I lead a some what hectic life. I tend to wake early, about 5.30 usually. Make myself breakfast, consisting of water melon, pouched eggs and a double espresso. I then make the 14.5 mile walk to the gym, which gives me plenty of time to catch up on audio books on the French Revolution, Quantum Mechanics and Russian. I spend 5 minutes on the running machine, 10 minutes on the rowing machine, 4 bench presses then a two hour sauna where I meet fellow sound engineers and we talk about theoretical waveform theory and the advantages of AES lines. My driver then picks me up and takes me home where I spend the next couple of hours replying to emails that have come in from all corners of the globe asking for my assistance in matters of a sonic verity, and over throwing fascist PA firms from small Central African countries. I then speak to artistes from all over the world discussing how wonderful we are and how boring everyone else is. I then arrange to meet these celebrities for an afternoon of lunch and shopping in the most exclusive places that we don’t even know where they are. We are given free lunches, jewellery, but must pay a small contribution towards the sex. As you can see, my days are filled to the brim, and this is before I even go to the show I’ll be working on that evening. I don’t mean to complain, and I appreciate that some people would find my life more than acceptable, but all this is just a mere excuse. I am often late with deadlines, as I can not get an Internet connection in the air (unless on certain flight in the US), and for this I must apologise. I have been meaning to write to you for ages, but as is the way at the moment, not enough hours, not enough days and not enough inspiration!
I have been in Australia for the last couple of weeks with DJ Fresh on the travelling festival, Parklife. The festival started off in Brisbane, then headed to Sydney, Perth, Melbourne and finishing in Adelaide yesterday, or was it the day before. Anyway, it was the Sunday just gone. I must admit Australian noise restrictions are on the tedious side, and their idea of an acceptable PA setup is not quite the me as mine. Each day brought its own challenges, from dealing with the noise nazis to a PA system that changed sound as you turn in up or down. We also and a ground stacked line array for the show in Melbourne that only had 3 boxes turned on and no system control because the young bearded chappy looking after it didn’t know how to use it. This basically lead to a situation where I was standing in the harshest sounding place in the world and the audience were in the dullest. Each gig, apart from Perth and to an extent Adelaide just made me question why I put myself through this. It’s just annoying that you know how good the sound can be and yet you are presented with stuff that can’t do the job. If I had my own PA then at least I’d only have myself to blame, but most of the time when I turned up at 4pm the systems still hadn’t finished being setup and tweaks were constantly being made.
Anyway, that’s all boring, self indulgent whingey crap, and I shall not make you endure that anymore! We were in Melbourne for a few days off before the show and my hotel room was a north facing room with a massive window over looking the Blade Runner-like city scape. Then it only just occurred to me looking out the window in the morning, the sun goes the wrong way round. Ha! I didn’t even realise. The sun still goes from east to west as usual, but because the sun is the the north, it appears to be going backwards.
It was on a rather sun-filled, breezy afternoon, round about half past Friday when I attended at golf course in Melbourne’s Albert Park. I have been threatening to go for a while and trying to coax my fellow conspirators to join me in my actions, I would be met with phrases like,
‘Nice way to ruin a good walk’
All of which are rendered utterly meaningless by the fact the I do enjoy a round annually. And it turned out that this was going to be my annual 9 holes. Upon arriving at the golf course it was decided lunch should be taken first and we, myself and Loki (the back line tech not the Demigod), entered the adjacent bar for pre-round snakes and bevvies. With the menu in hand, I read down and come across Beer-Battered Flathead, served with salad and potatoes of your choice. I don’t know what a Beer-Battered Flathead is, I try to work this out, and the only conclusion I can come to is that it’s a drunk idiot who has been involved in either a bar fight or a hit and run accident. Apparently my conclusion only revealed a massive hole in my angling knowledge, because as I found out through fits of laugher it’s actually fish and chips. I went for the soup. The following round went well considering it had been about a year since I’d last played, I’m sure my little sister would have been proud of me.
I’ve always wanted to go to Ayers Rock, and the in flight map has just informed me that I’m flying over it as I type. Eagerly peering out the tiny, pill-shaped window of this Airbus A330-300 I was presented with cloud. The pure sheet of white extending far into the distance reminds me of how tediously close this job brings me towards staggering distance of my life time goals, but ultimately pulls them away. Like a disappointing orgasm.
This country has an absorbing landscape and as our flight continues the clouds dissipate presenting the contemplations below. I’d love to go and I’m sure one day I will. Oh well, there you have it; another near miss.