The Thousands

Those guys are lying around on pebbles. Ouch. Deal with it. Major Crimes have a really good cassette out. Ducklings are still insufferable pricks. Two artists collaborate at Hugos. Zuckerberg can't stop this mother's milk. Deal with it.

Cover photo by Rachel Chapman. Lay about, take some photos, send them to daniel@rightanglestudio.com.au.

Looking like a lost, Antipodean cousin to the late great Royal Art Lodge, Ghostpatrol creates quiet figures that move in slow motion. Gauzy, faded drawings of kids in the woods and at play; his imagery is both sci-fi and nostalgia-laden.

Future Notes Volume II compiles drawings out of Ghostpatrol's sketchbooks from June to November of last year. The Hobart transplant now resides in Melbourne, where he often collaborates with Miso (their work was profiled a few years back in a TV documentary).

Navigating the spectrum of street art - both in its natural habitat, and gallery or print form - it's always reassuring to encounter artists who counteract the hyper-masculine norms of that aesthetic with work that's vulnerable, sensitive, or apolitical. Ghostpatrol's images embody all that, alongside surreal storytelling and a delicate craftsmanship where the artist's hand is always present.

Future Notes is a nice keepsake, and a great cross-section of ideas at various stages of germination. Released by Dawn Press in a limited edition of 200, each book is hand numbered and since Volume I sold out, if you're keen, best get clicking...

Screw journalistic objectivity I'm just going to say it: Total Control are the best and most exciting band in Australia. Apologies to Royal Headache and Eddy Current Suppression Ring but when it comes to the pure visceral and primal thrill of live rock and roll I can't see anybody coming close to this five piece.

To see them perform live is what I imagine Joy Division, Negative Approach or the Birthday Party in their early days would have been like. An edge. A dark, agitated, snarling punk edge that is both captivating and unsettling in its intensity. Daniel Stewart stands on his toes with mic lead wrapped over his shoulders as he lurches into the songs. James Vinciguerra pounds the kit while Mikey Young, Al Montfort and Zephyr Pavey exchange furtive glances across stage as they try to keep rein on the musical attack. It's under control but only just.

Their debut LP Henge Beat is full of seething disdain and power. They have also become a touring machine, having travelled the USA with Thee Oh Sees, the UK for All Tomorrow's Parties and now both Laneway and Golden Plains. I spoke to drummer James from somewhere in the USA. 

TS: Hey James. Where are you right now?
JV: Memphis. read more

I don't do much shopping online but that's because I don't do much shopping at all. But if I did shop, and thus shop online like the entire world is doing these days, I'd definitely try and shop from a local webstore. There you go; ethical capitalism in the cold and inauthentic internet. Though, finding local online stores can be tricky since Adelaide sure isn't to the webstore what Silicon Valley is to hi-tech. But, I've found one called The Old Scholar and the hole in my moth-eaten t-shirt is making mouthy shapes at me, saying "it looks pretty, pretty good, I think. But what would I know I'm a moth-eaten t-shirt!"

Yes, The Old Scholar is Adelaide based but the brands The Old Scholar carry are from all over the place like: graphic tees from Das Monk, dude's Limedrop bits and pieces, tights from Wolford, Kings of Carnaby, and even Bonds trunks you might be able to get couriered to you for when you're trunkless, scared and alone because all your trunks are dirty. The website also features white font on hip photos which is pretty good too.

On my computer I have a folder labelled "ANIMALS FIGHTING". I guess I'm a sicko. I really like photos of animals – especially dogs or horses – tearing into each other. Sinew, blood and pathos. Richard Lewer paintings have a bit of that kind of visceral ugliness. A bit Sidney Nolan, but also a bit funny. Tony Garifalakis is a bit funny and dark too. I like his latest series Trash Talk - a bunch of drop sheets pinned to the wall with the fold lines still visible, bearing aphorisms like “SUFFER TIME” or “I'm gonna kill you and bury you in a box half your size”. They're so blunt that you laugh instead of feeling real shit feelings.

The Lewer/Garifalakis collaborative work at Hugo Michell seems to sit comfortably between their two individual practices – a bit funny and a bit fucked up. The end result is a series of found images off-set printed and then altered with mordant text and black enamel spray. I'm looking forward to laughing instead of crying, or crying and laughing at the same time, or y'know, just walking around the gallery and maintaining my composure.

Steve McQueen’s beautifully crafted drama recalls Drive, and not just for transforming Manhattan into the same gritty, jaded demimonde as Refn’s Los Angeles. There should be an APB going out to intense, blue-eyed loners across America: “STAY AWAY FROM CAREY MULLIGAN SHE WILL PIERCE YOUR STYLISH SHELL OF URBAN ALIENATION AND FLOOD YOUR METICULOUSLY EMPTY LIFE.”

Here, Mulligan is cabaret singer Sissy, who shares with her brother Brandon (Michael Fassbender) a troubled past that’s disturbing for only ever being hinted at. In a key scene, dense with meaning, she turns ‘New York, New York’ into a haunting torch song as Brandon watches, eyes aglisten, with his cocky boss David (James Badge Dale).

The production and costume design underline that whatever “bad place” these siblings have escaped has forged them as opposites. She’s brittle, warm, hungry for intimacy and bleeding vulnerability; he’s smooth, cool, chasing isolation through his compulsion for anonymous orgasms, and shying from a coworker, Marianne (Nicole Beharie), whom he might actually like.

Sure, Fassbender’s wang appears in the first five minutes, but for me the siblings’ interdependent antagonism was more poignant and intriguing than Brandon’s overdetermined ‘depravity’. I found the film’s ending subtly hopeful.

It's summertime, BBQ time, walking round in barefoot and stepping on sharp pebbles time. But it ain't gonna be summer forever. Them clouds are rolling in, but you wanna keep living the dream? Get yourself an indoor BBQ and and cook your favourite meal indoors! They have all sorts of BBQs that are made especially for cooking inside.

Smokeless, steamless, family friendly. WHO CARES!? If you can't afford all that mumbo jumbo why not just bring your little BBQ into the house and open the damn windows. It might be an idea to take the batteries out of your smoke alarm first cause those things HATE smoke. Which is stupid because smoke makes everything delicious. That's how I do it.

The great outdoors is gross anyways; bugs, sunburn and other people. Just stay indoors with your best buddies (meat and beer) and whistle your life away. You can probably also cook vegies on indoor BBQs too if you are that way inclined but I ain't ever tried it and never plan to.

So throw away those fry pans and turn your oven into a dishwasher. Indoor BBQ your life away! Warning: Eating BBQ for every meal may shorten your lifespan but WILL increase your number of friends.

It's kind of odd to start an article about a cafe by pointing out the bathroom set up, but I'm going to do it anyway. If there is one reason to visit A Mothers Milk (apart from the excellent coffee and enticing breakfast and lunch menu), it's to enjoy the simple pleasures of Aesop handwash and the repurposed trough-as-handbasin. Crazy, huh?

This attention to detail and quality is indicative of something that carries throughout Unley Road's newest cafe; a sense of thoughtfulness seeps through the worn floorboards, exposed brick wall, customised IKEA stools (actually quite comfortable!), trestle tables, brown apothecary-style glassware and idiosyncratic graffiti art on the walls, a nod to neighbour Cold Krush. Cakes, teas and preserves line the walls and counter, while a turntable sits expectantly in one corner. In some ways it's almost a little too put together, but it's hard not to appreciate the fact that A Mothers Milk does 'independent coffee shop' well. So well that you'd almost expect to see Ross and Rachel lounging around in the corner.

If the front room looks full, don't turn away! There are two smaller rooms at the back; one, a tiny three-stool-by-the-window affair, perfect for whiling away a day of reading, writing, or whatever it is that you do best while knocking back flat white after flat white.

I don't know what happened to The Horrors between Strange House and Primary Colours, apart from ditching their stage names and toning down their haircuts; but all moves appeared to be good moves as they morphed into strong contemporary representatives of new wave and post punk. They're the kind of band where influences are obvious (read: good), but you still expect a well-listened bunch of folks with obscurities in taste that feed subtly into the final Horrors product. Pull on your tightest black jeans and tend to your fringe - The Horrors are DJ-ing before Laneway, and it's gonna be a dance-fest.

Major Crimes have a little cassette out called Monsoon and it's really good stuff. Mellow trips. Dub rythyms. Psych guitar. Meandering wah. You can probably buy this tape at this show with Old Mate - who should have won that damn band competition for Laneway on the basis of this 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' cover and generally being great - and that nightmare of a band Bad Dreams. Get it? Bad dream. Nightmare. Never you mind. Go to this show.

As the No One Wants To Play With Us juggernaut rolls on, the title becomes increasingly misleading. This line up isn't a collection of Adelaide's down and out vagrants; it's an amalgamation of some of our best, brightest and most well-attached musicians. Think Naomi Keyte of Gold Bloom, Tom Capogreco of Sparkspitter, Josh Calligeros of Sincerely Grizzly and Marcus Warnecke of The Honey Pies paired with past, present (and no doubt future) members of bands like Mr Wednesday, Box Elder, Mountbatten, All Night Girls and Choral Grief. Thirteen musicians, seven acts, one night. Do it.

An astral plane exists, to some people, between Heaven and Earth. It is occupied by angels and dead people and Jonathan Richman. The Astral Plane, however, exists in Australia and is populated by two dudes, Daniel Oliver and Damien Horan (of The Villainares), and their most awesome line of printed tees, button ups, denim and swim shorts.

The Astral Plane radiates slow summers and vagabond spirit. They've got a knack for rendering vintage ideas via laid-back street wear and are especially good at hallucinated prints and patterns.

Their latest collection is impressive. Psychedelic palms, wild stallions, water crafts, and the hottest city in the world NYC make printed appearances on tees. Have a look for yourself at these stockists. We particularly like the 'Islands' swim shorts, which are patchworked with all of your favourite parts of summer - palm trees, flowers and Aztec patterns - and have a bonus pocket which is 'handy if you're craving a coconut water?'

We liked them so much that we got you some. To enter, just answer the following question.