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Posts Tagged ‘rrr’

Never one to trouble himself with being up to date, on the ball, fingering pulses or any such thing, Bruce has fallen in love several aeons after the fact. Driving through town listening to the RRR signupathon yesterday, patiently waiting for the presenters to shut up and play some tunes, he was rewarded with a truly sublime track – a remix of Noiseworks “classic”* Reach Out (Touch Someone) by RRR presenter Faux Pas. Some follow up enquiries were in order and now Bruce awaits with baited breath the announcement of a live show or two.

Until then…

* Yes, those are fingers in the air speech marks

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Ahhhh… RRR

Early Saturday morning rise to deposit visiting Scottish cousin at airport.

Turn on the car stereo: Neil Young’s Natural Beauty in all its glorious ten minutes – the track Bruce listened to most while travelling nigh on a decade ago; the perfect accompaniment to the train ride from Kandy to Newara Eliya as every corner revealed a fresh stunning vista over the tea plantations and equally successful at blocking out the sound of the hordes gathered atop Ubirr at sunset several weeks earlier.

By the time the cousin had been deposited the station had switched to Motown and a run through Superstition, Papa Was A Rolling Stone, Standing In The Shadows Of Love, Let’s Get It On and Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours).

God bless ya, RRR. You made it worth getting out of bed before 7am on a Saturday.

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Australia's frontline against reason and understanding

Australia's frontline against reason and understanding

For the first few weeks in their new home, Bruce and Fran have existed without a television. While a minor cause of irritation to Fran, for Bruce it has been positively liberating.

Despite the benefits the standard of television in Oz has for its sporting successes, it remains the work of Satan. Is it any wonder reports are out claiming that one in ten Aussies are racist when there is room in the schedules for both Border Patrol and Border Security?

Bruce has done his best to avoid these programmes, but from the few minutes that have seeped into his consciousness before the remote was located / TV was thrown through a window, both seem to follow this pattern:

Guard 1: “Look out, guys. Here comes someone with slitty eyes / brown skin / unusual clothing / a slight sweat on.” *

Guard 2: “I hear you, mate. Let’s get the fucker.”

Cue scuffle with bewildered tourist / foreign student / permanent resident.*

Guard 1: “You’re not from round here, are you boy?”

Guard 2: “We don’t want your type here, you know.”

All checks show paperwork and visas to be correct and in place. Visitor is by now in tears in a separate interview room.

Guard 1: “Shit. Looks like this one’s OK too. What are we gonna do?”

Guard 2: “Bugger. We can’t even chuck ’em in those detention centres anymore.”

Guard 1: “Why the fuck didn’t we vote for Howard again? Shit!”

(* Delete as appropriate)

400 pounds of soul

400 pounds of soul

So, it is a great relief to Bruce and Fran that much of the radio in Australia (well, Melbourne at least) is marvellous. Living outside the major metropolises of the UK, they didn’t have easy access to alternative programming so were stuck with a choice between the BBC’s mainstream offerings, the horrors of commercial radio (Satan’s little side project when he gets bored of TV) or the knitting and village fetes on offer on the BBC’s regional stations.

Here, however, even the Radio 1 equivalent Triple J plays enough decent music to make up for the unerringly awful DJs (although there is an over-reliance on one-paced indie and commercial hip hop) and the sports commentators, especially for the footy, put the vast majority of their UK counterparts in the shade through their exuberance and colourful language; a particular highlight was a description of one poor passage of play as “so ugly it was like watching your granny getting out of the bath”. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, John Motson.

Best of all, however, are the publicly funded community radio stations, their personal favourite the Fitzroy-based Triple R. Sure, Bruce can live without shows about astrology and he’s not that into comic books that he needs to hear the soundtracks from their associated movies, but the quality and scope of music on offer is often astounding.

Already, he’s heard songs he never expected to hear, from The Eels’ elegaic career standout Things The Grandchildren Should Know (part of a Father’s Day montage), to expletive-laden protest songs and the most psychedelic of blues.

Admittedly, one of the hosts missed a trick by playing Sam Cooke’s version of A Change Is Gonna Come rather than that by Baby Huey and the Babysitters (in Bruce’s mind, one of the greatest covers ever made – with a twist in the tale M Night Shyamalan would kill for). But, in contrast to the idiotic, racist, lazy, drivel-dressed-up-as-news shite that is paraded as television in this country, he’s willing to forgive this one minor oversight.

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