Although I don’t want to sound sexist, I’ve never been a massive fan of female fronted bands. Somehow, having a va-jay-jay at the front of the stage seems to drain the mojo of the band, and it’s too easy to get very catty vocals that just make you want to turn the music off. Now before I get comments calling me a chauvanistic and shallow fool, let me stress that my definition of female fronted ‘bands’ is quite literal – it doesn’t reach to encompass solo songstresses, dance music or the like. And there are also, as always the exceptions that prove the rule, with Little Birdy, The Cardigans, The Pixies and Rilo Kiley etc. being common inclusions in my playlists.

So, when I first listened to the New Young Pony Club last year, I was a little bit guarded – not wanting to like them too much lest they turned into a nasty, estrogen fuelled monster. I shouldn’t have worried though, by the sounds of their current single ‘The Bomb’, they may just have hit the kitschy synth-driven alternative sound on the head. I think it probably also helps that the song is about Einstein, which as you should know means science content, which instantly bumps the coolness factor of any song up fivefold.

So, I won’t bore you with details, apart from the fact that NYPC are British, very much the indie lovers and damn. friggin. catchy. Grannytunes it right now.

Pete

I like to think I’m generally a courteous, well mannered chap. Even with the threat of litigation hanging like Damacle’s sword, I open doors for people, look people in the eye (this one is pissing me off muchos at the moment), try to be punctual as much as possible, smile occasionally and just try to be a decent human being. People who know me will also know I subconsciously maintain some Victorian (as in era, not state) courtesies, such as walking on the roadside of a pavement when walking with a female – blame my mother. Anyway I digress.

The world is undeniably a much nicer place to be thanks to people upholding simple, undemanding courtesies. Which is why it really gets my goat when courtesy is trod on due to the fast paced ‘everyman for himself’ kind of world we live in. I remember hearing about separate incidents from Tegan and Smellanore around Christmas, where they fell or tripped over in tram tracks or something in the middle of the CBD. Apparently no-one even asked if they were alright, much less offer them a hand up. I seem to remember (and correct me if I’m wrong, Teeg), that Tegan was almost in tears at one point as well, having hurt herself in the fall. Maybe this says more about the hectic pace of city life rather than the general arseholishness of the world in general, but it’s still upsetting that no-one even thought of asking if either Tegan or Elé were alright.

However, the incident that has sparked my writing of this post is more personal in nature. I was walking into the campus centre at uni today, where two sets of double-swing doors are mounted in the wall about 3 metres from each other at one point. I was entering with a swarm of perhaps four other people, while at the same time some bloke was trying to exit from the same door. As he got to the door first, he opened it, then stood back to let people in. Good move, you’d think? Well after it became clear to him that there was more than one person to wait on, he dropped the door, walked the extra three metres and exited quickly through the second set of doors. This would have been little more than a bit iffy if he hadn’t have dropped the door – a big, heavy steel and glass number – into the face of some poor girl who got knocked off her feet in the doorway as a result. After seeing what he had done, not only did Mr Manners NOT help this girl, but he completely ignored what he had caused, powerwalking off no doubt to his Wankers 1011 lecture in the Menzies.

So. To anyone reading this, I plead with you, ESPECIALLY if our paths are ever likely to cross: open that door for the pretty girl, smile at the old fella on the train, say g’day to the busker on the street. Stop ignoring the world and carrying on so bloody selfishly. We can all do with a bit of good karma, and who knows: maybe that pretty girl will go out with you…

Pete

I spent last Friday afternoon in Brunswick, helping Smellanor’s housemate Megan move a desk to another, worthier house. On the way home, I stopped in Lygon St, Carlton for some culture and a bite to eat with Samo, after which I headed into Readings bookstore to search for a suitable present for mother’s day, which as most of you will be aware was on Sunday.

I ended up spending close to a hundred dollars in the store, but not a single cent for my poor mum. Along with an incredibly impulsive purchases of Ross Noble’s 2006 show DVD ‘Randomist’ (there are SIX HOURS of added extras!) and a book which tackles kitchen chemistry and the science behind cooking, I bought the Cops’ new album ‘Drop it In Their Laps’, which oddly enough I authored the wikipedia article of about a week ago during a particularly altruistic bout of procrastination.

The Cops are quite the hot band at the moment, after managing #33 in the Hottest 100 last year with ‘Call Me Anytime’, a support slot for the Kaiser Chiefs last month and a lot of radio play of ‘Cop Pop’ on both the J’s and commercial radio. DIITL is quite different to and a lot softer that their stunning debut ‘Stomp on Tripwires’ from 2004, but the soaring vocals are still there, and I think a mellower sound actually shows artistic maturity and a very brave move. No-one is immune to the catchy chorus of ‘Call Me Anytime’; ‘The Message’ and ‘Static Forever’ showcase the older sound the Cops are known for; and ‘Le Chic’ sees the introduction of a xylophone AND cheesy synths into the repertoire of instruments used. Although people will no doubt attack the album as sterile and soft when comparing to the very much rocky indierock debut, there is no way anyone can actually dislike the reinvented sound The Cops have produced for this record.

So today young childrens, we have the mainly synthesiser and drum driven opening track, ‘Out of The Fridge / Into The Fire’. It’s up on grannytunes right now, so how about checking it out? I can guarantee that you’ll feel like boogying down after hearing it.

Pete

I realised yesterday that I haven’t yet spoken about just how great a proper sized bed is yet.

It really is spectacular – if there is anyone out there who is 6’2 and impoverished like me, miserable on their single bed but unwilling to plunge into debt to buy a bigger bed, JUST FRIGGIN DO IT! There are so many benefits that will make it the best purchase you can possibly make. Personally the major perks are (in no particular order):

The only real downsides I’ve found so far include a creak that has developed ever since I stood on the base while trying to fit the valance (why the hell are valances (or vali?) even neccessary?) and the fact that without a bedframe, a bedside table is needed.

I may have to open the base up and poke around if I want to fix the first problem, but for the bedside table an easy fix was within sight – I took a trip to IKEA today to try and find something suitable, and inevitably came away grinning like a cheshire cat at the prospect of putting together my own Malm bedside table. Now anyone who is anyone will be able to list off the three basic cornerstones of IKEAian philosophy – the furniture is cheap, there is a ballpit for youngun’s at every store and everything has to be put together with an Allen key.

The first to go was the ballpit, when the Melbourne store moved from Moorabbin to it’s current megahome in Richmond. Now although it saddens me to say it, I can say goodbye to the ballpit without too much protestation – afterall the thing smelt perpetually like urine and I’m unfortunately a touch too big to play in them anymore. However what really got my goat on Sunday was the shock omission when, once home I cut open the flatpack:

For the uninitiated, that first page usually shows a nice little friendly language-free illustration of tools you will need. Occasionally you will need a screwdriver or a hammer, but ALWAYS, WITHOUT EXCEPTION there is a little picture of an Allen key (hex wrench), with the corresponding tool lovingly enclosed in the packet of bits and pieces that arrives with the chunks of veneered chipboard. So imagine my shock (and disappointment) when I discovered the trusty Allen key had been dumped.

Although admittedly the construction of the bedside table was without incident even without Allen’s of any variety, I feel that the soul of the table is absent. Infact, I would propse that the soul of the entire company has been lost. So to IKEA (and I know you are out there in the interwebs), take heed: you are one of the cooler, more forward thinking stores around. Why, oh why have you sold out on such an integral part of your heritage? What did the Allen key ever do to you?

Pete

Finally – a government (as a matter of fact OUR government) has taken a strong stance on Mugabe’s Zimbabwe. Granted, the stance doesn’t relate to trade sanctions or foreign aid or anything even slightly important, but rather the banning of the Australian cricket team from touring Zimbabwe in September, however it IS a start, and its more than the rest of the civilised world has done about Zimbabwe. South Africa casually ignores the mayhem brewing just over the border in the name of ‘African solidarity’, Britain is trying its damndest to simply ignore its old colonial outpost, and the US couldn’t give a shit for two reasons – there isn’t any (or very much) oil in Zim, and the president has no idea where Africa is anyway.

Who would have thunk it – Howard has stepped up to the plate. Call me a cynic but this bout of humanity is giving me the odd, unsettling feeling of an imposing election. Argh – I shouldn’t really complain: as much as I dislike the government, I am really starting to shudder at the sight of Rudd’s smirk infiltrating our homes each night. Let’s hope that the combined budget/Zimbabwe outfall will wipe his preppy grin for a couple of weeks at least.

So in the last week there’s been a generous budget and a strong stance on Zimbabwe. All we need is a boatload of refugees near Christmas island and a photographer for Rudd to abuse, and the government can welcome the election with open arms.

Pete

I’ve been desparately poor (as all uni students will be able to attest and sympathise) for quite some time now, and it shames me to say I haven’t been to a proper concert (non-comedy that is) since February. Well, poverty stricken or not, that’s going to change soon with three gigs lined up for the next few months – LA’s Cold War Kids at the Hi-fi Bar (yay for the Hifi!) on the 30th of May with Tegan, and then two concerts in August – Bloc Party on the 3rd (Festy Hall) with Tashi and then Maximo Park on the 17th (Prince Bandroom) with Tegan and Julz.

Considering Bloc Party sold out in 20 minutes in March, and tickets are selling on eBay for roughly $200 each ($60 face value), the wisdom of my decision to hold on to the tickets may be questioned, but unlike most other people I’ve spoken to who have listened to their new album, I really like it and look forward to seeing them live. I also couldn’t possibly ask Tash to give up her ticket considering how pumped I know she is, which further increases my own excitement.

Anyway yay for me for plumping up my ticket envelope, which has been dormant for a couple of months now!

Pete

I’ve been meaning for while now to go into uni with a camera and take photos of the graffiti in the toilets for the amusement of everyone here. Just to get you started (at least until I summon the courage to wander around toilets with a camera), here’s something along the same line from the wonderful interwebs. Utterly brilliant, and I’m never going to be able to use a hand dryer without smiling (or salivating à la Pavlov’s dog) again.

Pete