Zesty Mumma's Words

A life lived without passion is a life half lived

Archive for the category “Friday Night Music Festival”

The Thin White Duke and the Changes He Made

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I posted this piece 1 year ago in tribute to an amazing artist.

Flawless skin, the perfect peaches and cream complexion and  eyes that peer sky ward, thoughtfully transfixed on the unseen, a hand gently brushes back flaxen hair. The misty film that covers the entire image helps manifest the far away feeling it tries to evoke.

 

Is this a work by a famous painter featuring a beautiful model you might ask? No it is in fact the cover art for “Hunky Dory”, David Bowie’s 4th album. Bowie himself was the subject of this picture. A work so significant in the world of music that it was voted by Time Magazine in 2006 as one of the top 100 of all time. First published in 1971 it was and remains an innovative and original collection of songs.

 

Recorded at the height of his thin white duke era, it is stylish and artistic but most of all energetic and engaging. A precursor to the glamrock style that invaded the British music scene in the early 70’s and eventually the rest of the world. It rises and falls in perfect precision, asking questions he has no answers for and describes in imagery the confusion that abounded in that post flower power time.

I discovered this album much later than it’s release date at a time when I was both the happiest and eventually the saddest I have ever felt. I am inevitably transported by this song in particular to a momentous time.  Whenever I am faced with big changes in my life I always find a place for it. So that is why I have chosen this album and in particular this song as my friday night music festival offering of this week.  For any of you who have never heard it the link at the bottom of the verse I have included takes you to a you tube post of the song.

Looking forward to paradise

ENJOY !

 

I still don’t know what I was waiting for

And my time was running wild

A million dead-end streets

and every time I thought I’d got it made

It seemed the taste was not so sweet

So I turned myself to face me

But I’ve never caught a glimpse

Of how the others must see the faker

I’m much too fast to take that test

Ch – ch – ch – changes

David Bowie – Changes

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Friday Night Music Festivals – Take it Away Mr. Neil Young.

“Heart of Gold”, what does that mean to you? Probably not a lot if you are under thirty five, but for me it was like a revelation. I have heard people speak about how they felt when they first heard the Beetles. Well I have never had that reverential feeling about them. Don’t get me wrong I definitely recognise the incredible talent that is John Lennon and co, maybe I was just too young.

Which brings me back to Mr Young, Neil Young, the master songwriter. I can still remember the first time I heard that song. I was walking down the corridor at my school on my way to lunch. It was as if the pied piper had called me. I had no will, I had to follow the siren song and find out who was singing. The awe I felt at that moment has never subsided.

I love music, I am eclectic and love finding new Indie artists but Mr Young still does it for me. At the moment I am listening to Harvest, it is Friday night and the CD is cranking. I do this same thing a few times every year for the past thirty years, I call it my Neil Young Friday Night Festival.

Good music speaks to your heart, it doesn’t matter if you feel the same way about the Smashing Pumpkins or maybe you remember the first time you heard Pearl Jam, your heart is involved and it is a beautiful thing. Suddenly you have a sound track to your life and it won’t matter what point you are in your life, you will always have that. It will help you soar and it will cradle you when you are sad.

As I finish this first little post the Friday Night Music Festival is winding up. – Take it Away Mr. Neil Young

The guitar solo in” Words (between the lines of age”  has just reached a crescendo so I feel it is appropriate I finish here and return to my listening. Enjoy your Friday night, where ever in the world you are. Whether you have returned home from a long hard day at work. Or you have finally gotten the kids to sleep after an equally punishing day. Relax, crank up the music and let the sound track of your life take you away to another place, if ever so briefly, it can do you the world of good.

Byron Hippies, Wrinkled Rockers and Rabid Hampsters

 

The huge amber globe that is the easter full moon hung with regal prescence as my car approached the Byron Bay turn off, its radiant glow illuminating the gateway to Hippie Kingdom. In spite of the fact that my old Astra was sounding exactly like a road train since the exhaust pipe fell off a few days before, it was Bluesfest time again and life was good.

The new Bluesfest home at Tyagrah was easy to find and access two days later. My friend and fellow “festy”Marg was just as excited as me. We exchanged our tickets for wrist bands and chirped our way towards music Nirvana. The afternoon sped by with amazing artists and never to be repeated performances. Like Steve Kilby from the church singing “Under The Milky Way and the last ever concert by Leonardo’s Bride”. We made no attempt to get into see Ben Harper, it would have been a miracle, so we opted for a cuppa.

 Rodriquez time was fast approaching and the end of Ben Harpers performance chimed, only 2 hours to go. We entered the tent as his last song finish and the crowd, which by this time had been jammed together like sardines for about ninety minutes, turned around and walked out. It was amazing and we took the opportunity to find a position centre stage third row. There was nothing on this earth that could make me move. Whatever torture I would have to endure for the next two hours till Rodriguez walked out on that stage would be worth it. I just didn’t realise that it would infact be torture.

 There were thousands like me, fifty plus and determined to see our teenage memories bought to life. Joan Armitrading was amazing but she wasn’t Rodriguez. Age did not weary them, nor the heat, the lack of water or the cramped conditions. But for me personally the Y Gen almost suceeded where nothing else could.

 While the stage was being cleared at the end of Joans performance, a tall blonde American boy came and stood behind me and his girlfriend locked in her position next to me. The fact they were smashed wasn’t immediately obvious. His attempt to pour vodka from a snap lock sandwich bags into a can of lemonade causing me to be showered exposed his innebreated state.

 At the same time the girlfriend, who was five foot nothing and as equally hammered, entered into an argument with another festival goer, who had tried to push her way to the front. Not cool I know, but lets face it, who hasn’t done that. The trouble was that I had a raging headache, I think I had a hot flush and my feet were going numb. Her shrill voice went on and on and on. The other woman was speaking in a whisper but I don’t think the young girl had ever heard of such a thing. She ranted and raved about her great dream of seeing Rodriguez. I know that I should have stayed out of it, but the previously mentioned symtoms made that impossible. I leant slightly sideways and said, “ Would you just calm down (or something like that). I should have known that nothing would shut her up and it didn’t. I know the other lady was extremely grateful cause she now focused her total attention on me. I have to tell you I really did attempt to ignore her. However, as Rodriguez was about to enter the stage after a rain delayed start, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I again turned sideways and said.

Would you just shut up, you sound like a rabid hampster and your voice is like a buzz saw in my brain”, using hand signal for emphasis.

 I then turned to the front before she knew what had happened. It did stop her in her tracks but only for about a minute. She then spent the next hour screaming and singing at the top of her lungs, doing everything she could think of to goad me into retalliating.

 She mentioned her screechy voice a couple of time over the next hour so she definitely remembered what I had said. It’s funny how actions speak louder than words. She spouted before the concert began that it was her dream to see Rodriguez, but then spend the next hour trying to ruin it.

 What she never realised was that I am a mum and I learnt along time ago to block out children who were screaming for my attention. My perception of what tomorrow would bring for that young woman consoled me when her behaviour threatened to ruin my day. There was no doubt in my mind that she would have lost her voice when she woke, this fact I am sure her boyfriend would have been really grateful for. Secondly, the pain in her head would be so unbarable, I doubt that any meds but the strongest would have helped.

And lastly but by no means least, she will never, never, never forget that she is a rabid hampster with a voice like a buzz saw.

 I say take note Gen Y, don’t mess with a Zesty, late baby boomer mumma, who can eventually regain composure and has an exceptional vocabulary. Rock on

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