The Thousands

There are some craft workshops happening. You could go, use a big yellow piece of card and make yourself a giant star mask to wear out. Cut yourself some peeper holes so you can see Dave's artwork, then dance incognito at the Balam Acab gig. Maybe upcycle it into a receptacle to take home your dumplings. It's totally like something that guy in SmRts would do.

Covershot by Lauren Max. If you also think you're a star, email your covershots to us.

Always a fan of being just that little bit difficult, the second album of Serbian-born sandgroper Predrag Delibasic’s band smRts offers another eight-syllable title to match the nervous clatter of the five-piece’s live presence. With two drummers and three guitarists, all focused on a melodic rhythm resembling what wired street urchins doing wordless eastern-folk might sound like, Have Friends and Visit Them at Night follows the muggy air of Sun Sets on a New Tomorrow with the fresh evening breeze of good production.

Where their 2010 album was recorded in the sweltering heat of summer - for some insane reason electing to do it on one of the hottest days of the year, in a tin shed - this one was recorded at Loop Studios and mastered by Shellac’s Bob Weston in Chicago. Needless to say, Have Friends... has a cooler edge, while mustering the energy that Sun Sets… couldn’t. That way having you twitch to the tug of ‘The Signs Left Behind’ or dancing the kolo over the surf-pop melody of ‘King Wave Rising’. If ever there was a brilliantly odd combination, smRts would be it.

It’s awesome (and distressing) how little we seem to have progressed from ye olde 70s culture of parody, pastiche, stylistic cannibalisation and blah-di-blah-di-blah - otherwise known as postmodernism. Because, although I know we’ve all heard about it, there aren’t many of us out there who can really define it - in the same way that Alanis Morrisette never quite got a handle on ‘irony'.

The curators behind the exhibition Postmodernism: Style & Subversion, 1970-1990 at London’s V & A tried to offer a way to close that particular chapter in art and design history by physically giving us a book to do it with. I can’t say whether they’ve actually succeeded, but I will say it goes a long way in explaining the connection between the likes of the Memphis design school and Grace Jones’ zany style, or performance pansexual Leigh Bowery and Andy Warhol.

Meanwhile, you can marvel at the brutal architectural endeavours in kitsch that are actually awesome and see the turntablism of Grandmaster Flash mentioned in the same breath as Devo. All the while coming out greatly fascinated but more confused by postmodernism and what it actually is. Isn’t it ironic? ‘the hell should I know.

Some of the world's best artists begin as art school dropouts but then go on to blow minds and change history. But some are acknowledged for their special gift since the beginning. David Egan is one of the latter.

Egan has been glitter glued with accolades all the way through his art degree and then he was taken up by the top shelf OK Gallery straight out of uni. The Museum of Natural Mystery, a gallery space he runs in the back yard of his share house, has also set the tongues of local lecturers and avant art lovers wagging.

Egan's first solo exhibition invites the audience to listen, interact and communicate with his work and the ideas he explores. A magical wooden book producing a soundtrack of oscillating musical scales provides a contemplative and delicate fulcrum for interaction. Accompanying Egan's paintings and musical mysteries are essays by Gemma Weston and Melbourne's Thomas Jeppe. As usual, he's in good company.

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).

In today’s society owning an oil burner suggests you’re a thyroid problem away from menopause. The same way eating a packet of Werther’s Originals today implies you’ll be using a bedpan tomorrow. So you have all these fancy essential oils, but nowhere to put them. You can’t even walk into Dusk anymore without going postal. Regular oil burners are just a bleak reminder that you have entered the third trimester. OF. YOUR. LIFE.

Now picture this: a well designed oil burner. Incredulous, right? Wrong. Object design label Page Thirty Three have reclaimed the mandate to aerate by producing a laboratory-inspired essential oil burner. The apparatus is built upon a Tasmanian oak hardwood base, and features a metal clamp that secures the glass flask in place with a grip tighter than the atomic bond shared between Marie Curie’s isotopes. Each oil burner also comes with an Australian beeswax candle and homegrown lavender oil, working together to create a scent to bankrupt Glen 20. Light this baby and experience one hot flush you won’t forget. Many applause (just think about it).

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.

A friend of mine was once on a crusade to get a quiet but delicious Indonesian eatery in Northbridge on the map, scheduling every group dinner that she organised there. That was about five years ago - business since appears to have picked up, well done Liz!

I’m calling Shanghai Tea Garden my 'Liz Project'. For some reason it is always only half full, yet it's hands down the best authentic Chinese food in Northbridge (i.e. no fluorescent orange sweet and sour pork).

The service is also endearingly enthusiastic. On my first visit a few weeks back, our table was given an animated run-through of the house specialties by the waiter, before being proudly told that STG had stolen the chef from their more successful competitor a few doors down. He proceeded to whip out some lovingly laminated reviews (including some for their rival from when the now STG chef ruled the roost).

Our tip? Order the Shanghai dumplings, Foshan fragrant chicken and Chinese cabbage with garlic and chilli. And then tell all your friends!

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.

It's easy to confuse Pennsylvanian wizkid Balam Acab with the supernatural jaguar-man of Mexico Balam Agab. Their names are just one letter away from each other, they've both been called 'haunting' and according to legend, they both wear the skin of a jaguar while prowling the jungles of Mexico. If you like your beats choppy, your vocals ethereal and your bass lines low enough to melt your spine, the more human of the Balams will be at the Bakery on Friday with support from Diger Rokwell, Andrew Sinclair and other hard-to-beat makers.

Mike Litton has been using his Mac to make really great music. Cow Parade Cow are his band - with six members, three drumkits, a bass, a guitar and a flute, they bring Litton’s breezy tropicana-rock to the stage. Tonight they're releasing Big Sky, an album they’ve spent the last year sweating over. Fresh off the Laneway Festival stage, these guys are the business live. Not to mention The Gizzards and Apricot Rail are supporting.

If you’re into contemporary Australian photography, you’ll have heard about Hijacked. If you’re not, then Hijacked is a perfect place to have your interest piqued. Hijacked is in its third incarnation, and again buddies up with a land far, far away – this time it’s the UK – to produce an exhibition and super lush publication that includes the work of 24 of each country’s most interesting photophiles. PICA and QUAD Gallery in Derby, UK are holding simultaneous exhibitions - Derby’s probably too big a hassle to get to by Saturday, so we’re going to PICA instead.

With the festive season in our dust, it’s difficult to justify cheeky self-purchases. No matter how much the heart yearns for that new jacket, it somehow feels wrong to subject our smoking credit cards to even more abuse. But perhaps our luck is changing? Sydney brand Chronicles of Never are hosting an end-of-season sale store in the basement studios of Venn, with discounted samples from their Spring/Summer 2011 collection. Coffee and brownies within arm’s reach upstairs in the Café will serve as a nice distraction from the post-purchase pain.

Most kids who grew up in the early 90s have a fundamental appreciation for whacked-out cartoons. In spite of a small armada of ironically psychedelic anti-drug PSAs, a cadre of talented artists gave a generation one massive contact high: screw passive smoking, we got collaterally baked off Saturday morning cartoons. Lluis Fuzzhound is an artist who strip-mines the bizarre, pop-culture melange that ossified from the cartoons of the early 90s. Fuzzhound’s artwork is a lasagna of Jamie Hewlett, Rockin' Jellybean, John Kricfalusi, Von Franco: rockabilly, beatnik, schlock-horror, tiki-erotica - it’s basically the kind of art that makes for sweet tattoos. Spanish by birth, Melbournian by lifestyle, he’ll be launching a showcase exhibition featuring new work at Hole in the Wall.

Carnival of Souls gets a bad rap as a B-grade horror flick. Sure, it was shot for peanuts over three weeks at an abandoned amusement park back in 1962. Yeah, the cast is full of nobodies and the director never made another film. But David Lynch and George Romero both cite this surreal thriller as a major influence. It did 'twists' before M. Night Shyamalan ruined them for everybody. And now you can watch the whole thing with a seven-piece orchestra and live actors, a la Rocky Horror. Sweet.

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.

A list of Kindle Kandle stockists is available on their Facebook Page or you can enter to win a Cane Sugar one right here! As always, you must answer the cryptic question.