You have to admit, the psychedelic-mushroom munching-hillbilly-slightly creepy and scary but hilarious vid for this song goes really well with the events of the week just gone.



And I love this quote from an old interview:

“When my relatives ask, ‘What have you been doing with yourself?’, and I tell them I’ve been playing in a country band, a grimace comes over their faces,” he says, “and they pretend to be supportive.”

The Head tune is from Quincy Jones’ Soul Bossa Nova (Roland Kirk is the flautist).

Here’s a thought experiment: What do you think the Dream Warriors’ homage to / quotation of Soul Bossa Nova would have done for this recording’s sales, given that it’s obscure back catalogue which previously would have to have been hunted down by afictionados who knew of its existence in the first place (barring the odd brilliant remainder bin accident, and we’ve all had ‘em.)

Probably the bump would have been small, but it would have advanced the original artists a bit among a demographic which wouldn’t have discovered them otherwise. Even if in a small way. Discuss.

Let’s hope the Dream Warriors avoid the notice of rent seeking parasites.

More here and here.

I’ll tell this story all arse about, otherwise it might scare you if you’re one of the people who read here and love the Ollmeister. So, ending first: Ollie is here, alive and undamaged, with his cheery, rather bumptious personality intact. We’ve just been snuggling on the couch with a DVD, after he’s circled the park at normal warp speed, played bitey-face with Maggie and scoffed his dinner.

Last Saturday, it was a warm-to-hot day. It was a mild morning. Ollie came out with me in the car to get his annual injection – Parvovirus, distemper and such. We drove home. He was so quiet and good on the way, I forgot he was there. I got home, I locked the car. I went inside. I did housework. The day warmed up.

I had forgotten he was there.

If a friend hadn’t come to visit, he would be dead. “Where’s Ollie?” She had her dog with her and if Ollie wasn’t bursting out of his current napping place to greet them then something was awry. Then the awful realisation and the mad scramble to find the keys, open the car, would have used a brick if the keys hadn’t been in an obvious place. Poor Ollie was huddled into the back seat trying to get away from the sun, drifting into a stupor, panting way too fast, leaking with saliva, and hot…I pulled him out and carried him like a baby to the hose. His legs bicycled, disoriented. Oh Ollie, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. We ran a hose on him, got some drops of water into his mouth and rushed him to the vet. A different vet who’s closer.

The vet nurse hustled us into the back and put Ollie in the hydrobath. Ollie hates water but he wasn’t in a position to complain. His legs were flat out as the vet nurse washed him and washed him with the cold water. The Boy was there, calm and collected but starting to be a little pink around the eyes and nose, which is how you know he’s upset. Please be OK Ollie! Please be OK! Oh I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.

After about five minutes the vet came in and asked me to put Ollie down to see how his legs were working. He stood! He asked me to walk Ollie up and down their little back courtyard. He walked! He had a bit of a run! He hopped up the step!

He was home in half an hour. Vet wasn’t in the least interested in keeping him, which was an auspicious sign. By the end of the day he’d had a good rest, lots of water, a little mini-walk on the leash, and … er.. all the bodily functions were working properly. More importantly, he came back. He was himself. Undamaged. No thanks to me.

Waking nightmares have followed me all this week of what I did to this little guy and how it could have ended. I could help him recover, but I can never take away what I put him through, something he never deserved. There is no excuse. Domestic animals depend on us so much. We have so much power over them.

Dogs die in hot cars. Pass it on. I don’t care if people think they know. I thought I knew. Tell them again! I thought I was vigilant, but obviously not vigilant enough. And I can never apologise to that dog enough.

This song should go in the Pool room along with Know Your Product, Eternally Yours, and other iconic Australian indie foot stompers.

Dan Sultan is releasing another album at the Espy Gershwin room on November 21. I hope he’s still using that horn section.

That natural voice, sitting pretty in the natural range, with a bit of breath, no meslisma and pyrotechnics: Idols please note.

This is about SETTING BOUNDARIES. People, take from this what you will.

Pavlov’s Cat links to a chilling piece of Southern Gothic by Bobbie Gentry. I’m loving the set design. The little guitar is interesting. Words and chords here.

Boynton shows us Masterchef, 1941. One of those young gels is going to have to do a pressure test, for sure.

And Tigtog gives us a typical hospital emergency scene, featuring doctors who are, er… very highly… trained.

Update: How could I have forgotten this? Erk. Double erk. But as Barista would say, “strangely compelling“.

Via.

A friend of mine has been involved over the past week in developing a not-for-profit website to facilitate temporary housing for victims of the fires. It’s up and running (three cheers for agile web development!) and available at:

bushfirehousing.org

They are looking for people to offer up a spare room/bed/couch through the site, and are promoting the service by word of mouth – please spread the word!

Also, John Quiggin’s donation thread is continuing through the weekend. My donation recommendations are here and here.