Yow. Here's giving positive thoughts to Bill Leak, the cartoonist for The Australian - on the weekend he fell off a balcony at adman John Singleton's house.

He's undergone brain surgery, and has condition has been downgraded - but it's still very much touch-and-go.

This morning was a bit bizarre.

I'd made it into work early in order to try to complete some stuff before other staffers arrived. That was all well and good; I was sitting at my desk by 8AM, after walking past two construction-type dudes outside. They'd given me some funny looks, but that's nothing new; I ignored it and gone inside.

Turns out I should have paid a little more attention. Because about half an hour after I'd arrived (and following the arrival of my brother), we heard a shrieking sound coming from outside.

Initially, it sounded like someone horsing around; putting on a voice and joking. But it kept going. Suddenly, it clicked: that was the voice of the hairdresser who works downstairs.

My brother and I ran downstairs to see the hairdresser holding his face, crying. Blood was sprayed all over the ground, and the inside of his salon looked distinctly Jackson Pollock. We ran around the corner, following two tradesmen who were attempting to chase down the guys who'd hit the hairdresser.

It didn't work. One of the tradies started to doubt his bravery, I think, when he saw there were two guys to handle. It must have fled when one of the guys they were chasing turned to him and said "Leave it - you don't know the whole story!" before gesturing and fleeing.

We returned to the front of the complex to find people calling police, milling about and - quite quickly - making themselves scarce. Thereafter followed a morning of talking to police officers and detectives, and finding that our office had been cordoned off with crime scene tape, pending a visit from forensics to lift prints from the door. It was like CSI: Chatswood.

We have to go to the cop shop on Monday and make statements. They're pretty interested in mine because I was the only person (apart from the tradies, who I believe made themselves scarce afterwards) saw the blokes who punched the hairdresser.

It's kind of sobering to have this sort of thing happen around your workplace. The hairdresser has had trouble (over the last six months or so) with people smashing his windows, and I can't help but think that this is related. The two guys took some of the hairdresser's jewelry, but that's a bit of a cover, I think - if they were just after stuff they could take and run, they could have rolled me when there was nobody around and been done with it.

No, instead they waited for the hairdresser to go and buy some breakfast, open his salon. Then they went inside, and supposedly went through the rigmarole of asking for a haircut - before jobbing him.

The fact that they waited around so long for him indicates that it's something a little more involved than basic robbery. If it had been an attempted sexuality-based bashing - the hairdresser is particularly effeminate, but I have no idea if he's gay (and don't give a rat's, anyway) - then these guys would have had him on the floor for a real kicking. Yet they didn't, so... I 'm not sure. It's a bit concerning, nonetheless.

There's still blood on the footpath outside. I sincerely hope there won't be more. If they're rent-a-thugs, though, I hope they can tell the difference between 2 and 2A; we share the same building, and I'm hoping that I don't have to deal with a bit of face-whacking of my own.

(Also, the woman who walked around the blood with a grimace and said to a police officer that they should "clean that up, because it's disgusting"?  Fuck you, lady.)

However, in somewhat cheerier news, today I discovered that you can now stay with [half of] the Leyland Brothers! I hope to God that Mal Leyland would be up for some dodgy tale-telling. (If you have no idea who these two are, look here. Bush Tucker Man's got nuthin' on Mike and Mal.)

"Where are we today, Mike?"
"Buggered if I know, Mal."

Also: beware of the creepy gnome. I suspect he's the midget world's version of Pyramid Head, but what would I know?

Just a quick note: apparently, the volume of the All Tomorrow's Parties set that My Bloody Valentine played in the US (which we attended) was 140dB.

140dB.

Supposedly, that's what the level was at the mixing desk. I can't tell if that's accurate, but it was almost painfully loud at times. And, indeed, it sounded better from outside the auditorium.

If you look at this chart, it suggests that Shields and co. are as loud as standing 30m or so from a spooled-up jet engine.

Nice. Take that, Pete Townshend.

This morning, I decided that the time had come to change my desktop. Not that there's anything wrong with the cold kiss of the cyberman; I just wanted something different. And so I hit Google Images, poking around for something taiko-ey.

And then I discovered this video.

But wait! I wouldn't click that if I were you. Not unless you're at work somewhere that gives a hearty thumbs-up to naked taiko performance.

Yes, that's right. Naked taiko.

So I had to watch it. After all, I've spent a fair amount of time watching guys in nappies beat the Christ out of big drums, so I'm not someone who is easily fazed. And I found it to be one of the most sexless things ever. Well, apart from the nudity.

See, some Japanese (no, really?) filmmakers decided that traditional percussion needed a little spicing up, so they added naked women to the mix. Disinterested naked women, oiled up. Because nothing says percussion like oiled thighs, right?

Right.

Anyway, the playing, such as it is, is pretty dull. It's a nagado/odaiko piece, and it's not exactly a difficult thing to perform. Nudity, even, shouldn't be a barrier, but the fire just isn't there. It's creepily like watching RealDolls play, and that's discounting the weird pixelation of pubis that Japanese vision is known for. None of the expected porno-japes with bachi were in evidence, thankfully.

Mind you, I'm sure it'd be hard to muster up any enthusiasm for a gig where the cameraperson spends their time pointing upwards at everything - particularly when you know that something of that everything will be laboriously painted out with a blur tool in postproduction.

I particularly pitied the odaiko player; it looked like her performance was akin to jogging without a bra. Eesh.

Something crossed my mind while watching, though - why the pro microphone setup? Does an entire album of this stuff exist? And if so, who the hell is it marketed to? I don't imagine the market for nudist taiko would be that much of a cash-cow. (Perhaps this is why a google for the video's cover shows that it is released by a company named Soft Demand? Oh, ho ho.)

Still, it was more appealing that the video [as yet unshot and as always, unholy] of me playing chu in naught but tabi. Ick. That's one that'll be hard to wipe off your mental TiVo.

Funnily, it seems that the taiko performance would fit in well on the Naked World Records site. I know that like me, you've lain awake at nights wondering how many bras have been successfully unhooked with one hand in twenty seconds. Now you can fret no more, with the help of a little video. Ever pondered how many tennis balls could be held without the aid of clothing or containers? Now we know.

Creepy? Yes. I was intrigued to learn that they deem Ozzy Osbourne to be the first major recording artist to perform naked; I would've thought that Josephine Baker probably counted. But what would I know? Given that they seem, judging from their links, to be catering to the furtive wank crowd rather than those seeking Guinness-like strength of reasearch, it's not surprising that there's a bit of record fudging going on.

Still, they're looking for record submissions, so if you feel that nude pogosticking is your thing, you go rock the casbah.

Back to taiko, I think, to make things a little more classy.

I've been considering buying a taiko. I've played for over a year now, and I think my performance would benefit from the familiarity with an individual drum, and practising would become a little easier. There's only so much you can do, after all, with air-drumming.

So, I've been looking around at drums. I generally play a chudaiko in my classes with TaikOz, though the sizes of the drums in the dojo come under the odaiko classification on most manufacturers' sites. There's a bunch of manufacturers around - from Tasmania to the US to Japan - and they all make varying types of drums, from traditional to converted wine barrels. But none have really grabbed me like Asano Taiko's instruments. They're the ones that TaikOz use in performance, mostly, and I believe they're Japan's oldest and most venerated taiko manufacturing concern.

They look like this:



See what I mean? Sexy. 

There's a lot of work in those drums, and some pretty expensive materials. You can imagine the time it takes to hollow and finish the body, to cure the skin, to stretch and tack it to the drum. It's labour-intensive. And, as you'd expect, it's expensive.

How expensive? Well, for a two-shaku drum - one with a 60cm head - much like the one in front, you'd be looking at ¥1,743,000. Which, in our rapidly dropping buck, roughly comes to $25,400. If you choose the non-premium grade of wood, you'd be looking at ¥1,218,000 - or about $17,000. That's without shipping, cases or the stand that you'd need.

Ouch. It's a bit expensive. It's a hand-crafted item, and incredibly long-lasting... but still, incredibly cash-draining. But Lord, how I want one.

Other options? I'd been looking at taiko from this mob: I could have a nagado with a head of 30 inches for US$3,000 or an okedo with a 48-inch head for US$7,200 - but still there's the shipping. Hmm.

Still, today I found something that may be a good interim purchase. It seems that Remo (the percussion manufacturers, not the boutique company selling overpriced T-shirt) have created a taiko collection. The nagado don't have cowskin heads, and they're tensioned by a more modern system, but they're still identifiably taiko:



The good part? They retail for about US$1600. I haven't investigated the local price - they could be vastly inflated, if instrument purchases of the past are anything to go by - but I'm interested. Ugly as sin, but probably a good thing to look for until the Lotto win comes rolling in.

The other option, of course, is I find someone who knows a bit about woodworking, and we attempt to make one ourselves. Simply by following the instructions. Any takers?

The reason that I'm a bit drum-crazy at present is that the final term of classes for the year has begun again, and I've been bitten by the beat once more. I'm going to apply for the advanced class that TaikOz run each year. It's expensive, so I'll apply for the bursary as well, and though I suspect there are many players that are more skilful, I think it'll be good for me to go through the application and audition process. The taiko trip has been very difficult at times, and it forces me to face up to inadequacies both physical and mental. But I know that I'm better for it.

The advanced course is meant to be intense - there's a lot of group and solo hours involved - but it means that there would be the prospect of performances with the ensemble. And that, pretty much, would make it all worthwhile.

Incidentally, this post was lost three times in its creation. It appears that the gods don't like me today. If it's not chock-full of sparkling wit and verve, you should be able to guess why.

So. Here I am.

I've had a LiveJournal account for about three years now (presumably to ensure that I can snoop around) but I've never posted here. Because, you know, I was one of the Blogger kids, and so having a blog was so much cooler than writing black text on a black background about how school sucks, etc.

But those days have apparently changed. And also, my webhost has fallen over, and I can't really be arsed finding those 3800 posts a new home.

So here I am. Writing away. Probably rather less-than-regularly, but at least there's something going on, right?

Right?

Right.

More to come when I've tidied up and made this place look pretty-like.