The Thousands

Hello readers. As you know, there are many things we can't help with. North Korea. Your email. But if you need to know how to make a Turkey Bundick, take your Valentine to West Brunswick, raise ungrateful ducks or drive 120 km for a butt massage then you're welcome.

Cover image by Cathy Marshall. Be deadly like Cathy! Send covers to melbourne.photo@thethousands.com.au.

Long time collaborators Toro Y Moi and Washed Out are touring together. It is like a chillwave wet dream come true, the lo-fi shoegaze equivalent of an Air / Daft Punk double headline. We should have asked them all kinds of questions about how their music’s overall vibe is mellow enough to passively relax to, but underneath the placid exterior the songs are innovative and complex, with layers of stuttering weirdness, decaying pop hooks, and dreamy longing. But then Chaz sent us his recipe for Turkey Bundick so we went with that. See you at the show!

Turkey Bundick

1. Slice bagel in half
2. Spread with plain cream cheese
3. Put a slice of tomato and two slices of turkey on top
4. Add a little ground pepper
5. Add a nice amount of sriracha
6. Sprinkle with green onion
7. Enjoy!

SEE HIM LIVE
Toro Y Moi and Washed Out are joining forces at the HiFi bar on Thu Feb 9. We're presenting with Mistletone and Penny Drop. Check it!

Justin Heazlewood is back with his clever, caustic, ha-ha words. You know, the Bedroom Philosopher: Northcote hipster tram glasses sideburns YouTube guy. These words don’t rhyme and don’t have chords, so they’ve been popped into a risographed, blue-fonted book (printed by A Small Press) with Leigh Rigozzi’s playful cartoons and the occasional band snap. This collection of tour diaries shows Justin at his most remorseless. Guess who he’s picking on this time? Justin Heazlewood.

Sure, there are the stabs at the towns, the venues, the food, the annoying fans and the annoying not-fans, but the main target here is the man who wrote the damn thing. Mind you, this is no ‘humblebrag’ musician confessional. Instead of sordid accounts of groupy sex and group groupy sex, Justin mopes over his ex-girlfriend, ‘pashes’ a girl who almost steals his glasses and botches a sexual advance at a house party. Instead of accounts of heroic drug consumption, near overdoses and chemical-induced flip-outs, Justin tries to moderate his intake of alcohol and cigarettes and, after snorting a little bit of what might have been speed, pees his bed. It’s just a ‘humble’.

There are prima donna outbursts, nebbish episodes and meditations on the never-ending search for lols as validation. But Justin doesn’t want your pity. Justin wants your laughs and your laughs he will get. He has mastered awkwardness, elevating personal unease to an art form through humour, honesty and solid writing. His apt observations and witty turns of phrase will leave you with nothing but admiration for the self-loathing, bed-wetting novelty songwriter.

Victoria has 11 regions and each one has its own produce. But unless you're Stephen Fry you probably haven't spent enough time in each of them to know what is the what. You probably don't even know what kind of produce comes from your own region. I certainly don't. But this little book has big hopes - to make it 'easy for anyone to access quality produce from their food region, or to enjoy regional food tourism by going direct to the source'. Published by The Locavore Edition, The Field Guide to Victorian Produce features 105 grower profiles, 179 producer profiles, 71 provider profiles, food trails, farm stays, 11 interviews with chefs, expert tips and suggestions, and a listings section for things such as farmers' markets.

More? Not possible. Oh but it is. The publishing crowd should know that Ewan McEoin (The Melbourne Design Guide) is the editor, Scottie Cameron is on portraits and Matthew Angel did the design and image making. The foodie crowd should know that Andrew McConnell, Aaron Turner, Dan Hunter and more are involved. I am fully aware of how many boxes this book is ticking so I better stop there before Ewan threatens to hire me as his publicist. So cheerio. Signing off. Be sure to say hi to me when I am standing next to you in line at the Goldfields general store! I'll be the one heckling the owner on the constituents of his olive oil.

The official book launch is happening this Sun Feb 12, 10am-4pm as part of Regional Producers Day at the Lake House! That's in Dayelsford.

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.

URA stocks a full range of Muji clothing. Did you know that? Well I had no idea. I was just standing there right, doo-di-doo, looking at some cute penguin dolls you can tenpin, doo-di-doo, and I look up to find a whole wall of Muji. Just hanging there. Like it's no big deal. Like it's not the only collection of Muji in all of Melbourne. BUT IT IS.

Men's and women's t-shirts, long and short attractively chequered shirts, dresses, loose-fitting tops and more. Then I find out Matsu not only manages to source current Muji pieces but he is also selling vintage. Who even sells their Muji clothes? I have no idea but they must because out the front is a collection of secondhand Mujis going cheap. Dou itashimashite.

Fuck ducklings. They are fluffy little balls of fur and they are insufferable pricks.

It starts with the thermostat. It always does. The temperature must be kept at 30 degrees after hatching, dropping three to four degrees each week until the ducklings are four weeks old and feathered. By that stage, the bitching stops and the ducklings settle for 15 degrees like a normal person. But then comes the neediness: for shelter, for food and for water. Seeing as ducklings are too weak to handle the rain and fend off the cat, you’ll need to provide an outdoor, hay-lined enclosure for the cowards. The hay must be replaced every day. For mealtime, you’ll serve chicken crumble (that’s crumble for chickens, not crumbled chickens). You can’t let the crumble get wet because ducklings are all fancy-like and refuse to settle for soggy feed. Keep a bowl of water in reach of the ducklings at all times and make sure it’s full. Not too full though, as the idiots are liable to drown in their own drinking water.

The upshot of all this? They will shit on you and they will claw you until you bleed. You won’t even have the comfort of a cute quack - ducklings don’t start quacking until they are one to two months old. Instead, they chirp like chickens. Endlessly. While your resentment towards them builds, they will continue to show complete indifference to you and everything you care about. Ducklings don’t give a shit about anything. Every night, you will sit with your ducklings on your now-stained couch in silence, smoldering with hatred.

As part of the Sticky Institute’s annual festival this week there's going to be a human photocopier and that leaves us with two possibilities: it’s either the world’s shittiest Transformer or a man in a box with some pens and paper.

We might be wrong though. According to Sticky, it’s the result of “genetically splicing a photocopying machine with a human boy”. They call it the Thommox mod.8612. We caught up with the Thommox to get some answers. Whatever it is, it’s been kind enough to compile a mix tape of photocopy-related tunes for you. File it next to The Laminator’s Lament and Ballads of the Binding Machine.

TF: Beep beep bip bop beep?
Thommox: I’m sorry but I find that offensive. Modern photocopiers don’t use language like that any more, despite what the media may tell you, and we are obviously much more progressive than you give us credit for.  read more

When you see how excited eleven young skateboarders get about sleeping on the Vans warehouse floor in Brooklyn - and skating NYC on $20 a day - it might make you feel embarrassingly coddled, unadventurous, and unappreciative. Realising all your skate punk buddies would have been just as stoked to crash at a friend's place in any great skate city reminds you that's how skaters everywhere actually are.

Reality program One In A Million is the most accurate portrayal I've seen of how skaters actually are; how they look, talk, socialise, and skate. Watching the show's skate sessions gives a real feel for how they flow: progress, slams, bails, and successful attempts, alongside the subtle push-pull between bro-therly support and competitive one-upsmanship. Competition is in no way vital to skateboarding, and many skaters abhor it, so it's funny to watch the competitive reality format gel to skater's attitudes. Their on-camera confessionals are humble and deadpan rather than self-important and demonstrative; instead of bragging and shit talking the competition, they are self-effacing, silly, and will gladly cheer the other skaters on.

Season one of OIAM aired on Slap Magazine's website in 2010. read more

SPOILER ALERT: the Bright Rotary Waterslide goes left, then right, then right, then left, then right, then splash. That’s it! Let’s go home! Wait, keep your trunks on - it’s the small details that make this specific waterslide worthy of an especially enthusiastic “WHEE!”.

This waterslide, cheekily painted in a mock-grass green, hugs a tree-heavy riverbank before dropping you in turbid riverwater. It’s environmental, it’s rustic, it’s ooh la la au naturale. The entire operation is manned by rotary club volunteers, friendly old fuddy-duddies who say the darndest things (“now don’t you go riding down that slide backwards again now, that’s bound to be dangerous and you’re like to get yourself hurt now”). You can even save the world here (sort of), all while giggling like a little girl - this fun-raising fundraiser has picked up close to half a million dollars for the Bright community since opening in 1982.

If you don’t get any kicks from natural surrounds, charming oldies and goodwill towards mankind, you can always get off on the pervy bottom massage caused by the waterslide’s connecting ridges. You all know exactly what I’m talking about, liars.

If my brother was an embarrassingly megalomaniac dictator who holed himself up in my backyard, I think I would get some idea of what it felt like to be South Korea. My brother however is a gentle soul and so again this wonderful nation goes by not quite understood by the likes of myself, its unique cuisine and culture often obscured by the cold shadow of tyranny.

Hence I always delight when I get a fresh South Korean introduction. And the recently opened Seoul Soul on Victoria Street is a good one. Be careful not to miss it; the grey façade sort of blends in with the footpath but behind the scenes you can watch the chefs at work and it has a fresh, clean fit-out that is quite unique on the street.

We weren’t entirely sure what the menu was offering us, but we landed a couple of ‘bibimbaps’ and I was pleasantly surprised at the rainbow of beef and pickles that bowled up on my plate. Some unobtrusive K-pop drifted from the speakers, the meals together totalled 20 bucks and we left full to the bulgogi of South Korean soul.

As usual we have here a giant shebang-a-bang of openings at CCP, all in the one hit. So no time to waste. First up we have Kiwi Yvonne Todd in galleries one and two with Wall of Seahorsel. Her large photographs involve subjects from an invented community linked to one another through strange dance moves. In gallery three there is Nicholas Mangan with Some Kinds of Duration. This is his homage to a Sydney incinerator in the form of a Canon NP6030 photocopier. Oh my god is this almost over. No. In gallery four we have the incredible Nat Thomas with Yesterday's News. This show critiques media content via collage and home movies. Moving right along to the night projection window with Reko Rennie's Remember Me, a video of the artist reclaiming the Commonwealth Coat of Arms. We are almost done now but I also wanted to tell you there are free artist floor talks the Saturday after the opening, 11 February, at midday. You can go now.

Grouse are teaming up with Sissy to bring you something a little to the left of their usual hip hop shenanigans. It is a joyous union indeed that brings DJ Nita to us. Triple deck wizard, New York native, provider of house music the way it use to be. Loud, gay and fun. If you are a try-before-you-buy type why not listen to the exclusive mix he made us accompanied by some totally unnecessary cultural anthropology?

What a treat! Episodes of classic comedy drama Moonlighting screening on the late night at Phoenix. This is not true. Because as much as you may have wanted to slip the bone to a young Cybill Sheperd (or Bruce Willis) you're not getting out of bed for it. You might just stay in bed for it, if you know what I mean. What will get you out of bed, or out of whatever hell venue you've ended up at, at 1am on a Friday? How about a free gig featuring live, original sets by the best knob twiddlers around? Specifically, theremin maestro and Night Terror Miles Brown and the brownest dog around, P.C.P, aka our very own Luke Brown.

There is a lot to like about this table tennis tournament. Let's run you through it, shall we? It is a singles, mixed tournament. By which they mean ladies can play dudes and vice versa. Call off your dogs Naomi Wolf, everything is kosher at this particular ping pong tourney. Secondly, they've got six tables to play this epic bout on (rain or shine). Thirdly, drink specials are between 3pm and 6pm. Enhance your competitive edge by getting your opponent half in the bag. Fourthly, you'd be paying twenty bucks at Bamboo Musik for this DJ lineup: Awesome Wales, Otologic and Chestwig. Fifthly, the newest van on the block, Gumbo Kitchen, is supplying the grub. Po' boys all 'round. Sixthly, the prizes. Semi finalists land a double pass to the film that night (Four Lions). Runners-up get passes and $50. Winners receive passes, $100 and their name on a plaque in the bar. I've had less, and less compelling reasons, to have intercourse with people. To my detriment, obviously.

It is The Mangles no more. They band is now called I Love You So Much, and with a name like that it is fitting that this band is booked for a smoochy Valentine's Day show at The Gas. These handsome boys are playing their favourite non-sad love songs. But Royce says, "We'll only mean it if you're there." That means if you want to see Mikey look you in the eye and sing, "You've got the most stumbling blue eyes I've ever seen," you had better go. You also had better have blue eyes. Additional entertainment will come from the Brashs and a Valentine's Kris Kringle. Bring a $10-and-under gift and they'll put it/you in the sack.

Trevor Powers, the altar boy urchin behind Youth Lagoon, makes quietly epic work of setting that childhood sense of forlorn excitement to music. That’s not so impressive in itself: dude’s only 22 and looks even younger. That he manages to make it sound any good is a goddamn feat, and damn good it sounds.

Buried vocals, wafting synths and hand claps will abound at the Toff this Wednesday. Dulcet Sydnysider Oliver Tank is in support.

The good people at Sticky Institute are throwing their annual zine fair this Sunday. Putting the big rent up for Melbourne Town Hall (as it's become impossible to squeeze it into Degraves Street Subway), the Festival Of The Photocopier Zine Fair will host more than 100 zine stalls, with distros including Take Care, Smells Like Zines and Toronto's Twelveohtwo.

To celebrate this, with thanks to the generosity of zinesters across the planet, Sticky has more than $100 worth of zines to give to one of you lot. This hot, bulbous instant zine collection includes the following: The Lavender Room #5, a zine in a matchbox; a beautiful foldout illustration collection compiled by Latvian comics champions Kus! Komikss; Astroshite's overview of horoscopes in 2011; the first issue of Tick My Box, issue #2 of which is being launched as part of the festival; Thomas The Human Photocopier's brand new user manual; comics by Michael Sandford and Factor Fiction Press; Fulsome Prism's sweary tribute to the British panel game, Tonight On QI; a story about a frog and a starfish by Ella, aged 8; and many, many more.

To enter the draw for this handsome bundle, you must be handsome and smart enough to answer the following question.