MAN ABOUT TOWN

Words cannot suffice to say how sublimely, life-affirmingly, head-explodingly good Arcade Fire were last night. If the sound mix had actually been perfect, as opposed to messy for the first six or seven songs, I do believe I may actually have either a) died or b) achieved orgasm via the sheer skill, enthusiasm, artistry and wonderfulness of the 10 talented people on stage. Thanks for the ticket, Ms Sam - I so owe you one!

There was something not-quite-right about the Big Day Out this year, and for the cynics among you, no, it wasn't just because it was my first ever Big Day Out without drugs. A plague upon dealers who don't come through on such an important day! Ahem. Where was I? Ah yes. Not quite right. It was largely, I think, the fault of the venue. I have loved the last two years of BDO shenanigans at Princess Park, with its lush lawns underfoot and ample shade. This year, though, we were in the car park at Flemington Racecourse, which was essentially a gravel-strewn dustbowl upon which the sun baked, bounced back and glared. Footing was treacherous, and there was virtually no shade. The conditions, as a consequence, took the edge of the bands I saw. Arcade Fire , however, were superb - the highlight of the day; rich, orchestral, dramatic and inspiring. Spoon were good, but too mellow for the mood I was in. Local lads Little Red were an absolute delight: fun, focussed and passionate, and ...

Now that's one hell of a crustacean! It's a coconut crab apparently, one of the world's largest land-living arthropods... ouch!

No, really, I don't. Here's why. Last night I had to go and take photographs for MCV at Midsumma Mooning at the Laird, which is an event where men show off their arses to the audience, with the most atractive arse voted as the winner. When one man made his arsehole wink the crowd went wild. It was about as tasteful as a wet t-shirt competition, and just as sexy. This afternoon, I have to go take photographs at the Peel, which is hosting an underwear party. Yes, a party of gay men, dancing, in their underwear. Don't ask me where wallets will be kept, because really, I don't want to know. Why do I sometimes get the feeling I failed Gay.101?

Alcohol and unrequited crushes do not a happy Saturday night make. Gathered to celebrate two friends' combined birthdays at Riverland, which rapidly filled with noxious yuppies, I found myself growing uncomfortable because my flatmate was getting friendly with a bloke I've fancied for several years (but who I've never said actually said anything to about my feelings, since my own interest was obviously not returned). Half an hour later I left in order to meet a work committment, eventually coming home and going to bed. An hour later, I'm rudely awoken by my flatmate and the guy I've been lusting after for two or three years bursting through the front door, chucking on the tv (loudly) and canoodling on the couch. That's when I lost it. Frustrated and hurt that my flatmate is hooking up with someone I fancy (despite having earlier in the night told said flatmate to go for it, not for a moment thinking he actually would),I got angry, stormed into the loungeroom and...

Sydney music fans must be feeling crap , with word released last night that Bjork had cancelled her Big Day Out appearance scheduled for today. She's the main reason I'm going to the BDO this year (well, her and Canada's Arcade Fire but she's definitely my main attraction) so I hope to all the gods of Iceland that she's well enough to perform on Monday!

Crying helps. So does sleep.

I've just found out that an old friend and housemate of mine, Pip Starr, a talented and dedicated documentary maker who was passionately dedicated to social justice and setting the world to rights, took his own life yesterday. I'm sad, and angry, and confused. You silly bastard, Pip. What did you have to go and do that for?

Heath Ledger, the young Australian actor best known for his Academy Award-nominated role in the 2005 film Brokeback Mountain was found dead this morning at 9:30am Melbourne time in a New York City apartment. He was 28. I never knew him. I never met him. And yet I am incredibly saddened by this news. It seems such a terrible loss; of a life, of a talent, of a future. Tonight, when I get home from work, I think I will re-watch Brokeback Mountain , and cry.

These two short plays by Tim Conigrave were first produced in July 1997, at the CUB Malthouse Theatre by the then-Playbox Theatre Company, under the direction of David Bell. I was lucky enough to have seen their return season, in January 1998, as part of the Midsumma Festival ; and retain fond memories of their emotional impact and resonance. Now, ten years later, Thieving Boy and Like Stars in My Hand have been restaged; this time by Fly-On-The-Wall Theatre at La Mama's Carlton Courthouse , again for Midsumma, under the direction of Robert Chuter. Conigrave, who died in 1994 of an AIDS-related illness, was an actor, playwright and activist best known today for his remarkable memoir, Holding the Man , which details the 15-year love affair between he and his partner, John Caleo. (In case you've been living under a rock, Griffin Theatre Company's acclaimed production of Holding the Man will be staged in Melbourne in a few months time, which makes this revival of Conigrave...

Six exhibitions and one cabaret show in five days - it must be festival time! The 20th annual Midsumma Festival hasn't even officially kicked off yet, and already things are hotting up. Admittedly two of the exhibitions I saw on Sunday had nothing to do with Midsumma, but still... Thanks to the social joys of Facebook, on Sunday I trouped off to the NGV Ian Potter Centre with a fine group of folk to catch the final day of the Gordon Bennett exhibition. A major retrospective of this important Australian artist's career, it was a dazzling exploration of his themes of appropriation, identity and history over the three decades of his career. Some of Bennett's work I'd seen before, such as The Apotheosis of Captain Cook , as it's part of the NGV's permanent collection; but much of the work, such as his Notes to Basquiat paintings were new to me. Fascinating stuff; particularly his most recent, minimal work, which displays remarkable vigour within its non-represent...

The last month has been mad. In the week before Christmas I had to put two issues of the paper to bed in three days. Then I co-hosted Summer Breakfast on RRR for two weeks; the second week of which I was back at work at MCV , and having to put the year'sfirst issue of the paper to bed on the same day that the office re-opened. Then, this week, I had to put a 64 page magazine to bed, which I signed off on at 8pm on Friday; as well as the regular weekly issue of the paper, which went to the printers as per the usual course of things on Tuesday. No wonder I've slept in until 11am the last two mornings; I've been exhausted. So, now I can try and get my life back to its usual chaotic state of affairs, rather than the turned-up-to-11 intensity of recent weeks. In fact, I'm actually going to try and gear down even more; not a New Year's resolution so much as a New year's re-programming. There's a few things about my lifestyle that I not only need to change but want...

I can't believe I got excited about seeing this film when I heard it was being made. That will teach me to get excited about yet another butchered Hollywood adaptation of a classic novel. *sigh* Based on the book by Richard Matheson (who also gave us The Incredible Shrinking Man and numerous episodes of The Twilight Zone , including the classic Nightmare at 20,000 Feet ; as well as writing several classic screenplays for British horror studio, Hammer), I Am Legend stars Will Smith as Robert Neville, a military scientist searching for a cure for the mutated cancer cure that has swept the earth like a plague, transforming those it infects into daylight-shunning vampires (although they're never named as such in the film). Neville spends his days in an underground lab using captured vampires as lab-rats, driving around the deserted streets with his faithful canine companion hunting deer for food, and working his way through DVDs at his local video store. Several years after the ...

Call this an informed guess, but reading between the lines in a media update I've just received from dvd label Force Queer (FQ) Films, I'm betting my arse that we're going to be seeing the indie gay surfer flick Shelter at the Melbourne Queer Film Festival this year. Want to know more? Here's the blurb from the Frameline film festival website, at which the film showed last year: A year out of high school, Zach is stuck in San Pedro, California working as a fry cook, skateboarding and stenciling guerrilla artwork on abandoned buildings. His bedroom is his oasis — he draws on the walls, in his notebook, in sketches piled up on the floor. But he’s squashed his dream of attending Cal Arts in order to help his sister, Jeannie, raise her five-year-old son. Enter Shaun, the gay older brother of Zach’s best friend and a writer taking a break from Hollywood to recover from a bad relationship. Zach and Shaun start hanging out, surfing and drinking too much beer, much to Jeannie’...

While I may not have cast my cinematic net especially wide in 2007, it was certainly a great year for live performance. From theatre to dance, and comedy to circus; I saw some wonderful shows this year: magical performances that were utterly transporting. Highlights included the stark, simple and powerful Checklist For an Armed Robber , presented by Theatre @ Risk; Barry Kosky's rivetting production of The Tell-Tale Heart at the Malthouse for MIAF; the Malthouse's remounted production of Stuck Pigs Squealing's The Eisteddfod ; and Adam J Cass' remarkable I Love You, Bro , and the equally delightful I've Written a Letter to Daddy (soon to have a short new season at the Butterfly Club as part of the Midsumma Festival), both at the Melbourne Fringe. I was also enthralled by several dance works, including the masculine beauty of Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake ; Angus Cerini's minimal, rivetting dance-theatre hybrid, Detest (this thousand years I shall not weep) ; ...

Imagine me as the kayaker, the shark as the current deadline I'm working towards, and you'll get a sense of how tense I'm feeling at the moment...

Rachel Cook and Richard Watts catch up with alternative hip-hop artist Buck 65. Hip-hop has long been synonymous with homophobia. Artists such as Diamond f have been accused of inciting violence against queers with lyrics such as, “Your faggot ass better stay to dancing/don’t even look at me, I might break your jaw for glancing,” and Common’s equally offensive, “Homo’s a no-no, so faggots, stay solo”. Thankfully, Canadian hip-hop artist Buck 65 prefers a subtler, more intelligent approach to making music; with his latest album, Situation, proof that you don’t have to be pumped up on machismo to make great hip-hop. So what makes him so different to other hip-hop artists? As Buck 65 (born Richard Terfry) himself suggests, perhaps it’s the fact that he’s a man in touch with and comfortable with his own emotions. “I was joking with my girlfriend recently that I’m more like a woman and she’s more like a man, in how those roles are classically defined anyway; but really that’s what d...

Sadly, due to increased committments in other fields, I saw far less cinema in 2007 than was the case in previous years. My intake of films peaked a couple of years ago, when I was presenting a fortnightly review segment on a friend's RRR program; since then a combination of work (which prohibits me attending most media screenings, which are usually held on mid-week mornings) and the wish to see more performances, has impacted on the number of films I saw in 2007, as the following figures will show you: 2002 : 68 films 2003 : 103 films 2004 : 100 films 2005 : 58 films 2006 : 69 films 2007 : 49 films 2003-2004 was when my film watching peaked, as you can see; and was also the worst possible year to ask me to help chose a DVD to watch: "Seen it, seen it, seen it, heard it was terrible,seen it.....

Normally, New Year's Day would see me crawl out of bed in the early afternoon nursing a hangover of moderate to severe proportions. Not today, however. Today I almost bounced out of bed, at the ungodly hour of 4:15am. I'd planned to get up at 4:30am, affording me enough time to shower and sort through CDs before being picked up by my erstwhile Breakfast co-host for the week, Camilla Hannan, at 5:30am, but as it was I woke slightly earlier as my sweaty and exhited housemate barrelled through the door on his way from New Year's Eve party A to party B. I confess to pangs of angst and loneliness that I didn't spend New Year's Eve in my traditional fashion, getting drunk and drugged-up in a club or clubs somewhere surrounded by friends and their friends. This year the plan had been to spend the night with Mike, Darren and others at Blood, Sweat, New Years , at a Brunswick strip club taken over for the night by a rag-tag bunch of queers. The crew behind the night had thr...