Thursday, November 26, 2009

Beats for Baking

My Top 6 Songs to Bake Cupcakes To:
1. Supergirl - Kate Miller Heidke

The song that empowers women while baking is the song that makes her say "No, these are not for my man, these are all for myself!"

2. Your Honour - Regina Spektor

An angry girl song that may cause cupcake batter to be flung around the room

3. Horchata - Vampire Weekend This song makes me happy. Baking makes me happy. Put them together and what have you got?
Well, you've got a lot of upbeat sugary bliss. It's as simple as that.

4. Chaka Demus - Jamie T

My attempt at white girl rap. Highly entertaining for my neighbours when I'm dancing around my kitchen being a british gangster with my wooden spoon and mixing bowl.

5. Father Lucifer - Tori Amos

I couldnt not put a Tori Song. This song makes me feel all light and fluffy and floaty, but with the signature Tori edge.

6. Brunettes Against Bubblegum Youth - The Brunettes

These guys are so kitchy and sweet and nerdilicious, if you could bite into their music, it would taste like strawberry and chocolate cupcakes.

Runners Up Include:

Coin Laundry - Lisa Mitchell
Neopolitan Dreams - Lisa Mitchell
Hold On My Heart - Sarah Blasko
Soldier- Yves Klein Blue


Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Art and Science

Art was a girl. She lived in an old town house with crumbling plaster walls, vines creeping up their sides, along the balcony and crystal chandelier that hadn’t worked for years. She work silk scarves, long skirts and flowing dresses, or black skinnys and combat boots, depending on what mood she was in. She never tied her hair up; it was always different shades of red. She kept jars of hallucinogenic herbs in her kitchen, but she only ate vegetarian organic food and refused to smoke cigarettes. She wrote poems on her white plaster walls, painted murals on her ceilings and played music all the time. She played electric base guitar, drums, violin and piano, and even when she talked her voice was melodious. She danced everywhere. In the summer she slept outside on her balcony, and in the winter she slept by the fireplace. Her garden was luscious and green and so heavy with perfume it would put you in a trance. She believed in past lives; she believed that she used to be a bird. She talked to them, and it make her feel less lonely.

Science was a boy. He lived in a cold clean stainless steel minimalist apartment in the inner city; all his furniture was white. He wore wool pants, even in summer, a clean white shirt, a vest and a smoking jacket. His hair was black and always combed and set so perfectly that it wouldn’t move on a windy day. He never took drugs, but he smoked cigarettes and ate red meat often. He was an entomologist; he studied insects for a living. He kept terrariums full of stick insects, beetles and spiders all over his house, but he never caught the butterflies and pinned them down to mount them on his wall because he had dreams about them screaming and it made him feel guilty. He didn’t listen to music and he never danced. He always slept inside in his clean cold room in his clean white bed, no matter the weather, and he never slept late. He didn’t believe in past lives, but he secretly believed that his insect friends could hear him when he talked to them He talked to them, and it made him feel less lonely

One day, Art was painting in the park one day, when she spied Science, collecting ladybirds. She thought he was the most curious thing she had ever seen; the collar of his coat was covered in ladybirds, huddling closer to his body for warmth in the cold winter afternoon. She didn’t know what an entomologist was, so she thought he must have been a magician, the way he controlled the little beetles and the butterflies that you would never seen this deep into the season. Science looked up and saw her, staring at him across the park, looking like a Monarch butterfly and painting him. The ladybirds flew from his coat and swarmed around her, blending with her red hair. She giggled, and he rushed over to try and reclaim his mischievous friends; they had felt his heart beating like insect wings when he saw her, and so they thought they should take advantage of the opportunity. She smiled. He blushed and tripped over his words. But from then on they became inseparable.

Art took Science back to her town house with the crumbling walls and the murals and the poetry. She cooked him vegetarian lasagne and made him mushroom tea. Science filled her broken chandelier with fireflies so that they could see. He tripped out on the tea and they made love all night on the balcony.
Science took Art to his clean cold apartment in the inner city, and showed her all his terrariums. He performed tricks for her with butterflies, and taught her all their different names. Art taught him how to dance, and lit a fire in his empty fireplace so that they were warm, and filled his rooms with flowers from her garden. They made love all night in his clean white bed and slept all day.

They wondered how they had ever lived without each other.

Science and art had a baby. They named her Peace.
She’s the kind of girl who slips artful sentences and complicated words into her science reports to amuse herself at school; she writes them like essays. She takes dances classes, but her best subject is biology. Some say she was meant to be an artist, a beautiful actress, not a squint, but she wants to become a doctor. She knows that science can be creative; nothing can innovate like science can, and really, if you strip it back, art is fundamentally science. She knows paint is just chemicals, photos are digital pixels, beats are made of electronic sound waves, melodies come from a voice box. She knows it’s not until you ad the human element, the spiritual element, that these things become art. She knows this because that is what her parents taught her.
That you can’t have one without the other.
And you can’t have Peace without Science and Art.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Art Attack

I am unashamedly a daughter of 21st Century Western Society, I looove pretty things. And I am not ashamed; Art should be appreciated. So I am.

Also, I discovered today that I am descendant from a race of redheads who lived in a paradise called Hyperborrea, a mythical land from the Classical world where the sun hardly ever shines so that we can go out during the day. I thought that was pretty neat.
Also, its 5 days till I move back home from Pidgeon Cove. I'm going to miss her alot, but it will be nice to have money again, and South America will totally be worth it.
Listening to: The Middle East, Sparklehorse, Cajun Dance Party, The Dresdon Dolls, Regina Spektor
Watching: Friends <3
Wearing: Blue tights, faerie t shirt, red rose skirt
Eating: Pizza :)
Reading: Violet and Claire - Francesca Lia Block. She's running an online class this summer, and i am so going to take it.
Wanting: "Afternoon Tea" Frankie Cook Book, peace of mind, a nice boy, and the chance to write for a living.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Abnormally attracted to Tori

There is always a point in time in a girls life when she knows that no matter what happens to her, she can deal with it in her own unique way, and that she is going to be ok. That is exactly The catalyst for this astounding revelation is of course no other than Tori Amos.
I am currently in recovery after seeing both her Melbourne Shows (which cost me a pretty penny, i can tell you, but then I probably would have sold my grandmother for these tickets). Having seen her before in 2007 on the American Doll Posse Tour, I was not completely naive to the unearthly experience i was about to have, but these past two nights surpassed all expectations my sketchy memory could provide.

I entered the concerts, particularly Friday night, in a particularly tumultuous headspace; conflicted by my career choices, angry at allowing myself once again to be led on with the promise of what I thought was a perfectly good guy (don't be silly, there is no such thing), and faced with the possiblity of summer semester after a horrible exam I am almost cetain to fail. But as soon as I saw this goddess of a woman walking towards her piano, as soon as her fingers touched those keys, I forgot everything.

Some words to describe both concerts include: euphoric, electric, amazing, incredible, transcendant, erthreal, eargasmic, orgasmic and any other kind of gasmic you can imagine.
Watching her writhe around (yes she writhes, but in the most sexual alluring orgasmic way) on the piano, the B3 organ and just geting lost in the music made my toes tingle and my chest hurt from the joy and the awe that I felt; I spent songs in tears (Blood Roses, Hey Jupiter, Smells Like Teen Spirit, Little Earthquakes, Pretty Good Year, Sister Janet, the Beekeeper) or grinning my head off like a demented Cheshire cat (Take to the Sky, Mary Jane, Taxi Ride, Mr Zebra, Purple People, Leather, Beatuy of Speed, Barons of Suburbia).
Completely acoustic, with two set lists, completely different save 4 songs, and the most perfect feelings of euphoria I have ever experienced. The only thing that makes me sad is that until she returns I probably will never feel that way again; sorry boys, but no one can get me off like Tori can.
So, before you nay-sayers who feel betrayed by Tori's change in musical direction since the Chiorgirl days, or lack of backing band (which I personally think just distorts the magic with unessecary bass and beats), ask yourself, can you play a Bosendorfer piano and a B3 organ simultaneously? Can you change the composition of the atmosphere with the power of your eargasmic voice? Can you evoke feelings like this in girls (and boys) like me? No, I didn't think so.
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