Tender Age In Bloom

Lately, and by lately I mean the past 10 years, there has been a bit of a backlash against Nirvana’s Nervermind. When Triple J first started their infamous hottest 100 countdown it was an “of all time” countdown. Love will tear us apart – Joy Division was at #1 two years running – and understandably so. The song is nothing short of masterful. In 1991 – two things of consequence happened:

1 – Nirvana’s Nevermind was released.
2 – ummmm… ???

Okay, perhaps a few other things happened but trust me these were the biggies. The next year, in the hottest 100 of all time Smells like Teen Spirit – Nirvana topped Love Will Tear Us Apart – Joy Division to become the hottest song of all time – according to Triple J listeners. That’s a pretty big deal, considering LWTUA had been around for a good 11 years and SLTS only for a few months. The next year the countdown became more localised – songs from one year only.

Nevermind was soon touted as a classic album. Various – hell pretty much ALL – music magazines around that time and beyond have put Nevermind at the top (or near enough) of their best ever rock albums lists. The backlash began a few years later when people started saying ‘it’s just another grunge album – I don’t see what’s so good about it’.

Okay, personally I think if you can’t see what’s so good about Nevermind then you might have other developmental problems too. Either you are stuck in the 60s or you listen exclusively to Celine Dion. The album is nothing short of a masterpiece. It’s a package. You don’t buy Nevermind listen only to Smells like Teen Spirit and then put it back on the shelf. This is an album you listen to the whole way through – on repeat – not just because you’re a fan but because really it’s that good. Relatively speaking, if you look at all the music made in the last 50 years there are really only a few hundred albums that you could truly say are worth listening to all the way through – repeatedly and without irony. This is one of them. Being popular, doesn’t make it any less special.

My first memory of Nevermind was of my friend E telling me that her younger sister had left her Nevermind tape (yes tape) in full sunlight on a 40 degree day in the car and now it wouldn’t play anymore. S was apparently driving the family nuts – E in particular. I hadn’t heard the full album by this stage, only the big hits. I knew of Bleach which was mine by proxy, courtesy of the my local library’s borrowing register – which I thought was okay, but only in parts. A few weeks later and because of that conversation I had with E I bought Nevermiind for myself and have never looked back.

I don’t think I can accurately explain the excitement and vibe created by Nirvana back in the early 90s but I’ll say that you could smell something different in the air. This was a new beginning for music fans. Until that stage music had been going the way of a pop wasteland extravaganza – not in a good way. The late 80s and early 90s mainstream was littered with Technotronic, Whitney Houston, Wilson Phillips and Roxette. Things were really bad. Nirvana’s music was pop don’t get me wrong but – it was also incredibly sincere. I remember being relieved to finally hear *real* instruments again – ones that weren’t warped by overproduction like other bands around that time. I think it woke a lot of people in the music industry up and from then on music made a big shift for the better. It was an exciting time – literally the most defining musical moment of my lifetime thus far – and surely of a whole generation of musical artists.

Nirvana defines my first drunken moment, my first kiss (or rather my first drunken kiss, ha!), my obsession and my sadness. When Kurt died, it broke my heart. I know it sounds trite and melodramatic but that’s just how it was. It was like that for a lot of people of my generation who had suffered their lives with a soundtrack of Nirvana songs too.

Sometimes I hear people say “I just don’t see what’s so good about Nirvana” or that old favourite “they’re overrated” and I’m reminded about this quote from the movie Clueless:

TRAVIS: The way I feel about the Rolling Stones is the way my kids are going to feel about Nine Inch Nails, so I really shouldn’t torment my Mom anymore, huh?

Exactly. Maybe everyone that comes after my generation (that is people who were 13-28 when Nevermind first came out) – yes all those little ones that were born post 1984 who I think of as still not quite out of their nappies and on solid foods yet don’t get it because they simply weren’t around for the music to have a real effect.. Maybe those kids will one day understand how important Nirvana was and just how utterly magnificent this album really is. How long does it take for perspective to turn an album into a classic anyway?

Then again, maybe I’m the one lacking perspective. Maybe I’m too young to really understand the artists that came before Nirvana, those big guns – like Pink Floyd – artists that I wasn’t there to witness for myself either. I like to think I’m pretty well rounded though, and my MM choices have included a range of musical styles and eras. Then again, who knows? Maybe I’ve been charmed by Kurt’s twisted pain, his quirky rock hero reluctance, his apt Neil Young quote; it’s better to burn out than to fade away scrawled for the world to see in Who Magazine after his suicide. And I have to say yes, it’s all part of it. Either way with my recommendation or not – this album may only be a blip on the musical radar relatively speaking but it was a blip that defined musical change. It was a great moment in music. You don’t have to like it for that to be true, but I think you do have to respect it.

I guess you just had to be there.

Two from Nevermind

In Bloom – Nirvana

Lithium – Nirvana

And two from other albums….

Aneurysm – Nirvana

Heart Shaped Box – Nirvana

…and one random.

Marigold – Nirvana (which funnily enough, was all Dave Grohl – but I just adore this song)

A squishy list of Australian things.

Australia day was served up to me this morning via a smallish flag atop a lovely dish of breakfast in North Melbourne as the sun beat down from the bluest sky. My post today is actually one that was from the old blog. I wrote it a few years ago but haven’t posted it here and it’s one of my favourite posts I’ve written about Australia day.

You might not get all the references and you know what? That’s a good thing.

As Australian as..

a pot of cold beer (letting the kids drink the head), sunday cricket in the street, licking sunny boy dribble from down your arm on a 40 degree day, the insriparional words of Dorothea McKellar, fractured conversation in broken English from migrant women wearing black mourning clothes, souvlaki on the beach, Ned Kelly’s last stand, the stolen generation, drinking good Italian coffee outside a busy trattoria, fluro zinc on the tip of your nose, drunken singing along to the Hunters and Collectors, fear of red backs, slip slop slap, playing under the sprinklers while the sky turns pink above you, stubby holders in your football team’s colours, water bomb fights in the school yard, good yum cha, Cathy Freeman’s two Australian flags, free settlers, European Migrants, Bloody stupid wogs, Indian accented Australians, Indigenous to the land, Aussie, Aussie, Aussie.. oi oi oi, a friendly smile, a rude joke, heavy rain after a scorching day, Bert Newton’s hair piece, Ray Martin’s hair piece, Aboriginal Art in New York City, “My home lies wide a thousand miles in the Never Never land”, Tim Winton’s famous waves breaking on the West Coast, Uluru; sacred heart of the red centre, the dichotomy of Steve Irwin; both ridiculous and knowledgeable, picnics by the Yarra, having a bet on the horses, staying up late to watch the world cup, watching the 7.30 report on Auntie, revering Parkinson as god of interviews, holidays in Bali, drug running in Indonesia, American sitcoms on the telly, listening to the crickets loud song reverberate well into the night, Australia shaped car aerials on a VWs, vegemite on toast for breakfast, matzah ball soup for dinner, Burka’s adourned with beautiful broaches, duty free Bundy, coupling with GW, lamington drives, Dawn Fraser’s magnificent trifecta, Foreign News on free to air telly, The First Fleet, swatting the flies from your face, “you call that a knife?”, Holocaust survivors settling in Bondi, Whispering Jack, Kamahl, beaurocracy, Kylie Minogue’s fake British accent, Jason Donovan gone bad, Greek Greengrocers who know their shit, really bad perm jobs, Fashion Week, bush fires leaving a black trail across the parched land, twisted gum trees reaching their spidery fingers towards the sky, Kebabs outside night clubs, the gay and lesbian mardi gras, Making fun of American reality television, Opera House tea cosies, Eiffel tower calendars, learning another language, watching old men play bocce at the local park, blogging, David Helfgott’s mastery of classical piano, Baz Luhrman’s quirky reappropriations on celluloid, leaving European history behind for prosperity in a new country, Mabo, Mambo, surfing, skate parks, homeboys holding their pants up yo!, Koala Bear (but it’s not a bear!), embarrassed at ourselves, race riots at the beach, moshing at The Big Day Out ’till you pass out from heat exhaustion, Making fun of the politicians, men in suits wearing Burberry, men in stubbies wearing metho, arse not ass, shiraz, “Australia don’t become America”, a Maccas run at 3am, roast on the spit in the backyard, Buon Natale!, Happy Hannuka, a gift of dyed red eggs on Greek Easter from your neighbour, The Southern Cross; mother to us all, Waltzing Matilda; father to our theiving hearts, “not happy Jan”, Pauline Hanson picking at the scab, the myth of Australian ethnicity?, performing ethnicity Helen Demidenko style, drinking Grappa and singing loudly until the neighbours call the cops, weird busking spacesuit guy on the corner of Burke and Swanston, Bluey, the Packer media empire, 8-up doc martins with pink laces, gothic babes in pleather, plumber’s cleavage, Carlotta, Germaine Greer, Asian-Australian football league, Midnight Oil’s heartfelt political diatribes, Schindler’s List (yes Australian!), click go the sheers boy, “Hello Possums!”, fighting against conscription, beatlemania, ABBA Down Under, John “bloody” Laws, Making fun of the Eurovision Song Contest, playing Scopa while drinking Fosters, absolutely refusing to go near Fosters, Molly Meldrum’s hat, of course I can use chopsticks!, Multiculturalism, White Australia Policy, dole bludgers, Mandawuy Yunupingu, “I say Arthur”, tai chi on the beach, raves at the docklands, muck up day, Truganini’s determination, Rolf Harris’ wobble board, Come on Aussie come on!, Fish and Chips, suishi in a classy restaurant, Aussie battlers, bloody whinging pomms, the reclaiming of the word ‘wog’ in order to make fun of Skippys, Shakespeare in the park, Sidney Nolan’s historical accounts without using words, The big Pineapple, bush polka, ballet recitals, Macedonean wedding dances, the Japanese Gold Coast, still a Monarchy?, “you little beauty!”, making and bottling your own spaghetti sauce for the year, “there was movement at the station for the word had passed around..”, the Amercians poisoning Phar Lap?, Bicentenial coins for Australian children in 1988, take away curry, dim sims, The Rainbow Serpent creates land and life, bi-lingual families, European roots planted firmly at home (everywhere), working visa, dual citizenship, detention centre hunger strikes, diaspora; “from all the lands we come”.

It was never really one thing, was it?

Boys and girls – I’m talking about penis and vagina.

A friend of mine recently met a man online through a popular dating website. She’s very thrilled with him and indeed from what I hear so far he sounds like a really good person. Yay, for good people! High Five!

Anyway, since I am a ball breaker from way back I was asking my friend every question under the sun about their relationship and it soon came out that though they had been dating for a while now they had still not made the leap into the bedroom. I was surprised, not because it was such a long time to date without sleeping with each other, but because it was a long time for this girl in question.

She explained that due to a suggestion she heard on a popular daytime TV talk show headed by a powerful woman (you know the one) that it was worth her while to wait. By worth her while, she meant that it would have more chance of succeeding past a few weeks than not. My friend is a wonderful person; she’s funny as fuck, she’s lovely, smart, gorgeous, bubbly and positive and yet she never seems to last long with men. She’s not one of these ultra picky women either – she’s just your normal everyday kind of girl. She decided that she wanted to give the relationship a chance to develop before they slept together.

I totally applauded the move and she told me that although they were both frustrated as anything that they are both glad they have waited. They have gotten to know each other really well, they really like each other – really, they’ve discovered a connection beyond “dating”, they’ve met each other’s friends and families, are very open with the fact that they are “in a relationship” (again, rather than just dating) AND have discovered something about themselves which is really nice: That they are both gagging for it. Not just for *it*, but IT with EACH OTHER. They’re not just horny you see. It’s personal. Sounds pretty cool.

You know, I do think that people jump right into sex sometimes. I am no prude but I don’t know many people who enjoy *that* feeling of anticipation anymore. Sure anticipation exists with anything, including buying a pair of shoes and wanting to wear them but I mean this is a real anticipation, one that consumes you totally and one that is coupled with something substantial behind it.

In any case, though he is more than thrilled with my friend – her boyfriend still hates Oprah, lol. He IS still a man, after all.

But what say you?
Is there merit in waiting?
How long is too long?
Guys – do you ever put the lid on it or does waiting depend on whether the girl wants to (ie: you’re always good to go)?

(I just realised that all my closest friends who are married did not jump into sex with their husbands. They all waited a good deal longer than is customary in this day and age. I *do* have friends who have married their “one night stand” however, even upon examining that I realised that for those that did, they went back and dated them for a good while without sleeping together – even though obviously they HAD already slept together. Funny how that turned out).

Thinking music today courtesy of The Chemical Brothers. This song is awesome and definitely one I have on repeat (along with much of their back catalogue actually) a lot.

Hey Boy, Hey Girl – The Chemical Brothers

Summer saw you wasted, everyday.

The first thing you see is blue on blue. A cloudless sky resting atop a line of deep indigo on the horizon. The sun is already burning a red line across your bare skin; where you couldn’t quite reach to put the sunscreen properly. A thin film of sweat collects at the nape of your neck. You breathe in the waves and swat at the flies before making your way down the hill to the sand. Do you want an ice-cream now or later? your companion muses while looking hungrily at the van. Can’t we do both? you laugh back.

The bathing boxes are lined up like soldiers at the ready for a gay mardi gras parade. You can hear the delighted squeals of small children no doubt wearing hats that are much too big and being taunted by splashes of water. This makes you smile as you remember countless summers spent by the water. Your mind goes back in time almost 20 years to your dad dripping freezing cold water onto your back while you sunbaked, purposely trying to annoy you. These memories make you smile now. They didn’t back then.

You hoist the umbrella up under your arm with effort (everything takes effort on a day already hitting 30 degrees before 10am) and take those first tentative steps across the hot sand. A scratchy towel, under the other arm is already throwing you off balance and you falter a little, tipping dangerously to one side. Walking on sand involves feeling like one is temporarily drunk. Finding the right spot is an art. Private but close to the water, sandy but not shelly, away from the freaks playing with a ball (who ARE these people that do this?) and enough room to have a conversation without being overheard.

With the umbrella erected and tilted, the picnic rug spread and the towels positioned just right you peel back your clothes and sigh backwards onto your towel. “A” pulls back the lid on a container to reveal a bunch of crispy green grapes, nectarines, watermelon and ripe strawberries. You take a strawberry and enjoy its sweet coolness across your lips. A perfect beach breakfast. You smile, engaging in a cheerful conversation that soon dies away as the sun sends you both into drowsy silence.

You close your eyes and hear the sounds of the beach all around you. Cheery laughter, sunscreen bottles clicking closed, a shuffling of feet close by, occasional outbursts of loud laughter and the heavy splashes of people frolicking in the waves. You open one eye and peer at the middle aged Greek ladies proudly displaying their slight ponches and legs complete with a touch of cellulite. They laugh and recount stories in their own language while sunning themselves. You notice they’re set up for the whole day. Food, and drinks, books and sunscreen – everything a close knit group of friends will need. You know they won’t hit the books, they’ve got too much to talk about. You grin to yourself. You much prefer these real creatures of life and laughter to the gaggle of silent but deadly young things further down who look like they’ve had one too many days in the sun and are much too conscious of looking the part of the beach-goer. Give it a rest girls, this ain’t LA you think.

The best part of the afternoon ticks by as you doze, and talk and imagine and sigh. The water feels like a silky awakening and you are christened by a new feeling of contentment. Hallelujah! And under you go again.

By the time you both pack away the makeshift picnic the beach dwellers have tripled. The sand is a patchwork of gaudy tends and Pisa tilted umbrellas. Making your way back to the car is always a challenge with your head weighted with daydreams as it is today. You smell a little bit like cocoa butter and sunscreen, ice-cream and sand all mixed together with a pinch of salt. It’s a nice smell. You smell like summer.

Single meat.

I’m not even going to apologise for watching Oprah, but it IS the holidays folks. I’ve been an Oprah hater for many years, and so of course I watch her when I have the chance. Yes, I am a healthy and well adjusted person! Thanks for asking. Incidentally I’m under the impression that even O has pretty much just given up on the schmultzy TV she’s producing. She’s not even polite to people who have an opposing point of view these days. If Obama doesn’t win that election I think she’ll throw her hat in next time.

Anyway, today on Oprah was a doozy. Basically speaking it was about single women (and how many of us there are – again no distinction made between women who are thinking of marrying their cats and women who are in long term relationships with a man but just not married. Which in my view is a HUGE distinction).

It was yet another typical episode of O: Blonde white chicks wearing Laura Ashley classics giggling hopelessly and taking the prudish high ground while O raises her eyebrows and says “riiiiight”. Black women talking sense and O laughing while falling sideways off her chair. Fun!

The bit that got my attention was when in the context of ‘there are a lot of single women these days’ O says:

Everybody’s waiting for a certain cut of meat and that cut is NOT AVAILABLE!

Oprah

Personally I agree with Oprah (for the first time ever). I don’t just think that only women do this though. Men are picky, picky, picky as hell these days. A lot of them are looking for 11s, or Jessica Alba (but like, thinner cause she’s too fat). Likewise a lot of women are looking for Mr Macho but with secret sensitive side and the fashion sense of Armani meets Ksubi (but cooler). Why do we do this? My take on the matter is that unless you are an exact replica of Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie (WITH their bank balances) then you can’t expect your mate to look like that or be as successful. The rest of us humans are going to have to make do with other humans, don’t you think?

What do you think causes us to be so picky?
Is this new or an age old thing?
Have you ever been told you have unrealistic expectations?
Do you write people off because they don’t immediately meet your criteria?
If so, are you going to stop?
Why?/Why not?

Where the Boys Are

Man #1: Funny thing about women. If you don’t make big a pitch for them they get mad. If you do…they get mad. How can you win?

Man #2: You can’t – they’re not playing for the same stakes.

Where the Boys Are (1960).

I was watching this old 1960s classic about women, men sex and Fort Lauderdale during Spring Break. While the women grapple with whether they should or shouldn’t..go all the way. The men are busy trying to convince them that there’s only one option. After all cats it’s the 1960s, what are we antiquated or something? Get with it!

The problem with all this perfectly outlined by the dialogue above is that men and women in 1960 aren’t playing for the same stakes. The stakes being – virtue, love and marriage versus lust, fun and immediacy. Both wonderful in their own way – just very different. It makes for interesting viewing. The boys are trying to persuade the girls to give it up and the girls are trying to convince the boys to give up something too: their bachelorhood. It seems that they’ll never quite get it together – either the boys need a little convincing or the girls do.

So a lot has changed, right?

Just a few short years later the sexual revolution was in full swing. Girls didn’t have to wait for marriage in order to explore their sexuality anymore. Indeed, women were exploring a lot of things, including being the bread winner as well as cooking that bread and exploring for the first time a decision about the bun in the oven .

One didn’t have to get married anymore to do anything they wanted, but that didn’t mean that people didn’t get married young. It still happened. In fact most women I know from that era DID get married, very very young – this is despite their “options”.

Nowadays girls give it up big time and some even proclaim (and personally I hate this saying) that they can “have sex like a man”. Waiting to get married until after one fulfills their personal dreams is something that happens more often. In fact every single woman I know who has gotten married in the last..oh say 20 years (since I started noticing that people actually got married) has had not only a career but earning on par or beyond their husbands. Yes things have certainly changed since 1960.

You’d think though, that things had changed so much that marriage would have been made redundant. Certainly one doesn’t “need” to get married like one did in the old days. However, marriage is vibrantly alive. The truth of the matter is that people are still running down the isle, one, two even three times isn’t uncommon. Just because we’re breaking up more often hasn’t actually affected the marriage game. Let’s not forget that those who decide not to make it legal are still engaging in married like behaviour – making a home, having children, monogamy – defacto. While the cost of a ring has been spared, in the eyes of the law these people are as good as married, so the point still stands. Marriage is not dead. Far from it.

Has the concept of men being trapped by marriage (by women) changed though? Surely, since remember we don’t *have* to get married anymore but you know what? No, it hasn’t. If men needed to be convinced back in the 60s then they still have to be convinced now.

Has the concept of the fallen woman versus the healthy bachelor changed? Well, yes and no. Men who sleep around are still thought of as playboys which hasn’t changed much since the 60s. Women who sleep around certainly aren’t considered fallen anymore. However, there is a rather nasty stigma attached to women who decide to have frequent sexual liaisons with numerous men – and indeed women who specifically decide not to turn the sex into a relationship.

So things in that regard have changed in some ways but not in all ways.

The stakes you’d think would be evened out. But at the core of it all there’s still that old struggle between wanting to get married versus (and we all know one) – the commitment-phobe. And there’s still the struggle in cultural opinion of the slut versus the bachelor.

It’s been 48 years since the 1960s dawned and in 48 years of enormous social, political and technological change. We have all the earmarks of change happening around us … but when it comes down to the big things what has actually changed? I keep coming up with nothing significant except …underwear. Women’s underwear has definitely changed.