The Thousands

See that big rock? That's the internet. See that really tiny guy? That's us. It was so hard guys but we climbed the metaphor! In this issue - a really great Burnt Skulls cassette, Go-In Hotpot Train, Wax Museum has new digs, singing in a choir, an interview with that well dressed man from New York, and new art on the block.

Cover photo by Xixi Cao. Rock like Xixi. Send yours to daniel@rightanglestudio.com.au.

Graphic design luminaries from either side of the pond Luke Wood (NZ) and Stuart Geddes (AUS) are both aces at making shit look good with the computer. It makes sense that these guys (and many more like them) have become obsessed “reconnecting their heads with their hands” by building and riding vintage motorbikes. They’re all about hunting down parts, talking to old men in sheds, piecing it together, making it work.

Head Full of Snakes is like the bridge between their two worlds. It’s a carefully crafted deluxe fanzine of sorts, printed using the riso on pulpy, rough paper. It looks lovely. Within its 108 pages, HFoS delves into all kinds of interesting cul-de-sacs of motorcycle culture – like a sweet photo essay of salt flat racers by Tobias Titz, an interview with John Taylor-Leigh (secretary of New Zealand’s Norton Owners Club), Jason Crombie’s story about his Dad’s long lost petrol head brothers, and a comic strip called ‘Biker Wolves’ that is as awesome as it sounds. There’s even a flexidisc insert, with a four-and-a-half-minute cover of Richard Thompson’s ’1952 Vincent Black Lightning’, which is actually a recording of Paul Elliman riding a 1952 Vincent Black Lightning for four and a half minutes.

As awesome as it looks, it’s all about the stoke that these pages amplify. HFoS makes me excited, even if I still have no intention of ever riding a motorcycle. It is a vessel of enthusiasm, it makes me want to do something and that’s one of the best things that a thing can be.

An exploration in experimental noise, doom and free improvisation, Burnt Skulls eschews the narcotic stumble and psychedelic nuances of Stacey Wilson's solo work while exploring Tim Deane-Freeman's sly infiltration of the textures of Japanese outfit, Les Rallizes Dénudés. This is a hit of kiff, washed down with cheap vodka whilst mainlining Metal Machine Music. It’s dirty and loose.

Brainchild of Tim (formerly of Skeletons, The Weevils and member of the world wide Damo Suzuki Network), and born of a desire to ‘make heaps of noise’, Burnt Skulls’ debut album, was recorded live at home, with no overdubs, on a portable cassette recorder.

Movement of the flanged harmonic feedback around Tim’s frenzied percussive structure on the first track, simply entitled 'I', attacks with the ferocity of a European wasp. It staggers toward the end of the song but never loses it’s true path, relentlessly attacking through to its end.

'II' is a sombre affair. It’s doom without the cloaks and smoke machines. The drums roll along furrows dug out by the shimmering drone of Stacey's guitar. The overblown fast spin cycle guitar in 'III' leans uncomfortably against non-faltering beats. Try putting cutlery in the washing machine. The sound is close. Three tracks. 60 odd minutes. Another outstanding release from the Faux Friends imprint.

Tom Krell is American musician How To Dress Well. He makes experimental pop music, that could also be described as an ethereal, narcotic form of R & B. His production is intelligent, his songs are intense: sometimes Krell's voice reaches joyful, falsetto heights, other times its washed out, ambiguous melodies. You feel nostalgic listening, but for what you're not sure.  I saw him live earlier this year and I'm not exactly the God-fearing type, but I found myself telling people that experiencing How To Dress Well live is kind of like... well... being touched by an angel. He's trading in winter vacation at his parents' house to come and sing for us in Australia for the first time. We talked to Krell about crying in public, being brave and what experiences you just can't touch.

So you're originally from Denver, but you've lived in Brooklyn, and now you're based in Chicago. Do you like living in Chicago more than New York?
It's funny, people are way less fancy here (in Chicago), which means the parties are way more wild here than in New York - it's a pretty good city.

I experienced Chicago recently, and enjoyed it a lot more than New York. So many great venues, great art and music and public spaces, nice people.
Yeah, so you know the deal - it's a great city. In summer, it's probably the best place to be in the US - people have been put through such a hellish winter that they just go nuts. Summer is sick in Chicago. This summer I have been on tour in Europe, so unfortunately the only time I actually got to spend in Chicago was around the Pitchfork Festival. I was here then for about ten days - I actually moved apartments at that time - then went back for more shows in Europe from the end of July to the beginning of August. Then I was in London for four weeks making my new record.

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The meanings of plenty of words have been lost over the years, and although this makes me sound like a dumb journalism student (or my Nana) it rings truer than we cool kids care to admit. 'Socialising' is not what it used to be. A 'shopkeeper' is not what it used to be.

Yet Ocky, the proprietor of the fresh Wax Museum Records in Adelaide, is a shopkeeper in the traditional sense of the word. Do not let the most chilled demeanour in the city fool you; Ocky takes so much pride in his shop that you could fill the whole of Rymill Park lake with his pride and he'd still have some left to show you. He sources most of his vinyl in person, and spends a lot of time outside of Adelaide sifting through crates for hip-hop, soul, breaks and funk diamonds.

Wax Museum has been around for ages, did you say? Yeah, but I got an update for you: Wax Museum Records has moved from Rundle Street to become the newest member of the East Grenfell Street family of cool. Happily atop HAUSE store with big windows looking onto leafy Grenfell, the new store holds less stock but continues to focus on quality and collection. There are a few DVDs and a good collection of Waxpoetics magazines to admire, but its mostly just a good selection of vinyls for your listening, browsing or purchasing pleasure. Ocky has brought a little of the meaning of the word 'shopkeeper' back into a trip to the shops: a chat, some good product advice, a deal, and a smile.

Over two years, Richard Press tracked the life and work of an impish, bike-riding, octogenarian photographer whose “On the Street” column is a New York Times fixture. If there’s such a thing as a fashion monk, Bill Cunningham is it. Equally at ease with street toughs and society elites, he utterly rejects egotism and luxury, and has subsumed his personal life to an almost anthropological delight in capturing how people dress. Press guides us into Cunningham’s enigmatic, ascetic world delicately and unobtrusively. He explains a personal philosophy that blends ethics and pragmatism, from repairing a rain poncho with gaffer tape to refusing money and perks in favour of intellectual independence.

Cunningham is the product of a vanished America – his diction is a charming hybrid of Noo-Yawk squawk and Katharine Hepburn Anglo vowels. Yet unlike fellow photographer Editta Sherman, his neighbour in the now-demolished artists’ studios above Carnegie Hall, Cunningham isn’t petrified by nostalgia. He just gets on his bike and swooshes away, hungry for the next sartorial revelation. With his keen eye and memory for motifs, his observations transcend the banality of ‘trends’. No wonder the fashion world regards him as a treasure.

Rumour has it that Magazine Gallery's days as an exhibition space might be numbered. The Reading Room is excellent but it has its limitations as a gallery. FELTspace is my personal favourite, but they only have two small rooms. Step up to the plate Tooth and Nail, I'm ready to see whatchya got.

Spearheaded by local friendly man Jake Holmes - a.k.a JakeOne, responsible for the ubiquitous and encouraging 'You are beautiful' grafitti - and a team of motivated ragamuffins, Tooth and Nail is the latest artist-run gallery to pop up in Adelaide. T&N also boasts thirteen artist studios, a printing press and a bunch of engraving gear.

Both the studio resident list and the Grand Opening Exhibition feature old favourites – Kate Gagliardi, Peter Drew, Kahl Hopper – and a few new faces – Kerri Ann Wright, Kate Power, Genevieve Dawson-Scott. I've been closely following the publicity, trying to figure out what Tooth and Nail's modus operandi will be. The beautifully hand-printed flyers give away what I suspect will be an inclination towards the well-crafted and designed. A recent DIY Xmas fair suggest T&N might have activist inclinations. To quote Big Kev, “I'm Excited”.

Do it. Go in. The instructions are right there printed across the sign. Go in. Sit down. Eat hotpot from a train. You won’t regret it. Not at all. It’s not like buying a thigh dissolver or ab-twirler or facial hair executioner from an infomercial or something. It’s bliss in broth form.

The process is simple. First one must pick a broth, and highly recommended are the spicy duck feet (delicious zesty sour soup with bits of chewy yum - yes, they are feet and yes, eating them feels vaguely sexual) or the Kimchi soup. Next, one must attempt to select from the scores of menu items available to put in your personal hotpot (best to let one’s assertive friend make the choices if one, like me, suffers from neoliberal anxiety and can be overwhelmed by the dizzying number of edible options a free-market has to offer). One probably ought to get the mashed boiled prawn wah, or a plate of squishy grey material which transforms into pink puffs of prawn happiness while swimming in your broth. Other potential mouth delights include: trays of thinly sliced meats, dumplings, homemade noodles and so many vegetable and tofu varieties that your pot is gonna look like a pool party at a nerd-with-rich-parents’ house.

Finally, you can make your selection from the train itself. This bad boy is like the Trans-Siberian of food locomotives. There are more Asian greens, mushrooms and bean curd skins than you can poke an assassinated tsar’s severed finger at. With this much delicious on offer for this cheap - long live perestroika!

If you have a pathological fear of performing but have always wanted to partake in some sort of communal musical frivolity, read on. I have a solution to your problem. Turn the fate of your lapsed sightreading skills - developed over eight years of forced piano lessons - around! Erase the scars left by pushy, gospel-obsessed music teachers! Eliminate the possibility of having all eyes on you by hiding behind someone else! Sing quietly along to Talking Heads in your bedroom no longer, my friend. Sing loudly and proudly in a choir!

The things you'll need to join a choir are as follows:
1. A voice - if it can hold a tune, that's a bonus.
2. That is all.

Choirs come in various shapes and sizes. We recommend joining a small themed choir - for example, 'we only sing sad songs', or 'we only sing epic arrangements of Beyonce tracks' as opposed to jumping straight into Handel's Messiah or trying out for the Morricone 100-plus ensemble.

Hey, why not set up a choir with your friends? It works best if you know some boys with deep voices and some girls with high ones (or, y'know, vice versa), and it will help if at least one of you is somewhat music-literate. There will always be one person who is great on the volume but not so great on the pitching, and another who was a child prodigy and will demand that everyone pay extra close attention to the 6/8 timing in the coda instead of just bumbling on through. Everyone else will fit somewhere in between, and after a rough practice or two with some Googled sheet music your dulcet tones will be bringing sweet a capella action to lounge rooms, parks, stoops and concert halls in no time. Christmas is a great time to get started - we promise your neighbours will really appreciate a rousing rendition of Good King Wenceslas at 3am on a Saturday. True!

This OUT contains three questions:

1. Is there anything better than a bit of post-rock-drone-gaze-kraut-violin-y-music on a Friday night?
2. Is there anything better than a bit of minimalist-harmony-sparse-electronic-guitar-y music on a Friday night?
3. Is there anything better than a bit of gentle-acoustic-Tallest-Man-On-Earth-esque-y music on a Friday night?

If you answered YES to any of these, then you are well within your rights to blow off all other plans and attend this show. Do it.

There's a whole lot of 'activation' happening right now. I just activated the space in my backyard between my two lemon trees with a hammock and an esky. Yarwood's activating laneways with jazz bands and the Premier in his ear hole, ouch. But the one to be really excited about is Rocket Bar activating their rooftop! Yeah that's right, Rocket Bar is extending to their rooftop. It's gonna fit 100 people and even have a bar menu that you can order food from - and a 'date palm'? They're celebrating its opening all weekend long, with the official 'taa-daa!' this Friday followed by another killer line up on the Saturday with Sunday featuring a BBQ/record sale/vintage clothes fair thing.

GRONG GRONG! If you don't know the story of this band, get on it. These guys are nuts, incredible, amazing, getting and looking older by each shot of whiskey - in that order. Grong Grong is proper 80s punk rock in the flesh, and they are our own - do yourself a favour and get down to the Metro to see them this Sunday. They will be supported by a whole load of other freak bands: Friendz, Leather Messiah, Fiendish Cavendish, just to name a few. History in the making, or history already made and being played out again, just so we can get stupid.

Until now there have been only two kinds of wine racks: The oak wood kind your dad bought after watching Sideways. And the novelty kind, where the wine bottle morphs into a phallus (cue Italian waiter statue trying to carry his larger-than-life Pinot). No one had even considered the plight of cyclists. Cyclists who are trying to fulfill their dinner guest duties, riding down Sydney Road like a Vin Disel wannabe with one hand steering the bike, the other carrying a bottle of vino. It took so long to remedy this OH&S nightmare, but finally the solution is here: The Bicycle Wine Rack.

This new wine rack genus is hand made in Montreal by Oopsmark and, if you value living, it's the only way you can safely transport wine while cycling. It attaches to any 1" bike frame, securely clamps closed with an antique brass fastener and can adjust to fit various 3" bottles. You'd expect such a creation to look similar to the head gear contraption you wore in year seven, but instead it's made of olive oil-treated vegetable-tanned leather. The same ingredients Jerry Hall lathered onto her pregnant stomach in the '80s - so you know, it will age beautifully.

And guess what you peddlers? Our favourite Australian online bike accessories shop CycleStyle is their newest stockist. Order one here! Or try your luck as follows. Thanks to CycleStyle we have one bicycle wine rack to give away. To enter, just answer the following question.