Pull your trousers up, your nARSEcisim’s showing!
Your third eye is a brown eye
Your temple’s portaloo
Lets hear your spirits talking
I hear they speak in dungs
Opinions are like arseholes
reckons rhymes with rectums
You just see connections
I see the full of your moon
Some ideas golden, some ideas are green
This idea presenting here, comes straight to you from dreams
But of all ideas and options, line ‘em up in rank
For the swiftest of attention, go shit your pants
I, took a shit in my pants
You, took a shit in your pants
They, took a shit in their pants
We, we, we, take a shit in our pants
Some throw toys, or hissy fits, or fingers full of shit
But as they saying plainly goes, if the nappy fits
If you’ve lost attention, feel abandoned, you know you want it back
Grab a hand and take command, and go and fling your scat
So less than juvenile but time and tested true
There’s a little cleaver trick that rhymes with you
If you like your message loud, brown and sticky thick
Call Crap the fecal postman, who hand delivers shit
It’s politicians, opinion pieces
Comment sections full of feces
The tik-tok, meta, Twitter species
The social media ablution theses
Whinging grown ups wringing wrists
Those billionaires throw hissy fits
Mate, forget the beaches, fill your trousers
Man shit your pants, your super powers
Wow, 20 years. Sending huge squeezes to all who have shared gear and beds and bathrooms and chippies in the van and waited in airports and shared make up and cooked plans for adventures and made breakfast for us after we have crashed – sweaty and smiling in your baches and homes and garages and tents and caravans after a night where we either cleared the bar or made it bounce.
Big ups too to all the organisers, the venues and bars and festival makers, the creators of one-offs in gardens, on big stages, at school fairs, at memorials, and on the back of flat bed trucks.
Massive thanks to those that came to shows. Sometimes you were one of 10. Sometimes one of a 1000. You are the best. If you ever sang along and we saw you, we still talk about it. And to those that bought the merch be it a CD, or a t-shirt, of a hand-made book or a jar of chutney, we are incredibly grateful. Thank you.
I wanna hug all those you have helped us record in cellars and sleep-outs and flash studios and in your front rooms. And if you wrote about us, we wanna thank you too.
Thank you to the collaborators who have played out front in the band for a long stretch or a sniff, the collaborators unseen, the videographers and costume creators and puppet makers and the album artists, and all you soundies: You are part of our DNA. We raise our glasses to you.
And to those who have shared stories and histories and experiences and dreams with us as we have travelled, your words have often changed us and we thank you too.
I wanna also acknowledge and squeeze the small crew who coach and coax and mentor and walk with us across time zones. You know who you are. You have been life line, catalyst and conspirators. You are our family.
Almost finally, I wanna thank our girls who grew up with this band. You shared your home with repeating riffs and howling and costume changes and random strangers from around the globe. Your patience has been endless. And a special thank you if you stepped in for K and I and wrapped your love and practical care around our girls whilst we were away. This wouldn’t have happened with out you.
And lastly, mr sterile, I want to thank you. This has been and continues to be the most incredible and fantastic journey. I am so thankful we have gotten to live our lives like this. All love, always.
20 years ago this evening(13 September 2001) the first iteration of the mr sterile Assembly took to the stage – a three piece, drums, guitar and trombone blurted out 2 days after the event of the world trade centre collapse – what a strange time it was.
it’s has been, however, a thrilling 20 years – but rest asured we aren’t finished yet – there’s still some oddness up these sleves.
a massive thanks and love to all that have participated, played and partaken in this at-times random beast. the love continues to flow to all those that have shared their company with us in the form of audience punters, of hosts and of organisers.
this rickety go-cart has taken us to some extraordinary and wonderful places around the globe – more than we every expected possible when we cranked that barely tuned guitar two decades ago on to an unsuspected rabble, and for ALL those opportunities, meals, mattresses, trains, translation disasters, set-ups and break-downs, gastro problems, and life-long-friends-made-along-the-way we thank you, we thank you, we thank you!!!
see ya soonishxx
Ain’t these the strangest of times aye? It’s certainly been an 18 months break from regular programming. A definite shake to the foundations for sure.
2021 started with a fractured left drumming hand. Bike meets car, soft meets hard – snap! We had started recording for the new album towards the end of 2020, seven tracks down and five more to do. Needless to say that all ground to a startling stop. Things got progressive more complicated after that and so that project is on pause until a better time. We’d like to imagine sooner rather than later. Watch this space.
Rehabilitation of the injured hand took time. Any idea of a show ceased till recovery. Happily we have played once, for the wake of our dear departed friend Peter Deutsch. We were scheduled to play again, but, you know, Corona!
It hasn’t been silent though. As noted in the previous blog a mr sterile solo track titled And Candor and Reason in Chat was released in response to a flurry of anti-tax hate mail towards the journalist, David Farrier. He published some excellent articles about the development and influence of conspiratorial actors in Aotearoa – [these two blog posts in particular – I hope you get hit by a truck, I talk to all the people who sent me threats] .
Next off the ramp is another mr sterile solo two-tune release called You are Not a Fire. The title track inspired from a wonderful podcast of the Irish comedian, mental health advocate and all round seemingly good human Blindboy Boatclub. The particular podcast is about his mental health care during the long lockdown experienced in Ireland. It’s very helpful.
The second track, YouMeNess, is based on a video in which he adopts the persona of someone who channels messages from the enlightened plane, a satirical look at new-aged charlatanism and narcissism. Rimski, and others, research in depth the cross over of Conspiracy theories and spirituality in these times . [The previous sentence is the link to the video, unable to embed, sorry]
And released today is Open to Suggestion by SMEs-21, a collaborative project between Mr Snakes and mr sterile, and between Fiji and Aotearoa. Provocative tracks are assembled and shared to the other who then takes all opportunity to reassemble anyway they see fit. The final edit reveals a collection that spans between cinematic soundscape to boisterous anthem beats, songs and sounds, a collage of street sounds, decaying electronics, electronic instruments and incidental sounding morsels.
It was a joy to include the poetry of our dearly departed Fergus Collinson. He came to dine one night with sterile, and after eating fired up the microphones for Collinson’s recitation. The recording slipped into the archive waiting for the right response – a delight to offer up here.
Also there are a couple of notable vocals onto other tracks. These are collected from the live-stream of Vinnie Eastwood. Vinnie is one of our local anti-lockdown conspiracy theorists – to quote “…this is not a lockdown, it is a military takeover!” The first track OK, Ladies and Gentlemen is a combination of two bombastic recording. The first from his car and the second is reported to be from the night before a protest in a pub in Auckland. The second track, St Ninny is Vinnie getting arrested at said protest. The transition to bombastic defiance to complete compliance is quite spectacular, alongside the call for support from fellow protestors and the complete lack of response.
The album is released simultaneously on Mr Snakes Circuit 47, and our own skirted Records.
Recently there was an article published on the Webworm blog by journalist and film maker David Farrier called I hope you get hit by a truck. This article documented a recent day when his inbox exploded with accusations stating that he was responsible for the removal of a ‘truther’ blogger from youtube. A screenshot was first fabricated that would indicate that Farrier was responsible for the removal of this channel. It’s interesting to note that Billy T K was the first person identified to post it.
It’s quite funny [not really..] how those who are so swift to decry the impact of ‘fake news’ leapt on board a fabrication which then enabled them to bombarded Farrier with hate mail.
Farrier’s followup article was a stroke of genius where he chose to then reply to each communication individual. This was documented in the follow-up article I talk to all the people who sent me threats. Farrier shares several of these conversation verbatim. I would encourage you to visit Webworm to read these.
In a light-hearted subtitle underneath a particularly nasty email Farrier described a communication as a poem. This seemed like an interesting proposition, to think of such animosity in a poetic sense and so this song was made.
Once complete I sent to David and he replied indicating that he had enjoyed the offering. The text is a nasty vent directed at Farrier, and I’d hate something like this song to compound further his sense of being attacked.
By the by:
Not all conspiracy theories are bogus. There have been very real and terrible conspiracy theories enacted upon populations, so not everything ‘Conspiracy’ is off the charts. Tine Ngata offers five solid examples in the article The Top 5 Colonial Conspiracy Theories.
That some conspiracies are actually while others are off the charts is interesting and a challenge, it is how to tell the difference sometimes. However its curious that people can hold to ideas like the one that insists that there is a lizard overlord dressed in the skin of a politician, instructing and influencing populations by nano-technological infused vaccines and 5G doom rays, blasting into the sky to bounce off chemtrails over a flat planet … but can’t come to grips with some English gripper who, a couple of hundred years ago, devised plans to steal other peoples countries, resources and histories… go figure.
Finally: it is also worth noting that the new Adam Curtis doco Cant get you out of my Head does an interesting exploration of the invention of the original contemporary conspiracy theory, that of the Illuminati…check it out.
Here’s something from the archive.
The first outing of the mr sterile mouthpiece. Released onto cassette maybe sometime around 1998.
When the rest of the world seemed hell-bent on techno, and all sorts of other electronic wizardry, mr sterile had yet to find the ‘On button’ to any computer.
Here are a bundle of raw sounding recordings brutally hewn and urgently laid down without finesse onto a borrow 4-track cassette machine. Spewed out in the in-between times with an acoustic guitar, a borrowed electric guitar, a clay drum from the local Trade Aid and a big mouth, these tracks sound like they are someone learning to play…and that’s not that far from the truth.
This version of Suppository has been somewhat abridged.
Original mix by mr sterile and Grant Sutherland
The final piece, Flash and Exposure was not on the original cassette but released as a bonus track on the Loosehead ep Dork [released 1999]. The Loosehead recordings are available here at THIS link
This release is a commission piece in response to CoVID-19, with provocation and support provided by The Pyramid Club, Pōneke Wellington. This track is three pieces collated into a single over-arching idea with accompanying essay to give thought to sound.
“With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter.”
H G Wells
An invitation to participate in a reflection on COVID brings hesitation, a sense of wanting to avoid the opportunity, a feeling of being overwhelmed at the commitment. But that is when the energy’s low, which has been a lot of the time over the last few months. Of course the other me, the FOMO me, the me that knows it’ll be fun in the long run, says I know I’ll regret it if I don’t.
Everyone’s got a Lockdown story. We are all unified under Corona. Certainly in the early days.
Out of the apocalypse that was the Australian summer, stories of a gathering unknown infection in the Chinese city of Wuhan made their way through the clouds of smoke. It was an compelling story as we had briefly visited this city six months earlier to play a show in a club called Wuhan Prison. Months later we would find out that we left the city about twenty days before the first case of the novel coronavirus would present and rewrite the way we all interact with the world.
Horror stories of first Italy and then Spain soon gained global attention. This virus was no longer perceived to be limited or contained. Here at home we were organizing a small tour of the South Island and planning local shows. Thinking about it now, it reads like the opening scene in H.G. Wells novel War of the Worlds: Us, innocently going about our daily endeavours oblivious and ignorant to the gathering storm.
In my working life though, the corona virus was becoming a frequent conversation. I work as a nurse as part of a health team in a Youth Service. I am lucky to have access to clinicians who are literate in the wider contexts of health and illness, who have worked in crisis zones before. Yet here we all were in the face of a cascading unknown. Stories ramped up daily of hundreds, if not thousands, dead. How were we to cope? Who knew the real magnitude of what we were about to be confronted with?
After work, back home, I would continue to organise shows as if what was happening was of little consequence.
Then it arrived. The local numbers exponentially increased. The anxiety rocketed. Ardern announced a 48 hours preparation period before a full Level 4 lockdown. It was a Sunday and I went into work. We had an afternoon to plan how to reconfigure a health centre to be pandemic-ready by the morning. Over the next few days information and official recommendations changed frequently, sometimes several times in a day. It was a head-fuck trying to keep up, but we consistently had to respond and revise.
After work, back home, the evenings turned into a tour cancelling exercise.
Suddenly the streets were empty. Bubbles formed and compassion was tangible. Biking to work was brilliant. There was something awesome in the awfulness.
My workplace was deemed an Essential Service, so remained active and open. The contagion was spreading. The international death toll increased, local infection rates escalated quickly and then death arrived. We needed to be prepared and confident in PPE despite any anxiety we held personally. We checked in with the daily briefing, read anything that might educate us on what might happen next, learned and dumped and re-learned as old advice made way to new. It demanded mental agility and dexterity while maintaining robust and safe clinical practice.
Returning home to the bubble it turned into evenings of food and alcohol, of establishing new routines. New habits like believing you are contaminated until an immediate shower upon returning, being careful in the discarding of any potentially-infectious work clothes upon entering the house. Touch no one till disinfected!
Online, creativity seemed to flourish. There was an energy to the new environment, people recognizing the need to stay connected and use online performance as a valid expression. Nearly every other day invites were received to take part in online concerts, discuss things in interviews or to collaborate on recording projects.
Initially it seemed possible to entertain these requests. But that was before the exhaustion started to settle. Decision fatigue. Navigating anxieties, localities, the practical aspects of managing an unfolding crisis with limited information at work became the only creative act. There was no time, head-space or the words to find some philosophical meaning to project.
The weeks ticked by and the collective mitigating efforts delivered tangible progress. The curve was flattening, cases were decreasing, and clinical routines became familiar. As we approached Level 2, I could see an opportunity to take a break, a small window of time, a settled, momentary, period in which to escape to. Through a serendipitous connection a small shed in the Waiohine Valley became available. Pre-empting the possibility of slowly unwinding with some recreational recording, I packed a notebook, a bottle of whiskey, and a small amount of recording equipment in the faint hope that something sonic might be captured while away.
As the country anticipated moving from Level 2 to 1, I felt urgent for the isolation. It could not arrive fast enough. I drove to the foot of the hills and slept. The quiet developed into an unexpectedly fruitful time. I spoke to no one, spent days in monastic silence in a routine of coffee, reading and then recording till dusk. Part-way through I needed supplies so took a trip to Carterton, There I heard the dramatic news of an upending situation in the US after the murder of George Floyd. The world interacts in explosive ways.
Now, back at work the new ‘ordinary’ delivers its own stressors. There is a comfort I’ve heard expressed many times about the security the first Lockdown delivered. As things reopen the uncertainty returns. The confidence of a science-based approach has devolved to conversations of conspiracy. However it pans out, whether we like it or not, we are still in it together. The best and the worst, inescapable.
I noticed in myself that the invite to participate in this project generated a feeling of resistance. It was still one task too many in the daily torrent of demands. The idea to generate a ‘new’ piece of work, from scratch, seemed more than could be managed. But the idea to compile a few pieces, formed without purpose, into a single entity recorded in refuge grew as a tangible and graspable possibility. The other me was right, I would have regretted declining. And for this opportunity I give thanks to Pyramid Club.
The audio recorded for this project are three of eight pieces from this period. Stylistically different from each other, but each born 24 hours apart. The first and third tracks are spontaneous compositions. The kereru are locals, the train is the Featherston Line, and the wasps were lifted from Chrissie Butler’s contribution to the Psi-Isolation album. Mixed and mastered by C Butler and mr sterile.
Well this is an absolutely surprising delight to wake up to this!!
We we’e introduced to the lovely Stephen Cole when we we’re on tour in 2019. He runs a music project called POSTmusic out of What Studio and it was arranged for us to take part when we got to Liverpool. The studio is based upstairs in a large old church, but felt like a sweet subversive space for weirdos music makers.
We met early afternoon, set up, got the costumes on on the front steps, between the legs of the edifice, and bang bang, spat the two tunes out in quick succession. One take, all at once, and this is the first take.
We have recently been remixing the audio with Stephen, via the wonders of the WWW. Which is exciting practice. In a couple of weeks we will start laying down the first tracks for the new album at the infamous local Scumbag College. Then, when all tracks are complete, we shall send to What Studio to pick up the mixing and mastering of the final collection.
Announcing the brand new release of the new single Hūrrē alongside the new recording of the older track Orhering Heights.
Hūrrē: a word purportedly from the fens, easy of Cambridgeshire. A word for the cloud-like visible breath one breathes out on a cold day.
These tracks were recorded in Liverpool June 2019 when we visited northern England as part of three last tour. An afternoon was arranged at What Studio, run by Stephen Cole, as an opportunity for us to take part in his POSTmusic series. All equipment was set up, ther recorded button engaged and then once through and all parts at once.
Move to this year and the world has changed exponentially. We were invited to contribute something to an project called Flat Earthers – unpleasant truths/ comfortable lies . This song seemed to fit the brief of an exploration of these ‘post truth’ times.
A new video will be accompanying the song very soon .
Seems like every talking head, spinning clever, sing aloud
Every claims to speak, tongue in cheek, for the ‘silent crowd’
Every point explored, cue applause and minds and hearts
Everything is black and white, twitter into bite-sized parts
Everything urgent, talk it up or talk it down
Everything matters, despite the fact that facts are known
Everything’s balance, depends in fact on who decides
Compassionate gaslight, say it’s nothing smile wide
Every informed mouthpiece, filled your ears up with their junk
Every trusted mug, comforts drug, your brains drunk
Every reused excuse, adds authority, gospel proof
Fuckwit behaviour, be subjective with the truth
Seems like every expert here, with loud idea’s got it wrong
Every wise refrain on display and now it’s gone
Every balanced point, mr smartarse hit’s the mark
Every scrap of ‘good advice’, there to prop the oligarch.
It’s that thing your breath does when it’s cold.
Born from your inner warmth, when the Mercury’s low.
Coming from your mouth, honest without sound
Here’s something I can trust, you’re tiny rising cloud.
You’ve got a lot to say
For someone with not a lot to say
But never let the facts
Get in the way.
You say that you know
We doubt what’s below
Your hollow show
The B-side to the A-side of a No-sided single Hūrrē.
Othering Heights- recording in What Studio by the lovely Stephen Cole, Liverpool June 2019 at a time that now seems a world away.
Remixed and mastered by Stephen Cole Spetember 2020, and edited into the vid made from footage from last years tour.
Enjoy the new sounds
Alas, the extension of Level 2 has meant that this show has had to be postponed to a yet unknown time….
The loss of a show ain’t a big thing compared to the losses of others to CoVID. We have 0% common ground for any ridiculous idea that it is a scam.
We were talking with someone dear and close a few days ago who had just returned home from hospital after experiencing complications to the illness. They were still lost for breath. Loss of breath from exertion/leaping around/acting up will return, but we want all our nearest and dearest with us.
So take care, look after yourselves and your known and unknown others, and see you soon
Pretty much most corners of the human-inhabited globe have been turned upside down by the virus. Disruption is vast, catastrophic and in countless and unpredictable ways. The mood of the media [depending where your eyeballs land] swing from apocalypse to optimism…somewhere in between something resembling realistic will settle.
We hope your all hanging in there. Our condolences if these times have held tragedy.
In the early days of lockdown the net was a-buzz with live-to-airs etc. But we weren’t able, our personal lives and jobs meant we continued working day jobs while others figured out what lockdown looks/feels/sounds like. The Assembly went silent as other priorities claimed pole position.
We are fortunate enough to be in a country where those priorities can now be loosened as ongoing health professionals diligently continue to work, adjust, and manage our neck of the woods in an unfolding crisis. We think all those essential workers, everywhere, are fucking champions and we should not stop singing their praises. From health staff, teachers, supermarket workers, cleans and all the other legends that truly do make our world a better place. Your fucking awesome!!
We’ve got a bunch of shows coming up.
1st show out the gate is at Audio Foundation in Auckland on Friday 7 August. On Saturday the 8th we play UFO, also in Ak.
Saturday September 5 we have the chance to play at the fantastic Moon band in Newtown.
We had to cancel a tour to the South Island in late April but that has now been rebooked for October 15, 16 and 17. Fully information shall be provided as we finalize details. Its going to be great to get back out again, will be nice to see whoever we see.
This shows are going to give us an opportunity to present a few new songs, alongside a mostly new set. We’re actively writing at the moment to complete this cluster of tunes that will populate the new album. Sounds gutsy if I may say so myself.
Although we could not logistically manage a live to air over lockdown, we did manage some small recording projects.
The album Psi-Solation, released by Celebrate Psi Phenomenon, features a solo track by DSLB, and another solo mr sterile track. There’s 119 tracks on this beast, a phenomenal release showcasing experimental, drone, noise and other sonic shapes and forms. It’s delicious.
A solo online-only release by my sterile also sneaked out. The title is The Rejects Usually Respect Your Defects. This is a compilation of twenty years of interpretations of other peoples tunes, as well as some cacophenous collaborations along the way. It’s a pay-what-you-feel option, $0 is totally cool. Times are tough and maybe this may provide a little pleasure.
This is a stopgap till the next solo album which is coming into the homestretch of completion, however still a bit of required of patience and effort is required before the finish line is crossed.
And lastly, a solo mr sterile track appears on the amazing Olympus LP ‘Caucus’. A superb collaborative project based around the Auckland group Olympus, who have gathered together a fine fraternity of odd-bods to contribute sounds to provocative sonic starters.
The band were featured in an online interview on the Argentinian based website Artistas sean Unidos. It was written in the post-fire-pre-CoVID times, they were simpler times then.
And finally, we both individually took part in a collaborative sound-response project with some friends from south Korea. We were given a 30 minute soundscape to respond to, we did not listen to each others, we responded how we liked and then we sent the tracks away. We await with anticipation to hear what the final compilation of all tracks sounds like.
Dear people, and if your here then know that you are dear.
Its been a awesome year. Thank you to all the fantastic people we’ve met over the last 12 months, who we’ve played shows with, who have helped us in our projects, or who we have communicated with and perhaps have never met in the flesh. It has all been fantastic.
This year we managed to crack out 42 Assembly shows, several DSLB solo shows, a new music video, a couple of new recordings from Liverpool, a bunch of new songs as we work up to the new album, a new tape from this moniker called SquidBoat, and a carbon offset world tour!
So as the Gregorian Calender ends, and the next one is one the cusp of beginning, we wish you all a hale and hearty best wishes for a progressive, life enhanceing, creative and engaging new year.
Working towards a better future is a GOOD project!
See you all on the other side
SquidBoat – a new instrumental, solo project from the skirted stable. Reflections on deep south, blackest nights on a broad and expansive coast that one can almost see Antartica from.
out from Oreti
launch into the vast darkness
the greatest and
deepest southern basin
darkest of nights
from where even though
to see the place
where the horizon meets
beasts from the deep
there are no lights on the skyline
the only light is far
from beyond a billion miles
from the north
the tiniest of vessels
in a most expansive of space
there is no room for the little
even more is consumed
in a process of more
It’s been reported that this summer in Europe has been the hottest on record since records began. We were there at the start of it and it was stinking hot!
The Arctic and Amazon are both burning, and so is Kalimantan and Sumatra. Fires from the South East Asian region create a gargantuan cloud called the Haze, which has landed planes, closed schools, caused acute respiratory illnesses and granted several cities in the region the title of the Most Polluted on the Planet. We were there just weeks before and missed the haze, though the fires had probably been burning at that time.
We travelled towards Beijing by Bullet train and saw evidence of the massive replanting programme, where countless trees over hundreds of kilometers were feet first in the earth. China is one of two major global landmasses that is becoming more visibly green from space. We walked in streets silent of combustion engines, electric vehicles are everywhere and ordinary. We saw blue skies above Beijing.
We calculated our many journeys, the greatest distances often by plane, and felt accountable for our personally insignificant addition to the global carbon calamity. Its a conversation with many opinions. Many say its pointless, many say it’s the apocalypse. Heres how we decide what to do.
Hyperobjects is a phrase coined by Timothy Morton. Its a concept that helps to consider the role of these world-affecting phenomena “…that are so massively distributed in time and space as to transcend spatiotemporal specificity, such as global warming, styrofoam, and radioactive plutonium”. We’d would suggest that Humans-Traveling-In-Planes-All-At-Once-And-Over-All-Time is a Hyperobject. Small Me is insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but add small me to the entity Humans-Moving-in-Planes monster and the contribution of ‘I’ becomes part of a greater force that then becomes significant to the grand scheme of all things.
Recognizing the negative impacts of flight its confounding that we still can’t deny to wanting a future where humanity remains able to travel widely. Travel as a human endeavor has ultimately enriched and benefited the human condition. Travel and exposure to the ‘other’ is mentally nutritious, a great teacher of tolerance, the recognition of shared-similarity such as the universal love of food, music, touch, color, art, adventure, access to things Wild, and the deep sensory satisfaction of being an active participant IN & OF the world. Travel helps to dismantle that toxic notion of ‘other’.
This argument in NO way attempts at all to negate the massive negatives that have unfolded as global travel expanded – the white supremacist advance of colonization, the massacre of countless human and non-human lives, the decimation of Primary Rain Forests, water ways and other diverse habitats for the exploitation, avarice or greed.
As we have done before [and here], we documented and discussed these plans with an organization called Ekos. “Ekos is a non-profit enterprise that develops carbon projects to grow and protect indigenous forests in New Zealand and the Pacific Islands. ekos connects carbon offset buyers with these projects by measuring business and individual carbon footprints, supplying certified indigenous forest carbon offsets, and providing zero carbon certification. ekos carbon projects deliver climate resilience, waterways protection, erosion control, biodiversity protection and community economic development.”
We are pleased that our Orange Time tour has been certified as Carbon Friendly with ekos. We compiled the info about our flights (including radiative forcing) and we estimated the emissions relating to taxi and train travel. In total we offset 20.66 tCO2e with certified carbon credits. These ekos offsets grow and protect indigenous forests in New Zealand and the Pacific Islands and help to deliver climate resilience, waterways protection, erosion control, biodiversity conservation and community economic development.
This seems like a positive contribution, despite the personally tiny scale.
In no way are we suggesting that planting trees is enough. But equally, its not going to harm anything, and if done in significant number will make some impact to the overall carbon budget. It is but one strategy in the tactics of mitigation. The questions remains for now though on that hot topic of the continuity of contemporary civilizations and life – human AND non-human.
People who make stuff, sing, write or have access to any other platforms available have an ability to step into the flood of conversations that aim to inspire inertia. The recent deluge of abuse and digital shouting at Greta Thunburg is a perfect example. To use honed skill-sets and creativity to distract, redirect, refocus and reorientate conversations and narratives is a particular opportunity worth exploring. And if you have any sort of platform, perhaps an imperative. Say nothing and the right-wing, or left-wing, wackjob rhetoric thrives.
Some say Carbon offsetting is a scam. Maybe some aspects of it are, when its managed from a corporate agenda. But a bigger scam is the promoting the belief that doing nothing counts as something, often suggested from some lofty cynical pseudo-authority. Someone much smarter than us once said “By any means necessary”. A creative platform is simply one aspect in the Any Means available to us in the differing tool kit we have to use.
Our recent tour was called Orange Time. It’s also the name of one of our newer songs. The words riff on the idea that there is wisdom in paying attention to the obvious warning sign that surround us, in many different forms. And also the inherent foolishness of the act of avoidance of attentiveness. We are already practiced at observing a multitude of Orange signs, from road cones, traffic lights to the stop/go signs of construction workers. We just have to continue to keep an eye on that Orange ball.
All inside in the orange bright, can you feel the pressure.
Fair enough to feel the fear, we can call this air depression.
It’s a measure of your trust, present with this strangeness.
Struggle strange in troubled times and live with pending danger.
It’s all around and everywhere, a warning writ in orange light.
On all fronts and on all borders, burning into sight.
Hit the road and here we go, one way into orange time.
High-viz bright in white hi-beam, shine on warning signs.
That nearby near here danger looms. Or somewhere near here just from sight.
You think we should race the red? We gonna jump the line?
Uncertain is the only way. Certain has been compromised.
Somethings breathing on our neck, it’s the future of our lives.
Have you got the post-truth blues. Try post-natural selection.
Everything has signs of use, thanks uneven big H human.
Observe, record those bigger views, beauty scored for Mr Darwin.
Now digging wells, exhaustive fumes next to a rising plastic mountain.
Clingfilm wrapped the Holocene in carbon, and forever isotope.
The past has passed us like a dream. It seems the futures been rewrote.
Once green for go, was safe in green, now Orange warns of on the ropes.
Orange as Anthropocene, beyond the noisy Hollywood tropes.
Orange cones on slips and cliffs, there’s danger waiting if you stray.
Orange with a stop/go stick, the folk who stand and show the way.
Orange vests to float and drift, to ride upon a deepest wave.
Orange lines on bugs to make you sick, a lick of poison you might taste.
Orange hands wrapped round the helm with a captain’s worse than rabid drunk.
Orange flush but hint of flame, an orange sky has panics hush.
Orange rain to strip the skin. Orange ropes control the rush.
Orange lights on running red but we don’t seem to worry much
Have you got the post-truth Blues.
Under clouds that spell ‘Confused’.
Everything has signs of use.
Use-by-dates in question to.
Worldly-hurts a bitter prove.
Hold on tight though getting bruised.
In borrowed light of Orange Time
Hi-vis shines to guide you through.
We leave Nakano in the rain but elated with the opportunities we’ve encountered over the 12 weeks of touring Orange Time.
It has been an immense privilege and pleasure to encounter all the folk we met and hung out with,
all the folk we didn’t meet but had interactions with on-line when we were trying to sort additional shows;
all the fantastic and diverse sounds we heard and saw being made,
all the places that opened their doors to allow us to sleep;
all those people who returned and reconnected over the years from seeing us previously;
all the meals we shared and the help with finding food we could devour;
all the conversation and stories shared;
and to all those who came or to or showed for the first time, we love that enthusiasm is everywhere!
38 degrees outside as the air conditioned bullet train flies on concrete bridges over pools of green still water on the way to Wuhan.We have just played one show in Guangzhou and a second in Shenzhen, China. It’s been an intense few days with little space to sit and collate thoughts. Several hours on a high speed train seems like a perfect opportunity.
After landing in Guangzhou we reconnect with Howie who we met last time we were here. Then he played guitar in the great Die Chiwawa Die, now he’s playing in a new intense band called People’s Square. The singer comes from Vladivostok. It seems there is quite a contingent here from across the Russian states working in areas such as engineering. The venue, Brasston, looks upmarket, serving craft beers inside the tidy space. It’s not an official livehouse so manages to slip under the radar of State authorities, for now. The aesthetic of this venue gives the music of People’s Square even greater contrast. Loud, fast grindcore with the singer in a hyperactive frenzy. It’s a lot of fun!
The following day we go to Shenzhen, a city close to the border with Hong Kong. It’s reported that Shenzhen is one of the fastest growing cities on Earth. 40 years ago there was nothing other than rural life and rice paddies. Now it’s a massive, and still expanding metropolis. Our show is at the Brown Sugar Jar, a venue located in the part of the city where shopping complexes full of musical instruments can be found. We play with a local garage punk group called Help. A three-piece comprised of two lads from Russia and Anne, a fantastic bass player with an eye patch from an injured eye. The evening starts a little slow but the bar has a decent crowd by the time the evening is done. We return to Guangzhou for a couple of rest days before heading inland to Wuhan.
One big learning curve has been working out how to get the most out of the tech we carry. Inside China, Facebook and Google are inaccessible. Google translate is a great tool, as well as maps, so learning to navigate without them is a solid process all of its own. WeChat is the powerful social media app in China, and it now contains a decent translation from text and basic but unhelpful and often comic translation from photos. Some apps like Happy Cow continue to work, making seeking out vegetarian and vegan food possible, but if you are traveling with an android phone make sure you install a good maps option to use instead of Google’s.
Staying in touch with world events is also a challenge. It’s also possible to read Chinese-based news articles inside WeChat, and so we read some of the Chinese media agencies reportage of Hong Kong. The slant was of foreign interference influencing the agitation, always called HK as Hong Kong Administrative Zone – making it seem a simple bureaucratic process rather than dealing with a state wanting self determination. We never saw any imagery of the massive protests that we had seen outside of China- it’s possible here have no idea how huge the demonstrations are. In addition we saw no reports of international advocacy or calls of restraint of those in power. In one conversation local opinion was that the rest of the world was ignoring the developing tensions, we were able to convey a different perspective.
What was totally obvious and ever-present in almost all discussions was the monitoring of communication from the State, and the very real repercussions that were swiftly meted out. We heard a story of a person who made a one worded criticism of the president that he added to 3 photos he shared with friends. It was shared digitally, found online and now they are now incarcerated for three years. Another was imprisoned for a decade. He was picked up in Hong Kong in an area away from the protests with 10 lazer pointers in his pocket. People knew tanks were gathering at the Hong Kong border. Friends in both regions have different opinions – one is pro-HK, the other says HK had always been a part of China and thinks it’s OK that it returns. There is worry on both sides, and a sense of pessimism of any notion of a positive outcome.
And we can feel this pervasive self-censorship take hold. There’s an open acknowledgement of the precariousness of being foreign here, stories of immediate deportation, of regular operations of police targeting bars and enforcing urine drug screening – to be caught with a positive test is instant five days in jail and then immediate deportation. These stories are everywhere, and we’re told it’s getting tougher. Historically there would be periods of clamp-downs but then it would loosen up. These current clamp-downs started about three years ago and have not eased.
We watch what we say. We watch what we write. We want to avoid trouble, but importantly we also want to avoid trouble for those that live here after we leave.
Some of the foreigners who live here are planning “it’s time to leave China” strategies, others do not have that option.
Our schedule changes so we have to cancel and rebook trains, make alterations to accommodation and juggle our self-management. Doing things like washing clothes needs to be scheduled to avoid become a toxic pong zone.
We arrive into Wuhan a day prior to our show. Wuhan is an Oven City, literally, it’s that hot. Every pore proves it’s porousness, a city is washed in sweat. There is a breeze which feels cooler, is it wind from the turbulent sky or the butterfly effect from one million hand fans fanning to cool one million people in unison? Wuhan is a beautiful city that seems to be built around a large lake at its heart. Moisture had to settle somewhere.
We make plans to go out into the day but after food exhaustion makes itself known, we pass the heat of the day in deep sleep prior to our show in the evening. As we leave, the weather turns wet. You could say the air smells like metal before the lightening strikes, but honestly it doesn’t. The air smells of many things in Wuhan – sweetness, heat, decay, and fruit. The thunder rolls, the air is close, the percussion of raindrops striking so many differing surfaces is beautiful. Wrapped in makeshift rainwear we flag down a taxi.
The traffic here moves differently, in massive contrast to the looseness of Yogyakarta. In Yogya there seems a fluidity to the mass of movement like scholl’s of fish. Here it’s less obvious, more angular, more assertive. It’s a unique kind of mayhem.
The venue we play is called Wuhan Prision, a below-pavement bar that has existed for 10 years and is known for its punk shows. The venue is dark and heavily stickered, and the people are wonderful and supportive. We play with PLC, a guitar/bass/drums trio who play spontaneous, instrumental and spaciously pulsing tunes. On drums is the guy who sings in the local band Panic Worm who we played with last time we were here.
The next day we rise extra early to get across the city to catch the fast train to Beijing.
Moving across the country towards Beijing on a bullet train, we view the ongoing expansion of China’s massive infrastructure. Hundreds, if not thousands, of tower cranes collect in gangs of a dozen or so over the foundations and rising nests of half-built apartment blocks in mind-bending numbers. Not only is so much of this countries population going to live in the sky, there is massive subterranean construction happening in parallel underground. Gargantuan machines eat away holes in the Earth to create connecting tunnels from Hong Kong to Shenzen to Guangzhou. Will the future of China be inhabited by sky people, people of the lands and people of the tunnels?
Deep into the journey we pass an agricultural region. Startling are mile upon mile of trees, saplings in the tens of thousands, seemingly planted into every available location. The sky is grey from smog and any blue is unable to penetrate. In all the contradictions an outsider might perceive about China one thing is that it certainly appears to have a proactive approach to climate collapse mitigation. We’re told all the public transport in Guangzhou is electric as well as all the scooters and taxis, and about 50% of personal cars are also electric.
In Beijing we stay close to the Yonghegong train line. This is an area of hutongs, maze-like neighborhoods that are intimately linked, alleys one car in width with a little extra room for bikes and pedestrians. The hutongs area are getting a uniform facelift in flat brick with occasional colorful details on the trim. There are many construction sites as the once ramshackle and aging exteriors are all receiving makeovers in preparation for the 2022 Olympic games. It had a aesthetically flattening effect.
We have three shows in the three main rock bars in Beijing: DDC, Temple Bar and School Bar. DDC is the youngest of the three, offers craft beer and has a strong hip aesthetic. This show was on the same day as we arrived from Yogyakarta so was a test of endurance and energy but we played a stonker. After the show we took all our gear to Temple Bar to store in anticipation of the second show. Temple is a thumping pub that caters to both locals and foreigners. We are told that the number of locals showing up has rapidly increased in response to TV show akin to Battle of thr Bands. Going up to see bands is now a hip thing to do. The night eventually ends with a ride home in the coolest chrome Tuktuk-like three wheeled enclosed vehicle, a service run by a bloke called Old Man.
Second show at Temple was as expected – raucous and enthusiastic. A little rest can certainly return a lot of steam to the motor. Played with two other local acts. The final performance was heavy dance music by the active manipulation of seven gameboys.
The final show for Beijing is at School Bar, the longest running venue for punk-styled shows. We finally get to see our friend’s band, a surf punk quartet, play. We are immensely grateful for the sterling job of organising done by these folk. Again three bands, a local punk trio, the surf rock group and us. It’s a hot and boisterous party. We love it when the audience feels right there with us, the division of stage and crowd disappears and it becomes a joyous hoot!
Our costumes have continued to generate interest and conversation. Orange is a important colour of warning and danger, of alerting you of impending hazards and pitfalls. In conversations here in China we’re told that the people who wear the orange, who are seen everywhere with brooms made of branches and grasses, collecting rubbish or other such tasks, who are identified by their hi-viz two-piece orange jacket and pants outfit, are considered by many to be the lowest-of-the-low. It’s very interesting that people have made those connections with our outfit, that it creates a symbolic confusion or challenge with these identifying markers.
All power to the Orange wearers!
The city is alive.
It roars with many voices. It roars with the peristaltic surge of scooters like sparrows swimming like fish in a flock. At peak times the deep belly growl IS the environment. It is a thing!
The city is impossible to digest, easy to feel consumed when traveling with a more timid disposition.The city eats. The background speakers of midnight street-side eateries play gamelan and grindcore. It knibbles at your skin with the sawing tickle of the Indonesian mosquito. Pray the demon Dengue is not near by. Anoint yourself with the ointment of protection of Saint DEET.
The city is haunted. He says he can only sleep after the half four morning prayer as that’s when the ghosts in the night settle. He has two rooms at home. In one, the light has been on since the earth tore 13 years ago, never turned off, never changed, it is as a bulb possessed, a lit messenger. He doesn’t go into that room any more. It is inhabited by ghosts. He could do something about it but seems content to let them be. The bigger concern is the lingering spirit of the baby found dead on the river out the back of his house the day before. Spirits dwell in the curve of the river, attention must be paid for seven days. Animism is alive and thriving alongside Islam.
The city has a temperature. It is dry, unlike its’ humid siblings to the north. The city may be indifferent to us, it is impossible to reciprocate that sentiment.
This is the first 24 hours in Yogyakarta.
It’s been about 10 years since we were last here. And this part of the trip seems too squeezed. There are areas we want to visit but cannot due to time constraints. Our schedule here is four nights: Two concerts and Chrissie presenting a talk on drawing and zines at Kunci, a local independent centre for cultural studies. First we meet with Indra, our now long time friend from our first trip here 13 or 14 years ago. He’s waiting for us at the airport. We flew in from Kota Kinabalu via Kuala Lumpur where we slept over night in a pod. Uber seems to be dying in this region, it was the main app-based taxi service in the Peninsula last time we were here. Now it’s Grab. Here in Yogyakarta it’s Go-jak. An O-jak was old style tuk-tuk, often 3 wheels, that people used for cheap transport. Go-Jak is the app-based update.
Where we sleep for the next three nights is in a shared collective house that’s in the process of decanting all items into a new house several doors down. The house is also behind a very fine coffee shop, making brews from many local beans, this is something of a developing phenomenon akin to hip coffee bars back home. On the first night however, our host Indra’s band, Narcolocos, are playing at the bar we will play at in a couple of days. So we head off for an evening of Yogya-style grindcore. It’s a large turn out on a Monday night for the 7-band line up. LeftyFish start the night with a ripping complex style that mixes smooth soul, J-pop, jazz breaks interspersed in the brutal technical frenzy. Particularly good. The rest is wave-on-wave of intensity. We leave at 1am and grab food at a road side stall before collapsing for the night after a ride home on the back of scooters.
The following day friends have organized for Chrissie to give a talk. The venue is Kunci, a local independently organised center for cultural studies that focuses in the curation of zines and independent publications. We’re told that the first local zines were in the late 60s, early 70s and concentrated on queer rights. 15 people hang out and draw with Chrissie. The discussion moves around alot but central topics are the power of drawing as a medium anyone can access share stories, the value of making things with your hands, and documenting hidden or untold stoiries through zines. Chrissie also introduces people to the great work of New York comic artist, Lynda Barry.
Next day we take ourselves out for a walk on the streets of Yogyakarta while we look for the art gallery that is holding the ArtJog exhibition. Funnily enough we have seen an ArtJog exhibition on a previous tour. This exhibition presents bold and challenging works. This time the presentations focus on the concept of “spaces” and particularly the impact of human control. We also notice a continous thread related to gender identity and conversations on religious enticements which coincidentally had featured in a few recent personal conversations. Later we prepare ourselves for our show, return to the venue with all we require, and settle in for another night of seven bands. The music ranges from indy-pop, shoegaze, the Semarang punk of Rendam, who we will get to play with again, and an industrial group equipped with a skillsaw or some other kind of construction/destruction equipment. Alcohol is very expensive here. But cheap alcohol is brewed locally and is shared in the shadows, the quality of alcohol from pleasant to harsh to lethal. Evidence of intoxication is obvious as we have to dodge the splattering of fresh vomit on stage as we set up to play. The evening is a joyous ruckus, it’s intense and immense fun here. A hidden highlight of the show was being invited to get changed in the living space of the owner of the bar. We painted up perched at the end of the dining table and then waited to go on in the venure kitchen.
Next morning we catch a train to Klatan for our second show stopping first at the train station for brilliant breakfast of tempeh, chili, rice and greens. The train trip is only three stops, 40 minutes, but Klatan seems a world away from Yogyakarta; quieter, less frantic, buildings with more color and more greenery everywhere. Klatan is famous for its springs of fresh water, in fact much of the bottled water that is brought for drinking comes from these springs. But in addition to the water siphoned for sale there are also the swimming springs! Our first port of call therefore is to the springs for a swim, a most unexpected moist treat. The band Rendam arrive at the house we are staying at where they instruct us on how to drink the local alcohol. In fact they are touring with a special brew from Semarang as part of their merch. Tonight’s show is held at a local university in an open foyer-like area. There are four bands, a local skinhead/oi band doing 4-Skins covers, another local act playing more ska-inspired original songs, Rendam with their three-piece punk rock and us. What’s particularly nice about this show is that after the performance there is a planned discussion held with the bands and audience. All sitting in a circle, the performers are asked to discuss their process for song writing, their creative process and any other points of interest that anyone may have interest to explore. It all wraps up and we head off for a few hours sleep before returning to the airport.
Thankyou Yogyakjarta for an awesome stay. Extra special ups to Indra, so good to hang out once more. And now to Guangzhou, China.