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Vision Mission
Didjeridu solo by James Barrett
In
1995 I was living in Sydney, Australia in a suburb which was home to
many Aborigines, the indigenous people of Australia. Called Redfern, it
was centered on an area known as “The Block”, a crowded jumble of houses
and old factories where around 1000 Aboriginal people lived on land
that was returned to them by the Australian Government in 1973. Despite
having grown up in Australia this was, at the age of 26, my first
exposure to large-scale Aboriginal culture.
All up I lived in
Redfern about 3 years between 1995-99. The atmosphere changed a lot in
that time. This is a short account of a cultural sanctuary that existed
along side and because of the independant nature of The Block (long may
it live...) [Names changed to protect the innocent.]
The Fern
(1995-96).
Our house looked like a wooden ship long run aground. The
lower decks silted up and stuck fast in the earth. A crew of tattooed
white nomads of soul had moved in. Hair every color of the rainbow,
fleshy bits pierced, and always curious to pick through any unattended
pile; rubbish or recycle, silo or asylum. We would occasionally awake to
find strangers sleeping in the basement cellar spaces. These homeless
or traveling folk would usually be given tea and porridge before they
jumped back over the fence into the world beyond. Once a wine merchants
premises, three huge brick barrels like rooms made up the ground floor,
and each opened out onto the tiny backyard which was being composted
from day one; vegetables drawn from cement. The middle and main story
was four large rooms with a verandah running along three. Sculptures of
twisted metal, bone, plastic, feathers, artificial limbs, manikin
torsos, crazy flags, and banners hung from the railing and tumbled down
into the garden where a two meter dragon with leather wings and a
rotating blades for a head presided over a collection of urban jungle
and classical forms. In the rooms above lived a various individuals over
time, but that was usually the first thing they forgot.
I
came to live in Redfern, inner city Sydney, one day, some day; I can't
remember the first day. I remember I was frightened by it long before I
ever saw it. That same thing (brainwashing?) you laugh at today when you
tell people your suburb, and they go quiet and then ask "Is it
dangerous"?
Answer: "I like it because the hype keeps the tourists,
fashion clowns, and yuppies away". The thing I really liked about it the
most was the feel of community, the spirit of the suburb, which spread
an almost equally in distance from the railway station for all
directions but west. Opposite the station beat the real heart of
Redfern; The Block, for this was Aboriginal land. Australia
has existed for only a short time. Before white people named and
claimed, tied her up and robbed her, she was a living, breathing entity.
The spirit of the Aboriginal people is not dead and life in Redfern was
evident of this. This was one step out of Babylon, community where
people don't pretend to be nice, either they are or you know about it
fast. Sure, there was a lot of drugs, and a bit of violence, but we
lived in a state of psychological siege with the TV. telling you what
you've got to believe. As always the thing that everybody wants is
plastic and covered in fingers, and the only way you can be a man is if
you buy a house and have a retirement plan. Fuck the Brady Bunch family
values.
So let me tell you some things of The Fern. Our
house was found by Burn whilst looking at a possible squat site across
the road. It was a tumbled down triple story plaster and timber terrace
with a secret garden in the middle of the city for rent. It was taken
immediately as the deficit was growing for low cost accommodation and
production space for artists in inner city Sydney. A month before ten
years of tradition had ended with the eviction and demolition of 134
Campbell Street, Darlinghurst. This had been a madhouse of creativity
and alternative culture with strong links to the National Art School
just across Taylor Square. The so-called gentrification of Darlinghurst
was ploughing ahead. The way The Glebe and Balmain had gone in the
1970's and early 1980's was happening to Darlinghurst, Newtown, and
Chippendale in the 1990's. At this same time Cyberspace Studios in
Glebe, home at one stage to 80 artists was going through the eviction
process. For a while in 1994 it seemed that everyone who was not
prepared to prescribe to the normality of experts in Central Sydney was
retreating to Redfern.
In Regent Street was to be found
The Golden Ox, once a restaurant, now a venue for everything from Koori
bands to trance traveler's techno parties. It was also home to many,
some long, some short term. In the next block Renwick Street provided
the public with Airspace Studios, Sylvester Studios, and The Punos
Warehouse. A combined living space for as many as 50 artists this was
also perhaps the busiest street in Redfern. Airspace contained a large
warehouse style gallery with different exhibitions and performances
every month. It was managed by one who went by the name of P.C.D-23, a
long time resident of Cyberspace Studios in Glebe. Both Airspace and
Sylvester Studios were situated in a former meat works factory providing
vast combined living and studio space for artists, and both were always
full to capacity during their relatively long history. The Punos
Warehouse was home to the Punos design team who constructed environments
for techno parties, and the interior of their warehouse was testament
to their abilities. A huge dragon and a fly at the entrance leading to a
space filled with all manner of objects floating and flying. Punos
worked a lot with the famous Vibe Tribe sound system in 1993-95, which
ended a glorious career in a police provoked riot with a party at the
Sydney Park brick kilns on 8th April 1995.
Vibe Tribe party, Sydney Park Brick Kilns 1995.
At the city end of Renwick Street on the intersection of
Regent and Cleveland Streets was the Artspace Gallery and performance
space. Not to be confused with the recently government conspired
Artspace in Wooloomaloo, which was created from the building occupied by
The Gunnery, Sydney's most famous artist run space. Around the corner
was 2 George Street, a 6-floor terrace house occupied by many of the
Vibe Tribe organizers (situated next door to the Independent Commission
Against Corruption and as a result under 24 hour video surveillance). It
was at one time the home of 30 adults, several dogs and a few children.
Across the park from George Street, following the eviction of Glebe's
Cyberspace, was the 5 floors of The Sydney Sculpture Studios. About 40
people lived in the warehouse building, engaging in activities ranging
from music to sculpture, dealing and party planning. Next door to the
sculpture studios was one of the few squats in Redfern, occupied by
about 10 punks they made use of the facilities at the Studios for water,
eating, and toilets. At the other end of the street at 186 George
Street were a crowded terrace house and the city base for many techno
style travelers, with around 40 of them crowded into the three floors
for weeks at a time. Around the corner on Redfern Street could be found
140a Redfern Street, a large warehouse space and home to many over
almost 15 years. Heading east down Redfern Street brings one to 120a
Redfern Street, my address and a somewhat typical home for about 30
travelers and wise fools from 1994-98. Some of us worked a little bit.
In fact at most times the house (3-8 occupants at any one time) was
funded by Roy Morgan Market Research (to this day I hate telephones),
and the Department of Social Security (bless the memory). Everyone
wanted to spend as much time dreaming as possible, and did not worry too
much about money. We were living on the almost dead, kissing the
carcass, and taking from the old what we needed to build our own fragile
reality. Somehow it suited the time and the place. This rekindled
philosophy of the hippy aesthetic given a punk attitude. Often labeled
as Ferals it was more than just a fashion for many who embraced this
understanding. Lacking the nihilism of the European so called New Age
Travelers ("Not in this age, not in any age", said John Major), much
angrier than the hippies ever were, and determined to breed and build a
micro-society, unlike the short lived, do or die punk movement. Excess
was the enemy and transcendence was the goal of many. However, as always
with humans the ideal often falls short in practice, and the pressures
against any self-directed autonomous zone are many.
The
top level of our house was a single grand bedroom with cracked plaster
ceiling, two arched windows in each opposite facing walls, a fireplace
at one end. It was like living in a tower. When I came to the house the
tower was occupied by Sev, who began his day much later than most
usually in the area of high noon or sunset. Sev's public life consisted
of, among other things, the Erotometre. A device comprising voltammeter
and frequency generator, with a needle through the penis of each male
(Sev and friend), they became a naked switch in a high pitch electrical
storm of tongues and fingers, touching and rubbing. Sev also performed
telephone research at The Morgue (Roy Morgan Research) but said it was
far below his intelligence (this was true of everyone working there
except perhaps administration). Below Sev's chamber was the velvet cave
of Burn, a witch and sorceress of the highest spirit. It was she,
Burn-Ya-Debts who found the house along with Kira, and the famous
Lebanese/Australian wild poet of the Snowy Mountains, Riesh. When this
story began Burn made statues and told stories. She was drawing and
painting, a poet and student at the National Art School.
The kitchen was the heart of the house. A large round table, dozens of
flowers in dried arrangements hung from the ceiling. Stove was quick to
cook with cupboards full of spice and fruit, vegetables, and soy
products (god bless the bean). Many chairs, a stereophonic
cassette-playing machine, and chai made to order. Famous for it's wall
of obituaries including Andy Warhol, Vincent Price, Sterling Morrison,
Brett Whitley, Tracy Pew, Kurt Cobain, Nico, Frank Zappa, Salvador Dali,
River Phoenix, Kurt Wolf, and more always to come. From the kitchen a
long hall went passed a bathroom with some tales to tell, and many
seashells scattered. Then a small painting studio occupied by the
occupier of the room at the end of the hall. Kira was in love at this
time and shared her room of ancient objects and beautiful cloth with an
intense young artist by the name of Dun. Together they danced love for a
time, made art in every movement, took to walking in parks, making
forward in each other's eyes. This was that moment you find your whole
life out in front of you.
In 1995 the National Art School
was in threat of "rationalization" by faceless bureaucrats unless the
staff, students, and friends of the school could influence the decision
makers. We in our corner of the urban sprawl decided to assist and at a
rally in Martin Place we performed on the back of a Dodge flatbed truck.
So was born Senselesss, a floating collection of performers, artists,
musicians, poets, and attention seekers. Fueled by belief in
existential coincidence, redundant technology, and cannabis, Senselesss
would undertake a variety of acts and demonstrations in numerous
settings over an eventful twelve months.
Sound sculpture
and the collective subconscious were the seeds of the group consisting
of a core of three people and involving many. The large steel sculptures
included a 50 strings box harp suspended from the ceiling, the size of a
coffee table and weighing about 120 kg. Also three round steel bells a
meter in diameter and weighing 100kg each, and a single string upright
base that sounded like a compressor pedal from hell. Combined with
films, tape loops, poetry, lighting effects, fire, costumes, dance, and a
sense of ritual. A variety of reactions were received when we committed
an act. Performances were made at the Sydney College of Fine Arts,
Sydney College of Art, The Metro Theatre, Airspace Gallery, King
George's Hall in Newtown, and for the art terrorist organization
Brainwash. Throughout 1995 there were 12 public performances made and in
1996 the group began to engage in a more private exploration of sound.
Following the suicide of one of the major contributors in early 1997 the
original group disbanded.
By 1997 things in Redfern were
beginning to noticeable change as well. A deal had been done between a
few powerful government appointed individuals in the Aboriginal
community and the South Sydney City Council. The aim seemed to disband
and scatter the residents of The Block (Divide and conquer served the
British invaders well and is still employed in black-white relations in
Australia), and then reclaim the real estate. The heavy police presence
in Redfern was also beginning to give the area a feeling of siege or
open warfare. The harassment and strong-arm tactics from law enforcement
included ten police marching up and down Everleigh Street (the main
street of The Block) in full riot gear and then getting back in the van
and driving away, daily for about two weeks. Street strip searches were
almost a daily occurrence, and despite a police station being set up in
the train station, heroin was still being sold openly only meters away.
One night in 1997 some person or persons unknown emptied a machine gun
into the doorway of a female aboriginal elder's house (the council of
elders opposed the relocation of the residents of The Block). The
newspapers (which were already publishing shock stories about the drugs
in Redfern) the next day ran a story about right wing extremists
terrorizing the Aboriginal population, although nobody was detained over
the attack and nobody saw who the attackers actually were.
The atmosphere in the area was degenerating into violence and
resentment. Nothing was being done to improve the living conditions of
Block residents and no policy of prevention or harm minimization was
attempted in regards to the flow of heroin into the suburb. A needle
exchange program consisted of simple handing out hundreds of syringes
each day without any support, counseling or care offered or available.
The local exchange program was halted after public outcry over a
newspaper photograph of a 15-year-old white boy injection himself with
heroin in an alleyway in Redfern. After this action a Commonwealth
Health Department car would simply leave 1000 syringes in the middle of
Everleigh Street every morning, not even bothering to pick up the used
syringes. The pressures upon the community seemed to be coming from the
very top levels of Australian society and Government. It was the final
stage in the "gentrification" of the inner city area of Sydney.
Most of the artist run spaces in Redfern had been evicted and
demolished by the end of 1997, and the process of "gentrification" was
well and truly underway. Throughout 1997-98 Redfern was the subject of
several shame articles in the tabloid press, and real life "shock TV"
programs. The traders of the Redfern Street clothing factory seconds
shops began to notice a drop in trade at this time and many were forced
to close by early 1999. Appeals by the local small business organization
to begin a plan to revitalize the area, using the vehicle of Aboriginal
culture as a means of achieving this were met with brush-offs and
silence from local and state politicians. Real estate speculation was
not suffering however, and the first million-dollar terrace house in
Redfern (Pitt Street) sold at auction in mid-1997. The cafe culture also
began to establish itself in Redfern and Regent Street, although they
did not yet open at night when the windows were covered with very heavy
security grates. I left Redfern on 21st February 1996 to help nurse my
grandmother through the last weeks of her life. Although I would live in
Redfern again the necessary lessons had already been learned.
I was fascinated by the stories and struggles of the Aboriginal
people and after a short time of living in Redfern I wanted to learn to
play their long flute-like instrument from the far north of Australia.
Most people call it a Didjeridu, but that is a European interpretation
of the name based on the sound the instrument makes. The Aboriginal
people call it by several names, some being Yiraka or Yidaki ( trachea),
Artawirr (hollow log), and Ngaribi (bamboo).
My first Didjeridu
was a copper pipe, played a bit like a trumpet, but with a small enough
aperture to make it easier to circular breath, as is needed to play
Didjeridu. Shortly after this a friend of mine who lived in an isolated
Aboriginal community in the far north of Australia sent me a Didjeridu.
This instrument I played for a year, until I had the opportunity to
leave Australia and travel as a near destitute backpacker. When I
arrived in England in 1997 an English friend gave me his Didjeridu as he
was about to go to Australia and could not carry the heavy instrument
with him. So I was now broke and in Europe with a Didjeridu. I began
playing on the streets as a busker, earning enough money to survive and
stayed in Europe for 18 months, meeting up again (we first met in India
in 1996) with the girl who I would eventually marry and set up a home
with.
I lived as a street musician in Amsterdam for most of
1998, and have played at cafes and festivals in Spain, Holland,
Germany, Sweden and Belgium. In Amsterdam I spent 3 days in the company
of Alan Dargin who was one of the two best Didge player I have ever seen
(the other is Charlie McMahon). My most recent achievement was playing
at the 397th and 399th Saami Winter Market in Jokkmokk in the far North
of Sweden, in February 2002 and 2004 where I was part of a group of
Saami, Inuit, Swedish, American, Japanese and British musicians whose
first performance (2002) was recorded by Finnish radio. The second
perfromance was the highlight of
a multimedia web project
undertaken by Umeå University.
Playing the Didjeridu has given me many opportunities to meet
people. There is much interest in the instrument and the ancient culture
it represents. The Didjeridu is more than just an instrument for me, as
it has a presence that is difficult to describe without using spiritual
terminology. The breathing technique and the hypnotic tones it produces
have a highly meditative effect on myself and often on those who
listen.
The Didjeridu has become identified with what is labelled
The New Age. I think of myself as coming from a culture which is
described in the book “The Didjeridu: From Arnhem Land to Internet” , as
alternative lifestylers’ whose “model society is based on four
essential elements; firstly holism of experience, secondly community
with it’s qualities of interrelatedness and co-operation, thirdly
ecology, with its sustainable ethos and fourthly, a creative spiritual
milieu.” (Neuenfeldt et.al. p140). It goes on to say that it is the
rejection of materialism by alternative lifestylers’ which separates us
from the New Age movement, which “has become in many cases a highly
commercialised and profit making industry” (ibid.).
Bibliography:
Neuenfeldt Karl (Ed.) The Didjeridu: From Arnhem Land to Internet John Libbey Publishers. Sydney. 1997
By james barrett
