Music For Small Audiences

There is a saying in Germany – Man sieht sich immer zweimal im Leben – that has baked into it a delightful ambiguity. Functioning simultaneously as both wistful sentiment and subtle warning, it acknowledges that goodbyes rarely mean forever. It speaks to the interconnectedness of social relationships, and of the cyclical nature of life. Whether you’ve enjoyed someone’s company and feel they’re leaving too soon, or you feel that they’ve wronged you (and that you might welcome a future opportunity to settle the score), this expression reminds us not to assume any departure is permanent. I must admit I’m not entirely certain how our German host meant it, but as the saying itself suggests, time will tell. This is Episode 122 of Music For Small Audiences. As befits the title and writeup, it contains a few references to prior episodes, themes and epochs, as well as a few refreshed takes on some timeless classics. There is of course a whole bunch of groovy new stuff mixed in too. Wherever you are on the cycle of hello, goodbye, and oh hey, I hope it brings you peace, resilience and joy.

I read somewhere recently that ‘strategy is what you say no to’. We can't be all things to all people, and we can't take advantage of every opportunity that comes along. Time, money, and energy are all limited resources. And so it seems reasonable to not expend any of them moving in a direction we don't want to go. That said, it's also too easy to slip into the habit of ‘just this once’ – and to be seduced by the power of marginal thinking that leads us to take individually justifiable actions in the short term that are in opposition to our longer term interests. After all, no single raindrop believes it is responsible for the flood, right? This is episode 121 of Music For Small Audiences. It was recorded in the leadup to a trip I'm really looking forward to – a weeklong study exchange in Germany, coming at a very interesting time for future European historians to consider. The mix has been put together as the soundtrack to that multinational voyage, which begins in a few days.

The Australian summer holiday period is winding to a close, and Melbourne is slowly gearing back up into its normal urban pace after a very sleepy four week period. While it can be difficult to unwind after a fast-paced year, it can be just as difficult getting the mind body and spirit back up to speed again after a few weeks of lazy self-indulgence. Can’t say I’m completely there yet, but the motor is at least running. Much as I envy those who can easily nap during the day – falling asleep quickly, and then jolting back into action on waking – I envy those who are able to dial it up and down from work to relaxion quickly when circumstances suggest. Perhaps the skill to develop is just that. Lots to work on in this regard. This is episode 120 of Music For Small Audiences. It was recorded early in the new year, on a decidedly relaxed summer evening. There is a fair bit of high quality made-in-Melbourne progressive house in here too (including the intro track) – so much good stuff coming out of Melbourne these days. Enjoy!

I have recently returned from a fair bit of solo travel that included time with friends, family, and some study. There is something special about travelling alone that is uniquely thought provoking. I am reminded of a quote that I’m not able to determine the provenance of but that has long rattled around my head – ‘there is no loneliness quite like the loneliness of a long drive home late at night, having visited worlds that no one else will ever know.’ I’m confident the same can be said of a long overnight flight returning home, too. This mix was recorded live in Vancouver on the first weekend of the trip at my good friend Dan’s groovy inner city pad. It carries throughout a couple of relevant thematic elements, and served as my soundtrack for the rest of the journey. With a DJ booth facing the outdoor terrace, and the terrace offering an elevated view of Gastown, Chinatown and surrounds with all of its urban grit and energy, Dan’s place was a really fun space to catch up with friends and reconnect.

I played a really fun house party gig in the inner west last night, sharing the controls with two very good friends. We've played a lot of gigs together over the years, from sharing residencies here in Melbourne nearly twenty years ago through to countless club gigs, parties and get-togethers in all sorts of interesting places with many lovely people over the years in between. A good gig remains equal parts energising and cathartic. It's amazing to reflect on just how quickly twenty years can go by – and who we have each become in the process. Somewhere along the way we've each turned into actual adults. Hard to say where or when it happened, even with the benefit of hindsight. Thankfully, we have stayed connected to each other, and I’d like to think we’ve stayed true to ourselves. While we're each indubitably twenty years older than we were twenty years ago, and we’ve each added a few wrinkles and grey hairs since those heady nights of the noughties, nights like last night really reinforce the power and importance of enduring good friendships. It's also a friendly reminder of just how timeless shared musical bonds can be. While it's true that many of the ‘old school classics' we played last night were our up front and fresh new catches twenty years ago, it also goes to show that a good tune is a good tune is a good tune. As the old John Digweed saying goes, the only thing that matters is what comes out of the speakers. This is episode 118 of MFSA. There is some sensational music contained within, including a couple of bits of wax that I had been checking the post for regularly prior to their arrival. Enjoy.

I celebrated a milestone recently. To mark the occasion, we spent a few days in sunny Brisbane. While it wasn’t a long trip, it was a relaxing trip, and an inspiring one, too. In such a context it is hard not to reflect with some depth on one’s mortality and one’s time and place in the world. Thankfully, the trip involved plenty of walking, plenty of time in nature, plenty of time in the ocean, and plenty of time doing not-very-much. Good for the soul, I suspect. This is episode 117 of Music For Small Audiences. Recorded live the weekend before the trip, it’s a laid back look at some of the more reflective music in my collection, including a few modern takes on some classics, and a few groovy tunes that have been stuck in my head for weeks. It builds from a gentle start, and is exactly the sort of set I’d play for a lazy late-afternoon-into-early-evening subtropical sunset poolside get together. Enjoy.

Sometimes it’s important to play to your strengths. Sometimes it’s important to work on your weaknesses. For some reason the former always sounds much more appealing than the latter. After a nearly ten year break, I have returned to study. I am hoping some of the topics covered will be within my existing areas of knowledge. At the same time, I both look forward to and fear the parts that are at the moment completely foreign to me. Time will tell I suppose. This is the 116th installment of Music For Small Audiences. At just under four hours, it was recorded live on March 2024. As befits my current headspace, it contains within at least one unveiled reference to the connection between effort and reward. As always, perspective is everything. I hope you enjoy.

Never trust a thought that occurs indoors, the saying goes. We are into the final third of summer here in Australia, and at the risk of tempting the sun gods, I daresay the weather has started to stabilise – as far as Melbourne weather ever does, anyways. The combination of pleasant weather and still-long-enough evenings makes for plenty of time to be outdoors and introspective, while the ever-shortening days also serve as a reminder that soon enough we'll be back to heaters and scarves. Some quality tunes in this one. I hope you enjoy.

As the year comes to a close, it seems natural to reflect on the year that has passed, and where it has taken us. Are we where we intended to be? Where we wanted to be? Or are we somewhere else, somewhere better defined as the logical destination, given the decisions we made over the course of the year? So I suppose too that it's natural to cast a critical eye to the year ahead. What needs to change – and what needs to continue – if we are to hit closer to the mark of optimistic intent, come twelve months from now? As always, the answer (for me at least) lies in balancing the needs and wants of those two eternally uneasy acquaintances – my present and future self. In line with the spirit of reflection and relaxation that is generally intended to accompany one's summer holiday, this is an extended, exploratory mix. In its latter half it has a number of modern takes on some timeless clubland classics that I hope spark some positive nostalgic memories for you as they do for me. Enjoy, and here's to our 2024.

I have recently returned from a few weeks in Canada. The trip included a weekend with some very good friends, during which I was lucky enough to be given the opportunity to play an extended set on what is probably my favourite pair of speakers in the world. Set up well in a great sounding loft conversion in Toronto's inner west, it was a chance to reconnect, recharge, and recycle the same stories that seem to get funnier each time they are told. This is the live recording of the set that I played on that Friday night a few weeks ago. It includes a few of the vinyl records I took as gifts, a record I was given in return, a few classics both original and reworked, and a lot of the music that kept me company on the 32,000km round trip. As always, good friends with good records makes for a good weekend indeed.

I've long been intrigued by the end user experience of modern medicine, and what can at times feel to the layperson like a focus on only fixing what is broken. If we are unwell past a certain arbitrary threshold, we receive medical intervention until we are back to baseline. We heal, we rehabilitate, we repair, and we focus on eliminating the negative to bring things back to where they should be, wherever ‘should' is, and that's it. If the symptoms aren't serious enough to warrant intervention, we ride them out. But there is an argument to be made that health – both physical and mental – exists on a continuum. At any given moment we're neither well nor unwell, but somewhere in between, doing the best we can. As such, we take in stride the odd intermittent symptom or mood that shows up while we are trying to get through the day in one piece. In that regard, I reckon both Seal and Gnarls Barkley had it right with their take on things – that we're all a bit not-quite-right at times, just to varying degrees. This is Episode 112 of Music For Small Audiences. Recorded a few days ago on the last weekend of the southern winter, it leans heavily on a few bits of vinyl that have recently arrived in the post, and contains much of the music that has been keeping my boat afloat in recent weeks.

Much has been said about the importance of time management. When time is tight and competing priorities overlap, it can be easy to succumb to a sense of guilt that things may be missed or not prioritised appropriately. I had a bit of an epiphany from an article I read a few years ago – a lightbulb moment after years of reflecting on how to best manage my time, where I realised that it was just as much my energy that I needed to better manage. Doing stuff is hard, and is made harder by not being in the right headspace for the task or project at hand. Determining what needs to be done against both objective priority and in-the-moment capacity is as much art as it is science, and the reality of knowledge work is that there is never enough time or energy to get everything done to the standard it deserves. Sometimes all we can do is work to the moment as best we can, and hope we are leaving the right things undone.

Negativity can be seductive. As we get older, our awareness seems to build about just how much can go wrong at any given moment – personally, professionally, geopolitically, economically, and physically. It's easy to be fearful, and the more acutely aware we are of the worst case scenario, the more tempting it can be to jump at shadows or assume the worst. Having taken a month long break from running on account of a strange feeling in my left knee, it was a huge relief to get back out in recent days to find the pain gone. The last time I had an issue with my knee I ended up needing surgery, and so the wave of optimism I felt with the realisation I was back on track was palpable. On an administrative note, I've recently updated a few back end settings on my podcast feed. If you have found this episode in your subscription alongside the previous episodes and are none the wiser as to this change, then I have set things up correctly! If you have had to unsubscribe and resubscribe, or if previous episodes are not showing up prior to this one, then my apologies, I'll keep on it. As always, every episode of MFSA is available for streaming and direct download in high quality MP3 format at mbelleghem.com. Thanks for sticking with me.

We all have our idiosyncrasies. Two of mine are closely related, in that I love a good quotation, and I am a sucker for a good cliché. In both cases, I like to think of them as bits of distilled wisdom that have stood the test of time. But as Abraham Lincoln once dryly noted, the problem with looking up old quotes on the internet is that you can never be too sure if they have been attributed correctly. With that said, it has been a really interesting couple of weeks, both for me and for some of those I am closest to. For some, new beginnings and new hope. For others, closure and completion after a period of turbulence and difficulty. It is a strange thing to see so much change clustered around the late April and early May period. As Alexander Graham Bell may or may not have opined, when one door closes, another one opens. This is Episode 109 of Music For Small Audiences. An extended set, it evolves over a series of distinctly different phases, each with its own energy and emotional content. I hope you enjoy.

A commonly accepted definition of sustainability is the ability to meet the needs of the present without compromising the needs of the future. So how then to make a future worth waiting for, without shortchanging our ability to fully seize the present moment? There are many tradeoffs and worse in daily life as we try to ensure that today is OK while not robbing ourselves of tomorrow. Stay up late or get up early? Smash the fun button, or play it safe? Keep your eye on the prize, or sit back and enjoy the spectacle? Focus on the destination, or enjoy the ride? Recent weeks have given me a newly refreshed appreciation for both sides of that balancing act - leading in turn to the inevitable question, why not both?

The summer holiday period is drawing to a close here in Australia, and we have just come back from a few weeks travelling through New Zealand's South Island. The landscape is extraordinary to the point of being mind expanding, and every day was a reminder of just how beautiful the world can be. We were fortunate to have had excellent weather, meaning plenty of time to hike and bike and further explore a very special corner of the world. Travel is often an opportunity for personal growth. In this case it also provided a catalyst for a bit of longer term, whole life planning and reflection. Thinking at these longer time horizons leads to some existential reflection, and the realisation when trying to talk it out that not every emotion has a name. As the old Hans Christian Andersen quote goes - and with due credit to Eelke Kleijn who duly reminds us at the start of each of his podcast episodes - where words fail, music speaks. This is episode 107 of Music For Small Audiences. It was recorded live just a few hours before Santa's anticipated arrival down the proverbial chimney on Christmas Eve, marking the first day of my summer holiday break. It has some very new tunes, some timeless classics, and some very new reworks of some even older timeless classics. As befits a proper end of year celebration it is again an extended affair, best enjoyed wherever you happen to be.

There is something exciting about covering new ground. The transition from known to unknown brings with it a sense of renewal and energy, and it can be quite fun to explore that little bit further, and to cover a little bit of new ground at the edge of a previously understood boundary. One of the things I quite like about Melbourne is the quiet sense of perpetual renewal I feel when exploring it. While the city's infrastructure is not perfect, it gets incrementally better each year. The paths get a little bit wider and more clearly marked, the streetscapes and amenities are refreshed and the structures and signage are rebuilt, meaning that even familiar territory is constantly evolving. Sometimes when I'm out on foot on one of my usual routes, I even find a well-worn path has a new addition at the end of it – adding a little bit of unknown at the end of a well-trodden familiarity. New can be challenging, but new can also be invigorating.

There is something exciting about covering new ground. The transition from known to unknown brings with it a sense of renewal and energy, and it can be quite fun to explore that little bit further, and to cover a little bit of new ground at the edge of a previously understood boundary. One of the things I quite like about Melbourne is the quiet sense of perpetual renewal I feel when exploring it. While the city's infrastructure is not perfect, it gets incrementally better each year. The paths get a little bit wider and more clearly marked, the streetscapes and amenities are refreshed and the structures and signage are rebuilt, meaning that even familiar territory is constantly evolving. Sometimes when I'm out on foot on one of my usual routes, I even find a well-worn path has a new addition at the end of it – adding a little bit of unknown at the end of a well-trodden familiarity. New can be challenging, but new can also be invigorating.

It has been an unusual weekend. It has been an unusual year. Springtime in Melbourne often brings a bit of rain. With another La Nina apparently on the horizon, we have seen quite a bit of rain already. So much so, in fact, that it has exposed the failings of our second story roof drainage system. Not a fun way to spend the weekend. While there is plenty of truth in the old adage that if you want something done right you have to do it yourself, there is an added element of excitement and uncertainty when the task involved requires working at heights. Even still, if 2022 has taught me anything, it has taught me that life is short. As such, there is a balance to be struck between getting things done and staying alive. The joys of home ownership indeed. This is episode 105 of Music For Small Audiences. It was recorded live the evening of a belated birthday celebration, and at four hours and twenty two minutes long, it represents a bit of a catching up with regards to some of the music I have been enjoying in recent times. Having spent a few months overseas this year the episodes have come a bit more slowly, but the good news is that the travels have introduced me to some fantastic new tunes, some of which are here, and some of which I will be showcasing in the episodes to come.

It has been an unusual weekend. It has been an unusual year. Springtime in Melbourne often brings a bit of rain. With another La Nina apparently on the horizon, we have seen quite a bit of rain already. So much so, in fact, that it has exposed the failings of our second story roof drainage system. Not a fun way to spend the weekend. While there is plenty of truth in the old adage that if you want something done right you have to do it yourself, there is an added element of excitement and uncertainty when the task involved requires working at heights. Even still, if 2022 has taught me anything, it has taught me that life is short. As such, there is a balance to be struck between getting things done and staying alive. The joys of home ownership indeed. This is episode 105 of Music For Small Audiences. It was recorded live the evening of a belated birthday celebration, and at four hours and twenty two minutes long, it represents a bit of a catching up with regards to some of the music I have been enjoying in recent times. Having spent a few months overseas this year the episodes have come a bit more slowly, but the good news is that the travels have introduced me to some fantastic new tunes, some of which are here, and some of which I will be showcasing in the episodes to come.

Winter has arrived in Melbourne. To me that means short days, falling leaves, and the occasional smell of a wood stove across the city at night. It can be easy at this time of year to withdraw a little bit, to bunker down and count the days off until warmer weather returns. Of course winter here means summer somewhere else. As is the case with many things, where one is experiencing the sunset, another is experiencing the sunrise. Nothing lasts forever, and we all get only as long as we get. Soon enough the winds change, the cycle repeats and things begin anew. This is Episode 104 of Music For Small Audiences. It was recorded on a lovely winter evening in warm surrounds.

Winter has arrived in Melbourne. To me that means short days, falling leaves, and the occasional smell of a wood stove across the city at night. It can be easy at this time of year to withdraw a little bit, to bunker down and count the days off until warmer weather returns. Of course winter here means summer somewhere else. As is the case with many things, where one is experiencing the sunset, another is experiencing the sunrise. Nothing lasts forever, and we all get only as long as we get. Soon enough the winds change, the cycle repeats and things begin anew. This is Episode 104 of Music For Small Audiences. It was recorded on a lovely winter evening in warm surrounds.

Coordinating travel, as with coordinating a lot of things these days, involves a lot of time waiting on hold on the telephone. As such, I am becoming something of a hold music aficionado. On many recent calls the music has been punctuated with a repetitive series of apologies explaining that, due to the pandemic, hold times are longer than they might otherwise be. If the past two years have taught me anything, it is the extent to which a pandemic involves an awful lot of waiting, and more than a few apologies. For more than two years, it has felt that relationships with friends and family overseas have been on hold. As such it was great to reconnect during a recent return trip to Canada, and to spend some quality time with loved ones. While telephone and video connections are valuable, they do not fully replace the magic of real human connection.

Coordinating travel, as with coordinating a lot of things these days, involves a lot of time waiting on hold on the telephone. As such, I am becoming something of a hold music aficionado. On many recent calls the music has been punctuated with a repetitive series of apologies explaining that, due to the pandemic, hold times are longer than they might otherwise be. If the past two years have taught me anything, it is the extent to which a pandemic involves an awful lot of waiting, and more than a few apologies. For more than two years, it has felt that relationships with friends and family overseas have been on hold. As such it was great to reconnect during a recent return trip to Canada, and to spend some quality time with loved ones. While telephone and video connections are valuable, they do not fully replace the magic of real human connection.

As I grew up my two older sisters were a constant source of musical guidance and inspiration, taking me to concerts, bringing me records from overseas school trips and keeping me up to speed on the hottest bands across the genre that was then called New Wave. Throughout our early years growing up in suburban Toronto, one radio station in particular was held high as the mythical point source from which all good music came. That station was CFNY, 102.1 FM. Following on from high school some years later, I managed to convince a local synthesizer shop to give me a job in sales. The shop owner became a dear friend, and the shop was quite popular with local dance music makers, in part because of the owners incredible collection of vintage synths. Channeling my paternally inherited passion for all things beeping and flashing, I got quite into learning every bit of gear I could get my hands on, with my mother eternally patient while an endless parade of boxes, wires and devices began to take over more and more rooms of our house. As luck would have it, one day the Roland product rep called, asking if I could demo their new DJ oriented stereo sampler to one of CFNYs on air crew, by bringing it to demo live on air during their midnight to 6AM weekend dance music broadcasts. At a time when the Toronto rave scene was exploding and so many new genres emerging, there was no shortage of amazing music to be played each week. To make a long story short the experience up close was eye opening. In the process I learned a lot about how to build and shape a six hour set through the wee hours to sunrise. This is episode 102 of Music For Small Audiences. A suitably extended set, it reflects to me the free spirit and genre exploration of those all night radio broadcast sets thirty years ago.

As I grew up my two older sisters were a constant source of musical guidance and inspiration, taking me to concerts, bringing me records from overseas school trips and keeping me up to speed on the hottest bands across the genre that was then called New Wave. Throughout our early years growing up in suburban Toronto, one radio station in particular was held high as the mythical point source from which all good music came. That station was CFNY, 102.1 FM. Following on from high school some years later, I managed to convince a local synthesizer shop to give me a job in sales. The shop owner became a dear friend, and the shop was quite popular with local dance music makers, in part because of the owners incredible collection of vintage synths. Channeling my paternally inherited passion for all things beeping and flashing, I got quite into learning every bit of gear I could get my hands on, with my mother eternally patient while an endless parade of boxes, wires and devices began to take over more and more rooms of our house. As luck would have it, one day the Roland product rep called, asking if I could demo their new DJ oriented stereo sampler to one of CFNYs on air crew, by bringing it to demo live on air during their midnight to 6AM weekend dance music broadcasts. At a time when the Toronto rave scene was exploding and so many new genres emerging, there was no shortage of amazing music to be played each week. To make a long story short the experience up close was eye opening. In the process I learned a lot about how to build and shape a six hour set through the wee hours to sunrise. This is episode 102 of Music For Small Audiences. A suitably extended set, it reflects to me the free spirit and genre exploration of those all night radio broadcast sets thirty years ago.

Ah yes, life in a pandemic. I suppose every now and then life throws up a bit of turbulence, and so this is our time. But what is the difference between flying and falling, really? There are some parallels shared with the difference between drowning and waving. Beyond that, falling also carries with it a sense of inevitability, of a ballistic trajectory, of a future impact. No wonder that dreams of falling are so common, or so confronting. At a time when friends and family can feel so very far away, and as humanity fights a pitched battle with the everchanging swathe of infectious agents that seem so determined to further postpone our return to normality, who knows what lies ahead, or what comes next? Sometimes the best one can hope for is a soft landing.

Ah yes, life in a pandemic. I suppose every now and then life throws up a bit of turbulence, and so this is our time. But what is the difference between flying and falling, really? There are some parallels shared with the difference between drowning and waving. Beyond that, falling also carries with it a sense of inevitability, of a ballistic trajectory, of a future impact. No wonder that dreams of falling are so common, or so confronting. At a time when friends and family can feel so very far away, and as humanity fights a pitched battle with the everchanging swathe of infectious agents that seem so determined to further postpone our return to normality, who knows what lies ahead, or what comes next? Sometimes the best one can hope for is a soft landing.

As I write this I am just over three hundred kilometres from home. May not sound like much, but after an extended pandemic and all of the restrictions that come with, even a little bit of travel is a really big deal. The past few weeks have been a reawakening of sorts. Social reconnections, the relaxation of restrictions, and a new sense of freedom and possibility for space and place. Seeing old friends in person again. Travelling to the places that we had always meant to see. Revisiting the places that we have been away from for far too long. Meeting new people. Booking overseas travel, and planning new adventures abroad. Hard to believe this is the furthest I have been from home in more than two years. This is of course episode 100 of Music For Small Audiences. It was recorded in one take a few weeks ago on the first weekend of social reconnection after many months apart. A special double length set filled with sparkling musical gems, it celebrates both the recent reconnections with friends and family close by, and the promise of seeing again those who we have been away from for far too long. As befits the context, it has more than a few nods to musical memories of years gone by. As a mix it is a fairly stretched out, groove driven affair, perfect for popping onto the hifi in the background while reconnecting with your own friends and family.

As I write this I am just over three hundred kilometres from home. May not sound like much, but after an extended pandemic and all of the restrictions that come with, even a little bit of travel is a really big deal. The past few weeks have been a reawakening of sorts. Social reconnections, the relaxation of restrictions, and a new sense of freedom and possibility for space and place. Seeing old friends in person again. Travelling to the places that we had always meant to see. Revisiting the places that we have been away from for far too long. Meeting new people. Booking overseas travel, and planning new adventures abroad. Hard to believe this is the furthest I have been from home in more than two years. This is of course episode 100 of Music For Small Audiences. It was recorded in one take a few weeks ago on the first weekend of social reconnection after many months apart. A special double length set filled with sparkling musical gems, it celebrates both the recent reconnections with friends and family close by, and the promise of seeing again those who we have been away from for far too long. As befits the context, it has more than a few nods to musical memories of years gone by. As a mix it is a fairly stretched out, groove driven affair, perfect for popping onto the hifi in the background while reconnecting with your own friends and family.

Whether we are talking about social gatherings or impending natural disasters, there comes a point at which leaving is no longer an option. A point when, to paraphrase an old movie quote, there can be no turning back, and there is no choice but to ride it out. Whether bunkering down or busting a move, once the decision to stay is made, the die has been cast. Once those present have made the commitment to stick it out and see where it all ends up, there is a bit of peace provided, because there is no longer a decision to be made. One way or another, things are in motion. Batten down the hatches and settle in, as the end game is underway. So too it has been with the Australian response to the pandemic. In recent weeks the strategy has shifted from one of elimination to one of accommodation, with the assumption that anyone still in Australia was going to have to make peace with things washing through to a certain extent. In hearing the announced shift in strategy, and in reading the emotions of those communicating it, there felt somewhat a parallel with that pivot point in natural disaster emergency broadcasts where the messaging shifts from strongly encouraging immediate evacuation, to advising that evacuation was no longer possible and that come what may, the only option remaining was to shelter in place. This mix was recorded during the time of this strategic shift. As such it reflects equal parts encouragement, relief and nostalgia, and is well suited to settling into a well protected place for an extended start to finish listen.

Whether we are talking about social gatherings or impending natural disasters, there comes a point at which leaving is no longer an option. A point when, to paraphrase an old movie quote, there can be no turning back, and there is no choice but to ride it out. Whether bunkering down or busting a move, once the decision to stay is made, the die has been cast. Once those present have made the commitment to stick it out and see where it all ends up, there is a bit of peace provided, because there is no longer a decision to be made. One way or another, things are in motion. Batten down the hatches and settle in, as the end game is underway. So too it has been with the Australian response to the pandemic. In recent weeks the strategy has shifted from one of elimination to one of accommodation, with the assumption that anyone still in Australia was going to have to make peace with things washing through to a certain extent. In hearing the announced shift in strategy, and in reading the emotions of those communicating it, there felt somewhat a parallel with that pivot point in natural disaster emergency broadcasts where the messaging shifts from strongly encouraging immediate evacuation, to advising that evacuation was no longer possible and that come what may, the only option remaining was to shelter in place. This mix was recorded during the time of this strategic shift. As such it reflects equal parts encouragement, relief and nostalgia, and is well suited to settling into a well protected place for an extended start to finish listen.

I love a good World War II documentary. While the world is today a very different place, there is still so much from that era that rings true, including the misplaced optimism in 1939 that suggested 'the boys will be home by Christmas'. Similarly, when the global pandemic started here in the twenty-first century, there was a sense that things would return to normal within some reasonable period of time. And yet, here we are. As children in the back seat during road trips of interminable length - as they all were - we would too often and too soon ask the adults in charge 'are we there yet?' To the extent there are adults in charge of getting us to the end point of this interminable worldwide trip, those adults are in the laboratories, in the manufacturing facilities, and in the supply chains supporting the design and delivery of our global vaccine program. Waiting for time to pass is difficult. As anyone who has ever sat on the tarmac waiting for takeoff for longer than expected will tell you, it is doubly difficult when we are not quite sure how long we are meant to wait for. From Blaise Pascal's timeless observation that humanity's inability to sit quietly is the root of its collective misfortune, to the painful existential grind of Samuel Beckett's no-show Godot, it seems at times that the only thing worse than a deadline is no deadline. For all these reasons and so many more, it sure was nice to get my second shot. This mix was recorded the evening following. As befits the mood of the evening, it touches a few different nerves of past, present and future.

I love a good World War II documentary. While the world is today a very different place, there is still so much from that era that rings true, including the misplaced optimism in 1939 that suggested 'the boys will be home by Christmas'. Similarly, when the global pandemic started here in the twenty-first century, there was a sense that things would return to normal within some reasonable period of time. And yet, here we are. As children in the back seat during road trips of interminable length - as they all were - we would too often and too soon ask the adults in charge 'are we there yet?' To the extent there are adults in charge of getting us to the end point of this interminable worldwide trip, those adults are in the laboratories, in the manufacturing facilities, and in the supply chains supporting the design and delivery of our global vaccine program. Waiting for time to pass is difficult. As anyone who has ever sat on the tarmac waiting for takeoff for longer than expected will tell you, it is doubly difficult when we are not quite sure how long we are meant to wait for. From Blaise Pascal's timeless observation that humanity's inability to sit quietly is the root of its collective misfortune, to the painful existential grind of Samuel Beckett's no-show Godot, it seems at times that the only thing worse than a deadline is no deadline. For all these reasons and so many more, it sure was nice to get my second shot. This mix was recorded the evening following. As befits the mood of the evening, it touches a few different nerves of past, present and future.

It is the start of the longest night of the year here in Melbourne as I write this. As you may infer from the titles of my podcast episodes over the years, I have a recurring interest in the pivot points, the transitions, the turning points, the fulcrums, the thresholds, the apexes, the zeniths and the nadirs, and the point at which ebb becomes flow. Raised as I was with equal-tempered reverence for astronomy and astrology, the solstices hold a particular mystique for me. For many years, I took to playing the classic James Holden track Solstice on the summer and winter solstices. Close listeners will no doubt have heard the tune sneaking its way into the closing minutes of MFSA094 recorded a few months ago (admittedly closer to the equinox). Perhaps my fascination with turning points comes from some innate need for stimulation, change or newness. Perhaps it is a natural fascination with contrast, and the sense of fresh and different that comes from taking a new direction. Whatever its origins, I have learned to embrace it. This mix is a three hour set filled with plenty of changes in flow and tack. It was recorded live on a cozy Saturday winter evening just a few days shy of the winter solstice, in patient anticipation of the sunshine and spring soon to return to the southern hemisphere.

It is the start of the longest night of the year here in Melbourne as I write this. As you may infer from the titles of my podcast episodes over the years, I have a recurring interest in the pivot points, the transitions, the turning points, the fulcrums, the thresholds, the apexes, the zeniths and the nadirs, and the point at which ebb becomes flow. Raised as I was with equal-tempered reverence for astronomy and astrology, the solstices hold a particular mystique for me. For many years, I took to playing the classic James Holden track Solstice on the summer and winter solstices. Close listeners will no doubt have heard the tune sneaking its way into the closing minutes of MFSA094 recorded a few months ago (admittedly closer to the equinox). Perhaps my fascination with turning points comes from some innate need for stimulation, change or newness. Perhaps it is a natural fascination with contrast, and the sense of fresh and different that comes from taking a new direction. Whatever its origins, I have learned to embrace it. This mix is a three hour set filled with plenty of changes in flow and tack. It was recorded live on a cozy Saturday winter evening just a few days shy of the winter solstice, in patient anticipation of the sunshine and spring soon to return to the southern hemisphere.

I am not a fast runner, but I like to run. After so many cancelled events it was great to again run in an organised event last weekend. It was a road run along the Great Ocean Road on the southern coast of Australia. The weather was wet but not rainy, with the run highlighted by an improbable number of seaside rainbows. Fittingly, the pub in which I had my celebratory post run beer bills itself as the southernmost pub on the Australian mainland. Running long distances has a way of letting the mind run free, safe in the knowledge that nothing can be actioned, and that we are exactly where we need to be. For a longer run there is also this balance to be struck, between pushing hard enough to chase a personal best, while also keeping enough in the tank to make it through to the finish line and the shower and pub beyond. While I firmly believe that pushing oneself is the best way to get good enough to make things easy, I also feel it is important not to beat oneself up too much. One can only do what one can do. I am fortunate enough to know some exceptionally hard workers. In getting to know them it has been refreshing and inspiring to learn that those that push themselves the hardest are often also those most adept at loosening up and letting things go when the finish line has been crossed, the project has been sorted, the deliverable has been sent, and the deal has been done. At the risk of repeating myself, balance is key.

I am not a fast runner, but I like to run. After so many cancelled events it was great to again run in an organised event last weekend. It was a road run along the Great Ocean Road on the southern coast of Australia. The weather was wet but not rainy, with the run highlighted by an improbable number of seaside rainbows. Fittingly, the pub in which I had my celebratory post run beer bills itself as the southernmost pub on the Australian mainland. Running long distances has a way of letting the mind run free, safe in the knowledge that nothing can be actioned, and that we are exactly where we need to be. For a longer run there is also this balance to be struck, between pushing hard enough to chase a personal best, while also keeping enough in the tank to make it through to the finish line and the shower and pub beyond. While I firmly believe that pushing oneself is the best way to get good enough to make things easy, I also feel it is important not to beat oneself up too much. One can only do what one can do. I am fortunate enough to know some exceptionally hard workers. In getting to know them it has been refreshing and inspiring to learn that those that push themselves the hardest are often also those most adept at loosening up and letting things go when the finish line has been crossed, the project has been sorted, the deliverable has been sent, and the deal has been done. At the risk of repeating myself, balance is key.

While the whole world may be going through a global pandemic, the experience of every country and every individual has been different. As my good friend Dan has put it, we may all be riding out the same storm, but we are definitely not all in the same boat. We have each had our own unique difficulties and quiet victories over the course of the past year, and we have each found our own way of coping with the circumstances that have been thrown at us. For me, keeping things on an even keel over the past twelve months meant making quite a few suboptimal dietary choices, with the collective result leading to a recent reckoning as I now confront the reality of having to fit back into my work suits and shirts. As I assess the consequences of the last year and develop a course of behaviour to right the ship, I am struck again by the importance of balancing hedonic and eudaimonic priorities. Bad food feels good, but so too does being healthy.

While the whole world may be going through a global pandemic, the experience of every country and every individual has been different. As my good friend Dan has put it, we may all be riding out the same storm, but we are definitely not all in the same boat. We have each had our own unique difficulties and quiet victories over the course of the past year, and we have each found our own way of coping with the circumstances that have been thrown at us. For me, keeping things on an even keel over the past twelve months meant making quite a few suboptimal dietary choices, with the collective result leading to a recent reckoning as I now confront the reality of having to fit back into my work suits and shirts. As I assess the consequences of the last year and develop a course of behaviour to right the ship, I am struck again by the importance of balancing hedonic and eudaimonic priorities. Bad food feels good, but so too does being healthy.

Fun means different things to different people. An activity that one person sees as an exciting adventure - say free solo rock climbing, slam poetry or building a ship in a bottle - another is just as likely to see as profoundly terrifying, unpleasantly fiddly, or excruciatingly boring, with each the others nightmare. The extent to which a given commitment is seen as an opportunity or an obligation is really just a function of perspective, appetite and appreciation. Even the most arduous journey or pedantic detour can be seen as an odyssey or rite of passage with a strong enough rose tinting to the glasses. I am reading a book in which the author suggests that success in life is driven in part by the extent to which we are able to make peace with boredom, and to stay engaged with a habit, task or body of work even when our interest level wanes. The author suggests that the mark of whether you are made for a task is not just whether you love it, but rather whether you can handle the unpleasant parts of the task more easily than most people. Find a task that you enjoy that others complain about, he suggests, and you will have found an activity worth focusing on as a hobby or vocation. This mix was recorded live a few weeks ago. It starts and ends with two lovely bits of vinyl I recently picked up, and has some very groovy tunes mixed in from start to finish. I hope you enjoy it.

Fun means different things to different people. An activity that one person sees as an exciting adventure – say free solo rock climbing, slam poetry or building a ship in a bottle – another is just as likely to see as profoundly terrifying, unpleasantly fiddly, or excruciatingly boring, with each the others nightmare. The extent to which a given commitment is seen as an opportunity or an obligation is really just a function of perspective, appetite and appreciation. Even the most arduous journey or pedantic detour can be seen as an odyssey or rite of passage with a strong enough rose tinting to the glasses. I am reading a book in which the author suggests that success in life is driven in part by the extent to which we are able to make peace with boredom, and to stay engaged with a habit, task or body of work even when our interest level wanes. The author suggests that the mark of whether you are made for a task is not just whether you love it, but rather whether you can handle the unpleasant parts of the task more easily than most people. Find a task that you enjoy that others complain about, he suggests, and you will have found an activity worth focusing on as a hobby or vocation. This mix was recorded live a few weeks ago. It starts and ends with two lovely bits of vinyl I recently picked up, and has some very groovy tunes mixed in from start to finish. I hope you enjoy it.

While the events of the past twelve months have provided plenty of reasons to be pensive, persnickety and petulant, I am feeling optimistic and inspired at the moment. It has been a year of limitations, worries, uncertainty and introspection, but as the calendar year ticks over and we try to imagine a new post-pandemic normal, I cannot help but feel a sense of optimism for what urban professional living and working will look like if and when we get to the other side of all of this. As a white collar office worker - a knowledge worker, as Peter Drucker would describe me - I need to be near a computer and a telephone to do my job. In the before times, this meant long days in the city, and daily commuting from home to work and back again. I guess I had always accepted that the price of full time employment was daily tripping to the city and back. But 2020, and the hundred day hard lockdown that Melbourne endured in the name of ensuring a public health victory, rewrote a lot of these rules by proving what was possible. Reconnecting with my colleagues at work over the past few weeks, we have had some boundary-pushing discussions about what work really needs to look like, and what our future workplace can be as a result of all of this. Rather than going back to work as we knew it, we may well be going somewhere new, where work is less about where you are, and more about what you do. As a circadian slave often energised at weird hours, the idea of being able to fully flex both time and space is truly mind expanding. Here is hoping the adventurous vision holds.

While the events of the past twelve months have provided plenty of reasons to be pensive, persnickety and petulant, I am feeling optimistic and inspired at the moment. It has been a year of limitations, worries, uncertainty and introspection, but as the calendar year ticks over and we try to imagine a new post-pandemic normal, I cannot help but feel a sense of optimism for what urban professional living and working will look like if and when we get to the other side of all of this. As a white collar office worker – a knowledge worker, as Peter Drucker would describe me – I need to be near a computer and a telephone to do my job. In the before times, this meant long days in the city, and daily commuting from home to work and back again. I guess I had always accepted that the price of full time employment was daily tripping to the city and back. But 2020, and the hundred day hard lockdown that Melbourne endured in the name of ensuring a public health victory, rewrote a lot of these rules by proving what was possible. Reconnecting with my colleagues at work over the past few weeks, we have had some boundary-pushing discussions about what work really needs to look like, and what our future workplace can be as a result of all of this. Rather than going back to work as we knew it, we may well be going somewhere new, where work is less about where you are, and more about what you do. As a circadian slave often energised at weird hours, the idea of being able to fully flex both time and space is truly mind expanding. Here is hoping the adventurous vision holds.

I enjoy long distance running with good music as a physical and psychological release. In particular I like the out-and-back style run, heading out to a distant point and then turning around to head home. Running out, there is a sense of adventure and commitment, knowing that every km out is a km that will need to be covered again on the way back home. More often than I should probably admit, I make a bit of a banking airplane figure with outstretched hands and some verbal sound effects as I make the turnaround. As the way out becomes the way in, the mindset shifts, from exploration to recovery. There is of course a global pandemic raging. It has been going on for a while now. With the reintroduction of community transmission here in Victoria just announced as I write this, we are clearly nowhere near the end, or even anywhere near the beginning of the end. However, with multiple vaccines approved and in the process of being deployed, my hope is that we are at least coming to the end of the beginning. With any luck we are turning the corner for the return trip home to some semblance of normalcy, even as we accept that things on our return may not be how we left them.

I enjoy long distance running with good music as a physical and psychological release. In particular I like the out-and-back style run, heading out to a distant point and then turning around to head home. Running out, there is a sense of adventure and commitment, knowing that every km out is a km that will need to be covered again on the way back home. More often than I should probably admit, I make a bit of a banking airplane figure with outstretched hands and some verbal sound effects as I make the turnaround. As the way out becomes the way in, the mindset shifts, from exploration to recovery. There is of course a global pandemic raging. It has been going on for a while now. With the reintroduction of community transmission here in Victoria just announced as I write this, we are clearly nowhere near the end, or even anywhere near the beginning of the end. However, with multiple vaccines approved and in the process of being deployed, my hope is that we are at least coming to the end of the beginning. With any luck we are turning the corner for the return trip home to some semblance of normalcy, even as we accept that things on our return may not be how we left them.

In audio editing terms, normalisation is something you do to a recorded signal in order to proportionally recalibrate it, so that the loudest peak in the program material corresponds to the highest signal intensity possible without distortion. You do not actually lose anything in the process. It is just that the levels are reset to a new standard. With our very last active COVID case here in Victoria given a clean bill of health and released from the hospital this morning, the second wave of the pandemic has now completely subsided in Australia. As the freedoms return, we are performing a similar reset. It is a recalibration towards a new normal, a reconsideration of what the best and worst case scenarios are, a relook at what we can reasonably roll with, and a rethink as to what our acceptable maximums and minimums really are going to be across a range of different variables at the end of all of this. Having seen through a challenging winter, we are now preparing for a cautious southern summer of comparative freedom and warmth. Have we normalised the impossible, or merely the incredibly difficult? Without the benefit of hindsight it is hard to say. What I do know is that all around the world, every country, every city, every family is at their own point of the pendulum that seems to endlessly swing between triumph and disaster. Each is doing the best they can with the knowledge and beliefs they have, each finding their own path towards their own new understanding of normal.

In audio editing terms, normalisation is something you do to a recorded signal in order to proportionally recalibrate it, so that the loudest peak in the program material corresponds to the highest signal intensity possible without distortion. You do not actually lose anything in the process. It is just that the levels are reset to a new standard. With our very last active COVID case here in Victoria given a clean bill of health and released from the hospital this morning, the second wave of the pandemic has now completely subsided in Australia. As the freedoms return, we are performing a similar reset. It is a recalibration towards a new normal, a reconsideration of what the best and worst case scenarios are, a relook at what we can reasonably roll with, and a rethink as to what our acceptable maximums and minimums really are going to be across a range of different variables at the end of all of this. Having seen through a challenging winter, we are now preparing for a cautious southern summer of comparative freedom and warmth. Have we normalised the impossible, or merely the incredibly difficult? Without the benefit of hindsight it is hard to say. What I do know is that all around the world, every country, every city, every family is at their own point of the pendulum that seems to endlessly swing between triumph and disaster. Each is doing the best they can with the knowledge and beliefs they have, each finding their own path towards their own new understanding of normal.

Early November 2020. Not quite summer in Melbourne, but certainly not winter. Yesterday I wore a scarf over my sunburn. We are not quite free of restrictions here, but certainly not as held back either. We have spent more quality time with friends over the past week than we did during the six months prior, […]

Early November 2020. Not quite summer in Melbourne, but certainly not winter. Yesterday I wore a scarf over my sunburn. We are not quite free of restrictions here, but certainly not as held back either. We have spent more quality time with friends over the past week than we did during the six months prior, but while things are improving they are far from normal. There are still no jet planes in the sky. The counting of votes from an American election has been going on for a number of days, with no clear result quite at the moment. In time, all of these things will come to resolution.

Hemingway once said that big things happen slowly at first, but then suddenly. Time itself has felt a little weird in recent weeks, a mix of slow and sudden that has felt more than a bit bananas. Hard to believe that our city has been in some stage of restriction or lockdown for seven months […]