The dust blows in

Sunday October 29th

“The dirt blows out
The dust blows in
You can’t keep it neat
It’s a fully furnished dustbin
Sixteen Beasley Street.”

– John Cooper Clarke

I’m beginning to find this incessant wind disturbing. It’s blowing words all over the place, so that little pieces of conversation blow in from the railway station and the park and the knots of smokers and farewellers outside each pub.

A bouncer’s voice: “I don’t like fighting. If I see a fight I run away, or I say, ‘You want to fight, go find a boxing ring.’

“I’m more a lover than a fighter.”

Three children negotiate the rules of a Narnia game – “You be both the boys and I’ll be both the girls and you can be the witch.”

“Your bag!” calls a shopkeeper.

A low whistle.

Silence then high-pitched barking, then silence again (presumably as the petshop door opens and shuts).

DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF.

Shut up.

No.

Orright, then: Singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain…

Vrrrrrmmmmmmmm.

Pick it up.

No.

PICK IT UP.

No.

Don’t make me come over there.

Where would you like me to make you go?

Excuse me, could you tell me where’s Baylis Street?

You’re standing on it.

You’re so beautiful.

Hello sweetheart.

Hello? Hello? Is that the CES?

Hi Mum.

Are you vacant?

Aa-aaa-aaa-choo. Man this pollen’s getting to me.

City Logic

Thursday October 26th

I am talking on the telephone when Mr Egg stops by. I excuse myself to my caller (who happens to be a distant cousin) as Mr Egg won’t brook waiting. Mr Egg favours certain expressions, principally to highlight the great benefits of Wagga Wagga over my previous home town of ___.

Today, for example, he tells me people are much happier living in a town where the river always flows in the one direction.

“This,” he claims, “indicates the possibility of human progress. All the great discoveries through history have been from river towns. With tides, it’s in one moment and out the next, and then back in again. That’s why nothing great has ever emerged from a port.”

I think to contest this – my counter-examples might have included shipping, certain architectural schools – but I am too slow and Mr Egg has already skipped onto the next topic.

“Literature reflects the environment in which it is written,” he begins. “Place-names accented on the forward syllable such as Pago Pago and Stoke-on-Trent are more likely to encourage a trochaic foot than San Francisco or Adelaide.

“Yes, there’s nothing faddish about this place.”

c-row

Tuesday October 24th

The crow’s call is “Daaa-aaa-aaad, daaa-aaa-aaad”.

For some reason (insomnia; diseluviation), this morning I find myself standing on Croaker Street just outside the blue fibro at the Hodson Avenue end and just after dawn. I hear the call, and turn to catch sight of a handsome black avian in the act, so it appears to me, of averting its gaze.

Hmmmmn.

I continue north through Turvey Park.

A proof of human irrational insight is our occasional strong capacity to sense being watched. I spin around inelegantly: the crow (I assume it’s the same one) has maintained its four metre distance from me and I would swear has just, once more, dropped its eye to a piece of irrelevant turf.

Test: I cross Blamey Street.

Confirmation: so does the bird.

I run.

My glossy companion takes flight, and lands about ten metres north of me. My suspicions rise further: I once read that the best way to tail someone is from in front.

Now what?

I turn right along Heydon, now sprinting towards the Botanical Gardens. An expensively shod fitness nut is trotting the other way, gives a misplaced collegial nod.

“The bird!” I hiss, like one of Macbeth’s desert witches.

“Yes, beautiful morning,” he replies. Idiot.

Ahead, the orange-tinged sky silhouettes a plain tree covered in what might be large, black fruit, or pods.

But as the chorus of “daaa-aaa-aaads” grows evermore insistent, these reveal themselves to be dozens of crows.

And there is momentary silence as they shuffle to allow one more to alight.

Greetings from the Space Bar

Monday October 23rd

Hello there, persons sound and unsound. I am Bernard Cohen, blogger-in-residence –recently dubbed “Resident Cohen” by the Wagga Wagga press, which moniker I embrace (and will henceforward sign off resb). Pundits are yet to discern whether the b-i-r gig will be recorded as the Wagga Wagga Blagga or Wogger Wogger Blogger.

Either way, until the unsound unplugging in mid-November I’ll be posting observations from here, in the heart of heart of the Riverina.

1.

I arrive in Wagga by road, passing strings of caravans, mobile warehouses of livestock and refrigerated food, slogans for fast food and religious salvation.

To the west the Riverina revs up with pre-wedding cruisin’ followed by RSL Club ceremonies attended by blokes called Nudge.

Hay gets drier and drier.

The highway is infamous.

2.

My daughter is excited about being an “UM” — unaccompanied minor — as we approach Wagga Airport for her return flight to Sydney.

A flight attendant tells us there will be two UMs on board. We spot the other, a red-eyed ten-year-old. His father’s eyes are the same.

My daughter and the boy are walked by an efficient attendant towards their plane. The father acknowledges our similar situations: “Yours going to her mother too?”

I nod. To account for my lack of tears I explain: “I’ll see her next week.”

“I only see him in the holidays,” he tells me. “I don’t know if he’ll last it out till he’s 16 or whatever the age is when he can make his own decision.”

“Couldn’t you live closer together?” I ask, and perhaps the question came out wrong, too accusatory, for he says: “I have a farm near here.”

We watch the plane start up, right propeller then left, the correct routine in the correct order, then taxi away

3.

The social pages photographer is pissed as a skunk. To the annoyance of the band up at the Tourist, he’s playing air guitar (or is it an air ukelele?) He’s been thrown out of the pub four times this evening already, but doesn’t seem to understand.

He has no camera tonight.

resb

Bill Backhouse

Monday October 23rd

backhouse presented as alert and was casually dressed. his eyes were situated somewhat close together but physical appearance was otherwise unremarkable. he was polite and generally appropriate in his behaviour although some idiosyncratic tendencies were noted. He was left handed. mood appeared euthymic.

Email to Alan

Saturday October 21st

G’day,

Welcome to the blog. Not much to report so far, Jo and I have talked over ideas and here’s an email I sent to Alan:

G’day Alan,

I’ve enjoyed the wires you and Scott set up and made a few recordings. I have been meaning to try using samples as a kind of instrument. There’s this recording I did the night before winds of up to 124km/h swept into town. I’ve timeshifted it so one hour is played in one minute at the original pitch and mastered it a bit too: Wired at Midnight

Anyway, I’m procrastinating on some homework so I thought I’d email you about Unsound this year.

Jo and I have talked over a few ideas, the first is setting up another harp. Have you had any experience with setting up two or more harps within proximity to each other? I thought it’d be interesting to mulitply the effect and see how they work and if there are chords.

This idea evolved from one I had last time you were here about what the effect of playing the harp back on itself would be?

I was also thinking about the possibility of there not being much wind on the day and what alternatives there are to incorporating the wires into something else, like if we used it as an effect like a plate reverb. I like the way it reflects the environment of Pindari and you get the birds and trucks adding their own vibrations.

They’re the thoughts I’ve had so far. Jo suggested we should give you a call next week, is there a time that would suit you?

Trust you’re well,

Jason

Bernard Cohen

Tuesday October 03rd

Bernard won the Australian/Vogel Award in 1996 for The Blindman’s Hat, was named as one of the Sydney Morning Herald’s Best Young Australian Novelists in 1997, 1998 and 1999, and won a 2001 Arts Council of England Writer’s Award. He is participating in unsound06 as the festival’s resident blogger.

• Bernard Cohen’s homepage

David Wicks

Tuesday October 03rd

David Wicks is Senior Lecturer and Course Coordinator of the BA for Screen and Stage at Charles Sturt University. He has extensive experience as an actor, with recent experience on TV in Neighbours, Blue Heelers, Halifax fp and Stingers, performed solo adaptations, directed and produced plays for the Riverina Theatre Company, Sydney Theatre Company and Hildegard Theatre Company, and solo recital performances at the Melbourne, Sydney and Adelaide Festivals.

Arthur Wicks

Tuesday October 03rd

Arthur Wicks is a printmaker, sculpture, performance artist and agent provocatuer, often appearing in his work as the Solstice Voyeur.