Victory comes in many different guises. Sometimes it looks like a champion swimmer looking back at the clock to discover she’s broken the world record. Other times it looks like the wily old grandmaster staring across the board and pushing his rook up to the eighth rank to announce ‘checkmate’. Very occasionally it looks like an Iranian penguin standing in a room full of second hand trombones while being showered in marshmallows by legions of adoring taxation officers.
Even more rarely than that, it looks like a man hiring a flash tuxedo, suiting up and standing at the end of an aisle to turn slightly to the side and… watch someone else get married.
Last weekend saw the all-important penultimate episode in the ongoing saga of the “who gets married to whom and when” game that has been the subject of countless poems, epic ballads and at least three movie adaptations (ok… two rather hastily typed blog posts, both of them by me). The crucial second to last wedding that would decide who would be the victor and who would take the consolation prize of getting married.
And so it was that I suited up and took my place in the bridal party for the best seat in the house from which to watch the second to last contestant take his vows and concede his claim to the title of last man standing.
It couldn’t have been a more perfect day. It was an outdoor wedding on the outskirts of Perth. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and although the sunny summer day was a little warm for the locals, especially those in black suit jackets, as the only representative of the great city of Darwin in attendance I was in my element. While everyone else was looking hot and bothered, I was just looking hot.
It was a charming ceremony; two songs, a homily, a vow or two and it was all over bar the photos which were by far the most painful part of the whole affair. I can’t speak for what the bride and groom might have been expecting, but I had always thought the final victory might have passed with just a little more ceremony. Nothing that would upstage the happy couple of course; just a simple trumpet blast or perhaps a nice tasteful explosion from a howitzer cannon. But no, we were just a little bit preoccupied with celebrating the wedding at hand, and I suppose I can live with that.
After all, I have been assured that the magnitude of celebratory fanfare that will accompany my own wedding, should such an event ever transpire, will be enough to knock the solar system off its… whatever solar systems sit on. And that’s quite enough responsibility to be carrying around for now, thank you very much.
Make of that what you will.
Garry with 2 Rs
23 November 2011
18 November 2011
Backstage at the Capitol
A few posts ago, back when Cum Tacent Clament was still called Far From Home, I wrote a post about the entirely different social universe inhabited by bass players, especially when compared with the rather anti-social one in which we pianists typically operate. Three and a half years later, while I was in Perth this week for Dan's Wedding, the father of the bride-to-be asked me the following question:
"Why do all the girls go and talk to the keyboard player after the show?"
I answered with "Are they lost?" FOTBTB thought that answer was amusing enough that he didn't bother with the officially sanctioned punch line.
But never mind me. On Thursday night I found myself once again backstage after a Six60 concert. Six60 are getting bigger and bigger and filled the Capitol Theatre in Perth with only slightly less effort than it would have taken Chris to get his ridiculous rock-and-roll fringe to sit just right. Admittedly, the entire house was packed wall to wall with New Zealanders (and two Aussies) but that is no reason to think any less of them. Indeed, there is a growing trend among the more liberal sections of the artistic community to treat New Zealanders as legitimate people in their own right. And when you think about it, in a way they sort of are.
Where was I? Yes - backstage at the Capitol with Dan, congratulating Chris on another great show.
Gw2Rs: So listen, I need you to do me a favour.
Interrupting Drunk Kiwi Girl 1: Oh My God! You guys are awesome! And so famous! Can I get a picture?
Chris: Sure.
Pose, flash, hug.
Chris: So what do you need?
IDKG2: (Butts in and whispers something in Chris' ear)
Chris: I'm actually married. Sorry.
IDKG2: Oh (wanders off to find the drummer)
Gw2Rs: I promised Hannah I'd get her a CD, but your merchandise guy isn't selling any.
IDKG3: Oh my God! Are you in the band?
Chris: Yes I am.
IDKG3: Oh my God! Are you his brother?
Gw2Rs: ... Yes I am.
IDKG3: Oh my God I knew it! You have the same fringe.
Gw2Rs: ... ?
Pose flash hug.
Chris: You should get a photo with Garry and Dan too. They're very good looking young men.
IDKG3: Oh my God!
Pose flash hug.
Gw2Rs: ... ?!
This went on for quite some time. Eventually it came to light that there were no CDs on sale because the tour manager had left them at the airport. A couple of IDKGs later, Dan and I had to leave to get Dan's car out of the carpark before it shut and to let Chris get a couple of hours' rest before his early morning flight to Melbourne to do it all again.
As jealous as I so often am of the high achievements of many of my friends, I still think it's just as well that it's Chris and not me. That kind of lifestyle would probably destroy me in fairly short order, so I think Samantha and I will keep doing our thing over here away from the bright lights for now. I'll leave the rock and roll lifestyle for the happily married church pastors.
Make of that what you will.
Garry with 2 Rs
To ask for the bass player's phone number.
"Why do all the girls go and talk to the keyboard player after the show?"
I answered with "Are they lost?" FOTBTB thought that answer was amusing enough that he didn't bother with the officially sanctioned punch line.
But never mind me. On Thursday night I found myself once again backstage after a Six60 concert. Six60 are getting bigger and bigger and filled the Capitol Theatre in Perth with only slightly less effort than it would have taken Chris to get his ridiculous rock-and-roll fringe to sit just right. Admittedly, the entire house was packed wall to wall with New Zealanders (and two Aussies) but that is no reason to think any less of them. Indeed, there is a growing trend among the more liberal sections of the artistic community to treat New Zealanders as legitimate people in their own right. And when you think about it, in a way they sort of are.
Where was I? Yes - backstage at the Capitol with Dan, congratulating Chris on another great show.
Gw2Rs: So listen, I need you to do me a favour.
Interrupting Drunk Kiwi Girl 1: Oh My God! You guys are awesome! And so famous! Can I get a picture?
Chris: Sure.
Pose, flash, hug.
Chris: So what do you need?
IDKG2: (Butts in and whispers something in Chris' ear)
Chris: I'm actually married. Sorry.
IDKG2: Oh (wanders off to find the drummer)
Gw2Rs: I promised Hannah I'd get her a CD, but your merchandise guy isn't selling any.
IDKG3: Oh my God! Are you in the band?
Chris: Yes I am.
IDKG3: Oh my God! Are you his brother?
Gw2Rs: ... Yes I am.
IDKG3: Oh my God I knew it! You have the same fringe.
Gw2Rs: ... ?
Pose flash hug.
Chris: You should get a photo with Garry and Dan too. They're very good looking young men.
IDKG3: Oh my God!
Pose flash hug.
Gw2Rs: ... ?!
This went on for quite some time. Eventually it came to light that there were no CDs on sale because the tour manager had left them at the airport. A couple of IDKGs later, Dan and I had to leave to get Dan's car out of the carpark before it shut and to let Chris get a couple of hours' rest before his early morning flight to Melbourne to do it all again.
As jealous as I so often am of the high achievements of many of my friends, I still think it's just as well that it's Chris and not me. That kind of lifestyle would probably destroy me in fairly short order, so I think Samantha and I will keep doing our thing over here away from the bright lights for now. I'll leave the rock and roll lifestyle for the happily married church pastors.
Make of that what you will.
Garry with 2 Rs
To ask for the bass player's phone number.
12 November 2011
Prometheus Bound
Tonight I went and saw a local production of the ancient Greek tragedy Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus. I really don’t intend to write this post as a theatre review, but I should point out that it was a very good show, and Kadek Hobman, who played Prometheus, absolutely nailed it. If you’re an adult reading this in Darwin any time before November 17th, then I recommend getting down to Brownsmart and seeing it. If you’re a child prodigy reading this anytime after 2047 in Sulaweyo, sorry you missed it. And if you’re a midget in Bangalore reading this anytime prior to April 7th 1873… kudos.
Aeschylus, it seems, really knew what he was doing in that thousands of years later, the themes that Prometheus expounds on as he is bound hand and foot to a rock at the end of the world ring as true today as they (presumably) did when Aeschylus was cutting edge and all the cool uni students were talking about how he was a visionary while they sat sipping anachronistic lattes at the forum and whinging about how the establishment would never understand them.
In the first place, while it may well be a symptom of my specific cultural perspective, I was struck by the parallels between Prometheus and Christ: The divine friend of humanity, showing compassion and teaching wisdom to the human race, only to be forsaken by the gods and then crucified (the English translation of the text actually used that word, interestingly, although obviously I don’t know what the term would have been in ancient Greek). It’s not unusual for plays about morality and justice to allude to Jesus, but it’s pretty cool when he shows up in plays written at least four hundred years before he was born.
More humanistically, and probably closer to what Aeschylus was on about, I really loved the way that Prometheus, the mythical benefactor of human knowledge and understanding, dealt with the fact that everything around him sucked. Afflicted with every imaginable humiliation, injustice and suffering, Prometheus has the choice to give in to despair and renounce his support of humanity, but even as he is bound to a rock by indestructible brass brackets and threatened with hungry eagles, he is still shouting his defiance and goading his tormentors to do their worst. The image of Kadek shaking the metal cross he was strapped to and yelling “I am one whom you cannot kill!” is going to stick with me all week.
So bollocks to it if my job sucks, my friend’s teeth are falling out, my uncle dies, the Australian cricket team gets bowled out for 47, my pile of job application rejections grows more pathetic daily, 2011 is basically a write off, girls are dumb and I’ve run out of yoghurt; I’m with Prometheus on this one.
I am one whom you cannot kill!
Garry with 2 Rs
Aeschylus, it seems, really knew what he was doing in that thousands of years later, the themes that Prometheus expounds on as he is bound hand and foot to a rock at the end of the world ring as true today as they (presumably) did when Aeschylus was cutting edge and all the cool uni students were talking about how he was a visionary while they sat sipping anachronistic lattes at the forum and whinging about how the establishment would never understand them.
In the first place, while it may well be a symptom of my specific cultural perspective, I was struck by the parallels between Prometheus and Christ: The divine friend of humanity, showing compassion and teaching wisdom to the human race, only to be forsaken by the gods and then crucified (the English translation of the text actually used that word, interestingly, although obviously I don’t know what the term would have been in ancient Greek). It’s not unusual for plays about morality and justice to allude to Jesus, but it’s pretty cool when he shows up in plays written at least four hundred years before he was born.
More humanistically, and probably closer to what Aeschylus was on about, I really loved the way that Prometheus, the mythical benefactor of human knowledge and understanding, dealt with the fact that everything around him sucked. Afflicted with every imaginable humiliation, injustice and suffering, Prometheus has the choice to give in to despair and renounce his support of humanity, but even as he is bound to a rock by indestructible brass brackets and threatened with hungry eagles, he is still shouting his defiance and goading his tormentors to do their worst. The image of Kadek shaking the metal cross he was strapped to and yelling “I am one whom you cannot kill!” is going to stick with me all week.
So bollocks to it if my job sucks, my friend’s teeth are falling out, my uncle dies, the Australian cricket team gets bowled out for 47, my pile of job application rejections grows more pathetic daily, 2011 is basically a write off, girls are dumb and I’ve run out of yoghurt; I’m with Prometheus on this one.
I am one whom you cannot kill!
Garry with 2 Rs
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