Amongst Nature and Music: RTRFM In The Pines 2012 Review

If this blog is about anything, it is shameless self promotion.

Any fellow Perth residents will probably know that the fantastic local station RTRFM 92.1 runs a great gig every year called In The Pines. Twenty (generally) awesome local artists play for freezles (!), and all the money raised by punters drinking $7 Coopers goes to support the station which is such a champion of great WA music.

If you are not reading from Perth/didn't know about this before, you can now continue with your day content in this new knowledge. You're welcome.

I wrote a review of the event for FasterLouder here. There is a full gallery of photos from the day here.

The photos were taken by emkatphotography

If you are too time poor for all of that (I feel ya!), here is an excerpt from my captivating review:



...As the sun was going down and the night getting much cooler, The Leap Year gave a gritty rock performance with their no-nonsense attitude. Apricot Rail followed up with quite the opposite – blissed out, calming tunes. Clarinettist Mayuka Juber and trumpeter Jack Quirk both gave performances that reverberated off the trees, creating an uplifting atmosphere.

To herald the start of the Pines’ ‘main attractions,’ The Sunshine Brothers brought out their big, international sound. Their set took an eager audience on a magical, musical journey: middle eastern and Arabian flavours, touches of tropical island sounds, and a tribute to a tugboat (complete with sound effects and pirate commentary.)

The dancing mood continued with ever-perky Boys, Boys, Boys. Their particular brand of sugar-pop-meets-riot-grrl was infectiously energetic and super-tight. The entire group fit the stereotype for every tween TV show ever made, which is actually part of their charm. The popsters made up for the shockingly daggy choreography by closing their set with a Running Man dance contest.

There is no denying that San Cisco were one of the main drawcards for most punters. And the performance they gave proved their worth to anyone who might have been doubting. Surprisingly, the audience preferred to soak it all in instead of singing along to Golden Revolver and Tongue Tied Awkward. New song Fred Astaire was as endearingly sweet as you would expect. And even though Toast was written about an arch enemy of Jordi Davieson, it’s hard to imagine these genuine kids ever getting aggressive.

Considering San Cisco’s set, it’s fair to say Ghost Hotel had a tough act to follow. And while their Americana-inspired rock was easy to listen to, it was not a standout set.

The Kill Devil Hills, however, were as on-point as ever. Opening low and smooth with Change in the Weather, they then set a completely eerie atmosphere with Heathen Song. It became apparent very quickly that this is where the standard of performance would be set. And if you’ve ever wondered what an akubra-wearing, bearded man’s sex face looks like…watch Alex Archer while he plays violin.

By The Industry Baby with No comments

'Brave Winter' Photoshoot

I realise that not everyone loves words as much as I do.

In an effort to make myself multi-skilled for the fashion journalism world which I so love, I dabble in some styling from time to time.

These are from a shoot with two incredibly talented friends of mine.

Ben is just so good. We had minimal light at the location, but he worked it anyway. Kid is going to be a superstar.

Ellie is my oldest friend. She worked as a model for a few years, but eventually decided that it wasn’t for her. How amazing is she, though?

Brave Winter
Photographer / Ben Murdock
Model / Ellie Knapp
Styling / Me

I do love an exaggerated shoulder / ben murdock

All images credited to Ben Murdock

By The Industry Baby with 2 comments

Never Let Me Go

There it was. In the midst of a fervent wardrobe cull – unwanted, ill-fitting and downright daggy vêtements strewn left and right – I saw it for the first time in years. Through a protective sheath of plastic it seemed to shine with a halo from the furthermost corner of my wardrobe. My year 12 ball dress.

To me, this dress is near perfection. A liquid-like gown of delicate ivory silk, sweetheart neckline, with a thick black sash pinned just so in an elaborate bow at the rear.
 

my beloved and now useless ball dress / photo: me


In all the years it has been hanging in my closet, I have worn the dress a total of twice. Once, of course, for my fairytale-esque school ball. Then many years later to a black tie themed pub crawl.

My (ongoing) wardrobe cull has only two rules. 1: The item has to fit my body, and style. 2: The item must have been worn in the past 18 months. I knew instinctively that the pool of silk in my hands would satisfy neither clause. And yet, I could not bear to cast it off. The dress seemed to whisper “never let me go…”

It’s purchase had been poetic: after a long, unsuccessful day trawling garish gown boutiques, my mother and my 17 year-old self ducked into a forgetful looking store on our way home. Mum’s keen eye spied a glimpse of ivory on a rack and asked me to try it on. When I came out of the change room, I knew. Even better, it was but a fraction of our budget. 

On the night of my formal, it clung to my girlish figure like a glove. I felt like a movie star, and my friends told me I looked like one, too. In this magical dress I danced with the boy who soon after became my boyfriend (and is, for the record, still by my side.)

The memories tied to my ball dress are the very reasons it is still proudly hanging up  post-cull. Gazing at it, I can recall just how beautiful I felt that night. I remember dancing with friends, laughing, and beaming from ear to ear.

However, the truth of the present day is that the fabric sags from my now leaner, thinner frame. The colour washes me out. And I have absolutely nowhere to wear it in the foreseeable future. Is nostalgia a good enough excuse to cling to the garments that no longer fit our life?

You could argue that my ball gown was a ‘special occasion’ piece which could earn its place in my room for that reason alone. Not so for another treasured item of mine.

As I got older, my friends and I fell in love with the spirit and atmosphere of camping music festivals. Three day affairs involving joy-filled road trips, poorly-pitched tents and sunshine drenched days. Grungy style à la Kurt Cobain was the order of the day.

It was on one of these escapades that a dear friend gifted me a slightly tattered, and unbelievably soft, red tartan flannelette shirt. At about 10pm, I was feeling cold. He handed it to me, told me it had belonged to his late grandfather and that I could keep it.

Bogan-chic? My old, red flannelette shirt / photo: me



Today, it lies folded on the bottom shelf. It is even softer now, and features an enormous gaping hole in the back that I never got around to mending.

My style has (thankfully) evolved from grunge youth to that of a more refined rockstar. One who, I like to think, might sit front row at Chanel. Suffice to say, the red flanno no longer gets worn. And yet I cannot bring myself to bin it.

To me, it represents warm days, cool nights and a friendship that still stands. Something I can’t, nor want, to donate to the Salvation Army.

For the most part, my wardrobe cull has been a success. However, there are still a few pieces floating around that you might think were taking up valuable space. It is how I imagine married women feel; as anniversary after anniversary passes, their wedding dress remains tucked away in a dark corner, safe from the harsh light of day.

Although it may seem silly to hold on to something that is no longer useful, I am far too sentimental to have a truly minimalist, function-only wardrobe.

I still need a few hangers to bear treasured memories from my sartorial past.

Do you have anything in your wardrobe that begs you to “never let me go?

By The Industry Baby with 5 comments