I feel alive in this silence, this magnitude, this vastness of everything.

Everything that was. Everything that is.

Right now, these jagged edges, stern and sharp.

A scolding, a scar.

Lost here forever, in a silent embrace.

Remembering and feeling.

The chill that was, that follows, even here.

A quiet reverie for me, today.

This poem was first published in The Haiku Shack Magazine: Issue 5 - https://creativeramblings.com/haiku-shack-magazine

While Some Might Say this ‘reunion’ was fake, merely part of a Masterplan to create hype and drive ticket sales, it doesn’t really matter, D’You Know What I Mean? Ultimately, after a 20 year drought, it was the fans who were the real beneficiaries of the band refusing to (Don’t) Look Back In Anger with all Talk Tonight euphoric and ablaze with excitement.

Playing all the big hits including Morning Glory, Cast No Shadow and Acquiesce, kept the energy in the stadium fresh and joyful. Young and old, together they sang, swayed, danced, and cheered. People turned up from Half The World Away to experience this moment in time, to connect with a soundtrack so timeless, so meaningful, it will Live Forever.

As far as the vibes went, there was plenty of Cigarettes & Alcohol at Marvel Stadium and while everyone Roll(ed) With It for the most part, Little By Little the smell in the closed roof arena began to grate. But as any 90s kid would say - Whatever!

The sing-a-longs were epic. The atmosphere Supersonic. The crowd did anything but Slide Away. Instead, they partied long and hard, Bring(ing) It On Down in one final, grand, eclipsing Champagne Supernova love-fest to the band they adore.

Oasis, you are my Wonderwall – thank you.

The night started with a short set from four-piece indie-rock band The Belair Lip Bombs, who I’m sorry to say I missed, though I heard their set slayed. The second support act of the night came from fun-loving musicians and Redland Bay natives, the Beddy Rays. The four mates got to work belting out a quick-fire round of short, punchy, punk-rock songs – of which they thankfully have no shortage.

Playing all their most beloved tracks including ‘Handful,’ ‘Milk,’ and ‘Better Weather’ to a captive audience, the Beddy Rays definitely won some new fans too. ‘Stay the Same,’ released in November 2024 and written about the passing of lead singer Jacko’s sister, brought raw emotional depth, while their cover of Thelma Plum’s ‘Better in Blak’ boasted edgy pop vibes. And of course the set wouldn’t be complete without the band playing crowd favourite ‘Sobercoaster,’ its soaring chorus and uplifting likeability the perfect end-of-summer track.

Pleasingly, the half hour break before King Stingray’s set didn’t dull the enthusiasm in the room in the slightest, in fact, the anticipation just made the audience that was already primed to have a good time, more eager to party. King Stingray definitely gave their fans what they were after, playing their much-loved hits like ‘Camp Dog,’ ‘Milkumana,’ and ‘Hey Wanhaka,’ but also throwing in some newer tracks off their latest album ‘For the Dreams’ including ‘Day Off.’

Beautifully showcasing their unique blend of Yolngu surf-rock with traditional didgeridoo and clapsticks, King Stingray kept the audience enthralled. While the amazing tones of Yirrnga were missing (the band having publicly announced that he and King Stingray had parted ways just before the commencement of the tour), new lead vocalist Ngalakan Wanambi brought the high energy levels and genuine spirit that King Stingray have come to be known for. A raucous encore and massive sing-along of ‘Lookin’ Out’ and ‘Let’s Go’ brought the night to a fitting, yet reluctant close (at least for the audience).

King Stingray are headed for a European summer tour in June and I know their fan base is just going to swell. Kudos.

Savage or otherwise, humans have been dancing through the ages all around the world. Dance has been ever-present whether in connection with religion, rituals, celebrations, or entertainment.

I myself have recently returned to my first love – Greek traditional dancing. As a child I attended Greek school on a Friday night and when Greek dancing class started, I would stand tall and proud at the start of the line. I loved to perform too. I’d beam at my parents from the stage at our end of year school functions. And then sadly, Greek dancing disappeared from my curriculum. Scholastic achievements took precedence, and years passed without so much as a few minutes spent on the dancefloor – family functions excluded.

While dancing remained a part of my life and social personality through Cuban dancing, hip hop dance classes, and the amazing stress moderator that is dancing in the dark (also described as flailing around carelessly to bangers of today and yesteryear with other like minded, fun-loving people in community halls), something was missing. I was exercising, releasing stress, and having fun, but I was keenly aware that the element of community was absent.

But now, I’ve once again reconnected with this part of myself, having been embraced by my Melbourne Greek community. Dancing together every week, learning new steps, fumbling through what sometimes feel like very intricate sequences and laughing at my mistakes and lack of coordination, has been so joyous.

However Greek dances aren’t just about fun and frivolity and the movie ‘Zorba the Greek.’ They also carry the weight of significant historical moments, of sadness and despair. Think of the deeply moving ‘Mihanikos’ dance which hails from my father’s island Kalymnos; a melancholic dance that honours all the embattled sponge divers who suffered the crippling effects of decompression sickness. And then we have the heroines of Souli who chose death over slavery, leaping euphorically over cliff edges with their babes in their arms so as to evade the brutality of life under Ottoman rule in what became known as the ‘Dance of Zalongo’.

This is why learning Greek dancing is so important to me. Greek dances aren’t just fast-paced line dances. They’re a reflection of a strong community, of history, expression, love, and of course, cultural connection. And that’s exactly why I’ll keep on dancing.

Peloton, slip stream, domestique, head wind, intermediate sprint, hors catégorie climb. I was learning a new language. It was a lot to take in and I had to stay up past 1am for it. Even as a novice it’s amazing how much you learn by simply watching. That, the expert commentary team of Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen, and the passion and enthusiasm of the rest of the SBS crew (Mike Tomalaris, Robbie McEwen, Matthew Keenan, Bridie O’Donnell, David McKenzie, Gracie Elvin & Simon Gerrans) saw me transition from confused, to bemused, to intrigued, to flat-out spell bound. A race within a race within a race, the Tour, as it’s affectionately called, had me mesmerised. The late nights and the sleepy mornings brought with them a certain charm. I was now part of a late night wintry community – the #couchpeloton. The Tour was layered and complicated and for all its curiosities, I absolutely loved it.

The first few years of my Tour education were marked by a wave of victories from British team Sky (now Ineos Grenadiers). The team with Chris Froome at the helm was supremely powerful. Fans of the race were calling the Sky riders Skybots because of their almost mechanical methods in defending the yellow jersey. They stayed up the front, set the tempo, and controlled the race as much as humanly possible. For some, this was boring and a little predictable. But as we know, things can change very quickly in professional road race cycling.

In 2020, the race was turned on its head with the entrance of a young Slovenian rider named Tadej Pogačar. With the world firmly in the grip of the COVID-19 pandemic, witnessing the beaming Pogačar emerge effortlessly as the new leader, the wearer of the yellow jersey was simply joyous. The Tour might have looked different - the hairpin bends of the most arduous mountain stages were not lined with overzealous flag waving crowds and at times there was an eerie silence in the broadcast, but in essence the race was unchanged. In 2021, another young gun showed himself to be worthy of attention – Danish rider Vingegaard who placed second in his Tour de France debut after his team’s GC rider crashed out.

This year, Tadej Pogačar, two time winner of the Tour de France at the ripe young age of 23 was the firm favourite. He had seemed unbeatable. Any suggestion that he might somehow finish up less than first seemed an incredulous notion. Defeating Tornado Tadej would be an insurmountable feat. All was tracking well for Pogačar until stage 11 when the the unpredictability of the Tour showed itself and a perfect storm of events saw Tadej lose time to his biggest rival.

It’s an individual race, we all know that. After all there’s only space for one sole winner on the podium but it’s a team effort through and through and never has that been more acutely felt than in this year’s Tour. Vingegaard’s team, Jumbo Visma, has been unflinching in its clever and aggressive style of racing. The sacrifice of Vingegaard’s team mates throughout the race has been admirable. Watching them push their bodies to the limit for their GC rider, knowing all the while that the glory will never be theirs is an illustration in tragedian poetry. Having said that, a win for the team is a win for the individual and seeing the pure, genuine joy that these riders exude for the wins of their team mates is delightful.

For cycling fanatics, the Tour de France is the epitome of world racing; it is the mother of the three grand tours. It is steeped in rich tradition and history – both wonderfully euphoric and devastatingly sombre. For people like me who are far from being cycling aficionados, the Tour means so many different things.

It’s a display of elite physical performance, camaraderie and unwritten rules. It’s a celebration of beautifully colourful names and personalities. It’s a showcase of determination and tenacity in the face of adversity and constant set backs. For the sprinters, dreams are made or shattered in mere seconds. For the climbers, victories are marinated in pain and discomfort.

Then of course there is the stunning scenery to soak up, the goosebump inducing frenetic energy of the spectators, the menacing mountains, the tour art on the side of the road, the anticipation, the wildlife, and the scorching heat. All this makes the race a complete viewing experience. Drama, suspense, comedy – it has it all. Visually, there is so much to absorb, and strategically, it is a masterclass in the psychology of tactical decision making.

Every Tour has at least one special moment. This year, that moment came in stage 18, from Lourdes to Hautacam, the final stage in the Pyrenees. Our two rivals were going head to head. Vingegaard, wearing yellow with a two plus minute advantage, was on course to maintain the status quo while Pogačar was ravenous, desperate to take the jersey and become the race leader. Putting everything on the line, Pogačar furiously descended the climb, crashing on some loose gravel. Thankfully, nothing too serious, only grazed skin and bruising, both physical and emotional, but enough to severely damage his chances of winning the race. In the ultimate display of sportsmanship, Vingegaard, the wearer of the yellow jersey slowed down and waited for Pogačar to get up and rejoin him. The yellow jersey waited for the defending champion; the very rider racing to claw the jersey off Vingegaard’s back. A brief hand shake captured the respect between the two riders and how profound the moment was. In what other sport do you see such chivalry?

This Tour had everything we expected and more, blisteringly fast finishes, achingly torturous mountain summit finishes, crashes, injuries, illnesses, attacks, and controversies. But it also brought us something new and exciting – a rivalry to keep us engaged for years to come.

Another epic edition of the Tour de France comes to an end today and this year, while I look forward to seeing the race conclude on the Champs-Élysées in Paris and witnessing Jonas Vingegaard rightfully take his place as sole winner, I equally look forward to seeing the Tour de France Femmes commence. A momentous year indeed. Vive le Tour!

Something For Kate fans have waited eight years for The Modern Medieval, the band’s highly-anticipated seventh studio album. Momentum has been building since Paul Dempsey’s teaser shows at The Gasometer Hotel last year where he trialled new material in front of eager audiences. It was very clear then that the forthcoming Something For Kate album was going to be the product of skilled and measured abandon; it was going to be novel, exciting and surprising.

The album has been touted as the most eclectic collection of songs for the band to date. With the help of Mia Wray’s Nashville-esque backing vocals, ‘Bluebird’ treads an almost country line while opening track ‘All The Great Minds’ is a lush synth-heavy adventure.

Aptly chosen singles ‘Situation Room’, ‘Waste Our Breath’, and ‘Supercomputer’ highlight the unwavering consistency and reliability that is awakened when Dempsey and his bandmates Stephanie Ashworth and Clint Hyndman come together to create music. ‘Situation Room’ gushes with emotion, soaring as Dempsey sings the simple “I got nothing when it comes to you”, while ‘Supercomputer’ hauntingly builds at an almost imperceptible pace.

‘Our Extinguished Colleague’ buzzes with a frenetic urgency and ‘Inside Job’, featuring Bernard Fanning, plays out like it belongs on the soundtrack of a North By Northwest remake. ‘I Will Defeat You’ glides along with an effortless flair and closes the album with an extended fuzzy guitar outro.

As always, Dempsey’s lyrics oscillate between a kind of poetic intricacy and astute brevity. His versatile wordplay combining sincerity with wry observations.

His trademark vocal range continues to impress but most striking is how much feeling his voice projects.

The Modern Medieval is an album of ten polished and slick tracks that dance with spirit and ferocious intensity. It’s the product of three friends that have strived together and creatively energised each other for decades. It’s ripe for big venues and sweaty audiences. It’s Something For Kate – what else would it be?

9/10

This article was first published in Beat Magazine

This article was cited in Wikipedia

Like a bully on a mission, COVID-19 barged its way into our lives this year, stole our pocket money, and made us scared of the world and of each other. It forced us to make significant changes to the way we operate on a daily basis and, as a result, the constant and sometimes even tedious thrum of cosmopolitan life began to slow right down.

There hasn’t been a single force in my lifetime as powerful in its ability to compel behavioural change in society in the same way that COVID-19 has done. Everything is different. And while these changes have been necessary, nay, essential, there are remnants of pre-COVID life that I have particularly missed, one being the pulsing live music scene of Melbourne.

I miss everything about it, even the things I used to hate about it. I suppose that’s the beauty of appreciation through the experienced lens of hindsight and deprivation.

I miss going to dark, dingy venues and stepping onto a floor that’s sticky with spilled beer and fizzy drinks. I miss the mounting anticipation and the electric buzz that fills a room as an audience waits for the lights to dim and the band to start playing.

I miss singing along to every line of my favourite songs and cheering so loudly at the end that my voice becomes hoarse and my throat hurts. I miss yelling out song requests and I miss hearing drunken idiots yell out nonsensical words that no one, including the band, can understand.

I miss all the perfect imperfections that a live show brings, from bung notes, to forgotten lyrics, and ringing speakers.

I even miss arching my neck and trying my hardest to catch a glimpse of the stage from my position behind what always seems to be a collection of the tallest people I’ve ever seen. And I miss wondering how it is that these tall people all wind up bunched together front and centre at almost every gig I have ever attended.

I miss bumping into strangers as we all dance with a kind of frenetic freedom that only a night of live music can elicit. I miss making new friends through this shared experience and moment in time. I miss wide grins and elated faces; random high fives and sweaty, humid air.

I definitely miss the heightened feeling of connectivity between people that live music promotes and invokes. It is real.

The live music scene is so much a part of Melbourne that without it, the entire city’s rhythm is disturbed and its vitality sapped. We are the creative state and we have a population that craves the output of our artists. With every threatened or actual live music venue closure, the hole in Melbourne’s bright teeming heart of creativity widens.

My only hope is that the heart of Melbourne finds a way to survive this trial and that on the other side, I get to party with some new friends through our shared love of music.

This article was first published in Beat Magazine

When scientists reported on the presence of a novel corona virus, they weren’t being creative with their naming of it, it was named novel coronavirus because it was a previously unknown type of coronavirus. The virus is new and therefore we don’t know a great deal about it. It’s new, so our communities haven’t developed herd immunity to it. It’s new, so we have no vaccine against it. It’s new, so we don’t really know how to treat it effectively. This virus is novel and like anything new, there is much we need to learn about it and there are many unknowns.

There are however many things we do know about the virus. Things like which subsets of the population are most vulnerable to its effects. We know that the elderly are at a particularly high risk of becoming very sick if they contract it. But it’s not just the elderly that are vulnerable here. People with underlying chronic health conditions are also more susceptible, as are those who are immunocompromised. We’re talking about people with asthma, diabetes, heart disease, and lung disease. We’re talking about people that have just finished a round of chemotherapy or are in the midst of their cancer treatment. We’re talking about people who are recovering from major surgery. We’re talking about your grandma, your best friend, your neighbour, your parent, you. As always, the danger of seeing people as a percentage is that you don’t really see the person at all. And every person matters.

Sure, the measures that are currently in place are inconvenient and less than ideal. But this issue is bigger than each of us as individuals. Sometimes sacrifices need to be made to protect our most vulnerable. It’s a small ask really. And so before you tell me that Australia’s reaction to Covid-19 is extreme and unnecessary, just think about our hospitals. Consider that they are the busiest of workplaces and will struggle to cope with an influx of Covid-19 cases. Reflect on the level of health care that we expect in this country and what it will mean if that is compromised because our health system is over stretched and brought to its knees. The implications are far wider reaching than only that particularly vulnerable cross-section of the population. The implications of a health system inundated and stressed impact all of us. We can prevent what’s happening in Europe right now if we, each of us, take a few simple steps.

The message from the WHO and from our Government is clear, our best defence against this virus is good personal hygiene. Frequent hand washing with soap and water for 20 seconds and the use of hand sanitiser if soap and water are not available are advised. But of course, all the hand washing in the world won’t save us if people that are unwell spread the virus within the community. Social distancing is key. Don’t go out if you’re unwell. Cover your mouth and your nose when you cough or sneeze. We need to unite in our shared desire to prevent this virus taking hold of our country. And we need to do it for each other. The Australian spirit is being called upon because we all matter.

This article was first published on Neos Kosmos

In 2013, Neale released the popping six-track EP In Stranger Times. While the title track featuring fellow Queenslanders the Go Violets, is incredibly catchy, fun-loving, and immediately mood-boosting, his track ‘Lone Tiger’ from the EP is arguably the stronger song. ‘Lone Tiger’ transgresses time as it begins with a real burst of 60s flair before softening under a blanket of ’80s allure.

Jeremy Neale is a bit of a master at creating hooks in his songs that have the power to reel in even the biggest of fish and he does it in ‘Lone Tiger’ too. With this song, he manages to build in levels of complexity and surprise while maintaining absolute dance-ability throughout.

This article was first published in Beat Magazine

The sixth track on the album, ‘My Grandfather’, is a poetic tribute to Lior’s lineage – particularly the man who named him. Lior’s voice stands alone for almost a minute and a half before introducing music so soft and subtle it’s almost inaudible. With production virtually non-existent on this track, it’s clear from the outset that it’s Lior’s heartfelt words and goosebump-inducing voice that brings this track to life; the gentle guitar strumming is merely incidental.

His stunning vocals, filled with emotional purity, tell the story of his grandfather in such a way that leaves the listener humbled and affected. And it’s that personal narrative that makes ‘My Grandfather’ an absolute joy to listen to.

This article was first published in Beat Magazine