On Jamie Cullum

“If there's music in the night,

And it's really, really right,

It's the only thing I need.

It intoxicates your mind

All your troubles left behind

So come on and take my lead…”

~ ‘Mind Trick’, by Jamie Cullum & Ben Cullum

from Jamie Cullum’s album “Catching Tales”, 2005

I discovered the music of Harry Connick Jnr. when I was a teen.  I soon started enjoying big band jazz (goodness knows why; it's not very ‘rock 'n' roll’ and certainly not what my contemporaries seemed to enjoy) and jazz standards.  He quickly became one of my favourite artists and, during my formative years, was in his prime.  His output wasn't just big band, and during the same period he released some trio work and some stripped down, largely piano-base songs, that all played around with various aspects of jazz.  I loved it all, his best releases were from around 1987 until the inevitable Christmas album in 1993 and a flawed-but-interesting pair of albums that dabbled in New Orleans funk.

I've since listened to more jazz and I love the genre, with its sublime richness, complexity and creativity.  I am always on the lookout for more of the same (and more of the different at that).  Alas, too many options and too little time and money tended to thwart my interest.  In 2004, the second of four CDs of songs performed on the Working Dog produced variety show, The Panel, was released.  One such performance was by a twenty-five year-old jazz upstart named Jamie Cullum.  The song (or rather, songs) he performed caught my attention - a medley of one song from his own pen along with the Cole Porter penned classic I Get a Kick Out of You.  It was good stuff, and I sought out more of his work.

Both songs were found on his second major release, ‘Twentysomething’ (2003), which he was touring and promoting at the time he appeared on The Panel.  His first album is a hard-to-find self-produced CD named Heard It All Before (1999).  He followed that up with his breakout hit Pointless Nostalgic (2002), which, like HIAB, was comprised mostly of jazz standards.  It caught the attention of UK talk show host Michael Parkinson as well as the public at large and was a huge success.  It led to a three-album contract with a major label, of which Twentysomething was the first.  By the end of 2003, Cullum had become the biggest selling jazz musician of all time in the UK.  Even then, Cullum, like many jazz pioneers before him, sought to subvert traditional ideas of jazz, how it could be performed and interpreted.  No doubt some of the more stuffy Jazz traditionalists were less than heartened at the sight of Cullum in T-Shirts and trainers leaping around his piano like a madman while performing, as is his want.

Pointless Nostalgic is a playful title that speaks volumes.  Like many jazz musicians, Cullum pulls much of his material from his musical forebears (more so in PN than subsequent albums), but negotiates the tightrope between due respect and his own personal interpretations of the songs with delicacy and huge talent.  I would go so far as to say that there are few current interpreters of others’ songs better than Cullum.  Not content to merely interpret classics and standards, Cullum has covered modern artists as diverse as Radiohead, Jeff Buckley, Elton John and Bob Marley, and has done so with panache.

Cullum croons far more in Pointless Nostalgic than in later releases, where he further develops a much more expressive vocal style, at times smooth, growling, youthful and delicate, or forceful, depending on the song.  PN's closing track, I Want To Be A Pop Star  suggests a road Cullum was soon to be traveling, not only in terms of style (more on that shortly), but lyrically.  While he fully embraces his jazz roots and the classics of a simpler time (such as Singing In The Rain) the theme running through much of his music is that of a young man in his twenties, growing and maturing.  Not too quickly, though, with tracks like IWTBAPS, Twentysomething and 21st Century Kid all capturing the zeitgeist of irresponsibility, misbehaviour and heady confusion that comes with misspent youth.  One of the singles released from the Catching Tales album, the gorgeous Photograph, finds Cullum's piano dancing through a collection of recalled memories.

As Cullum's career has progressed, so has his exploration of more diverse musical tools beyond those traditionally found in Jazz standards such as synths and loops, turntable scratches and even a stomp box (an acoustic box used to amplify a musician's tapping foot, reportedly found by Cullum right here in Melbourne, Australia while he was on tour).  The experience, maturity and development of his craft found its apex in Cullum's 2009 album The Pursuit (2009).  It's a sumptuous album, the larger proportion of original tracks than previous releases suggesting an increased self-confidence from Cullum.  Although he opens the album with another Cole Porter standard in Just One of Those Things, he follows up with the bouncy and modern I'm All Over It.  Track six finds Cullum cover a disposable tune originally by dance-pop singer Rihanna with a style and gravitas that the top-40 darling can't muster in her own version.  Mixtape has Cullum riffing about the popular experience of music of his younger days, name-checking Morrissey, Louis Armstrong, and Nine-Inch Nails in the process.  The catchy and driving We Run Things is symbolic of Cullum's increasing confidence in himself and his music.  Unlike his contemporary Michael Bublé, Cullum's originals often sound like standards, such is the skillful, classic and timeless writing and composition, such as in Grace Is Gone.  The masterpiece of the album, though, would have to be the collaboration between Cullum and filmmaker Clint Eastwood, who share song writing credits on Gran Torino with Eastwood's son Kyle and Michael Stevens, from the soundtrack of the film of the same name.  The song was nominated for a Golden Globe award in the Best Original Song category.  It screams instant classic, its lonely piano the perfect accompaniment to the world-weary lyrics, an astonishing feat given that Cullum wrote and recorded the lyrics at a relatively tender age.  It's a stunning performance, simple yet not simplistic, a song where the method of telling the story of the song says as much as the story itself.

There is word of a new album on the horizon in early 2012.  You can be sure that I'll be purchasing it on sight.  I very much look forward to seeing what Cullum has up his sleeves next.

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On Christmas

“There’s a certain time of year

When the world has a special glow

Children’s laughter I can hear

From sleigh rides in the snow

And while everyone’s heart is light

All across the land

One thing I know tonight

I can’t stand it, man!”

~ ‘I Hate Christmas’, by Ren & Stimpy, produced by Ed Mitchell

from the album “Ren & Stimpy’s Crock O’ Christmas”, 1993

It's nearly Christmas!  A time of cheer and goodwill and peace on Earth and family and... and...

Humbug. Bah, humbug.

It's not like I didn't try.  Did the Christmas shopping thing, battled the thundering hordes of cars scrapping over the last parking spot and beat back the ravenous consumers and their hyper-charged, low-interest credit cards at a large suburban shopping centre in search of that special gift for those dozens of special some ones.  That's the done thing at Christmas isn't it?  You buy cheap stuff for people who don't really need whatever you get them, and in return you get cheap stuff you'd already own - if you really needed it.  It's the curse of the Kris Kringle.  

Of course the kids want stuff too.  It's expected.  Not just any old junk you picked up from The Reject Shop either.  It's got to be something nice.  No, scratch that, that ‘something nice’ should be a plural 'cause one gift just won't cut the mustard.  One of my kids was thoughtful enough make it easy for WonderWoman and me, she left the junk mail out with the appropriate gifts circled and a loose page with a running tally of prices, neatly added up with an obscene total at the bottom.  The other dear child went a step further and cut all of the expected gifts out and even offered to go through them with me.

In all fairness, I think they were more 'in a perfect world' wishes than demands, but still, there is this heaving expectation of the "done thing" that hovers around Christmas like blowflies around a steaming pile of excrement.

Speaking of steaming piles of excrement, did you know that in the Catalan culture, they traditionally construct complex nativity scenes over the Christmas period the way we put together Christmas trees?  Tucked away in an unobtrusive corner is a caganer, a small character bent over in the act of defaecation.  There is some conjecture as to the origins and purpose of this curious little fellow; some say he signifies the common amongst the extraordinary, in a parallel to the central theme of the nativity; some believe he is a substitute for all of Earth's various peoples who, without exception, need to tend to this particular act; some argue that he is a kind of naturalistic symbol representing various aspects of fertility; others presume the caganer is merely a humourous aside to entertain children and simpletons.

Speaking of the nativity, let's address the ongoing tension between the religious aspects of Christmas and the commercial.  I can appreciate the sentiment behind the reminders that "Jesus is the reason for the season", but the honest truth is sadly far different.  As distasteful as the thought is, the crass commercial demands of Christmas have overtaken the spiritual remembrance and ideals by a wide margin.  When did you first see Christmas themed products in the supermarket?  If you're anything like me it was in October.  Early October, for the love of Pete.  How long after Boxing Day do you think it’s going to be before we see chocolate eggs?  It's sickening.

We need to keep a couple of other salient points firmly in mind.  Much like the moronic celebration in Australia of the Queen's birthday (and the associated public holiday), Christmas day is pretty much accepted as having little resemblance to the actual date of Jesus's birth.  Furthermore, the bulk of the traditions observed around Christmas day have been cribbed and bastardised from various pagan festivals, traditions and celebrations over the ages.  Essentially, one of the big two celebrations on the Christian calendar has more pagan connotations that we choose to admit.  Fancy that!

And a word to those that decry the abbreviation "Xmas" as removing the Christ from Christmas ought keep in mind that in Greek, the letter X (chi) stands for Khrīstos (Χριστός), or Christ.  So X or no, Christ is right there the whole time.  Perhaps Christmas can be a time of no abbreviations, and the elimination of the dreaded apostrophe, the curse of On Writing Blog first drafts every damned week.

I participated actively in carols this year, to try and give my Christmas spirit a much needed boost.  One of my favourite carols keeps the insanity of all that Christmas has become firmly in mind - The Twelve Days of Christmas.  Seriously, what kind of psycho gift giver gives you ten lords a'leaping?  Where exactly do you find eleven pipers piping, and does Australia Post deliver them?  Did it occur to anyone that by the end of the song the recipient of all these "gifts" will need to feed fifty people? Perhaps one could feed them any of the twenty-three feathered beasties also named in the song, but let’s face it, they're not going to go far.  Have you seen how much meat is on a partridge?

Just a few short days ago, Michael Bublé very nearly rescued Christmas for me.  Nearly.  While channel surfing I happened upon a carols show hosted and mostly performed by Mr Bublé.  I personally find Bublé a charismatic and entertaining performer, possessing genuine talent and a sense of self-deprecating humour that is right at home on Aussie TV.  I enjoyed the first few songs.  As the program progressed, I noticed something was awry.  Bublé spent quite some time wishing the audience the best of the season.  Then it hit me: he was continually wishing everyone the horrendously politically correct "Happy Holidays".  Christmas barely got a mention, although Hanukkah did.  It begs the question: if the word Christmas is taboo, why the merry heck are you bothering with Christmas carols at all?  Then Bublé revealed the final insult: guest star Justin Bieber.  Not being a vacuous eleven-year-old girl, and not having any holidays I could deem "happy", I switched off.    

I found but one highlight this Christmas.  WonderWoman and I spent some money on some Oxfam gifts on behalf of others.  The way it works is this: instead of buying gifts for one's kith and kin, you pay Oxfam the money you would otherwise spend on family or friends, which goes towards something worthwhile for those who need it a considerable amount more than any of us.  This year our hard-earned went towards filtered water pots in the Philippines and a women's refuge in Papua New Guinea.  Our attempt at genuine goodwill.  Glad to know there are some Christmassy things no amount of caganers can soil.

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On The Worst Transformers You've Never Heard Of

“Only the losers win

They’ve got nothing to prove

They’ll leave the world with nothing to lose

You can laugh at the weirdos now

Wait till wrongs are right

They’ll be the ones with nothing to hide”

~ ‘The Loser’, by Jon Foreman

from the Switchfoot album “Learning To Breath”, 2000

I think I’m pretty much on the record as having a deep and abiding love for all things Transformers.  I’ve spoken before about the ‘Tech Specs’ profiles pioneered by Bob Budiansky in the ‘eighties, each describing a particular character’s traits and abilities.  

In the ongoing battle between the heroic Autobots and evil Decepticons, not every Transformer is going to be a fan favourite.  For every Optimus Prime or Bumblebee, there is an obscure character that, for one reason or another, didn’t make the grade… 

You’ll not find them in a cartoon or comic, they are absent from our toy shelves and they haven’t graced cinema screens, but here, for the first time, I’m proud to present a few of the ‘also rans’ of the Transformers world... 

...The Six Most Useless Transformers You’ve Never Heard Of!

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Name: Brushcutter

Allegiance: Decepticon

Function: Scout

Alt mode: High powered whipper-snipper

Motto: "That hurts worse than a paper cut!"

Abilities: In whipper-snipper mode, Brushcutter is able to spin his razor-sharp diamond-tipped blades at nearly 100 revolutions per second.  He is able to easily cut through wood up to one metre thick.  He can even carve into most rocks and, along with his innate ability to locate the weakness in any object or obstacle, can even break through large boulders or metal beams given enough time.

Weaknesses: Brushcutter hoped to find his niche as a forward scout for the Decepticon cause, preparing the way for his evil brethren and leading them into battle.  However, due to a catastrophic case of clumsiness, he frequently loses control of his blades, thus injuring his own teammates.  Megatron even went as far as ordering him to watch Edward Scissorhands over and over in order to learn some new techniques, but poor Brushcutter could only focus on the gaping plot holes.  He now spends his time as the most evil cinema critic in the galaxy and harbours a lingering obsession with Johnny Depp.

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Name:  Trashcan

Allegiance: Decepticon

Function: Surveillance

Alt mode: Wheelie bin

Motto: "What's that smell?"

Abilities: Using his clever disguise as a ubiquitous object, Trashcan is able to blend into any urban environment with ease.  His sonic receptors can receive, isolate and record sounds up to 1000 metres away, making him a vital cog in Megatron's efforts.  He is frequently sent to sites of Autobot activity in order to spy, reporting a wealth of intelligence regarding the hated enemies of the Decepticons.

Weaknesses: Trashcan is unfortunately the only Decepticon with a germ phobia, which leads to inevitable problems when humans dump waste into him at regular intervals.  After a particularly nasty experience outside a pub after a half-price parma-and-pot night, Trashcan had an 'episode' and locked himself away in the deepest corner of the Decepticon base where he still sits, armed with a bottle of hospital strength Domestos and a scrubbing brush, scouring himself to the point of exhaustion if ever approached.

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Name: Infodump

Allegiance: Autobot

Function: Research and information retrieval

Alt mode: Laptop computer

Motto: "Damn you, Bill Gates!"

Abilities: In laptop computer mode, Infodump is able to hack into any WiFi network and download gigabytes of data at speeds faster than any Internet connection created by humans.  Furthermore, he is able to sift through those reams of information to isolate those bytes that contain information the Autobots can use to their advantage.

Weaknesses: While sorting through raw intelligence data found on the World Wide Web, Infodump became addicted to various social media, spending more time than is healthy monitoring his Twitter feed and playing Farmville on Facebook.  In an effort to curb his addictions, Autobot medic Ratchet attempted to install NetNanny software.  However, its function clashed with the most recent security update from Microsoft, causing Infodump to constantly circle in a never ending loop of error messages that no amount of ctrl-alt-del's can fix.

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Name: Broadcast

Allegiance: Autobot

Function: Communications

Alt mode: Record player

Motto: “Young people these days…”

Abilities: Broadcast is able to announce important information in any known frequency.  He uses this ability to communicate vital instructions and strategies to his teammates during battle, enabling them to stay organised.

Weaknesses: Despite the urgings of his teammates, Broadcast remains a steadfast technological troglodyte.  He refuses to update his aged alt mode to something more advanced.  He insists that “them new-fangled digital players are useless!  The good ol‘ 33⅓rpm records give a far better sound!”  He even resists Optimus Prime’s urgings to be a bit more discreet with his information delivery - as the Decepticons are just as able to hear his communications as the Autobots. This often renders him more of liability than a help.  Broadcast won’t have a bar of it.  Even Kup, the Autobots’ elder-statesman, dismisses Broadcast as a crotchety old bugger.

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Name: Sneaker

Allegiance: Autobot

Function: Spy

Alt mode: Electric car

Motto: "Gotcha!”

Abilities: Armed with engine block sound dampeners and impeccably lubricated joints and servos, Sneaker is able to move in virtual silence both in vehicle and robot mode.  Coupled with his ability to see all light frequencies and perceive even the faintest of light sources, he is literally able to see in the dark.  His relatively small size and double joints means he can fit himself into spaces too tight for most larger ‘bots.

Weaknesses: Sneaker’s ability to sneak around undetected means he has developed a penchant for practical jokes that constantly gets him into trouble with his Autobot superiors.  The Autobots tolerated the time he secured a remote control to Prowl’s police car mode lights, turning them on and off during mission briefings; they excused him for replacing Jazz’s entire Earth-music collection with the complete works of Celine Dion; they could not, however, forgive him for the now-infamous “hungry-robo-ferret-in-Optimus-Prime’s-exhaust-pipe” incident.  He has been confined to quarters ever since. 

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Name: Brainwave

Allegiance: Decepticon

Function: Psychological warfare

Alt mode: Ice cream van

Motto: "I just love pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows!” *

Abilities: Brainwave is an empath, with the ability to detect and tune in to the very specific brainwave frequencies of any organism, giving him the ability to predict their every thought, often discerning their next move even before they make it.  This talent makes him an extremely dangerous foe in a fight, and Autobots will often give him a wide berth on the battlefield.

Weaknesses: Unfortunately for Brainwave, the first victim he used his abilities on after arriving on Earth was a four-year-old girl with a Care Bears obsession.  The experience was so injurious to his psyche that he found himself simply unable to hate the Autobots any longer.  For a while, he tried to exhort and cajole his Decepticon teammates around to his way of thinking, sometimes leaving them short notes of encouragement.  They were hoping he would snap out of it, warily accepting his decision to redecorate his quarters with rainbow murals.  Sadly, he met his end when he suggested that Starscream should “turn that frown upside down” and had his head blown off for his trouble.

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Sadly, you’ll find none of these treasures in the regular Transformers canon.  More’s the pity, really…

(An important note for those unfamiliar with Transformers lore, for the sake of clarity:  These characters are purely my invention.  I’ve copied a particular format - as stated - that may make it seem like I’m writing silly things about characters invented by others.  I am, in fact, writing silly things about characters that I’ve created that may very well fit into Transformers canon if it weren’t for the fact that they are, well… pretty silly.  It’s a parody of a fiction. OK?  Good.  Alright then, as you were...)

*You'll love them too... go to www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWM2joNb9NE and have your mind blown.

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On Reminiscence

“I’ve these dreams of walking home

Home where it used to be

Everything is as it was

Frozen in front of me

Here I stand, six feet small

Romanticising years ago...”

~ ’83’, by John Mayer

from this album “Room For Squares”, 2001

The house where I grew up was in a quiet corner of Dandenong, Victoria.  Actually, it was in essence a quiet corner of a quiet corner, which worked out just nicely for me.  I quite liked being tucked away, geographically speaking.  I’m not sure if Dandy West’s location informed the enjoyment I find in solitude or if it simply suited the way I already was.

The City of Greater Dandenong is quite the sprawling urban metropolis, one of the most multicultural areas in Melbourne.  It wasn't too much different in the 'eighties.  Dandy West is bordered by the Pakenham railway line in the south west, the Princes Highway to the north east, Potter Street in the east and, close to our home, the Dandenong Creek in the west.  Over the creek was Yarraman Park, itself a secluded corner of Noble Park.  Mum didn't get her license until I was in high school so it was a march to and from school in the morning.  I've driven that way since and been amazed at how much shorter the mammoth suburban blocks have become.  Even my alumnus, Dandenong West Primary School, seems less like the spacious sprawl it was in my youth.  I was recently shocked to hear that it schools less than three hundred students, as it did back in the day. It always seemed so busy to me.

My grade six class was located in a portable in the north east corner of the campus, and when my dear Mum worked at the local kindergarten, she would often be seen from the classroom window riding her bicycle along Birdwood Avenue, much to the amusement of the teacher.  He used to set us homework sheets during the year, one of which consisted of a map of the school.  Our task was to map out everywhere we walked in the school during the day with a dotted trail.  When I got the corrected page back it had an amendment: a swaggering, spiraling trail in red ink labelled "Mum's Bike".

He was quite the teacher, my grade six teacher.  A ruckman for the St Kilda reserves in the 'sixties (he was "The Flying Dutchman" long before Paul Vander Haar), he was an imposing figure in the schoolyard.  His favourite trick was to sneak up on misbehaving children, spin them around and holding them by the arms, silently lift them to all of his six-foot-four height and glare at them.  Fridays were his typical yard-duty days; they were also typically quiet.

High school felt very much like a graduation, the much larger campus of Dandenong High School (which proudly held on to the name ‘High School’ a long while after ‘Secondary College’ was in vogue) dwarfing the primary school not too far away.  A longer walk but still only a few kilometres from home.  The footbridge that crossed the Princes Highway linking Hemmings Park and the high school was narrow and high enough to make it a serious proposition for anyone afraid of heights.  Even though the sturdy rails would take quite a vault to clear, they were very easy to spit over at the traffic underneath.  Not that I ever did such a thing of course.

We lived pleasantly close to parkland and the scrub down near the Dandy Creek was a frequent haunt for my friends and me.  A friend's father fashioned crude (but heavy!) guns from metal scrap, and we delighted in patrolling our local area in our camo garb, as our favourite GI Joe characters.  The blackberry brambles that grew wild and untamed along the creek would be sprayed every year or so, so eating the blackberries was an unwise practice at least some of the time.  Unlike my friends, I disliked eating fruit and was relatively safe from whatever concoction with which they were doused.

Down near the footbridge that linked Dandy West from Yarraman Park, there was a path that ran alongside the unkempt horse paddocks to Fotheringham Reserve and the cricket oval therein.  It was at the oval that my mutt Scrappy used to run manically off her leash on our walks.  There was a steep rise on one side of the oval that lead to the rear of the factories, workshops and used car dealers along the Princes Highway.  From my high perch, I had a perfect view of the Pitch-and-Putt course off Heatherton Road, as well as the brambles and rabbit warrens along the creek.  Scrappy would chase the rabbits madly and unsuccessfully and, when she was spent, she would come and pant next to me.

Downstream and over the railway line was Greaves Reserve, where I used to go for football training.  It took me three long years of playing for the underperforming Dandenong West Blues, from under-elevens to under-thirteens, to realise I had no footballing talent whatsoever.  I got a game each week because I was diligent in my training, which is to say I turned up.  I was sadly scrawny and pathetically unskilled.  I did have one highlight, against the imposing Clayton Magpies.  Finding myself in space, I ran down the wing, received a kick and marked it without breaking stride.  I kept running my allotted distance (the flying Dutchman would have been so proud!) and kicked with all the might my chicken legs could muster into our forward line... and into the waiting arms of the only Clayton defender in space of his own.  They kicked about thirty-six goals that day.

Once a year, Greaves Reserve also held the Dandenong Show.  All of us Dandy West boys knew each and every break in the fence that separated the park from the railway line, so getting in free was a cinch.  Even when they mended the holes one year, there was always a passage through the drains that allowed the Dandenong Creek under Railway Parade and the railway line itself.  Right in the middle of the drain was a little scary, always pitch black with a perfect circle of light at each end.  

For several years, my Dad would mow lines in the primary school oval at show time and sell off the space as parking.  Made a killing for school fundraising.

From age eleven (I was apparently a mature eleven!) I did a paper round for the local newsagent in Hemmings Street, just by the school.  I enjoyed the mostly solitary nature of the work, often before the sun rose, and I’m sure it has contributed to my inability to really have a good sleep in.  I think I was a pretty good paperboy, as I often made a killing in tips and gratuities each Christmas.

Things change.  Neighbourhoods shrink, people come and they go, buildings disappear and new ones spring up in their place.  Progress is progress.

Dandenong High retains its name but has now merged with Cleeland Secondary College and Doveton Secondary College to form some sort of über-school.

Fotheringham Reserve is much smaller now.  The Dandenong Creek is a concrete tube underneath the behemoth Eastlink tollway, three lanes of sleek bitumen in each direction.  The blackberries are no longer a problem.

Dandenong West Football Club has ditched the navy blue and adopted a red and blue similar to AFL side Melbourne and calls itself the Dandenong Demons.  I’ll bet anything they don’t even miss me at all.

My last boss at the newsagent, a quiet Greek gentleman, tragically died of a heart attack following an armed robbery at the shop in 2003.

Things change.  Our memories remain.

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On Cover Versions

“This is not the greatest song in the world, no

This is just a tribute”

~ ‘Tribute’, by Jack Black and Kyle Gass

from self-titled album by Tenacious D, 2002

Well, you can all just go ahead and call me a big ol’ sucker.  I’ve gone and done it again.  I’ve bought yet another dire covers album.

Part of the reason is that I’m oddly drawn to cover versions of songs.  The cover version is a musical institution, a tradition long held and observed, and the lure is fairly clear.  There are some pieces of music that have an appeal that resonates through time, almost demanding to be replayed, reinterpreted and reimagined.  They become classics, finding new audiences through the generations.  Think of jazz standards, re-recorded by artists like Harry Connick, Jnr., Michael Bublé, and, Heaven help us all, Rod Stewart.  Classical music is likewise performed by orchestras the world over, for time immemorial.  Through popular resonance and ongoing repetition, some songs become part of our collective cultural consciousness.

Going a step further, speaking as a musician, it is inevitable that you come across songs you wish had come from your own pen.  Since they didn’t, the next best thing is to perform them yourself.  There are few bands or performers I can think of whose recorded or live work consists exclusively of their own material.  With the appropriate recognition of the inceptive authors, cover versions are, for the most part, a perfectly honourable pursuit, more akin to homage than plagiarism.  It can also be instructive, in that it is quite likely worthwhile to listen to music that is enjoyed and admired by professional and knowledgeable artists.

Of course, there is also the lonesome busker, who mercilessly massacres the songs of others to make a very hard-earned buck.  No one really cares too much about them, because let’s face it, they're not really getting much rewards for their efforts.  I’m speaking from experience.

The sad and uncomfortable truth of the cover version is that, like remakes of classic movies, the cover is very, very seldom an improvement on the original.  Like any rules, there are exceptions that prove it:  it is difficult to argue that the late Jeff Buckley’s cover of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah isn't the definitive version of that song, magnificent and sublime.  Some covers may split audiences:  Country and western fans will no doubt prefer Dolly Parton’s drawl of I Will Always Love You over Whitney Houston’s histrionic warble, while the Linda Ronstadt version is all but forgotten.

There are some artists, whose body of work is widely admired, who open up the potential of good covers.  The thought here is that a quality song will hold its own regardless of what someone chooses to do to it.  A third volume of a series of cover versions of Finn Brothers' music (Tim and Neil, from their Split Enz, Crowded House and solo work) found its release recently.  I had bought the first one, She Will Have Her Way (2005) - named for a Neil Finn song - wholly performed by (mostly Australian) female artists.  I enjoyed it, even if some of the tracks added nothing to the originals, such as Natalie Umbruglia's Pineapple Head or Missy Higgins's Stuff and Nonsense.  Some tracks can best be described as bizarre, like New Buffalo's Four Seasons in One Day or Amiel's miscalculated and unfortunate dance version of One Step Ahead *.  Stand outs include Little Birdy's rollicking Six Months in a Leaky Boat, Renee Geyer's husky Into Temptation and Sophie Koh's ripping Charlie.

The second one, by men this time, was less cleverly called He Will Have His Way (2010).  It was patchy at best, lurching from Jimmy Barnes bludgeoning Message to My Girl to The Sleepy Jackson's appalling Better Be Home Soon while Kody Neilson's Kiss the Road of Rarotonga is all but unlistenable.  Emerging from this debacle relatively unscathed is Dan Sultan who teams with The Break (essentially Midnight Oil minus Peter Garrett) with Shark Attack and, in a mild surprise, Darren Hayes's respectful and heart-felt Not Even Close.

Something For Kate's frontman Paul Dempsey lends his considerable talents to the collection with a quiet and skillful rendition of Finn the younger's Addicted.  Dempsey has form: his covers have been found on several other collections prior to this, and he even released a bonus disc of four covers with his most recent solo release, Everything Is True.  The playful title of this bonus disc, Counterfeits and Forgeries, is telling.

The two Finn covers collections were amalgamated into one final volume, called They Will Have Their Way (2011) (see what they did there?), which included four extra tracks not found on the first two volumes.  I was not silly enough to buy all these songs again, oh no.  I'm not that stupid.  I just bought the extra tracks, both good and bad, from iTunes separately.

It's not all bad. The covers album I'm probably most fond of is The Green Album (2011), which has alternative/indie bands playing a selection of songs from the various iterations of The Muppets.  There's much to love about The Muppets, and most of the artists on this album seem to be enjoying themselves.  The key for the artists here is to understand and capture what The Muppets are all about: joy, just sheer, unadulterated joy.  OK Go have joy and fun in spades (check out their clips on YouTube if you need convincing), and it shows with their version of the Muppet Show Theme Song.  It also helps the collection that many of the songs the covers are based on are magical, lightning in a bottle, like Rainbow Connection and Bein' Green.

However, there is a more recent travesty.  I'll get to it shortly.

A while back I found an album of U2 covers by various contemporary Christian artists, while looking for a cover version of All I Want is You.  Intrigued, and suffering my usual malady of not acting upon my better judgement, I bought it.  My word, was it ever horrid.  Highlights were sparse, with the best track, Leigh Nash's cover of Love Is Blindness, still far short of the original.  Why bother? A dishonourable mention must surely go to Todd Agnew, who decided that the words to When Love Comes To Town were too much for his delicate sensibilities and changed them.  It's one thing to ape someone else's art but it's another entirely to arrogantly decide that your lyrics for their song are better than the ones originally written.  Especially since you have the option not to participate, or, I don't know, maybe CHOOSE ANOTHER DAMNED SONG?

Other than young Todd, who is frankly without excuse, there is a fairly good reason why U2 covers don't particularly work well, regardless of the performer of the cover version; as a band, they have a unique sound and a very particular dynamic that belies their seemingly simple makeup as a quartet.  The story goes that when they first came together, their dynamic was informed by their relative lack of skill as musicians.  Deft musicianship was not a necessity for popularity in the punk bands that were an influence to a young U2.  This dynamic developed and matured into a sonic landscape that is deceptively difficult to replicate.

U2 has not enjoyed much success of their own when covering others: The Beatles' Happiness as a Warm Gun was a misstep; Unchained Melody (itself coved more than five hundred times, but made famous by The Righteous Brothers) is awkward; John Lennon's Instant Karma is dull.  Whether U2 is also falling victim to the curse of the cover or are simply that the aforementioned dynamic is not allowing them to translate to music they have not themselves created is hard to say.

Which brings us to the most recent purchase, the travesty in question.  It was another U2 covers album, oh-so-cleverly titled Ǎhk-to͝ong Bāy-bi Covered, relatively inexpensive, celebrating the twentieth anniversary of their supposedly seminal release, Achtung Baby (1991).  Maybe the fact that proceeds of all sales were to go to charity** blinded me from the fact that, in my opinion, Achtung Baby was not all that good.  Surely the foundation towards a good cover is a having good song to start with, and good songs are sadly thin on the ground in Achtung.  But alas, there I was, feverishly purchasing and downloading the album, looking forward to my first listen through.  Face-palms quickly followed as my folly was realised.  The best track is probably Damien Rice's rendition of One, lent a grace and respect that pays a largely misunderstood song*** its dues.  My favourite track closes out the album: Jack White attacks Love Is Blindness like it insulted his mother.  If Bono had a grave, he'd be turning in it, with Leigh Nash weeping sweetly above him.

Let's face it.  I've been sucked in by that most vile of beasts, the covers album.  It seems I haven’t learned my lesson, so it’s entirely likely I'll be sucked in again.  Perhaps it's the chance of uncovering a gem the way an archaeologist uncovers a fossil.  Perhaps it's the envy of those who get to reinterpret classic songs.  Perhaps it's my inner busker, remembering that the cover is a gift that all of us can re-gift, again and again and again until some poor schlub tosses us a dollar.

* Thanks for that, Amiel.  Damned near killed one of my all-time favourite songs there.

** Of course, there are certain ethical considerations for the cover artist - the question of how to justify making money from something someone else has written, with Kylie Minogue’s Locomotion a good example.  The tribute album, with proceeds to charity, seems to go some way towards negating those issues.

*** Those who think One is a love ballad clearly haven't paid the lyrics a great deal of attention.  I've heard of couples inexplicably using the song as part of wedding ceremonies.

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On DMK-02

A few months ago, a long-awaited package was delivered from Hong Kong, containing several new additions to the ever-expanding collection of Transformers.  Perhaps one of the package's best prizes was Takara Tomy's Dual Model Kit Bumblebee, or DMK-02.  As much as it begged me to be built immediately, other priorities held sway for a number of weeks. 

When I did get to it, the model took a few weeks, a little bit at a time.  I regret not keeping a record of the exact time I took.  What I did do, however, was take a photographic record of the steps towards completion.

A short bit of background: I dabbled with model building as a boy, Airfix planes and the like.  A few years ago, when my burgeoning Transformers collection was regenerating an interest beyond what I could simply purchase, I tried my hand at reprinting a few.  This developed into minor kit bashing, and I have several projects on the go at present.  I have modest talents at best.  The upshot of this is that if I can make a go of this model, and achieve a degree of success, anyone can.  I offer what follows as a visual and instruction guide that may be useful to others who are wanting to attempt this model, some details on the construction, techniques I used, trouble-shooting and tips.

Three important points to note: 

1. The entire kit can be constructed without glue (although I did use some in a few spots - more on that later)
2. You can do the whole thing without adding any paint apps (although I did - again, more on that later)
3. The instructions are entirely in a language with which I am not familiar (I have been told it is Japanese, although I'm not absolutely certain).  This last point need not scare off potential model builders; the pictorial portion of the instructions is really quite clear and easy to follow, even for virtual neophytes like me.

 
This shows the entire kit, laid out.  There are 10 regular frames of pieces (6 grey/brown, 4 yellow, marked A-J), as well as 1 frame containing the soft rubber tires (marked K), 1 frame of clear plastic (marked L), and 1 frame of silver/grey slightly softer, malleable plastic (for joints and the like, marked PC).  Some of the pieces are pre-coloured with tints or paint apps.  

There is also a headless exoskeleton which forms the basic frame of the figure.  It ends just below the knees and elbows. Even by itself, it has a remarkable amount of articulation.  It can be taken apart and reassembled quite easily.


(The picture I've taken here not the frame in its untouched state - I'd already dry-brushed it at this stage - see below for details)

One issue I did have with the basic frame is one of the elbow joints was not quite as "together" as it could have been.  This particular joint is not able to be taken apart, and it resisted attempts to squeeze it together.  Thankfully, the model's movement was not at all impaired, it didn't affect the construction or attachment of other pieces and it is not particularly noticeable.

Personally, I didn't like the look of the grey, slightly brownish base colour of the basic model and the non-yellow pieces.  The model and the pieces are extremely well detailed, and I wanted to bring out that detail, so I decided on dry-brushing.  I used an initial base coat of Citadel Chaos Black (acrylic, matte), with a top coat with a virtually dry brush of Citadel Boltgun Metal.  The biggest problem I have with dry-brushing is that some of my early attempts looked like dry-brushing, so I used a slightly darker grey/silver as the top coat (instead of, say, Citadel Chainmail) and kept it as even and smooth as possible.

I've tried Tamiya acrylics metallic-type colours for dry brushing but didn't really like the results.  I've found they have a certain quality that makes them not transfer cleanly from a dry brush.

This is the exoskeleton, with the constructed head and the initial pieces of armour and robot pieces applied (steps 1-2 on the instruction sheet). 

On this picture, I've outlined most of the many points of articulation.

The rear of the figure.  As you can see, the dry-brushing has brought out a good deal of the detail.  You'll also notice on this picture and the next few, some paint apps that I've judiciously added.

The paints I used were again Citadel acrylics, Sunburnished Gold, Blood Red, and Regal Blue.

See that gold-painted piece at the top of the upper leg? I applied a bit too much pressure on one and it snapped off...

This picture shows the breakage.  A touch of glue was enough to secure it back again without effecting the figure all that much, as you'll see a bit further down.  

You'll also notice some paint apps that appear on the model out of the box, but I reprinted them to add depth of colour and definition that was a little lacking.  I used Citadel Red Gore and Gloss Varnish.

Another hint on the painting - because some of the pieces are extremely small, I did all the base coats and dry brushing while the pieces were still attached to the frame stems.  When I cut them away with a scalpel, they just needed a small touch up.  While we're talking about the frames stems, don't twist the pieces off unless you want ugly ragged bits of plastic hanging off the model.

Here's a close up of the head:

Most pieces fit together quite snuggly, however the piece at the front of the neck (E10) tended to fall off a few times during the building process.  Since completion of the model, it hasn't given much strife, but I think I may glue it in if it falls out again.

And here are some more shots of the legs, following completion of steps 3-5 in the instructions.  I used Tamiya Chrome Silver for the wheel rims and discs, for a nice contrast.   

A word of warning though; it is difficult with this particular paint to get the silver-type effect without a thicker layer of paint.  Several thin coats don't seem to work very well.  Make sure you give the paint plenty of time to dry and harden before using the piece.

Then there are the hands.  Essentially, you have 3 options.  The model comes with open hands (both sides), closed fists (both sides), or a gun/weapon (right side only).  Unlike DMK-01 Optimus Prime, there is no finger articulation.  The hands can be switched easily.  The gun replaces not just the right hand, but entire forearm, and it tipped with a clear piece, which is tinted blue instead of a more movie-accurate orange.  It's a minor quibble.

Due to their size, some pieces are quite fragile, as can be seen here.  The small tab here resisted my attempts to insert it into the appropriate hole, perhaps due to the layer of paint. The easiest solution was to snap it off cleanly and glue the piece on, which worked just fine, as it is not needed for any articulation.

Lastly, there is Bumblebee's yellow outer armour that would form the shell of his alt mode.  A few pieces needed extra paint apps - I took pictures half way through the process to show the difference the extra paint made.

Pictured here is the shoulder armour, which didn't quite sit flush together and seems a little cumbersome when the model is being posed.  

Piece number E18 was also painted with the Tamiya Chrome Silver.

The model does have a faint pre-printed 'number plate' on the abdomen of the model.  As I had painted over it, I used a sticker from Reprolabels.com, from the '09 Camaro Bumblebee set, which was a nice fit, as well as being more movie accurate.

I also highlighted the car brand emblem.

The rear of the model, showing the bit that I fixed, which is also covered by the leg armour I added paint apps to.

For those interested in scale, here's a comparison with an 2009 deluxe class Bumblebee.

In conclusion, I absolutely love this model.  It is brilliantly detailed and posable. A welcome addition to my collection, and in my opinion, well worth the money it cost.

All I have to do now is find the time for DMK-01, which is currently calling out to me from its box...  I can't wait to get stuck into it.