onstage tonight

Remiss of me, I know, but I haven’t blogged advance notice of tonight’s gig at the Supper Club, upstairs on Taylor Square, Oxford St. It’s a chic little bar hosting a night put together by A Velvet Affair – a mixed bill of burlesque and cabaret. Expect a number of scantily-clad lovelies half my age, a gentleman who rejoices in the moniker Tall Paul, and yours truly, singing Julia Lee and Nina Simone classics and climbing over the tables.

It starts ridiculously early at 7pm – don’t be late.

five songs tonight, glebe excelsior

Tonight, a little gig for the diehard fans and a random night’s crowd… 5 songs from the yet-to-be-recorded album Eug and I wrote – brilliant songs which (except for The Race) rarely see the light of day. All that’s about to change, as guitarist Andy Vegas and I rebuild them into something I can perform, eventually with a full band – but tonight is the gentle first showing of just what we’ve had time to put together since we met a couple of weeks ago. Glebe Excelsior, 8.45pm. Come and have a drink with us.

loveday at peats ridge 09

And so, a New Year, and we’re ringin’ in the changes. At midnight I was standing backstage at the Trash Temple, Peats Ridge Festival – kissing a few friends and a stranger or two before heading onstage for the dramatically ritualised lopping-off of my dreadlocks. P performed this with due ceremony and a certain brutal panache, severing each dread at the scalp with a Leatherman knife. The crowd responded with appropriate cries and groans. The $2 confetti bomb refused to explode until a drugged-up punter, sweating cobs and wearing an expression of determined joy, grabbed it as we threw it down in disgust, and beat it into submission, whereupon it yielded up its contents all over the floor. (Lesson #1: don’t orchestrate a climax with cheap fireworks without buying several and testing their workings beforehand.)

My gigs would have been even more of a fizzer than the confetti bomb, if not for some careful diplomacy (an art I’m learning rather slowly and now and then painfully) and the sheer force of my own will. There was some kind of miscommunication between the man running the stage I was supposed to be on and the man who organised with him for my appearance there, such that it turned out nothing had been formalised and I didn’t actually have a slot on the program. From three gigs over three nights, I was down to potentially none, but although they couldn’t shift the program for the first night, they had no trouble fitting me in the other two. So I took the first night off, which I was in fact glad of, because I’d arrived at Peats Ridge rather frayed and really needed another day before getting up in front of a crowd with a new arrangement of the (Sofarama) set.

But the gig on the 30th was a blast, and went down a treat. The stage – the teen activities area by day became the Renegade stage after hours, hosting cabaret and performance art – was very conducive, a low covered platform with good lighting and a smoke machine, and an enclosed and camouflage-netted audience space in front of it, so I could prowl and lounge and dance and flirt to my heart’s content. The number of people in the space varied from a dozen or so up to maybe 40 or 50 at one point, including those who clustered round the entrance but elected not to come in where they might be accosted by an alarming individual empowered with a microphone while wearing nothing but a top hat, a sequined g-string and a lot of bodypaint. Pussies.

But after that there was more drama. I was done by 9.30, but sometime after midnight when that same stage had been turned into a quiet little arthouse cinema, management got a nutty bee in its bonnet and tried to close them down (despite the Chai Temple pumping much louder next door). Reasoning with the offending executive produced only anger, and negotiation turned to aggravated dispute, and before you could say ‘bullshit power trip’ the following night’s festivities had been curtailed by a 10.30pm shutdown – on New Year’s Eve. Mean-spirited and vindictive, I thought, especially since it meant that several performers would now not fit on the program at all, and would lose their opportunity to perform through no fault of their own. Having already done one show, I could hardly claim priority, but I figured I could find another stage to perform on. Which I did.

So on New Year’s Eve around 9pm, I did the show from an open-sided caravan called Lolo, a gorgeous little retro lounge space with rows of padded sacks on the grass for audience seating, and completely open to the passing trade, much of which I collected as I went. At one point I guess there were a dozen people sprawled on the sacks and maybe another 50 standing around behind. Again, I noticed that if I went out among them, some would leave immediately – Lesson #2: the people who put themselves at your mercy on the front seats are fair game; those who stand back only want to watch others being teased, grabbed, climbed over, etc – come too near and they often flee altogether. This particular space was essentially for glorified busking, with a largely transient audience – not ideal but not too bad, considering they’d managed to give me a gig on NYE with about two hours’ notice, and I’m essentially just trying to attract as much attention as possible. Which I duly did.

(Lesson #3: what’s the point of repeating ‘I am Loveday!’ to a passing crowd if your web presence isn’t in proper order? Better than not performing at all, sure, but a website and some decent recordings are priorities for the first half of this year.)

After the gig I packed up and took everything back to camp, wondering what to do about the midnight hair ritual, which had been planned with a different supporting cast on the Renegade stage, which would now be dark. I was camped in one of the finer enclaves, with the people that got me the gig. My Kombi’s awning fronted onto a marquee under a pirate flag by day, and a light display that rivalled an all-night kebab stop by night. These people are professionals, old hands at festival tech and catering, travelling and camping in fine style with three children under seven. (Quote of the festival goes to the elegant English mother: “Even on mornings when I feel like a beer, I always drink a pint of coffee first, to line the stomach.”) They went in early, chose their favourite camping spot and kept a base in the festival area itself with friends from Melbourne, who were sleeping in their converted fire truck beside a huge swinging cocoon made of wire and alpaca wool. But my friends had other friends with other sideshows and stages, and apparently the Trash Temple was the perfect spot for dreadlock amputation. Marty G, Wokka, Vashti and company welcomed us, and the deed was done.

I admit, I didn’t see much of the festival itself. I arrived physically 24 hours later than I intended and mentally about 48 hours later. I was lucky I didn’t have a show to do that first night, because I was scrambling to recover from the night before, or rather the 24 hours before, which had included a rather fraught and taxing emotional journey (hell, let’s say it was a trip – my own ridiculous little derailing roller-coaster) and a fair bit of equally taxing fun – well-intentioned but not altogether successful distraction. So I arrived late and shredded, for this gig that meant so much to me – worrying myself, which isn’t good. But the inevitable Peats Ridge cock-up worked in my favour, and I gained a day’s preparation. Cock-up #1, that is – cock-up #2 worked against me. When the Renegade stage was closed down I spent most of the last afternoon of 2009 trying to organise an alternative venue – but I guess I can chalk that one up to the positive, in the end. Still, altogether, between my emotional state, the gigs, the complications, and the grievously painful condition of my hip, I was left with little time or energy for exploring the shops, sampling the food or catching other acts. When I wasn’t preparing for or doing a gig, I needed the sanctuary of camp, and the cheerful bustle of loved friends.

Thanks to Bruce, Gill, P, Herbie and Dorian, and especially to Jess Watson Miller, who created two gorgeous and completely different body art designs, the second under very tight time constraints, out of the brilliance of her imagination and the goodness of her heart. And thanks also to the three Mitchell Minxes, for being so much fun. A head cold is a small price to pay for the many pleasures of their exuberant company.

she do da mash/she do da monster mash

I am singing this weekend in front of a festival-size crowd for the first time. I’m in the chill zone at Monster Mash – a 45 minute set ending with a strip to tiny shorts and halter, more-or-less ironic self-flagellation with blood-soaked cat, and a bit of stagediving… leading up to the finale in fuck-off big boots and khaki chocolate-soldier jacket.

Should be a hoot ;)

the Original Cynics emerge (more or less) fully formed

So, it happened last night, in front of a small, eccentrically-dressed crowd, upstairs at the Friend In Hand. It was a private party, Vee Malnar‘s birthday bash – an annual event on the boho calendar, at which she and all her crazy friends (yours truly included) get on the mic and/or their instruments for a few numbers. I know Vee through Justin, who plays in her band.

So we did our four numbers, and I think I can modestly say we were the buzz of the night (woohoo!), and somewhere in the middle I introduced the duo of myself and Justin as two of the Original Cynics, a loose collective of artists across many fields who together believe in, well, very little other than the importance of certain freedoms. “My name is Jaqi Loveday Pascoe and this is Mr Justin Credible…”

Thing is, I didn’t actually consult with any of my various collaborators before naming them as a collective. Hope they all still want to collaborate. Hope they like their name.

The original Cynics were a philosophical movement in ancient Greece, lasting from about the time of Socrates right into the 5th century CE and influencing the early Christians. Around 350BCE they were led by Crates of Thebes, and soon also by his wife, Hipparchia of Maroneia. (Yes, I’ve blogged about them before, when announcing the renaming of my Kombi.) These were seriously cool people, with grandly sensible beliefs. Look ‘em up in Wikipedia via the links above. And then let me know below if you are happy to consider yourself – or would like to be considered – One of Us. Bear in mind, of course, that we aren’t simply blind followers of an archaic philosophical dictum: I chose the name because a) I like the confusion of meanings around the term ‘cynic’, b) I love the pun on original sin, a primitive and dangerous doctrine that should be subverted whenever possible, and c) I share with the Cynics (and, I think, most of my friends) scepticism, honesty, a contempt for wealth and its wilful ignorances, and a good Greek respect for rational inquiry. And, it was said, “they make a cult of shamelessness, not as being beneath modesty, but as superior to it…”

post gig post

After a small but highly satisfactory opening (as they say), we are tweakin’. Following the brilliant suggestion of one of our chat participants, the absence of a confirmed special guest next week shall be resolved as now listed in the entry below. And following the equally inspired judgment of my broadly esteemed guitarist Eug, the chat will come first.

Those who really want to say something and refrain until the very end of the night will be roundly chastised.

ZenSiren and Friends at the Hotel Hollywood Wednesdays thru November

Dear friends

I\’m delighted to announce a residency at the Hotel Hollywood starting this Wednesday and running every Wednesday in November. The first one is hot, so I do hope you can make it. We\’ll have special guests both musical and discursive – open conversations will be held on several of the twistiest topics of the moment. Some of the guests confirmed at this point are listed below. Other details are still being finalised; as they come to hand I\’ll put them up here.

PLEASE NOTE TIMETABLE CHANGES SINCE ORIGINAL PUBLICATION!

Musically, Eug and I will for the first time play our full current repertoire, launching a couple of gorgeous new songs you may not have heard (and you know they just keep getting bigger). I\’ll also be joined onstage for short interludes by some of my other favourite musical collaborators, including Aria-award-winning Justin Brandis and scintillating piano-boy Phil \”it\’s a verb\” Roberts. There\’ll be moments of madness, the sound of magic, a dash of glamour, plenty of food for thought, and a rockin\’ good time for all.

As of week 2 the talk starts 8pm, followed at about 9 by an hour or so of lusciously apocalyptic music.

Oh, and it\’s free :)

1 Nov – Girlie Night: what is a woman?
*Margaret Mayhew is an activist, performer and academic currently doing a PhD in gender studies at Sydney Uni. She\’s heaps of fun.
*Joanna Nichol is the Inclusion Officer for Sydney City Council. She suspended a PhD on disability issues at Oxford to take the job, and keeps threatening to go back.
*Harry Stevens transitioned to womanhood in his early sixties, changing his name to Kate and living as a woman for three years. He has recently transitioned back to manhood and looks back on the whole process as a journey.

8 Nov – Open Mike Gripe Night: what\’s your most pressing issue?
Got a gripe, a favourite rant or a lyrical lament you wanna let loose? Tonight\’s the night; saddle up and let fly, or come and watch the fun. Featuring performance poets and, I suspect, the really mad.

15 Nov – Good Faith Night: better ways
Greens Senator Kerry Nettle is an activist and a parliamentarian in one extraordinary package. Our conversation is likely to range from what makes the Greens different to how to keep the faith in dark times and how to make change happen around you.

22 Nov – Power Night: harm minimisation
Clare Pascoe is one of Australia\’s most distinguished clergy abuse activists, working to change church procedures in response to abuse claims and observing the phenomenon across different faiths and denominations to draw some fascinating conclusions about people, culture, context, faith and power.

29 Nov – Media Night: the new media ownership laws.
Trevor Davies, editor of the South Sydney Herald and longtime activist, Labor stalwart and South Sydney shitstirrer, will talk to us about the new cross media ownership laws, the changes to our information landscape they are likely to cause, and what to do about it.

siren singing tomorrow

don’t smoke in bed

Originally uploaded by Illuminata.

It’s rather slack of me not to have mentioned here (though I did send out some text messages) that Eugene and I have a gig tomorrow

Sunday afternoon, 5pm
at the Surry Hills Excelsior
64 Foveaux St
with two other excellent acts, both sassy lyrics-based guitar post-rock like us
Itu and Luke Escombe.
Entry is free.

We’re on first, so come for an afternoon beer and eight or nine of our most beautiful songs.

Okay, the wrap-up

goddess_p039

Originally uploaded by Martinism.

The second Goddess Project night sold out. The damn stoner video guy didn’t make it (he shot the first night, which was somewhat rawer and to an intimate audience) but there were several cameras in the packed second-night crowd and some of the results have cornered a couple of tags on Flickr. Look here and if only 12 show up (glitch, i think) then look here as well. Financially, we (ahem) pretty much broke even. Another night would’ve been good, but that’s what we tried for originally, and the next week was already booked. Sound quality of the video, meh. But we’ve got documentation and it’ll serve up some good clips and stills.

Then, as you all no doubt saw in yer inboxes, there was the Vic on the Park open mic night, a festive occasion in the hands of the redoubtable Mike Cook. Our two nights – the two Tuesdays after the two Wednesdays of TGP, if you follow – were the Christmas party and the last open mic night for the year, so they were both rockin’. Have a look here at Redeeming Features for our first (to my knowledge, at least) online review.

And so, with modelling work tailing off in a week or so, Drew preparing for a weekend elsewhere (oh, lord, I’m so indiscreet), and Eug holding an entirely justifiable but not always easy distance, I’m off to a nunnery for a couple of weeks. Just kidding. Let’s see, I’m halfway thru 4 loads of washing, I’ve tidied the dressing room (whew), and I’m planning a scarily comprehensive new filing system. I promised myself I’d never blog about housework, but this is psychic overhaul. Now begins the time of the December/January projects – breaking the back, so to speak, of Voting For Democracy, creating the ZenSiren website with Drew, mastering the VotP live recording with Phil Snow and Eug, and by February somewhere releasing the demo EP at the website launch.

Plus I need to swim most days, stretch every day, and keep singing. Hell, I’ve gotta start thinking about Christmas. Damn, I haven’t got time for lovers.

Guess I’ll make it how I can. ;)

(Hot shot, by the way, Martinism…*smirk*)

ZenSiren thanks Devi

ZenSiren

Originally uploaded by Illuminata.

The Goddess was watching over us last night… Alina was gorgeous; that smoky seductive voice with its undertones of innocence sailed thru the set; the red dress glowed and so did she. Mel was in incomparable voice; my god(dess) that woman can sing. And Sleepy Cherry’s songs are glorious.
And yours truly didn’t disgrace herself either. People seemed charmed by the monologues and moved by the songs; all the onstage costume changes worked and I remembered my lines.

Now we just need enough stamps on wrists to break even…