Kisses On The Bottom

As someone with a great love of music and a respect for the power of song, I try not to be too elitist about such things as style, or vintage. A good tune is a good tune not because of its style, its vintage or even its sound quality. It just needs to be good.

What most people consider to be good is invariably subject to all kinds of politics. Some remain consistent in their dismissal of a song like “Anarchy In The UK” while others, although fewer in number continue to think fondly of “Do The Freddie”.

Of course, history is littered with instances of good songs being rendered impotent through the misguided interpretation of others.

Fats Domino-Pat Boone. Nuff said?

Even Paul McCartney’s famous musical muse has not been impervious to flirtations with the banal. When he came up with “Biker Like An Icon” back in the ‘90s, I felt he’d crossed a line into the unacceptable. From “the most successful musician and composer in popular music history”, I had a right to expect more.

For years, Paul McCartney’s albums, whether solo, collaborative, or classical have had the misfortune to be compared with everything that preceded them. For starters, those albums he made with John, George and Ringo.

Some people now think of Paul as little more than a parody of himself: Pop’s glib elder statesman, with his knighthood and riches (both well-deserved) but nothing much more to offer.

“Can’t Buy Me Love” was his manifesto, “Penny Lane” his Mona Lisa and “Hey Jude” his General Theory of Relativity. What more could he possibly wish to achieve?

Being dubbed the most successful songwriter since the accretion of the Earth might seem a difficult cross to bear, but McCartney probably doesn’t dwell on it. He loves his music and he knows a good song, even if, occasionally, he has trouble writing one.

Apart from his solo records, he’s churned out five classical works so far, including more than one Oratorio, and last year, his first Ballet.

Maybe he’s just ticking off the boxes in an already illustrious career. But it doesn’t rule out the possibility of something exceptional, or merely special, from occurring.

Something exceptional did occur in 2008, while McCartney was hiding out under his sporadic alter ego of The Fireman, when he released, “Sing The Changes”. The Paul McCartney nay-sayers, quick to deny the man another nanosecond of credibility, would have been utterly silenced. But, of course, they didn’t hear about The Fireman. They never saw how Macca could take their all their crap, and just shine it.

[“Sing The Changes” – The Fireman]

“Sing The Changes” is the greatest few minutes in the sometimes, prosaic half-hours of Paul’s output in recent years.

But then, I did also insinuate the possibility of something, merely special, occurring.

Which brings us to McCartney’s latest album, ‘Kisses On The Bottom’, a perfect opportunity for the nay-sayers to be dismissive, yet again. But let me tell you, this time they will be wrong.

[‘Paul at the photo-shoot for ‘Kisses On The Bottom’]

Perhaps it’s simply a reaction to Rod Stewart’s ceaseless disembowelling of the Great American Songbook. Whatever their motivation, there are those who are openly questioning McCartney’s reasons for releasing this album of old chestnuts. And asking, does the world really need it?

The answer to the second point is obviously, “No” but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t warrant our attention. The reason he made the record, is that he wanted to pay tribute to those formative tunes he first heard at home as a child, with his father at the piano. As a songwriter, McCartney learned to appreciate the simple magic in these songs, and the genius and charm in their structure.

More than forty years ago, McCartney showed himself as a lover of the great standards. He went on to write a few of them himself but its also fair to suggest that, without Macca, The Beatles would never have recorded the saccharine-drenched, “Til There Was You”. Rather than ask why he recorded ‘Kisses On The Bottom’, we might perhaps, wonder why he didn’t get around to it much sooner.

Almost ninety years ago, Thomas “Fats” Waller had a hit with, “I’m Gonna Sit Right Down And Write Myself A Letter”. Two decades on, it was a million-selling hit for Billy Williams. Its also been covered by Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Nat King Cole, Willie Nelson, and a multitude of others. For the same reason, Paul McCartney has also chosen to record it. It still stands as a composition of quality, many decades since it was written. Quite simply, it’s a good song.

[‘EPK for ‘Kisses On The Bottom’]

Some negative reviews of ‘Kisses On The Bottom’ have pointed to McCartney’s greatest achievements having been made in kicking down the edifices of the old and laying the foundations and ground-rules for all that would follow. That may well ring true but it still doesn’t mean ‘Kisses On The Bottom’ is a bad record. Even Quincy Jones has given the album some high praise saying, I’ve heard a lot of records covering these songs, but none of them have the authenticity that Paul’s has.”

The supporting cast behind McCartney are among the best in the business including, Diana Krall and her band, Stevie Wonder (on one track) and Eric Clapton, at his most mellifluous in years. The musicianship, throughout, exudes great warmth and every nuance, captured with empathy by respected Jazz producer, Tommy LiPuma.

McCartney’s primary role in these proceedings is that of a vocalist and interpreter.  He achieves this most admirably, and with obvious conviction. Rather than bending the songs to suit his own style, he pitches to each of them, in the spirit that they were written. On Irving Berlin’s “Always”, for example, his respect and restraint is clearly evident.

Even the two originals on the album are made to sit comfortably beside their neighbours. “My Valentine”, for one, can stand alongside any of McCartney’s best ballads, including, “Here There And Everywhere” and the much vaunted, “Yesterday”, while Eric Clapton’s contribution on acoustic guitar is sublime.

The songs that comprise ‘Kisses On The Bottom’ are from the golden age of 20th century music, a period long before McCartney and his colleagues ushered in the new Renaissance. They are among the titles that helped make that century great and deserve this kind of reverence in their re-imagining. Rod, and others from the Rock community, may continue to mine the endless rewards of the Great American Songbook with more commercial, if not artistic, returns but rarely will you hear the deference in their delivery that is apparent on McCartney’s record.

So, dismiss Macca all you like for being an old geezer who lost his Rock mojo somewhere on the road to Buckingham Palace, but not before you’ve heard “Sing The Changes”.

Or, dismiss ‘Kisses On The Bottom’ as further evidence of him going soft and straying into areas he doesn’t belong, but not before accepting that, as a writer of popular songs, McCartney stands with Irving Berlin, Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer and not in their significant shadows. With ‘Kisses On The Bottom’, Paul McCartney is paying tribute to his peers, as well as their celebrated creations.



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More ‘Strobo Trip’

Clocking-in at 6 hours, I figured that The Flaming Lips’ song, “I Found A Star On The Ground” is so mind-bogglingly long it warranted slightly longer consideration.
I’m picking up on the track from where I left off last night, after being forced to retire. I mean, who, these days, has the potential to devote six consecutive hours of their life to listen to one song? Kids with a few tabs of acid and no commitments, that’s who.
Nine years back, The Flaming Lips flirted with the mainstream when they scored a hit with, “Do You Realize??” from their wonderfully titled, ‘Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots’. It lured the listener in with it’s opening line, “Do you realize, that you have the most beautiful face”, before revealing a truth nobody likes to entertain. “Do you realize, that everyone you know, someday, will die.”
The Flaming Lips, it would seem, like messing with our heads.
Around a decade earlier, they were a hot ticket in the (alleged), Alternative scene, with a peculiar single called, “She Don’t Use Jelly”.
The Flaming Lips are a contemporary image of what The Grateful Dead represented in the 60s, around the time they recast the image of San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury as the world’s Hippie heartland.
They’ve released their share of melodic Stoner-Pop over the years, but its their equally shared aspirations to musique concrete that are given free reign on their latest EP. Lest one forget, The Flaming Lips have, for many years, been viewed with Keith Richards-like awe, vis-à-vis their appetite for various chemical entertainment devices. Or, to put it another way, Wayne Coyne does for Acid what Sam Kekovich does for Australian Lamb.
If there were any doubt, the band’s recent, “The Flaming Lips With Lightning Bolt EP”, released in July, offered songs like, “I’m Working At NASA On Acid” and “I Want To Get High But I Don’t Want Brain Damage”.
The new, ‘Strobo-Trip EP’ is more of the same in some respects. Its inclusion of the world’s first 6-hour Stoner Rock epic notwithstanding, ‘Strobo-Trip’ is a marketing coup in its employment of multi-media. We live in a world where marketing music is made more difficult by the ease of digital duplication. The record alone is barely enough anymore.
So, with the remaining synapses that do connect, The Flaming Lips conceived a device called the ‘Strobo-Trip Light Phase Illusion Toy’. It’s a chicken and egg debate as to which is meant to be more important, the toy, or the accompanying EP. One is intended to compliment the other, after all.
Earlier this week, Wayne Coyne introduced the toy to a handful of shoppers at a record store in Portland, Oregon, selling the packages for $45. There will be more of this limited edition on the way but the entire project reeks of exclusivity. Small wonder, people are prepared to part with their money.   
The package contains a strobe light and a small disc, which you are supposed to set spinning. The disc, according to Coyne, in a recent interview (with a big magazine), “has these little animations on it that kind of come to life when you put this strobe light on it.” And the music? Well, that’s what you listen to for the, presumably, endless hours of fun you derive from the toy.
Not included in the package but equally important to it’s enjoyment is the LSD. In the same interview (with the big magazine), Coyne further explained the band’s M.O.: “You know, that’s kind of our intention, so that people will buy it at, like, a festival, and then go back their parents’ and take some acid and play with it all night.”
Doubtless, Wayne is lobbying to be the pin-up boy for parents, everywhere.
As I mentioned earlier, the key track on the ‘Strobo Trip EP’ is, “I Found A Star On The Ground”, and thus far, it’s only claim to notoriety is it’s astonishing duration. But, is it any good? You know as well as I, the answer is entirely subjective. In six hours you will hear passages of sounds not unlike the 2 minutes of white noise Zappa used on the track, ‘Weasels Ripped My Flesh’. You will hear passages not unlike the industrial cacophony of Lou Reed’s ‘Metal Machine Music’. You will hear passages where a list of names are recited and where the song’s title, is invoked as a mantra, over a clash of instruments all playing in conflicting time signatures. And you will hear it rise and ebb for 6 continuous hours.
Like Eno’s Ambient soundscapes, this music is for the purpose of enhancing one’s environment. Think of it then, as a Dissonant soundscape. You don’t dance to this music (if you’re tripping, maybe), and neither is it conducive to meditation.
Is it Art? Most certainly, and whilst not without it’s rewards, “I Found A Star On The Ground” presents a marathon, and a challenging one.
Remember when you first heard “Revolution No.9” and you thought The Beatles had finally lost it? And how you still forensically studied it, searching for the clues confirming the death of Paul McCartney? Discovering “I Found A Star On The Ground” is a bit like that.
Interestingly, a guest collaborator on the piece turns out to be Sean Lennon. As a musician, Sean has never impressed me as anything more than a noodler. In the company of The Flaming Lips, he has been afforded a canvas of self-indulgence so large it must even impress his famous, multi-media mother.
And reflecting on the precursory influence of, “Revolution No.9”, I’m guessing, his dad would be extremely proud as well.
Whether “I Found A Star On The Ground” is deemed by critics to be good, terrible, or otherwise, is irrelevant. What makes “I Found A Star On The Ground” stand out as Art, is the bodacious grandiosity of its scale and its innovative use of a virtually limitless digital medium. The technological limits of vinyl, tape and CD formats have been swept away in the tide of progress. The potential for new innovations in both the way music is made and the perceived limits of its duration are up all for grabs, and pointing the way, is a weird little strobe light.

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I Found A Star On The Ground

Remember when Richard Harris released “MacArthur Park” and The Beatles released “Hey Jude”? Remember when Don McLean released “American Pie”? Top 40 radio had an unwritten but universally held law, that a Pop song should not exceed 3 minutes in duration.
Less than 3 was preferable but if it was more than 30 seconds over, it had virtually no chance of airplay.
A couple of years earlier, Phil Spector dared to poke the beast with a stick by releasing The Righteous Brothers’ single, “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling”. Employing all the guile of a snake oil salesman, he printed a duration of 3:05 on the label when in truth, it ran a full 40 seconds longer.
Radio was suckered and allegedly never forgave him for it, despite it being a number-one hit.
I can distinctly remember one station in Adelaide introducing what it had the brass to call, “Hey Jude – Part One”, and simply fading-out the 7-minute, globe-rodgering epic just as Macca’s “Na-na-na-nah” refrain was reaching its climactic pitch. Such sacrilege wasn’t about to wash with Beatles fans, however. Radio’s psychological 3-minute threshold was universally relaxed, soon after. The path made clear for future epics like “American Pie” and “Stairway To Heaven” to be played in their entirety.
In the ‘70s, long tracks were the stamp of credibility for any self-respecting Prog band. Everyone knew about “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” back in the day but then, Jethro Tull came up with their first landmark, “Thick As A Brick”.
Ostensibly, one song, but because of the limitations of the vinyl format, split in half over a single LP record. It was innovative, sure, but not unique. “Tubular Bells”? Don’t even get me started.
The next time such a major forward step would be made, was in 1985. Driven by my infatuation with Eno’s, “Music For Airports”, I picked up a copy of “Thursday Afternoon” the week it came out. The remarkable thing about it was that Eno (Rock Music’s own ‘Man from the Future’) had released a single track on the then still infant CD format, which ran, uninterrupted, for 60 minutes. Like most of Eno’s Ambient works, though, “Thursday Afternoon” was music to inhabit rather than experience, and in 1985, only the audiophiles and trainspotters showed any interest.
Today, I discovered that all those flexing attempts at pushing the boundaries of duration (and audience tolerance) have been rendered utterly redundant. Even John Cage, with his audacious 1952 composition, “4’33” cannot match the extraordinary reach of what I am listening to, right now.
Where John Cage was moved to filter his concept of Minimalism through muslin the equivalent of a Black Hole to arrive at a composition in three movements comprising 4 minutes and 33 seconds of complete silence, Wayne Coyne has achieved the unthinkable.
His band, The Flaming Lips, have just released their fifth EP for the year. It’s called, ‘Strobo Trip’ and it has 3 tracks on it. The most astonishing (and I do not use the word frivolously) thing about it is that the second track, “I Found A Star On The Ground” is 6 hours long.
Are you still with me?
Yeah, read that again.
I’ve been listening to it all evening, and I’ve just hit the halfway mark. It is, without a doubt, the most overconfident musical expression I will hear this year and probably, next year as well. You may never get to hear “I Found A Star On The Ground”. Perhaps you wouldn’t wish to. But know that it’s out there.
No doubt, I’ll have more to say when it’s over but like the song, the length of this post, may also be testing the boundaries.
And it’s been so long since the last one.

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The Majestic Silver Strings

Many are already aware of my great love of Americana. It’s that enormo-niche which, I believe, embodies the absolute, truest essence of American music.

As an Australian, and thus, an outsider, I also get to believe that it embodies an America of which, many Americans are not even aware. And if they are, they probably think of it as being something else. To someone like me, Americana, is as much a state of mind as it is a style of music. A hazy, mythical environment found only on the way to somewhere else. A place, every bit as mythical as that “somewhere” Australians call the Outback. A place people can speak of but never really go to. Proverbially, it lies beyond the black stump. Like the fabled Outback, the concept of Americana exists primarily in a world of imagery. It exists in the world of David Lynch films. But mainly, it exists in music.
And the locale, like the music, is not so easy to pinpoint.
It’s kinda Country but not that bullshit hat-wearin’ kind. It’s Blues but not of the modern, urbane variety. It’s Folk music, but not the collegiate sweater wearing style, or from any place remotely called, Honalee. It’s Bluegrass, Hillbilly, Cajun and Zydeco but by way of inference, rather than, specifically.
Americana is that place where civilization gives way to desert. Where stones crunch underfoot and the horizon shimmers in the heat. Where dust endlessly rises, settles, and rises again on the eddying breezes.
On long car journeys as a kid, I’d bug my parents by asking, “Are we there yet?” knowing perfectly well, we weren’t. Instead, we were usually in just the kind of place I’m talking about.
Some musicians get it, and as a fan, they win my greatest respect, for bringing all that mythical imagery to life. It gives me reason to believe that someone actually has been to these places I can only have ever imagined. These are real musicians, who understand the sound of wide-open spaces, and allow their music to swell with the emptiness. The notes are important but the air between them is vital if a song is to be allowed to breathe.
A perfect example of this, is by a small ‘s’ supergroup of players you may never have heard of, including Bill Frisell and Marc Ribot, brought together by Buddy Miller, a man who is himself, one of the best in the business. The group is called The Majestic Silver Strings and when you watch the clips below, you’ll see, they are not being boastful without reason. No one could argue with Clapton, Bruce and Baker when they adopted the name, Cream. Likewise, no one can dispute that this gathering of silver strings players is anything less than majestic.
Known to you, or not, these cats are what people refer to as, “musician’s musicians”. They know what they’re doing. Watch the clip below and you’ll know, in an instant, that there were no costume changes during this show, no auto-tuned vocals, no lip-synching to compensate for possible flaws. This is high-flying trapeze artistry without a net. And it’s awesome to behold.
When I was a kid, I often heard Roger Miller songs on the radio. Songs like “King Of The Road”, which I actually grew to appreciate more as I got older, and songs like “Do-Wacka-Doo”, which proved the opposite. There was the nod to the British Invasion in, “England Swings”, which still has it’s naïve charm. And then there was that other one, “Dang Me”, with a chorus that rolled so easily from the lips, but verses I never bothered to get close to. Until now.
I must have heard Roger Miller’s version of that song a million times but after the take by The Majestic Silver Strings, I was left trying to fathom Miller’s reasons for writing a song of such deep pain and self-loathing and then tossing it off as a Top-40 novelty tune.
Sure, his masterpiece, “King Of The Road” allowed it’s hobo protagonist to hold his head high by having the inside edge on the man in the street in knowing “every lock that ain’t locked when no-one’s around”. But “Dang Me” never, ever, sounded so dark as it does in the hands of these guys.
Even the throwaway poetic license of Miller’s original, rhyming purple with “maple syrple” is not permitted entry to lighten the mood. The interplay of the three guitars on the track is that edge of the desert sound I was trying to allude to earlier and the blistering solo is just the sort of thing that is missing from anything you’ll hear on Robbie Robertson’s new album, even with Clapton in the room.
Please check this out, and try and tell me I’m wrong:
“Dang Me” – The Majestic Silver Strings
Both “Dang Me”, and the album’s opener, a version of Eddy Arnold’s 1963 tune, “Cattle Call” were featured in this week’s edition of ‘Just Released’ (the new radio show I’m co-hosting with Bill on ABC Digital). If you missed it today, maybe you’ll catch the Sunday afternoon encore broadcast.
Better still, go and buy a copy of ‘The Majestic Silver Strings’ album from your favourite record store while it’s still in business. If there’s anything remotely resembling my idea of Americana in your own collection, Buddy Miller’s band can only help improve its cred.
As a bonus, here’s another track that appears on the album. Sure, it’s a cover version of a George Jones song. Sure, it’s a Country number. But hey, it swings! And besides, do you see a hat anywhere? …Nope.
“Why Baby Why” – The Majestic Silver Strings

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Robert’s Birthday

It’s Robert Johnson’s birthday.

More to the point, it’s his centenary.

The man known as the King of the Delta Blues was born in Hazlehurst, Mississippi on the 8th of May 1911 and lived a mere 27 years. That fact in itself is enough to give him notoriety, as he is generally considered the first member of the 27 Club, that growing list of musicians who had the distinct misfortune to check out at the age of 27 and remain, in the eyes of their fans, forever young. The list includes other such luminaries as Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Al “Blind Owl” Wilson of Canned Heat, Pete Ham of Badfinger, and Kurt Cobain. In 1938, Robert Johnson became the club’s inaugural member.
But there was more than his untimely death that made Robert Johnson a legend. During his lifetime Johnson’s success as a recording artist was modest, at best. The record business was merely a shadow of what it would later become and as an itinerant, African-American rural Blues musician, his releases were considered Race records, aimed squarely at the local music buying public in the South.
He only recorded 29 songs and just 11 of those were issued during his lifetime. In fact, he may well have fallen into obscurity were it not for an album of his rediscovered songs that was released in 1961, under the title, ‘King Of The Delta Blues Singers’. The album is now considered one of the most influential Blues albums ever released.

"King Of The Delta Blues Singers"

That influence touched on many of our contemporary music heroes including Fleetwood Mac founder, Peter Green, who has recorded every song in Johnson’s legacy. Robert Plant was another. That whole “squeeze my lemon, til the juice runs down my leg” line from Led Zeppelin’s “Lemon Song” was straight out of Johnson’s “Traveling Riverside Blues”.
“Traveling Riverside Blues” – Robert Johnson
Brian Jones introduced Keith Richards to that Johnson album as well, prompting Keith to ask, “Who’s the other guy playing with him?” before coming to realise that there was only one person playing the guitar. The Rolling Stones would go on to record the best contemporary versions of two of Johnson’s songs, “Stop Breaking Down” on ‘Exile On Main Street’ and two outstanding versions of “Love In Vain” on both ‘Let It Bleed’ and the live album, ‘Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out!’
“Love In Vain” – The Rolling Stones (1969)
The staunchest advocate for Robert Johnson, however, has always been Eric Clapton. At various times in his career, Clapton has described Johnson as “the greatest Bluesman who ever lived” and his music as being “the most powerful cry that I think you can find in the human voice, really..”. In his recent autobiography, Clapton confessed that he had once been such a snob about it, “..if you didn’t know who Robert Johnson was, I wouldn’t speak to you”.
Eric Clapton on Robert Johnson’s guitar technique.
Clapton has recorded pretty much all of Johnson’s music as well, either as a solo artist or in his days with Cream or John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers. Most famously, perhaps was that live version of “Crossroads” from Cream’s ‘Wheels Of Fire’ album. It was probably that song, more any other, that alerted me to the magic of Robert Johnson’s music. I also suspect that it was largely through being such a fan of Clapton at the time that I was motivated to find out more about this mysterious character who loomed so large, both in the history of the Delta Blues and the age modern Rock that I was then growing up in.

Much of Robert Johnson’s life is steeped in mystery and shadowy myth, with the most compelling tale, largely fostered by other Blues musicians like Son House, an early mentor, concerning him selling his soul to the devil at midnight, at a lonely Mississippi crossroads. In exchange, Johnson received his seemingly unearthly ability to play the instrument Son House attested he’d been so useless with just a few months earlier. Unlikely as it may appear to we, mere mortals, rather than simply discounting the story out of hand, Blues historians in the modern day have actually argued over which crossroads the deal went down. For the record, the accepted site was at the intersection of Highway 61 and Highway 49.
Further supporting that myth, of course, was the devil’s early collection of Johnson’s soul, when he was poisoned by an allegedly, jealous husband, whose wife was offering the handsome young Bluesman some undue attention at what would be his last gig, on the 16th of August 1938.
In celebration of the centenary of Johnson’s birth, there are two special editions of his music being made available, one of them, vinyl reproductions of the original 10-inch, 78rpm discs on which his recordings were first released. This is serious stuff, for serious collectors only but evidence of just how important Johnson’s name still is, even after a hundred years. And people are still recording his music today.
Robert Johnson is dead. Long live the King of the Delta Blues. You can bet this won’t be the only blog posted online today in dedication to his memory.
I rather think he would have been mightily impressed with all the fuss we’re making.

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Mo’ Better Showtime!

This new radio show keeps getting bigger. Am I arrested by delusions of world domination? Well, not quite yet.

However, since the last report yesterday, there have been even further developments.

The show, tentatively dubbed, ‘Just Released’ will now be going to air on Saturday – and Sunday. We make our grand debut tomorrow at 12:05pm Australian Eastern Standard time, with the Sunday timeslot of 5:05pm AEST reserved for an encore broadcast.

Of course, AEST means, if you’re in Western Australia, for example, it will be at 10:05 am on Saturday and repeated at 3:05pm Sunday.

Depending on where you live then, you will need to allow for the appropriate time adjustments to tune in, which, I’m guessing, will also affect the broadcast times for those listening to Radio Australia. If you use AEST as your default you will know when to tune in. I know it makes it easier for people on the east coast but at least we’re not subject to the added confusion of daylight saving right now.

Here’s another link that may help you tune in, on either day.

For the digital signal, just click on the site for ABC Local Radio and connect to your capital city station, or to Radio Australia, at the appropriate hours.

We’re looking to make friends here so, if there are any more developments on this front, I’ll be sure to let you know.

Tell your Mum!

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I think that’s what it’s called. Or, maybe, its just stupidity.
You know, when someone posts a blog about a new radio program under the bold heading of, “Showtime!” and then, doesn’t actually mention the time the show is on. Or, for that matter, the name of the show.
It’s so ludicrous, even I’m laughing about it. I began to suspect that something was up when the emails started arriving so, to make it that much easier, you might look out for a show called ‘Just Released’ (no, it’s not a countdown of the latest offenders freed from incarceration) and it’ll be on between 5 and 6pm from this Sunday afternoon, on your ABC Local Radio Digital station, online 
Now, if I can just find my way to the studio…

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