Laneway Festival (NB: Not actually in a lane.)

Clock-tower, stage adjacent

Ah Laneway festival. Such wonderful wonders, even despite your mis-leading title - this year, Laneway moved out of the original Melbourne and Sydney “lanes” after the crowd sizes increased, and people started complaining that they couldn’t a) see the bands in the lanes and b) were getting crushed against the walls of said lanes, lanes probably used for dirty late night sex. Despite my (non dirty late night sex) penchant for the funky lanes of Melbourne and Sydney, I’m forced to admit that Sydney Laneway’s new home amongst the old sandstone buildings of the Sydney College of the Arts is pretty damn fine. I mean, who doesn’t like their stages wedged between grand Victorian buildings that once were part of a psychiatric hospital?

The grounds

Compared with Big Day Out a week or so earlier, the atmosphere at Laneway was groovy and vintage. No shirtlessness anywhere. Lots more 80s sundresses. Stacks more Doc Martin boots. And, a whole tonne of chilled out indie popster punters. And then there was the line up: The Middle East! The XX!! (Though unfortunately they were on at the same time as…) Mumford and Sons!!! And finally, the ludicrous number of exclamation mark warranting Florence and the Machine!!!!!

Even if the promoters had promised to throw puppies and chocolate mint biscuits (or at least puppie-shaped biscuits) I couldn’t have been anymore excited for Laneway...

So how did it all turn out?

The morning began with Hockey, a band out of Portland, Oregon, who, like so many before them, have proved that good music comes out of places where it rains a lot. Their set was enthusiastic and energetic, and I especially liked their lead singer’s habit of busting out epic drum solos mid-song. I really think Triple J need to play more than just one single of Hockey’s – the catchy, intelligent "Too Fake". Also, Hockey are tops for having three band members who all look like they come from distinct musical genres: lead guitar from Australian 80s pub rock, lead singer a 70s punk rocker and a beard sporting bassist who looked like “Alan” from The Hangover (ok, so that’s not a musical genre, but that film is so awesome it can be whatever it wants).

Hockey

After paying a brief and intense visit to the acid-hungover Whitely (who first ragged on Lisa Mitchell – hilarious – and then freely admitted his acid use before yelling “Sniffer dogs!” and diving off side-of stage), we moseyed on over to the Car Park Stage for The Middle East. The Middle East, while musically very talented, played a couple of long, spoken-narrative songs, which kind of broke the crowds’ enthusiasm a little. But other than that, they, and all their instrument swapping, were lovely.

Bridezilla, and we made a push to the front of the stage in order to secure a prime position for Mumford and Sons. A pretty good position we scored, and, in order to hold it and indeed improve upon it for Florence and the Machine, for the next 6 hours, we stood our sweaty, well-packed ground. (Eventually, we got right up against the barricades!)

Bridezilla

Mumford and Sons. Were awesome. They harmonised, they wielded a multitude of cool instruments (including their iconic banjo) and played all their well-loved songs, full of folky goodness. And every folky song of theirs was sung with the gracious amazement that this crowd, thousands of kilometres from their hometown, knew every single word. Then the band announced to the crowd that it was lead singer, Marcus Mumford’s birthday. So then we got right into the celebratory spirit and sang him happy birthday. I think he was a little embarrassed.

Mumford and Sons

Several hours and Sarah Blasko and Echo and the Bunnymen later, Florence and the Machine were on. Well, actually, Florence took her time, so the impatient crowd had to start chanting “Flor-ence, Flor-ence” (don’t think this ever helps, personally). Anyway. Florence and the Machine… Were. So. Completely. Amazing.

Florence

I do love every note of “Lungs”, and so was perhaps slightly primed to be biased towards this set, but, honestly, this was the best gig I have ever seen. Ever. Really. (And I promise, I generally try to avoid hyperbole [believing it to be the domain of hack car-salesmen and squealing 16-year-old-girls]) BUT, Florence’s incredible lung capacity – amazing. Her vocal range – amazing. The fact that she performed in an electric-blue (best colour ever), bat-wing body suit – amazing. Her stage-wide dancing, aerobics and speaker climbing and jumping in giant gold high-heels – amazing. The Machines’ continual friendly, smiley natures – amazing. Florence encouraging the entire crowd to sing and dance and clap and jump in time together – amazing. As my friend said to me after the set finished: “When I grow up, I want to be Florence.” So do I (and not just so I had have her amazing super-model legs) (though they would be a bonus).

I should probably stop now. I think I’m a little over excited.

xx Esther

Summer Lit Bits

I love reading in summer. Sitting on the beach, or in a park with a good book is my idea of bliss. This summer I have conquered some classics that have been on my 'to read' list for some time. Happily, I managed to cross a few titles of my lengthy list.

'Howards End' 1910 - E. M. Forster

So many of my literary friends rave about E. M. Forster. I have to confess that before this summer the film version of 'A Passage to India' (which is fantastic.) To rectify this I picked up my housemates copy of 'Howards End.' This is one of the best books I have read in a long time. I literally could not put it down. Forster's style is so 'real', his characters do not seem artificial at all and he captures the complexity of human thought, relationships and behaviours better than most authors. He is not afraid to write the hard truths of life and relationships, something that so many writers avoid in lieu of creating an idealised bond between characters or a predictable ending.

Written in Edwardian England, 'Howards End' is the story of two unmarried and sisters, Margaret and Helen Schlegel in their early twenties. The novel explores their changing relationship, along with the aspirational middle-class society they belong to. The sisters are described as 'literary' individuals, with Forster exploring the notions of culture, creativity and art throughout the novel. Helen represents the epitome of living a art-driven, free spirited lifestyle, while Margaret's blend of practicality and literary interests reflect the shifting social concerns of the early 20th century. Forster manages to give depth and authenticity to their relationship, with their struggles of growing up and choosing their separate life paths telling of that faced by many siblings. This is a book for those who like to read about the complexities of relationships. Something we all know a lot about.

Also, arty types will love the references to theroies of art and Betthoven's tranquil 5th symphony (this was used in the film adaptation, check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9Ey7MjUshg).

'Travels With My Aunt' 1969 - Graham Greene

This book is simply hilarious! 'Travels With My Aunt' is the story of a retired, fifty-something bachelor whose dull lifestyle is interrupted by his worldly Aunt. Henry Pulling meets his Aunt Augusta for the first time at his mother's funeral, only to find the elderly Lady has more enthusiasm and unorthodox ideas than himself. After a series of humerus encounters involving cannabis making its way into his mother's urn and subsequent police interrogation, Henry finds himself travelling to Istanbul on the Orient Express. He travels along this famous railway with his Aunt and her much younger African servant-come-lover, the devoted Wordsworth. Suddenly Henry's life is far removed from tending to his dahlias as he hears of his Aunts numerous lovers, adventures and travels.

Greene's fast-paced, layered style makes 'Travels With My Aunt' a real page turner. The plot seems far fetched from the outset, but Greene makes it work by giving a believable voice to his characters. Ultimately, the novel demonstrates the complexity of human beings, with both Henry and his Aunt revealing many layers throughout the text. It isn't until Henry is removed from his uninspiring, solitary milieu that his true colours reveal themselves. Suddenly he and his aunt don't seem quite as different. For Greene, nothing is ever as simple as it seems. Definitely a book for a lazy afternoon when you want a good laugh.

'Vanity Fair' 1847 - William Makepeace Thackeray

I picked this classic novel up a few years ago, but soon put it down! The dense 19th century language and complex plot was a bit too much for me. This summer I read the whole thing, and loved it! Thackeray's style reminds me a bit of Jane Austen's: witty, satirical and dense with social commentary. If you like reading Victorian novels, and the snapshots of a seemingly more glamorous society, then this is the book for you.

'Vanity Fair' is the story of the cunning Becky Sharp and her friend Amelia Sedley. The lengthy novel spans from the girls youth to middle age, seeing them endure the demanding social expectations and etiquette of the Victorian Age. Becky exemplifies the position of the orphaned Victorian woman, forced to take her future in her own hands without parents to do the all important marital bidding for her. The scheming Becky is portrayed as selfish and greedy, in contrast with the virtuous Amelia. The former presents a veneer of respectability, whilst disregarding social expectations at every possible moment, while the latter spends her life living according to what was expected of a good Christian Victorian woman. Pointedly, both women fail to achieve lasting personal happiness in the novel, providing an interesting snapshot of the lives of women during the 19th century.

The novel shows how difficult it was during this time to achieve happiness, social standing and security within the rigid social constraints. Thackeray's humour makes the novel an enjoyable, yet dense novel. I recommend this one for a lengthy plane or car trip as its size and 19th century language make for a slow, but worthwhile read.

Now to the rest of the books on my ever-growing to read list.

Happy reading,

Grace

xx

Burnt, Dehydrated, Overtired (But Definitely Out-there!)

As my cunning acronym inspired title may have alerted you, this is a post about Big Day Out – specifically mine and my lovely lady friends’ adventures at this years’ first Sydney show (22^nd of January).

First, I’ll get my weather rant out of the way – it was bloody hot. Really. Very, very, very hot. It was like the sun noticed that there were 50,000 semi-clothed people dancing and singing away in Homebush and decided it would be a good time to turn up the UV and blast out some sunburns and some solid cases of heat-stroke. Which is exactly what happened.

Second, I need to get off my chest my feelings about the other festival goers’ attire (I know I should ignore them and just listen to the music, but I’m snarky and cynical and can’t help myself). Anyway, once at Olympic park, my friends and I quickly noticed that this season’s must-have fashion item was bare skin. Lots of it – shirtless, bikinis – it didn’t matter. You just had to have the skin out there. And preferably have it tanned to a nice burnt roast chicken colour. (Seriously, I thought most of Australia had caught onto the fact that tanning increases your chance of skin cancer? Apparently not.) However, the skin-cancer hunting hoards were not BDO’s oddest dressed (also, we didn’t spot any fabled high-heel wearing girls) – instead, the oddest dressed prize goes to the multitudes of bikini girls who wore tight, unzipped short-shorts. That’s right. Deliberately unzipped. This we couldn’t get over. Their plan seemed to be: find the smallest pair of shorts possible, making sure they were tight enough not to fall down, and then unzip them, exposing your swimmer bottoms or underpants. Am I missing something here? Are the girls in Sydney so much further ahead in the fashion stakes than me? Anyway. On to the music.

Travelling with three friends, we had an eclectic line-up of acts to see. I ended up catching Lisa Mitchell, Tame Impala, Kasabian, the end of Temper Trap, all of Passion Pit and Muse, most of Girl Talk and Calvin Harris, the beginning of Dizzee Rascal, most of Midnight Juggernaughts, all of Ladyhawke (she’s so cool!) and most of Peaches (who wins major hilarious awesome points for encouraging the last clothed 20% of the crowd to strip by saying she was having a competition between all the BDOs to see who could follow her instructions best: she chanted “shirts come off. Shirts, shirts come off.” Then everyone span their shirts round in the air. If a pop-star told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?)

The day started well when the little, red-lipped folky Lisa Mitchell went nuts at the beach-ball touting crowd after they tossed one-dollar coins on stage during her hit song “Coin Laundry”. This, apparently, is a major problem for her (my friends tell me a similar thing happened during her set at the Falls Festival). Anyway, Lisa Mitchell stopped the song at the beginning of the first chorus, swore at the crowd, and instructed them to punch anyone out who threw anymore coins. The crowd stopped throwing coins, she began the song again and the rest of her set went well, her scowling and close-to-tears look aside.

Lisa Mitchell swears at the crowd for their coin throwing tendencies

By three pm when Passion Pit started, the day was at its hottest. The ground was dry, t-shirts and bare backs were sweat drenched and those who tossed their water bottles into the air were hailed as heroes. Passion Pit’s set was energetic and full of enthusiastic electro-pop goodness. I was surprised at how well their high-pitched, synth-layered voices worked in a live setting. They played all their big singles from “Manners” and the crowd lapped it up and then sweated it out again (yuck. I just realised what an appalling analogy that was). But seriously, this was sweat-city.

Moving onwards through the Big Day and one of the big headliners, Dizzee Rascal was on. He jumped up on stage. And promptly took off his shirt. And started dancing. I was up the back for this set so the sound quality was rubbish, and admittedly, I didn’t hear Dizzee sing the hit “Bonkers” but I wasn’t that impressed. The best part of his set was, as one of my 30 Rock loving friends pointed out, the fact that Dizzee was probably channelling the character Tracy Morgan – a similarly shirt-shy dude known for crazy antics and self-promotion.

The crowd for Dizzee Rascal. I think all they did was yell "sing Bonkers!!!"

Even later in the day... I’ve never really listened to that much Calvin Harris but his set in the (mercifully shady) Boiler Room was outrageously great. The well-dressed, sexy-British accented Harris played fun, happy pop music that made you want to party. And party we did. Playing his major hit “Ready for the Weekend” on a Friday was perfect and the crowd danced around like the cast of Footloose crossed with the dancers from So You Think You Can Dance? (or at least that’s how we felt like we were dancing). He also really made an effort to engage with the crowd between songs and said the best possible things to us - “Sydney, you are fucking sexy!”

The indoor ferris-wheel in the Boiler Room. Points for awesomeness.

Very late in the day and people were flaking. However, I had friends who were keen as mustard to catch the epic-ness that is Muse. Though I’m not really a Muse fan, they certainly knew how to put on a good show. Their method? One: get lasers. Get lots of lasers. Screw it, get even more lasers. Lasers are so fucking awesome that we should have as many as possible, right? Two: write some epic songs. Preferably about not being over thrown, or about uniting the world or about black holes (they’re pretty epic, right?). Three: add 50,000 partying punters and shake. And that was Muse.

Muse. Now with epic lasers.

Big Day Out certainly lived up to its name. It ticked “big” – stacks of bands, “day” – it was a whole day of live music fun and “out” – you definitely knew you were outside, and out amongst it all.

Next time, Laneway Festival!

xx Esther

(All photos courtesy of the lovely Cleo who, unlike me actually bothered to take photos with her camera. I’m going to have to remember to use mine at Laneway…)

What I actually read over summer

So a little while ago, I posted a list of books to that I planned to read over summer in an attempt to be widely read. To save you from a long, weasely explanation, in short, I didn’t read many of the books on the list. At all.

The one book I did read on my list was Miranda Julys’ collection of short stories, No one belongs here more than you. Unfortunately, the first two thirds of the stories were told from tonally identical first-person points of view. These narrators were either child-like in their naiveté or slightly mentally slow and their stories hit exactly the same notes as they attempted to overcome emotional isolation and a lack of intimacy. This saminess was of serious detriment to the quality of the collection. However, Julys’ use of language is still very clever, and she describes everyday actions and character’s internal states with fresh and evocative imagery. I also should add that I thought the final story in the collection, “How to Tell Stories to Children” was fantastic, complex and (though I resent the use of the cliché) interestingly thought provoking.

(The view from my coast house balcony. Note how the trees have conveniently grown in a "U" shape...)

(The big rockpool I like to swim in.)

So, after that brief literary review, what did I actually end up reading?

One of my family’s summer holiday traditions (along with initiating piscine massacres, rowdy games of Pictionary, and gin and tonic drinking) is to collect all of the bumper, summer-special issues of trashy magazines (a form of media we all normally shun, hypocritical, we are). Within the first two days of being down the coast, my reading list was shipwrecked by the siren song of Who’s “Best and Worst of 2009: Your 180-page special collector’s edition”. Truly, who can resist scorning at the years’ celebrity fashion fails? Some of those outfits are like car crashes; they’re terrible and horrid, and you’ll be scarred by looking, but you just can’t turn away.

So, with all the pretences I have to being serious and literary destroyed by 180-page collector edition tributes to Michael Jackson and Lady Gaga’s sartorial (non) successes, I sought some redemption in Francoise Sagan’s first novel, The Unmade Bed. The Unmade Bed, it first appears, is a very standard, boy-meets-girl story. However, as the narrative progresses and the central characters flaws, complexes, vices, histories, fluctuating emotions and neuroses are revealed, Sagan writes an unconventional, engaging and human love story. Though I liked reading The Unmade Bed, I think Sagan’s earlier and shorter novellas, Bonjour Tristesse and A Certain Smile are actually stronger pieces because of their narrative brevity and more focused emotional intensity.

Failing to find the Carl Hiaasen novel I wanted, I ended up with a similarly toned New Zealand crime novel, Guerrilla Season by Paul Thomas (an appropriate title given that my coast house is at Guerrilla Bay). Thomas tells a witty, off-beat crime story with a plethora of outrageous but utterly convincing interrelated characters. Set in a wonderfully perceptive version of Auckland, Guerrilla Season demonstrates that New Zealand still certainly remembers the Rainbow Warrior and is possibly home to more people involved with international espionage than we ever would have guessed. Thomas’ prose is witty and fantastic, as this sentence, possibly my favourite in the book shows: “Tito Ihaka would’ve disliked the counter-terrorism expert Wayne Cramp at first sight but he didn’t see an point in waiting”.

Finally, I read Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Grey. Somehow I justified that a late Victorian novel could replace my Russian classic, Anna Karenina (look people, they’re both classics? Straws, grasping, I know). Anyway The Picture of Dorian Grey was a Christmas gift that I felt very good about reading. Wilde’s use of language in the novel is beautifully opulent and evocative and like in his plays, he depicts the Victorian era with an acerbic and cutting wit. However, because of the unsteady and unbalanced pacing of The Picture of Dorian Grey, I feel that Wilde’s major achievement is still The Importance of Being Ernest. Furthermore, I like the fun that Wilde has in Ernest; and that particular kind of irreverent, naughty but very intelligent fun seems to be missing from Dorian Grey.

So that’s where I’m up to so far with my reading. I probably would have read more except for the time spent drawing things like “Reflex”, “Where” and “Bloody Mary” in Pictionary. These have been holidays well spent.

All for now, xx Esther

My Favourite Summery Things

I think I must be a difficult person. Climate wise, I mean. I am always complaining endlessly about the cold in winter, then whinging about the heat in summer. In an attempt to embrace the thirty plus degree heat that I will be enduring for the next few months, I am writing about all the positives of summer; the things that just aren’t the same in other seasons. Hopefully, this will help to distract myself from the sweltering heat of my non-air-conditioned house.

Walks -

I love going for long walks just before sunset. The weather is usually lovely, and I don’t need a jacket, or an umbrella. Just my music, and myself. Leaving in the early evening usually means that the sky is turning into night by the time you get home. I am fortunate to live in a suburb that has numerous tranquil, leafy paths to tread. Bliss. I always sleep like a baby after a lovely evening stroll. This is my kind of exercise – no strange electrical equipment involved!

Books -

After my aforementioned walks, I love sitting down with a book. I have just finished W. M. Thackeray’s Vanity Fair, and am currently halfway through Joan Lindsay’s Picnic at Hanging Rock. I also find summer great time to read all those books you buy through the year, but never actually read. This is a bit of an expensive habit of mine. My 2009 unread bookshelf includes James Joyce’s epic Ulysses, and Siobhan O’Brien’s biography of Florence Broadhurst, one of my favourite Australian designers. Speaking of biographies, I also must tackle Hermione Lee’s biography of Virginia Woolf. There is also the copy of David Malouf’s Remembering Babylon that a friend recommended to me, and while I think of it, I never did finish Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. I am clearly not going to have any trouble filling my time this summer.

Fashion-

Being a cold person means I normally spend winter encased by several layers of projective garments. I love being able to wear cute dresses and sandals in summer. Not to mention my gorgeous broad brimmed hat (think Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s) and my great-aunt’s floral parasol. One is generally more elegant when not swamped in jumpers and cardigans. I especially love wearing simple cotton dresses. Vintage shops and are a great way to find these, without having to pay the ridiculous price of most shops.

When I’m feeling indulgent, I treat myself to something from Mod Cloth, my favourite online shop. I love the retro style of their clothes, and unlike a vintage piece, you’re not limited to whatever size the item happens to be in. Not to mention the great titles of the products –anyone for a Tulle There Was You or a Sequins of Events dress? Check the site out – I promise that it is even fun just to look at, as the postage from American can make for an expensive investment. http://www.modcloth.com/

My Garden -

I must have hit the jackpot with my rental house. Lust summer my housemates and I discovered our garden was filled with beautiful fruit trees. Figs, plums, apricots, apples and cherries. I love seeing all the fallen fruit scattered across the ground when I walk outside. Not to mention the prospect of making delicious fig tarts and plum pies. I also have a pretty pink rose bush, and white oleanders amongst other lovely flowers. I am also quite relieved that these are bearing fruit this year, after my attempts at growing herbs over the past few months have resulted in several deaths. There is always next year.

Food -

I love summer food! Fresh seafood and delicious salads. Not to mention delicious fresh juices. I like to experiment with salads and put as many different delicious ingredients in them as I can. When I can afford seafood, I am in heaven. I especially love having fresh prawns, cooked lightly, then dipped in lemon juice, then salt. Give it a try – you don’t need anything else, trust me they are delicious!

Speaking of delicious, summer ice creams are another favourite of mine. The first time I went to Paris it was summer, and almost every day I went to one of the numerous ice cream carts and purchased a delicious scoop of ice cream, in a cone of course. There is something so childish about ice cream cones, they are one of those things that you never grow out of, yet always remind you of being a kid. My favourite flavours are vanilla and pistachio. Yum yum!

With all of these things to occupy me, I guess I can survive the heat. Though I may need a fan to help me out. Besides, it won’t be too long before I will need to get out my winter tights again. Then I can indulge in hot chocolates and wear my cute winter coats and scarves again.

Grace

xx

Summer Reading List

I’m compiling my summer reading list at the moment. It’s been good fun. Like someone out deep sea fishing (but without the potential to end up resting in a watery grave), I’ve been trawling Canberra’s funky independent book shops, the shelves of my friends and family and the literature review section of each newspaper I obtain from cafes. Unsurprisingly, I’ve found that there’s a lot to read out there. And so to ensure I don’t end up reading either Peter Costello’s memoirs (highly unlikely but the thought still makes me shiver) or re-reading Janet Evanovich’s “Stephanie Plum” crime novels, I’ve imposed (loose) criteria the books have to meet in order to make the list.

Criteria one: I can’t have read it before. This is because I constantly re-read books. Choosing my ‘three essential desert island novels’ is always easy for me – I’m absolutely fine with being stuck on a tropical beach with only Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”, Margaret Atwood’s “The Handmaid’s Tale” and Garth Nix’s “Sabriel” for company (in fact, this is what happens most summers... except my beach isn’t tropical. And it’s usually got a few blue bottles and dead mutton birds on it.)

Criteria two: It has to come with glowing personal recommendations. This is because I have a tendency towards intellectual laziness when it comes to my summer literature. Even if a novel is proclaimed “post-modern absurdist classic of our time”, if it’s also referred to as “extremely difficult” and none of my friends have liked it, then what’s the point? Over summer, I’m not too fussed about critical success. I just want a good read. For this reason, although l plan to read Atwood’s “After the Flood”, it seems a bit too depressing and tough to read with a gin and tonic on a sunny deck.

Criteria three: The books have to be from a variety of genres, and preferably from a range of countries. This is to prevent a summer spent entirely with crime fiction (not that there’s anything wrong with crime fiction, or any genre fiction – just look at my final list).

So, this is what I’ve ended up with thus far:

- “Native Tongue” - Carl Hiaasen. It’s one of his older novels, and one that I’ve somehow not read yet. Carl Hiaasen is a crime writer from Florida. His novels combine a twisted sense of humour, wry observations about the American public and environmental messages without ever sounding preachy or contrived.

- “Anna Karenina” - Leo Tolstoy. Although Imperial Russia mightn’t always spring to mind when “summer” is mentioned, I have been meaning to read this novel for so long it’s ridiculous. In fact (and here’s a dirty secret of mine), I started reading “Anna Karenina” months ago, but got distracted by all those frustrating things like university essays. Anyway, I feel terrible about not having finished it, and it’s a novel that I’m certainly looking forward to reading. Plus, I also have a really lovely edition of the book which I'm looking forward to carrying around (though it is a large enough book that if you accidentally threw it at someone, they'd probably be knocked out. But remember, I don't condone violence... this is just an observation).

- “No one belongs here more than you” - Miranda July. I've come across several really positive recommendations for this collection of short stories, and, according to the First Tuesday Book Club's Marieke Hardy, (she annoyed me on Triple J but I've always respected her judgment of books), the book contains "very quirky, beautiful short story writing and [it's] very touching (...) like eating sunshine, reading this book, it’s quite lovely!" I've decided that I want to score some of that booky-sunshine.

- “The Life of Katherine Mansfield” – Anthony Alpers. I'm in a bit of a Katherine Mansfield moment right now. I think she’s incredibly clever, is acerbically perceptive about people and writes with such an intriguing restraint that I would like to be her. I’m reading this very famous biography of hers to remind myself that although she was a brilliant artist, actually emulating her tragic, damaged life and early-death isn’t the best idea.

So that’s what I’m reading. Does anyone out there have any suggestions, or lists of their own?

Finally, here is a link to Animal Collective's "Summertime Clothes". It's certainly on my summer music playlist.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxhaRgJUMl8

-- Esther xx