.
Special effects wise, the movie chugs along with some robotic warriors stolen from “Aliens” and some spidery robo-bugs stolen from cult Japanese anime flick “Akira”. Whilst admittedly some of these battles are quite spectacular, the novelty wears thin after 45 plus minutes of the same footage from a different camera angle and you find yourself caring so little for the unwashed humans that you almost wish the machines would just hurry up and finish them off.
Which brings me to - yet another- plot flaw. The crew of the “Nebuchadnezzar” (named after the ancient Babylonian king and thrown in by the writers to sound biblical and clever) spend half the film racing through tunnels with an EMP bomb in order to try and save the city. Apparently these ElectroMagnetic Pulse bombs are the ONLY THING that can stop the robots, yet the city of Zion has absolutely ZERO of these bombs in their arsenal, yet they have 1000 incompetant Robocop rip-offs which are more machine-like than the actual machines they’re trying to defeat?!!
The lowpoint of the film is clearly its dialogue. I understand the Wachowski brothers don’t give interviews to the public, and its clear to see why. They are clearly ashamed of themselves and their psycho-rambling. The same thing happened to George Lucas - he wrote a good movie 20 years ago and then when he couldn’t find a decent plot for its prequels, he tried to deceive everybody by confusing them with technological jargon and plot threads that make no sense. Cue Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clowns.
Idiotic lines such as “Neo… I believe now!” ( as spoken in the heat of battle by characters pausing heroically to gaze into the distance while bullets whir over their heads) and “You saved me through love…” are excerpts from dialogue the Home and Away writers would cringe at. This, juxtaposed with tech-speak read directly off the back of a Sony VCR manual, makes for an awful cinematic experience.
One of the most confusing scenes of the movie involved the mysterious “Oracle” character. Now, it seems the actor playing the oracle died between the filming of the second and third movies. Not being a hardcore fan, I didn’t notice and I’m sure many others wouldn’t either. The woman cast in this role does a pretty good job of emulating the performance from the previous films. However, at one ludicrous point she starts babbling about how her face has changed! Yet they give no explanation as to why!
Interestingly, why is it that all the villains of the trilogy are all white and middle aged? And why is it that all of the heroes are anything but white? Either African, Pakistani, Rastafarian, Maori, Torres Strait Islander, Easter Islander, you name it they all get a run. Even Keanu is part Hawaiian! It feels almost as if the citizens of Byron Bay are rebelling against leafy Vaucluse. Political correctness at its finest.
Anyway, in conclusion this is a disappointing end to a trilogy that should have been much better. The Sellout Brothers cashed in long ago and their story suffered greatly because of it.
I gave this one surly star out of five.
Ol.
Posted by Jess at 9:30 AM Link | Comments (4) | TrackBack (0)January 30, 2004
Shane Warne - Secret Agent
With former Australian test cricketer and well known pie-eater Shane Warne’s return to the cricketing world imminent, we felt it thoroughly appropriate to republish an article by reputed non-journalist Steve Fellows that originally appeared on the sham that is The Home Of The Recluses. Much like George W.’s disappearance from the National Guard during the Vietnam war, mainstream media have avoided this amazing story, but here at ausculture.com we fear no man (unless he’s a lawyer).
Shane Warne - Secret Agent
Australia’s favourite cricketer and womaniser Shane Keith Warne is sent home in shame having failed a drug test for a banned diuretic. Ousted from the game he loves for 12 months, Shane is left to ponder his mother’s mistake, until such time as he can return to resurrect cricket, which can only suffer in his absence.
Such talent, and so much free time: many speculated on what a man of Shane’s worth would occupy himself with during his year-long sabbatical. None came even close to the astonishing truth.
Until recently, it was a closely guarded secret that Shane’s mother, the very person responsible for his cricket ban, is the Deputy Director at ASIO - Australia’s premier intelligence gathering agency. With this relationship revealed, the truth suddenly becomes clear - S.K.Warne is not only our most accomplished cricketer, he is also a SECRET AGENT!
Consider this: Shane has been travelling the world since his Test debut in the magic summer of 91-92, establishing a network of female contacts who can’t resist his obvious charms. He is expert in the use of text-messaging - a tool that has revolutionised espionage, allowing easy and safe encrypted information transfer. He has many aliases: most notably ‘The Sheik of Tweak’. His mother, a career intelligence officer, was directly responsible for his sabbatical. John Howard, our country’s leader, has what some would consider an inappropriate closeness and affection to the Australian cricket team. Put two and two together (not Shane’s forte), and the underlying reason for his ban becomes apparent.
In the lead up to the ‘Regime Change’ in Iraq, Australia was called upon by the US to assist with intelligence gathering in enemy territory. It soon became obvious there was only one man for the job. A sleeper till now, it was time to activate Agent Warne in an operation that would become known as ‘Spin Doctor’. Shane was inserted into Iraq prior to hostilities under his most appropriate cover - the Sheik of Tweak.
Able to move freely around Baghdad, Warnie’s job was to document Saddam’s movements and Iraq’s military build up, texting the information out through his network of smitten females in code that could easily be misconstrued as inappropriate sexual advances. Inevitably, this would leak to the press, and Shane was lampooned for his outlandish behaviour in tell-all tabloid character assassinations. ASIO agents gleaned issues of Woman’s Day and New Idea to collate Shane’s transmissions, decypher them, and then deliver the intelligence to the appropriate military sources. It was the work of Warnie that allowed swift and decisive victory in the Middle East.
Whilst all that I have spoken of will, and must be denied, next time you marvel at the low cost of petrol, or the ball that got Gatting, say a little thank you to Australia’s finest cricketing secret agent: Shane Keith Warne.
New Reality Series
While other soon to be seen reality TV shows have been heavily promoting, the show that is likely to induce a public frenzy more than any other has been kept behind closed doors, we reveal what we know (almost nothing).
The new Australian reality show simply entitled “The Dunny” centres around an outdoor toilet situated somewhere in the Sydney suburbs.
Sources indicate that “The Dunny” brings together the finest aspects of the current batch of reality shows while managing to add a few twists of its own.
“I’m very excited about this project”, enthused one of the masterminds behind the series “It has everything, I think the idea can be franchised around the world.”
There have already been screened auditions for “The Dunny”, footage of which is expected to make up the early episodes in the soon-to-be reality series. Sources have confirmed that the auditions do involve extensive use of “The Dunny” itself.
What could the future hold for the series? Spin-offs are already in development with titles rumored to be “Dunny Makeover”, “Dunny Island”, “The Dunnyette”, “The Wedding - in The Dunny” and, surprisingly “The Dunny II”.
January 29, 2004
The Rove McManus Story
Rove Barnarby Fandago McManus was born on the 21st January, 1974 in the small town of Cocklebiddy in Western Australia. This is 100% true nearly true mildly fictional… a complete fabrication. Or is it?
His Background
His mother, Alanis McManus, was renown for her ability to fanny fart on cue. She often displayed this gift for all and sundry after a few too many shandys at the Cocklebiddy Tavern. In fact, on one occasion, Alanis managed to fanny fart (note for note) “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing” by Leo Sayer, leaving her fellow patrons absolutely speechless except for the barman who managed to utter “What the…?!” in disbelief. It is believed that Rove, who at the time was nestling in his mothers ovaries, overheard the barkeep using this wondrous phrase, and made as promise to himself that once he was fertilised, born, and had entered the world of television, he would make this his catchphrase.Meanwhile, Rove’s father Dougal was a ship rat from the Outer Hebrides of Scotland. Sent from his Scottish home to Perth for scientific testing in 1973, Rove’s father managed to escape from his cage and hitch his way to the small town of Cocklebiddy. It was there he met Alanis, who was at the time both founding the Cocklebiddy Animal Protection Society, and experimenting with LSD. Swept up by their forbidden love, the couple soon married and shortly after conceived young Rove.
His Childhood
Growing up, Rove felt different to the other children - no doubt having a Scottish rat as a father (not to mention a fanny fart-loving mother) had something to do with this. From an early age, he was a loner - unable to fit in with the rodent community, and ostracised from the human community of Cocklebiddy. Thus, much of his time was spent entertaining his drug-loving parents with various skits and one man shows. What Rove didn’t know at the time was that his parents were stoned out of their minds most of the day, and were often found laughing hysterically at pebbles, birds, linoleum and golf clubs, as well as young Rove’s performances. However, Rove spent his first few years believing he had a great comic gift, and set his sights on a career in television.On Rove’s sixth birthday, his parents (in a rare sober moment) looked at him and noticed a resemblance to “Hey Hey It’s Saturday” star Daryl Somers, and promptly shipped him off to The Channel Nine Academy in Perth. There, Rove studied furiously subjects such as “Laughing At Ones Own Jokes”, “Arse Kissing Overseas Celebrities” and “Coping With Denise Drysdale”. Sadly, right before graduation, Rove was expelled from the Academy after being caught canoodling with guest speaker Denise Drysdale behind the school’s gymnasium one balmy summers evening. In 1992, 18 year old Rove packed his bags and moved to Victoria to begin his bid for Australian television domination - with or without the Academy’s support.
The Years Of Struggle
During his school years, Rove had researched different ways to make money whilst waiting for his big break. A new found interest in rap music in 1989 led him to believe that the easiest way to make money was to “pimp some bitches”, so Rove moved to a Victorian town called Pimpinio, which he believed would be the best place to launch his new career as a pimp daddy. Unfortunately, names can be deceiving, and Rove quickly worked out that Pimpinio, a town of only 100 people which lay 320km north west of Melbourne, was not the hustling, bustling, whoring metropolis he believed it would be. Working at the town’s panel beaters for a year and a half, Rove saved up enough money to catch a train to Melbourne, which despite a less catchy name, seemed a better location for him to reattempt his pimping business.Arriving in Melbourne in early 1994, Rove soon realised that it was a pimp or be pimped world, and learned the hard way that a good pimp didn’t spend his own money buying ladies of the night. Broke and desperate, Rove finally agreed to become a male prostitute in the St Kilda district. His nights were spent servicing widows and disgruntled wives, and it appeared that being a man whore would be Rove’s job for life. But then, fate stepped in. While making small talk with one of his clients, he discovered she was the disgruntled wife of Daryl Somers! Rove decided this was his one chance to get out of the gigolo world he detested. He threatened to spill the beans on Mrs Somers extra curricular affairs unless she got him a job at Channel Nine. Mrs Somers couldn’t care less about Daryl discovering her secret, but she could see that this young stud could, given time, become a genuine threat to her husbands career if he was given a chance to prove himself at Channel Nine, and this filled her with great joy as she too had heard the Daryl-Jo Beth Taylor rumours. A few quick phone calls later, and Rove was given the position of Studio Lackey. Truly, Rove’s star was rising.
The Channel Nine Years
Rove was assigned to the Light Entertainment Department of Channel Nine, a remarkable stroke of luck considering that Rove had topped his Year 11 class in “Mindless Light Entertainment”. His first contact with Daryl Somers was in 1996, when Daryl asked Rove to get him a coffee - flat white, two sugars. In his nervous state, Rove forgot the order and asked for a long black with one. Upon presenting Daryl with his beverage, Rove was promptly beaten like a little bitch by Lavinia Nixon - a Hey Hey It’s Saturday regular, and also Daryl’s bodyguard. Oddly though, amidst the confusion, blood, pants wetting and tears, Daryl saw something in Rove that he liked - Daryl saw Daryl. Firing Lavinia, he hired Rove as his bodyguard, and soon after, Channel Nine staff learnt to be very afraid of this fearsome duo. People literally cowered behind pot plants when they saw the formidable Daryl sauntering through the halls, followed stealthy by his favourite lackey Rove.
And so it was, until the fateful day when Daryl received a note from Kerry Packer stating “You’re fired. Pack your gear, but leave the rat-like fucker behind. Kerry”. Tearfully, Daryl exited the building to the sound of jeers and boos from his jubilant ex co-workers. Meanwhile, Rove was summonsed to meet with the great Kerry Packer later that afternoon.
It was in this fateful meeting that Kerry asked Rove to host his own show on the Nine Network. Simultaneously, Rove cried, laughed, and came in his pants - all of which Kerry took as a sign that Rove was agreeing to his proposal. On 22 September 1999, Rove’s own show “rove” premiered on Channel Nine at 11pm, to dismal ratings. Quite frankly, Rove was terrible, and his mediocre attempt at becoming the next generation Daryl Somers offended an Australian public who had not yet even finished celebrating the demise of “Hey Hey It’s Saturday”. Kerry put out a contract on Rove’s life, but eventually feared he was over-reacting and cancelled both the contract, and the show. To really hammer home how upset he was at Rove’s dismal failure to live up to expectations, Kerry did however set Lavinia Nixon on Rove McManus. As Lavinia had harbored a deep resentment of Rove after he replaced her as Daryl’s bodyguard, she beat him to a bloodied pulp, and Rove was hospitalised for a week after the incident.