I have just returned home from an amazing array of music and entertainment provided for the citizens of Hobart.
For free.
Arriving with three quarters of a skin-full at the corner of Melville and Elizabeth I was greeted by an eclectic bunch of people from all walks of life, ready to experience whatever sprung onto stage.
Few people would have been familiar upon arrival with trance didgeridoo, but they dug it all the same. Anyone with a bit of soul in their soul would be familiar with the Bourbon St Funk of Tuba Skinny and judging by the reaction around the courtyard, they knew how to jive.
Then came the main event.
They were nothing short of sensational. A Mongolian throat-singing sextet who scaled the gamut from Led Zeppelin to The Pogues What is more significant is that if this event had not been put together so brilliantly, few of us would ever have experienced the joy of this incredibly talented group of musicians. I feel no shame in admitting that one guitar ballad brought tears to this writers eyes, even though I had no idea what the fuck he was singing about. Two encores were not enough, I want more! We want more!
Flashback 10 or so years.
I was among 60 odd people sitting up on the TCA ground in the rain at 11am when Machine Gun Fellatio took the stage with a scream from Chit Chat that “he hadn’t slept for 50 fucking hours”, before launching into one of the greatest ever performances of their song 100 Fresh Disciples as though they were playing before an arena hither unto reserved for the Rolling Stones or Queen.
I’m sure the other 59 people who witnessed this outburst will back me up. As the day progressed and the crowds, who had slept the night before, rolled in steadily, the vibe picked up to a crescendo with some pissweak band like The Living End serving to sate their appetites for mosh-worthy release of booze fuelled frenzy. By midnight, magic had occurred. We were all as one.
Since then I have been to most major music events and festivals in Tasmania, either as a punter or more recently, as an employee behind the scenes. This evening, on the corner of Melville and Elizabeth it occurred to me that a collection of persons, all engaged in the experience of witnessing any music in joint appreciation has a special value.
But, over in the corner, to the right of stage was a billboard ad displaying the face of one Dean Winter. The same gentleman who had only one day previously had announced on Tasmanian Times that the Government should not support musical festivals that could not sustain themselves. He made a pretty convincing argument. But he is wrong.
Tasmania is not doing very well. It hasn’t for a long time. A debate on why that is the case open to many different ideas and opinions. What I am interested in is what brings us together and by necessity bring us closer to the world off our wee shores. Whenever I stand amongst a group of people in mutual appreciation of a sight before us, I feel a bit special. There is something special going on and we are a part of it. It is therefore I question the logic of our pissy little Government not supporting such occasions for the price of contents of stationary cabinet in some irrelevant public service office.
Mr Winter suggests that these events should be able to wholly sustain themselves economically. Well yes and no. Ideally they should be able to, but given the choice of all or nothing, give me all.
We miss out on a lot because a couple of hundred Km’s of water. Let’s make the best of what we can get. Bollocks to the cost. Culture all the way.
Cheers,
Simon de Little
The MOFO program: www.mofo.net.au
