The Thousands

...if you can call 2011 a rainbow. It wasn't for a lot of people, notably these guys. But we got a whole bunch of good new stuff in town this year, and they're still coming. Tio's and Wilbur's will cover your holiday tequila and fixins needs, respectively. Local boys Unity Floors launched a buzzer-beater with Womens Golf. The Paper Mill closed, but looked shit-hot doing it. The MCA returns!

Over the break if we spot anything you need to know about, it'll be on the site. There'll be a listing of our favourite joints open on the important days. Happy holidays all, and we'll be back in your box on January 12.

Last shot of the year by Karl Maier. Send us yours! All the ones you snap over the break, send 'em to alex@rightanglestudio.com.au.

Between 1973 and 1981 Tony Edwards worked for Australian surfing magazine Tracks (here's what it looked like back then). According to reports, what he did there was "embrace the worst excesses" of the era, give everyone doobs before they went on the radio - and drew a comic about a foul-mouthed yobbo surfing pig called Captain Goodvibes. Now the surfers at Flying Pineapple Media (who you might remember as the publishers of Peter Troy's journals, To The Four Corners of the World) have gathered together every Captain Goodvibes strip published over those nine years and turned them into a book - with historical anecodotes from Tony, original Tracks cover art and correspondence (including a complaint letter from Barry Humphries).

This is a massive document - at least four centimeters thick - printed on rough comic paper that you just want to smell, then colour in, then rip out and frame. But you wouldn't do any of these things because Captain Goodvibes is a legend who should be respected and feared. He's also loveable, though, as former Tracks editor Phil Jarratt observes: "Over time [Tony] gave Captain Goodvibes a gentler, more whimsical, even caring side." It seems crass to compare this cult Australian creation to an American project, but fellow fans of Dave Carnie-era Big Brother Magazine and how little it gave a shit will understand how excited I am when I say Captain Goodvibes has the same thing going on. But Tony did it first! I commend the Captain to any of you who want to experience a time capsule of Australian, Whitlam-era surf culture - and what it's like to be friends with an overweight top banana swine.

Sydney’s Unity Floors write music with an usurping urgency that undulates underneath a writhing current of rollicking drums and gritty guitar. These two lads will be one of the bands to keep your ears peeled for next year if their latest 7” Womens Golf is anything to go by.

Their sound is of the stripped-back garage variety, which is another way of saying no bullshit or ‘production values’. 7” opener ‘Boil The Ocean’ is a good example of this, with Gus’s voice riding high and dry over the chunky percussion and wild six-string axe. ‘Nobody Home’ offers more of the same but with more pace and intensity. ‘Identity Theft’ has a vibe that sits somewhere between Robert Foster and Fugazi; soaring vocals alongside a guitar and drum kit ready to bolt out of the speakers.

I can already hear the voice in my head saying "more please!" Not only will 2012 be the Year of the Dragon but it may also very well be the year of Unity Floors.

What better traditional holiday entertainment than a rollicking English pantomime? This political fairytale is seasonably hilarious, and ultra-conservative British prime minister Margaret Thatcher, despite Meryl Streep’s uncanny verisimilitude, is as farcical as any cross-dressing panto dame. In 2008, the aged, demented ex-PM potters about, lost in her memories. She’s daring the audience to shout, “Your heyday is BEHIND YOU!!”

The dialogue is a scream. As Thatcher teaches her teenage daughter Carol (Olivia Colman) to drive, Carol struggles to overtake a cyclist and Thatcher bellows, “Move to the right! TO THE RIGHT!” Later, after Thatcher berates loyal deputy Geoffrey Howe (Anthony Head) for daring to spell ‘poverty’ with only one T, she overhears a disgusted fellow Tory saying, “I wouldn’t speak to my gamekeeper that way.” Periodically, her now-deceased husband Denis (Jim Broadbent) pops up as a puckish, increasingly wacky hallucination.

Are such picaresque antics what director Phyllida Lloyd and screenwriter Abi Morgan intended? Hopefully, because as a feminist underdog fable, it’s deplorably tasteless. Thatcher’s notorious career is glossed, casually spiced with archival footage of alarmingly savage police brutality, while Thatcher pontificates that she’s “done battle every single day of my life”. Retorts a brutalised Britain: oh no you haven’t!

What with Santas in the States being trained to downgrade expectations post-GFC (“A bike? Think more: a box of matchsticks and a glass of water! Consider yourself lucky, kid!”) and Jesus announcing that he’d kinda  prefer no fuss this year, maybe we should take the hint and dial it back a shade. But that would be a yukky, mature thing to do… so, no. Instead we’re gonna commit our gimmes to the ether and hope for the best. Are you listening, Colonel Christmas?

Bethany Small, Arts Editor
What I really want is what I've wanted for every Christmas and birthday and graduation and whatever since I was 12: the complete Oxford English Dictionary in all its 20-volume hardcopy glory. But as a $1750 price tag and most people's shock lack of obsession with etymology suggests that this won't be a goer, how about some awesome scary jewellery? Farah Bandookwala's Parasite series uses rapid prototyping 3D print technology to make accessories that look like you're seeing them through a microscope. While the whole range is excellent, I particularly would like to be eaten alive by one of the bangles.

Hayley Morgan, Associate Editor
All I want for Christmas is a pair of these Thom Browne steam-punk opticals. They're inspired directly from architects, artists, industrial designers and professors from the 40s and 50s (much like the rest of Browne's designs), so it makes sense that they're nodding very firmly towards Willson Goggles. The entire collection will be available soon from Think Silly.

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KJ by Kirrily Johnston is unmistakably Kirrily. The semi-mesh razor back bras and loose silhouettes are familiar, as well as the textures. Cotton voile and light jersey in a mix of bright white and sunburnt colours identify with a dry Australian summer, while black, navy and faded stripes donate balance to both the mens and womens range.

On the other side of free form voile are more constructed, statement options. Utitlity pants, vests, wrap skirts, and canvas boiler suits stand out with utility sandals, double belts and utility bags - which are appropriate for men and women.

The store itself is comparatively large, though like Kirrily's mainline collection, KJ is considered and succinct. It breathes casually and is seasonally nonchalant - it's purely essentials. The difference is, while you might want everything at Kirrily Johnston, you'll need everything at KJ.

We need to talk about Wilbur. To be honest, we're a little concerned he's too nice for the mean streets of the Cross. At Wilbur's Place the service is downright lovely. The prices are so friendly, they practically offer to collect your mail and water your plants for you while you're on holidays. And while you mightn't make friends with salad, you can be besties with a smooth chicken liver parfait and cornichons at $12. Or cosy up to a beef shin ragu with chunks of crispy polenta, while this winter-in-December thing is going on.

This is an offshoot from the Bourke Street Bakery folk, so old friends of BSB won't be surprised that Wilbur's knows its way around the sweet end of a meal, from a showy flourless chocolate sponge with passionfruit covered in licks of Italian meringue, to a tidy little slice of custard tart.

The concrete and brickwork cave is as suitable as a takeaway pitt stop as it is for an evening's casual dining. Or have the best of both worlds: if you can't finish your generous serve, the staff will pack it in to biodegradable take-away containers. If only you could pack away the staff to serve it up at home too.

Springsteen might have said it best: 'I know a pretty little place in southern California, down San Diego way.' It's as much a state of mind as it is a geographical reference - a Latin American idyll of crystalline waters and beachside beers, even for people who've shuffled through the dust of a Mexican sea town. But we're in Sydney, an urban sprawl that has apparently decided to refuse summer. Appropriately, here's a cantina that's inside.

Tio's has been set up by Alex and Jeremy, two stalwarts of Shady Pines, and you see the lessons they learned there manifest: the bar is long, your drinks served through windows; a good drinking snack (in this case, homemade popcorn); and the entry point beer - a $5 Rio Bravo can - comes salted and limed.

In fact, the salting and liming could be metonymy for the feel of the place: it borrows from Mexicana enough to be charming, without going whole-hog corny. There's tequila, but the idea is to learn about it, not shoot it and then wear your tie as a headband. If sipping on a straight añejo is too much, try one of the house specials. Did you know tequila goes with condensed milk a la a Vietnamese ca phe da? You probably know about tequila sunrises, palomas, and micheladas. They're all there or coming. As for food: popcorn with your drinks, or grilled corn and a bloody mary on Sundays. It's a bar.

Tio's Cerveceria is pretty dark inside - dark enough for candles. If we had sun, this'd be a great bolt hole on burning days. It isn't a place where you could close your eyes and be beachside in Tulum, but you might be in a bar on the main drag.

Sure, it is by a super-famous dude and has a lot of text on the walls explaining what things are and what they're about, but Recorders is kind of an atypical museum show. Contrary to the behind-velvet-ropes or plate glass 'Don't' vibe most exhibitions need to have in place, the gallery has signs and people telling you to touch the art. Grab a hold of it, talk to it, ask it a question, play with it. This collection of works create their content through being viewed, aggregating data histories that update and change with each observation. Each experience of viewing is unique, and cannot be obtained without the viewer contributing something to the work.

Recorders uses technologies that can identify where you are in a space and start filming you, that can tell where your forehead is in a mirror and project a word onto it, that will archive your image or your voice or your heart rate. Your experience of the ways others have participated in the narrativised and narrativising recording operations of these works becomes a trace part of future participations. It's kind of like Questacon, but with way more agonies of selfhood.

Before you read any further, no, we haven't got any copies of the Anarchist Cookbook laying around and no, we're not talking about obliterating nature with a mixture of styrofoam and unnamed evil materials.  We're talking about shaking your grinch-like vibe and making strangers smile with silly decorations.

Tree bombing around Christmas time is particularly pertinent. It's easy! Just grab some tinsel, make your own decorations, or even fill some bon bons with weird surprises for passers by. We went to the cheap shop to stock up on decorations and made some some of our own by printing out hilarious pictures of people dressed in Santa outfits and gluing them to card then tying a string through the top - things like the guy from Twisted Sister, Destiny's Child, a cute bulldog, Tim Heidecker and Chevy Chase among others.

Whether you're a killjoy who likes to boycott Christmas or a lover of all things festive, tree bombing is sure to put a smile on someone's face, even if it is twisted, sister.

Let's face it: December has been a total washout. Instead of hanging our bare legs off the balcony, sucking on icy poles and reading comics, we've been huddling in the cold, the spit of rain on our faces taunting us day after day. So let's forget about the whole deal and hope for a decidedly more heated January. It might help the cause a little when California's Dum Dum Girls sweep into town, all surf-rock swagger and sun-kissed tunes. Throw on their latest, 'Bedroom Eyes', lather on the Reef oil, and let's coax summer out together.

Hanni from Los Angeles says, "These songs were written for anyone who's ever been shot or hit by a train"... which is maybe why he's not on your iPod. He's also dubbed it "knife fight music", which is more inclusive, since we've all had that awkward moment around the cheese platter. It's not all Eddie Current/The Clash style tantrums - sometimes it's just slouching past the milkbar and seeing your girl share a milkshake with some other guy. But the live show will mostly be tantrums - just Hanni and his friend on drums.

I hope you'll have dusted yourself off in time for this; it will be so super intense. It's Flying "forerunner of his own personal genre" Lotus.

Sweden might be a land where 60s psych never died, and France seems to be a place where 70s soft rock lives eternally, but in Cambodia the strain of Anglo pop that musicians decided to permanently affix a life support to, for some reason, was 60s girl garage pop and hard rock. Cambodian Space Project do a damn fine job re-envisioning it from their own perspective; check this cover of 'House of The Rising Sun'. If you're feeling like your live music experiences are getting a bit same-samey this holiday season, this is a show that promises to be something utterly unique.

NYE is easily the shittest night in the history of the world, not to mention the most expensive. This year, treat it like every other Saturday night and head to Goodgod for Last Resort. It'll be a trailer trash, knee-slappin' hoot with Perfect Snatch, DJ Shantan Wantan Ichiban, Flash & Crash DJs, DJ King Opp (Straight Arrows), The Gooch Palms and Royal Headache (this is what it looked like last time they played Goodgod). Convinced?