I can't look at piano movers doing their thing. Today they are coming for the piano that was ours for about two years. I was so excited when my friend told me they couldn't take the family piano from the house in Footscray to the small apartment she and her boyfriend were moving into on the third floor. All I had to pay for was transport, so I organised it and Dale and his fellow mover came one afternoon. They moaned quietly about the steepish rocky driveway, the tight corner and the many shallow steps. They sighed and puffed and stroked their chins. They got it in remarkably quickly anyway. Dale was moustachioed - personable and talkative and we had a conversation about crazy piano houses with dozens of steps snaking up sheer cliffs and grand pianos being airlifted into turrets and the like. I filmed the procedure in chunks, thinking about how momentous it was to have a piano in the house and how I'd look back on this day and remember how my daughter would know this was the day she fell in love with playing music. I would dearly love my daughter to be musical and my fingers are crossed that one day she will be sufficiently passionate to take up an instrument. I don't want to push her into something and make it into a chore, but I also want to make sure the option is always there. I agonise over how I maybe should introduce her to an instrument young - but is that hot-housing? Then I think.... what white middle class western anxiety. Anyhow, I thought I would play. Dale had a play before he left and said "how much did you pay for this?" I said "The price of transport." He looked at me a moment and then said, "Good". That took a little of the wind out of my sails. The piano was in tune but it was no Steinway, in fact it was no Yamaha. But there was no way I could spring for a proper piano. And, it was basically in tune.

The piano sat for a while, until I got a nice guy to come out and show me some chord progressions, some musicianship. Ultimately I couldn't justify the expense of regular lessons. The piano sat a bit more. I would go to it sometimes but I was too self-conscious to play, being the perfectionist and having too much pride where music is concerned doesn't help. The piano waited a bit more until it started to become a repository for all the stuff a house accumulates, paperwork, work hats, sunglasses, toys. 

Finally the piano, I felt, started glaring at me. I know, it was really me, glaring at myself. The part of me that neglects my creative life, sure. I already have a whole other kit of musical stuff I'm neglecting! I don't need any more pressure!

It's days were numbered from then on. Finally I needed the space for my father's beautiful old desk, and I put the call out - and a friend is paying the price of transport. She has the piano now in her house, and her two kids played it when it arrived. I fervently hope they can form the habit of playing it with abandon every day. I'm not saying I'll never play, I'm saying this isn't the right time. 

A much more subdued Dale arrives early in the morning, far less chatty than he was when he came last time, as if he somehow knows my naivety is gone. Again I know I must be projecting, but he looks at me with an "I told-you-so" expression. Maybe it's just- here we go again. Because what he knows is, most people don't understand pianos, how expensive they are if they are any good at all. To make you want to play them, they've got to sound good. As an audio engineer, I of all people should understand this, especially when it comes to the concept of getting what you pay for. The fact is, I didn't sufficiently enjoy the sound of the piano to get my hands on the keys repeatedly. It didn't sound honky and sour enough, and it didn't sound sweet enough either. As I watch Dale and his sidekick huff the piano up my driveway, I feel a pang. I close my eyes and picture all the piano movers across the country right now, moving mediocre pianos from house to house, being there at the beginning and ending the arc of hopes and enthusiasms slowly turning to resignation. Possibly it's not like that, but it's so easy to picture Dale and his buddy exchanging glances as they pull out of my driveway and trundle off to the new owner of this piano, waiting at home with a space cleared in the lounge room, in hopeful anticipation.

Hi everyone, tomorrow I am packing my bags to go West for a month. I've already packed the cozzie. 7 singlets and 6 cheap t shirts. I am understocked in the shorts department. I seem to be having little panics about going away from my daughter for this long - they will join me for a little holiday in three weeks - and am procrastinating about tactually putting the stuff in the bag and committing. I know there are things I 'm going to regret not bringing - but what are they?  For instance, I like to take a few incense sticks in case the hotel room smells weird. I'm going to take the little tea infuser my niece gave me for Christmas. I don't like tea bags. I'm going to take my mini jambox. But what else is there? 

What have you taken away with you that made you very impressed with yourself for thinking of it? What is on your secret travel and touring list? 
Please give me your hot tips, I'm curious.

So next week I head off to W.A for a whistle stop tour of the backwaters and tiny towns of our largest state. I'm daunted by leaving my partner and daughter for four weeks, with a tour manager I've never met, with a performer I know slightly. Also, it's a lighting gig. What? Yep. It's a one woman show and my main task is trying to get enough light on proceedings with a bunch of LEDpars (!) and a couple of Profiles so the audience aren't simply peering at the stage in bewilderment.

We start in Broome. That, I'm looking forward to, despite the 40 degree heat they are "enjoying" at the moment. I'm going to take a bunch of photos on the road and try to blog the interesting things and people we come across. Wish me luck!

Been working at the Myer Music Bowl a bit for the Arts Centre the last two weeks. This pic is of Tina Arena (!) performing at the Opening ceremony of the Cricket World Cup. The most amusing thing during the show was watching these three, Chad, Jim and Brad, all three of them highly qualified and experienced FOH sound engineers, trying not to elbow each other while they handled different aspects of Daryl Braithwaite's set. (Yes, he did sing Howzat!). Chad was mixing the band, Jim the MSO, and Brad looked after his main man Daryl. 

When I recognised I was interested in audio, all those years ago, the world was pre-digital. Calling my Aunt's house in Glasgow, dialling on endless numbers on our rotary phone, meant waiting for the long delay and we often would talk over the top of each other, thinking the other was not going to reply, then stopping and starting again. It took a few minutes to get used to and resulted in some fairly stilted conversations. It seems to me that the instant-ness of communications and information  transmission means that people who are post-digital are not aware of how it used to be, and are not conditioned to create memories in the same way. Things go by them too fast to catch and hold. The rate of change means that people need - or feel they need - to adapt more and more quickly for fear of being left behind.

I'm really hopeful that this generation might witness the adults engage in a bit of a backlash - a backlash that involves us putting down the phone that we are mesmerised by and just remember to engage. Trust me, if you are fiddling with your phone, you are not fully engaged with what is going on around you. Do I really need to spell this out? Yes, I think people forget how they appear when they are gazing at the little screen in their hand. You are watching a tiny television for goodness' sake! 

We threw out our big TV years ago and it was the best thing we ever did. Unfortunately some time later, my partner and I got iPhones. I have begun to master my addiction to it because of my five year old - I don't want her enduring memory of me to be like this: 

Anyway - now the blog title is kind've ironic. How did I end up talking about this? Ah yes. Lamenting the passing of the good old days when people knew how to talk to each other a whole lot more. Get off the Faceboob, people!!!

What I ACTUALLY wanted to talk about was this week's job was at the Arts Centre, "working" on a show called When the Mountain Changed its Clothing. My job along with one other crew member was to fit and check radio headsets. There are 48 young ladies (age range 12-22) on this show, they are the Carmina Slovenica and they sing like angels. They also fit their own radios, which get taped right in the middle of their foreheads, bold as you please. We have pretty clear frequencies now, so there is not much for us to do but sit and read books (or write blog posts) and keep an ear on everything and comms on our heads. 

After Janelle Johnstone came and gave us the low down on how to plan, produce and promote an event in a series of special classes in April, I divided my Live Sound class into three groups and asked them to put on a gig. Thanks to Mat from Coloursound Studios and Cello Sebastian's hard work in the back courtyard of same, we had a great little space to work with. Once Cello fired up the heater and the brazier, it was very cosy indeed. the band played a great acoustic version of their set and threw in a few choice covers. Mat's family and friends were our audience, (Also big ups to Josh P - supportive fellow student).

Have you ever sat waiting in a restaurant for your late friends, quietly working your way through a bottle of something so as not to call them out on being late by ordering a meal? Or having given someone a meeting at your local café so they can pick your brain on production contacts, only to be watching the best part of a precious half hour tick away? Have you felt frustrated and taken for granted? Yes, that's because it's rude.

Most often you'll get a text saying "5 mins away" or some such nonsense. That doesn't mean much since that usually means another 15 minute wait. And in my experience, the same people don't apologise for wasting your time, and they do it all the time, to everyone. They would deny it if asked, I'm sure, but subconsciously, they don't think your time is valuable. 

This article in Huffington post by Greg Savage - the link will take you to the original on his blog - hit the nail on the head for me as far as being the person who is on time goes. However, there seem to be several reasons, and many deep-seated psychological ones, why people are always running late. I have to acknowledge that it's really hard for on-time people to understand, but as Diana DeLonzor describes in her book, "Never Be Late Again" there are several types of late:

The Deadliner enjoys the rush of the last minute. She claims to work best under pressure. It can be hard for  for Deadliners to get motivated unless there's a crisis so she will often creates one. Running around like a chook with her head cut off means she isn't bored!

The Producer has a strong urge to achieve and get things done, over scheduling her day and making sure there is a giant to-do list to get through at all times. I can relate to this one! -although it rarely makes me late, this would be the one for me. 

The Absent-Minded Professor has a problem with distraction. Just sees one more thing she has to do before she goes. (This is also me sometimes, come to think of it!) Just has to cook a quick meal for people before leaving for work, or change that light globe or just put on a load of washing, or reply to that email.....or whatever.

People typically identify with more than one lateness personality. The other four are:

the Rationalizer, who never fully admits to her lateness (many late people are at least one part Rationalizer); 
the Indulger, who generally lacks self-control or self discipline
the Evader, who tries to control feelings of anxiety and low self-esteem by being late....I must confess I don't understand this at all! And,
the Rebel, who doesn't like rules, and sees lateness as just bucking authority and sending the message: "I don't play by the rules, I do what I want." This seems to me to be the one that all the on-timers think all the late people are. 

Can you imagine what being late does for your professional reputation in the competitive world of the freelance audio engineer? Never plan to be on time to a gig. Plan to be early, and be the first one there. There's nothing like the feeling of walking into a new venue with all the time in the world for things to go wrong and fix. 

For those who are chronically late, there are several wonderful articles on strategies for learning how to be on time, but my favourite sums it up like this: 
STOP, DROP, & ROLL:  Stop (yourself). Drop (what you're doing). And roll (on outa there).

I had a brilliant time mixing The Orbweavers at Golden Plains on Sunday - it seems I only ever mix the Sunday morning slot, and recall doing Silver Ray, The Sand Pebbles and Grand Salvo there over the years. Those were all at Meredith before Golden Plains was started up. Saw Bill Busbridge from Total Events there looking a little bleary from the overnight shift, but he made me a lovely coffee before heading off for sleep. He left Mick Aarons in charge and they had a Heritage 3K, and a Venue and a Midas Pro2 in the FOH building (It's not a tent by any stretch of the imagination.) The mix position was a long way back in the building as I chose the Heritage, and the mix sounded alot clearer once I stuck my head out. Sometimes I forget to do that.... Anyway Stu and Marita had a good time with their brand new in-ear monitor system and the whole band enjoyed the rider which was organised by drummer Jen - so there was real Champagne from the Champagne region in bloody France. Woot!

So a while back I said I'd never mixed the Underground Lovers before and that I was really excited. Turns out I had. Years ago, at the Evelyn. I found an old stage plot I had done years ago- like in the early noughties. Richard A wasn't drumming and Pip was nowhere to be seen, so maybe I just blocked it out of memory!  It was Rushall Station times I think. Anyway I just thought that was funny.