All posts in Writing

• June 3, 2009

  Andrew Humbled By Hungry Kids Of Hungary

  I received my first rewrite request last week.

  I’ve been writing for Rave Magazine, a Brisbane street press, since June 2007. I wrote for FasterLouder, an Australian music site, from the same time until February 2009. I started with Mess+Noise in April 2009.

  The rewrite request was from the Mess+Noise Editor, Darren Levin, who wasn’t happy with the copy I’d submitted for a review of Brisbane band Hungry Kids Of Hungary‘s EP, Mega Mountain.

  My original submission:

  Hungry Kids Of Hungary – Mega Mountain

  4 track, EP (2009, Independent)

  The Beach Boys. The Beatles. Now that we’ve got those two very obvious influences on Hungry Kids Of Hungary’s sound out of the way, let’s discuss their music. The Brisbane locals exhibit indie pop that’s just as bright and colourful as their cover artwork. The four members make no apologies for their pursuits of strong vocal melodies in the style of past greats, and nor should they: this is an engaging second release from a promising act.

  Disc opener Two Stones is a well-paced, keyboard-led track that features vocal input from all members. These combined vocal harmonies – used repeatedly, yet sparingly throughout these four songs – are one of the act’s strongest assets. Two Stones dissolves into a vocal melody that’s mirrored by a guitar, until the band’s post-song applause and hoots are punctuated by the sound of drumsticks counting in the next track. Goddamn, I love it when bands do that. It’s an effective tool to create a sense of coherence, and Hungry Kids do it well.

  Second track and lead single Scattered Diamonds is a disarmingly brilliant pop song. Its bass, floor-tom and clean guitar introduction set the tone for an exceptionally catchy romp through the band’s narrated weekend. Enchanting harmonies and a xylophone appear a minute into the track, by which time you’re already nodding your head and humming the melody. That they can pull off a bass-led, bottle-clinking interlude and maintain the listener’s interest argues a strong case for their adept songwriting skills. “You want it? You got it all,” the band repeatedly suggest. It’s this sense of humility and lack of pretension that endears the listener to their cause.

  The disc’s latter half is subdued: Old Money is another keyboard-heavy tune that positively drags when compared to the wholly engaging pop of the previous two tunes. The Kids close with Good Times, which picks up speed across four minutes before climaxing amid cymbals and ‘whoa-oh-oh’s. All that’s left wanting with this release is an increased coherence between these two tracks and the opening duo, whose sheer likability trumps any doubts regarding the quartet’s pop proficiency.

  Darren replied:

  Hey Andrew,
  I think you might need to have another crack at this one mate. It’s a bit too streetpress/FasterLouder for our readership. 
  First, the review’s far too basic; a song by song description of the album with no flair or critical edge. Have a look at some of the reviews on our site to see what we’re after.
  If you need any pointers, let me know. 
  Cheers,

  d.

  I was taken aback. What? Something that I submitted isn’t good enough for publication?

  This is what two years of writing for street press and FasterLouder had done to my ego. Due to the comparably lower standards of those publications – the week churn and demand of street press, and FasterLouder’s seemingly laissez-faire attitude to content – I’d come to believe that everything I submitted was fit for publication, just because I had taken the time to sit down and write it.

  Or more importantly, during those two years, I’d received little other than either silence or praise. I took the former to mean the latter. 

  I’m not proud to admit that I reacted irrationally to Darren’s rewrite request. While I do my best to remain calm and in control at all times, I probably swore and frowned at the screen. I didn’t reply to him for several days, even while knowing that as a freelance writer, silence toward an editor will rarely achieve a desired outcome.

  My desired outcome was to continue believing that everything I write is golden, and that my editor was wrong, rather than to start afresh and rewrite a review of a disc that I liked, but probably wouldn’t listen to very often.

  Ridiculous.

  After a couple hours stewing on my rejection – sob – I emailed Andrew Ramadge, a fellow Mess+Noise (and Sydney Morning Herald, and The Brag) writer whose work I greatly admire.

  Hullo Mr Ramadge,

  I’ve run into a mite of trouble with an EP review I submitted last week.

  Now, I am a bit lost here. Sure, my review was mostly positive, but that’s because I really liked it. Especially the first two tracks. In terms of artistic vision, Hungry Kids are remarkably accomplished for a band so young.

  So is my rewrite a matter of introducing the (few) negative aspects first, before admitting that it is really quite good? This seems like a rather backwards, dishonest way to write. Counter-intuitive.

  Your help appreciated,

  Andrew

  He responded with:

  Hi Andrew,

  It’s not a bad review. As Darren says, the problem is more the style. That’s a review I would expect to read in street press, not really Mess+Noise.

  In a nutshell, it’s because it reads like it was written by a musician.

  These are the musician words, in order: “keyboard, vocal harmonies, vocal melody, guitar, applause, drumsticks, bass, floor-tom, clean guitar, harmonies, xylophone, bass-led, keyboard-heavy, cymbals”.

  Some of those are necessary, of course — I’m not suggesting you never say “keyboard” in a review!! — but in general it sounds like you are describing the songs by relying too heavily on just describing the instruments used.

  So, as a reader, I get a hint of what it sounds like, but the question you don’t answer is: what does it feel like?

  Why does it sound like The Beach Boys? Is it because it has themes of young love or sunshine or US nostalgia? Or is it simply the instruments and melodies used? If it is just the latter, and not the themes / feelings, then what other themes of their own are Hungry Kids Of Hungary exploring? Same question for The Beatles.

  If you find yourself stuck writing about that — and you might be, not every album makes you picture something or feel something — then perhaps tell us a bit more about who Hungry Kids are or how they formed or how they fit into the Brisbane musical landscape instead. Give us a bit of context.

  Also there are a few cliche no-nos in there: “well-paced”, “promising act”, “disarmingly brilliant”, “exceptionally catchy”, “enchanting harmonies”.

  You’ll notice most of those have the same two-word format. I’m sure there’s some technical term for it but I don’t know it. :P

  As an exercise, try doing one of two things when you catch yourself using those double-ups. Either use one word only — “brilliant” instead of “disarmingly brilliant” — and use them sparingly, so that the one word means quite a lot. Sort of a minimalist approach.

  The other option is just to expand on the idea. If the harmonies are “enchanting”, and it’s worth saying so, then tell me exactly why. What is it about them that is enchanting? What sort of desire does it provoke in you?

  Hope that helps.

  If you’re a little bruised, it will pass — from experience, I can say that there is nothing better than an editor that pushes you to do better, even though it’s a pain in the arse at the time.

  Cheers,

  Andy

  That’s some awesome advice. My ego = humbled.

  Andrew made me realise that I still write like a flaming imbecile fairly regularly. The regularlity’s decreasing, I think. And as much as be called out for writing like an idiot hurts at the time, it’s definitely for the better.

  Days later, I listened to the disc with fresh ears – and, perhaps most importantly, without distraction – and realised that I’d barely registered the lyrics while writing my review. So I focussed on that aspect, because there’s little else to fault musically. 

  Here’s what I came up with.

  Hungry Kids Of Hungary – Mega Mountain

  4 track, EP (2009, Independent)

  Is it too much to ask for meaningful lyrics in pop music? Perhaps it’s folly to compare the lyrical output of Brisbane’s Hungry Kids Of Hungary to the oversexed, plastic tripe that features throughout the ARIA charts. But how many years of writing and performance did it take for pop visionaries The Beatles to overcome their fixation on girls, love and days of the week, or The Beach Boys to write songs about something more than surfing? Although musically proficient, the lyrics of the four songs on this EP dissolve under a critical microscope.

  Non-sequiturs and a dead-end narrative haunt ‘Old Money’ which, “Goes a long way/But not long enough to shake that frown.” I can’t tell if they’re singing about worldwide decline in newspaper sales, but it seems plausible: “Still the readers of these publications buy/But now Daddy’s overseeing/So maybe this time.” As awkward as these words appear out of context, their enthusiastic in-song delivery matches Hungry Kids’ uncomplicated keyboard-driven pop perfectly.

  This is an easily enjoyable release from the Brisbane quartet, who first came to attention with their self-titled 2008 EP. Producer Matt Redlich captures an undoubtedly relaxed studio environment: the band cheer between takes, clink bottles mid-song (see the bass interlude of single ‘Scattered Diamonds’) and lean into the microphone for those sweet Beach Boys harmonies. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that the majority of the band’s attention was spent on composition and harmony, instead of the words between.

  Darren’s feedback:

  mate, it’s much better! it actually tells the reader something; it’s not just a track by track summation, but an analysis of why the album is good/isn’t good.
  almost like a different person wrote it — i like this andrew more ;)

  d.

  This exchange and rewrite exercise taught me more about music writing than nearly two years writing elsewhere. And I’m not suggesting that my other editors’ lack of critical feedback is a failure on their part.

  But consider the force with which Darren’s request hit me. The couple of lines that he typed were the biggest reality check I’ve had as a writer so far. And I can’t thank him enough for that.

  15 Comments / Music Criticism, Writing / Andrew McMillen

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• May 5, 2009

  Bob Lefsetz On Gladwell’s Goliath-Killers

  The latest Lefsetz Letter is awesome. Bob discusses music and one of my favourite authors; how could I not read it?

  I quote freely from the letter below. I’ve added a layer of links to help you out, and highlighted some particularly good bits. Enjoy.

  […] We met at the restaurant at the appointed time.  It was me, Craig, Felice, Malcolm Gladwell…and a woman Malcolm was waiting for.

  […] And when we finally sat down at the table, I got a vibe…  We were going to leave our identities at the door, this was going to be a friends evening.  There’s no way to alienate a celebrity more than delving into their work, they oftentimes become uptight and raise a barrier, which is never ever lowered.

  […] And then dinner was finished.  And I had an internal debate.  Should I ask my one big question, the one that had been haunting me for months, whether you were fucked if you switched gears and entered a new territory, after devoting 10,000 hours to one?

  I took the risk.

  The change was stunning.  Suddenly, this wiry Canadian turned into “Malcolm Gladwell”.  The gentleman you see on television, the confident storyteller.  Malcolm said you got credit, that the hours were transferable, because those who devoted this amount of time to a pursuit were self-selecting.

  BINGO!

  In other words, it’s hard, and lonely, to put in 10,000 hours.  You’ve seen the Olympic athletes on TV, they send a crew to shoot footage prior to the quadrennial games and the sportsman or woman is running down an abandoned highway in the middle of summer, shvitzing up enough sweat to fill a swimming pool.  If you want to be great, you have to not only work, but sacrifice.  You can’t spend endless hours somnambulant in front of the TV screen, you can’t go out partying every night.  You’ve got to dedicate yourself to your pursuit.  Which is what Malcolm did.

  He used to be a reporter for the “Washington Post“.  For a decade.  He told us about dictating a story, exactly how it appeared in print, upon deadline.  Coldly, calmly, Malcolm spoke into the telephone.  He didn’t say he couldn’t perform, he didn’t freak out.  Hell, he didn’t even think about the challenge.  He’d been groomed for it.  By himself, by his experience.

  Then Felice asked Malcolm about his TED speech.

  Malcolm winced.  He said he was so much better now.  He’d learned that what an audience wanted first and foremost was story.  This reminded me of Don Hewitt speaking of “60 Minutes”.  That’s what he said the success of the show was based on, storytelling.

  In other words, it’s not that hard to assemble the facts.  But how can you convey them in a way that intrigues your audience?

  Malcolm went on to tell us a story he’d been relaying to groups, about David vs. Goliath.  How David can always beat the giant, if he puts in the effort.  I asked him to globalize this concept, to the economic crisis, but Malcolm begged off and the dinner was over.  But what Malcolm stated remained with me.  Was it possible, could David truly beat Goliath?

  Goliath is the establishment.  Which has a set of rules to keep itself in power.  But if you’re willing to work really hard, you can beat the system.  But it requires a lot of effort.

  Today I got an e-mail from the “New Yorker“.  I’ve been a subscriber since the seventies.  I don’t read every line, there wouldn’t be enough time to read “Automobile” or “Ski” or “National Geographic Explorer” or “Vanity Fair”.  But I always comb the table of contents, looking for interesting nuggets.

  And sometimes, especially on planes, or in stolen moments, I start in on an article that appears unappealing but ends up riveting me, because it’s so well-written!  That’s what most magazines lack.  They’ll give you the information, but it’s delivered in a pedestrian style that doesn’t make your heart sing or cause a lump in your throat to form.  Great writing should be able to be about ANYTHING!

  So I’m perusing the “New Yorker” e-mail and the first article listed is “Malcolm Gladwell on how David Beats Goliath“. […] The piece begins with the tale of how an unknowledgeable coach of a girl’s basketball team brought his unskilled charges to the national championship, by challenging the accepted notions of how to play the game.  Rather than start with skills, the coach focused on the full-court press, conditioning was more important to this cause than years of training the girls missed and could not replace.

  Like Napster.  All night coding sessions by college students brought down an entire industry.  The labels had a formula, all boiling down to the overpriced CD.  But if someone did what was seen as socially unpopular, making the music free, and put in the effort to write the program that achieved this, the labels, the Goliath in this story, were fucked.

  That’s what happened.  Those seen as powerless, not given an iota’s worth of attention, decimated the major labels.  Hell, it’s happening in all kinds of industries now.  Teams of online denizens search for gotcha moments and expose the frailties of companies.  Goliaths, like Domino’s Pizza, are caught flat-footed, they’re beaten by those they never even took seriously.

  So you can beat the major labels, you can beat most of the infrastructure in the music industry today, because these people just aren’t working that hard.  They’ve got families, they go on vacation, they like to play golf.  Whereas you’ve got nothing but time and a computer, you can work 24/7 to break your band.  And you’ve got the tools to do it!  Pro Tools.  Exhibition and distribution online.  Today’s acts can give away their music, it’s their choice.  The labels HATE them for this, the old acts HATE them for this!  John Mellencamp wants a return to the old days.  But the old days are gone.

  But at least Mellencamp put in the effort, that’s why he’s so good.

  Are you that good?

  Probably not.

  Anyone can have a MySpace page, Facebook too.  They can tweet about their gigs, can add people to mailing lists that they never asked to be put on.  But none of this covers up the music.  Have you put in enough effort such that your music is truly great?

  Lindsay Lohan didn’t.  Nor did Hilary Duff.  Britney’s a performer.  The Spice Girls are a joke.  Dr. Dre put in the hours, but so many acts working with these beat specialists have a desire to be rich and famous, but that’s about it.  Desire to make it is important, but it must be accompanied with effort, with ACHIEVEMENT!

  The Goliaths believe in top-down marketing.  It’s easy to beat them, it’s very simple.  You’ve got to start at the bottom and have patience.  They’ve got no patience, they need profits NOW!  The Goliaths believe their money will triumph, that if you build it, they can buy it.  But the Net is rife with stories of acts that have been abused by their labels.  And what can a label provide other than little listened-to radio and TV play that doesn’t move the needle.  You don’t want that, it doesn’t satiate your audience!

  You’ve got to get really good and convince fans one by one.  Not by dunning them, but by attracting them, by being so damn great.

  I didn’t read the “Tipping Point” because Malcolm called me, or because someone sent it to me, I felt the buzz.  Which is hard to manufacture.  Or, if you do manufacture it, it doesn’t last.  Now I’m a fan.  I thought “Blink” was a step down from “Tipping Point”, but “Outliers” is a complete return to form, the same way the band’s third album convinces you, the first was not a fluke, they truly are good!

  But how many bands get to a third album today?

  And, let’s not forget, Gladwell had a decade at the “Washington Post“, when his national profile was almost nil.

  He paid his dues.  He invented his own genre.  Now he’s reaping the rewards.

  Don’t complain about the system, don’t bitch that you can’t make it.  That just indicates to me that you haven’t put in enough time.  Because if you’re truly good, people will find you.  Genius is learned, you’re not born with it.  If you write a song every day and perform every night for fifteen years, you will no longer suck.  Then again, there are issues of timing.  THERE ARE NO GUARANTEES!

  Can you stay the course when times are tough?  Can you live in an apartment as opposed to a house, can you drive an old car?  Can you avoid applying to graduate school? Can you not get fucked up at night so you can work clear-headed tomorrow?  Can you not have children so you can focus on your work?

  In other words, can you work hard and SACRIFICE?

  The legends did.  I don’t see why you should get a pass.

  Actually, it doesn’t matter what I think, the public at large will decide your fate.

  The public decided radio sucked.  Decided CDs were overpriced too.

  How have the industries reacted?  Radio still has twenty two minutes of commercials an hour and the playlists are boring.  Online albums cost about as much as physical ones, even though the sound is second-rate and there are no production or shipping costs.  Do you think the public doesn’t know this?  At least Amazon was smart enough to sell Kindle books below wholesale…otherwise it doesn’t make sense!

  I’m a Gladwell fan.  He’s earned my trust.  I’d rather read his work than listen to the musings of your son/best friend/lover/college buddy who’s enlisted you in his effort to break through musically.  Great stuff always breaks through.  But right now, those willing to sacrifice, to work really hard, tend to be in the tech sphere.  We’re not getting the best and the brightest in music.  Because the Goliaths have stacked the deck in their favor.

  But this won’t last.  Enough Davids are building new acts and new systems below the old guard’s radar.  They’re going to triumph.  Just watch.

  Thanks, Bob.

  2 Comments / Writing / Andrew McMillen

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• April 30, 2009

  On Productivity And Procrastination

  If you spend a lot of time on Twitter each day, you start to feel a sense of vicarious productivity.

  Discussing links, chatting with several people at once, managing followers: none of it really matters, and yet it’s easy to lose sight of this when you’re immersed in it. 

  You think you’re achieving things by commenting on and distributing content produced by others. But unless you’re being paid to manage your Twitter account, you’re really just engaged in a highly interactive distraction.

  We’re only going to become more familiar with the presence of constant distractions. I have not a goddamn shred of research to back up this suggestion, so bear with me.

  Regular internet users readily switch between dozens of social applications, interfaces and conversations every hour: email, instant messaging, Twitter, Facebook, et al.

  Compare this constant multi-tasking to what our parents were familiar with: that is, concentrating on the task at hand – using the skills that you’ve chosen to build your career upon – before dealing with what’s ahead.

  I might suck at explaining it, but the skills that a savvy internet user possesses are radically different from the previous generation. And I’m not one to give much thought to generational difference, but unless I’m much mistaken, we’re learning to think in a totally different way.

  I’m aware that I’m extrapolating my own experience onto a wider demographic.

  But I’ve found that instead of regularly focussing on one single task, my attention is divided across several mediums. It’s rare that I can concentrate on one task from start to finish.

  Logically, this means that the quality of my creative output – be it a university assignment, a paid article, or an email to my family – is reduced, as I’m thin-slicing my thought contributions across hours or days.

  That’s the rational explanation: reduced concentration on a singular pursuit results in a diminished outcome.  But I’m not certain.

  I’m still adjusting to this relatively new method of online productivity. But I’ve no doubt that individuals who can successfully navigate a web of procrastination pitfalls will end up miles ahead of their peers.

  It’s like Tait Ischia said in my interview: “If all the kids these days spent the same amount of time writing blogs that they did on Facebook, then [the advertising] industry would be a hell of a lot more competitive.”

  He’s talking specifically about writing, sure. Because he’s a writer. But apply his concept to your ideal pursuit: breakdancing, animation, video production; I don’t know, interior fucking design.

  The reality is that if you don’t work at your passion, you don’t get any closer to realising it. It continues to sit out of reach. That passionate carrot that you just can’t be fucked working toward. It’s the difference between putting the majority of your energy into becoming a widely-read writer and just telling everyone you meet that you want to be a widely-read writer.

  In this way, nothing about productivity has changed since humans started realising that they required more than just food, shelter and sex to live a satisfying life.

  So I suppose that the internet,  in the hands of the unmotivated, might just be a platform that has the potential to be a dense distraction. It’s the marbles, the skateboard, the comic books, the pool halls of previous generations, condensed into a single interface.

  Except it’s inside, and you’re probably going to learn fewer skills when traversing the internet for extended periods. But even that statement is wrong; you’ll learn skills, but they’ll be completely different to what you’d learn in a pool hall or a skate bowl.

  Historically, the people who are motivated toward an end have achieved things. They’re remembered. They won. And those who stood in the shadow of their achievements weren’t remembered. They didn’t win.

  Simpler: the people who get things done win.

  This post is a departure from the norm, because I clearly haven’t thought this through. But I’m okay with that. Stepping outside my comfort zone of pretending that I have the answers.

  How do you spend your time online, and how do you deal with distraction? Do you think we’re learning to interact smarter?

  5 Comments / Writing / Andrew McMillen

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• April 20, 2009

  How To Be A Live Music Critic

  • You must smile smugly when informing the door staff that you are attending on behalf of your allotted publication.
  • You may use several sentences to comment or complain about external factors that led to you missing half or all of the first band’s set.
  • You may attempt to capture the zeitgeist wherever possible, by referring to wider societal, economic or meteorological factors.
  • You must understand the importance of the zeitgeist if you are a music critic.
  • You may refer to the bands’ stage attire or between-song banter if you are unable to accurately or coherently describe their music.
  • You may refer to the venue’s drink prices and the temperament of the bar staff only if you are still short of the word limit, even after describing stage attire and between-song banter.
  • You must not use more than half of your word limit to describe the bands’ music. This is a waste of valuable words, which could be better devoted to describing stage attire, between-song banter, drink prices and/or bar staff temperament.
  • You must make reference to other artists’ sound when describing any band, for comparisons are the lifeblood of the music critic.
  • You may describe a band’s sound as ‘(genre)-tinged’, ‘robust’, ‘edgy’ or ‘angular’, even though you know that these words are meaningless filler.
  • You may not research support bands on MySpace before the show.
  • You may insist that you did not research the support bands on MySpace before the show because you wanted to “be surprised”.
  • You may insist that you did not research the support bands on MySpace before the show because you wanted to “approach with an open mind”.
  • You must never concede that the real reason you did not research the support bands on MySpace before the show is because you are lazy.
  • You may get inappropriately drunk, scrawl meaningless notes which you can’t decipher the next day, forget most of what happened during the show and rely on friends’ accounts and sheer bullshit to scrape together your pitiful pile of words to meet the limit.
  • You must realise that the above description accurately captures the actions of most music critics.
  • You may drink no alcohol, take thoughtful notes, and live vicariously through the rest of the drinking crowd, purely to perpetuate the stereotype that all journalists are hard drinkers.
  • You may not have “just a couple” of drinks. This is completely unheard of.
  • You may slightly nod your head to the rhythm of the bass drum.
  • You may alternate between slightly nodding your head and slightly tapping your right foot to the rhythm of the bass drum.
  • You may not, at any point, gyrate your body or move your arms in response to the music.
  • You may only move your arms to imbibe your drink, or when writing notes while in the process of capturing your thoughts of pure brilliance.
  • You must have your notebook and pen at the ready whenever a band is playing, in order to capture your thoughts of pure brilliance at the exact moment they come to you.
  • You may use the above act for overtly advertising that you are a music critic.
  • You may tell members of the opposite sex that you are a music critic when they ask why you are taking notes.
  • You may lick your lips before responding to the above question, as the questioner will undoubtedly want to make out with you immediately after discovering that you are a music critic.
  • You must refer to any weekday night as a “school night”. While there is some contention as to whether Thursday and Sunday qualify as “school nights”, there are no exceptions to Friday or Saturday. 
  • You must have a smug smile on your face as you write the words “school night”, as if it’s some incredibly clever and original phrase.
  • You must treat every show you see as a music critic with the utmost sincerity, because watching three bands play music to people for a few hours is the most important thing in the world.

  22 Comments / Music Criticism, Writing / Andrew McMillen

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• March 30, 2009

  Public Relations: Unnecessary Distortion

  This Mumbrella article “translates” a ridiculously overwritten Starcom MediaVest Group press release. Excerpt:

  Operating outside of the rush of the day to day, but integrated within SMG, the team focuses on using the human condition as a compass for delivering ‘best-in-class’ communications.  Its key obsession is understanding where brands live, and seek to live, within the web-like relationships that exist with consumers and their environment.

  Fuck off. What’s the point?

  Both the writer – probably an eager-to-please junior or intern – and the wider company knew that they were lying, or at least, stretching words far beyond their practical, meaningful application.

  Already, the press release – which was likely the result of several hours’ work and several minds’ input – is being lampooned within the advertising community for its doublespeak, and for blurring the edges between reality and marketing.

  It happens everywhere. That’s the whole premise behind public relations – a constant, concerted attempt to shape our opinions and perceptions.

  An entire industry founded on unnecessary distortion. Unnecessary to me, because I value honesty more than cleverly-written releases that mean approximately zero in the grand strategy.

  So, what’s the point?

  Who’s impressed by superfluous press releases, anymore?

  I’m all for receiving information from sources I care about – companies, individuals, brands, bands – but if overblown press releases are just a waste of everyone’s time, then why the fuck does the industry survive?

  No Comments / Writing / Andrew McMillen

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• March 28, 2009

  Fatal Distraction by Gene Weingarten

  From time to time, I read something so inspired, brilliant and motivating that it cleanly captures the honest, clean exposition to which I aspire.

  The latest piece is by Gene Weingarten on behalf of The Washington Post. It’s an 8,500 word story portraying those affected by infant hyperthermia; those parents who accidentally leave their children to die in hot cars. It is a harrowing work of staggering journalistic resourcefulness.

  It begins:

  The defendant was an immense man, well over 300 pounds, but in the gravity of his sorrow and shame he seemed larger still. He hunched forward in the sturdy wooden armchair that barely contained him, sobbing softly into tissue after tissue, a leg bouncing nervously under the table. In the first pew of spectators sat his wife, looking stricken, absently twisting her wedding band. The room was a sepulcher. Witnesses spoke softly of events so painful that many lost their composure. When a hospital emergency room nurse described how the defendant had behaved after the police first brought him in, she wept. He was virtually catatonic, she remembered, his eyes shut tight, rocking back and forth, locked away in some unfathomable private torment. He would not speak at all for the longest time, not until the nurse sank down beside him and held his hand. It was only then that the patient began to open up, and what he said was that he didn’t want any sedation, that he didn’t deserve a respite from pain, that he wanted to feel it all, and then to die.

  Full article here.

  Many thanks to Kathleen Noonan for her tip in the Saturday Courier-Mail‘s ETC liftout. Maybe I should seek out newspapers more often.

  No Comments / Writing / Andrew McMillen

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• March 17, 2009

  Hi, I’m Andrew

  I’ve been hesitant to press ‘publish’ of late.

  There’s so much bullshit flying around the whole marketing/social media fields that it’s temporarily killed my interest in both.

  Twitter has started to become more of a hindrance than a help, wherein the benefits of constantly monitoring my channel is increasingly outweighed by the cost. The Dunbar effect in action: following >150 people = discontent.

  But staring too deeply into the web’s bottomless pit can cause a loss of focus. It’s time to step back.

  My reality is this: I recently quit my job to focus on projects that interest me.

  I’m studying my final course toward a Bachelor of Communication. It’s a creative writing elective. It interests me greatly, as I’ve rarely dabbled in fiction or narrative writing.

  Incredibly, I look forward to class each week. Can’t say that I’ve felt excitement toward university very often as an undergraduate.

  This is the narrative introduction I used during the first creating writing tutorial:

  Andrew has stretched his three-year Bachelor of Communication into four years, in order to latch onto the Australian myth of tertiary education for as long as possible.

  This course was chosen as an elective because Andrew has always avoided writing fiction, but he has decided that 2009 is the year for trying new things.

  This yearning for new experiences is the reason why Andrew quit his first real job yesterday, and is also the reason why Andrew is travelling to Japan in June, although he does not know Japanese.

  Andrew is extremely fond of music and writes for two local publications – Rave and 4T – and one national website called FasterLouder.

  Andrew wrote and spoke this introduction in third person because he really likes the sound of his name.

  Such introductions are always interesting to write and speak, as one tries to find the balance between fact, humour, and appearing clever. Everyone wants to appear clever, always. Wit as a currency.

  This is the reason why my current bio [pictured right] makes me look like an asshole, although when I wrote it last year, I thought I was being clever.

  I’ve worked reasonably hard to keep this blog ‘clean’. Professional-like. I carefully consider everything that’s shared on here; whether it’s appropriate, whether it’ll reflect well on my character. Whether I’ll appear clever.

  I could trace this moderated perfectionism – which is perhaps dangerous and restrictive in itself – to the enormous amount of time I spent on video game message boards throughout my youth, effectively sharing my life with a bunch of strangers.

  Call it mature, call it neurotic, call it overly analytical. Or all three.

  The point is that since I want to be known as a writer, I need to improve my ability to articulate and share my thoughts.

  To this end, self-administered publishing filters aren’t very helpful.

  So I’m going to attempt to reduce their influence on my psychology.

  It’d be awesome if you could help me out, by calling me out on any unjustified or unclear bullshit.

  Hi, I’m Andrew.

  7 Comments / Writing / Andrew McMillen

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• March 8, 2009

  Dan Deacon Live: Improvisation and Acceptance

  

  I saw a remarkable show this weekend.

  Melbourne’s Mistletone Records held a label showcase called Summer Tones across Australian venues. 

  The Brisbane show at The Zoo comprised Mistletone artists The Ruby Suns, Lawrence Arabia, High Places, Beaches and Dan Deacon [pictured right].

  Deacon’s headlining performance was remarkable because he got the audience to do ridiculous things.

  At one point, hundreds formed a human spiral by running around The Zoo’s central staircase.

  Then there was a mass hands-behind-back dance-off.

  Then there was a human tunnel that went downstairs and spanned the backstage area.

  Each of these ridiculous, hilarious activities were performed under the guise of acceptance.

  In 2005’s Blink, Malcolm Gladwell discusses the structure of spontaneity that characterises successful improvisational comedy groups.

  One of the most important of the rules that make improv possible, for example, is the idea of agreement, the notion that a very simple way to create a story – or humor – is to have characters accept everything that happens to them.

  […] As  Keith Johnstone, one of the founders of improv theater, writes: “[…] In life, most of us are highly skilled at suppressing action. All the improvisational teacher has to do is reverse this skill and he creates very ‘gifted’ improvisers. Bad improvisers black action, often with a high degree of skill. Good improvisers develop action.” (p 114-115)

  Audience acceptance – the willingness to accept the performer’s wild, physical suggestions – is the difference between the average, static, one-way musical performance, and a memorable show that you’ll tell all your friends about.

  Part orator, part evangelist, part electronic composer: the manner in which Deacon successfully fuses music and theatre is brilliant. As a performer, he is entirely convincing: how else would you get 200 people to chase each other around a staircase?

  In a Rave Magazine interview, Deacon states his preference for booking smaller venues. This is presumably because acceptance and social proof – wherein people rely on the actions of others in unfamiliar social contexts – become more difficult to influence as the size of the crowd increases.

  “It’s a rare occasion [when Deacon’s crowd-pumping antics don’t work], but it depends on the audience,” he continues. “The audience is there to have a good time and enjoy themselves. If not, their life sucks.” 
  (can’t find the article online – it’s on page 20 of Rave Magazine issue #880)

  

  Of course, Deacon’s highly interactive, personal approach to live performances can’t work for every artist or band.

  Nor should it. It wouldn’t be remarkable if everyone did it. Instead, it’d be boring.

  The same way that a purple cow only sticks out because the other cows aren’t purple.

  There’s an excellent Citypaper article here that further discusses Deacon’s live show and how its outlandish nature – which lends itself to being shared online through photo and video – attracts what writer Rjyan Kidwell terms ‘voyeurs’ . Excerpt:

  “As long as the crowds don’t become too rowdy or violent, I’m excited for my audience to grow,” he said. It sounds clear to me that Deacon has big ideas about what can happen when large groups of people get together in one room, but that he expects the audience to trust and commit completely to his leadership if something transcendent is to be achieved. [Citypaper]

  1 Comment / Writing / Andrew McMillen

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• March 1, 2009

  Optus: The Problem With Making Promises

  While digging around for a place to recharge my pre-paid mobile account within Optus‘ labyrinthe website, I was greeted with the below screen.

  Click the image to view the page, which is live at time of writing.

  

  The problem with making promises online is that you have to keep them.

  Starting up a monthly email newsletter? Then make sure that it’s delivered monthly without fail. Or don’t specify a timeframe.

  Building a new online service? Deliver it on time and remove all ‘under construction’ notes once it’s live. Or don’t specify a timeframe.

  Failure to keep promises can result in a loss of trust, or  a loss of business. Good thing I wasn’t relying on that incomplete online service, huh?

  Either keep your promises, or don’t make them.

  Yeah, it’s a pain in the arse, but do it anyway. 

  In Optus’ case, ensuring the validity of their web content would be an ongoing, full-time role.

  But it’s worth it, because tiny overlooked details can be costly.

  2 Comments / Writing / Andrew McMillen

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• February 21, 2009

  Big Day Out Public Relations: Is Silence The Best Response?

  A 17-year old girl died from a reported drug overdose at the Perth Big Day Out music festival earlier this month, after taking three ecstasy pills to avoid being caught by police at the gate. This was an unfortunate, but unsurprising occurrence. 

  The surprising element is how Big Day Out publicity have marginalised her behaviour by silencing their highly active online community.

  A statement published on the BDO site on 2 February 2009 reads:

  Perth drug overdose statement

  Early yesterday afternoon a 17-year-old girl was taken to hospital after a suspected drug overdose at the Perth Big Day Out. Tragically she died overnight.

  While details have yet to be confirmed, it has been reported that the teenager consumed a number of pills outside the event to avoid being detected by police sniffer dogs that were in operation, in this instance with fatal consequences. 

  Big Day Out does not condone the use of drugs at the event.  The same laws of the outside world apply inside the event. Over 3 million people have attended the Big Day Out in its 17 year history and this is the first time an incident of this nature has occurred. 

  Sniffer dogs are commonly used outside large events like the Big Day Out and are part of the police’s harm minimisation responsibility. 

  The investigation is being followed up by the Police. 

  To respect the privacy of the family, no further comments will be made.

  In contrary to that final statement, there’s also a dedication page on the BDO site, containing a message from the girl’s mother.

  While the Big Day Out brand will remain untarnished by this event – it’s arguably stronger than ever – this sad occurrence is now inextricably linked to the event’s brand in the same manner as 16-year old Jessica Michalik‘s death during the 2001 tour.

  Where Michalik’s death was the result of inadequate crowd control measures – a mistake rectified from the 2002 tour onwards – Thoms’ drug-related death requires a conversation between Big Day Out publicity and the hundreds of thousands who attend the tour across Australia and New Zealand each year.

  Critically, the online community who follow the event have been silenced: the highly active Big Day Out forum was disabled immediately after the news of Thoms’ death broke, and it remains closed almost a month later. 

  

  http://forum.bigdayout.com/ as of 21 February 2009

  Silence isn’t the best response here.

  In this case,  Big Day Out publicity invite criticism by refusing to allow a dialogue to occur.

  The only publicised offshoot of Thoms’ death is a Western Australian police commissioner agreeing that “amnesty bins” should be installed outside music festivals, to allow punters to deposit their drugs without fear of prosecution. And to minimise the likelihood of festival attendees overdosing in a panic before entering the venue, as in Thoms’ case.

  There’s nothing new about youth drug culture. But when an unfortunate event such as an overdose occurs, people start asking questions of the police, of the festival organisers, of each other.

  In a time of crisis or confusion, people want to connect with each other. And while an isolated festival overdose isn’t the strongest catalyst for either impulse, it’s still an occasion better met with community encouragement than marginalisation; with noise instead of silence.

  I understand that moderating public opinion becomes exponentially more difficult as a greater volume of people converge in one location. The need to consistently and accurately monitor the fine line between opinion and libel is likely at the forefront of the organisers’ swift decision to close the public forum.

  Censorship aside, an alternative forum named Small Night In has sprung up following the closure. But many questions remain unanswered:

  • Why silence an established, highly active online community following a drug-related death?
  • Why not encourage a dialogue between festival attendees and festival organisers?
  • Why not partner with an established organisation such as the Australian Drug Information Network (ADIN) and encourage participation – both online and in BDO-sponsored community forums held in capital cities – to gauge youth opinion on drug use, so as to minimise the chances of a repeat e?
  • Most importantly: why not work harder to turn a negative event into a positive by reinforcing a sense of community?

  Funnily, I was only provoked into thinking about the BDO organisers’ handling of the Thoms death after I received an email  sent to the BDO user database advertising Lily Allen’s June Australian tour.

  Promote a tour; marginalise the voices of Australian youths itching to converge and converse.

  Poor form, Big Day Out.

  3 Comments / Music Journalism, Writing / Andrew McMillen

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