The Thousands

And sucked in! We won’t really show you ours. Don’t want our mums to see us Totally out of Control on the internets. We will show you some other treasure though. Here’s Ash to Gold, Deluxe Bow Ties and The Golden Hind. More into trash? How about Yatala Drive-In and Dream School? Or just trash one of these.

This week's covershot courtesy of Hayley May Ward. Be a babe like Hayley and send us your covershots. We'll love you long time.

Bad news, team: people die. Peter Carey’s The Chemistry of Tears told me so. In the book, horology conservator Catherine Gehrig is beat up about this death thing - her boss/lover kicked el cubo and it’s driven her to Stolly, rack and kleptomania. She starts restoring a mechanical bird while poring over the notebooks of Henry Blanding, the chap who commissioned the machine in 1854. He’s an Englishman adrift in Germany, mourning the death of his first child and worrying about his sickly second child. He hopes the mechanical bird will invigorate the ill kid. We get to hear from both Catherine and Henry in an Inception of grief.

Sound stodgy? It isn’t. This is a book by Peter Carey and Peter Carey is an Australian legend. A stamp told me so. In his hands, Catherine’s restoration of the automaton becomes a saga of personal growth and Henry’s trials turn into a mystery filled with ambiguity and shady Germans. While reading the book, take regular breaks to reflect on our relationship with machines, our attitude towards the unknowable and the ties between grief, madness and obsession. Five minutes every hour.

I hope you don’t mind the book’s slipperiness, I really do. There’s a lot going on and Carey is happy to let it all float about, so don’t expect resolution in neat little bows. Life’s a mystery and so on. You need to be more patient. Your mum told me so.

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 Melbourne 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.

Tim Scott: Hey James. Where are you right now?
James Vinciguerra: Memphis. read more

They say lovers make the best collaborators. Anais Nin and Henry Miller, Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, Herb and Dorothy. Hell, I'm going to throw Gilbert and George in there because really, where would they be without each other?

James and Eleanor Avery travel the world together, making art as they venture through residencies in Milan, art shows in London and Brisbane, gathering memory ephemera along the way. Their specialty lies in reconfiguring their encounters in a witty and contemplative manner. The Golden Hind is the result of such travels and experimentation.

Their large scale sculptural work often references manipulated iconography, viewed through the distorted lenses of armchair tourism. Baudrillard would go to town on this kind of thing. The Golden Hind is a study of such iconography, using golden threads and video projections on the floor of the gallery. Debasing institutionalism and questioning our view of reality, the archaic never looked or felt so contemporary.

The trick to looking dapper is don't look like you're trying to be dapper. Japanese clothing label Deluxe hold this sentiment close. Throughout the past three years they've been developing a style that ranges from super book smart with a street smart flavour to high end 'guy who goes to the Park Hyatt Tokyo for a tipple on a regular basis'. The range includes jackets, shirts, pants, and accessories that we can guarantee most .jp cool kids (and soon you) are wearing.

Their latest range, Birth Of The Cool summons the 50s through metropolis, featuring blazers, dockside parka's, desert boots called Chevy, and of course, the humble adjustable bow tie. These bow ties come in classic grey, olive green, denim blue, and camo.

Guys, wear one of these instead. Ladies, wear these with your blouses. Mojo the monkey would cream his pants for these. Look dapper without looking like you're trying.

Russell sits at work with a blistering hangover, repeatedly revising a text to a guy he picked up the night before: "I feel like shit." Should I add a smiley face? Oh no wait - how about an exclamation point?

Weekend does an excellent job portraying the many modern day complexities of meeting someone you like, letting (or not letting) them know, and starting (or not starting) a relationship. The intimate details of this male / male coupling make the film particularly insightful and funny for homosexuals, especially if you've always felt like outsiders to 'gay culture'. But the pair's predicament will resonate with anyone who has felt their heart flutter or break in the last decade.

Though it's a small film, Weekend grabs at a lot of big ideas that will needle you long after it ends. Writer/director Andrew Haigh crafts characters that are refreshingly imperfect, and so three-dimensional you actually hear them speak (rather than their screenwriter). I hate to harp on the gay thing (and to call this a 'gay film' is reductive) but in comparison to the bulk of gay narratives, where all onscreen action is intended to provoke one of three physical responses (laughs, boners, or tears) having a film that appeals to your head and heart is extremely rare.

Beautifully shot, Haigh's Weekend artfully unpacks the issues surrounding the roles we play in relationships and in life. And, thankfully, it doesn't provide any easy answers.

The Ash to Gold flagship store could very well be the home of a mermaid - minus the water. A sweet little Winn Lane nook where chandeliers are made of shells, bricks shine like gold, and ceilings are clouds of tissue. It is here, in this cave of wonders, that you can shop for Ash to Gold's very own label, spy some sparkling gold goodies and phone home on a statuesque gold vintage phone.

Though it doesn't look it, this lovingly lavish boutique is a DIY project. From the tissued ceiling to the label's multi strand crop tops, all has been created by the label's owners.

Hanging from a single branch is Ash to Gold's latest range (sewn at home in Brisbane) of muted shades and mermaid-like textures. Cream fabric folds on a bodice dress appear like scales while flowing ash-coloured skirts and chocolate prints ooze siren appeal. If you're in search of gold cuffs, spike rings and other treasures, you won't find it buried, just take a look in the giant perspex pyramid.

Rory’s inviting you over for dinner. Who’s Rory? Well he’s the young local chef behind the Red Robin Supper Club. Don’t be shy if you don’t know him yet, he’s throwing an open-house dinner party and you’re all invited.

On the night’s menu, at what could be Brisbane’s first pop-up restaurant, is a range of casual food with a fancy twist. Think shiny high-top sneakers rather than tuxedo and bow-tie. Fried chicken with honey aioli, sweet potato and kimchi dumplings, soft shell crab tacos, Cuban-style black beans, and ice cream sandwiches for dessert make up just part of the menu. If you know Rory you can probably guess that the menu pays homage to his recent visit to the United States.

While it sounds like you’ll be full after just one dish, the idea here is to bring a group of mates and share, or just book a seat for yourself and make some new friends.

As proof that all Rory really wants to do is show off his cooking skills, a dollar from each dish will be donated to the Oxfam Stop Hunger Appeal. Held at the Moray Café, this could be a sign of things to come for an inventive young chef on the up.

Of the 20 drive-ins that once graced the peripheries of our fair town drawing families and loners alike for a cinematic experience under the stars, the Yatala Twin is the last of its kind. If you haven’t made the road trip out yet, it’s well worth the journey. The cheaper ticket prices will offset your fuel costs and there is no greater movie snack than a Yatala pie.

For those who like to snore, crackle foil bags or incessantly chat throughout a film, you will not be marginalised to the back row any longer. There’s no usher to come by and spoil your make out and no one cares if you put your feet up on the dash. In fact, there are few things you could do to annoy fellow movie goers and few things anyone could do to intrude on your vehicular privacy (I already found one: stamp on the break pedal incessantly, casting red lights of doom into the windscreen of the car behind you).

If you fancy it, you could go the whole night without seeing or talking to a single soul. But if you feel like stretching your legs, the concession stand sells choc tops, lollies and soda. Kids flicks are obviously popular, but the late sessions (starting at 9pm and 10.30pm) show adult-friendly blockbusters and recent releases. Best of all, they have those speakers that you can hoist in through the window.

Mathieu Saura, aka Vincent Moon, is somewhat of a prodigy (see: Take Away Shows, some of which turn into feature length films, as is the case with his collaboration with The National), churning out magical and intuitive videos of bands like Real Estate, Saul Williams, Kurt Vile, and Architecture in Helsinki. This Parisian vagabond has been touring Australia and will be joined at The End by Oh Ye Denver Birds (allegedly performing acoustic) and I don't know, probably recite some Rimbaud or something. Just joking. Spaces are limited so get in quick!

The Drums are playing a DJ set. Whose lead singer Jonny Pierce possesses more than a passing resemblance to one William Zabka. Though that's kind of immaterial, you're paying to watch him (and his bandmates) play records, not get you a body bag. Besides, you'll probably be doing a pretty good job of getting yourself in the bag if previous I Oh You parties are anything to go by. They'd much rather go surfing than sweep the leg anyway. Alex and Jordan's knees are already bleeding. They are the Bleeding Knees Club, you see. They're hitting that sweet spot between garage and punk and making you wonder why people bother recording songs longer than three minutes. Probably the last chance to see them before they tour the US and blow up like Tetraodontidae.

If there is a more satisfying feeling than having someone compliment something of yours and answering, “Oh, it’s vintage,” please speak now. A new year has begun and Trash and Treasure Markets are back, staggering under a heavy load of clothing, jewellery, bric-a-brac, stationery and furniture. Whether you shop for retro appeal, thriftiness or the thrill of wearing something that may or may not have once contained a dead person, Junk’s where it’s at.

The folks at Next Wave have taken the noble route and vowed to change the world, one glossy page at a time. With live music, painting and contribution opportunities, their magazine launch party will no doubt make your vow to eat less Mi Goreng in 2012 seem insignificant.

Robotic theatre sounds like what Robin Fox's work looks like, only add a little more drama and some everyday objects. Love The Robots featuring the works for artists that work with kinetic art, sound, and of course, robots, be robotically seduced by the art of Ross Manning, Michael Candy, interactive extraordinaire Mari Velonaki, Putniko and Robococo. Joel Stern and Ross Manning have also produced an audio visual performance for the night, using LEDs, sensors, strobes and their usual Sky Needle-esque musical contraptions.

Before the appearance of American Apparel on our shores, we had to buy our plain ill-fitting tees from the kids sections of [insert department store here]. Next Bonds went offshore and then you realised that flying interstate for a t-shirt was an indulgent waste of money best reserved for decadent Patrick Bateman types. Like AA is really sustainable when it's coming from LA anyway!

Orphn on the other hand is a new Gold Coast based label, who make basics from locally sourced, 100% organic cotton. Their first range, For The Non Masses, is comprised of unisex t-shirts and tanks, each with it's own unique stitch detailing.

The light and airy material ensures you won't be sweating under a ton of plastic - good for days at the beach when you feel like that old sun is inducing sweat patches the size of Mudcrab Island. Their aim is to keep it simple, stupid! Stupidly good, that is.

They're available online for $59 - $69, but of-course, if you want one for free, just cross those fingers and enter the competition.