20 From 45: Top Songs of ’93 to ’13

Time for a highly self-indulgent post.

When I listen to the radio, I listen to Triple J, a national music station here in Australia. Not as unrelated to that point as you’d think, I have a great love of lists. Subsequently, every Australia Day (26 January) I am near incapacitated by Triple J’s Hottest 100, an all-day countdown of the best songs of the previous year as voted by the listeners.  Every now and then, Triple J has another countdown in addition to this annual event – Best Australian Albums and Best Songs of All Time come to mind. Recently, they’ve announced yet another great list of music:  Top 20 Songs of the Last 20 Years.

Must select best songs since ’93. Sister Erin is way ahead of me in this, but I sat down tonight and got all nostalgic with iTunes, downloaded a favourite song that for some reason wasn’t already in my library, and managed to compile this list. Many of these songs hail from defining points in my life, some are guilty pleasures, still more were pivotal in inspiring characters and events in my stories. I maintain my first novel wouldn’t even have been written without one of the songs on this list.  Unfortunately, I’m only allowed 20.  I currently have 45.  Partway through the culling process and thought I’d share how it’s going.

Hope you look up a few songs that you don’t know. A lot can be learned about a person by their music choices, I believe. Learn, if you wish, from this list. Let me know what you think

This is going to be a long blog below …

Key:  Bold - definite;  Italics – culled

Soho Square – Kirsty MacColl (1993)

Distant Sun – Crowded House (1993)

Video – Ben Folds Five (1995)

Morning Glory – Oasis (1995)

Your Ship Has Gone – My Friend the Chocolate Cake (1996)

The Song Formerly Known As – Regurgitator (1997)

No Aphrodisiac – The Whitlams (1997)

The Impression That I Get – The Mighty Mighty Bostones (1997)

Cigarettes Will Kill You – Ben Lee (1997)

Waltz #2 – Elliott Smith (1998)

Shimmer – Fuel (1998)

Larger Than Life – Backstreet Boys (1999)

Learn to Fly – Foo Fighters (1999)

Hey Boy, Hey Girl – The Chemical Brothers (1999)

Freestyler – Bomfunk MCs (1999)

Gravity – The Superjesus (2000)

Yellow – Coldplay (2000)

Harder Better Faster Stronger – Daft Punk (2001)

Weapon of Choice – Fatboy Slim (2001)

Monsters – Something For Kate (2001)

(Baby, I’ve Got You) On My Mind – Powderfinger (2003)

Scar – Missy Higgins (2004)

Zebra – The John Butler Trio (2004)

Godhopping – Dogs Die in Hot Cars (2004)

Apple of the Eye (Lay Me Down) – Something With Numbers (2006)

Come And Check Your Head – Blue King Brown (2006)

Hearts A Mess – Gotye (2006)

The Beast – Angus and Julia Stone (2007)

Don’t Fight It – The Panics (2007)

Embrace – Pnau (2007)

Farewell Rocketship – Children Collide (2008)

Burn Bridges – The Grates (2008)

Dawn Of The Dead – Does It Offend You, Yeah? (2008)

Rabbit Heart – Florence + the Machine (2009)

Come On Come On – Little Birdy (2009)

Fireflies – Owl City (2009)

The Rake’s Song – The Decemberists (2009)

Tongues In Cheek – Sugar Army (2009)

Mace Spray – The Jezabels (2010)

Watercolour – Pendulum (2010)

Mowgli’s Road – Marina and the Diamonds (2010)

M.O.A.B. – Project 46 (2011)

Varuo – Sigur Ros (2012)

Little Talks – Of Monsters and Men (2012)

Paddling Out – Miike Snow (2012)

AMENDMENT!!!!! ACTUALLY 46 SONGS!!!!!

Take Me Out – Franz Ferdinand (2004)

S.P.M.A.: Architecture, Mountaineering, or Sewage?

Wanted to post a post I’ve had on ice since the middle of last year, but it involves an audio file and I am currently too stingy to fork over the twenty dollars a year to be able to upload audio files on WordPress.  I may start a YouTube channel to get around it, but tonight was meant to be a no thinking night, so that will not happen right now.  So, after dumping out all the water, that post is going back on ice and I am posting something that requires minimal thinking and/or creativity.  Remember, have a guess before googling.

And now, let’s play Balderdash …

Category:  Acronyms

S.P.M.A.

a) Society for the Protection of Medieval Architecture

b) Scottish Pre-teens’ Mountaineering Association

c) Sewage Plant Manufacturer’s Association

To Read in One’s Own Words

Late nights singing, overtime and and a weekend away at choir camp all aligned at the end of the week and kept me away from the computer longer than I’d like. Not much to report save a small personal achievement: for my review (sort of like a talent/variety show, if anyone requires an explanation) item at camp, I read the first scene from Under the Bright Water aloud. I thought it fit the evening’s costume theme – book characters. Thought about dressing as one of my own characters, but decided that might be a little pretentious.

 

Twas a touch nerve-wracking, reading my own work. I know I’ve already published it, but still. It’s a little different, sharing it that way. More personal. I chose Under the Bright Water as it’s still the piece of writing I’m most satisfied with overall. I received several good comments about my style and quite a few said they were going to read the rest and would look into reading the rest of the series, which makes me happy.

 

I’ve really got to get a move on with the fourth story in Treading Twisted Lines and keep the series moving along. Number four’s been eluding me for far too long.

Account for Every Grain

And now, a randomly generated scene …

Nouns:  salt, decision, cause, earth, number, minute, sea

Adjectives:  roasted, vigorous, boiling, colourful, obsequious

Verbs:  upgrade, bargain, foster

Adverb:  brutally

*

The teacher found the boy kneeling on a colourful towel with a handful of sand. What had begun as vigorous counting, every number uttered in anticipation of the next, had dwindled to a monotonous drone of ever-increasing figures as the day squirmed on. Now early evening, his skin was roasted black.

‘You could count minutes instead of sand,’ the teacher suggested, sitting carefully beside him. She didn’t wish to knock a single grain from his palm. Keen as she was to foster development in her student, to ease him from his consuming fixations towards true, deserved childhood, she knew that would upset him terribly. ‘That way you’d have time to play in between each number.’

‘I’m on the beach. I have to count sand.’

The reply was matter-of-fact, disquietingly so. What on earth was the cause of this malady? What had emblazoned numbers in the boy’s mind to the exclusion of all else, trapping him, even as the names and insults brutally hurled his way progressed to cruel shoves and blows?

‘Doesn’t that look like fun?’

The teacher indicated the other students. Most frolicked in the shallows. Those more confident in the sea had upgraded to swimming, and stroked happily. A small group up to their knees in water kicked a rubber ball between them with noisy splashes, white sprays of foam flying up beneath their feet.

‘If you go and play for five minutes, I’ll mind your sand for you,’ she tried to bargain, offering her hand.

The boy lifted his eyes to his classmates and the early stages of sunset, backdrop to their play. He studied them, eyelashes showering salt as he blinked. The crystals had embedded in the soft curls over the hours, carried by waves and the breeze. Momentarily he was absorbed, but having counted every child and gull that winged overhead, he soon returned to his sand, prodding granules across his palm with utmost care.

‘I’m counting.’

‘You could make the decision to stop,’ she told the poor boy.

He glanced up again, this time at her. A moment ago an obsequious slave, now he appeared uncertain.

‘No, I can’t.  I have to count.’

He waggled his hand, indicating the tens of thousands of grains. He wouldn’t feel settled until every one was safely accounted for.

‘I have to. Don’t I?’

‘You don’t,’ she replied, boiling with resolve to see him freed. ‘You can stop. You may feel like you can’t, and it may be hard. But if you want to, you can.’

The boy’s eyes. She had never seen them so alight. But then, his head dipped, her heart alongside.

‘Maybe later. I have to finish here, first.’

Rant Mullens: Musket Man, Mountain Man, or Unitarian Man?

Random new fantasy short concept came upon me while watching Great British Bake-off.  Two words for you:  bone marrow.

Time for another round of Balderdash.  Make sure to have a guess before googling the answer

And now, let’s play Balderdash …

Category:  People

Rant Mullens

a) A confederate musket man turned double-agent who was captured and executed by his general uncle weeks before the end of the Civil War.

b) 86 year-old mountain man who whittled large wooden feet so he could scare people with his “big foot” prints.

c) A 1970s unitarian televangelist 

Five Haikus in Five Minutes

Broken nails dig in

Fingers entwine in frayed skin

Forever, hold on

*

So this is true pow’r

Light, sight, and sound array now

All under my feet

*

Don’t discount the young

The wide eyes of innocence

May just teach the most

*

Wisdom of the owl

Peace beyond the butterfly

The deep wants of man

*

Flies serenading

Then the sound of wings do freeze

Stagnant thoughts erupt

Mathematics in the Elements

A picture in 100 words:

Taken 9 July 2006 out a car window while driving over a bridge somewhere between Sydney and Brisbane

Heaven was in the water while  river in turn claimed sky. Symmetry flanked the blackness of sun-stripped hills, and my eyes were irrevocably captured. Mathematics knows no boundaries. It was in the air and water and the earth that divides, alive in the elements and the cloud that streaked ever outward, an explosion of soft violet.

The blemish I now plainly see, a stark failure of light and technology captured upon this moment, took years to pierce my awareness.

‘How can you not have seen?’ Jude asked in disbelief.

I ignored the scepticism.  No human error could ruin this magic.

 

Hodmandod: Mating Ritual, Instrument, or Snail?

Been doing lots of reading. Getting a little annoyed with some somewhat sub-standard editing that caused me to give a book that I otherwise enjoyed  3/5 instead of 4/5. The second book in the series, which I finished today, was about to get the same treatment, but it achieved 4/5 despite these shortcomings because I don’t remember the last time I’ve gotten quite so emotionally involved, upset and angry – mainly angry – over a story.  Tricking, lying, abuse, and pure evil are bad. Not that I was ever unsure of that. But … wow. Had me feeling sick, hot and nearly shaking …

A new round of Balderdash below – have fun navigating my nonsense.  Remember, no googling until you’ve had a guess which option is correct.

And now, let’s play Balderdash …

Category:  Words

Hodmandod

a) The name given to the mating ritual of the North African Red Scorpion involving a scuttling dance from the males that expresses sexual availability, females stalking the males as prey, and, once caught and the mating ritual is complete, concludes with the female slowly devouring the male, thus providing her main source of food until she gives birth to her live young.

b) A seven-stringed instrument similar to the sitar

c) A snail that has retreated into its shell

Chip Defeat

Got home at around quarter to three this morning. Had a midnight Anzac Day service to sing at in the city, then did the Pancake Manor with all the lovely choir peoples. At least it’s a public holiday – slept to around ten, then had a two-hour nap in the afternoon.  Not exactly helpful in carrying out my wishful plans of spending the day editing.

Back to the Pancake Manor. Ordered a bit less than I normally do – short stack of buttermilk pancakes, basket of chips, and a glass of coke. Twenty dollars for that.  Bit painful, I think.  More painful, though, is that the basket of chips (by chips, I do mean the hot potato french fries-y ones, not potato chips in a packet) defeated me. Suppose it’s a good thing that I can’t eat as much as I used to. But I hate wasting food, particularly chips. Chips are … I have a certain liking for chips.

Used to have a fantasy thought of travelling as a chip connoisseur and writing a book entailing chips around the world – all the shapes, seasonings, and the best cafes and restaurants that serve them.  We’ve already located the best chips in Australia – at least, of all the places we’ve been in Australia.  If you’re ever at the Flinders Chase National Park Visitors Centre on Kangaroo Island, order the chips.  Not McDonald’s skinny, not KFC thick, cooked in sunflower oil (I’m pretty sure that’s what it was) with the most amazing herb seasoning.  We had to order a second basket the moment the first was empty.  Don’t know if they’re still served there, though – this was quite a few years ago.

The chips aren’t too bad closer to home, either. The Pancake Manor, of course, has wonderful chips, hence my reluctance to admit defeat this morning. Another good place for chips is Wordsmiths Cafe at the University of Queensland. When I was eating them more regularly as a uni student, it was a small gamble to order these – one I always took – as sometimes they just didn’t arrive at your table right: oily aioli, lukewarm, or heavily under-spiced. But when they were cooked right – which was more often than not – they’re just brilliant.

Wordies chips are ingrained in my mind as part of a normal uni experience, so much so that they appear in my first novel.  I bestowed student Eva with one of my uni habits – often if I felt anxious about an assignment or an exam, I would go and order a massive bowl of Wordies chips and devour them, all alone at a little round sandstone table.  She does just that in chapter eight – I think it’s eight – only that time, it’s not uni that’s got her feeling a bit tense.

Can’t think of any other moment in my writings when chips get to shine. And I do so love writing descriptions of food.  Maybe I could pop a chips-in-a-paper-cone shop on the Fourth Crossroads in Pulp Runner. They could work in Missing Exhibit, as well – the world is based roughly on late 19th century England/Ireland/Scotland/Wales, so there would be chips around about somewhere.

Probably not important to include chips in writing. Might even be a bit silly. But they work with Eva.

And I do like chips …

March 1 1978: Famous for Chaplin’s Coffin, Volunteer Release, or Rabbit Plagues?

Couldn’t get in the right frame of mind for writing Treading Twisted Lines over the weekend, so I started editing my first novel again, instead.  That should keep me busy in the evenings for the next few weeks.  Or months.

Have a guess which option is true. Remember, no googling until you have a go.

*

And now, let’s play Balderdash …

Category:  Dates

1 March 1978

a) Charlie Chaplin’s coffin was stolen in Switzerland

b) Two British volunteers kidnapped in Vietnam were released after five years of imprisonment

c) New Zealand’s rabbit infestation officially reached plague status.