Alan Palomo is Neon Indian in the way Trent Reznor is Nine Inch Nails. The son of a minor Mexican popstar, Palomo released his debut LP Psychic Chasms on Lefse Records back in 2009. Made from glistening, kool-aid synthesizers and crunchy guitar, Palomo’s first album sounded like it’d been inspired by the soundtrack to a late ’80s cyborg time travel flick (on VHS). Some blogger called this kind of music ‘chillwave’, and the internet started arguing over whether it was cool, possibly forgetting that all music ever is inspired in some way by older music.

Reason prevailed, Psychic Chasms got awesome reviews, and Palomo/Neon Indian followed up by collaborating with the Flaming Lips on a rather tautologically named EP, The Flaming Lips With Neon Indian. As it stands, this record is probably the only concept album in history built on the theme that David Bowie is dying; a niche it could dominate for some time. Most recently, Palomo has released Era Extrana, a swirling vortex of electronica that confirms he’s one of the most talented young dudes in music right now. He even wants to take acid with you, but probably not at the Perth Festival where he’s performing this weekend.

Callum Twigger: (Presses ‘Call’ on Skype. After about ten seconds the phone rings out and a bizarre message tone clicks in. Each subsequent call goes through to the message tone, which sounds like a drowning robot moaning ‘leave a message’ over a busted synthesiser. On the seventh attempt, someone picks up). Hello? Is this Alan Palomo?

Alan Palomo: Why yes, yes, this is him. Sorry, my apartment has really bad reception, so I had to step outside.

CT: You’ve a very Neon Indian message tone. The production values were off the chain.

AP: (laughs) It’s been a crazy runaround trying to tie up all the loose ends before I leave town. I’ve been preparing with the band for some of the new songs we’re gonna be playing.

CT: Who are you bringing on tour?

AP: Leanne Macomber and Jason Faries, who’ve been playing since the start. And Josh McWhiter, who plays guitar on the record, is going to be traveling with us. Ed Priesner is the newest member; he’s going to be the wall of electronics that we have to bring with us to keep the operation going.

CT: Sweet. The title of your latest record is ‘Era Extraaaahna’, pardon my atrocious accent…

AP: Hey dude, that was pretty good.

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My taste in jewellery is like what Prince wants out of a relationship in ‘Kiss’ – nothing too fancy, or too cool, just something that’s had some extra time put into it, with a sense of fun. Treehorn Design jewellery, from William Topp, fits the bill perfectly.

Joe Chester is the artisan behind Treehorn Design and has knack for making magic with timber (he grew up in Tasmania, they’re big on the stuff there). From his backyard workshop in Richmond, he crafts wooden pendant necklaces and bangles from reclaimed timber (otherwise destined to be firewood). These lightweight pieces have a really nice grain and take on colourful, multi-faceted forms.

Treehorn also make conceptual building blocks for adults, which you can get in dark or light timber, or oregon wood. The irregularly shaped pieces look like precious dinosaur eggs – equally great on display as they are weird and wooden stress balls.

Dance music represents more than just a frivolous past time. The ‘stabs and beats’ of disco was the sound of sexual liberation in the 70s, while the ‘pop, dip and spin’ of 90s voguing presented an outlet for the black and Latino drag queens of the New York house ball scene.

JD Samson, as much known for her moustache as her role in Kathleen Hanna’s Le Tigre, is taking the Riot Grrl politics of Second Wave Feminism out of the 90s and into the ‘naughties’ with her potty-mouth and electro-punk band of merry (gay, even) MEN. Songs like ‘Credit Card Babies’ bitterly express the practical obstacles of queer parenthood, while the funky ramble of ‘Rip Off’ mourns capitalism and its effects on ‘our truth’. Samson and her cohorts are coming to spread the word at Perth Festival. JD’s also going to be DJing at some bangin’ free parties before the gig and post-gig, in the Gardens. We spoke with JD, who quickly had us moving to the mantra of civil liberties.

Steph Kretowicz: You’ve spoken about how you’ve coopted dance music to spread the word of equality. Where do you think you fit in its tradition for representing minorities?

JD Samson: I’m here to represent a human. I am and will continue to be myself and be vulnerable with that for as long as I am able to take it. People dance to come together in movement and I think it’s beautiful to watch.

SK: There has been a resurgence of 90s icons lamenting the lost days of Second Wave Feminism and a return to conservative attitudes recently. Would you agree with that perception?

JD: It’s hard for me to be objective. My community, facebook and twitter feeds are full of an incredible feminist dialogue, almost every day. So to me feminism is alive and in charge. But, of course, we have a way to go… still. From my perspective, there is always a cycle of backlash. As the Le Tigre lyrics exclaim, “one step forward, five steps back”. I honestly believe we will be in this cycle for the rest of my life. (more…)

Marie Tussaud may have thought she was the ultimate wax when she decided to make life-like sculptures of Rousseau, Voltaire and Benjamin Franklin in the 1700s. But here we are in 2012, in need of some wax stimulation yet again. And you will find it in these here candles that become massage oil that become body balm.

Yes, the Kindle Kandle is a massage candle designed and made in Melbourne from a natural blend of cosmetic-grade soy wax, scented oils, shea butter and vitamin E. It can be used in three ways: As a regular candle, available in six scents including Orange & Mango, Shannonpea, Tahiti Rosette, Cane Sugar, Gardenia and Butter Bean; As a massage oil for yourself or your significant other once the wax has melted; Or as body balm once the wax cools down.

In the ’60s and ’70s, San Francisco was a city caught up in (if not at the actual epicenter of) the free love movement. We Were Here chronicles the dramatic effect AIDS had on that metropolis, transforming it from a free-spirited Gay Wild West into something more sinister. The images recounted herein sound like something out of a sci-fi horror film: strange sores and lesions covering the bodies of previously virile young men, untreatable and unexplainable; a room full of doctors sobbing; going to your local coffee shop to learn the barista who was there last week has mysteriously vanished.

Using interviews with just five long-time residents and some archival footage, David Weissman crafts a dynamic narrative. This is a city where at one time 50 per cent of the gay men were HIV positive, and more than 15,000 died over the course of 15 years – so you know it’s going to be full-on. But that shouldn’t scare you off, because it is also packed with humanity and hope.

“None of my friends are around from the beginning,” says Daniel. “I miss a lot of them a lot”. All the interviewees are fantastic, but east coast transplant Daniel Goldstein really shines – not just for the number and variety of personal tragedies he suffered, but also for his refusal to surrender to disinterest or depression, (more…)

It’s odd (though maybe not) that a Perth band seems to have more supporters on the East Coast of the United States than they do in Australia. Such is the current State-side interest in scrappy Aussie punk rock. See: Woollen Kits, UV Race, Dead Farmers, Straight Arrows, Royal Headache, et al. Taco Leg released their debut seven inch on Baltimore label Fan Death Records (with an LP on the way) and now Philadelphia’s Richie Records have dropped this three song 7″. The band’s 2010 US tour must have left an impression!

From the buzzy ‘Printed Gold’ to an awesome cover of ‘The Money Will Roll Right In’ by early ’80s Californian hardcore band Fang which has one of the best punk riffs ever as well as the line “I’ll get to fuck Brooke Shields.” Here the riff remains but is stripped back and slowed down. The Taco Leg lineup has changed since this recording. Gone is Simon. In is Claire. The buzz saw guitar remains. The upcoming LP (which was recorded in the same session as this single) is sure to be highly anticipated on either side of the Pacific.

All my friends aren’t getting married, but they do seem to all be moving to Freo. Maybe it’s because the sun is shinier there, the smoothies are smoother, and there’s shops like Willow & the Bowerbird to spend all the money they’re saving by buying their wholegrain in bulk.

Perched on George Street, Willow & The Bowerbird gather lovingly re-beautified vintage furniture alongside new ranges of Bison Ceramics, Polli jewellery, Oktoberdee bags and lots of other pretty things. Walking into their East Fremantle store you can rest your little wings amongst their collected treasures, and pick yourself out some favourites. If you’re worried about scorching your bare feet on the walk home, try a pair of super comfy Salt Water Sandals to cushion your way around our sister-city’s port-side paradise.

Fremantle is full of places to have a humble brew. But what if you’re an agoraphobic ale appreciator or aficionado of the finest wines known to humanity? Well, that’s when you call on the Doctor. The Freo Doctor Liquor Store is a hidden treasure you need to know about before your next dinner party, stocking wines from across the world, including the organic, biodynamic and preservative free kinds. But the real reason to get down there is the craft beer selection, with breweries including Rogue, Nogne-O, Meantime and many more.

This former chain bottle-o is independently owned and staffed by friendly folk who know their Duvel from their Dieu du Ciel. On a scale of one to ten, one being Doctor Harold Shipman and ten being Dr Who, The Freo Doctor scores a very worthy eight (Doc Emmett Brown from Back to the Future).

The crew running the Less is More Festival reckon that teaching people how to DIY, and to buy and live ethically, should be made fun – and we agree. So on Saturday they are taking over our favourite public library, The Grove, in the swanky heart of Perth’s poshest suburbs, to freely freak out the locals and anyone else who’s keen to join them.

The Grove has a reputation for doing things differently not to mention being one of the best places for coffee in town but this time they’re taking it to the next level, letting their reading mats and quiet rooms be taken over by Eco Faeries, yoga teachers, and a crew of people who know the Zen art of bicycle maintenance and are willing to pass it on. With free workshops all day on living plastic free, worm farming, how to make your own ginger beer, sourdough, green cleaning products, and reusable menstrual pads – yes, you read right – we expect to see a few fainting ladies in tennis wear.

Former US beauty queen Joyce McKinney is like that friend who tells you a story, but you know that something ain’t quite right. The dude wasn’t that hot, the band isn’t that cool and they certainly weren’t that intoxicated that they forgot cars aren’t trampolines. You know this chick’s story is bogus, but it is just too good not to go along for the ride. Tabloid begins thus: the beautiful, “virginal” McKinney meets the man of her dreams, but he’s a Mormon and his sect don’t quite dig her. When he disappears to the UK to complete his Mormon mission, she does “what any red-blooded southern gal” would do. She flies to the UK, kidnaps him, feeds him fried chicken, chains him to a bed and makes sweet, sweet love to him.

McKinney is then arrested. The way she tells it, it was a consensual act between two lovers. The Mormons cried rape. The English newspapers were roused by the story as it filled the criteria for tabloid fodder: kinky sex, good girl gone bad, and a cult-like religion. So the story begins to play out in the media, and it’s clear Joyce has tried to be a little too tricky and gotten in over her head. Or was she just madly in love?

The ever-intriguing Errol Morris (whose lesser-known work includes a doco about a pet cemetery in California) interviews UK newspaper editors and Morman experts, but the doco’s star is the big and brassy McKinney, who is more than willing to tell her side of the story (although she’s since decided to sue). Full of friendly euphemisms and contrite analogies, her explanation for how she couldn’t have raped her husband-to-be is a truly gold moment in the film (“it’s like tryna’ squeeze a marshmallow into a parkin’ meter”). After a while, you just don’t know who to believe – it’s not that you don’t trust Joyce, but, like your mate’s tall tales, it’s just doesn’t add up.