Stop. Take a beat. Listen. Or BYO ipod and crack on some Ingrid Michaelson (I did say I like a little ukulele). You’re in for a treat.
Eno’s 77 Million Paintings is as literal as you make it out to be. A patchwork of original artwork, cut and sewn by hand to form fractals of ‘77 million’ algorithms.
But what is IT?
What is great art if not at its base the simple deceit of light and colour?
Yes, BUT WHAT IS IT?
Get over the first five minutes squirming on the faux leather benches in the Playhouse, making faux flatulent echoes, and you will be richly rewarded. Punch through that barrier in your mind that keeps you locked in the Big City Life and you’ll find your pot at the end of the rainbow.
Rushing across the way from the office, I must admit I found the first minutes quite tedious. I had numbers to crunch, papers to push, i’s to dot and cliches to recall. But once I switched off that side of the brain, I was mesmerised. Transfixed. And incredibly chillaxed.
Does it feel like you’ve popped a few (metaphorical) beta blockers and the blood vessels of your mind loosen and with the flow you go? Why, yes. Yes, in fact it does.
And what does THAT feel like? I hear you ask.
By Meg Blog
And so I’m the kind of punter that got excited when I heard the New Kids on the Block were regrouping for a tour down under. I don’t know my Mozart from my Wagner, my punk from my funk and electronicwhatnow? I’m also the kind of punter who wouldn’t under normal circumstances use the word ‘punter’ but such was the enlightenment I experienced last night at the Battles concert.
Avant garde to the max, the Battles experience is mindblowing. I’d always been one to think electronic music was less so (because let’s face it I love a good ukulele accompaniment) but the mathematical precision of the man at the drums was enough to make me binary (eclipsed only by the spectacular razor sharp HD projection on the Sails).
As striking as said genius’ shorts, black socks and black shoes combo was the jumble bag crowd. Surely there were more ear piercings per square metrage than the Opera House has ever seen. Looking around the room, hey look it’s Sideshow Bob next to my neighbour’s kids next to Dr Pennyfarthing lately of Harley Street. And who’s that sitting behind me? Brian Eno! In grey tweed no less, but that didn’t take away from his star power.
It felt great to be shelled inside the Opera Theatre, listening to what my philistine ears classified as the absolute antithesis of the classic canon with a roll of Mentos in one hand and a Crownie in the other. The best of Sydney on a stick. Surely.
By Meg Blog
