Tuesday February 24th 2009, 4:10 am
Filed under: General
WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE
As a young man, we looked forward every summer to when the next Twelfth Man tape would come out.
Billy Birmingham, in conjunction with the wonderfully talented producer Dave Froggatt, produced a series of albums parodying the iconic voices of Australian Cricket commentary.
These voices were synonymous with the sport that our nation worships every summer, and to hear them impersonated so well was a delight, to hear them breaking the rather stiff upper lip decorum of cricket by using filthy language at each other was pant-wettingly funny.
We would listen to the tapes quietly so Mum wouldn’t hear, rewinding the best bits, listening to them again and again, and then again. We’d listen to them until the tapes simply wore out.
Our entire swearing vocabulary was created by this man. We’d quote him endlessly, so much so that his turns of phrase entered our vernacular and remain solidly entrenched until this very day.
You can imagine my glee then when I was called by the man himself to appear on the next 12th Man record in late 2006. Billy and Dave came over to my house (which as you can see was still in Bachelor Pad mode, I’m married now so all of the toys have been put away) and away we went. I dressed for the occasion, in my 1981 World Series underarm special uniform, and away we went.
To be directed in the recording of some swearing, by the very man that taught me how to swear via his albums, was an amazing moment in my life.
There’s some very fruity language here, but by golly it was fun.
Thanks Dave for the video, and thanks Billy for having me.
An impossibly magical afternoon in Central
Park NYC.
Six inches of snow fell the night before, and I was out of the hotel quick sticks in the morning to shoot some rolls before work.
I simply love NYC, and days like this don’t help in warding me off wanting to live there. Of course, I’ve no idea how I’d sustain this kind of lifestyle for my wife and I but one can always dream.
Growing up in Brisbane Australia, where the temperature rarely if ever dips below 12ºC, and seeing all the American Christmas movies on the TV, you kind of wondered if that weather/atmosphere was actually real.
To wander around with the chilly air in my nostrils, the crunch of the snow under my feet, the fleeting warmth of a beam of sun between the trees and the sound of the horses in my ears, I was simply giddy with wonder.
I know New Yorkers reading this will be all “hey man, you don’t know what it’s like going to work in that shit every day” and they’re right. This particular day was remarkably clear and just , well, spiffy.
I am blessed to have one of the best jobs on earth.
Day after day, I get paid to meet musical icons to entire generations, and sometimes, to myself.
Such was the case yesterday.
We’re currently in L.A. (we not like the Royal we, but like my producer and my tech director and myself) covering the 2009 Grammy awards.
We’re backstage at the biggest radio remote broadcast you’ve ever seen.
Forty domestic stations, nine internationals, all broadcasting via uplinks back to their home stations/markets.
As we sit there all set up, every one that’s got anything at all to do with the Grammys (or not) comes wandering through, and sits and spends their three minutes with every radio market in the USA.
It was under such circumstances that I casually looked up from chatting with the latest auto-tune enhanced platinum-seller to see none other than Dr.Funkenstein himself, George Clinton.
Now, I have only a few times turned into a blithering mess on air due to insane fan-boy-itis. My 1999 interview with the Beastie Boys was testament to that, but all in all, it’s only happened about three times in fifteen years of broadcasting that I’ve been so floored with my own awesome adoration of an artist that I turn to mush.
With this in mind, I was super happy to have held it together when I met his Funkiness himself, George Clinton.
Parliament, Funkadelic, P-Funk you name it, this man wrote the book.
Everyone got famous sampling James Brown’s band, and James Brown’s band went on to play with George.
I can’t possibly go into a history here, but needless to say, he’s the reason a lot of music exists these days.
Anyhow.
What does one say to an icon? To someone who changed your life? To an artist whose records got you through the shittiest times in your life? To a man who gave you a band that made music so good, you had no choice but to get high and dance around your living room in glee? What do you say to someone who has changed the course of your musical tastes?
After all these years, I can only say one thing.
I shake their hand after the interview, I look them in the eye and I say “Thanks”.
It’s the most honest thing I can say, and tends not to frighten them off.
So I said thanks, and then we counted to four.
ONE, 2, 3, 4…
ONE, 2, 3, 4…
It’s all on the one baby…
x aa
Nine minutes of spine bending funk for you (it gets especially devastating around 7:00):
