I used to make fun of people with their kids as their default picture…

I’ve decided to resurrect my blog.  If you’re really good at math, you’ve probably figured out that I have already experienced that bloody, violent ordeal we call birth.  Actually, mine was pretty awesome but I’ll write a bit more about that later, probably when I’m in a better mood.  A more witty mood.  I’m feeling about as bland as the Sarah Silverman Show. 

Moving on.  I really miss blogging.  Ideally, I’d love to get so good at blogging that ‘they’ (the people that start rumors, run tabloids and own the world etc) give me Google or something.  Ima own the SHIZNIT outa Google.   

Categorically, I suppose that this would be referred to as a ‘parenting’ blog.  I cottoned onto this after watching an unbelievably stressful Uma Thurman film that suggested every blog that was loosely based on children, family and the life that surrounds such things must, for all intents and purposes, be referred to as a ‘Parenting Blog’.  STOP READING!!!!!  I feel compelled to warn you that you are in fact reading a ‘Parenting Blog’ written by a (ZOMG) 21 year old new mother of one (1) small person.  I have NEVER done this before.  NO notches on my belt, NO past experience to speak of and NO idea what the hell I’m doing.  Taking all of this into consideration, I’m completely okay with this new label I’ve acquired (by default) because I feel that no one tells the truth about parenting.  I LOATHE parenting magazines!!!!!  It’s like being stabbed in the face with baby tears.  Sure, your kids don’t pick their noses, eat gluten or yell aimlessly (covered in feces), just in the same way that you always have dinner ready for your other half, self-wax your ‘fun zone’ whilst reciting Hamlet (for a little bit of culture) and have every part of your life super flipping organized.  Sorry, aforementioned person, YOU DON’T EXIST.  You just don’t.  It is IMPOSSIBLE for any human to be infallible, especially whilst they are in charge of a tiny little person, as well as themselves.  The fact of the matter is this – Parenting is hard at any age and if you want to act like a completely heinous bitch about it and then publish it for us normal people to read, well…I can’t really do anything but complain about it on this here blog.  TAKE THAT.  BLOG P4WNED.

Admittedly, I’ve really ignored this blog.  Please be assured that I still held up my habit of playing music to my unborn, I just didn’t write about it.  I was lazy, everywhere hurt and I was more swollen than a dead, waterlogged moose.  The music playing still happened, yes, but it was more a mixtape…not uniformed in any way.  I thought about this a bit more, got all deep on my own ass and realized that this would make such a great metaphor to write about!  YAY!  Motherhood is much like a mixtape.  You never know what’s coming next and whatever it may be, it has the potential to change your mood, your perspective and (in situations involving Phil Collins, first steps and tragedy) even your life. 

On that meaningful, vomit-worthy note, I am going to continue eating chocolate and drinking wine in peace.  (Fail Mummy)

UPDATE:  I would like to add (because it sounds like I’m a cynical basket case) that I actually DO love my daughter to the bones.  She is the best thing that has ever happened, not just to me but to the entire planet.  Believe it, I birthed super-baby.  She is so super cool and I can tell she’s going to be a kick-ass human and will probably make a living by kicking asses, owning and other such things.  I can’t imagine my life without her.

Excuses

I erased three whole paragraphs just then. I feel like a teen - happy one moment, collapsing on my bed in melodramatic tears the next with a fringe that just wont sit how it's supposed to being at fault.

Let me assure you, I love this, I do. Though I really don't have a fan base, writing is more a reassurance for myself. It reminds me that school is over and I still have my literacy. It assures me that I can never stop learning and that my mind will continue to be a sponge if I choose to let it. So, my seemingly hormonal outburst and destruction of what I had previously written isn't out of hate for this blog, grammar or the task of stringing coherent sentences together, no. It was merely because I knew I could do better. They were silly paragraphs anyway.

Authoring a blog about music isn't as easy as I thought. I approached it thinking "I like music, I'm good at music, my baby will like music. I'll write about music." Way to go, me. I clearly didn't take into account that - like every other potentially controversial subject from circumcision to George Bush (1 & 2) to The Biggest Loser - music would have its fair share of know all's, opinion givers and nay sayer's, all important members of "The Pretentious Society". I'm not saying I've actually ENCOUNTERED any of these people, God no. I barely have enough followers for that. My point is that sometimes I feel an enormous pressure (from the pretentious society) to delve deeper and deeper into the indie-est, most underground, only-12-people-know-of-them bands. I haven't succumb to this pressure, but I have been mulling it over after a friend mentioned that the bands I have featured would never make it into a contemporary review as they were too old to be new, fresh and baby-faced, yet not old enough to be considered totally awesome and write-worthy.

I dwelled on this point (stupid and yet, valid) for quite some time before deciding to write again. HEY AMYLEE! REMEMBER THE PURPOSE OF THIS BLOG???

Oooh, right. Music taste is as unique to people as the honkers on the front of their faces. It should not be considered a fashion, but a trait. A unique genetic code within us. As much as we hate to admit it sometimes, the music we were exposed to, surrounded with and fed by our parents and family growing up shapes the taste that we form later on in life. These songs accompany fond memories, travel the distance with us and are always welcome in our ears no matter how cheesy the hook. I suppose what I am trying to get across here is that this blog is not FOR anyone else (though you are more than welcome to read it etc). It is mine. It is for my baby. It is to document her and the music SHE is surrounded by and to give her the gift that my mother gave me. For me, it came in the form of Tracy Chapman, Paul Simon and Phil Collins. For her, it will be all that and much more. I am writing this because I love the music that I listen to and want to share it with my womb-mate.

Do you like Heartbeats? The candy? They are so good. With their informative little advices about relationships and matters of the heart on the wrapper and that flavour that just cannot be pinpointed to an individual fruit, they are among the few lollies I like. Lovedrug (the band) always remind me of heartbeats. I wish I had some now.

Pretend You're Alive


















The flu is currently forcing me to pretend I'm alive. Not exactly irony...more corny than anything really. Enough about me, how about YOU, Lovedrug?

A seemingly understated band, Lovedrug have made their way up my list quite efficiently. Though they have three amazing, successful releases, have been featured on many a movie, TV show and radio station and recently performed at the South by South West (SxSW) festival, all Wikipedia has to say about them is: "Lovedrug is an indie rock band from Canton, Ohio that formed in 2001. Their third album, The Sucker Punch Show, was released October 28, 2008." Go wiki. I love Gen Y, they can be so cute.

Despite them not being THE NEXT BIG THING - IE. Playing at the Super Bowl, endorsing World Vision etc - they are of a sound that I love (and are eager enough to become that aforementioned band). Soaring melodies, cute little piano lines and rocking hooks make them the kind of band you want to listen to when you don't know what you want to listen to. They're the band that suit many a setting. The band that can sing you happy, hand you tissues or support your rage. They are THE BAND.

My darling girl has become quite active over the last couple of weeks and I would like to say she was having a little jive in my inside whilst listening. This probably isn't true, but I can believe what I want and so can you. Regardless of scientific truths and whimsical "if's", my baby girl is certainly getting a taste of her mumma's love for melodies. She's experiencing my day to day. She's become apart of my day, even though we are yet to meet, and that's the way I like it.

"I'd be happy if you'd share your web with me" - Lovedrug

Another thing. I am lazy. I will be posting more often now.
No more excuses.

Hopping in Puddles

Quite an apt title, considering how the weather has been here. Let me paint you a picture: If we tweaked the story of the Wizard of Oz to have torrential rain instead of a tornado and to be set in North Queensland, rather than Kansas, we would definitely not be in Cairns(as) anymore, Toto.

Today, rainy like every other rain freaking soaked day, was an indoor day. I woke up late, felt like crap (I’m pregnant, remember?), had a nap and then watched some night time TV. This isn’t habit for me, oh no. Mum and I have become quite crafty as of late! When we’re not painting the town red, we’re making things to pretty it up! For example, Mum made a sock monkey (which she insists is a cow, I don’t see it). I’m so proud of her, she’s never been much for sewing.

.

One of my most successful projects has been my Fox Garland. It is so cute! Mum said, “Why Foxes? They wander the streets and are dirty and tear other animals apart.” I guess she just doesn’t see what’s cute about that. Wanna see?

Cute little foxes (inspired by indiefixx), currently adorning the ‘baby nook’. Only a few more steps and it’ll be completely baby ready!

Baby's bring so many mixed emotions. I mean, I love feeling her kicking away, I love knowing that she’s there and I love knowing that I’m going to have this amazing new person in my life forever. On the other hand, the fleshy, self centred thoughts still creep in every now and then. Thoughts about getting my pre baby body back (I was SO little), hating my back pain, wanting to surgically remove my ribs etc. I love this child, and none of the afore mentioned negativity is applicable. Music? I think so.

I’m beginning to realise that the majority of this blogs content is sentimental. Bands that tie into my past, the soundtracks to my memories. I’m okay with this. Today’s flavour ties me to some dear Spanish/Italian/Greek friends.

Takk…

Sigur Ros (“Victory Rose”). A gorgeous band hailing from Iceland (a vey pretty, non-icy place). Listening to Sigur Ros feels like leaping through frosty green moors, finding secret gardens and flying to Never Land all at once. This whimsical ‘sushi-roll’ of perfection is ideal for sleeping music, driving music, inspirational music and everything else music to be quite honest. My darling little girl will hear this album and Sigur Ros’s other four releases both in and out of the womb (respectively).

Sigur Ros writes all of their songs in an Icelandic language called ‘Vonlenska’. The exception to this is the Album “( )”, in which every song is sung in a made up, almost gibberish language called ‘Hopelandic’. The fact that you can’t really understand the lyrics doesn’t really matter, as the feeling and substance of the music is still clearly conveyed. This is a dead giveaway to just HOW good the really are.

I did the unthinkable, however. I researched English translations of the lyrics. It was a scary task, discovering the unknown. I didn’t want to be disappointed. What if these seemingly perfect, porcelain skinned Ice Gods turned out to be the Eminem’s and Lil’ John’s of the Norse world?? How would I cope? I wouldn’t. Fortunately, I don’t have to worry about this, as all of their songs are just as lovely in content as they are in sound. Takk…(Thank You..) is filled with songs of fishermen, hopping in puddles and haystacks. While it is slightly annoying that they are good at SO many things, in SO many respects, I am still relieved that they are this brilliant. It means that I can sit back and treat my ears to such pretty things without using a single ounce of creativity or brain activity. I plan to immerse my small one in beautiful piano and acoustic pieces, such as the ones produced by today’s featured band, and then, as early as possible, she will commence piano lessons. I hope. She can do what she wants to do. No stage mothering here. But we can hope…

When she is born, I will take her jumping in puddles, we’ll pretend to fly through the clouds and I’ll teach her to make daisy chains. Then Sigur Ros will tie me to a more amazing part of my life. One that will never decrease in ‘amazinginity’. And for that, Takk…

American Water

This is what you’re drinking. Yuck. Come back.

I know, I know, I’ve been completely slack and slack cannot be spelled without ‘lack’, so that’s my excuse. I lack motivation, I lack time, I lack brain capacity. ..

Apparently pregnancy doesn’t just result in a baby. Oh no, that would be too easy. Along the way there will be many instances in which you would very much like to die. Your ribs will feel like they’re breaking, your lungs don’t wanna work, your brain hurts, you back hurts and anything else that possibly could, will hurt.

I suppose another lack I have is the lack of my midnight chat pal. He’s gone to Austin, which means the time difference is ridiculous and my late nights are somewhat lazier and less productive. Yeah, that’s right, blaming you. But not really.

I’ve got two albums to write about today. Make up for lost time. See, even though I haven’t been writing, I have still been playing the tunes etc.

First up, we have an album that reminds me of the time that I was living with a best friend. During this time, a dear friend came to visit, but failed to tell us. I was startled at about half ten at night when a hairy man appeared on my veranda outside my bedroom crooning the blues with his acoustic guitar. Oh Jordan.

Welcome to the sounds of The Silver Jews. A beautiful rocky, bluesy outfit from the big smoke of New York. Since forming in 1989 (year I was born, here’s your queue to feel old if you remember that), The Silver Jews released 6 LP albums and 2 EP’s. Throughout this time, David Berman remained the only constant.

My choice of album was the 1998 release of ‘American Water’.

American Water

I find Berman’s voice very soothing, like a storyteller, lulling you to sleep. I wanted to play this album to my baby because it makes me feel at home and calm, both feelings I’d love for little miss to be familiar with and seeing as we both had a very peaceful night sleep, I think it may have had some affect (the little monster loves to keep me awake).

Another thing I’d like to mention about the Silver Jews is their comical appearance in Paste Magazine’s “An Indie Rock Alphabet Book”.

Oh yes, this is a definite future addition to little darling’s book collection. Right next to “Oh! The Places You’ll Go!”

The next selection for my tiny dancer’s delicate ears was a selection of chance. Half asleep and not bothered in the slightest, I grasped for my iPhone and played a mix of the first band my finger landed on. I wasn’t too disappointed, however, as my choice was a band that has been a sentimental part of myself and my friends lives. Say hello to “As Cities Burn”.

Son, I Loved You at Your Darkest

Come Now Sleep

Hell or High Water

Some really great albums here. I particularly love ‘Come Now Sleep’, a good mixture of thought provoking lyrics/discussions and catchy guitar riffs.

“As Cities Burn” have provided quite the soundtrack for my teenage years. Many a sad night spent crying to “Son I loved you at your darkest”, many a happy car ride singing along to “This is it, this is it”. I hope my feelings of love and nostalgia for this Louisiana bred four piece have been conveyed to the small female in my womb. Their tales of family heartache, questions and proclamations to the greatness of God and their sudden progression to a softer indie rock while keeping their trademark confronting lyrical content have made them a legendary act in my eyes and the eyes of many. They have since disbanded (as of 2009), with an exiting statement with words to the effect of :

“As Cities Burn has broken up. We are happily moving on after 6 good years. Our lives and our wives have called us in different directions. Thanks to anyone who has come out to a show, had words to say, or bought a CD to help us fill the tank”

Their music will continue, in our hearts and over our speakers.

CHEESY RIGHT?

Next up on Time Life, how you can become the proud owner of the entirety of Dolly Parton’s music career. The first thirty callers from Alabama with the same first name who can recite the NRA’s pledge of allegiance will receive a bonus novelty apron!

Anyway, it is now lunchtime and pumpkin wont let me forget it. She’s a hungry lass. I have to say, at this point, I am really starting to like pregnancy. Sure sure, the concluding paragraph of this entry may be as contradictory to the first as Peanut Butter is to Jam (that’s right people, they do not compliment each, nor will they ever!), but it’s the small things that remind you that it will all be worth it in just over 3 months. You’ll smile every time she kicks, freak out if you can’t feel her moving for over an hour, look at your huge belly in the mirror and love it and always get away with wearing daggy, comfortable clothes wherever you go because, hey, you’re pregnant. Yep. It’s something I’ll never regret.

By the way, there really is an NRA pledge of allegiance. I can’t find the exact one, it’s probably something you learn after paying a ridiculous fee. But some have revisited it, however:

“I pledge allegiance to Samuel Colt - the man who made all men equal - and to the Second Amendment behind which I stand, one nation under guns, with ammo and assault rifles for all.”

Lunchtime!

P.S.

If you haven’t heard, it’s a baby girl!

Stellar iPhone quality, what else.

Everybody, Clap Your Hands!

This will be a short entry, as it is about something I was apart of. So to refrain from sound like I am tooting my own horn, I will keep it short and sweet.

The weekend just passed, I visited some of my dearest dearest friends as they (and the band that they are all in - The Middle East) prepare to start touring around the US and Europe for five months (they leave on Thursday, sadface). Being back at my home away from home made me all nostalgic and whatnot. I’ve missed them FLIPLOADS. Whilst saying our final goodbyes in the Myers-made recording studio (that man can do/make/write/create ANYTHING), I got to hear the last recordings of the four piece outfit I was once apart of before it dissipated into a collage of girlfriends, university degree’s and babies – The Forest.

The Forest was existent before the drummer and I were involved. Once a three piece comprised of three best friends, none exceeding the height of about 160cm. Things happen, it ended and then began again, this time with myself on bass and keys and my darling friend MG on skinzzzz. We were the best of friends. We did almost everything together and our practises were far from gruelling. I really miss those days.

Although life has changed, adapted and aged, these men (once boys) are still my brothers and I love them each to the bones. Anyway, the point of this explanation is my next “album” choice (if you could even call it that).

The Forest EP

This EP was recorded in a church, in a closet and in a shared brothers room. Listening to it makes me miss the close relationship our band had, miss playing music and most of all, it makes me miss the feeling of being apart of something that mattered. I played this to my baby, not because it was a bestseller or rivalled the work of Bach, but because it was apart of my journey that led me to where I am today.

Today I found an old diary full of lyrics and poems I had written around the time of The Forest and one in particular about the disbanding of The Forest. I want to include it on here because, to be frank, it gives me a giggle. Please feel free to laugh and/or groan at the lyrical content, as it was written rhyme, be covered in mozzarella and, of course, include the title of every track The Forest has ever performed (I will write these all bold like):

(Verse 1)

I was talking to you just the other day

Now it seems you’ve packed up and gone away

While staring outside at this lonely tree

I’m wondering if it could possibly be any more ‘me’

Oh Alice, Oh Love, Oh No

(Verse 2)

There once was a forest

Then sparked The Fire

And the smoke carried cinders of strong desire

To the safe of the hills all The Stallions ran

And I say you can’t leave but you think you can and I knew..

So far away from here you flew

(Bridge)

They cut down the trees and turned them into wood

And while would can be useful, I don’t think you should

(Chorus)

Because The Mistress predicted

Johnny gave us warning

When you mess with the world that you know and love

You end up facing global warming

And nobody cares about The Bears and The Ocean will boil over in a couple of years

The Grapes will all wither and die

While Ottie Olsen looks into the sky and cries

‘Halal! Halal! Halal!’

(Verse 3)

This girl Madison thinks you’re pretty neat

She doesn’t know the ground beneath your feet

Is being stolen be Mr Gravedigger

Reminding you that you’re no longer here

So come back, back Fiddly Rack back, Sing Brother, Sing Father Abraham

(Chorus)

Because The Mistress predicted

Johnny gave us warning

When you mess with the world that you know and love

You end up facing global warming

And nobody cares about The Bears and The Ocean will boil over in a couple of years

The Grapes will all wither and die

While Ottie Olsen looks into the sky and cries

‘Halal! Halal! Halal!’

(Bridge out)

And all this time that you’re away

Don’t forget about the shows we used to play

You may gain an accent and a wife

And I’ll still be here singing your Secret Life…

I think that now I have sufficiently embarrassed myself with corn/cheese worthy rhymes, I shall hit the hay. But not before letting you know that I’m not a basket case of nostalgia. These boys are my family, and YOU, my little girl, are going to have a whole gaggle of wonderful surrogate fathers. You are truly blessed.

Camp How To Start A Fire

Today I had my first ‘feeling pregnant’ day. I’m talking gross, fat, swollen ankles, nausea, strange men staring at my nethers kinda day.  You know the ones. I’m completely keen to throw in the towel.  Anyone else wanna carry this human for me?  PLEASE?

Okay, the title – Camp How To Start A Fire.  Let me explain:

Among my friends and I there is an age old debate – what camp do you belong to?  Camp “How to Start a Fire”?  Camp “The Moon is Down”?  Could it be Camp “Hide Nothing”??? 

We all have our opinions, we all have a favourite place to toast our marshmallows.  For example, Raymond and Hannah are telling ghost stories by torchlight at “The Moon is Down” whereas Gabrielle, Aaron and Tiffany are sparking a flint upstream at “How to Start a Fire”.  Last and definitely far from least, Benjamin and a few others are unrolling their sleeping bags in the next forest over, Camp “Hide Nothing”.

These are all the titles of albums from the devastatingly awesome rock band, Further Seems Forever.

How to Start a Fire

I, personally, am a “Moon is Down” girl, but I have a tent in every camp.  “How to Start a Fire” is the second album of FSF, and just as amazing as any that have come before or after, despite vocalist.  See, FSF have a habit of changing lead vocalists more often than underwear, I assume (being boys…in a band.).  Album number 1, “Moon is Down” was recorded with Chris Carrabba working the pipes before he left to pursue what is now legendary emotional rock band – Dashboard Confessional (WIN).  Foxy Chris was later replaced by Jason Gleason (former Affinity member).  Gleason donated his voice to “How to Start a Fire” but was soon brutally murdered and eaten by “Hide Nothing” vocalist Jon Bunch.  He didn’t really murder and eat Jason, this part was just boring me.

FSF and I have quite a romantic past.  All tracks to all albums have somehow been included in the soundtrack of my life.  My first love, although too shy to talk to me upon our first meeting, proceeded to play “Hide Nothing” over the PA system and sing to me.  The lyrics of “Pictures of Shorelines” were scrawled onto a mintie wrapper and secretly handed to me at a youth camp.  “Snowbirds and Townies” was our driving song.  “How to Start a Fire” is the song that everyone will abuse you for skipping.  They even prompted us all let out a painful groan with the release of their  N*SYNC cover, “Bye Bye Bye”.  Sigh. So many memories. 

I was really happy to finally introduce my ever expanding mini me to Further Seems Forever.  I had a very peaceful night sleep, little one caused me no problems.  Exactly the reaction I anticipated.

Nacho Pop is on TV at the moment and now I want Nacho’s.