Link Wray has left the building

Link Wray was buried this week in Denmark. He died on 5 November.

'Who's Link Wray?' you might say. Just one of the pioneering and landmark guitarists in rock music, that's who.

See, in 1958, Link 'invented' the power chord in a tune called "Rumble". It was a turning point in the evolution of the guitar sound in rock music.

So what is a power chord? It uses only two or three notes from a chord, just the main notes that give a chord its character - a sort of skeleton chord - so you play just two, sometimes three strings only.

"Rumble" is instantly recognisable by its three-chord riffs - D, D, E, (pause) D,D,E, (pause) D,D,A, (pause) D,D,E, (pause) - played evenly and deliberately like some kind of hammer of doom. You can hear it on the soundtrack of the movie "Pulp Fiction".

When it was released in 1958, some American radio stations refused to play it because they thought it sounded too menacing.

So why is it so important? As I said, it changed the way the guitar was played and sounded in rock music. From the rockabilly and blues-influenced sound and the straight eight and shuffle rhythm patterns to a more aggressive and dark sound.

Many experts say Link paved the way for punk and heavy metal. He also pioneering the use of distortion in rock guitar. Nowadays we might pay a couple hundred dollars for an effects pedal. Link's technique was simpler. He used a sharp pencil to deliberately punch holes in the loudspeakers in his amplifier to give it that ratty, broken sound.

Robert Hilburn, The Times' pop music critic, said that Wray "was one of the key figures who helped establish the guitar as the instrument of choice in rock."

Hilburn said that Wray, "was someone who turned the sensualness and mystery of the blues into a supercharged sound that was both eerie and anxious. His key works were powered by a force and, even at times, a brutalness that encouraged generations of musicians to explore the extreme boundaries of human emotion and sonic possibility."

Wray was a major influence on many rock musicians, including Jimmy Page, Bruce Springsteen, Jeff Beck and Pete Townshend.

Pete Townshend wrote in the liner notes for one of Wray's albums, "He is the king; if it hadn't been for Link Wray and 'Rumble', I would have never picked up a guitar" .

In 2002, Wray was named one of the 100 greatest guitarists of all time by Guitar World magazine.

According to today's New York Times, Michael Molenda, editor in chief of Guitar Player magazine, saw Wray perform last July at Slim's, a small San Francisco club.

"He was certainly a young soul, very gracious, kind of like a punk to the end," Molenda said. "He wasn't like a guy who was 76 years old. He was like a 19-year-old in a 76-year-old body."

Rest easy, Link.

Visit the official Link Wray web site here.

Footnote for music theory geeks: A power chord is often just the root and fifth of the scale, sometimes with the octave added. It leaves out the third note of the scale which makes a chord either major or minor, so the power chord is ambiguous and can fit into either major or minor keys, making it very useful. Neat, huh?

Damn you, Mark Latham

I'm angry, very angry.

The Latham diaries were published today after much hoopla and media frenzy.

And I'm not in them!

Every other man and his dog seems to have got a serve from Mark in his outpouring of venom and bile. Except me.

Damn you, Mark Latham. Am I so unimportant that I don't even rate a mention? Not even a footnote?

Every one who has ever breathed air in the same vicinity as you has copped a dose of your wrath and invective. Couldn't you have spared a bit of energy to attack me in print? Not even a hint of irony? A touch of hyberbole or an iota of litotes? Not even so much as a snide comment or sarcastic reference?

OK, so I'm a fairly small fish in a reasonably big pond, but to be totally overlooked when people much less deserving of criticism have been comprehensively bagged ....

It's not good enough. I demand to be insulted by Mark Latham.

How much is too many?

A Report today said that there were cases of self-harm by 700 detainees in our detention camps for "illegal" immigrants.

"Not so," says the responsible Minister, Amanda Vanstone. "Some of these reported cases were repeat attempts by the same persons. There are only about 500 people who have attempted self-harm in our detention centres."

Oh, so that's all right then, Amanda.

Happy Birthday to Me

It's my Birthday!

How old? Well, here's a clue: I can remember a time before Rock n' Roll.

What did I get for presents? From my partner in life, Lady Ann, a new electric shaver. From my younger daughter, Tracy, a nice bottle of red, and from my older daughter currently in Amsterdam, a surprise "Happy Birthday Dad" message on the internet.

BTW. Sharon's tummy troubles are fixed and she's off to the UK for a couple of days to visit the rellies before flying back to Madrid for a flight to Cuba. Oh, these young people, gadding about all over. Tracy has been flat out since her return from Europe stating up her own graphic design business.

Anyway, back to me! From my beloved mother-in-law, bless her, Gazman socks. From my good friends, Father Greg and Sister Rae, a rather nice bottle of mysterious grape-liqueur marinade cum dessert sauce and a Swiss Victorinox miniature tool kit packed into a credit-card sized case - very cute.

And from me to me? Another layby payment for my new guitar. It's a beauty, a Fender Squier Telecaster. Custom, with twin humbuckers. Black. Functional. Like a tommy gun.

Happy Birthday to Me.

Vale Lorraine

Another week, another funeral.

That makes the trifecta. In the past three weeks I've been to a Catholic funeral, an Anglican wedding, and today a secular funeral.

Lorraine was one of the good ones who died before her time age 57 after a gruelling battle with cancer.

She was a well-known and respected nurse, nurse educator and administrator. With no children of her own, she was a second mum to her nephew and nieces. The service was at the funeral director's private chapel and was conducted by family members making valedictory speeches. The younger folk, the nephew and one of the nieces, made particularly thoughtful and affectionate speeches.

Lorraine's coffin was that lovely shade of purple and made a dignified and elegant feminist statement. A Bach cantata gave us time to remember Lorraine, and for some of us to reflect on our own mortality.

I've known Lorraine for years. My life partner, Lady Ann, has known Lorraine and her family since childhood, having lived and grown up in the same street where her parents lived and brought up their children.

I've known Lorraine's partner for just as long. He is devastated but bearing up with courage and dignity. Both are great examples of commitment to social justice and working to make things better for society.

Vale Lorraine.

Community Trash Swap

It's my favourite time of year in the municipal council calendar - hard rubbish collection.

One a year, you and your neighbours put your accumulated 'hard rubbish' out on the footpath for the council to collect. These are all the items that are too big to put out in the regular weekly trash collection.

You put it out on a weekend. Then the trucks come round during the following week to take it away. So from Sunday evening onwards, at least for the next two or three days, there is a treasure trove of trash out in the streets. That's when people go scavenging. And there is some great stuff. Last year I needed a couple of loudspeakers for the band's PA. In two hours I picked up eight.

This year, I put out our old TV set, the old gas wall furnace that we'd had replaced, three old canvas backed "director" chairs, an eight-inch square of steel plate that used to cover part of the storm water drain and the two front panels from a pair of loadspeakers I'd scrounged in last year's haul.

The TV went in the first hour. By Wednesday, eveything had gone except for the speaker panels, even the bit of metal. And I'd picked up a large hard-shell suit case, perfect for my busking drum set.

So you put out your surplus stuff for others to help themselves, and you go and liberate stuff that other people no longer want. This is socialism at work.

Re-use, re-pair and recycling at work, reducing landfill and council workload. A win-win situation all around. I love it.

Franco's revenge

Poor Sharon got sick in Barcelona - some ugly tummy bug that gave her the screaming poos for a week. Picked up the bug in the Gothic Quarter where she was staying.

The old quarter is slowly deteriorating under the onslaught of countless tourists on cheap tours, mostly from the UK. Their idea of a great time is to stay awake for days, party, hit the bars and drink themselves stupid. Each night, many piss, shit and vomit in the streets. In the small hours of the morning, water trucks come along and hose out the filth, ready for another day and the next party.

Happy Anniversary

It's two years since I first set up this blog on this day in 2003. Then I left it untouched until recently.

It was basically a trial - what was all this stuff about these new-fangled blogs?

Back then, a work colleague had set one up to focus on news items relating to the area in which we worked - science and technology innovation. The idea was to use the technology to discuss the technology, that is to use the medium to deconstruct the medium, sort of.

Anyway, it seemed a good idea at the time. Each member of the team contributed to the blog and it didn't take more than a few seconds to realise how to set my own. So I did. Because I could.

But I only started to write regularly when inspired by my elder daughter Sharon's holiday blog and younger daughter Tracy's holiday photo album which they started almost at the same time. A nice example of the parent learning from the child.

Storm in a teacup

Adelaide was hit by severe storms two nights ago - the same time that New Orleans was being smashed by Hurricane Katrina.

Wind gusts up 125 km/hr knocked down numerous trees and branches which took out the power lines to around 50,000 homes.

ETSA (the electricity company) had most households back on line within 24 hours. They gave priority to life-endangering situations. Then they brought the system back up in stages. First they fixed faults to restore the network, then faults that restored whole areas, then whole suburbs, then individual streets. Lastly they did individual houses where the line from the street to the house was down.

All very sensible - starting with the faults that would bring the most houses back on line, then working down to specific dwellings. However, some people are never satisfied.

On talkback radio the next day, most calls were either anecdotal or praise for the authorities and emergency services.

But one woman rang in to complain bitterly. She said that a tree had fallen across her driveway so that in the morning she couldn't get her car out to go to work. When she phoned the State Emergency Services and described the problem, they told her that she'd have to go on the waiting list for help. She moaned to the radio talk-back show that it wasn't good enough, she paid her taxes .... etc., etc.

Pretty soon the station switchboard lit up with sensible people deriding her attitude. The best comment was that it was the State Emergency Service, not the Local Inconvenience Service.

I say to the women, do what lots of other people do to get to work - get a bus.

I can't believe that your job is so important it has to take precedence over real emergencies.

If it is that important, get a taxi.

One wedding and a funeral

Spent more time in churches last week than I have in years.

The first event was a funeral in St Joseph's Catholic church for the sister of my old friend Brian. A sad occasion, as are all funerals, but uplifting in many ways.

Moyna was elderly and had been in poor health for some years. But she had a full life, growing up on a small farm in South Australia, eventually becoming a well-known piano player, living, working and teaching at various times in Adelaide, Canada, and Melbourne, before returning to Adelaide.

Brian told us of evenings at home on the farm when the family made its own entertainment with family members singing and playing various instruments, often to the delight of local friends and visitors. Moyna first played in public at the age of 12 as the subsitute pianist in her local church. She played for dances during the war, and later played in various bands and small combos.

As usual, I enjoyed the mass. I love the ritual, the theatre, the glorious old words resonating in the spaces and down the years.

The second was an Anglican affair in St Andrew's: the marriage of my niece (my wife's sister's daughter). One of the most genuinely happy weddings I've been to. The bride and groom are a bit older (34 and 40) and combined modern and traditional elements in their ceremony and reception. A black tie affair, the theme was 'vintage', with bride, bridesmaids and m.o.b. looking great in 1930s style gowns and outfits. Again the ceremony was rich and warm in an elegant venue.

Hmmm, this was going to be a piece about the nature of ritual, the language of religion and the spiritual experience. Instead it's turning into something from the social pages. Oh well, let's go with the flow.

The reception was at Kooyonga Golf Club, where both bride and mother are keen players. The groom still can't believe his luck that his new wife is a fanatical sports person and loves her golf. Added to which she is stunning looking and a successful business women. I've rarely seen a new husband looking so genuinely happy, and like the cat that got the cream. At times he was almost incoherent with joy. Entertaining speeches from the bride, groom, best man and father of the bride. The band "Wintercherry" got the upmarket crowd dancing with an eclectic mix of old favourites and uptempo newer stuff.

All-in-all, a good night.

Good night.

The Prodigal Returns

Tracy came home yesterday after her first big adventure.

After eight weeks packpacking around Europe she walked out through the Arrivals door looking amazingly fit and well, wearing her packpack like a veteran and with a new air of confidence.

She has found her way through parts of England, Scotland, France, Belgium, Holland, Switzerland Italy and Spain - sometimes via pre-planned bus links, at other times by improvising and jumping on and off trains and boats and planes. Well, not really boats, although she did water taxis in Venice.

A little older , a little tireder, and a little wiser, she is now trying to settle back into an Adelaide life-style. I wonder if it will ever be the same.

Conundrum and resolve

Q. So how come you're a monk yet you have two children?

A. I wasn't always a monk.

On symmetry

My two daughters, Sharon and Tracy, are all growed-up.

Sharon, the older one, has just left Australia to spend some time overseas (see previous post).

Tracy, the younger one, is just about to return to Australia after spending some time overseas.

Thus balance is maintained in the universe.

Aaaah, couriers.

My eldest daughter, Sharon, has gone overseas.

She packed many of her wordly goods into 17 parcels and sent them via a 'backload' transport company to the ancestral home for safe-keeping.

They didn't turn up, and the more I waited, the more they didn't arrive.

Through the miracle of e-mail and internet cafes, she managed to send the name of the transport company. I used the internet Yellow Pages to track down their contact details. The helpful guy there tracked down the order and said the load was now in a warehouse in one of the industrial suburbs of our fair city. I could pick it up for free or pay $80 to have it delivered. I got a trailer and went out there - no problems, all stored safely in a giant dry shed.

As I signed for it, I said that I'd been expecting it to be delivered a couple of weeks ago. The guy said they'd tried to, but there was no one home.

We'd had a couple of tradesmen working at the front of the house on the day the delivery was due. I had asked them to tell the delivery driver to leave the load on the front verandah if it arrived while I was out.

He did, saying that I'd be back in an hour. But the driver wouldn't leave it because it was in full view of the street, and company policy ...etc.

The warehouse guy said they'd tried to contact me, but couldn't, because they didn't have any contact details for me. True, there was no indication on the paperwork. However, in the two weeks that the pallet had been in storage, they hadn't noticed the 17 large labels, one on each package, each of which had my name, address and telephone number in HUGE LETTERS that you could read from the other side of the warehouse!

Pell pontificates

Today, Catholic Archbishop Pell welcomed the news that the Pope had named Sydney as the venue for the next world congress of Catholic youth in 2007.

He said, "Not only does it bring $100 million dollars to the Australian economy, it also promotes Christian values."

Is it just me that sees any irony in this?.

Useful things my dad taught me.

Never bet on slow horses.

If it looks like a conspiracy it's probably just a stuff-up.

Don't play cards with anyone called "Doc".

Bullshit baffles brains.

If the candle blows out in the middle of a card game, grab the pot.

Never argue with a mug.

A Japanese poet contemplates the role of the adviser:

The prince takes counsel. Philosophers ponder Spring
And the scribes attend.

Note: This is the same subject as the 'lost' Shakespeare poem (see previous post), but written as an original Haiku.

A lost Shakespeare poem*

Let kings and generals discourse, here is my space.
Every subject’s duty is the kings, ‘tis my vocation,
And ‘tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.
They say miracles are past, but hope looks forward yet.

All the world’s a stage, and each man in his time plays his part.
So you, good yeomen, show us here the mettle of your pasture.
How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty,
In thought and judgement how express and admirable.

Rightly to be great is not to stir without great argument.
In enterprises of great pith and moment to thine own selves be true,
And it must follow, as the night follows day,
We have done the State some service.

Then must you speak; tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow.
We have kissed away Kingdoms and principalities
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds
So wisdom shines. A plague on both your houses.


*Note of explanation:

I wrote this ‘poem’ as a satirical comment on a furious debate with the executive officers of an Advisory Council which reports to the Premier, and an Advisory Board, which reports to a Minister.

The argument was about the form of words to be used on the relevant Government Department’s web site to describe the two advisory bodies' respective functions. The issue at the heart of the conflict was to give due deference to their respective levels of ‘seniority’ and precedence.

It took an inordinate amount of time and soul-searching, negotiation and word-smithing until I managed to come up with a form of words that was acceptable to both parties.

Although the catalyst was the specific conflict described above, the 'poem' is about the nature of service and role of those whose task it is to help achieve their leaders' visions and implement their policies for the benefit of our society. It is also a satire on the growing trend of process versus outcomes in areas of public endeavour.

The parody is made up of various lines from about 15 different Shakespeare plays, massaged to suit, with invented linking material in the same style.

Then I wrote it as an original Japanese haiku, following as many of the traditional 'rules' as are possible in English (see next post).

The Fainting Dog

Ever seen a dog faint?

My poor old mutt is diabetic. Don't laugh. Just like a human, she has to have insulin injections to help metabolise her food. Human insulin - she's resistant to dog insulin.

So that means I have to test her urine every few days to measure the right dose. Yes, that's right, I have to collect samples of dog piss and match the colour changes on a Diastix test strip.

Last weekend she got sick and went off her food for three days. Reduced to guesswork, the insulin balance went haywire.

Heard about little old ladies who skip breakfast then pass out in the street or supermarket because their blood sugar drops too far? (C'mon, remember your First Aid?) It's the same with dogs.

Poor old girl stood there right in front of me, wobbled, her front legs gave way and she pitched forward onto her face and rolled onto her side.

I thought she was a goner - heart attack or something.

No, she lay there breathing, and I got some honey onto my fingers and into her mouth. That got her back on her feet. Then I hand-fed her the left-over veal casserole we had had for dinner. My next day's lunch was now inside the dog.

Next day at the vet, they found she had a chest infection and was running a temperature. That's why she was off her food. So now she's on antibiotics morning and night. There's an improvement, but she's still not a well dog.

Somewhere in there is a metaphor, but I'm not sure what it is, yet.

A 'Doctor Who' moment

Went into the local Cash Converters today to check out the music stuff. (It's a franchised chain of pawnbrokers in Australia).

There was a young guy buying band p.a. gear. Mid 20s maybe, long straight black hair, eye liner, baggy black sleeveless t-shirt showing his Ozzy Osbourne style tattoos. The drummer, maybe.

I was looking at myself about 30 years ago, minus the tatts.

Gave him a 'hey, man' from inside my Christopher Eccleston look-alike, German U-boat commander, corporate costume.

"Hey", he replied. Then, "Do I know you?"

"Yeah", I said. "I'm you in 2035." He grinned.

"Just called in to say 'Keep on rocking'." He smiled again. He got it.

Then I left.