Roar Poets - Tour Diary 4 - Sydney

Coming in to Sydney was like a gift from the gods.
Candy Royalle met me at the train station fresh from the airport. I looked like a hobo, and she said as much as we hugged and I lumped all my stuff in her car.
She drove me to her place where I was going to stay until I took the bus to Canberra in a few days time.
Rounding the bend, I glimpsed the ocean, a deep emerald contrasting the vibrant blue of the sky.
What the...?
Ocean?
Oh I had missed her.
Sometimes you forget where your heart really lays until you see it.
The ocean...

http://tamabeach.com//wp-content/uploads/2010/12/attraction-tamarama.jpg

It gets better.
Candy took me to her place, a little shack overlooking Tamarama (right next to Bondi) that I swear was built specifically for poets. She showed me my room - yep, I had a real room and a bed and everything! (I was crashing on Randall's couch for my two week stint in Melbourne, which was great, but damnnnnnn a REAL bed!!!)
Putting all my stuff away (poet talk for exploding my clothes in my room), I looked over the balcony at the view which was to greet me every morning and was soon to give me views of joggers, lovers walking, tourists scoping the sites, surfers waiting for the next break and whales migrating.
I was in heaven.

And Candy was the mentor I never knew I needed. She could relate to my journey and my frustrations and my excitement. She helped me put this tour in perspective - that, as a first time actual "tour, I had done marvellously and should be proud of myself. Once people catch on, she said, there'll be no turning back. You'll get your big crowds, people just don't know yet.
There was no need to justify WHY I wanted a great big audience, a loving vibe and to be able to show my art to the world. She knew that it didn't matter.
Candy Royalle gave me the permission to be an artist, struggling or successful, delighted or upset... just an artist trying to push through and make something of myself.
She got it.
And without her I think my Sydney experience wouldn't have taught me half as much.

I got to perform at the Outspoken finale on Wednesday night and when Ray asked me to finsih the night off, I was anxious, because these events tend to go for a long time and I was worried people might filter out after Luka and Omar had their stage time. Didn't happen. What DID happen is one of the coolest things I'll ever have in my experience bank.
I slayed em.
A packed house.
Most of them unaware of who I was and why I would be the final artist for the night.
You should have heard the roars, the laughter, and the pin-drop silence...
It was nice to be given that kind of status and to not only own it, but smash it right out of the park.
Luka asked me to peform with him the next night at his show on Broadway which I obliged. A great show, one which introduced me personally to The Tongue - an artist whose career I've followed for a while and have always admired. For him to tell me he was really impressed and hint at a future collaboration was awesome.
If the collaboration never happens I won't mind. It was cool to just connect.

The Roar Poets gig was great, if somewhat smaller than anticipated due to the heavy week of words it had been. Outspoken + Luka's surprise gig meant people were worded out and probably pretty broke. So we had an intimate night of words at 107 Projects - the BEST and most supportive crew of people I think I've ever met. They made the night so amazing with their professionalism and understanding of what the night could be. The sound, the lights, the seating... everything was perfect.
What was amazing was Candy Royalle proving that this was a night to be celebrated. Her introductory performance was inspired and incredible. She lifted us to the point where I knew that we were going to have a fantastic evening.
And the attendees agreed.
Every single one of the people who came were blown away by the craft they had witnessed.
Some even suggesting it was the best gig of the week.
Hey, I'll claim it!

That Monday we took the bus to Woollongong where some of Angela's relatives live and got spoilt with food and beer for a few days before our Canberra trip.

I could tell you about all the crazy gigs we went to in between Outspoken and our bus away.
But I feel like I've rambled long enough.
Let's just say that there was an art gallery opening with a packed crowd and we were the only slammers who entered.
Let's just say that jazz + poetry in a book shop isn't a new idea, but was a lot of awkward fun.
Let's just say that the Art Party crew, with their incessant hugging and weed and food have possibly restored my faith in what it means to be a beautiful person.
Sydney!
What a blast.

Canberra next...

Roar Poets - Tour Diary 3 - Melbourne

So we got to Melbourne with a blue sky waiting and bicycles dinging and the trams all a-bustle and I made my way to The Dan O'Connell for my first performance of the week.
It was great, fantastic, largely spectacular you know?
Well... It was The Dan, which means a casual open mic with a feature in a pub where the Guiness flows freely. Local poet John McKelvie shouted me a number of rounds so I had fun.
It was the first of a number of events I performed at in Melbourne where people were just... cool.
Those who know me know I was trepedatious about Melbourne.
I'd been burnt the year before by some toxic interactions and gig handling, only to be saved by the few people that attended my workshops.
So this year I was afraid to be honest.
See Melbourne is so big and so packed with events that there is no knowing what you should go to or not. It's too full. Too many chefs. Everyone screaming for attention.
And what is actually touted as a good event could just be people blowing their own horn.
And what is supposed to be just a chilled evening could be something amazing.
But that is true of art in general and not just limited to Melbourne of course. It's just very pronounced in Australia's art capital, especially when you're trying to organise and promote a gig yourself.

So I just tagged along to things that were happening and got invited to perform a lot and it was overall a great experience because the people were great. I met great people. I stayed with Randall Stephens and we talked geek, watched the new Superman (review below) and generally just hung out coz it was nice.
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One night we went to an event called "The O.D.D.ie awards" - a celebration and gathering of those people and poets in the community who have "Oppositional Defiant Disorder".
I'd heard there would be poetry and wrestling.
I was even invited to read my piece "Bennalong's Ghost" and present an award.
What a trip.
Randall was painted green like the hulk.
Benjamin Solah was dressed in tight tight tight wreslemania tights and the rest of the poets and crowd were like extras from One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. It was a mad house.
And there was wrestling. After all the poetry, nearly three hours of it, they wrestled. Yep. Benjamin Solah and James Jackson got their WWE on in a club in Victoria.
It was fucking excellent.
Well...
It was something anyway.

Later that night we caught the train home and decided Randall should chase us on to the train and we would scream "AHHH HE'S COMING FOR US!!"

We thought it was funny anyway
The train passengers? Not so much...
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The Roar Poets gig itself was great. We missed Angela's presence, but Jacky T more than made up for it with his beautiful words. And a kick ass zine that has since spread because I'm showing everyone how good it is... Bastard.
It was definitely the most confusing gig in organisational terms. The House Of Bricks crew were super supportive of The Roar Poets Tour, but it seemed a clash between whether it was a feature event or an open mic with guests. A natural hiccup on a first tour.
My favourite part of the night was Matt Hetherington, local poet and beautiful person grabbing me and giving me an inspirational speech courtesy of The Joker from Batman (the Jack Nicholson version)
(2:01 - And remember Bob, you... are my number one... guyyeeeee)

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I'm really stoked that my Melbourne experience was a positive one.
People like Benjamin Solah from Melbourne Spoken Word, Matt Hetherington, John McKelvie, Steve Smart, Tim Train, Jacky T, Amy Bodossian, the HOB crew, Michael Reynolds and a great many more people showed me that the people you interact with effect your ideology around a space or place. By being involved with them and their adventures I was given a positive shot of beauty and art and love. So thanks.
But especially thanks to the man Randall Stephens. A great host and person I admire in poetry. He's a beast. He's a man who's always supported me and I cannot thank him enough for that. Every Melbourne experience has at least been blessed with his presence and DVD collection.

Superman - The BatMan of Steel

I saw Batm-I mean Superman yesterday.
Okay so, whatever, Christopher Nolan (of the new Batman movies) helped write it and stuff. It's NOT Batman. I'm just joking guys seriously.
It is very intense. And earnest though. Like a teenager wrote some fan fiction and sent it in and they were like "great! don't edit it!"
Obviously they're going for a darker, re-imagined Superman to keep up with these times of terrorism and excess and... bad writing.
The new Superman - Man Of Steel is not as awful as you imagine it though, it's fucking terrible, it's fucking awesome. Oh my god I'm so confused.
Because there are genuine bits of insight into Superman/Kal-el/Clark Kent that are pretty nice. From somewhere near the beginning of the film (about an hour in), you see young Clark struggling to NOT punch the bullies and having to deal with the oversensitivity of his errr... senses.
Superman is painted as a genuinely lost kid, a bit sad... :(
However the writing doesn't tell you that. It's all the acting of the new guy playing Superman, Henry Cavill. Who is fucking gorgeous. Jesus what a fucking specimen of a man. #peopleiwouldturngayfor.

And the movie is a loving mess of spectacular special effects and things falling and SO MANY PEOPLE DYING.
What happened to Superman saving shit?
It's 9/11 to the nth degree and nobody seems to give a fuck. Let alone the Man Of Steel, dealing with all his "issues", he's too busy to save anyone except maybe Lois Lane (and a couple of dudes on an oil rig at one point).
Yet it is so beautiful to watch. If this was a video game it would fucking amazing.
But it's not. It's a movie. And they explain and explain and explain all this stuff and I kind of just wanted them to stop explaining stuff.

What's troubling is that, I still kinda dug it. The new Lois Lane is really a nothing character, but to me easily the most stunning Lois Lane. So I guess for eye candy, this Superman is the equivalent of Friends With Benefits - there's nothing really there, just a chance to check out some really hot people. In Man Of Steel's case they're both secy and there's massive explosions.
At one point all of us in the cinema cracked up laughing because the characters punched each other into a satellite and then threw it at each other.
For real. Shit's crazy.

See Superman for the art design, the epic and ridiculous battles and the absolute excess. One review I watched last night said "Superman used to stand for the American dream, the American conscious".
I would argue that this movie, with it's violence, bad writing, underwhelming plot and Russel Crowe leaping on Avatar birds, might just be the American conscious, in this day and age, after all.

Self-Conscious Man

Oh no!

Gentle readers, Self-Conscious Man has hidden himself beneath The Bridge of Doubt!
His back and forth pacing is making the very ego shake!
What shall we do?

Ah ha!

Let us call upon Self-Deprecation Dude to save the day!

His ironic jokes and self-aware abilities will surely defeat Self-Conscious Man in his lair!

It is working!
Self-Conscious Man is laughing!
But is it enough?
Or is it too much!

No!

He has laughed in on himself until he has disappeared up his own arse, creating a black-hole of self!
A black-hole of ego and neurosis!
This nexus of thought is working inside out to create a monster of terrible proportions!

Fruit cake! We must have fruit cake!

We must have sweets!

Temper the madman before he becomes a demonic offspring of depression and guilt!

Has it worked?
Did our cakes and chocolates, thrust with all our might into the black pool of woe... did they work?

Yes. Self-Conscious Man has emerged from beneath the bridge. With crumbs on his lap.

Quick. Give him some cookies.
And tell him he's doing just fine.

Gentle readers we have diverted disaster for another day.

Roar Poets - Tour Diary 2 - Nimbin

Nimbin.
Depending on your experience with this small town in the hills of northern NSW, the very name has made your decision for you based on what I'm going to say next. You will either be disbeilieving and write it off entirely, or you will nod your head and go "yep". I doubt anyone will be somewhere in between.
Nimbin is the spiritual home of performance poets.
There I said it.
Now, like I said before, many of you will go "huh?" and shake your head, smiling at the thought of a bunch of stoners having a base of strong performance poetry.

Well.
This is the place that began the Nimbin Performance Poetry World Cup 11 years ago. Nimbin is the original stomping ground for David Hallet and Robin Archbold. 2 poets who still stand strong as premiere performers in Australian poetics. In fact, Archie founded the cup, David won it in its first year. So there ya go.
But you will still probably shake your head and go "no, bloody stoners trippin out to words I bet..."
And you're right. Kinda.
We arrived in Nimbin on a chilly Thursday's eve to find Gail M. Clarke, co-founder and current bad-arse boss lady of NPPWC scurrying about collecting raffle money, organising sound, and generally chatting to people lounging at The Oasis Cafe, Nimbin's home of poetry nights. What this lady does is phenomenal. And yes, the joints were rolling thick and fast and the murmuring locals and silent backpackers all drank their coffees and teas with red-eyed abundance.
But, unlike Armidale, which had no idea what it was in for, they were ALL there for poetry. It's what Nimbin loves. Cultivated over the past 11 or more years this small town thrives on words. Big, small, political, humorous, love, hate and everything in between and outside the box, Nimbin is an underrated poetry Mecca.

Martin, Angela and I knew that, respected it, and gave the best performances we've possibly ever done. It was hot, frothing, loving, aching, potent poetics.
And the crowd loved it.
If you wanna get into the stoner thing, fine. But you're ignoring what Nimbin Poetry's really all about. The superficiality of Nimbin is that it's a place to get high. But anyone who's been to the NPPWC knows that Nimbin is a place to perform to a beautiful crowd. Roaring, cheering, laughing, crying. We took them there on Thursday night. But only because they were so willing to go with us.

God

Dear Kanye - sorry I mean GOD - how are you?
Your new album is g.o.o.d. so I assume you must be?
I liked your performance on SNL

Are you actually that cranky?
I sometimes wonder how rich people can be so cranky when they're like... really rich...
But you don't have friends do you God?
Being all "ahead of the curve" means people are still stuck around the bend huh?
Well I like your album, so far.
I mean I haven't given it a totally great listen but Black Skinhead is mean.
You do 'mean' well.
And I think you mean well.

Nice one God. New Slaves is great.
People critique everything huh?
I mean, you ARE a bit of a douche-ball-in-a-sack-of-shit-fairy-floss-maker when you're doing anything except make music. But I like that you know that. I assume you know that right? That you'll always be one of the greatest artists of our time? But not a great person?

How's Kim? She looks good. I saw her last night, and today, and on the radio, in the magazines. She had the baby the other day and she's already dropped 20 kg! I can't wait to read about how she did it tomorrow.
But...
Don't you guys have any secrets?
Like that you enjoy when you first stick your toes into some Ugg boots? Before the sweat starts to clam em up? Do you think about what it would be like to head-butt an orangutang? I do. Or do you have a particular star that always seems to grab your attention? I saw a grasshopper today, do you notice grasshoppers God? Grasshoppers will never buy your album God. Never.
NEVER.
Do they still count?

I'm going to listen to it again and do some writing.
I can be God too.
I can be a better God than you.
And then our fans can have wars.
Yay!
Kanye!
I mean GOD!
You are not God.
I don't even know if there is God, but I guess if there was a God and it was you that would probably be more believable. At least you're DEFINITELY fucked up. Not like this "perfect God" that keeps being spouted at us. I'd rather believe in a fucked up God that wears all his neurosis on his sleeve (even if he doesn't see it) than some... urgg douche that is always fucking right even when he's wrong... (satan? meant to do that. sunday? meant to do that. see how everything's fucked? meant to do that to test your faith... yep... meant to do everything...)

I like your album not-God-Kanye.
Keep up the good work.
Have a break now. Write a poem. Go for a swim. Eat a biscuit. It'll be good for you.

Roar Poets Tour - Diary 1 - Armidale

Armidale is cold. I forgot all about that. After living there for a few years I'd forgotten that the beautiful rolling hills and rocks sit beneath a layer of frost so sharp when you speak the air slices your tongue.
But we got there... with our multi-layered pants and jumpers and socks...

There's no-one in Armidale you know? Unless you count the uni. But I'm not even sure if the uni counts itself as part of Armidale. I know when I was a student there we could exist pretty well without any form of town contact... that's either good or bad depending on how hungry you are/n't or how stoned you are/n't.

But I programmed the tour to included Armidale for one reason: it's the beginning of things.

It was in Armidale I really learnt to rap, to write, to produce... and to make friends.

So here I was again, after all these years, showing my art to the people who had supported me from the beginning.
Sure, it wasn't ME they were supporting. It was their sons and friends who I happened to be in a band with. But I took what I could and still ran with it. It still mattered.

SO...
We arrived in Armidale to find that only a few of the flyers had been handed out, the radio station wouldn't get back to us, and the community group we'd been in contact with for months, desperately trying to get any form of workshops or community connections, were STILL not taking us seriously, or just not... I dunno...
what do you call it when people don't get back to you and then give you backhanded support at the last minute?...
On top of that we'd been told the place would've emptied out for school holidays...
It was fucking frustrating and a bit like being punched in the guts.

So when people showed up to the gig. When a room full of people watched and listened intently. When a table actually said they were here for poetry... Well suffice to say I was pretty happy. When the people who had been there to support their family and friends said "wow, it's great to see what you've been up to all these years, fantastic", I felt like I still mattered. Which is a nice feeling. And to be perfectly down and depressingly honest probably the first time I've felt that this year.

And BrokenWord were fantastic. It was them that most people were there to see, and they did not disappoint. What was amazing was that Martin Ingle and Angela Willock kept people in the room after the BrokenWord boys had done their thing. The strength and raw honesty of their performances kept people gripped. The 90% of the room who weren't there for poetry were all of a sudden deeply invested in the poetry. The bar... the fucking bar where everyone milled and talked and yelled drunkedly fell silent on more than one occasion in all of our sets.

And being the organiser and facilitator of the event I was worried we wouldn't be able to make any money to pay the venue hire or even ourselves... but we did. Yes we lost money still. Fuel and food dents finances dramatically but hey... whatever... we got at least one free meal out of it...  and the venue hire. And we were all pretty clear from the beginning that this would not be a money making venture... it would be gypsy survival. It would be rolling with the punches and making the most of it. It would be: Happiness = people + fires + conversations.
Which we had plenty of on Saturday night after the "slab" gig...

So now on to Nimbin. The Oasis Cafe. 7pm Thursday night 20 June.
The Roar Poets Tour is alive. It's a thing now. Not just a few words online or a FB event.
And we're excited and enjoying the taste so far.
Sure Armidale was cold. But if the rest of the shows end up being half as warm-hearted as Armidale then I think we'll be pretty happy.