Party Party Party

I spent last weekend in Sydney again. Between us, Kim and I have been keeping Jetstar in business for the last twenty months and every time one of takes a trip to see the other, we almost always end up with a weekend so packed full of activities that we don’t actually get much time to relax.

This trip was no exception. No sooner had I settled in to Sydney than we were off to watch Six60 play at the HiFi. They’ve come a long a way since the last time I saw them and it was a very big and very enjoyable concert. After the show, we hung out backstage with Chris and got another taste of the rock’n’roll lifestyle as we all piled into a minivan and tripped back to the band’s hotel. I don’t know how he does it; that lifestyle would run me into the ground within a month.

Saturday was just as packed. My family joined us in Sydney and we had lunch and did some shopping. We all popped in to Saturday Night By The Bridge before heading over to The Loft at Darling Harbour for our Engagement Party. That was a fantastic night with friends from all over the place in a nice setting. There was some concern that we wouldn’t have a place to put everyone, but after some logistical juggling by the staff we were nicely accommodated with our own private corner. Very nice.

Sunday saw us cavorting with family around Circular Quay. The weather was horrible, but we had a nice lunch before we put the family back on the plane to Adelaide and took off to meet Nic, our friend and photographer. We had and engagement photo shoot scheduled for that afternoon. Thankfully the weather cleared up nicely, and we spent two and a half hours being serial posers around the shores of Kirribilli. That was great fun.

Kim had to work Monday, so I amused myself wandering around the CBD looking for clothes for the wedding. I don’t want to spoil the final effect, but I will way I found just the thing, and that no-one is likely to mistake me for anyone else on the big day.

By the time I got into Darwin at midnight on Monday, I was thoroughly spent, but it was a great weekend and a nice way to celebrate with family and friends. Now to turn our attention to the wedding itself.

Make of that what you will.




Garry with 2 Rs

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.

The New Game

Way back some time in the last century when I was in high school I was part of an unusually close group of friends. There were five of us in total. It’s not really clear what bought us all together as we didn’t have anything observable in common except for irreverent senses of humour, an incination towards the theatrical and a tendency to call “bullshit” when we saw it (usually emanating from one of the other four) which tended to alienate us a little from other students, not to mention the teachers.

Chris, Phil, Jess, Garry (well…) and Dan.

Actually, the other thing we had in common was that all of us had parents associated with the staff or governance of the school we all went to. It was an extremely poorly kept secret that said parents had a number of informal betting pools running.

1) Which of the five would be the first to get married?

2) Which of the four guys would end up marrying Jess?

3) Which of the five of us would turn out to be gay?

Our school being of the fundamentalist Christian persuasion, obviously there was no actual gambling involved, especially on that last one.

Shortest odds for first married were almost certainly on Daniel, who was the oldest of the gang and had been voted the southern hemisphere’s most eligible bachelor (his parents had objected to the use of the term ‘sexiest man alive’) three years straight, albeit by a panel that consisted of the other four of us. Consensus on which one of us was going to marry Jess depended on whose mother you were talking to at the time.

In the end Chris was the first to go, in what was described in hushed tones as something of an upset. However, he had to go all the way to New Zealand to do it, which was agreed by most to be cheating. Jess went next and threw a spanner in everyone’s mother’s works by not marrying any of us (actually, Jess’ mother was probably quite relieved). At least she had the common decency to marry a local. Just a year later it was Phil’s turn.

And then there were two.

Ever since Phil’s wedding back in 2006, Dan and I have been engaged (huh?) in a gentlemen’s wager. I say gentlemen’s wager, but I really just mean friendly competition, as there were no stakes riding on it, and I’m not a gentleman. Basically, we decided to see which of us could go the longest without getting married.

If that seems like a reasonably pointless (not to mention backwards) competition, that’s just because… it is. But when you think about it, it makes much more sense than trying to see who can get married first. For one, it provides an extra layer of disincentive to do something stupid too soon if you get romantically entangled (“Maybe we should take this to the next level… nah, I wouldn’t want to lose a bet to Dan”) and also it has the added benefit that if you lose, at least you’re getting married, so that’s some sort of consolation. As endurance sports go, doing it this way has also made it much more competitive, as remaining single has historically been something both Dan and I have been pretty good at. It’s been six long years, and neither combatant has shown any sign of flagging.

That is, until now.

Yes that’s right, I have an announcement to make, the repercussions of which could shake the very firmament, but probably won’t. It has come out of nowhere and taken more than a few people by surprise, especially me, but… I, Garry with 2 Rs, am now officially…

The winner!

Indeed. Dan announced his engagement last weekend, and I am now The Last Man Standing. It has been suggested that perhaps I shouldn’t be as happy about this as I so obviously am. However, these suggestions have, without exception, come from people who gave up and got married years ago and are just jealous. As Josh Lyman so eloquently put it:

“I drink from the keg of glory. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in all the land”

Or as Horatio Nelson said:

“First gain the victory and then make the best use of it you can.”

And as Sachin Tendulkar put it:

“You can’t hold a ceramic tiger with a pair of size nine mittens made out of apricot jam”.

…

The point is that, the wager now being won, I can stop playing. All this time people have assumed I am single because I’m a cynical cranky debt-ridden misogynistic bastard (or possibly that I turned out to be the gay one. I don’t know what the odds were on that and I don’t think I want to), when all the time I was just trying to win a bet. And now I have.

So it’s time for a new game. I was going to call this new game “Travel Monopoly Junior” but apparently that’s already taken, so I’ll leave the title open as a work in progress. Everyone else around me having been disqualified on grounds of matrimony, the new game is a variation of solitaire and begins when the person left of the dealer rolls a seven. Winner is the first person not to die alone. Spades are trumps, it’s tippy-go and only one person gets to be the top hat.

Make of that… nope. Just forget it.

Garry with 2 Rs

iTunes Sux (Suxty)

Every now again someone gets up and does something awesome. Sometimes it’s me, usually it’s not. This week it’s my mate Chris.

Chris is one of my oldest friends, who, while travelling in New Zealand, had the misfortune to fall in love, marry a Kiwi and become a pastor. I realise that this doesn’t sound that unfortunate, but the fact of the matter is that he now lives in New Zealand, which has to be a bummer. His wife, daughter, congregation and fans probably don't see it that way, but what would they know? Mind you, he’s made a good fist of it.

When not pastoring, Chris plays bass for a New Zealand band called Six60, which would have to be the most optimistic band name for a bunch of Kiwis ever (Sux-suxty? Really?). This aside, they’ve gone and landed themselves New Zealand’s number one single this week, so full respect to them. Check out Rise up 2.0 by Six60, if you can find it.

Of course you might expect his best mates to all have bought a copy or twelve to boost the numbers along, but incredibly this isn’t the case. The single is only available through iTunes, and you have to be registered in New Zealand to purchase it. Apparently Apple is still figuring out how this whole global economy thing works, being just a small company that hasn’t been around very long and isn’t very good.

The long and the short is, my best friend has a number one single and until recently I hadn’t even heard it.

Make of that what you will.

Garry with 2 Rs
(It is pretty good, isn't it?)

Bass Desires

I've been undergoing something of an identity crisis lately. It centres around the fact that the church I'm going to has an abundance of highly skilled pianists available, and a small number of significantly lower skilled bass players. I'm only too happy to help out where I can, so I'm on bass two weeks out of four, which is great, but having people know I can play the bass and not know that I play the piano is playing havoc with my established order of social interaction.

It came to a head last night while I was chatting with my pastor. He was talking about how he often sees me up there playing, and wonders (tongue in cheek) why the piano or the saxophone always get the solo. "You never get to see a good bass solo," he said. I casually replied that bass players don't need solos because they're big enough posers as it is. He laughed and said "Yes. Maybe it's better that you stay up the back." I realised in horror that having so frequently seen me playing the bass at church, and never having seen me playing keys, those at the church who don't know me so well have got it into their heads that I'm some kind of ... bass player.

I mean obviously I'm a bass player if we're defining bass player as "one who plays the bass," but anyone who has had any involvement with any band ever will understand that the term "bass player" communicates a lot more than just "the one with the bass guitar". It communicates a certain personality, a certain social status, a certain gravitational effect on members of the opposite sex (no-one knows why, by the way) and a certain predisposition towards being a complete poser. And I really don't identify with any of those. Well... maybe the poser bit, but even that's a completely different genre of posing.

Most people who play the bass don't actually fall under this classification, since it is reserved chiefly for people whose first instrument is the bass guitar, or who made the jump from guitar to bass early enough for it to count as a first instrument. Having the bass guitar as one's musical background has some sort of mystical affect on a person's approach to other instruments, music in general, and basically life, the universe and everything.

True bass players are a fascinating, if simple, sub-species. It's not that they're necessarily good-looking, charming, witty, sensitive or literate (although they can be). Bass players don't acquire any inherent traits to which we may attribute their automatic popularity the moment they first pick up a guitar. It's just a fundamental property of the universe. The sky is blue, light is fast, water flows downhill and bass players are popular. That's just how it is. Your average after-church conversation with a bass player goes something like this:

"Hey Matty. I really liked your playing tonight." (All bass players are called Matt, Chris, or Adam. Again, no-one knows why)
"Hey, thanks (insert name here). We had a really great time up there tonight."
(Giggling incessantly) "So... how's your weekend been?"
"Pretty cool, I guess. I was down the beach yesterday for a surf, then I had work in the afternoon."
"Where do you work?"
"I have a part time job at the uni giving guitar lessons to supermodels."
"Wow... that must be so interesting and rewarding."
"Yeah, it's a pretty sweet deal. Not as sweet as you though." (cheeky wink)
"Oh, that's so nice" (collapses in a fit of unrestrainable giggling).

Whereas your average after-church conversation with Garry cunningly disguised as a bass player goes something like this:

"Hi Garry. I really liked your playing tonight."
"Thanks. We had a good time"
"So... how's your weekend been?"
"Fairly relaxing actually. I got some match preparation in yesterday, and caught up with some old linguist friends from uni for lunch this afternoon."
"Match preparation? What do you play?"
"Chess. I've got an open tournament game on Tuesday night"
"Chess? Linguistics? Wait a minute!"
"What?"
"You're not really cool and dreamy at all, are you?"
"What?"
"GUARDS! GUARDS! Seize this imposter, and cast him into outer darkness, where there will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth."
"What? Hey! Unhand me, you fiends!"

Okay, so our church doesn't actually have guards. Furthermore, I am aware that the above descriptions of conversations are probably sexist. Get over it. For the record, obviously female bass players do exist, but they're rare, since most girls' first instrument is the flute, violin or piano. They don't attract the same amount of attention as male bass players do because they are usually already going out with the drummer. And I'm not implying that all church-going girls are as predictable as the one in the conversations. Just the ones that hang off bass players. And you can't blame them for that. Telling them not to would be like asking the sun not to rise in the morning. It's not an optional occurrence; it just happens that way.

Far from home



Garry with 2 Rs