I don't pull all-nighters. Anyone who knows me is aware of this. I get tired and hungry and cranky. However, after seeing Prince at the Brisbane Entertainment Centre a week ago and missing the much-talked-about after-party at the Hi-Fi Bar, I promised myself that if, in the unlikely event, another after-party was announced for last night's show, I'd go. Here's how the events of last night (and this morning) unfolded, leading to be stumbling into bed at 5.15am.
7.00pm: Rumours had started circulating that there would be an after-party, and that Prince's management was in the process of securing a venue. Miss P and I joked that it could be at our local, the Prince of Wales Hotel; or, perhaps a little more likely, Eatons Hill Hotel. In the meantime, Mr C goes out to an art show.
8.30pm: DJ Rashida tweets that the after-party WILL be at Eatons Hill Hotel. In the meantime, the hotel tells their Facebook followers that doors open at midnight, and the entry fee is $100 cash.
9.30pm: After much discussion (and attempts to contact Mr C via SMS, phone call and carrier pigeon), Miss P and I decide that we should go. We do, after all, live on the north side of town (the hotel is in the middle of nowhere on the north side). Eurovision semi-finals are forgotten.
10.00pm: I manage to get out of my pyjamas, get dressed, find gloves and a scarf, and walk to Miss P's house. She kindly packs us some pumpkin bread for our handbags in case we get hungry.
10.45pm: We're in the queue outside the hotel with no more than 50 other people. S Club 7 are currently playing inside. There are lots of trashy bogans about.
11.30pm: The last of the S Club trash leaves the venue. Amusingly, some of them make fun of the people lining up to see Prince. The hotel's Facebook page now says that the first 500 people will get in for $50. I finally speak to Mr C. He's going to try and make it.
12.15pm: Mr C is very lost. He's heading home. The venue lets us in. For $50. No more than around 300 people have shown up.
2.00am: We're still waiting. There is soundcheck after soundcheck. Sound dudes are being yelled at. We've resorted to sitting on the floor, and are mesmerised by some Tina Turner lady wearing leopard print shaking her arse in front of us. A creepy young dude who could be her son seemingly wants to bang her. Miss P is munching on her bread.
2.30am: NPG come out on stage. Prince makes a brief appearance. The backing singers inform us that we need to put our phones away. If we do this, they will play until the sun comes up. Prince comes out and jams on his bass. And dances. And sings. And dances. We are in awe.
3.00am: The NPG singers are covering Toto and Extreme. We are singing Extreme's 'More than words' with Prince's band. At Eatons Hill Hotel. In the middle of nowhere. At three in the morning. For $50.
4.00am: We're sitting on the floor again. Prince is on stage, but we are exhausted. We contemplate leaving, as lots of others have already done.
4.30am: Miss P realises that we can stand side of stage and be literally a few metres away from Prince. We are again in awe.
4.45am: We can't do it any more. We decide to leave. On the way out, we realise it's the finale. We stay for the rest. The lights are all on. There are probably 150 people left. Prince appears to give his guitar to someone in the audience. I manage to sneak a couple of photos before it's all over.
4.50am: We're in the car heading home. Miss P is loudly playing Whitesnake to keep herself awake.
5.15: My teeth are brushed, my pyjamas are on, and I'm in bed. I feel sick from tiredness. But I am happy.
The next morning: Mr C is upset that he missed it (as am I). I get up at 9.30am and toast my pumpkin bread. Then I go back to bed. It's now 12.30pm. I'll probably eat some lunch soon, and then snooze away the rest of the weekend.
27 May 2012
07 February 2012
Bringing the '90s back on #TunnFM...
For the past couple of years I've been one of those annoying people who bang on and on about how 'kids don't know what real music is' and how things were so much better 'back in my day'. (Refer to my previous post about music festivals for an example of this.)
When I was a teenager living in Bundaberg, the national youth radio station (the one that starts with a 'T' and ends with a 'J') was my window to the outside world. I learned that, amazingly, Roxette weren't the best band on the planet, and broadened by tastes to include some very diverse artists. I spent night after night pressing redial on the phone trying desperately to get on to the Request Fest and speak to Michael Tunn (which 'Goat', as I was known back then, succeeded at on numerous occasions). I often waited all night to hear that one song I'd been wanting to tape off the radio, only to have one of the announcers (usually Tunney) talk over it right at the end. Sure, I didn't like everything that was played, but most of the music had a kind of 'drive' or passion behind it, and that had to be respected.
Fast-forward quite a few (ok, a lot) of years, and things have changed. Very little of what I hear on that same radio station resonates, and I'm pretty sure it's not just an 'age thing'. For one, most of it sounds the same. I can't tell most of the bands apart, and the majority of them don't actually seem to be saying anything. The tables have been turned: I like a handful of artists that make it on the air (like Jack White, Sleigh Bells and Go! Team), but the vast majority of it is, in my probably worthless opinion, rubbish. Last month, I was engaging in a Twitter discussion about this fact on a Friday evening. The following night, I discovered something amazing (also via Twitter):
TUNNEY WAS BACK.
It turned out that on Saturday nights, Michael Tunn was taking requests via Twitter and playing them on his online station, TunnFM. When he's not taking requests, Tunney's station continues playing 24 hours a day. Not only that, but the playlist is ALL '90s. From that moment, I started hearing bands that I'd completely forgotten existed, or that I simply hadn't heard on the radio in a really long time. Just like old times, I don't like everything that gets played on TunnFM, but I'm pretty certain that no radio station could please me 100 per cent of the time. The fact is that I can now listen to bands like Stone Temple Pilots, Arkarna, Custard and Portishead while I work or hang out at home, and (just like on the radio) I enjoy the suspense of not knowing what's going to play next.
The thing is that no matter how much I love listening to TunnFM, more people need to participate in order for the station to reach its full potential. For one, more people need to participate in the Saturday night Request Fest. It's not much fun when only a handful of us are picking the songs, and it's really easy to join in.
1. Follow @RequestFest on Twitter.
2. Tune into TunnFM online.
3. Tweet @RequestFest with the '90s song you want to hear and add the #TunnFM hashtag so we can all follow. You can even request East 17 if you want. Not that I know anyone who has requested them yet. Honest...
4. Wait for your song to get played.
See? Easy! If you're not a member of Twitter and don't really want to use it other than for making song requests, just join and use your account for that purpose only.
If you decide that you really really love the station and want to help out, you can also become a TunnFM Member for the insanely low low price of $5 a month. These funds give you access to the Members-only HD stream, go towards keeping the station running, and will help introduce new features (like apps and other exciting things).
So, what are you waiting for?
When I was a teenager living in Bundaberg, the national youth radio station (the one that starts with a 'T' and ends with a 'J') was my window to the outside world. I learned that, amazingly, Roxette weren't the best band on the planet, and broadened by tastes to include some very diverse artists. I spent night after night pressing redial on the phone trying desperately to get on to the Request Fest and speak to Michael Tunn (which 'Goat', as I was known back then, succeeded at on numerous occasions). I often waited all night to hear that one song I'd been wanting to tape off the radio, only to have one of the announcers (usually Tunney) talk over it right at the end. Sure, I didn't like everything that was played, but most of the music had a kind of 'drive' or passion behind it, and that had to be respected.
Fast-forward quite a few (ok, a lot) of years, and things have changed. Very little of what I hear on that same radio station resonates, and I'm pretty sure it's not just an 'age thing'. For one, most of it sounds the same. I can't tell most of the bands apart, and the majority of them don't actually seem to be saying anything. The tables have been turned: I like a handful of artists that make it on the air (like Jack White, Sleigh Bells and Go! Team), but the vast majority of it is, in my probably worthless opinion, rubbish. Last month, I was engaging in a Twitter discussion about this fact on a Friday evening. The following night, I discovered something amazing (also via Twitter):
TUNNEY WAS BACK.
It turned out that on Saturday nights, Michael Tunn was taking requests via Twitter and playing them on his online station, TunnFM. When he's not taking requests, Tunney's station continues playing 24 hours a day. Not only that, but the playlist is ALL '90s. From that moment, I started hearing bands that I'd completely forgotten existed, or that I simply hadn't heard on the radio in a really long time. Just like old times, I don't like everything that gets played on TunnFM, but I'm pretty certain that no radio station could please me 100 per cent of the time. The fact is that I can now listen to bands like Stone Temple Pilots, Arkarna, Custard and Portishead while I work or hang out at home, and (just like on the radio) I enjoy the suspense of not knowing what's going to play next.
The thing is that no matter how much I love listening to TunnFM, more people need to participate in order for the station to reach its full potential. For one, more people need to participate in the Saturday night Request Fest. It's not much fun when only a handful of us are picking the songs, and it's really easy to join in.
1. Follow @RequestFest on Twitter.
2. Tune into TunnFM online.
3. Tweet @RequestFest with the '90s song you want to hear and add the #TunnFM hashtag so we can all follow. You can even request East 17 if you want. Not that I know anyone who has requested them yet. Honest...
4. Wait for your song to get played.
See? Easy! If you're not a member of Twitter and don't really want to use it other than for making song requests, just join and use your account for that purpose only.
If you decide that you really really love the station and want to help out, you can also become a TunnFM Member for the insanely low low price of $5 a month. These funds give you access to the Members-only HD stream, go towards keeping the station running, and will help introduce new features (like apps and other exciting things).
So, what are you waiting for?
22 January 2012
The state of music festivals in Australia
Today is the day of the 2012 Big Day Out on the Gold Coast. A few internet conversations of late have made me think a lot about the festival situation in this country, so I wanted to share (read: rant) some of those thoughts.
I went to my first Big Day Out in 1999. I remember it like it was yesterday. My dad transported me and two friends down from Bundaberg and drove around the Gold Coast for the day waiting for us. It was the first Big Day Out after the widely reported ‘last ever’ one in 1997. I remember the day with extreme fondness, mostly for the kindness of the punters. Sure, there was the odd weirdo, but the unspoken rule of looking out for those around you was well in force. (I’ll always be grateful for the kind souls who chose to rescue my naive self from the Marilyn Manson moshpit.) That year, I got to see some of the bands that were dear to my heart at the time — Manson (of course), Korn, Hole, and even Fur and Sean Lennon. While I can’t so my love for all of these acts continues today, there is no doubt that I was there solely for the bands. Look, here I am counting down the last day!
The next few years of Big Day Out attendance continued in the same vein — great bands, with an audience of tens of thousands of people who were there to enjoy music with like-minded folks. Sure, it was often a bit of a stressful day dealing with the portaloos (or holding it in!), the heat and the crowds — particularly for those of us not used to the surf culture of the Coast — but it was a positive experience overall. Similar things can be said of the now-defunct Livid festival. Generally speaking, at that time, no-one bought tickets to music festivals unless they were really into the bands.
Fast forward a few years, and things started to get ugly. Livid had its last hurrah in 2003 (and smaller festivals like Summersault hadn’t been around for years). Great bands were still booked for the Big Day Out (Iggy and the Stooges, PJ Harvey, the White Stripes, the Beastie Boys and Jane’s Addiction, to name a few), but by the mid 2000s something had started to change (and I’m not talking about she-pees). As a small female, I no longer felt entirely safe being in the crowd on my own to watch a band. People were getting peed on, puked on, spat on, groped and punched. Very few punters were looking out for those around them; it was every man/woman for themselves. For many people, the bands seemed to be an added extra included in the ticket price.
I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that things seemed to get a whole lot worse after the 2005 Cronulla riots. At subsequent Big Day Outs, I noticed an increased number of Southern Cross tattoos, Australian flags, and aggressive people asking others to kiss said flag. A friend of mine was abused for daring to wear a temporary tattoo of the Aboriginal flag to the Sydney event on Australia Day. Due to factors such as these, I decided that the 2008 event would be my last. Rage Against the Machine was the last Big Day Out band I ever saw, and I’m glad to have ended it this way. (It is unfortunate, however, that a good number of the shirtless, aggressive, sweaty bogans in the crowd seemed to completely misinterpret the intent of RATM’s music.)
While Livid may have closed shop, in the early 2000s new festivals began to emerge. The most notable was Splendour in the Grass in Byron Bay (which has now relocated to Woodford north of Brisbane). While I attended three of these festivals over the years (twice even camping!), the overcrowding and general ‘yuckiness’ eventually started to permeate there as well. Three days of portaloos and rain and mud and no showering gets to you after a while. In addition, while there are often very high-quality international acts included on the bill, I can’t help but think that the event could (with some careful curating) be condensed into a single day with minimal ‘filler’ — thus eliminating the need to camp, arrange costly accommodation or travel long distances several days in a row.
Smaller festivals also began to pop up in the 2000s, with Laneway expanding to Brisbane in 2007. The first festival (in the alleyway next to the Zoo) was a fabulous experience, with Peter Bjorn and John, Camera Obscura, Yo La Tengo and the Redsunband making for an excellent day out. Sadly, the relaxed atmosphere seemed to have been lost by the second Brisbane event in 2008, with music seemingly not being an important factor for many in attendance. Having been jostled one too many times by Rayban-wearing, fluoro-wearing, talking-over-the-top-of-the-music hipsters, we gave up. It was easier to hear Feist from outside the festival gates than it was inside. Laneway has since relocated to a new venue in Brisbane, but I haven’t ventured back — mostly due to the fact that I recognise very few bands on the lineup (and I’m not one attend a festival if I’m not into the music).
Also emerging around this time was Sunset Sounds in Brisbane, another two-day festival. While, like Splendour, this one could also easily be condensed into a single day, it’s held at the Riverstage in the middle of the city —making it easy to come and go with little hassle. I attended my first Sunset Sounds in 2011 in the pouring rain (literally a few days before the river broke its banks and flooded the city), and was lucky enough to see Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Public Enemy and Sleigh Bells. The festival took a break in 2012, but according to the website will return for 2013.
The 2000s also saw the emergence of Soundwave, a niche festival aimed at fans of metal and hard rock. I attended my first Soundwave in 2010 (enticed by the opportunity to see Faith No More), and I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to the experience all that much (with the idea of returning to a 50 000-strong festival a little hard to stomach). Soundwave proved to be an overwhelmingly positive experience — enough so that I returned the next year. It became clear that you’d have to be a real fan of the music to spend $160 on a ticket to see this number of ‘heavy’ acts; consequently, most of the punters were respectful, the crowd seemed a little older and wiser, and I even spotted some families enjoying the day together. While I’m not attending the 2012 festival (it’s a little too much of a c.1998–99 nostalgia-fest for me), if I’m into the music on a future lineup I’ll be in attendance.
In 2011, I saw a Facebook post that gave me real hope for the future of festivals. A new event called Harvest was coming, and the organisers had somehow managed to convince Portishead (and a heap of other amazing bands) to play. The tagline was ‘A civilised gathering’ — which sounded like it was aimed squarely at me. There was also this:
Given that this would likely be my one and only chance to see Portishead live, and that I was promised a ‘civilised gathering’, Harvest excited me. A lot. I’m pleased to say that I wasn’t disappointed. While I understand that the Melbourne event had some teething problems involving drinks tickets (which doesn’t concern me greatly as I prefer sobriety when watching bands so that I can take it all in with clarity), the Brisbane festival delivered everything it had promised. The lineup was full of quality acts (TV on the Radio, the Flaming Lips, the National, Death in Vegas); there was plenty of space between the stages; the portaloos were kept clean; if someone ran into you, they would stop and profusely apologise; and, most importantly, everyone was there for the music. I had the most amazing festival experience of my life right at the front for Portishead (and, yes, this fangirl got to have a brief encounter with the lovely Beth when she left the stage to greet the crowd), and the whole day was stress free. I left the festival that day with the same feeling I had leaving my first Big Day Out in 1999 — one of pure elation, having experienced something special with thousands of people who all understood.
Some people have suggested that my disdain towards the Big Day Out and other festivals could stem from just ‘getting old’. There are a number if reasons why I think that this is untrue. Firstly, I attended my last Big Day Out in my mid 20s — hardly ‘old’ by festival standards, especially since I’d been getting increasingly pissed off with the experience in the years leading up to 2008. Secondly, I have a number of friends who are a decade or more older and stopped attending festivals around the same time. It’s not an age thing; rather, it’s a fed-up-with-idiots-who-couldn’t-give-a-stuff-about-the-music thing.
It’s clear that changes are afoot for the Big Day Out. 2012 marks the first year without co-founder Vivian Lees. The people of Auckland, Adelaide and Perth got a raw deal with much smaller lineups, and Auckland will be completely dropped from the tour after this year. It seems like the perfect opportunity to rethink the approach and start again. Perhaps another hiatus, like the one of 1998, is called for. As it stands, I’d prefer to pay for a plane ticket to see a sideshow in Sydney or Melbourne than venture to the Gold Coast for the day (because, of course, Brisbane sideshows are never prioritised).
For me, the future of music festivals in Australia lies in the Harvests and the Soundwaves — niche festivals aimed at specific markets of music fans. You know, the type of person who would have to actually be a fan of the bands to even consider shelling out $150–200 for a ticket. Whether my dream for the future of Australian festivals will be realised remains to be seen, but I’d prefer to hold onto this hope rather than simply despair for what used to be.
I went to my first Big Day Out in 1999. I remember it like it was yesterday. My dad transported me and two friends down from Bundaberg and drove around the Gold Coast for the day waiting for us. It was the first Big Day Out after the widely reported ‘last ever’ one in 1997. I remember the day with extreme fondness, mostly for the kindness of the punters. Sure, there was the odd weirdo, but the unspoken rule of looking out for those around you was well in force. (I’ll always be grateful for the kind souls who chose to rescue my naive self from the Marilyn Manson moshpit.) That year, I got to see some of the bands that were dear to my heart at the time — Manson (of course), Korn, Hole, and even Fur and Sean Lennon. While I can’t so my love for all of these acts continues today, there is no doubt that I was there solely for the bands. Look, here I am counting down the last day!
The next few years of Big Day Out attendance continued in the same vein — great bands, with an audience of tens of thousands of people who were there to enjoy music with like-minded folks. Sure, it was often a bit of a stressful day dealing with the portaloos (or holding it in!), the heat and the crowds — particularly for those of us not used to the surf culture of the Coast — but it was a positive experience overall. Similar things can be said of the now-defunct Livid festival. Generally speaking, at that time, no-one bought tickets to music festivals unless they were really into the bands.
Fast forward a few years, and things started to get ugly. Livid had its last hurrah in 2003 (and smaller festivals like Summersault hadn’t been around for years). Great bands were still booked for the Big Day Out (Iggy and the Stooges, PJ Harvey, the White Stripes, the Beastie Boys and Jane’s Addiction, to name a few), but by the mid 2000s something had started to change (and I’m not talking about she-pees). As a small female, I no longer felt entirely safe being in the crowd on my own to watch a band. People were getting peed on, puked on, spat on, groped and punched. Very few punters were looking out for those around them; it was every man/woman for themselves. For many people, the bands seemed to be an added extra included in the ticket price.
I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that things seemed to get a whole lot worse after the 2005 Cronulla riots. At subsequent Big Day Outs, I noticed an increased number of Southern Cross tattoos, Australian flags, and aggressive people asking others to kiss said flag. A friend of mine was abused for daring to wear a temporary tattoo of the Aboriginal flag to the Sydney event on Australia Day. Due to factors such as these, I decided that the 2008 event would be my last. Rage Against the Machine was the last Big Day Out band I ever saw, and I’m glad to have ended it this way. (It is unfortunate, however, that a good number of the shirtless, aggressive, sweaty bogans in the crowd seemed to completely misinterpret the intent of RATM’s music.)
While Livid may have closed shop, in the early 2000s new festivals began to emerge. The most notable was Splendour in the Grass in Byron Bay (which has now relocated to Woodford north of Brisbane). While I attended three of these festivals over the years (twice even camping!), the overcrowding and general ‘yuckiness’ eventually started to permeate there as well. Three days of portaloos and rain and mud and no showering gets to you after a while. In addition, while there are often very high-quality international acts included on the bill, I can’t help but think that the event could (with some careful curating) be condensed into a single day with minimal ‘filler’ — thus eliminating the need to camp, arrange costly accommodation or travel long distances several days in a row.
Smaller festivals also began to pop up in the 2000s, with Laneway expanding to Brisbane in 2007. The first festival (in the alleyway next to the Zoo) was a fabulous experience, with Peter Bjorn and John, Camera Obscura, Yo La Tengo and the Redsunband making for an excellent day out. Sadly, the relaxed atmosphere seemed to have been lost by the second Brisbane event in 2008, with music seemingly not being an important factor for many in attendance. Having been jostled one too many times by Rayban-wearing, fluoro-wearing, talking-over-the-top-of-the-music hipsters, we gave up. It was easier to hear Feist from outside the festival gates than it was inside. Laneway has since relocated to a new venue in Brisbane, but I haven’t ventured back — mostly due to the fact that I recognise very few bands on the lineup (and I’m not one attend a festival if I’m not into the music).
Also emerging around this time was Sunset Sounds in Brisbane, another two-day festival. While, like Splendour, this one could also easily be condensed into a single day, it’s held at the Riverstage in the middle of the city —making it easy to come and go with little hassle. I attended my first Sunset Sounds in 2011 in the pouring rain (literally a few days before the river broke its banks and flooded the city), and was lucky enough to see Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Public Enemy and Sleigh Bells. The festival took a break in 2012, but according to the website will return for 2013.
The 2000s also saw the emergence of Soundwave, a niche festival aimed at fans of metal and hard rock. I attended my first Soundwave in 2010 (enticed by the opportunity to see Faith No More), and I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to the experience all that much (with the idea of returning to a 50 000-strong festival a little hard to stomach). Soundwave proved to be an overwhelmingly positive experience — enough so that I returned the next year. It became clear that you’d have to be a real fan of the music to spend $160 on a ticket to see this number of ‘heavy’ acts; consequently, most of the punters were respectful, the crowd seemed a little older and wiser, and I even spotted some families enjoying the day together. While I’m not attending the 2012 festival (it’s a little too much of a c.1998–99 nostalgia-fest for me), if I’m into the music on a future lineup I’ll be in attendance.
In 2011, I saw a Facebook post that gave me real hope for the future of festivals. A new event called Harvest was coming, and the organisers had somehow managed to convince Portishead (and a heap of other amazing bands) to play. The tagline was ‘A civilised gathering’ — which sounded like it was aimed squarely at me. There was also this:
Take the line-up of your typical European multi day event, cut out the filler and the acts that everyone has seen once too many times and pack all the greatness into one incredible day for discerning music lovers.
Given that this would likely be my one and only chance to see Portishead live, and that I was promised a ‘civilised gathering’, Harvest excited me. A lot. I’m pleased to say that I wasn’t disappointed. While I understand that the Melbourne event had some teething problems involving drinks tickets (which doesn’t concern me greatly as I prefer sobriety when watching bands so that I can take it all in with clarity), the Brisbane festival delivered everything it had promised. The lineup was full of quality acts (TV on the Radio, the Flaming Lips, the National, Death in Vegas); there was plenty of space between the stages; the portaloos were kept clean; if someone ran into you, they would stop and profusely apologise; and, most importantly, everyone was there for the music. I had the most amazing festival experience of my life right at the front for Portishead (and, yes, this fangirl got to have a brief encounter with the lovely Beth when she left the stage to greet the crowd), and the whole day was stress free. I left the festival that day with the same feeling I had leaving my first Big Day Out in 1999 — one of pure elation, having experienced something special with thousands of people who all understood.
Some people have suggested that my disdain towards the Big Day Out and other festivals could stem from just ‘getting old’. There are a number if reasons why I think that this is untrue. Firstly, I attended my last Big Day Out in my mid 20s — hardly ‘old’ by festival standards, especially since I’d been getting increasingly pissed off with the experience in the years leading up to 2008. Secondly, I have a number of friends who are a decade or more older and stopped attending festivals around the same time. It’s not an age thing; rather, it’s a fed-up-with-idiots-who-couldn’t-give-a-stuff-about-the-music thing.
It’s clear that changes are afoot for the Big Day Out. 2012 marks the first year without co-founder Vivian Lees. The people of Auckland, Adelaide and Perth got a raw deal with much smaller lineups, and Auckland will be completely dropped from the tour after this year. It seems like the perfect opportunity to rethink the approach and start again. Perhaps another hiatus, like the one of 1998, is called for. As it stands, I’d prefer to pay for a plane ticket to see a sideshow in Sydney or Melbourne than venture to the Gold Coast for the day (because, of course, Brisbane sideshows are never prioritised).
For me, the future of music festivals in Australia lies in the Harvests and the Soundwaves — niche festivals aimed at specific markets of music fans. You know, the type of person who would have to actually be a fan of the bands to even consider shelling out $150–200 for a ticket. Whether my dream for the future of Australian festivals will be realised remains to be seen, but I’d prefer to hold onto this hope rather than simply despair for what used to be.
09 April 2011
Iconic buildings of Brisbane: Demolitions in the Joh era (part 3)
Here is the (much delayed) third part to this essay...
Part 3 of 3
‘All we leave behind is the memories’: Demolitions and political protests in the era of Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen
Even marches for International Women’s Day were considered against the law. Women were confronted by the police as they left their forum on 11 February 1978 — they were chanting, ‘You sexist pigs had better start shakin’…Today’s pigs are tomorrow’s bacon’. As a result, forty-nine people were arrested for marching that day; forty-two of them were women. By the time the ban was lifted two years after it had been initiated, more than 2000 people had been arrested.
For most people, participating in these illegal activities was a conscious act of defiance. In addition to street marches being outlawed, so was any kind of demonstration, including distributing leaflets and putting up posters.
Art shows began to pop up around the city, and one of the most remembered of these was the ‘Demolition Show’ of March 1986, held at the Observatory Gallery. The show involved 13 artists who presented a range of works to mark the final exhibition at the Observatory, which was to be demolished, along with several pieces of contemporary art, in April of that year. Artist Lindy Collins stated of her work in the show:
Endnotes
39. L Hurse, interview conducted by email, 2 May 2007.
40. L Finch, ‘DIY defiance: Political posters during the Bjelke-Petersen era (1968–87)’, in L Seear and J Ewington, Brought to Light II: Australian Art 1966–2006, Brisbane, 2006, p.113.
41. ibid, pp.113–14.
42. ibid, pp.113.
43. L Collins, in Demolition Show, Brisbane, 1986.
44. K Ravenswood, ‘Signs of the Times: Political Posters in Queensland’, Eyeline, no.17, summer, 1991, pp.31–32.
Part 3 of 3
‘All we leave behind is the memories’: Demolitions and political protests in the era of Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen
Even marches for International Women’s Day were considered against the law. Women were confronted by the police as they left their forum on 11 February 1978 — they were chanting, ‘You sexist pigs had better start shakin’…Today’s pigs are tomorrow’s bacon’. As a result, forty-nine people were arrested for marching that day; forty-two of them were women. By the time the ban was lifted two years after it had been initiated, more than 2000 people had been arrested.
For most people, participating in these illegal activities was a conscious act of defiance. In addition to street marches being outlawed, so was any kind of demonstration, including distributing leaflets and putting up posters.
They weren’t ‘unlawful’ in inverted commas, they were unlawful, and often deliberately so. The law as enacted and enforced by the Queensland government under Bjelke-Petersen had curtailed democratic rights that had been fought for over a period of many years by unionists, workers, and political organisations. My unlawful actions were a conscious act of defiance in order to win back those democratic rights.(39)Illegal public demonstrations weren’t the only outlets for outraged citizens. The University of Queensland (UQ) became a meeting place for discussions, and Brisbane’s community radio station 4ZZZ, established in 1975 and still operating today, also provided a platform.(40) Screen-printing courses were held, leading to the rise of do-it-yourself posters full of anti-Joh messages. Several printing workshops were established around the city, including Activities at UQ, Craft Press, Griffith Artworks and Black Banana. The posters ranged from crude, hastily produced, stencilled paper to more advanced, meticulously designed art works.(41) Either way, the intention was the same — to publicly denounce Joh Bjelke-Petersen, his government and his actions. Teams would post the prints around the city under the cover of darkness, and they typically didn’t stay up for very long.(42)
Art shows began to pop up around the city, and one of the most remembered of these was the ‘Demolition Show’ of March 1986, held at the Observatory Gallery. The show involved 13 artists who presented a range of works to mark the final exhibition at the Observatory, which was to be demolished, along with several pieces of contemporary art, in April of that year. Artist Lindy Collins stated of her work in the show:
The needs of people in this city are not being thought out carefully. We need areas such as George Street for young artists and galleries to operate in creating a special atmosphere in an otherwise desolate city. As individuals we have no say in the destruction of our city. So far since 1977 in the inner Brisbane city area 24 buildings registered with the national trust have been demolished.(43)Once Joh’s reign was over, a number of exhibitions were held around the country displaying Queensland’s and Australia’s political posters of the era. Just some of the exhibitions included the Earthworks Poster Collective show ‘Political Posters of the ’70s — Work from the Tin Sheds: A Partial Survey’, held at Flinders University Art Museum (1991); ‘Signs of the Times: Political Posters in Queensland’, held at the Queensland Art Gallery (1991); and ‘Hearts and Minds: Australian Political Posters of the 1970s and 1980s’, held at the State Library of New South Wales (1993). These shows served to now legally display some of the posters that for so long were unable to be exhibited. Many of the works were purchased by major galleries and libraries to form a permanent record of the struggles that took place.
‘Signs of the Times’ recognised and gave credit to the fact that political art offers a freedom of community liaison which few other art forms can match — it is one of the few times art really matters on a street level and it is from this position that it derives its potency.(44)Many individuals across Queensland have their own personal reasons for reminiscing about the Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen years. He was regarded by many people, particularly in regional centres, as a Premier who was acting in the best interests of the state. However, to the thousands of Brisbane residents who witnessed first-hand the destruction of heritage buildings and the distress of those arrested whilst trying to do nothing more than have their collective voices heard, he was nothing more than a rogue dictator. No matter which side of the fence an individual wants to sit on, there is no denying that Joh is arguably the most remembered Premier Queensland has ever had. And, one can expect that it will remain that way for many decades to come.
Endnotes
39. L Hurse, interview conducted by email, 2 May 2007.
40. L Finch, ‘DIY defiance: Political posters during the Bjelke-Petersen era (1968–87)’, in L Seear and J Ewington, Brought to Light II: Australian Art 1966–2006, Brisbane, 2006, p.113.
41. ibid, pp.113–14.
42. ibid, pp.113.
43. L Collins, in Demolition Show, Brisbane, 1986.
44. K Ravenswood, ‘Signs of the Times: Political Posters in Queensland’, Eyeline, no.17, summer, 1991, pp.31–32.
25 January 2011
Helping those facing hardship overseas
Over the past couple of weeks, we've all been witness to the extraordinary generosity that people have towards their fellow Australians when disaster strikes. These acts of generosity, both monetary and the volunteering of time, further confirm that the concept of the 'lucky country' is a real one.
In many places around the world, people are not so lucky. Pakistan also faced widespread flooding last year, but the toll on the country is far greater than we can imagine. 20 million people were displaced - that's almost the entire population of Australia — and roughly 3000 people were killed. However, as a developing nation, the people of Pakistan will not recover in the same way that Australia will — they are not a rich nation, so their people can't afford to give in the same way that Australians are able to give to each other in times of need. That's why those of us who are fortunate enough to live in a rich nation should also remember to help those overseas who are in need as much as we can. There are a number organisations through which people can help — I personally support Plan Australia in their Pakistan aid, but there are many others out there as well.
In addition to the 'big guns', there are also many overseas aid organisations that go largely unnoticed. Some are simply overlooked as a place to direct donations as they are unable to provide a tax deduction, and most simply do not have the marketing power of the bigger players that we are all familiar with. I wanted to share with you three such organisations that I've become aware of recently.
Project 18 is lovingly run by Cate Bolt, and 'exists to improve the quality of life of orphaned and underprivileged children by providing a safe environment in which to grow, whilst educating them for a brighter future living in harmony with their environment'. Project 18 does not have tax-deductible status, but Cate and her team selflessly run their sustainable orphanage and wildlife sanctuary project with amazing love and dedication. Plus, you can buy chocolate 'bricks' to help build classrooms — organic, fair-trade chocolate!
OrphFund is an entirely volunteer-based organisation that helps vulnerable children around the world, regardless of their ethnic background or religion. They guarantee that 100 per cent of funds donated, although not tax-deductible, will reach children living in poverty. OrphFund founder Steven Argent also sells 'photo blocks' of his work to further add to the funds of the organisation.
One Girl focuses on educating underprivileged girls around the world. Like Orphfund and Project 18, donations are not currently tax-deductible. But, for only $10 a month (roughly the cost of three takeaway coffees), you can provide a scholarship for a girl in a country such as Sierra Leone. You can even sponsor an entire classroom by joining together with colleagues or family members.
Please take the time to visit the websites of these organisations and, if you can spare it, make a contribution to their amazing efforts.
In many places around the world, people are not so lucky. Pakistan also faced widespread flooding last year, but the toll on the country is far greater than we can imagine. 20 million people were displaced - that's almost the entire population of Australia — and roughly 3000 people were killed. However, as a developing nation, the people of Pakistan will not recover in the same way that Australia will — they are not a rich nation, so their people can't afford to give in the same way that Australians are able to give to each other in times of need. That's why those of us who are fortunate enough to live in a rich nation should also remember to help those overseas who are in need as much as we can. There are a number organisations through which people can help — I personally support Plan Australia in their Pakistan aid, but there are many others out there as well.
In addition to the 'big guns', there are also many overseas aid organisations that go largely unnoticed. Some are simply overlooked as a place to direct donations as they are unable to provide a tax deduction, and most simply do not have the marketing power of the bigger players that we are all familiar with. I wanted to share with you three such organisations that I've become aware of recently.
Project 18 is lovingly run by Cate Bolt, and 'exists to improve the quality of life of orphaned and underprivileged children by providing a safe environment in which to grow, whilst educating them for a brighter future living in harmony with their environment'. Project 18 does not have tax-deductible status, but Cate and her team selflessly run their sustainable orphanage and wildlife sanctuary project with amazing love and dedication. Plus, you can buy chocolate 'bricks' to help build classrooms — organic, fair-trade chocolate!
OrphFund is an entirely volunteer-based organisation that helps vulnerable children around the world, regardless of their ethnic background or religion. They guarantee that 100 per cent of funds donated, although not tax-deductible, will reach children living in poverty. OrphFund founder Steven Argent also sells 'photo blocks' of his work to further add to the funds of the organisation.
One Girl focuses on educating underprivileged girls around the world. Like Orphfund and Project 18, donations are not currently tax-deductible. But, for only $10 a month (roughly the cost of three takeaway coffees), you can provide a scholarship for a girl in a country such as Sierra Leone. You can even sponsor an entire classroom by joining together with colleagues or family members.
Please take the time to visit the websites of these organisations and, if you can spare it, make a contribution to their amazing efforts.
24 January 2011
Iconic buildings of Brisbane: Demolitions in the Joh era (part 2)
Part 2 of 3
‘All we leave behind is the memories’: Demolitions and political protests in the era of Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen
The Bellevue Hotel was arguably the most famous of the midnight demolitions (presumably due to the sheer number of people who turned up to watch it fall). However, it is important to remember that most members of the public had no physical or emotional connection to it, since it had been frequented primarily by politicians in its final years standing. On the other hand, Cloudland Ballroom was a venue that had been an important part of the lives of many people of all ages — from those who had attended the ballroom dances of its heyday (some of whom had started romances there), to those of the younger generation who had attended punk music concerts, university examinations and even Sunday markets.(19)
Once again, the Deen Brothers were contracted to demolish the historical landmark, situated in the inner-city suburb of Bowen Hills. Around six months before the demolition took place, the Courier-Mail had reported that Cloudland was for sale, with the speculated asking price being up to $2.5 million. At that time, the La Boite Theatre and Community Arts Network of Queensland was planning a thirties and forties revival ball to bring attention to the fact that the ballroom was under threat. According to organiser Bruce Dickson, the event was taking place ‘…in an effort to remind Brisbane people of the loss that would occur if it was destroyed…In other capital cities you could destroy 50 per cent of the historical buildings overnight and still have much more than we have in Brisbane’.(20) In fact, Cloudland was commonly known around the city as the ‘Social hub of Brisbane’.(21)
Cloudland Ballroom was gone in less than an hour, although the Deen Brothers had expected the job to take a good part of the day. They had moved in with their machinery, as instructed, at 4.00am on 7 November 1982. This time, there were no crowds waiting in protest because very few people had managed to find out about the proposed demolition until it was too late. In fact, the first members of the public to become aware of what was happening were the nearby residents woken by the machinery. ‘“It woke the baby”, Mr Peter Blessing of Boyd Street said. “It’s frightening the way this can take place without any recourse at all. It beats me how they can do it”’.(22)
It wasn’t only the public who weren’t warned of the impending demolition of Cloudland — the state government and the building’s owner had also failed to notify the Brisbane City Council, from whom they required permission in order to legally carry out the demolition.(23) Although Cloudland was not owned by the government (it was owned by real estate promoter Peter Kurts), the media and the public still held Bjelke-Petersen and his Country Party personally responsible for failing to protect Brisbane’s heritage.(24) The maximum fine for demolishing National Trust-listed buildings was $200; the Cloudland penalty was only $125. Clearly, this measly fine was hardly a deterrent for individuals, let alone the state government.(25)
After the demolition of Cloudland, the public made it very clear that they were not happy with what had occurred. People from almost all corners of Brisbane and its surrounds had some kind of connection to the place. An anonymous interviewee stated:
It seems a strange notion that a demolition company could become so well known (if not notorious), that almost everyone in Brisbane could name them. In fact, that is exactly what happened with the Deen Brothers, who were the infamous demolition firm contracted by the state government to demolish heritage-listed buildings up until Joh’s reign as Premier ended. They, along with Joh Bjelke-Petersen, were the target of public outrage when building after building was reduced to rubble.
The five brothers — Happy, Louie, George, Ray and Funny — were proud of their work, despite the outrage constantly directed towards them.(27) In actual fact, the Deen Brothers were simply doing what most of us do every day — their jobs. Being contracted by the state government meant a huge boost in the company’s profits, as well as the added ‘bonus’ of becoming a household name and consequently the most well-known demolition company in Queensland (and perhaps even Australia).
It turns out that the Deens were just as interested and concerned about local heritage as the rest of Brisbane’s residents. Several of them even became ‘tour guides’ in 1991, leading a group of architecture students on heritage walks around the city centre. Students from around Australia had travelled to Brisbane to participate as part of the Biennial Oceanic Architectural Education Conference.(28) The tour concluded at the former site of the Bellevue Hotel, which is now home to a five-storey building constructed by the Bjelke-Petersen government. George stated, ‘…I must admit a few memories come back as I stand here, because this was one of our best jobs’.(29) When asked why the brothers were leading the heritage walk, George answered, ‘We’re on a reconnaissance mission, looking for more sites. No seriously, we believe in preserving heritage too’.(30)
The Deen Brothers’ interest in Brisbane’s lost heritage didn’t stop with a one-off tour around the city. Also in 1991, the state government held an auction for the cast-iron lacework that had been removed from the Bellevue Hotel’s verandas before its demolition. Five pallet loads were sold, including one to George Deen for $400. It was planned that Happy Deen, who was building a house, would use the lacework on the exterior.(31) Since the Bjelke-Petersen era, the Deens have also had a hand in the demolition of other significant buildings in Brisbane, including Festival Hall after it was sold to Devine Limited in 2003.(32)
Public outrage in the Sir Joh era was something that the state government wanted to inhibit at all costs. Up until 1977, street marches and protests had been theoretically a legal right — although, in many cases the police force had been seen to be excessive, as was the case with the Springbok tour. When people began protesting the export of uranium from Queensland ports, Bjelke-Petersen declared that all street marches would be illegal from that point on. Rather than applying through the courts for a march permit, the public would need to apply through the police, who had the authority to grant (or, more accurately, not grant) a permit under the Traffic Act.(33) Joh announced that, ‘Protest groups need not bother applying for permits to stage marches because they won’t be granted’.(34)
People continued to protest illegally, and they were consequently arrested or, worse, bashed by the police. The term ‘police state’ became a reality, as senior police reported directly to the Premier.
Continue to Part 3.
Endnotes
19. A McKenzie, ‘Ballroom became a landmark and more’, Courier-Mail, 8 November 1982.
20. ‘Cloudland for sale if price is right’, Courier-Mail, 30 May 1982.
21. ‘Social hub of Brisbane’, Sunday Sun, 2 October 1977.
22. A McKenzie, ‘Demolishers move in at 4am’, Courier-Mail, 8 November 1982.
23. Fisher, ‘“Nocturnal demolitions”’, p.57.
24. ibid, p.58.
25. ibid.
26. Anonymous, interview conducted by email, 1 May 2007.
27. K Meade, ‘Deens strike again, this time for heritage’, The Australian, 11 July 1981.
28. J Gallagher, ‘The Deens came to town to admire, not to demolish’, Courier-Mail, 11 July 1991.
29. Meade, ‘Deens strike again, this time for heritage’.
30. ibid.
31. ‘George picks up the pieces’, Sunday Sun, 13 August 1991.
32. B Williams, ‘We’re not rubble-rousers, say Deens’, The Courier-Mail, 23 March 2002.
33. R Evans, ‘Right to march movement: King George Square’, in R Evans and C Ferrier, Radical Brisbane: An Unruly History, Melbourne, 2004, p.294.
34. Sunday Mail, 4 September 1977, p.1, quoted in Clare Williamson, ‘Keep in step: The rise of political posters in Brisbane’, Signs of the Times: Political Posters in Queensland, Brisbane, 1991, p.4.
35. Evans, ‘Right to march movement: King George Square’, p.295.
36. L Finch, ‘DIY defiance: Political posters during the Bjelke-Petersen era (1968–87)’, in L Seear and J Ewington, Brought to Light II: Australian Art 1966–2006, Brisbane, 2006, p.113.
‘All we leave behind is the memories’: Demolitions and political protests in the era of Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen
The Bellevue Hotel was arguably the most famous of the midnight demolitions (presumably due to the sheer number of people who turned up to watch it fall). However, it is important to remember that most members of the public had no physical or emotional connection to it, since it had been frequented primarily by politicians in its final years standing. On the other hand, Cloudland Ballroom was a venue that had been an important part of the lives of many people of all ages — from those who had attended the ballroom dances of its heyday (some of whom had started romances there), to those of the younger generation who had attended punk music concerts, university examinations and even Sunday markets.(19)
Image: John Oxley Library, State Library of Queensland
Once again, the Deen Brothers were contracted to demolish the historical landmark, situated in the inner-city suburb of Bowen Hills. Around six months before the demolition took place, the Courier-Mail had reported that Cloudland was for sale, with the speculated asking price being up to $2.5 million. At that time, the La Boite Theatre and Community Arts Network of Queensland was planning a thirties and forties revival ball to bring attention to the fact that the ballroom was under threat. According to organiser Bruce Dickson, the event was taking place ‘…in an effort to remind Brisbane people of the loss that would occur if it was destroyed…In other capital cities you could destroy 50 per cent of the historical buildings overnight and still have much more than we have in Brisbane’.(20) In fact, Cloudland was commonly known around the city as the ‘Social hub of Brisbane’.(21)
Cloudland Ballroom was gone in less than an hour, although the Deen Brothers had expected the job to take a good part of the day. They had moved in with their machinery, as instructed, at 4.00am on 7 November 1982. This time, there were no crowds waiting in protest because very few people had managed to find out about the proposed demolition until it was too late. In fact, the first members of the public to become aware of what was happening were the nearby residents woken by the machinery. ‘“It woke the baby”, Mr Peter Blessing of Boyd Street said. “It’s frightening the way this can take place without any recourse at all. It beats me how they can do it”’.(22)
It wasn’t only the public who weren’t warned of the impending demolition of Cloudland — the state government and the building’s owner had also failed to notify the Brisbane City Council, from whom they required permission in order to legally carry out the demolition.(23) Although Cloudland was not owned by the government (it was owned by real estate promoter Peter Kurts), the media and the public still held Bjelke-Petersen and his Country Party personally responsible for failing to protect Brisbane’s heritage.(24) The maximum fine for demolishing National Trust-listed buildings was $200; the Cloudland penalty was only $125. Clearly, this measly fine was hardly a deterrent for individuals, let alone the state government.(25)
After the demolition of Cloudland, the public made it very clear that they were not happy with what had occurred. People from almost all corners of Brisbane and its surrounds had some kind of connection to the place. An anonymous interviewee stated:
I heard about Cloudland mostly through my elder siblings. It was also a very visible landmark. Everyone in Brisbane knew of Cloudland (as well as people from Redcliffe where my family lived). Its importance to Brisbane’s musical history was lost because of Joh’s pro-development stance. If Australia and, in this instance, Brisbane, was to develop a non-Indigenous history, it was vital that buildings such as Cloudland and the Bellevue Hotel be kept…We had so very few buildings in the first place that were of historical significance. Now it is all high rise with the few remaining buildings hidden in their shadows. We can only imagine how Cloudland and the other buildings might be considered today if they were still standing.(26)
Image: John Oxley Library, State Library of Queensland
It seems a strange notion that a demolition company could become so well known (if not notorious), that almost everyone in Brisbane could name them. In fact, that is exactly what happened with the Deen Brothers, who were the infamous demolition firm contracted by the state government to demolish heritage-listed buildings up until Joh’s reign as Premier ended. They, along with Joh Bjelke-Petersen, were the target of public outrage when building after building was reduced to rubble.
The five brothers — Happy, Louie, George, Ray and Funny — were proud of their work, despite the outrage constantly directed towards them.(27) In actual fact, the Deen Brothers were simply doing what most of us do every day — their jobs. Being contracted by the state government meant a huge boost in the company’s profits, as well as the added ‘bonus’ of becoming a household name and consequently the most well-known demolition company in Queensland (and perhaps even Australia).
It turns out that the Deens were just as interested and concerned about local heritage as the rest of Brisbane’s residents. Several of them even became ‘tour guides’ in 1991, leading a group of architecture students on heritage walks around the city centre. Students from around Australia had travelled to Brisbane to participate as part of the Biennial Oceanic Architectural Education Conference.(28) The tour concluded at the former site of the Bellevue Hotel, which is now home to a five-storey building constructed by the Bjelke-Petersen government. George stated, ‘…I must admit a few memories come back as I stand here, because this was one of our best jobs’.(29) When asked why the brothers were leading the heritage walk, George answered, ‘We’re on a reconnaissance mission, looking for more sites. No seriously, we believe in preserving heritage too’.(30)
The Deen Brothers’ interest in Brisbane’s lost heritage didn’t stop with a one-off tour around the city. Also in 1991, the state government held an auction for the cast-iron lacework that had been removed from the Bellevue Hotel’s verandas before its demolition. Five pallet loads were sold, including one to George Deen for $400. It was planned that Happy Deen, who was building a house, would use the lacework on the exterior.(31) Since the Bjelke-Petersen era, the Deens have also had a hand in the demolition of other significant buildings in Brisbane, including Festival Hall after it was sold to Devine Limited in 2003.(32)
Public outrage in the Sir Joh era was something that the state government wanted to inhibit at all costs. Up until 1977, street marches and protests had been theoretically a legal right — although, in many cases the police force had been seen to be excessive, as was the case with the Springbok tour. When people began protesting the export of uranium from Queensland ports, Bjelke-Petersen declared that all street marches would be illegal from that point on. Rather than applying through the courts for a march permit, the public would need to apply through the police, who had the authority to grant (or, more accurately, not grant) a permit under the Traffic Act.(33) Joh announced that, ‘Protest groups need not bother applying for permits to stage marches because they won’t be granted’.(34)
People continued to protest illegally, and they were consequently arrested or, worse, bashed by the police. The term ‘police state’ became a reality, as senior police reported directly to the Premier.
…they knew I was always rock solid behind them and they reported to me who were the students of the university who were giving all the trouble…just as they did in the SEQEB electricity strike, everybody came to me for general direction.(35)Shortly after protesting had been outlawed, in October 1977 one march resulted in a total of 662 people being arrested.(36)
Continue to Part 3.
Endnotes
19. A McKenzie, ‘Ballroom became a landmark and more’, Courier-Mail, 8 November 1982.
20. ‘Cloudland for sale if price is right’, Courier-Mail, 30 May 1982.
21. ‘Social hub of Brisbane’, Sunday Sun, 2 October 1977.
22. A McKenzie, ‘Demolishers move in at 4am’, Courier-Mail, 8 November 1982.
23. Fisher, ‘“Nocturnal demolitions”’, p.57.
24. ibid, p.58.
25. ibid.
26. Anonymous, interview conducted by email, 1 May 2007.
27. K Meade, ‘Deens strike again, this time for heritage’, The Australian, 11 July 1981.
28. J Gallagher, ‘The Deens came to town to admire, not to demolish’, Courier-Mail, 11 July 1991.
29. Meade, ‘Deens strike again, this time for heritage’.
30. ibid.
31. ‘George picks up the pieces’, Sunday Sun, 13 August 1991.
32. B Williams, ‘We’re not rubble-rousers, say Deens’, The Courier-Mail, 23 March 2002.
33. R Evans, ‘Right to march movement: King George Square’, in R Evans and C Ferrier, Radical Brisbane: An Unruly History, Melbourne, 2004, p.294.
34. Sunday Mail, 4 September 1977, p.1, quoted in Clare Williamson, ‘Keep in step: The rise of political posters in Brisbane’, Signs of the Times: Political Posters in Queensland, Brisbane, 1991, p.4.
35. Evans, ‘Right to march movement: King George Square’, p.295.
36. L Finch, ‘DIY defiance: Political posters during the Bjelke-Petersen era (1968–87)’, in L Seear and J Ewington, Brought to Light II: Australian Art 1966–2006, Brisbane, 2006, p.113.
18 January 2011
Baked Relief: Un-feminist, or just welcome help?
Many of you will be aware of the Baked Relief effort happening post-flood in south-east Queensland (which I have been participating in myself). While most are praising the efforts of the bakers contributing to the cause, a minority on Twitter have labelled the movement as 'un-feminist', and accused the volunteers of clogging up the roads with their cars trying to deliver the food.
This has me pretty pissed off, to put it mildly. I consider myself to be a feminist. Yeah, I like to bake stuff and do the occasional bit of sewing, but that has nothing to do with being 'un-feminist' in nature. I bake because I like food, and I sew to avoid contributing to the exploitation of women and children in the garment manufacturing business around the world. Not only that, but my husband helped with the Baked Relief effort - what the hell does that make him?!
Contrary to popular opinion, Baked Relief does not simply consist of 'kept women' fucking around in their kitchens to make ourselves feel better. Many of us live in unaffected suburbs and either don't know someone directly to help with the grunt work, or can't get to an affected suburb to assist. Some of us CAN'T assist for whatever reason (such as physical disability, or children to look after). A good number of us are men (including a colleague of mine), but, yeah, I guess most of us are women. So fucking what?! Clearly the food has been VERY much appreciated, and continues to be. The fact is that the people working so unbelieveably hard out in the sun NEED to be fed and watered. Who else is going to do it if we don't lend a hand?
The Baked Relief team seems to consist of a diverse range of people. There are the stay-at-home mums making a wonderful contribution to the cause, as well as professionals who've been unable to get to their usual place of work. From what I've seen, there are publishing professionals like myself (and Kelley from Peppermint magazine), marketing and PR professionals, IT professionals, and I'm sure many others that I'm not aware of.
My personal situation is that I've been told I can not yet return to work. I do, however, have some work I can complete from home. So, in between jobs, I've been cooking up a storm for Baked Relief. I have not been clogging up the roads to deliver my baked goods - I have either delivered to a mass drop-off point like Black Pearl Epicure in Fortitude Valley, or my goods have been collected by someone doing the rounds of the city. Most of us have been combining our efforts in order to deliver as much food at one time as possible, but also ensure that less cars are out there on the roads.
Baked Relief is not about women saying that they can't get out there and shovel mud and push a gurney. It's about a large group of people making a big difference to the lives of others in their own way. They should not be criticised for what they are doing, they should be congratulated.
I'm pretty sure I'll be doing my fair share of dirty work when I can get back into the office later this week, and until then I'll continue to bake along with the wonderful people who started and continue the Baked Relief movement.
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