SAMIZDAT

iSS UE 2 FR EE
 Samizdat Zine

Issue 2 – March 2009

Adelaide, Australia
samizdat.zine@hotmail.com
www.myspace.com/samizdatzine

Front Cover: Anonymous framed

picture found in an Adelaide
second hand store. Original in
black and white with 'Böhme' and
two illegible signatures written
in pencil on the back. Sometimes
it's not what the lens captures
that's so intriguing, but what
it doesn't.

Samizdat (Russian: самиздат) was the name given to the process and products
of underground writing, publishing and reproduction of suppressed and illegal
material in the Soviet Union. Samizdat was used to print liberal and
sometimes very dangerous views and if caught the publishers were often
sentenced to lengthy prison terms. Etymologically, the word "samizdat" is
made out of "sam" (Russian: сам, "self, by oneself") and "izdat" (Russian:
издат, shortened издательство, izdatel'stvo, "publisher")
Hola.

The ten months since the last (and first) issue of Samizdat has
passed by rather swiftly. Surely I've changed a little in those ten
months, though I couldn't tell you how; but maybe you'll notice in my
writing. I was rather suitably chuffed with our first effort and hope
it continues; we'll make a concerted effort this time to get the next
one out a lot quicker! So, I hope this latest instalment of Samizdat
is not so ephemeral for you, and we would really appreciate comments,
abuse, questions, suggestions and even submissions.

Our e-mail is samizdat.zine@hotmail.com. And, by the way, in keeping

up with technology, Samizdat mixtapes will be available as .torrent
files for download from 16/3/09. Search “Samizdat torrent”. I don’t
like it, but these days people are too lazy to even send an e-mail
and ask us for one. Please do.

Keep staying crazy, with love,

MM

A second attempt at something normally elicits some feeling of

failure or unfinished business from the first try, but fortunately
Issue 2 of Samizdat falls into neither of those categories. It’s more
of a second date with the public – now that she has passed the first
few tests, been introduced to the family, and you’ve spent all that
time and effort, common sense and a bit of recklessness demands that
it is something that should be done again... for whatever reason.

That being said, it’s been a long process. Not so much putting the
material together, but simply getting past the idle chit chat to
starting it off and working towards a deadline.

In hindsight, this feeling rings true with much of anything that we

do of substance that is out of routine. For some ungodly reason, it
can often be easier to get up at 7am everyday and work 40 hours a
week in a crappy job than it is to start photocopying some
interesting photos and putting some original thoughts down on paper.

So this issue of Samizdat has been just that for me. A slightly
different path, different priorities, hopes, and thoughts. At least
for a little while.

KS
 “…we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace…
as I trust shall never be put out."
- Hugh Latimer

in South Australia is synonymous with festivals –

Womad, Fringe, Film, Future, Big Day Out, Laneway, Adelaide Cup. With
this, the attitude of our small city is transformed and people once
again hear the hyperbole rise from the ashes that Adelaide simply has
to be the best city in the world. Indeed, whether it be sneaking a
bottle of red into the Garden to compliment your
buttered cob, or rolling your spliffs before the
Sunday afternoon Womad session in Botanic Park,
there is little doubt that for most of us city
dwellers, it’s our favourite time of year.
However, this year, with the changing winds and
gradual showers building towards another cool
winter, other residents are breathing a sigh a
relief that this year’s saturation of warm weather
shenanigans is almost over. For these people,
every forecast of warm weather and high winds has
them packing their cars with dusty photo frames
and mementos for fear of fire.

Indeed, whilst our collective consciousness of bushfires has

always been pronounced, this year has elevated the phenomenon to an
unprecedented level. The recent bushfires which burnt out an
inconceivably vast amount of Victoria, and were responsible for the
deaths of over 200 people reminded all
Australians of the power of nature. And
after the fear, shock and awe over the
loss of life and property subsided, one
of the most common emotions felt by all
Australians was anger at those who were
suspected of deliberately putting
lighter to leaf on a day where
temperatures exceeded 48 degrees and
winds were pushing flames towards houses
faster than the highway speed limit.

The normal image of these people is of stupid kids and weird

dickheads who still live with their parents, but the reality is that
arsonists are often very seriously ill people suffering from psychoses,
addictions, depression, and delusions who are not in full control of
their actions. Of course, this does not dramatically reduce their
culpability in the eye of the courts or public opinion, but it must be
realised that arsonists and pyromaniacs often act with no more self-
awareness and idea of consequence than that of a child.

With this in mind, think of the ramifications if a large group of

intelligent and well-funded adults, planned and prepared, executed a
terrorist attack by lighting a bushfire or a series of bushfires in
calculated areas. Now imagine that these fires occurred in Blackwood,
Stirling, Modbury, Mt Barker, and simultaneously in Sydney, Melbourne,
Canberra, or any one of a number of dry, hot, populated areas.

What then? Absolute and utter devastation – through but a hot and
windy weather forecast, a 5L can of petrol, and a 50c box of redheads.

Indeed, the realisation of the intense social damage caused by

bushfires is not unknown to either governments of terrorist networks. US
intelligence channels late last year identified a website calling on
Muslims in Australia, the US, Europe and Russia to "start forest fires".
The website, posted by a group called the Al-Ikhlas Islamic Network,
instructs jihadis to remember the "forest jihad" in summer months, as
fires cause economic damage and pollution, tie up security agencies and
can take months to extinguish so that "terror will haunt them for an
extended period of time". "Imagine if, after all the losses caused by
such an event, a jihadist organisation were to claim responsibility for
the forest fires," the website says. "You can hardly begin to imagine
the level of fear that would take hold of people in the United States,
in Europe, in Russia and in Australia."

Although in some circles this modern application of forest fire

terrorism has been attributed to imprisoned Al Qaeda leader Abu Musab
Al-Suri, eco-terrorism has been used for thousands of years, harking
back to the practice of ‘poisoning the well’ which was occurring many
years BC.

Ironically, Crime Prevention

research suggests that whilst
jihadists have been aware of the
potential for a comparatively easy
and devastating attack through
bushfires, amongst many extremists
eco-terrorism was generally not
considered a ‘glorious type of
attack’ and as such was thought to
be less effective in promoting the
terrorist cause. Furthermore,
terrorists tend to abstain from
political action that can be denied
or explained by governments as
unrelated to a terrorism.

Nevertheless, a decrease in sophistication in terrorist attacks

has been another increasing trend. With the knowledge of unprecedented
levels of surveillance, jihadists have began to scale down their
operations. It is not uncommon for mobile phones and laptops to be
banned in certain terrorist cells, and even the purchase of significant
items such as cars and travel tickets is being increasingly avoided. As
such, it may be that the ease of eco-terrorism that sees it becoming
prevalent in the future.

So what does this mean for us? I guess its just interesting to
note that the world isn’t as simple as it used to be. Natural disasters
are no longer natural, people trying to kill us are more intelligent
than us but too disciplined to do so, and the government won’t say much
at all about what is considered by many as our greatest threat.

Or maybe it doesn’t matter at all, at least not to the majority of

people looking forward to summer. But just in case, don’t drop that
spliff in the grass when you’re done with it next year at Womad, OK?

KS

NB. Ironically, even amongst fires that were lit by natural causes,
initial reports suggest that human actions were responsible for the
breadth of the damage. Heavy irrigation in normally dry areas over the
past decade, and environmental policies preventing backburning and the
removal of dead and dying native trees has resulted in a vast amount of
fuel being available in normally arid areas. Humans. Damn us to hell.
 The summer’s ephemeral memories casually remind me how I feel
like I’m coming into Autumn too soon. The mist from the light showers
of ennui tickles my face. A guilt of nothing pangs my middle, mindless
niceties hold my memory up as in a futile struggle for gratification.
I hold a warm thought in my hand I don’t care for and looking through
nothing I notice the dappled light that is carelessly dropped on the
ground by the oak in the corner of the yard. It’s leaves and every
sublime branch beguile me; it's as if each is aware of every other.

Soon Rothko will have finished painting the sky and I'll
realise how damned wrong he was. We are also all aware of each other,
and every single thing in this Universe is too, whether we sleep,
laugh, fight or die.

I glance at the warm thought in my hand and wipe the glistening

mist off my brow; I feel I need to get drunk with Bukowski and have
the younger sister I never had kiss my eyelids as I fall into sleep.
And then with the next morning; well, we'll see how it is...

MM
 „...They saw the walls to the west and to the east.
The land was full of water this was indeed the promised land.
- Jim & Lisa sometime Oct 2008 AD”

(entry in a hiker’s logbook, Dixon’s Kingdom Hut)

returned from a hiking trip in Tasmania and

though I'd never properly hiked before, I took it on as an adventure of
sorts. My father, being a hiker from the golden days of wilderness
activism in Tasmania, decided to do a walk which he had done before in
Tasmania. The trip planned was a five day, four night affair in the
'Walls of Jerusalem' which is found just East from the popular Cradle-
Mountain area. I planned to keep a little diary for memories and maybe
to eventually write about the trip, kind of like a journal. But what I
discovered was not simply breathtaking natural beauty, but something
much more humbling.

The start of the walk is at a car-park which is already 40 odd

kilometres from the nearest two-bit town, no mobile reception, clean
fresh air, and a one-hour steep climb directly in front of you. In the
car-park there were numerous cars, from almost every state and territory
in Australia, an older couple preparing to hike, and a van from
Queensland full of open-minded, bearded Uni students and their gentle
girlfriends.

It was about a 3 hour hike to get anywhere near what is known as the
Walls of Jerusalem, but still the walk was exciting me, opening my eyes,
the surroundings keeping a contented smile on my face with ease. Tufts
of mossy grass, little brooks, beautiful glacial tarns, ancient trees,
lizards, bird calls, and the
warmth of the sun which seems much
friendlier in Tasmania than it
does on the mainland. My father
and I each had about 20 kilograms
in our packs, which is a fair
amount indeed, yet I didn't
complain; my grandfather hiked
through the jungles of Burma with
much more than that. Having all
you needed for the next four days
on your back, feelings of self-
culpability, efficiency, and
agency; we rely on nothing except
ourselves.

What the National Parks service had set up just before the entrance to
Walls of Jerusalem are wooden platforms, running water piped from the
stream, and a toilet. This area allows a comfortable place for hikers to
camp which is within a short distance to all the day walks which can be
done within the Walls themselves. But I wanted to feel like we were the
only ones within this wonderful kingdom and since leaving the car-park
hours before; I had no immediate desire to be around anything but nature

was around me; to see, to hear, feel, to modestly carry myself before I
could deserve such beauty.
face of this sublime legacy of the divinity of nature.
itself. So on the first night, we
walked into the majesty that is the
Walls of Jerusalem and pitched our tent
next to a bubbling stream, surrounded
by ancient 1000 year old native pencil
pines. The Walls of Jerusalem were
named so because of their supposed
resemblance to the Walls around the
city of Jerusalem. Framing the small
park on the western side is the cliff
face of the West Wall, to the East and
overlooking the kingdom sits Mount
Jerusalem, and between the two rests
Zion Hill, and Demascus Gate. Among the
numerous small ponds, streams and tarns
(you are never short of clean,
beautiful, alpine water in this area)
lies Lake Salome, Pool of Siloam and
Pool of Bethesda. I can't put my finger
on it, but those biblical references
made the park seem even more majestic,
and rather sacred. I now read in my
small notepad that I wrote on the first
day “I’ve found myself being very
quiet”. I had found that I needed to
learn to patiently take note of what
I needed to be quiet and penitent in the

„Ten measures of beauty descended to the world, nine were taken by

Jerusalem."
(Talmud: Kiddushin 49b)

1000 year old trees standing silent like great monoliths; two
grasshoppers mating; a pretty little yellow wild flower as delicate as
rice paper; a cloud in the crisp morning air cascading down the face of
the West Wall; the bubbling of underground streams; small lakes on the
peaks of mountains clear and still as glass; the nod to a passing hiker,
common brothers each aware of their discovery of something so beautiful;
a sip of the finest water you will ever taste; a wallaby scratching
itself, his coat so wonderfully thick; that fresh alpine air which makes
you feel so alive; the stars of the cosmos so seductive you will never
forget; the mist on the lake in the morning as you unzip your tent; the
excitement of the thought that maybe, just maybe a thylacine will run
over the track; the sound of a quoll growling in the night; the
cassowary calling out his song in a branch above the stream; an old
mountain shack built by a WWII vet to escape to the wilderness...And on
the second day as I sat on the pinnacle of Mount Jerusalem and gazed
over the kingdom that is the Walls of Jerusalem national park, I felt
then, as I do now, that I should not and shall not qualify what I
experienced too much in words. What I found, as many others have, was
the antidote, the cure, the saving grace. Leave your homes, even if its
once a year. Leave your cars and phones and microwaves and textbooks,
take a bag and walk. Walk
somewhere, anywhere, and look
around you. Look at the ants
scurrying to collect food
before the rain, stop and
notice the small wild flower
that you would usually pass
by, listen to the chirping of
the little wren hopping about
next to the stream and savour
that mouthful of water to the
very last drop. Open your eyes
and ears and soul and close
your mouths for a little
while, and trust me, you will
feel better.

„Jerusalem will only be redeemed through [the merit of giving] charity.”

(Talmud: Shabbat 139a)

After four lucky days of being allowed to experience such beauty, we

hiked out of the park down to the car park, fully convinced our trip had
come to an end, convinced we would be back in civilization by nightfall.
But, as I had convinced myself that time away from civilization and the
company of people was a much needed thing,
I discovered something in that car park
that evening that would restore my faith.
Our pre-organised lift from the car park
was late. My father was panicking, we had
to catch a plane the next morning, it had
started to rain for the first time all
week (and I had no raincoat, silly me!)
and we had no way of contacting anyone.
Hour after hour slowly went by as we
waited in vain, and after such a superb
experience over the past five days, this
was already certainly starting to ruin the
atmosphere. While waiting, a group of
seven guys appeared from the entrance to
the hiking track after a long hike. They
had a lift organised the next morning but
all they wished for was a shower, a meal
and a good night’s sleep in the nearest
town. But as no hints of salvage could be
thought of (the nearest ‘town’ was to our
knowledge at least 40 kilometres away),
our options were drained.

As we pondered and cursed our situation, two American backpackers

were preparing for a seven day hike, and while they slowly gathered
their equipment from the back of their station wagon, conversation
started between the seven guys and them. Now, I am embarrassingly guilty
of judging people too hastily, and I must admit that the group of seven,
I had already judged. They seemed too cocky, too ‘ocka’, and people I
would be not associate with in another situation. But seeing as this
situation bound our fates together somehow, I was amorous. Within
fifteen minutes of talking to the two American lads, one of the men
rather surprisingly suggested they lend us the keys to the car, and up
in that alpine car park, the atmosphere became a little tenser. But as
he lucidly explained himself in that ever-so-witty Australian way – we
would stay the night in town, fill the tank with ‘gas’, return it to the
car park – and with an honest stare and “this is the ultimate test in
trust my friend”, the two lads handed over the keys. These were people
who had first met a mere half an hour earlier! My father and I,
gobsmacked, stood in awe. In awe at the generosity and blind trust of
the two lads, and non-transparent, simple goodness that I now saw in the
seven men I had foolishly judged. And I realised; if I was that young
American lad, I too would give him the keys. A down heartening situation
had suddenly transformed into the part of the trip I now remember best.
What may have been expected from a hiking trip into the depths of
Tasmania’s wilderness is the realisation of the sacredness of the
natural world. But what was certainly not expected was a fundamental
change in how one views his fellow human.

MM

The West Wall at Morning

With the onset of the global economic crisis,
it seems everyone is affected in one way or
the other. But while we here may worry about
what our Government is going to do about a
small unemployment rise, or the devaluation of
the Australian dollar, or our slumping
resource sector, some countries are already in
much more alarming dire straits. One of these
countries, Latvia, was riding on the back of
more than 15 years of independence,
unprecedented economic growth, the
incorporation into the EU, and seemingly good
times ahead, and is now in a sticky situation
indeed. From 11.9% economic growth in 2006 to
a loss of 4.6% GDP in 2008, alarming
unemployment figures (9.5% at the end of
February), already failing welfare and health
systems, more bankrupt companies every day,
empty shop windows and a population which even
before the recent hardships has been flooding
out of the gates to work in more prosperous
countries. „Nothing special” – was the reply
of Atis Slakteris, Latvia’s finance minister,
when a journalist from Bloomberg Television
asked him what happened to the Latvian
economy. Let's just be thankful we live in a
rather benign country.
AM, a friend of ours from Latvia, is
one who is in two minds about leaving or
staying, she has written the following piece:
 **
**
- well, then do something about it!
vai tu mēģini atrast attaisnojumu kāpēc
- umm... but i'm already doing something, am i not? or does it only
count after 15 years?
- …
aizbraucu? vai tas izskatās pēc bēgšanas?
**
are you looking for a justification to leave?
(good god you haven’t left yet!)
kāpēc citus, kas to dara vai plāno darīt, tu
does it seem like fleeing?
so why do you support those who've already done it?

atbalsti?
**
well, you have to learn right? at least should.
make the best of each occasion/person/whatever. right. so, you were born
**
here. what’s the lesson?
a) stay, fight, endure, attack, accept and in the end, yes, saviour

tā. no katras situācijas, notikuma... esot

what you already have
b) learn to leave
c) ...

kaut kas jāiemācās, jāapgūst.. tātad, tu te

i was born in this country. well… it happens. people happen to be born a
century (year/decade/era) too early/too late. born in the wrong country,
piedzimi. vai tas, kas man... vai mācība,
wrong region, continent ... planet.
imagine! can you imagine a Parisian claiming he doesn't like Paris? that
Paris is not his city. so he leaves. because he prefers Gdinya. and
kas tev jāapgūst, ir: (a) palikt, cīnīties,
that's that. they leave London. they leave Stockholm. why not leave this
place? why does it seem so awfully... hard? hard to stay and hard to
leave
paciesties, sisties, pieņemt un galu galā, jā,
**
- well, alright; if you had a boyfriend who beats you up every
priecāties par to kas ir; (b) iemācīties
day/week/month, whatever – would you stay and believe you need to learn
to deal with the hardships in you life? or would you flee?
- mmm...
aizbraukt
- so where’s the difference?
- ….

***
***
 Latvians will have to learn to live with ease. ease in leaving,
living, learning, loving. to live easily

jo nepiedzimstam... nu mēdz tak cilvēki

- mhm…

**
piedzimt par agru par vēlu ne tajā vietā ne
and then you get home and hear a rumour of a devaluation in April
(faint), and another budget cut (700 million), and…
enough, you said no one’s gonna read anything this heavy.
tajā laikā. ne tajā vietā. ne tajā valstī
**
easy

reģionā laika zonā ne platuma joslā, vispār

AM
ne tajā planētā trāpīja iedomājies, tu vari
„If you're losing your
soul and you know it,
then you've still got a
soul left to lose”
- Charles Bukowski
 when you think of the bagpipes?
Kilts, pale-skin, tartan, and military tattoos? Mmm, well these things
used to come to mind for me too, until I discovered that these views
need to be changed, for the bagpipe world is amazingly large, diverse
and captivating. While you may think of the bagpipes as being synonymous
with Scotland, it turns out that bagpipes are native to almost every
part of Europe, areas of the Middle East, and even parts of Northern
Africa! While the exact geographical origins of the bagpipes are not
known, it is believed that they slowly reached through Europe from the
area of Northern India (it's interesting to note that European languages
also have their common roots in this area). In
ancient artwork, instruments which probably were
the ancestors of bagpipes can be seen; basically
reeded pipes which also have a small bag with
elastic like properties so that the player can
breathe without losing air flow to the reed. It
is also known that a version of the bagpipes was
known to the Greeks as early as the fifth century
B.C (Galpin, Francis William, 'A textbook of
European musical instruments', E. Benn: London,
1956, p.203), while the (in)famous Scottish
Highland Pipes, in contrast to all the other
various forms of bagpipes, are rather
contemporary (and can sound rather bad in
comparison too!).

Maybe a slight exaggeration, but it has been said that 'if

anything unites Europe, it is the bagpipes'; but from its early
beginnings, the bagpipes by the 12th century had become 'known in some
form or other to all European peoples' (Kratochuil, Matej, 'Kejdas,
skripkas, faufrnochs: what people used to play in Bohemia and Moravia',
Czech Music, 3, July 2007). The variations of bagpipes are amazing;
there are several versions in Italy called Zampogna, bagpipes native to
Greece, Spain, Morocco, Saudi Arabia, Iran, and some really elegant ones
in France. They are common in countries like Macedonia, Bulgaria,
Croatia, and also known in Poland, Ukraine, Sweden, the Baltic States,
not to mention all through the British Isles.

In fact, name a country in Europe and

they'll most likely have several
versions of bagpipes in their folk-
instrument cache. Many types in Eastern
Europe will feature carved animal heads
at the top of the chanter, and bagpipes
in Europe have been known to be made
from pig, goat, cat, dog, ox, elk and
even seal skin. The parts of the
bagpipes also differ immensely; some
have big bags, some small; most have one
chanter, some are known to have two
which are played simultaneously; some
have no drone, many have one, and rarely
are there four; many mouth inflated and
some with bellows. An article on the Estonian bagpipes (Torupill, at
bottom left) mentions bagpipes being made from the skin of a Lynx, 'with
the head and legs adorning the instrument'! Some formidable bagpipe
indeed! But it's not the look of the bagpipes which captures me, it's
the sound. The sound of each type of bagpipe differs, whether it be deep
and powerful, soft and gentle, high and squeaky, or smooth and
lamenting; each timbre is unique, beautiful and evoking.

There's certainly something beguiling and

evoking about the sound of the bagpipes, but
there's something even more special gained when
actually engaged in the act of playing them.
Whether it's tradition or patriotism (think the
Scots), or the feeling you get when you hear the
same sound that would have resounded hundreds of
years ago at weddings, village dances, and royal
events. Pepe Romero, a Spanish piper from Galicia,
touches on an embodied phenomenon which, I imagine,
many pipers share:

„The bagpipe is not like other instruments – e.g. The

saxophone or the clarinet – which sound outside the person
who plays them, at a certain distance from the body. The
bagpipe, when I play it, is stuck to me, surrounding me,
almost being a part of my body; the bag is under the right
arm, against my chest, and I feel it as if it was an
extension of my own lungs; the chanter sounding in front
of me, played with all my fingers; the bass drone held on
my shoulder, sounding behind my back; the treble drone to
my left, resting over my forearm, and I am in the middle,
feeling an integral part of the instrument, with which I
sound in unison.”

I have recently taken up playing the bagpipes,

and being of Latvian descent, I have purchased
from Latvia a beautiful example of the Dūdas
(Latvian for bagpipes). There's something so
spine-tingling when playing them (not because
I'm marvellously skilled!); whether it be a
slow air or a sprightly dance tune. The drone
is charmingly deep and remains the bedrock of
the tunes I play, and the beautiful sounding
chanter cuts through the dense noise, playing
around with ancient melodies, each
embellishment popping, each note so enchanting.
Yet always returning to the note of the drone,
the chanter rests back down again into its
timeless resonance. And I do feel what Pepe
feels. I've played many instruments over the
years (not necessarily well), but there's
something different about the bagpipes; the way
the hide bag rests so comfortably and warm next
to my body, and the reassuring constant of the
drone over my shoulder; it's quite an existential experience if I must
say so, more so than with any other instrument I have played. If you
watch a piper, they'll often close their eyes introspectively,
enraptured by the essence of playing and being a part of that
instrument, that music.

Much of bagpipe culture in Europe

was neglected and nearly forgotten
by the turn of the twentieth
century. The push of Christianity
into Europe had much to do with
this, in many places seeing the
bagpipes as a heathen instrument.
The popularised use of other
instruments in large part helped
replace the use of the bagpipes. In
many countries the fiddle began
taking the place the bagpipes once
had in folk music, and what was
once 'the most important instrument
of musical entertainment' in some periods in Europe, became an
obscurity, with few bagpipers in many countries surviving into the 20th
century to pass on their knowledge.

But since the latter part of the last century there has been a somewhat
popular revival and resurgence of bagpipes and bagpipe playing in
Europe. Many countries fortunately saw the need to keep bagpipe
traditions alive and more and more people are paying, making and
enjoying bagpipes all over Europe. More bands are appearing who play the
bagpipes and even bagpipe festivals are organised regularly throughout
Europe.

But it isn't merely folklorists and

traditional folk ensembles which are a
part of this new wave of piping in Europe.
Corvus Corax (left) are a band from
Germany who create amazing, heavy,
powerful music, singing in Latin with
mediaeval instruments, enormous drums and
choirs. In Extremo (above) is another band
who play similar songs but are more like a
heavy-metal band, complete with tattoos
and all! Please, if this all sounds
interesting to you, seek out some bagpipe
music, find some YouTube videos (this is a
great way to hear all kinds of bagpipes),
and remove those bagpipe blinkers!

MM
Ahhh... a relaxing day on the beach: sand in your crisp slice of
watermelon, zinc cream in your cider, salt in your ears, blistering
sunburnt nose, wind driving every grain of sand into your calves like a
bad dose of acupuncture, sharks, rips, bluebottles, used syringes...
more like a scene out of Dante’s Inferno than anything resembling a
popular past-time and yet summer in Australia sees these sandpits of
doom packed well beyond the red and yellow flags with would-be leisure
makers.

But what could possible be a better alternative? How about a shady patch
of grass under eucalyptus and pine with a slate-filtered spring bubbling
behind you, a stretch of pristine freshness ahead, with only your
friends beside you and an ice cold beer dangling from your big toe
gradually cooling in the clear water ready for you to propose a toast to
nature’s gifts.

What:

Freshwater swimming. OK, so the Europeans have been doing it for years,
but unlike male g-strings and folk-trance, this is no fad. It’s serious.
It’s high renaissance culture and decadence at its finest.

Location:

Quarries, waterholes, lakes,

reservoirs, streams, lagoons.
Google Earth for beginners, or
heavily secured quarries and
factories if you demand
adrenalinised satisfaction.

Legal threats:

I would advise finding an entrance

that will confirm your cover story
– tourists from Europe who went
bushwalking and didn’t see a sign.
Less said the better, but do brush up on your Romanian merchant slang.
It helps.

Physical Threats:

Brain-eating organisms in the Onkaparinga River system and Chain of

Ponds, extremely high levels of sulphates and heavy metals in disused
quarries. Leeches, parasites, bacteria, algae...

...so I guess you can leave them for us if you want.

KS

Photograph – Well-known fan

of freshwater swimming,
unorthodox pindrop styled
jump from quarry ledge, date
and location known (but not
about to be revealed)
I have not lingered in these grasses,
long enough to find the tombs I know are here.
But I know the ghosts well.
I have felt the drop of winter leaves upon my shoulder as a
breath,
heard the wind under autumn moons as a whisper.
Smelt the summer sun peer on to blossoms as a presence.
They are here. They reside in me.
In you.

Three headstones stand to mark their passing.

Three red quavers; all-knowing, unseeing, listening
to the music in the plane trees,
symphonies of days past.
Through the buzz of hip-pop post-punk slop.

No major triad do they represent today,

the glorious Hallelujah chorus of youthful idealism; more like
A Minor key, A Diminished
memory of what the wind-swept sun-bleached grasses
were like when ghosts talked Picasso, Tesla, and Sartre.
And now, another existential problem:

Tigers paired with Crocs roam through the grass, growling,

slithering
at the top of the feud chain.
MySpace takes over from our space,
And Bachelors double their luck
with three years working minimum wage in this factory:
Skipping lectures about the times where
green fields turned smokestacks and mills.

“V.S.You is the problem!” the new chorus sings,

But the irony is lost and the back turned from the stage;
tone-deaf piano tuners tainting work from the past.
And people forget that real student contributions were always
voluntary.

And the flow of the river slows…

And the tombs are found only to write this epitaph…

Still,
There is music in the plane trees,
If you only care,
To listen.

KS
Arsene Eglis (Introduction
and Annotations) & Bud
Berzing (Translations) “Sex
Songs of the Ancient Letts”
(1969) University Books
Inc., New York
 MIXTAPE (SIDE A)

 Billy Bragg & Wilco – Remember The Mountain Bed

The words of Woody Guthrie as put to music on the Mermaid Avenue

albums are at their finest on this track. When you forget what life
should be about and everything gets you down, Woody reminds us why it
all exists in the first place. Thanks.

 Blind Pilot – Buried A Bone

Sometimes a guitar and a set of drums, a simple melody and a bunch of

words are more than the sum of their parts. Indeed, bands like this
don’t really need to tour – their music should probably only be
listened to at 5am in the morning when the wine has run empty, the sun
is coming up from a different part of the horizon, and you and maybe
just a few others around you have realised that, sometimes, very
rarely, everything just makes sense.

 Bon Iver - Flume

The majority of this album was recorded in a remote cabin over three
months in Wisconsin. From humble roots as a selection of demos, “For
Emma, Forever Ago” has gone on to receive critical acclaim. I could
complain about the songs being used on commercial TV, but then again,
part of me is glad other people are hearing them and they weren’t left
in the wilderness from which they came.

 Beirut – Scenic World (Original)

Zach Condon just won’t stop recording simple songs comprised of just a
few chords overlayed with violin, accordion, and trumpet, often with
just a few lines of lyrics. And I don’t care in the slightest.

 Bob Dylan – Buckets Of Rain

So you’ve heard of Bob Dylan? So you like his “Blood On The Tracks”
album? Well the real beauty of the LP is that once Shelter From The
Storm is worn out and skipping beyond recognition, and your ex-
girlfriend has spilt scotch and soda over Side 1, the vinyl is still
priceless. Perfect albums rarely end perfectly.

 Bright Eyes – First Day Of My Life

One guitar, one voice, three minutes. All the lessons you should have
learnt, all the lamentations you have felt, the important comments
that meant nothing at the time but are the purest distillation of
anything you’ve ever felt from the other side of the room. I won’t try
to destroy anything else about this song, I just wish I could hear it
again for the first time.

KS
 MIXTAPE (SIDE B)

 Stephan Zahmanov - Lichkoljo Glaven Lichkoljo

This is a traditional dance tune from a village in Bulgaria. I love

the sound of bagpipes (or gaita, gajda, gajdy...) from the countries
around this area of Europe. The bagpipes have a lamenting sound, and
are played in a beautiful staccato style.

 Стары Ольса (Stary Olsa) - Ой, Рана (Oh, the Wound)

Stary Olsa is a Belarusian folk/mediaeval band. Their songs can be

more courtly mediaeval tunes with lutes and flutes, but can also sound
rather heavy like this one. I find the sound of the Belarusian
bagpipes really quite wonderful, with a lot of substance and
character.

 Corvus Corax – Venus Vina Musica

Corvus Corax are great! They only play traditional mediaeval songs,
mostly in Latin. Their performances involve large drums, hurdy-gurdys,
over-the-top bagpipes, wacky leather outfits and sometimes Gregorian-
style choirs and a chariot! They have become very popular in Europe.

 Os Rosales - Foliada Dos Vellos

This is a group playing the bagpipes that are native to the Galicia
region of Spain. It's really quite wonderful to hear the versatility
of the bagpipes, here they fit perfectly with the playful rhythm of
Spanish music. Complimented by the singing, this piece makes me smile.

 In Extremo – Ai Vis Lo Lop

Quite a popular group in Germany, In Extremo play not just original

songs but traditional pieces in many different European languages. You
might call them Corvus Corax with distortion, or mediaeval Rammstein,
playing both traditional and contemporary instruments that you would
usually associate with a metal band,quite a formidable sound! Check
them out on YouTube. It's quite quaint really, seeing big, tattooed
men playing bagpipes, harps and hurdy-gurdys!

 Auļi – Kapenieks

Auļi, a band from Latvia, is a band which mainly consists of pipers

and drummers. They play everything from arrangements of traditional
songs (like this one), to original material. Surprisingly, they have
become quite popular with 'metal-heads' because of the heavy sound of
the many bagpipes and large drums. This is a slower song, in fact a
traditional funeral melody. The words which would usually go with this
song describe how at the end of life, the piece of land that we
inhabit will only be 2 metres long and 1 metre wide.

MM
 KS - Karlis Stemsands

AM – Ani (Latvija)

MM - Mārtiņš Medenis
 „The real voyage of
discovery consists not in
seeking new landscapes, but
in having new eyes.”

- Marcel Proust

cамиздат
2009