The Thousands

We’re not sure if Toto measuring right from wrong by the surety of Killimanjaro rising like Olympus above the Serengeti is totally legit. But we are sure that noise scientists, inspirational cowboys, Asian doom bands and leaders of general knowledge clubs know what’s right. No longer will we stand for average felafels. Above average nation-day celebrations only!

Covershot by Regina van der Kloet. Follow in Regina's reckless footsteps and send us your covershots!

Claire Pannell, founder of sound-bending noise night Analogue To Digital, has had her finger in just about every pie you would think to mention. You can ask her pretty much anything - from facts about soil nutrition to what was happening in the New York underground punk scene in 1985 - and she will be able to give an answer.

Although, when I went to interview her about Edition #7 of the infamous noise nights at Scitech, she warned me she might not be in top form, thanks to a particularly nasty concussion she had received a few nights earlier. But we did get to cover the important topics, like how to make your pubic hair stand up, Beauty And The Geek…

Aurora Peralta: So Claire, who's actually playing at the show this time?
Claire Pannell: (considers for a long moment) Ah… It's the concussion! Normally I can reel it off, but I don't want to challenge my brain! I've been told by the doctors not to think too hard.

AP: It's OK, we can come back to that. So was it you who started the whole Analogue To Digital event series?
CP: Yep. Basically I was missing working in the arts. Some friends were bringing Lawrence English over to play, but didn't have a venue. I went and asked my boss if it would be possible to run it at Scitech. He said yes, as long as there was some kind of science or technology aspect to it. So we got Lawrence to talk about his trip to the Antarctic and doing recordings there. About 80 people came and Scitech was really happy about it. A few years before that, before I started working at Scitech, evidently there was a big rave there and the place got wrecked so they had been quite reluctant to go down what they saw as the same path… But we're different, we're much better behaved!

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Chuck Klosterman's latest novel features an almost invisible man named Y____, an unremarkable therapist named Victoria and a "heavy dude" named Zug, who seems to know an awful lot about 10th century Iceland.

The Visible Man is only the second piece of fiction from a bloke who normally pays his bills writing pithy essays about MTV's The Real World, rock n' roll odysseys or why the Unabomber wasn't entirely nuts. It's chockablock full of Klosterman's favourite things: music, drugs, longwinded treatises on the nature of mediated culture - but it is the unconventional structure that makes it worth reading.

The book is presented as a manuscript submitted for publication by Y____'s therapist. It's a series of transcripts, suppositions, extra-textual notes and self-reflective ponderings. The implausible nature of an almost invisible man is openly addressed, and a good portion of the tension lies in the fact that we are receiving an edited, second hand, potentially unreliable account of a thoroughly unbelievable story. The Visible Man is a little bit sci-fi, a little bit experimental, and a lot bit readable.

In the old days people had to find ways to entertain themselves without the internet. There were 'toys' like ball-in-cup and 'games' like cat's cradle. Dark times! But happily, there was also the kaleidoscope: a sort of telescope that allowed you to peer into a swirling chamber of mirrors and baubles which coalesced into strange patterns as you rotated the lens like the focus on a camera.

It is from this analogue-age toy that three local photographers, Josh, Saschka and Thom, take the name of their shared exhibition. Each working in very different styles, the diversity of their images is poised to mirror the strange and unexpected patterns of the kaleidoscope. Josh’s work is drawn from his time as an activist in the Arizona desert; Saschka’s tackles the age-old photographic concerns of light and darkness; Thom explores meaningful events in his life through startlingly abstract images. And don't worry, for all the thematic fixation on a toy of yesteryear, these images are far-removed from the fast-fading heliotypes or clumsy daguerreotypes of the ball-in-cup era.

It is rare a designer's actual name gives you a clue as to what kind of clothes they create. But then Poppy Lissiman is a rare kind of designer: she's unabashedly bright, bold and cheekily colourful with her clothes.

This young womenswear creator is taking the country by storm... well, if that storm was really bright and happy and wearable. Now, the typhoon that is Lissiman has found a home in Claremont. Think Cistine frescos full of angelic beauty adorning the walls and ceilings; depictions of clouds and sky that provide a serene break from the acid brights and new-gen digitally printed gowns and sun frocks.

Lissiman has also gathered together a bevvy of like-minded labels such as Mara Hoffman and the equally acid-bright Cambridge Satchel Co (the must-have bag this season). This refreshing frenzy of fashion is this summer's must-see shop.

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 the highway like a Vin Diesel wannabe with one hand steering the bike, the other carrying a bottle of vino. It's an OH&S nightmare, but thanks to CycleStyle (our favourite Australian online bike-stuff shop) the solution is available: 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.

Where Ian Fleming’s espionage is flip and glamorous, John Le Carré’s is dreary and cynical; George Smiley is the anti-James Bond. Still, director Tomas Alfredson (Let The Right One In) wrings unexpected elegance from the ugly ’70s using beautifully composed, observational shots and camera movements. In Alfredson’s hands, the MI6 offices – “the Circus” – become suffocating brown panopticons whose tea-sipping inhabitants scrutinise each other’s smallest gestures, squirming with fear that their secrets will come to light.

Control (John Hurt) suspects there’s a mole in the Circus when agent Jim Prideaux (Mark Strong) is disastrously ambushed in Budapest. When rogue field agent Ricki Tarr (Tom Hardy) seems to confirm this news to his supervisor Peter Guillam (Benedict Cumberbatch), retired spy George Smiley (Gary Oldman) is persuaded to unearth the mole. Who’s working for Soviet spymaster Karla – thuggish Roy Bland (Ciaran Hinds)? Suave Bill Haydon (Colin Firth)? Conniving Percy Alleline (Toby Jones)? Or urbane Toby Esterhase (David Dencik)?

The plot is intricate, but it unfurls lucidly, with plenty of tension and evocative micronarrative moments in which bewildered spies reveal the sacrifices and compromises they’ve made for their work. Perhaps the removal of Smiley’s final illusions makes him the perfect investigator.

The US television series Touched By An Angel may have melodramatised, even made a farce of, the possibility of angels on earth, but after watching Buck, the Sundance-winning documentary about American real-life cowboy Buck Brannaman, and speaking to Buck on the phone yesterday, I’ve had this kind of heightened, spiritual awareness: that there really are extraordinary, magical people who walk the earth, and Buck is one of them.

Directed by Cindy Meehl, Buck (screening at Perth Festival) reflects on Brannaman’s transformation from an abused, affection-starved child to a generous, game-changing horse trainer. In between the horse lessons there are plenty of ones on life, stemming from the insightful parallels Brannaman draws between man and beast. “I’ve always wanted to do the right thing by a horse, that’s never changed. It’s just that as my knowledge grew, I’ve been able to offer the horse a better human being.”

Danielle Marsland: How did the documentary about yourself come about, Buck? Did you know the director Cindy Meehl prior to filming?
Buck Brannaman: Yeah, Cindy came to a clinic of mine back in 2003. A few years later she rode with me at a friend’s ranch in Montana called McGuinness Meadows, we were having lunch and she said to me “Buck, I’ve had something really bothering me. I want to tell people a story about you, so that they can experience what we experience in your clinics, even if they don’t have horses." Nine times out of ten I would have said "forget it man, no chance". But she must have caught me at the right time I guess, I took a risk and said “go ahead”. Frankly, in the beginning I thought to myself, ‘it’s just a documentary at best. All they’re gonna do is probably show it on PBS a couple of times’. Then it turned out to be this unbelievable success in cinemas. It turned out to be a good risk!

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If you consider a falafel at four in the morning the pinnacle of success in Middle Eastern cuisine, you should probably arrange to spend some time at this place sooner rather than later.

Raah is the most recent addition to the beloved Beaufort Street strip. Every mouthful of each dish brings out tangy flavours, delicate herbs and light dressings - but it’s never too much! I’ll risk people knowing I watch Masterchef by saying it’s balanced.

Everything is designed to share and no salt is added to any of the meals while cooking, making for a really delightful mix of flavours. My dining companion was not feeling particularly adventurous so we settled on a pre-cut sirloin and ras el hanout potatoes with nutty butter - amazing flavours added to an old classic. The hummus was garlicky, lemony and spicy all at the same time, and we made a mess of the gozleme – a puff pastry parcel of goats cheese and sucuk, which is kind of a Middle Eastern salami. All this and not a falafel in sight!

A few years ago I heard a rumour about an exclusive club that met in various North Perth sharehouses, people who got together semi-regularly with the common goal of: ‘learning shit’. ’Shit' being anything from how to catch a Pokemon, to the details of Kafka's dying wish, to the difference between emulsions and suspensions, to what hypnogogic pop actually is, and whether or not it's worth listening to.

Perth’s first ever ‘General Knowledge Club’ started when a certain local songwriter was lamed out by the fact her otherwise scholarly parents didn't get first place at a quiz night. She saw it as a wake-up call and began to gather friends, asking them to present on anything and everything – ten minute presentations of their area of expertise, or just anything they had decided to learn for the night. It soon became a monthly (ish) event. Today, there are secret chapters in Sydney, Melbourne and London, and also a guy in Oregon who had the same idea, miraculously, on the other side of the world.

Direct from the founder, here's how to run your own: "Find ten to fifteen friends who like knowing stuff. Invite them to your place. Pick three or four people in the bunch to talk on whatever topic they like, for ten minutes, then open it to the floor. Always start the club by saying 'Welcome to General Knowledge Club, possibly the greatest club of all time". And make sure everyone brings top-shelf snacks." Ipsa scientia potestas est, yo!

Some people can do no wrong. If you watch this clip and don't get excited about Friday night at the Bakery, maybe you should check for concussion. Other options to get you in the mood include remembering how hot Cam Avery and his boys are, realising you are the only one who doesn't know the words to Bizkits, or a thirst for some good old Hydey/drum-kit-sharing nostalgia. Bring some coin to take home a memory, or at least buy one of the band members a drink.

Anyone who has seen Tomas Ford endearingly dry-humping his audience and hushing a crowd with a glam-cabaret version of an anecdote about a wet lounge room and a phone call to Western Power (phew!), will know he is kind of a genius. Less people have probably sat on John McBain's front porch and watched him smoke rollies down to his stained fingers, regaled by his almost unbelievable tales of political tomfoolery and general bad-assness. Both of these trailblazing misfits are ready to sock it to whoever's got an ear to hear, at the easiest place to be socked on a Saturday afternoon.

More than tabloid fodder and 'Rehab' punch-lines, Amy Winehouse (RIP) had one hell of a voice, harking back to great dames of soul while incorporating the difficulties of our times (drugs, relationships, missing Slick Rick in concert). For one night only, tribute is paid to the great dark bee-hive, way better than a CD of B-sides ever could, with a roster of fine femmes with voluminous voices such as Felicity Groom, Clare Nina Norelli, Odette Mercy and Amber Fresh, to name just a few. The Rosemount are using the opportunity to flog their new wine list as well, a promotional move I think Winehouse could get behind.

Kate Middleton's karaoke 30th recently got canned for something more subdued - it would appear belching out Beyonce is not permitted partying for a Duchess. With the advent of 'The Monarchy' palatial party chambers, us Commonwealth commoners can let off the steam Kate couldn't at Brief Encounters Volume 3 - The Ascension. A custom-decorated venue off Nick’s Lane, The Monarchy is all about the murals, dark corridors, muslin drapes and finery. Unforgettable performances courtesy of Voix de La Ville's hot guns Dosh Luckwell and Strykermeyer. The music will be to a Queen's taste, but it sure won’t be subdued.

Golden Apples of the Sun is one of the shiniest gems in the RTRFM gold mine – if you haven’t tuned in to this weekly weekend slot of sonic bliss yet, stream yourself some new weird back episode goodness, stat! The show incorporates work from local lo-fi/experimental/psych musicians and mixes it in with a healthy dose of international feel (Stereolab, Balam Acab, Seekae, Broadcast, etc). This week you can soak up some radio real time at the mini Golden Apples Of The Sun festival, featuring live performances from Erasers, Andrew Sinclair and the Ritual Band, Salamander, Ermine Coat, Rabbit Island, Elk Bell and Mei Swan. All on a summery Sunday afternoon - 'Golden' delicious!

Australia Day doesn’t have to involve barbecuing lamb chops at the foreshore or John Farnham blasting across the sky during the fireworks. Instead, one can safely avoid meathead piss-ups by heading to The Bakery for a line-up of relaxed vibes. Good Company have lovingly organised New York-based electro producer Ital, joyful pop partners Oscar + Martin and Sydney beat-maker Guerre to help celebrate your nationally ordained day off. With so many other Perth acts also in support (James Ireland, Diger Rokwell, Apricot Rail, etc) you can rest assured that there won’t be any cut-aways to Whispering Jacks heard on the night (unless one of the bands is feeling bloody patriotic, maaaaaate).

Eatin' off some melamine on my mezzanine. Doo-de-doo. Smothering my crumpets in that margarine. Any of you dis' my melamine I put yo' head on the guillotine. Boyfriend be taking me on picnics where we use our melamine. Cooking up home-made burgers using pressurised kerosene. An illustration of a burger! An owl with two heads! A monster! They're Douglas & Hope melamine plates with work from Australian artists including Dawn Tan, Dylan Martorell, Ghostpatrol, Miso and Miranda Skoczek on them.

These artists plates will enhance your crockery credibility at dinner parties, won't break when you drop them, and will contribute a large sum to your retirement fund when you get them evaluated on Antiques Roadshow in 2043. Forget your Australian Super Fund, these plates are a real investment in your future. Buy one over at Douglas & Hope's new online store or try your luck here, because we have a Miranda Skoczek 'bird' plate to give away. (To enter, just answer the following question.)