The Thousands

In a long bow drawn from the above to the issue, Dom impressively manoeuvres a Throbbing Gristle re-release via Wile E Coyote and the European debt crisis, &company takes over Gaffa, Angela covers covering the funny bits, the "Paddington of the 70s" cops a RIY joint, we have free passes to see a terror child, Self Est required delicate handling, and here's a shirtless man holding Miranda July's new book. All of which bring us back to questions of representation and meaning.

Cover snap by Chris Barton. Be our colourful hat by getting your image up there! Send potential cover shots to alex@rightanglestudio.com.au.

Everyone we know seems to drool over everything Miranda July does. Her short stories, movies and art all document her hilarious journeys into the decaying soul of modern civilisation, while showing how she seriously removes sleep from her eyes. She’s the everywoman art darling, with an eye on the deep and the dumb.

Her new book, It Chooses You, is Miranda's procrastination project she wrote while making her most recent film, The Future. While It Chooses You is a diary of the angst associated with writing her film, it’s mostly a retelling of her encounters with eleven extraordinary normal people in L.A., people she tracked down via their PennySaver classified ads.

With Brigitte Sire along to take photos, and a guy called Alfred there to ‘protect them from rape’, Miranda takes us into the bedroom of Domingo, a single 45-year-old who pastes up photos of women and babies on his wall and pretends he’s in the LAPD. And 17-year-old Andrew, who's trying to sell tadpoles before they sprout legs. And the dangerously creepy Ron, who's under house arrest (there's a tracker on his leg) selling Dr Seuss books. Joe, the last we meet, is an old man full of nostalgia who Miranda generously casts in The Future, one week before he dies of cancer.

Miranda July’s problems with the writing of her film is compounded by the weight and significance of the lives of the real people she interviews. At one point she says that they are "too big for fiction". She’s right, and It Chooses You leaves you thinking that perhaps The Future, a lesser achievement, was in fact her real procrastination project.

Crowbarring post-Internet music into genres is inadequate. This is inconvenient for the writer, as pigeonholing is such an easy tool. I say this as a caveat to excuse the gap between my enthusiasm for Oliver Tank's EP Dream and any ability to describe it.

There is delicate forcefulness to the sparse, deracinated glitch-pop (sorry) of the record. Deracinated, because there are identifiable sounds (orchestral strings, basement soundscapes, acoustic guitar, clips-and-clops), entirely removed from their context and repositioned in Tank's world. It's an expansive minimalism that I can't help but feel could be the soundtrack to someone experiencing a quiet epiphany in a cave.

Flitting across the tops of these songs are the gentle vocals - either of Tank, or collaborator Fawn Myers on a couple of tracks. They're rich, full of sentiment, but never mawkish. The effect prompts James Blake associations, though the comparison is, at this point in their respective careers, unfair.

Because it is so graceful, I found the record could be overwhelmed by things like emails and coffee shops, and is best enjoyed inside your own head - walking somewhere, and presumably in a small club. I'm happy to be proved wrong on this though. Dreams will grab, maintain, and reward your attention.

While the western hemisphere is currently in the grips of an invisible economic tsunami, spare a thought for England’s Throbbing Gristle who came to fruition in a period of even greater political and economic rancour.  Their dark and disturbing vision was the result of oil price shock, the rise of conservatism, and the dismantling of the social utopianism of the 50s and 60s. What resulted were four very black albums made over a very brief period (1977-81) that spanned noise, minimalist electro, and outright anarchy.

Recently released from the grips of a crippling record contract, TG have finally been able to re-release their five landmark records on their original Industrial Records imprint: The Second Annual Report of Throbbing Gristle, D.O.A. The Third and Final Report of Throbbing Gristle, 20 Jazz Funk Greats, Heathen Earth, and The Greatest Hits of Throbbing Gristle.

What’s remarkable about these records was TG’s lithe ability to move from punk inspired noisy soundscapes with droned out guitar and heavily affected vocals to icy, minimalist electro. The murky ‘Zyklon B Zombie’ on The Second Annual Report of Throbbing Gristle is a long way from the harsh, arpeggiated synths of ‘Hot on the Heels of Love’ on 20 Jazz Funk Greats.

The string that tied TG’s albums and their fiercely independent members Gensis P-Orridge, Peter Christopherson, Cosey Fanni Tutti, and Chris Carter together was the perusal of a disturbed state of mind. Their aesthetic and cover art is a testament to this.  In particular 20 Jazz Funk Greats is one of the best record covers of the period with the band dressed as a mock 70s ‘folk’ act.

One of my favourite analogies about recent economic woes in Europe: Coyote (from Roadrunner) has been running along a long desert road at great speed and all of a sudden the road comes to a stop at a cliff. Coyote keeps running and for a couple of seconds he’s weightless. Then suddenly he stops, gravity takes hold, he drops, and with a puff of dust hits the canyon floor.

Somewhere in that puff of dust you’ll find the legacy of Throbbing Gristle.

Alexander Seton's Flags put up and take on one of the most immediate and most loaded pieces of signification in one of its purest forms. It messes with what it's made of, to make us think about what flags actually are and how they mean anything. These marble carvings of singlets attached to poles to make them 'white flags' and modular illuminated perspex constructions that invoke the symbolic language of heraldry raises all kinds of questions about how pieces of cloth on sticks have become things people have really strong feelings about, and that they feel entitle them to land.

Wilderness of Mirrors is a very different kind of land claim, with Kate Shaw colouring landscapes in intensely-pigmented psychedelic marbling that throw our ideas of being able to achieve any kind of definitive visual comprehension. Vistas based in the real become glittery and alien, almost impossible to trace back to the shapes of terrain we're familiar with in the colours in which we perceive them.

Both these shows are straight-up asking you to reconsider reality by revealing that the things which seem simple often only look that way because we've got centuries of cultural habituation to them on our side. Having seen them may save your life after the totally-going-to-happen Revolution of the Semioticians in 2013.

Okay, here’s what Eva and Franklin (Tilda Swinton and John C Reilly) need to talk about – how they ended up with a Eurasian kid (Ezra Miller; as a child, Rock Duer and Jasper Newell). Clearly there was a maternity hospital swapsie and they accidentally ended up with a sociopathic, high-school-massacring cuckoo. Where’s Angelina Jolie when you need her?

Eva’s subjectivity complicates the central question of Lionel Shriver’s source novel – whether Kevin is innately evil, or Eva’s ambivalent mothering nurtured his monstrosity. Lynne Ramsay’s film represents Eva’s torturous soul-searching in a lurid, nightmarish way, both in wistful memories of Eva’s life before Kevin and unsettling, retrospectively portentous ones of their battle of wills. As if in further penance, Eva stoically endures the hatred of her leafy community, whose golden children Kevin slew.

Ramsay’s heavy-handed use of ironic visual/soundtrack juxtapositions and allegorical imagery tip the film into melodrama, reminding me of I Am Love, also starring Swinton. Eva flirts with Franklin in the rain, but sprinklers offer a more sinister soaking; she echoes Kevin’s repulsive nail-biting by picking eggshells from mouthfuls of omelette. And both Eva’s tomato-throwing travel memories and her cleaning an anonymous vandal’s red paint from her verandah evoke her Lady Macbeth-style ‘bloody hands’.

It is amusing that, among the many awards and accolades, the book of The Tall Man did not escape winning the Queensland Premier's Literary Award. This goes against State grain - their Supreme Court is now guarding all evidence from the Mulrunji case, and the Queensland police made a rather infamous spectacle of themselves.

Despite their best efforts, the man's death changed history. When the police made public their extraordinary claim that Mulrunji's black eye, four broken ribs, liver split in two, and bleeding to death about forty minutes after being arrested for swearing, all occured because he tripped, the Palm Islanders' riotous protest drew the attention of national media. It went on to become the first time an Australian police officer has been charged for a black death in custody.

The documentary is based on the book, and its Chauvel season marks the sixth anniversary of Mulrunji's death. It unfolds as a character-driven crime drama, complete with surprising plot twists. There are also green waters rich with dugong and seal, boys riding horses through water, and Mulrunji's only son - magnetic, with a rare and arresting stillness.

There's no easy conclusion, but it isn't harrowing, and it isn't depressing. It's beautiful, fascinating, and perplexing. You'll leave with the sense of having something important to mull over.

It's good to be particular about the way things look. And better to be particular about their effect on the environment, working with local industry and strengthening a community - something &company largely promote. What they provide is mentoring, production facilitation, marketing and distribution, as well as some good-looking, and not-too-precious-to-use home wares.

After a set of collaborations with Gaffa (and a few ongoing), &company have naturally moved into one of the old holding cells in the Arcade of the Gaffa Precinct (it used to be a cop shop). Utilising the tiny space principally as a studio, they've packed a full, but not over-stocked, shop front with their own designs and other independently designed stuff. All of it made in Australia.

Porcelain Oyster Shells and Milk Bottles (with patterned insides), and hilarious tea towels printed with punny Christina Aguilera, Snoop Dog and Michael Jackson lyrics are currently in stock, but over their six-month residency expect a collaboration with Black Star Pastry (who're popping up in the opposite cell this weekend) and a consistent rotation of stock to be stacked and sold to anyone with good taste and a virtuous sense of procuring (that's you).

Swimwear designers must be a special kind of genius. Not like, up there with Amy Poehler or Stephen Hawking obviously, but probably on a level with the street smarts of Joey Jeremiah. Because like the best dawgs on the street they work with what they’ve got: even if that is a piece of cloth roughly the size of the National Flag of Lilliput.

Sydney-based duo Carlos Aviles and Bonnie Coumbe of Seventh Wonderland would definitely be nearing the top of their kerbside class. Since Bonnie upcycled a 70s crushed black lycra number when she was 13 to the label’s 2008 debut at Miami Swim Fashion Week, the lines have been clean and strong, with whiffs of Art Deco, iconic London retailer Biba and Jerry Hall-itude. The fashun world seems to be taking note, too – the ’kinis and onesies are now sold at American Rag and Shopbop and have been featured in Harpers fricking Bazaar.

Spring Summer 11/12, 'Serafina', is full of cut-out details, buckles, ruching, gingham prints, contrasting ochre and pink tones, leopard print lace-ups (nice!), even some matching dresses and skirts so you can pretend you might actually one day attend a function that has a matching clothes-swimwear dress code.

Overall, a seriously smart way to cover up your funny bits.

Spare a thought for those who don't drink coffee. Cowering on the outer fringe, while we're all huddling around the sacred beverage, murmuring about roasting technique and extraction times. They must feel like they're missing a chromosome.

For the rest of us, the insanity continues. Cafes have been roasting beans in-house for awhile now, but things have quickly moved from nouveaux to the norm. Double Roasters, in the Inner-West enclave of Paddington-of-the-70s Marrickville, is the latest addition to the RIY community (that's 'Roast It Yourself' - a term I've just coined).

It's a cute industrial-meets-French country space looking across the flow of Victoria Road traffic to little Wicks Park. The coffee's good and service is perfectly, unobtrusively efficient. There's a small menu of things on toast and sandwiches (including gluten-free), plated with concentric circles of sticky balsamic straight out of the squeezy bottles of 1998. So are the prices - most items hover around the $7 mark. And there are Tea Craft teas and fresh juices for the fringe dwellers.

I don't want to talk about The Institution, because it's tricky, and because Bethany had an actual meltdown over it and I don't want to subject myself to anything similar. She spoke in tongues. Joseph Allen Shea and Marty Routledge don't want to talk about it either. Rather, they want to show you things. Things from outside of The Institution.

With all of their curatorial powers, they've harnessed artists whose forms are self established - outside of the repressing, conventional institute - be they self-taught, subconscious or born from previous work in commercial art, graffiti or skateboarding.

Self Est. runs over four days, and lends itself to a series of installments. This one focuses on letterforms. Opening on Thursday with an exhibition at kind of - gallery, featuring global graffiti legends DMOTE (New York), HORFÉ (Paris) and ROID (London) - whose current work is off its head. Perth's Ben Barretto and San Fran's Jeff Canham take up residence in the current Gallery A.S. space for an exhibition on Friday night, and then on Saturday they're joined by Fred Forsyth (UK director of Topsafe and Crack & Shine) and Australian public art expert Cameron Macauliffe. By Saturday arvo ROID, HORFÉ and Jeff Canham will have started painting a wall on the corner of Kippax and Lt Riley streets, where the BBQ and Beers Finale will go down. On Sunday, they'll finish the wall with sober hands.

There are good reasons to be at Goodgod on Friday night: purveyors of happy-go-lucky garage pop, Twerps are heading up from Melbs to launch their self-titled debut album. Meanwhile, label buddy (on Chapter Music) Geoffrey O'Connor has a lil something of his own to launch, his smooth-as-80s-taffeta solo masterpiece, Vanity Is Forever. And if you're not won over by that, I'm not sure we can help you. Except to say, apparently The Dip is doing grilled watermelon and bacon burgers.

Very soon Taxi Club's beloved building is to be turned in to another (boring!) apartment block, so they've been busy planning the SEXIEST-PARTY-OF-ALL-TIME. They're adjusting the mood-lighting and upping the porn-factor to make Chris Isaak and Helena Christensen look like amateurs. The best Taxi DJs are oozing only the raunchiest of raunch, setting free your carnal spirits to haunt those new tenants‚ forever.

Often with film festivals, the program is so multifarious you don't know where to start. So here are three gems:
1. Milocrorze - Five years in the making, the visuals are so pomp it's like Tarantino meets Sanjay Leela Bhansali. The plot seems a little 'zany', but the director says it is a very pure love story. There will be swordfights, attractive ladies, and a motile counsellor who believes in no problem a surprise nipple tweak won't fix.
2. Bhudda - This anime is an adaptation of the manga by Astro Boy creator Osamu Tezuka. Important!
3. A Boy and His Samurai - "A mother and son are forced to look after a samurai who has found himself in the present day through strange circumstances." Will hilarity ensue??

Now in it's ninth edition, Girlosophy celebrates the idea that you've gotta be true to yourself. The books are spiritual, and self-helpy (but in a big sister voice, rather than a calm weirdo voice). Previous editions include A Soul Survival Kit, The Breakup Survival Kit, and Real Girls Eat. Inspire, the current edition, has a focus on travel and culture through art and photography. It's launching with performances by DJ Morgan, Ngaratya, and Bridezilla. Plus there's a live photobooth by our very own Maja Baska. Girl power!

Laura have been around for a minute. When did 'a minute' start to mean, 'a lot longer than a minute'? Their new album is called Twelve Hundred Times and now I'm wondering if they've been around for Twelve Hundred Times a minute? No, 'cuz that turns out to be only 20 hours (yes, I used a calculator). These post-rock Melburnians have turned up the 'post' on this latest release, meaning: more ambient soundscapes, and mellow bits throughout. Here's a sample - if you like it, get down to The Annandale for a band that's always stellar live, supported by Solkyri and Brackets. And if you can't, hey, they have new t-shirts and hoodies for sale so you can still represent.

These jeans are cheap and they look good. No jean porn about it. Japanese selvage denim? Nup. Hand sewn zip? Absolutely not. Customisable stitching? Cut the crap. They are just cheap and they look great, which is probably what most of the young people wearing them are like.

Ziggy Denim's latest collection has just dropped in stores in time for summer. If you need a pair of pants for festivals, parks and the general activity of the silly season, get some.

Burnt oranges! Classic blues. Yellow! Denim. Deep reds. And you can get most of them in full pant or shorts versions. Damn it, just look how much cheap fun you can have wearing them! They're all $90 or less. It's probably a public pool those models are in and they didn't even pay an entry fee.

You can get these Ziggys at a shop near you. Or, thanks to the mysterious Mr Z, you might win a pair today (girls or guys, your choice). To enter, just answer the following question.