the decision to go up to Kalkarinji for the Gurindji Freedom Day festival was sort of spontaneous. i'd meant to head up there since i realised that the 40th anniversary of the Wave Hill walk-off would be celebrated, and the fact that a chance to see Kev Carmody play was on the bill, well I had to cadge a ride.
the hippies that have been crashed out at my place - i use the term pejoratively, though i quite liked them - were heading up in a convoy, and i jumped aboard. stowing away on the voyage were a few million bacteria who knocked me out for a few days with the flu that's been going around. that combined with the - er - cultural differences of travelling with a big group of people put me in quite a grumpy mood by the time i got there.
all was saved, however, by the fantastic festival, which was well organised, friendly, historically significant, and set by a gorgeous bit of the Victoria River which was eminently swimmable and croc-free.
Kev played all the hits but he was even crankier than me. at the end of his set he said 'that's it, i'm not playing again, i'm too old.' there's a tribute album coming out... i guess he can happily retire after forty-odd years of musical genius, but i hope not. other performance highlights were the Narbalek Band, who shone amidst the usual assortment of indig rock bands, which always play a special kind of surf rock/reggae. I reckon someone taught someone Wipeout on the guitar in the sixties and it spread like a virus.
there is also a special indigenous-kid booty dance, but at this fest the kids took it one step further and had a full-scale dance-off. two teams and total war for about an hour. i suspect those three-year-olds strutting their stuff will be writing raps about it for years to come. south bronx versus brooklyn, move on over.
the prize for comedy act had to be shared between Mary G (the fabulously cheeky indigenous drag queen) and the ALP, who got up and made sad little speeches about how great they used to be. so gough poured a fistful of sand into lingiari's hand thirty-two years ago, that doesn't make you relevant. peter garret was there but they are still keeping him in his box. the recent land rights legislation has moved everything backwards about forty years, and there's not a whole lot being done about it.
i hitched home from katherine cause all the hippies were heading up to darwin. a pretty uneventful hitch, though great fun. on monday afternoon i was waiting in elliot for over an hour til i got picked up by three Blokes who were on some kind of mateship bonding road trip bender. they handed me a tinny of fourex in a stubby cooler and said 'i hope you don't mind sharing that seat with the esky.' yesterday we pulled into Barrow Creek (my favourite roadside watering hole) at about ten in the morning. i got home in good time but my liver's still suffering.
now i'm back again again, and about to embark on a mentoring program with the NT writer's centre. myself and three other young Territory writers have been selected for a few months of support from different established writers, and i've been allocated Philip McLaren, a Kamilaroi man who writes thrillers. i'll have my first meeting in two week's time, which might be just long enough to untangle the more convoluted snags i've got this book into. it's a bloody good reason to stay in Alice; the weather's hot again, the pool's re-opening soon, and life is looking pretty good.
the hippies that have been crashed out at my place - i use the term pejoratively, though i quite liked them - were heading up in a convoy, and i jumped aboard. stowing away on the voyage were a few million bacteria who knocked me out for a few days with the flu that's been going around. that combined with the - er - cultural differences of travelling with a big group of people put me in quite a grumpy mood by the time i got there.
all was saved, however, by the fantastic festival, which was well organised, friendly, historically significant, and set by a gorgeous bit of the Victoria River which was eminently swimmable and croc-free.
Kev played all the hits but he was even crankier than me. at the end of his set he said 'that's it, i'm not playing again, i'm too old.' there's a tribute album coming out... i guess he can happily retire after forty-odd years of musical genius, but i hope not. other performance highlights were the Narbalek Band, who shone amidst the usual assortment of indig rock bands, which always play a special kind of surf rock/reggae. I reckon someone taught someone Wipeout on the guitar in the sixties and it spread like a virus.
there is also a special indigenous-kid booty dance, but at this fest the kids took it one step further and had a full-scale dance-off. two teams and total war for about an hour. i suspect those three-year-olds strutting their stuff will be writing raps about it for years to come. south bronx versus brooklyn, move on over.
the prize for comedy act had to be shared between Mary G (the fabulously cheeky indigenous drag queen) and the ALP, who got up and made sad little speeches about how great they used to be. so gough poured a fistful of sand into lingiari's hand thirty-two years ago, that doesn't make you relevant. peter garret was there but they are still keeping him in his box. the recent land rights legislation has moved everything backwards about forty years, and there's not a whole lot being done about it.
i hitched home from katherine cause all the hippies were heading up to darwin. a pretty uneventful hitch, though great fun. on monday afternoon i was waiting in elliot for over an hour til i got picked up by three Blokes who were on some kind of mateship bonding road trip bender. they handed me a tinny of fourex in a stubby cooler and said 'i hope you don't mind sharing that seat with the esky.' yesterday we pulled into Barrow Creek (my favourite roadside watering hole) at about ten in the morning. i got home in good time but my liver's still suffering.
now i'm back again again, and about to embark on a mentoring program with the NT writer's centre. myself and three other young Territory writers have been selected for a few months of support from different established writers, and i've been allocated Philip McLaren, a Kamilaroi man who writes thrillers. i'll have my first meeting in two week's time, which might be just long enough to untangle the more convoluted snags i've got this book into. it's a bloody good reason to stay in Alice; the weather's hot again, the pool's re-opening soon, and life is looking pretty good.
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