Act of Faith

Once again New Zealand is at the leading edge of social reform with the passing today in Parliament of the Religion and Faith Disestablishment Act and the Religion and Faith Freedom of Association Act.
Essentially, with effect from 1st July, 2011, all organised religions or faiths will cease to exist in their current form and be handed over to private enterprise to administer. Assets held by religious organisations will be sequestered and made available, under tender, to the new private providers.

The Bills received their third reading today and were speedily ratified by the Unified Parliament. A spokesperson for The Ministry of Social Development said that it was gratifying to finally clarify the distinction between State and Church. 'These necessary reforms also reflect the Government's will to allow market forces to shape the future for all of our estates. The Church, in that sense, is no different from Health, Transport, Prisons and Defence - all of which are now being effectively managed by private providers.'

All citizens must register as members of one of the sanctioned Faith and Worship Providers (FWPs).
FWPs must provide a prospectus setting out the full range of services and related costs. Government will strictly regulate how the FWPs operate and ensure that there is no prospect of cartels or restrictive trade practices having a negative impact on competition for worshippers. 'We don't want the Anglicans and the Catholics getting together to fix the price of absolution. That would never do' said a spokesman from the Secular Audit Office (SAO)

It is expected that the advent of corporatised religion will foster a number of radical departures from previous practice and the Government will provide favourable tax concessions to FWPs that invest in approved architectural initiatives that reflect both religious and corporate philosophy.

To ensure that all Citizens' rights of Freedom of Association are properly observed, units of the newly-formed Shaolin Security plc will be stationed at key Corporate Cathedrals, Mosques and Synagogues throughout the country. 'We are determined to enforce these freedoms', the Prime Minister said at a press conference today.

Will The Real Te Papa Please Stand Up?

There's been quite a lot of tub-thumping going on recently about Te Papa and its supposed failure to satisfy the needs of art-lovers everywhere. The likes of Sir Wira Gardiner, Chris Parkin and Rosemary McLeod have been touting the prospect of a new national gallery so that more art is on show rather than languishing in the capacious vaults of Te Papa Tongarewa.
These demands for more art seem to me to be redolent of the Monty Python sketch where a repellent slacker family mindlessly demand 'more beans'. 'We've lost the old museum', We want to see the Goldies', 'We can't find our way to the fifth floor', they complain. Aided and abetted by Chief Executive, Mike Houlihan who, unwisely I believe, said he felt that art had been relegated to the attic. 'More art', 'More beans', More art', More beans' they chorus.

Factually, Te Papa displays significantly more art than Buckle Street ever did and many, many more people see it than ever visited the old gallery. So, what's the problem? It appears to be that there's a need for a dedicated 'art only' facility.
When I worked at Te Papa, there were these staples of everyday life known as the 'corporate principles' One of them was that 'Te Papa is bi-cultural'. Any new business proposal put up for consideration had to satisfy the outcomes determined by the mission statement and its corporate principals. Te Papa was there to tell the story of New Zealand and to make that telling accessible to visitors. The context of that challenge had to be bi-cultural if Te Papa was not to wilfully revise history.
At that time, and still - to the best of my knowledge - Te Papa was the only bi-cultural museum or gallery in the world. We all knew that presenting the bi-cultural face to the world would be difficult. There were tensions between the Treaty partners but most people subscribed to the initiatives and strategies that were developed to promote the bi-cultural principle. And. of course, some didn't. Their opposition was often passive and occasionally, aggressively active and found its reflection in some of Te Papa's external critics.

What some of those critics want, I think, is their biculturalism patronisingly painted, safely framed and hung on a wall somewhere to be admired and clucked over. More importantly, if its removed from its bi-cultural context altogether, it once more becomes the preserve of the educated middle classes and at less risk from the inquisitive eyes and hands of those with their caps on back-to-front.
So, here's a question for you; 'What's so special about art that it needs a separate gallery?' And in any event, if excellence is the criterion, there simply isn't enough good art in the Te Papa collection to justify and sustain a full-time exhibition gallery.
And, while I'm in the mood, here's another very important question; 'What's any of this got to do with Te Papa's chairman?' His and the Board's role is governance -  not operations. The State Services Commission needs to remind the Boards of Crown Owned Enterprises that they're not supposed to choose the carpet, they're supposed to discharge their fiduciary responsibilities, that's all.

Road Signs and Nietzsche

I was always attracted to the idea of a benign dictator. The platonic ideal of a philosopher king seemed to me to be both romantically and politically imperative. Nietzsche's more recent voicing of the need for the 'overman', whilst probably not free of gender bias, echoed Plato's dream without recourse to nationalism or class consciousness. An objective, authoritarian, easily understood provider of the 'right' direction for all to follow and achieve their goals.

And so, it does seem to me, that in road signs, the inanimate embodiment of a way of thinking to realise our societal aims has been achieved. Indeed, who would argue with, ''SLOW DOWN' or 'SLIPPERY WHEN WET' and who would want to? Advice of this quality and prescience would come at a fairly sharp premium if dispensed by a doctor or a lawyer - those middle-class but egregious symbols of the platonic ideal. But we are all able to benefit from these worldly and succinct suggestions without any draining of the domestic exchequer. They are freely given and if they seem a little, well, didactic - then compliance is its own reward and obviates the need for later reproof.

Removing the need for the elusive 'third way' will remove uncertainty from our lives and significantly reduce the unhappy prospect of an accident. Not wanting to get in line and move in the right direction is only an attractive option for anarchists and the intellectually impaired. Moving forward with the majority, maximises our ability be on time and under budget. It's worth remembering, too, that 'Bolshevik' means 'majority party.'

This comprehensive approach to providing a template for behaviour, extends into the animal kingdom and evidences an ecological awareness that reflects the truly benign nature of the 'overman'.  Road Signs serve us in many ways, from gently reminding us to have adequate rest when driving long distances to urgently insisting we reduce speed immediately on dangerous roads. But whether it is a suggestion or a command, it's always in our best communal interests to follow the dictates of our Road Signs.  That way, we'll arrive safely and  have contributed to the common good. You know it makes sense.

Desert Island Discs

I wondered, having been around the block more than a few times, whether I could now make the definitive, scrupulously honest, pared-down list of albums that I'd need to survive over time, emotionally, on a desert island. It seemed to me that most of the lists I'd made, or those I'd seen made by others, were 'best' or 'greatest' and not necessarily what you'd save in a fire or take with you on 'Survivor'. Most of all, these lists, I think, are made for others to read and be impressed or provoked by. 
So, what follows are details of the 5 albums that would sustain me on this notional island until Friday arrived. The criteria around selection were; Select 10 albums initially and then reduce the list to 5 (which placed a greater burden of honesty on me); No so-called classical music- that is orchestral or chamber music- simply because that would make the exercise impossible for me; And, yeah, complete honesty - no posing.

In no particular order, here are the 5 albums;

Sticky Fingers  The Rolling Stones (1971)

The first album the band released after their departure from Decca and the first album not to have any contribution from Brian Jones. Mick Taylor, who replaced Jones, makes his first album-length appearance. The idea for the cover came from Andy Warhol and speculation still rages around exactly whose crotch that is.
Arguably, the greatest rock album ever, each track, from Brown Sugar to Moonlight Mile reveals new delights upon repeated listening. Mick's vocals are at their most able and Charlie Watts lays claim to being the Prince of Drummers. Moonlight Mile, in particular, reaches sublime heights as its haunting melody uncovers a ravaged tale. One for the ages.

Idle Moments  Grant Green (1964)

Steeped in the St Louis tradition of blues, guitarist Green brings a deceptively simple-but urging -quality to this Blue Note album that was released at a time when America was still reeling from the shock of John Kennedy's assassination.
I have to confess that this album is here mostly because of the nearly-15 minute long title track. Its synthesis of Green's gently persuasive guitar, Bobby Hutcherson's plangent vibraphone, Joe Henderson's sinuous tenor and Duke Pearson's sympathetic piano is, for me, one of the most gorgeous experiences in the whole of recorded music. I'll leave it at that.

Decade  Neil Young  (1977)

Neil Young, more than any other artist working in any media, has consistently collided with my life in the most telling and enduring way and it would be unthinkable not to have something from him in this list. I've seen the man, live, on several occasions and his music has always seemed to be present at significant times for me.
He has been the most rewarding and the most frustrating of musicians through his checkered career. This is the man who brought us the unforgivable Trans but also stood almost alone, from his generation, in his recognition of Punk as an important musical and political voice.
Decade is a collection of 35 of Neil's songs recorded between 1966 and 1976 and reflects most of his musical collaborations and political ideas during that time. It is essential listening.

Howlin' Wolf  (The Rockin' Chair Album)  Howlin' Wolf  (1962)

I've written earlier on this Blog about The Wolf and Going Down Slow, which is one of the tracks on this album. I am of the opinion that Muddy Waters was the greatest of the post-war blues men and his influence on popular music is well documented. But I do not believe that Muddy made an album as great as this one.
9 of the tracks were penned by Willie Dixon and include such staples as Spoonful, The Red Rooster and Back Door Man.
Listening to this album is a seminal experience and The Wolf brings everything he has to the microphone. If I had to own only one blues disc, this would be it.

Shoot Out The Lights  Richard & Linda Thompson  (1982)

This was the final album that this husband and wife team were to make together. Shortly after its release, the couple separated and Richard commenced a new relationship with Nancy Covey, who he'd met the previous year in the States. Much has been written about the content of this album and its reflection of the Thompsons' failing marriage. But most of the material, including Don't Renege On Our Love, had been written some two years earlier.
Whatever the ironies, the music is extraordinary. Richard's stinging fusion of folk/jazz styles and Linda's always achingly vulnerable vocals are brilliantly combined to best effect by Joe Boyd's austere production. At times the tension seems relentless as this bleakly beautiful album gives up its bitter treasures.

So, those are the 5 that made it to the podium. It was, as you may expect, difficult to select 5 from so many but I'm pretty sure I got it about as right as I could. Try it yourself in the safety of your own home.

Jackson beaten to the punch on 'The Dam Busters'

Casual Parking can reveal post production is underway on the movie 'Pimp My Lanc' - the remake of 'The Dam Busters' directed by Guy Ritchie-Benaud and starring a virtualised Marlene Dietrich as Guy Gibson.

'Lanc' is the second in a proposed series of 'Pimp' movies to be directed by Ritchie-Benaud.  'Pimp My Ashes', the story of the infamous Body-line cricket series is already in the can and awaiting a timely release for the Xmas season.

'Pimp My Lanc' is an ambitious retelling of the raid on the Ruhr dams by 617 Squadron that creates an alternative mythology that promises thrills and laughs throughout. Guy Gibson is a drug-ravaged transvestite who-through his covert dealings with Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering - hits on the idea of damaging the German war effort by flooding the Ruhr Valley with bales of mescaline and thousands of copies of Aldous Huxley's 'The Doors of Perception'.

Ritchie-Benaud is delighted with his self-penned script and says 'it resolves many unanswered questions, especially about Gibson's favourite cologne.'  He also says that the 'funky' nature of the plot and dialogue removes all of the problems around the name of Gibson's black Labrador dog. 'Nigger fits right in there', he says, 'In fact, the film's funniest scene is when the dog goes missing and some 30 or 40 air crew are wandering around the Base at midnight yelling Here Nigger! and scaring the local farmers.'

Apart from being the first to have a virtualised dead movie star in a leading role, Ritchie-Benaud also hints at scenes from some of his favourite movies being 'grafted' into his movie. 'Let Jackson suck on that big boy', he grins as he pushes me out of the bomb hatch.

Goin' Down Slow Part 2 -The Tree House of the August Moon

It was a balmy August night some ten years ago and The Brown Shoes Blues Band were ready to play a gig at The Tree House in Cuba Mall.  The proprietor had explained that he had no liquor licence and that his clientele were mostly poor students who 'spent all night drinking a cup of coffee'. So, ten bucks each but 'all the carrot cake and coffee you can manage.' Which was more of an inducement than he knew.

We set up, did a sound check, enjoyed the first round of carrot cake and coffee and then started to play some Blues for the rapidly growing audience. The two big sash windows were wide open and soon the irresistible fusion of coffee brewing and Delta 12 bar weaved sinuously along the Mall. By around 9.30, the place was full and we had finished our first set.

Over carrot cake and coffee, we discussed the next set. Robbie, our lead guitar, pointed out that the old upright piano that stood next to where we had set up, was in fine working order. 'We should kick off with Goin' Down Slow', he said. 'I'll play piano, Mike on leads.' Mike was our rhythm guitar and he nodded his agreement. Drums and bass figured a simple back beat, we picked a key that suited and I approached the microphone.

Now, I have to tell you right here that I had always told the guys that we would never cover Howlin' Wolf. I was in awe of The Wolf and felt it disrespectful to cover his songs. Yeah, singers are precious. But, as usual, ego won out and - of course -we played Goin' Down Slow'.

The song - and the set - were received very well by our impoverished audience and a group of guys, sitting at a table in the far corner, invited us to join them in some coffee and carrot cake. It turned out that they were tourists, 5 friends, all from Memphis, Tennessee.  'Serendipity', one said, 'The last thing we expected to hear in Wellington, Noo Zealand, was the Blues.'   'And not any ol' Blues', said another, 'The Wolf. Damn! The Wolf!'

And there it was. If carrot cake and coffee were gold and diamonds, we'd have all been millionaires that night. But it was the night I got to sing Goin Down Slow. I still hope I did it justice and I'm still in awe of The Wolf. And to quote the song, 'I have had my fun....'

Goin' Down Slow

Back in the mid 60s, just up Cornhill in the City of London, was Keith Prowse Records. I spent a good number of my lunch hours in the listening booths at Prowse's, checking out artists like Chuck Berry, Muddy Waters and Ray Charles. At that time, we were rapidly discovering the excitement and passion of what the Americans were still calling 'race music'.

A musician friend had recommended that I listen to Howlin'Wolf and so, as usual, I visited Prowse's to see what they had. When Wolf' filled the booth with his excoriating baritone, it was as if some mythic other-wordly devil-angel had arrived on Earth. I had never heard anything quite like it. Hubert Sumlin's guitar shreds everything around it while the repetitive piano notes insistently drive the whole thing forward.

Chester Arthur Burnett, Howlin' Wolf, was an imposing figure. Nearly 2 metres tall and weighing in at around 135 kg. His rivalry with Muddy Waters was legendary and together they brought electrified Chicago Blues to the world. Listening to Wolf that day, 45 years ago, was the beginning of a love affair with the Blues that still fascinates and delights. 'Goin' Down Slow', which you can find on the iconic Rocking Chair album, stll has the power to send frissons coursing up and down my spine. Check it out for yourself, why not?

Er, can I have a word? An infrequent survey of current usage.

Language, as we know, may be used in diverse ways to disguise, soften or exaggerate meaning. Recently, I was struck by the truncated form of the word 'caesarian' to 'caesar' as used by a clinician. A caesarian birth must be a harrowing and anxious process for a pregnant woman to endure. Having your abdomen walls cut open to facilitate the delivery of a baby is undoubtedly traumatic. To describe that process as a 'caesar' conveys something rather more like an erotic episode from the TV series 'Rome'.

Perhaps such flippancy evolves to mitigate against the harsh reality. If it does, then maybe, at the other end of the life cycle, we can all look forward to being 'ecologically redeployed'?

Now that 'access' has become a verb (We used to 'gain access' to computers. Now we just 'access' them.), I notice that 'across', too, is undergoing a change of meaning. Most often used to indicate the position of something or someone as being opposite, the word now has the corporate and media meaning of 'being dealt with by'. So, reporters are 'across' a particular news topic or managers are 'across' a matter requiring action. A few years ago, we had everybody 'going forward' - a rather meaningless phrase that was calculated to convey a dynamic situation and used gratuitously by questers everywhere. Now these same intrepid souls are 'across' things. I think the word carries a certain low-level, or implied, sexual connotation. It's certainly more fun to put that spin on the word when you hear it being mindlessly repeated at meetings or on the 6 o'clock news.

I notice too, that rather like Mozart's music having 'too many notes' (From 'Amadeus'), some words just have too many syllables for broadcasters. The chief trouble-maker here is 'regularly'. Sports broadcasters, specifically, seem to prefer 'reguly' - whose three syllables no doubt trip off the tongue more readily than the four syllables of the legitimate word. However, the savings made in such abbreviations can be expended on those occasions when those same broadcasters feel the need to describe a whole-hearted effort as being '110%'.  I would have thought '100%' a perfect way to describe the effort made by a dedicated athlete. The extra 10% utterly compromises the intent both philosophically and mathematically. But in a world where it really isn't done to signify agreement with a simple 'yes' but to say 'absolutely' with herculean determination as frequently as possible, hyperbole rules and litotes is held prisoner in the deepest dungeon.

DEAD BASTARDS ON TOUR DOWN UNDER

Wilson Parking Promotions having concluded a successful season of OLD BASTARDS ON TOUR with Petula Clark, The Hollies, Robin Gibb, Neil Diamond and Leonard Cohen, now brings you, direct from the USA, DEAD BASTARDS ON TOUR.

In conjunction with Wilpark Cryogenic Laboratories, Wilson Parking Promotions is proud to present DEAD ON STAGE!!  Buddy Holly, Mama Cass, Janice Joplin, Marvin Gaye, Tim Buckley - and headlining the show - MICHAEL JACKSON!!

Your one and only chance to see these legends of rock and roll DEAD ON STAGE!! as they will be returned to their places of rest at the conclusion of  the DOWN UNDER TOUR. With guest MCs, Johnny Carson and Sir Michael Parkinson, DEAD BASTARDS ON TOUR promises to be the necrophiliac experience of a lifetime. So book now to avoid disappointment.

MOVIE REVIEW

I Am Love (Io sono l'amore) is an aesthete's wet dream. The story follows the lives of a wealthy Milanese family, the Recchi, whose patriarch relinquishes control of their textile manufacturing company in favour of his son, Tancredi and-surprisingly-his grandson, Edoardo..

Director Luca Guadagnino loses no opportunity to allow his camera to record a multitude of painterly images around the stunning locales as the lives of the principals gradually unravel. Tilda Swinton as Emma, Tancredi's Russian wife, becomes involved with Antonio, a chef who has befriended her son, Edoardo, and plans to open a restaurant with him.

These prosaic themes and devices become increasingly burdened by the attempt to show that style can and should triumph over content. Huysmans, Visconti and Malick all seem to be present and their voices clamour for our attention. Toward the end, though, even the plodding narrative loses its way when Edoardo guesses at his mother's affair with his friend and in his rage, slips and falls into the pool, drowning. A script more willing to acknowledge a sentient audience would have allowed all concerned to live on with their shared knowledge of the guilty past. But rather than saddle the haute bourgeoisie with irony, Guadagnino borrows from Paul Verhoeven and gleefully kills off his attractive cast, one way or another.

By the time that the faux denouement arrived, this viewer had no interest in any of the stripped-down characters and was more perplexed than curious as to why anyone would want to tell their story.

** (5 star rating system)

Grand Opening

Welcome to the taciturn world of  Sir Wilson Parking. Legendary blues musician, philanthropist and bon viveur, Sir Wilson will enrich your life with his insight, humour and bribes.

Having now passed direct control of his many businesses, trusts and foundations to his lawyer and adopted son, Kevin Stalin, Sir Wilson wants to use his autumn years to relax, have fun and hang with the homepage homeys.

Drawing on an amazing reservoir of experiences and recreational substances, Sir Wilson will discuss and often ridicule art, film, literature, sport, politicians or any other brassy gewgaw whose shimmering reflection enters his line of sight.

If you have friends, be sure to tell them.