Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Hype Williams Responds.

Dear Huna,

Here is the video for Empire State of Mind.

Given your comments about my recent work, you probably won’t love this video as much as other things I’ve done. It was a lot to ask of me, since you don’t really like the song that much either. You’ll probably think Alicia Keys is a bit to glam in the video. You’ll probably start with a really good question like, “Why didn’t we go for a stripped back, natural kind of styling, since the song is about, what it’s like to really live and breathe in New York?” And you’ll probably wonder why we didn’t just give her a seat. I had my reasons.

Nuff said.

Hype Williams

P.S. Hopefully, the still that pops up at 1 minute and 28 seconds will keep you happy for now.

P.P.S. The line about B.K. being from Texas is my favourite too.

Monday, November 2, 2009

John F. Kennedy and Rowland S. Howard.

I know. A long time between entries...and I didn't finish my Fashion Week breakdown (I will, eventually). I've spent a lot of the time working. But, the arrival of a certain person, or I should say, the return of a certain person has diverted a lot of my attention. In case you didn’t know Tamika is back. In case you thought that didn’t concern you, this is Tamika...


Good, right? Right. We’ve been friends all our lives. We went to pre-school, primary school and high school together. As my oldest friend she knows me better than anyone. She calls me out on a lot of my shit, simply by saying “Huna, no.” I let very few people say that to me. There have been a few times when I’ve gone to her with an idea that I know I shouldn’t put into action. Bad, bad ideas, that I can’t talk myself out of. So I go and tell her, knowing she’ll say “Huna, no.” That’s all I need to hear, it makes me stop every time. This is one of the best things about our friendship—she doesn’t let me get away with my usual shit. I think after 20 years, we are pretty much like sisters or maybe brothers since I call her J.F.K. and she calls me Bobby. Welcome back Mr. President.

From one friend, to some others. For J.F.K’s return a whole bunch of us went out for drinks. During the course of the night I had to leave to go see Rowland S. Howard. It was a show I’d been looking forward to for a while, it seemed many (many) others felt the same since Oxford Arts was effing packed. When I arrived there was an epic line. After some investigation I found out I had to join the epic line. Very quickly, this bearable situation became one of the most painfully awkward and awkwardly painful moments of my life so far. With one person separating us, I was standing behind two people, who until very very recently were two of my closest friends. So standing in the epic line behind them was painful. It became more painful, when the other two fifths of what was formally called the “Folds Five” came out and stood there too. When I realised nothing more was going to be said, I stared at the ground. Eventually, I got inside. Eventually, I found a spot where I could see. And eventually—after a few messages from Tamika—I was able to enjoy, what was a really good set from Rowland S. Howard.

Note on the text: I should say...since writing this Michaela apologised  for what happend . I happily accepted the apology. Everything is forgiven, all is forgotten.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Dear Hype Williams...

What the hell is going on? First this little Oscar party with Ron Howard...

Now this...

What’s with the ponytail dancing? It looks dangerous; she could take an eye out. I thought The Booty was the WMD of the hip-hop video?

Which brings me to another thing, one of those ponytail bitches doesn’t even have anything out back. Seriously, she has a back with a crack. She is a car without a boot. Is her name Betty? I think I've met her before, she lives in that house on the corner, with no backyard. Why blow all your budget on stick-on ponytails, when you could go to Ikea and buy her a storage unit, tack that on the back. Or, I could just donate some of mine, I have extra.

And, another thing, what’s with baptising Kanye in the fountain? Didn’t think you could get weirder than Ron Howard. I was wrong.

C’mon dude, you did this….

And this...

And my personal favourite, this...

Time to lift your game, get back on track. Just remember the basics and you'll do fine.

Hopefully, State of Empire will be your return to the top.

Yours most sincerly,

Huna Amweero

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Paris Fashion Week- Part Two

So yesterday, we did Favourite Collections...
Today, we do Favourite and Least Favourite Models....
I've picked two who have been pretty much all over fashion week....

Favourite model goes to Natasha Poly...places she looked the best....
...in all white at ChloƩ
...ruffles at Stella McCartney
...then this at John Galliano
And then here at Christian Dior
My Least Favourite Model goes to Abbey Lee. She did pretty much every major show at fashion week. She must have the best walk, or something, because I just don't get it. Designers that made her look the most appealing were; Karl Largefeld, Ellie Saab
...and Sonia Rykiel

Monday, October 12, 2009

Paris Fashion Week- Part One

For the last week or so, all I've been watching is FTV, so I figured I'd spend the next five days writing about the recent Paris Fashion Week. It'll make a nice change from my text heavy rants- expect lots of pictures! It was Spring/Summer 2010 Ready-to Wear, and I thought the best place to start would be my favourite collections...

Runners up are...
For the skirts, colours, shoes and flowers...Rochas

...and for the wiggas, Jean Paul Gaultier

...But my favourite has to be
Viktor and Rolf, who cut tulle with an electric saw...

Still to come...Natasha Poly, no pants and a wily pirate.

(photo credit: Marcio Madeira)

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Kiss and make up with your friend.

The first entry was about B.
The logical next step...Wolf & Cub.
I’m not sure where to start though. Let’s try this...

I’ve had a bad couple of weeks. Two weeks in LA and one week home in Sydney, and I’ve managed to fuck up a large part of my life. In these last three weeks, Joel Byrne/Wolf & Cub have appeared three times;

The first was in LA. After a few tries, Michael Park had finally pushed me to my limit. How he escaped with his life, I’ll never understand, but in my drunken/drugged/justified rage, I went home and used a computer. Not a good idea. I was a massive bitch to Joel Byrne, MASSIVE. I think it was his birthday too... (I SHOULD PROBABLY SAY HERE: IF YOUR NAME IS MICHAEL PARK AND YOU EVER MEET JOEL BYRNE, THANK HIM. HE TOLD ME TO “KISS & MAKE UP” WITH YOU).

The second was in LA again. This was probably the lowest point of the whole two weeks. I was packing my bag to come home. Michaela had left after a fight that I caused. Vessels was playing.

The third time, was last Saturday. I thought it might do me some good to go and see Wolf & Cub play. I figured, even thought my life was a complete and absolute mess, seeing them play would grant me at least one hour of unadulterated pleasure. It would also give me the chance to apologise to Joel Byrne...(I SHOULD PROBABLY SAY HERE: IF YOUR NAME IS JOEL BYRNE, PLEASE DO NOT READ ON. I’M SERIOUS. I’LL KNOW IF YOU HAVE)...

I should have probably started here....

Since we met, Joel Byrne has only ever been nice to me. And I know the entry prior to this one gives B all the credit she deserves, but Joel Byrne has taught me two very important things that deserve some acknowledgment.;

The first—He was my first ever interview. I was seventeen, nervous, a massive fan and nervous. From what I remember, he was nice enough to talk candidly about the band and their music. I realised then, how much there was to find out about the music I like (or dislike). This was the moment I decided I wanted to turn that into some kind of career.

The secondHe seems to care what I think about his band, or at least he’s nice enough to act like he cares. This is a doubled-edged sword. On the one hand, The Dictator in me (aka my massive ego) needs to learn that my opinion doesn’t matter, or isn’t always necessary. On the other hand, it’s also the reason I think I might have something of worth to contribute in writing or speaking about the music I like (or dislike).

So, like I said, after nearly three years (God! Three years!) of being more than nice, I transfigured into a monumental bitch. Actually, I was a total and utter cunt to him. So I ventured out on a raining evening, without booze (because I was driving to FBi after) and without cigarettes (I quit in LA) with the aim of apologising in person.

I arrived sometime during The Vasco Era. It was probably during this time that I should have gone and apologised to Joel Byrne, but instead I got accosted by a really foul drunk man, who wouldn’t let me escape. Actually, I probably could have excused myself easily by saying I had to go apologise to Joel Byrne, but I couldn’t. I don’t usually have problems apologising, especially when I have actually done something wrong. But the problem here wasn’t the apology, it’s the fact that Joel Byrne makes me nervous--I’ve always been eager to work out how he manages to do this, no one makes me nervous. Unfortunately, I couldn’t seem to combat my nerves or get away from the drunken sleaze before Wolf & Cub came on stage. I promised myself, if I had enough time, I’d fit in a quick hello/apology after the show before rushing to FBi.

Now to the set. It was a weird one. For one thing, Thom their bass player was absent. Replaced with someone—I forget his name now—who looks a lot like him. And I know he played the same stuff as Thom usually does, but still it felt different. Too different for me. Secondly, it was one of those sets where it seems like Joel Byrne drank too much red cordial beforehand. In some respects this kind of energy totally works, because it seems like he’s having a lot of fun, in turn, people in the crowd get into it as well. At other times, I don’t know, it seems like he isn’t enjoying it at all. Actually, no, that’s unfair. I think, it’s more that I associate, the hyper Joel Byrne with the poorer Wolf & Cub sets I’ve seen, rather than the better ones. Last time I saw them, hyper Joel Byrne really worked. This time for me, it didn’t so much. (I should probably say here:, the red cordial does wonders for his dancing—he’s no Tunde Adembimpe, but he definitely works his hips well).

That being said, the show certainly had its moments. The songs from Science and Sorcery, especially ‘Hearts’ and ‘What Are They Running’ were great. Hearing them played live has made such a difference to how I feel about the album—I think because it eliminates the presence of S&S’s (wrong) choice of Producer . On the whole, they played a really solid set, ending with one of the best versions of ‘Steal Their Gold’ I’ve heard them play in a long time. Unfortunately, they decided to play an encore. Unfortunately, they chose ‘Vessels’, a song which runs around 6 minutes long. Unfortunately, it was around 11:35. Unfortunately, I had to leave half way through. Because I left halfway through I can’t say if the encore was a good choice or not. I can say, I wished they’d left their set at ‘Steal Their Gold’. It was awesome, and it would have given me the time to seek out Joel Byrne.

I know, this whole thing seems pointless now that you find out I didn’t get to apologise, right? Right.

And Joel Byrne isn’t reading this anyway, because I told him not to, right? Right.

Hmmmmmm, I don’t think I can turn this into anything that has some kind of point.


(Photo credit for this entry: Macarena)

Wednesday, September 23, 2009


I used to have a plan.

Unfortunately I got distracted and a little off track. In an effort to get to where I originally wanted to be, I am documenting the next 18 months of my life, loves and likes. And since this is the beginning, I want to start at the beginning—or at least the vague point in time that my terrible memory calls the beginning...

I can’t remember when Freya and I became friends. I think this always frustrates her. She says she remembers me in Year 9; apparently we were in the same roll call. I don’t remember her, but she is adamant that she remembers me and my roxy backpack.

Year 10 is where she comes into it for me. I can’t pinpoint a moment, but I know she was there. We had roll call together, but never really talked. We had all our classes together, but never sat next to each other. I guess the only solid memories I have of her back then, are in band. We both learnt instruments from the same teacher, he introduced us (although I don’t remember the moment, I’m just assuming that’s how it happened). Outside of band, we didn’t hang out at all, I think I could go so far to say, we barely talked at all. I don’t know, maybe we did. Honestly, I don’t remember.

I guess by the time I realised we were friends, I was in too deep. This was when Ms Barnett—in an effort to control the class—had put us in alphabetical order. I’m an A. Freya is a Z. Freya and I were both pretty good students, so she took us off either end and stuck us in the very back corner. One day I went home, the next day I came back and she was gone. She’d gotten sick overnight- her kidney exploded- and had been taken to hospital. The time after that is my first memory of missing Freya. I sat in the back corner for weeks all alone. There was even one moment when I thought I’d heard her voice behind me in the corridor, and I turned around, all excited, and it was Katie Attwell. I felt the kind of disappointment you only feel when you drop your ice-cream on the ground.

I mark that moment as the point at which I realised I was done for. This was it. After 16 years, I’d acquired a second best friend. For the next year, we continued to play in band together, sat next to each other, under the fan in Modern, swapped music, hung out at our lockers before I went off to Maths. We weren’t inseparable, we never ate lunch together, we never hung out on weekends and like I said, I took Maths. But it was at this time she became one of the most important people I know.

It’s during this time we started calling each other Lenin and Trotsky. I was pragmatic, wrote a good essay, and my preferred political system was a Dictatorship. She had a radically creative mind, capable of producing the HSC creative writing equivalent of the Theory of Permanent Revolution. And I’m sure she’s make a mess of negotiating the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk.

There is no better Bolshevik. And she is my successor.

Now, I am sure you a wondering, how this relates to this blog. Well, I think it’s time to place the blame where it is due.

I mentioned how we used to meet each other at our lockers and talk before classes. It wasn’t organised, we’d just be getting books and stuff. But always, before going our separate ways we’d have a rushed conversation. More than often, the conversation would be about music. I distinctly remember one about the third album from The Vines. I think it’s around here that I changed my mind about what I was going to do. Since I was very young, I wanted to be a Human Rights Lawyer, maybe work for the UN (so much promise, I know). Somehow, very close to the end of Year 12, I think it might have been during the HSC, I realised I wanted to write, and I wanted to write about music. I used to credit (or blame, depending on who in my family you talk to) that shift to Joel Byrne—he came along around that time. But really it was those conversations with Freya. It is around then—maybe just a little bit after, she became Beatrice...

If you’ve ever read Dante or Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, a Beatrice is a great love/muse.

B is why I write and who I write for.

So I think, as I get back on track (much in part, thanks to her, “just write, you have to write” she said, after I expressed a desire to do a degree in Maths), as I head towards NYU and Spank Rock’s baby, it seems only appropriate that this collection is named for her.

So to my long divergent road,

This is not 13 books, but it may well be a journey out of Hell.

We begin.

(photo credit: Frances)