The last week or so has been ridiculously busy, the surf average at best and the Barbarians at their worst.

But it has been a good week too.

Yesterday the delightful Jamie Watson from Pineapple Love interviewed me for her blog, on the back of her seeing Musica Surfica at the San Francisco Ocean Film Festival.

It was fun to do and gave me an opportunity to say thanks again to the people that made the highly unlikely thing that was Musica Surfica possible.

Then this morning I received an email from Rachel Caplan for the Festival saying:

"It is my pleasure to inform you that MUSICA SURFICA won the Adventure Award at last weekend's San Francisco Ocean Film Festival.

The film had a wonderful reception from a sold-out house and was a clear festival favorite. There was much applause from the audience throughout, especially after each of the musical pieces.

The Adventure Award is giving each year "for the best-told adventures in, on, or around the Sea". The screening committee gave this award to MUSICA SURFICA to honor the film's many achievements - the direction, cinematography, editing, score (of course!) and script are all superb."

So that bucked me up a bit too...well.. a lot... and almost cured my tension headache.

Almost.

Back to work.

Pics are courtesy of Jamie and show the crowd at the the Festival, and Richard taking off at the beginning of the film.

What a couple of days.

Wednesday I had to go down to Torquay to have a brief meeting in the Quiksilver headquarters. Never been there before and very low key, art filled offices spelled a gentler company than I'm used to in the world of surf business.

Then a dash for an hour in the waves, that hour being a little frustrated by an errant north wind which, though offshore for many of our breaks, means an ugly cross wind at Bells and Winki, both of which had been pretty damn fine until an hour or so before I became available to splash.

Eventually though I found a little peak at 13th and had a fun hour almost to myself before having to head back to the office. Felt a bit odd while out there and while driving, had a nice dinner and hit the sack around 10.30, only to wake in agony at about midnight. Rolled around the bed for about an hour then got up and drove the little porcelain bus for another 2 before deciding hospital was the only way out

Snuck out leaving a note and the family to sleep and drove to the emergency ward where I spent the next 12 hours. Bloody gall stone attack, lots of morphine and assorted pills, x-rays, ultra sound and proddings meant a variety packed day through the drug induced haze.

They were going to whip it out but decided against it, as the pain finally settled as something must have shifted in the Minotaur's Labyrinth that is my innards.

So back to work today, a bit woozy and sore, but ready for the weekend.

Other Things.

I'm off to New York in ten days to attend the New York Surf Film Festival and show my scruffy head on behalf of Musica Surfica, and perhaps find someone interested in showing it on the American telly. Whatever happens it'll be an interesting time as I've never been to the Big Apple, four days not enough to see it nor will I have the chance really but I guess I'll be doing a lot of gazing up, up, up and going 'fuck that's big".

Which never happens when I'm gazing down.

Still, it should be fun. If anyone who reads this is there, look me up as I'd love to catch up. Ras.. this is for you.

As part of all this I thought I'd begin to write something about the beginnings of the whole shebang. Hopefully for publication, but me being me, I thought I'd test drive the first bit on you, who manage to drop by the blog when you get a free moment.

So here is how Musica Surfica happened... right up to the first wave ridden. Comments gratefully accepted, critical and otherwise.


Musica Surfica the film was serendipity on celluloid.

A happy accident followed by many lucky moments written on blind faith and the fates.

When Richard Tognetti first asked if I’d like to join him on remote King Island off the south coast of Victoria, Australia, along with Derek Hynd, a mixed bag of surfers and surfer/musicians, to play and ride some surfboards without fins, my first response was.. “huh?”

He’d called out of the blue, about a month after my first contact with him, that being an email from me flying an idea I’d had, a “would he be interested letter” as, if that idea ever saw the filmic light of day, I’d like him to do the sound design.

Why Richard? Why ask an Australian National Living Treasure, a virtuoso violinist who’s art is played out on a 300 year old, ten million dollar violin, to do the soundtrack to a surf movie?

The clear and only answer was first, he is a surfer.

The day of that email he called and we had a long conversation, we got on, understood each other, and the thread of a bond was formed.

His call a month later invited to me to an Australian Chamber Orchestra concert at the Victorian Arts Centre, and to catch up afterwards for a chat. “Derek Hynd and I are going to King Island, to surf without fins! Would you like to come and film it?” This is where I said: “Huh?” Then, walking through the cool Melbourne streets at 10.30 on a March Monday night, I began to ask questions. Later I wrote a two page treatment of what I thought they were trying to achieve, and what it could become. That treatment became Musica Surfica the Film.

Before I even began to get anywhere though, Richard said I had to meet Derek.

A week or so later Derek called me, we spoke for over an hour (which never happens with him) and then we arranged to meet in a little inner city Melbourne restaurant, to sound each other out. He was down to catch a Bells swell, had scored good waves and was to begin the thousand kilometre drive back to Sydney as soon as we’d eaten.

I was full of questions about how the hell you ride a board without fins, would they hold a trim, could you bottom turn, could you...well,... anything?

His answers were all... “yep”, ...except for the bit about could you do a cutback.

“Naaa, can’t really cutback, but I just head up toward the lip and do a three sixty.” Or nine, as I was soon to discover.

After dinner I was dying to find out what one of these things looked like and wandered back to his car on a dark, hooker filled Melbourne street. I stood agape in front of a couple of the strangest looking boards I’ve ever seen, not least because they were ridiculously short, so short in fact that they made the hookers miniskirts look positively Victorian.

Both around five foot eight, and pretty much reshaped knee boards with scallops in the rails, concaves and flutes on the bottoms, just subtle little experiments in drag and release. Derek had been thinking long and hard, and was experimenting in real time as he’s take a board home after a surf, scrape, grind and glass, take it back out, refining or discarding these strange little ideas on strange little boards generated in his strange, not so little mind.

Where these thoughts were taking him I had no real idea, but the scuttlebutt coming back from the coast was that he had been doing some weird, but very impressive things. To further confirm these impressions halfway through our meal a young guy came up to us, just having to compliment Derek on how good he had been surfing that afternoon.

Dropping backwards down an eight foot Bells wave and making it?

Getting tubed out there without fins or leg rope, and still rarely swimming?

I couldn’t wait to get to King Island.

To get there though required money and since I’d recently sold the family home to free up my life so that a dream or two might see the light of day, I had been prepared to throw, mad fool that I am, what I could at it. I’d called John Frank, of Litmus fame, to see if he might join me. A friend put me in touch with a freelance sound guy, Craig Johnson, who was to become a mainstay of the time down there. I got more and more nervous, wondering what the hell I was getting myself into, while I also marveled that it was actually happening to me.

And how would I ever make any money back? Stuff the money I thought back to myself. Things like this just doesn’t happen that often. In reality it had never happened before and could never, ever be repeated again, but I still didn’t know that, yet. I was on Cloud Nine, and didn’t really care.

Meanwhile, back on earth, wheels were turning.

The Australian Chamber Orchestra is a machine with many cogs, and one of the Big Cogs was Jessica Bloch, Assistant General Manager and a big fan of the treatment I’d written. She passed it on to a Board Member, who passed it onto his mate Kym Williams, head of Foxtel Australia, who passed it on to his documentary department who in turn decided they could help us. I suddenly had a (bit) bigger budget, and our team grew to include a producer friend of mine, Simon Whitney, who had a clue.... where I didn’t, and a mainstream director of photography. Tony Brennan didn’t have a clue about surfing, but did know how to shoot, and together with Jon they made a formidable team.

Two weeks later we were on King Island, and I was wondering what the fuck do I do now?

We did have plans, I’d shot listed certain scenes I wanted to get and my writing was all based around going with the flow with a vision of where I wanted it to all end up. With Derek running the surfing side of things it was very clearly, or it would soon become clear, really the Mad Cap Adventures of Dada Derek, as his deconstructionist tendencies nearly drove Simon mad, while I followed along, called waves for Tony, let Jon shoot surf from in the water and out to his heart’s content, and generally let things happen.

My God we were lucky.

Our first day at Martha’s, just hours after we landed, was high excitement for everyone. The atmosphere was electric as we unloaded the boards, boards so varied and in some cases, so damn beautiful, they begged to be ridden as, naturally, peoples’ internal visions of what they would do were, I imagined, spectacular and wildly successful.

When it came to the crunch though it proved to be wildly anything but. Wave after wave went by with fall after fall, until Derek... hit the water.

Almost the first wave he caught, a wedging peak rising from two feet to five saw him swing in a surprisingly tight trim and, climbing to its apex, suddenly throw five or six lightening fast three sixty degree turns before using the exit from the final spin to drive down the line and set up another display of surfing pyrotechnics.

At that moment I knew I had a movie.

Back from hospital, four holes in my guts and as sore as all get out... plus I can't surf for a month, but some might argue I never could.

It's a good thing I have some good news though, as today we went live with sales for Musica Surfica

Just click on the Musica Surfica above and you're through to our sales page at Great Southern, where your orders will be dealt with as fast as our grubby little hands can stick them in a box.

There's also a link there for Euro orders through x-treme video, who are distributing for us over in Europe.

And if you've got a blog, tell the world. I want my house back.

To whet your appetites, in the pack is Musica Surfica, the whole thing again with a VO by me explaining what went on, Finless and Finned extras, a phenomenal Music Extra with Richard Tognetti letting rip with Paganini's Caprice 24 on his Violectra, a Reshaping of the Boards section, and a special feature on Warren Pfeiffer, our Master of the Zen of Mat Riding. All the extras have a VO by me so if you can't stand my babbling on, turn the sound down.

But wait there's more! You'll also get a soundtrack CD, with all the music from the film, and there's a lot, mastered and sounding rather good if I say so myself.

Well what a week it's been.

All a bit of a blur really, what with the effects of jet lag never really leaving as I lurched from time zone to time zone.

After some 25 hours in the plane I arrived in New York, and promptly got the cab to what seemed to me to be a logical first base as at least there would be, though not familiar faces, at least friendly ones. The Mollusk Surf Shop in Williamsburg was that Port of Call and I have to say it is without doubt the most unusually placed, friendliest little surf shop I have ever been in. Tiny and full of Beautiful Surf Craft, the guys in there were welcoming and enthusiastic, especially given I had arrived with a brand new Maurice Cole thruster that had been ordered by Mike, one of the guys who both worked at Mollusk and helped organise the New York Surf Film Festival.

On hand also was the shops owner, Chris Gentile, artist and gentleman, who, as both, allowed me the pleasure of an upstairs art studio tour and offered a choice of his extensive and eclectic board collection if luck smiled on me and I scored some swell.

There also I met Tyler Breuer who was to feature prominently in the following days.

Then on to the hotel in Chinatown,and my first sight of the Big Apple which caused jaw rash as said appendage dragged along the freeway on our approach. The place is just massive. It was raining and late, the lights were on and just an incredible, impressive sight as I crossed the bridge from Brooklyn to downtown Manhattan.
The next day, I had hours to kill until the Festival so a rain soaked walk and and a visit to MOMA, and later a pre festival meeting at Tribeca before the evening showing of Musica Surfica.

Somewhere in there I was interviewed out on the footpath by Will from Fuel TV, while being watched by a guy peeing on the wall, and later expressing his stoke that he could observe a Fuel Interview in progress.

A unique experience for me, and only in New York.

There also I met Ras and Dave from Phoresia, who turned out to be lovely guys and great company over the couple of days they were there. Good surfers both as I discovered, but also good humoured, and passionately involved people. Thinkers as well and a pleasure to share a day or two with. New Friends.

Later that night, the Musica Surfica screening, which was very well received, followed by a long Q&A with Tyler and an enquiring audience. To say I was a little nervous would be kind, but it seems my excessive sweating and hand wringing went unobserved.

The next day a surf run with the Phoresia boys, courtesy of boards supplied by Chris of Mollusk, with me having the pleasure of a Christenson bonzer which proved an enlightening ride in the 3-4 foot crunchiness of Long Island. Much better waves than I could have expected as a hurricane swell arrived in perfect synchronicity for the NYSFF.

That night, festival time, and me being introduced to the delight of the Vodka Red Bull by Franke from France's Xtreme Video, this in an attempt to keep me awake as by then the jet lag had me in its' grip as I slept through film after film. Not being rude or disinterested, but I was just so shagged.

Sunday, another surf run , this time courtesy of Mark Temme, maker of The Rocks. Mark was a loud, motor mouth gem of a guy, a well traveled and world interested New York surfer, we had a ball, and the waves were good.

I always suffer from new spot weirdness, I rarely surf well (for me) straight up, but amidst all this managed to get a couple of nice ones, and my singular impression of New York surf and surfers is... way friendlier than they have a right to be, and they were way better than I expected. They have barrels in sight of the skyscrapers, and it was one of the most unique surf experiences of my life.

Awards Night.

Held at the Red Bull Space a block or so away from Tribeca, and I felt quite the odd one out as an Old Fart in a Sea of Youth. Just settled in for a quiet watch of the proceedings and the odd chat when Tyler B gets up to announce the Awards and the winner was... Musica Surfica!

You could of knocked me down with a feather and I managed to get through the speech without making a complete dick of myself but I'm not sure I thanked everyone I should have and I can barely remember what I said.

Later got hugged by girls of an age I haven't been hugged by since before they were born and I didn't complain one bit.

Great, surprising night in a wonderful city.

Next stop LA but next post more on New York as I haven't finished but wanted to get something down quickly. My apologies if this all sounds a bit lacking in flow but I can barely see for jetlag.

The push towards more environmentally friendly surfing has had me thinking.

Down here in Oz, to the best of my knowledge, the only attempts to produce boards with less reliance on materials sourced from the petro chemical industry involve wood or bamboo laminates, which are then either finished with epoxy or common garden variety resins.

The exception to this is Chris Garret, who is varnishing the wood laminate. His boards are quite beautiful, Dave Rastovich sings their praises, but very obviously there is a need for much greater care.

No one is making contemporary wooden boards in the style of the wonderful Grain Surfboards, or 42 in Oregon, Hess, Paul Jenson, Ocean Green in Nicaragua or Plywood in Brazil...go to phoresia for a list of what delights are offered in the Northern Hemisphere.

That being said, there are beacons down here for what is possible.

Paul and Sage Joske of Valla Surfboards in Nambucca heads have explored the koko'o. This shape features a flat deck and rounded bottom, and was originally made from willi willi wood.

Sage made one from a light wood found near his home, and glassed it for durabiltiy and strength. He loves this board, and took it and one other koko'o on a boat trip to the Maldives recently.

A seriously hot surfer, for someone like Sage to opt for his koko'o's is saying something powerful about the ability of ancient boards to fuel the fun.

I was lucky enough to get to know Tom Wegener while filming the Musica Surfica event on King Island.
As many of you know, Tom is a wonderful old school longboarder with a delightful, happy style. I have to say happy because Tom lives with a permanent grin, a grin I think erasable only by a thermonuclear warhead.

The one time I saw him down in the dumps was one morning after a call home...he was missing the family.

Tom's boards are, with the exception of a Fish, classic D fin paulownia longboards ranging from around 9 to 16 feet. In addition he has begun a range of boards in the style of the ancient hawaiian alaia. Shaped paulownia planks, these are about as environmentally friendly as a surfboard can get. A saw, a sander or sanding block, and a spoke shave or draw knife. No resin, no glass, and the residue can go on the garden.
The boards are sealed with a mixture of gum turpentine and linseed oil, and don't need waxing.

Now all this might sound like an ad for Tom, and you could take it that way.

But think about it.

These boards worked.

Sure... mostly straight line trimmers, very fast ones at that, but I did see basic bottom turns, rebounds and rudimentary cutbacks being achieved. They were viable surfboards, sourced from a timber yard. Tom is starting to experiment with variations on the original shapes, and he tells me some of the kids around Noosa are getting to a fair level of performance on them.

Even Tom Carrol has been seen riding a Wegener alaia at Newport, following on on his Musica Surfica experience.

So why not shape one yourself? Try some variations.. slot's, concaves, shape in some channels.. who knows? My point is the experimentation is so easy, and if it all goes wrong, whittle it down to a couple of boogie sized alaia's.

The belly board versions of them are body surfing with a double shot of caffeine.

How satisfying would it be to ride a wave on a simple piece of wood, holding the purest of trims imaginable?

I know I'm going to give it a go.

Musica Surfica Update.

Up in Sydney today for some meetings regarding Musica Surfica. A lot of work to do, but with luck it'll be on air in Australia before Christmas, so perhaps early next year for the DVD. Let's hope so.

While up there I gave Derek Hynd a call, and he was waiting at the Foxtel reception for me afterwards.

Come on Mick, I thought I'd give you a lift to the airport.

Of course, you'll have to sit in the back seat because Mack (the dog) sits next to me.

Good old Mack.

Good 'ol Derek.

Had a great chat on the way but not before he showed me his latest incarnation of a finless.

It's better in bigger waves, he says. Don't need to pump for speed so much.

Hmmm.

At 3ft 6" I think he's giving new meaning to minimal.

A few months back I discovered a young writer (to me everyone is young) who makes me feel rather jealous of his skills, insight and courage.

Jaimal Yogis hails from San Francisco now, but he has been on quite a journey over the past few years, and the insights gleaned have taken flight in his new book, Saltwater Buddha.

Now, I haven't read it all, as I hate reading pdf's, just loving the feel of paper and dozing off with good words in front of me is more my cup of tea, but I have spent many spare moments over the past couple of days been dazzled by what he says, how he says it and being constantly jolted by flashed of recognition.

It is wonderful reading, though if you lack introspection it may not be your cup of tea.

In less than ten days it will be released so keep your eye out for it...

This clip previews the book, but only skims the surface of it's depths. Enjoy, but patience for the way the window rides over the text. Blogger techno babble stops me from fixing it.




And speaking of enjoyment, the LA Times have just published a review of the Australian Chamber Orchestra's recent performance at Disney Hall in LA.

Here it is, to save you clicking through endless links. It is a doozy, I hope some of you saw them, but if you are in San Fran there is still a chance as they are playing at Zellerbach Hall, University of California, in Berkeley on Sunday 26 April. Not to be missed.



"The Australian Chamber Orchestra brought suitable trappings for its appearance in the Baroque Variations series at Walt Disney Concert Hall Tuesday night. The ornate harpsichord looked antique and worn. The ensemble decided to forgo the hall’s Scandinavian-modern music stands and use it own, old-fashioned folding models.

Like players of yore, most performed standing up. The repertory included proper Baroque works by Vivaldi and Rameau, as well as some middle-period Haydn and Mozart, which was close enough for jazz.

Actually, the evening was, in spirit, surprisingly close to jazz. These Aussies are no period-instrument junkies, no all-but-bewigged scholar/performer period-practice zealots. They dress in sophisticated modish black. Some of the guys sport nifty spiked hair styles (the women, curiously, dress more conservatively). Everyone plays everything with raw, high-spirited, rhythmically propulsive energy.

The ACO has just made a surf film, "Musica Surfica," which looks pretty great from the YouTube trailer. In it, surfers seem to be eloquent dancers on waves of purple haze accompanied by a Baroque soundtrack with the drive and din of Jimi Hendrix. Early music doesn’t get much hipper than this.

You might also say that early music doesn’t get much more authentic than this, either, if true period practice is less about history and more about making ancient music sound as though it were written yesterday.

The ACO was founded 20 years ago by violinist Richard Tognetti, who leads it from his fiddle. It has an international reputation and attracts top soloists. In the past, it has brought with it soprano Dawn Upshaw and pianists Piotr Anderszewski and Angela Hewitt to UCLA and the Orange County Performing Arts Center. Paul Lewis, the young British pianist whose recent fastidious recordings of Beethoven’s 32 piano sonatas has won raves, was on hand Tuesday as soloist in Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 12, K.414.

But the ensemble’s profile is still Down Under. Its recordings on the ABC Classics label -- which include old and new music and some smart crossover -- are hard-to-find expensive Australian imports in the States. And the ensemble didn't do itself any favors by collaborating on the widely promoted but trivial “Classical Destinations” television series. PBS would do far better to pick up “Musica Surfica.”

Or maybe it should just broadcast a terrific concert like Tuesday’s in Disney. The evening began with the 11th of Vivaldi’s 12 concertos from the “L’Estro Armonico” series, with Tognetti as startling soloist and conductor of a small contingent of strings. His approach to Vivaldi was one of extreme articulation. Strings were sharply attacked with bows. The ensemble virtuosity was breathtaking. Drama took center stage, and yet through it all Tognetti maintained an engaging singing line.

Mozart’s Concerto was, in contrast, exceptional for its melting eloquence. Lewis is a wonderfully fluid player, and I began to have visions of surfers here, as he seemed to glide over ravishing strings with sure, delicate grace. Heavenly melodies were shaped for maximum pleasure and exchanged between piano and strings like kisses and caresses. Maybe this is the place to praise the three violas. Never buried, they felt somehow to be Mozart’s mellow soul. The pairs of horns and oboes stood in the back adding a sonic glow. In the ACO, winds and brass are second fiddle.

Haydn’s Symphony No. 44 was played after intermission. It is known as the “Mourning” Symphony because Haydn may or may not have asked for its slow movement to be used at his funeral. The movement, here, was given an extraordinarily delicate treatment, Tognetti and his colleagues producing the finest slender thread of exquisite string tone, the sound of the soul leaving corporeal flesh. But the rest of the raucous symphony was pure red meat.

The suite to Rameau’s “Dardanus,” closed the program with grand flourishes. Lacking recorders and flutes, only part of this color-saturated French Baroque score could be presented. Two horns stood apart on risers. The oboes were embedded with the violas, and the lone bassoon shared space with the cellos and bass. Once more, it wasn’t their show now when the strings rocked and rolled in six short, irresistible movements.

The last was war music and a rollicking riot. If there were still mainstream surf hits, I’d bet that with a bit of electronic voodoo and a backbeat this could be turned into one. After 20 years, this red hot band is long overdue for a major record contract and star treatment. And next time the Australians come to town, bring the kids."

-- Mark Swed LA Times













Photo: British pianist Paul Lewis performs a Mozart concerto with the Australian Chamber Orchestra conducted by violinist Richard Tognetti, left. Credit: Barbara Davidson / Los Angeles Times

MUSICA SURFICA UPDATE:

No doubt some of you may be wondering what's happened to Musica Surfica?

We've got it in two Festivals so far. The Surfilmfestibal08 in San Sebastian has it on opening night (in two weeks time). The New York Surf Film Festival tell me they're opening with it too so I can't tell you how happy I am about that. A great thrill and honour and our thanks to both committees. Also we've got entries into other mainstream festivals and will continue to do so, but how we go there will be interesting as the criteria broaden markedly. That being said, it's so different so who knows?

Over the past couple of months we've also been sorting the marketing plan, I've been designing sleeves, DVD and Soundtrack CD faces, recording directors commentary for the extras (quite a few), trying to make a living and trying to edit a short of the film to send out that gives a sense of MusicaSurfica in two and a half minutes.

Not easy as I was so close to it, and not having done one before what I ended up with was crap, so I went surfing.

So the other day the boys (Simon and Richard, who produced the film) and a young editor who saw it for the first time last week, really liked it and said he'd have a shot, sat down and produced this. The main musical piece is Paganini Caprice 5, as played by Richard and Satu in Derek Hynd's old cheese factory.

I hope you enjoy it.

A blown out and fairly large swell left me few options when my Window of Opportunity came on the weekend.

In these conditions there is one spot that can be relied on to produce some fun... a little break called the Pines, on the Hoax Coast, which, on it's day does a fair imitation of a California point break, even though it's a reef jutting out from a point.

Always frequented by a flotilla of longboards, and a few guys on short boards kidding themselves they might actually get a wave, I opted for a longboard sesh and dragged out the 9'2" Nat. The only longboard I've ever owned, it adorned the roof as I blasted (well, drove carefully within the speed limit...Dad) down for a bit of fun.

I had a great time,with enough waves to have me completely rooted after two hours, and then home.

On another note, we are in the throws of getting Musica Surfica out there, working on distribution, the DVD with assorted extras, and selling it internationally. We haven't had a bad review yet and indeed, I've sent the odd copy off OS for unbiased peer appraisal. Some are still to go, but as I write this Ted at Six Foot and Perfect has a copy and has now posted his thoughts, Seamouse in England, Ras will have one soon over in Nova Scotia (Kuh Yah) and a couple others that I'm waiting on dubs for. Keep an eye out for what they have to say.

Also Tom Wegener has just seen it and it will be covered on his website soon.

If you want one, expressions of interest gratefully accepted and I'm sure the first few buyers will qualify for Special Introductory Offers. I'm also working on the Musica Surfica website, but until then Safetosea is it by proxy.

For now though. here's a picture of the Pines courtesy of the Hoax Coast website and also what might be the cover for the DVD.


*As reviews come up I'll liven the links up... just to make it easier.

A post a day after I've already done one?

Well.. for a good cause.

Every couple of months the ACO tours Australia, and when they hit Melbourne Richard, Satu, Julian and I try to catch up for a surf. Next month though, Victorian surfers are in for a treat as we've managed to organise, with the help of my mate Marky, a showing of Musica down the coast at Barwon Heads, and a performance by the three above luminaries in the Barwon Heads Town Hall.

So if you're on the west coast, or feel like taking a weekend down there, you'll get Musica Surfica, plus Richard, Satu, and Jules playing some wonderful music afterwards.

Proceeds of the night go the the 13th Beach Boardriders and the Barwon Heads Fine Music Society. Now that is a marriage made in heaven.

Oh.. and we'll be selling the film too.

Get in fast and give Mark a call as tickets are flying out the door.

A very mixed couple of weeks, with little time or inclination to do much writing.

The Clean Ocean Festival came and went, numbers were more than a little down because of an unfortunate but unavoidable clash with The Melbourne Grand Prix, and the opening game of the Footy (Australian Rules Football) season.

Lessons learned but it had its wonderful moments, be it the films, the great people involved or the walk along a lonely bush track to a large and ruffled ocean that afforded spectacle but nothing to ride.

I didn't manage to catch every session though I'd seen every film, of course. My standout was Ollie Banks, Dan Crockett and John Eldridge's little wonder, Without Thought. On a big screen it is sublime. A small, impressionist delight.

The selfish side of me got a hit too when, at the end of the Musica Surfica showing, Kylie Clark, the photographer commissioned to cover the event, came up to me and made my day.

Then this past week I've been playing host to Korduroy TV's Cyrus Sutton.

Needing a little help in connecting with things of interest in darkest Victoria, Cyrus has had a relentless schedule down here, hooking up with Maurice Cole and Wayne Lynch, all to fuel the beast that is his wonderful web channel. A great guy, thoughtful and reserved, with masses of accumulated wisdom for one so young. We've had the odd surf together, he even filmed old fatboy at it which is a bit groan inducing as it was fun onshore junk but when you are blessed with elephantine grace the vision, however good the cinematographer, is bound to disappoint.

On Sunday, Richard Tognetti and I had a quick surf, and after it introduced Cyrus to him, which prompted an invitation to backstage access and a chance to film the performance of The Glide on Monday night. That evening was without doubt the most transcending combination of live music and film I've ever experienced.

If it ever comes your way, see it. Sydney people.. go. Thursday and Friday this week.

In a couple of hours I'm picking Cy up and he's off to Sydney for perhaps a rest before heading back home to Cali.

Pics: A lonely track, Cy and Maurice, plus a row of shaping history, via Hipstamatic, outside The Chook Shed.

I'm going to break recent tradition today, and not talk about Musica Surfica for one post, as it's Sunday.

The day a lot of people go to church.

Now I'm a lapsed Catholic. And by lapsed I mean see ya later alligator, out the door, gone for love and money and don't forget to turn out the lights.

All this started when I was about four. We were a Mass on Sunday, don't eat meat on Friday family, and I had my first day at school in February, 1959. I also got hit that day for talking. Not a good start.

We learned by rote the Catechism, (who made the world - God made the world) etc etc.

By the following year I was well and truly in the loop, knew all about heaven and hell, limbo, purgatory, and all the sins. Mortal, venial, and the appropriate punishments for all. None were pretty, and eternal damnation for not going to church on a Sunday really took the cake. I also said my prayers every night and believed the lot.

One day in that September we were all getting dressed on a cold early spring morning. Dad had just left for work, Mum was wizzing about, seeing to our tiny needs. Kathy, 5, Brendan, 3, little Julieanne, 18 months and I at 6 were taking turns huddling in front a small bar radiator to get warm.

I'd left the room and I didn't see what happened but Julie over balanced, touched the bar, and was electrocuted.

My next memory is Mum yelling at me to get help as she put Julie on a bed to give mouth to mouth. I ran outside, screamed to a neighbour to call an ambulance, and went back and prayed while Mum tried to save her.

My last and lasting memory of Julie is a small pink burn mark on her finger. It is vivid, photographic and will never leave me.

She died on the way to hospital.

At that moment, the rot set in for me, and the rest of the family I'm sure, and I for one realised I'd been sold a packet of wet crackers when it came to religion. We all went through the motions for about ten more years, I still said my prayers (God bless Mummy and Daddy, Kathy and Brendan, Grandma, Grandpa, Mumma and Poppa and Aunty Brenda, and Julieanne in heaven...)

But that dwindled away and sometime in the early seventies, Dad marched out for the last time when our 80 odd year old parish priest launched into a fire and brimstone denouncement of late comers to church, only to realize he'd begun mass early.

That was it for Dad, and I'd just been going because of tradition.

My belief system evolved into one centred on the golden rule...Do unto others etc. I lapsed often, and as a twenty something in the seventies and early eighties I did as much doing as I could as often as I could, but that was what you did, wasn't it?

Still, I tried my best, and still do, and it's what I tell my kids.

In the late nineties, I met and became friends with Nat Young. Nat, bless him, is a big, opinionated lunk, who has a few little wisdoms he likes to share.

One is about surfing, and the importance of keeping a beat. Another revolves around his motto, 'make it a beautiful life'. And the other is spreading Tom Blake's message of the "Church of the Open Sky'.

This one I've always liked, and knew it long before I met Nat, but tell it to a non Open Sky person and they look at you kind of strange.

But the fact is this Open Sky is what surrounds this little planet of ours. A view of the earth from space reveals it as a tiny mote in the vastness, and this for all of us is IT. We live, die, and all human existence is played on this delicate stage.

We divide ourselves through tradition, religion, tribe and race... but we are all human, and in our humanity we are equal.

I believe there is no surety of heaven, nirvana or 70 virgins waiting in paradise, that doing the right thing by our fellow man or woman is an end in itself and a good enough reason for being here.

And the oblivion of death is no worse than the oblivion before we were born. You just aren't, just as once you weren't, and then were.

Our legacy is the memory of our existence, good or bad. Our immortality is our children, and the world we leave them.



On another note, Clayfin mentioned he thought one of my sunset shots below would have looked better with a kitten in it.

Behold The Kitten. And it's cuter than a Golden Calf.

On the weekend away I went to a little party up in the hills behind Apollo Bay. A sixtieth birthday, (oh God I'm getting invites to sixtieths now) the birthday girls, as they were twins, were friends of my mate Bob's, and the party was at the home of one of the two, a Herb Garden and Nursery she and her husband had built up over the past thirty years.

The property had that patina only years of hard work and love can bring, rich with perfume, and the smell of burning sausages.

Contrary to expectations, the guests ranged from nought to well past sixty, this being such a community gathering it drove home the difference between a precious, don't bring the kids, let's not make a mess sensibility of the same party in the inner city, and the inclusive delight that this little soiree had in spades. Between my feet were little ones, wandering amongst the tables were early teens trying to score a sip from the odd errant glass, a dad stood with his newborn, with hovering admirers wanting a hold, a rekindling of that delicious feeling of a life so new and tiny in your arms.

If only they didn't cry and poo so much.

I mixed, me being the blow-in and Bobby introducing me. Once or twice my name was recognized, as, it being Apollo Bay, I have the pleasure of showing Musica Surfica at their Music Festival in late March. My fifteen minutes of fame gets to be extended, just a bit as my name is on the program and clearly some people have a good memory.

So the evening progresses, I've had a couple of nice chats and am well into my second glass of red when the call comes to sing Happy Birthday.

Making my way into the rambling, art filled house, the crowd opens a little to allow me a passage to a spot right in front of the cake, just behind a gaggle of four year olds, awestruck by the candles, and the Birthday Girls, one resplendent in a pink tutu just so you could tell them apart. The song was sung, candles out and then the band lit up for a few songs.

Joining them was the non tutu wearing twin, the lady of the house, who happily whipped out her flute from who knows where, and off they went, with a little set of songs that had the tiny ones in front up and prancing.

They went unnoticed at first, but then I looked down and realised that the show going on at just under three feet was the Best Show in Town. Five very little girls were in the groove, fairy arms with delicate fingers tracing cloud shapes and circles as they tippy toed about in the tiny space that they owned.

Above them we all stood smiling, cameras were out trying to capture the moment, we laughed, we watched and the songs kept coming. A couple of the photographing mums abandoned the snapping and had to get tapping, so soon the little ones had company, the floor got crowded and the moment happily dissolved as they all joined in.

I'd left my camera in the car, so no pics to accompany this little yarn, but I began the winding drive down a star roofed Wild Dog Road with a smile a mile wide.

The pic is a drawing I did of Tommy when he was about the same age, yet to evolve into the Devil Incarnate, and probably just before he fell off the fence and broke both his arms. The little wretch couldn't keep out of trouble, even then.

A non surfing entry today.

In Japan the institution of 'National Living Treasures' provides a recognition of individuals of great cultural significance. These individuals serve as icons of what we can be, the best in all of us. Australia borrowed the idea some time ago. Richard Tognetti, of Musica Surfica fame, is one, and he was granted the honour at the ripe old age of around 32.

Another is Michael Leunig.

If you don't know of Michael, he is the most humane of men, a humorist and satirist who's cartoons, prose and verse are funny, poignant and always pointed at some gem or lump of coal embedded in the human condition. Sometimes you won't agree, some people think he's mad, but his perceptions have delighted me (mostly) for nearly 40 years.

Attached is a cartoon I clipped out years ago. I placed it near my screen to remind me what the internet can be about, the bad that comes with the good.

The first reaction I had when I saw it was "it's all about porn", but even pornography can be life affirming if it is about joy, and fun, mutual consent on all levels, and respect... Sex is part of life.

On reflection, though, Michael's cartoon spotlights for me the horrors that can come unbidden to our screens.

The other day I was sent a link, with the comment: "Check the link below for some good 'ol American justice." It also said "hold on right to the end... it's unbelievable."

It sure was. Follow this link only if you've got a strong stomach.

For me it's one of the most horrifying things I've ever seen. It features a police chase, followed by what can only be described as the murder of some poor fucker who panicked when he saw a cop car... zigged instead of zagged. The officer in question is heard, halfway through the chase, saying if he catches this guy, he's "gonna take him down"...

At no stage is the driver a real threat to the officer, he's running, that's all.

Finally ramming the fleeing car, the officer get's out and in a full combat stance, proceeds to pump bullets at the driver...and then is seen, kneeling on the bonnet, pumping some more into the driver's slumped body.

If he stuck a funnel in the guy's mouth he couldn't get more lead in.

Following up all this on the net, the police paint it as a drug dealer who tried to ram the police several times and the officer acted in self defence.

No. At no time is that officer under any real threat. He wanted blood and boy he got it.

Still, I'm not here to rant too much over his motives.

My first response was to brand him a fat redneck with a gun fetish and a tiny willy, which may or may not be true. On reflection I think it boils down to recruiting and training. When someone is trained to a level where instinct is guided by a cool head, these situations would rarely, if ever, arise.

Consider this as a comparison.

Showing an action in Afghanistan, Australian forces are seen engaging the Taliban.

Now, this could be any well trained force. I use this as an example only.

These guys are cool, aware and dispassionate. I would like to think any police force was as well trained as this. As the army is supposed to protect us as a nation, so too do the police protect us as communities and sometimes from ourselves.

The driver clearly had a problem, his reaction said as much, and a level headed cop would not have had the responses this one had.

Instead of " I'm going to take him down", imagine if it'd been followed by " to the station", for a " good talking to" or even a "quiet chat" out the back.

Sorry for attempting humour with this, but it guts me to think that even the worst of us could be subject to such summary justice, Australian, American or anywhere else.

Now what the hell am I doing sitting in front of the bloody computer on a Sunday afternoon?

Well, Victoria is a place of extremes, and today it is flatter than last weeks bubbly, which is a bit of a bummer as we have cause to celebrate.

On waking this morning I was greeted by an email..

Back two steps..

On being woken this morning by Richie leaving a message saying he can't be bothered today as it's... (the bit about flat above), I checked the emails on the Mac and there before me was one from our agent en France, Franck Bywalski of X-treme Video informing me Musica Surfica had won Best Picture at the International Surf Film Festival in St Jean de Luz, and had also won Best Surfer (Derek Hynd) as well as Best Soundtrack.

So instead of going surfing I whipped in to the office to rejig the rejig of our cover getting ready for the next print run of the DVD/CD pack.

And to top if off and make it a bit more tasty too, we have a special sneak preview from Jack McCoys upcoming opus.

The pics, then, today, are the lineup of winners at the presentation last night in France, with Franck just left of centre holding a whopping big Trophy, and the new cover, festooned with wreaths.

To all involved in making it, thanks my friends, and if you haven't bought a copy yet, now there's even more incentive.

Now where's that bubbly?

A different weekend has just flashed by.

On being informed that Musica Surfica was showing at a wonderful little gallery/coffee shop in Manly called Saltmotion, and that my partners in crime, Richard Tognetti and Derek Hynd were going to be there, both to play and speak, I thought it appropriate to throw caution to the wind and join them.

Not least in my list of reasons to go was the realisation that it would be the first time all three of us had gathered for a showing at the same time... so I saw the chance to say thanks for the ride, catch up for a laugh, and join an appreciative audience in never passing up a chance to watch Rich, Satu and Julian play live.

The show went down a treat, and if you visit the Saltmotion site you can see some pics of the proceedings.

Luckily the swell coincided with the stay and we all scored a fun splash at Manly and later I joined my mate Simon Phin in a few fun peaks at Freshwater, the home of Australian Surfing, as it was on that beach that the Duke had his historic ride, way back when. I also had the privilege of standing in front of the Duke's board, in plexiglass case, and seeing a serious piece of surfing history, in the empty clubrooms on a quiet Saturday afternoon.

So the pics... me dutifully saying cheese, Derek looking like the cat that just got the rat, and Rich looking aghast at something Derek must have just said, plus a Manly peak, and a little of the performance.

Tomorrow another post as New York is in for a treat this weekend.

To Joel and Saltmotion, thanks. It was a great night.

And to Simon and Nicole... thank you too for putting me up, and putting up with me.

A couple more reviews for Musica Surfica came through today.

The tone, again, similar to previous and generally the response has been really good. People mostly love it, none hate it, a few a little puzzled, but at least it gets them thinking. Hopefully soon we'll sell it in overseas, and to free-to air - giving it the wider audience we'd like.

Also, Reverb asked me about the board I rode at the spot in the last post. It was a 6'2' x 20.5 x 2.5" Maurice Cole with about 3/4 inch of concave running into a slight v in the tail. The board pictured is very similar, but a bit thicker. And Rev... the wall wasn't that mellow. A lot of power and on the day a bit bumpy with sections. It made it interesting, with nice bits to work off. Fin set up was Red X with an asymmetric placement. Toe side fin forward, heel back and rear in the middle but should have been right back.

A TASTE OF MUSICA SURFICA

Over the past few months we've been busily working on MusicaSurfica. The edit is coming together, and a second stage of filming is coming up on the north coast of NSW.

This little snippet gives a taste of two forms of virtuosity. Richard Tognetti and Satu Vanska on violin, and Derek Hynd surfing finless at a variety of breaks on King Island. It's shot in wide screen format so YouTube has done a bit of a squish, but I'm sure you'll get the drift.

Performed in the the Old King Island Dairy, the piece featured is the pizzicato from Pagannini's Caprice 24. Richard picks holes in his playing here, but keep in mind he'd been surfing for 8 hours this day, as had Satu, and he had also face planted the bottom, hence a rather red forehead and nose. I think they did pretty well, all things considered.

And keep an eye out for the chap in the audience at the end... it's the infamous Wire, first surfer on King Island, and guardian of all its secrets.

I had a call today from a future fan (I hope) of Musica Surfica named Rowan, who wanted a copy of the film. Now Rowan, I knew... from a previous communication... had been having a play at making wooden boards, and had sent me a link to some shots of his latest project.

So we arranged to catch up for a coffee, I'd give him his copy of MS as long as he brought along his wooden board for me to have a squizz at.

To say I was impressed is understating. Remembering this is a first ever attempt at it, and he's produced a very nice, if a little heavy 6'4ish twin that paddles really well and works a treat. Rowan is a big guy, must be 6'1 or so, and around 90K I'd guess, but the board puts him out near the longboards and it's a happy glide in.

The frame next to it is his next project and is the beginnings of what will be a Simmons inspired twin made from paulownia, again his own construction method but different again from the already built boards construction method, which is a spine and rib style, with banded ply on the rails.

He's an inventive lad and clearly has a way with his hands. That he is a design engineer working at GM in Melbourne might have a bit to do with it.

I'm really looking forward to the end result on the Simmons experiment. Watch out Swaylocks.













Because I'm out of the water for bit longer and going vaguely stir crazy not being able to surf, or at least attempt my version of it, Finless Freddy, my new nom de surf, has been mucking about sculpting. Oh God you say... as if poetry isn't enough what 's he up to now?

My favourite all time sculptor is Brancusi, and those familiar with his work might see vague similarities between his approach and mine, at least when it comes to heads. The big difference is his is worth millions and mine is soon to be recycled as modelling wax is expensive and I'll try something else. I will say though that it is bloody good fun and better than staring at my scarified navel which incidentally is getting to look as far away from a six pack as it's ever been, and that is a long, long, way.

Musica Surfica is days away from being on sale. About an hour ago I saw first proofs of the packaging, a little dark, so I've just completed those changes and sent them off. As a sneak peak for you denizens of my little blog, here is the box in a hurriedly done photoshop facsimile of the real deal.

Next time you see it I hope it is in your hot little hands.

If that ain't a hint my name is Mr Potato Head.

Details of where how to get those hands on a copy will be linked to this entry in the next day or so.