Tag: Canberra

• If Canberra hypothetically had a dictator and that was hypothetically me

  June 5, 2025 10:33 am Comments Off on If Canberra hypothetically had a dictator and that was hypothetically me

  Let’s say, hypothetically, that I were to become the dictator of Canberra, that I had an astronomical budget with which I could do whatever I pleased, and that I was feeling very inspired and motivated to do something. Unlikely, but not impossible. So during my reign, these are the changes I would implement. Some are practical—others really aren’t—but I’d do it anyway and you would thank me.
  The first change I’d make would be to implement an emergency infrastructure program to provide Canberra with state-of-the-art public transport. Taking the metro in Sydney over the weekend, if only for a few stops, was quite thrilling and reminded me of the European metropolises where life is unimaginable without a subway. I remember my Polish friend asking me about the public transport in Canberra. She assumed we had a subway, because any sensible capital city does, and I had to laugh and tell her that no, the capital city of Australia is at the mercy of buses, an incomplete light rail and roads where seemingly no one knows how to indicate. A subway under the lake would be groundbreaking—or some train lines circling the whole city, bringing people from suburbia to their workplaces and minimising the nightmare of the Tuggeranong Parkway. After all, buses are not immune to traffic, and traffic will only continue to grow as the population does. A subway for Canberra… maybe it shouldn’t be so unthinkable. And a few ferries, too. Just for fun. 
  The second change I would order would be to make the architecture more interesting. Canberra would benefit from an abundance of stained-glass windows, purely because they are unique and very, very pretty. I am also personally a massive fan of colourful glass so as dictator it would be a priority to put it all over the currently grey corporate office blocks which make up the city centre. Imagine: all the windows gradually being replaced, so that this city becomes a beacon of all the colours under the sun. Throw some in Parliament House! Government funding would be given to every sector of the public service to install a pretty window to greet guests, or just on a random floor of the office building to cheer the workers while they have their coffee and wait for the printer to work. The window frames also require some reinventing. Imagine a slightly run-down office building in Woden spruced up with some arches and latticing, so that going to work feels like stepping into a medieval castle for the day. There would also be an immediate order criminalising the refurbishment of Canberra’s architectural gems with minimalist furniture and grey/white paint. They must stay whimsical and full of character, both inside and out.
  Moreover, the design of new buildings would be adjusted to properly reflect the image of the Bush Capital. New high-rise apartment blocks, which have become increasingly common around the city, will no longer have just sleek glass or concrete exteriors—rather, the walls would become vertical gardens covered in plants. These gardens would make the buildings naturally cooler in summer and provide a habitat for the creatures that would otherwise be forced away by urban development. Yes, you’d get a few eight-legged guests, but think how authentic it would be! Nature not only in your backyard, but part of the building itself. Of course, all the plants would be somewhat fire-resistant, but under my genius redevelopment plans, you wouldn’t be able to tell where the bush stopped and the city started!
  As an extra note, these apartments would not cost anyone a fortune, because I’d be a generous dictator like that, and money for your homes would be acquired from the hypothetical store at my disposal. Cheap housing for the people I force stained-glass windows upon is a right—a right to show off the beautiful windows I funded. And also because housing is just a human right, according to someone apparently important that I don’t want criticising my regime and ruining all the fun. All houses would be within walking distance of my public transport system so that the whole world would want to move to Canberra. And these houses would be perfectly well insulated, because the fact that a European winter feels warmer than a Canberra one is simply ridiculous and cannot be allowed to persist. Gone would be the days of two doonas, a blanket folded in half, another blanket folded in half, a woollen blanket, another blanket, and a dressing gown on standby at the end of the bed for the worst-case scenario of a -5 degree night wherein you STILL wake up shivering because it’s really, really cold. 
  I would also order the immediate construction/renovation of the Canberra Theatre into something truly world-class: a global marvel to knock the Sydney Opera House out of the spotlight, finally. The acoustics would be better than the Philharmonie in Berlin, the foyer and concert hall more decadent and elegant than any baroque masterpiece in the world. There would be enough seating and advertising that it would be able to hold massive concerts and performers would no longer skip Canberra on their way between Sydney and Melbourne. We have an excellent music scene and it deserves more, so your kind dictator would shower it with the funding it has been denied for so long. 
  To take action on the Canberran crisis of running into people you really don’t want to run into LITERALLY EVERYWHERE, I would implement a city-wide escape tunnel system, specifically designed for making a hasty exit and avoiding small talk or just the mere sight of someone you aren’t in the mood for. Because it is a problem, and quite a culture shock for anyone coming from a big city. Universities are crawling with vague acquaintances. A nice drink at a cafe is ruined by the sight of your old coworker. And heaven forbid you go meandering around the shopping centre near your old high school… Of course, running into people you know isn’t always a bad thing and can even be a pleasant surprise, but I firmly believe there should be more options for making an escape. 
  I know I’m late for the ACT election, but luckily for you, as a dictator, I wouldn’t really care about elections, so you can let me start work right away! What are you waiting for –– implement me as Canberra’s dictator from 2026. 

  Chiara Hackney-Britt

• Can we please talk about Canberra Avenue now?

  April 5, 2025 2:00 pm Comments Off on Can we please talk about Canberra Avenue now?

  Canberra Avenue, the road that runs from central Queanbeyan to Parliament House, has four lanes, a wide median strip, and measures about 45 meters wide from curb to curb. It has a speed limit of 60 kilometres per hour. 
  But, despite adjoining schools and homes, it has almost no signalised crossings for pedestrians between Manuka and the New South Wales border.
  Even when people follow the road rules along Canberra Avenue, it is extremely dangerous, and people have known this for years. At my high school, St Edmund’s College, or Eddies, which is located at 110 Canberra Avenue, it was something of a villain.
  When crossing the street around the Eddies campus, you are confronted with various dangers.
  Cars are moving much faster than they would elsewhere.
  Looking east (away from the City), the road goes up a slight gradient, blocking your view of traffic coming off a giant, fast-moving roundabout. 
  Looking west (towards the City), tree branches can block your view of traffic coming from the bottom of a hill.
  Only recently did the government install a footpath across the median strip. 
  It is drilled into you by teachers very early on that you are to have absolutely nothing to do with this road.
  If a teacher on bus stop duty spotted you trying to cross, they would warn you about how dangerous it is.
  In a quote that has become a proverb, dating to the early 2010s, a senior teacher in the school is said to have yelled out, in his rather direct manner, to a student running across the road, “You’re a coward!”
  In around Year 9 or 10, my Health and PE teacher, who went to the school himself, used a lesson on peer pressure to tell stories of classmates in Year 11 and 12 who got into horrific car accidents by speeding down Canberra Avenue on a dare after getting their P’s.
  Horror stories and accosting aside, people do cross the street. People live there, of course, and even students who don’t have many reasons to. The R2 bus runs from Wentworth Avenue, near the train station. The nearest cafes for Year 11 and 12 students going to lunch or on their free period is on the other side of the street.
  Sporadically, the school will lobby the government to implement measures to improve the street’s safety: sternly worded letters, petitions to the Legislative Assembly, and public appeals in the press. 
  These efforts are usually dismissed as, as transport minister Chris Steel put it in response to a petition launched in 2022, a reduced speed zone for the school and its traffic calming infrastructure would be “incompatible with this road’s arterial function”. 
  Minister Steel also promised an internal review investigating other potential safety measures, such as a signalised crossing, but it would not seem that much has changed. 
  The need to implement safety measures on Canberra Avenue takes on a whole new relevance as, last Friday, the worst nightmares of Eddies’ students, staff and alumni became a reality.
  Police allege a man sped down Canberra Avenue from Queanbeyan before hitting two teenage students crossing outside Eddies.
  I disagree with the ACT government that safety measures around the school would be incompatible with the arterial function of Canberra Avenue, not least because many arterial roads go even further than is usually proposed.
  Sydney’s notorious Pennant Hills Road, perhaps the archetypal arterial road in Australia, has a school zone and even has traffic cameras that enforce it. 
  Canberra Avenue, at least outside Eddies, has neither.
  Many arterial roads, even in Canberra, have frequent signalised pedestrian crossings. Literally the next road over, Wentworth Avenue, has such crossings!
  Canberra Avenue has none (0) in the vicinity of the school: the nearest is over a kilometre — 1 thousand meters — away.
  None of these measures would have prevented a person from acting in the manner police have alleged here: stealing a car and speeding it down a wide avenue. 
  However, they would certainly have decreased the likelihood that these two boys would have been injured by the alleged offender’s actions.
  Imagine if, instead of running for their lives across the already extremely dangerous road, the boys were waiting for a green man at a traffic light. 
  Imagine if these boys could have jumped out of the way of the speeding green Commodore and in front of a car going slow enough that either it could have stopped or, at least, caused much less severe injuries.
  These boys were not given these options. 
  Can we please talk about them?
  Update: After this piece was written, the territory roads minister Tara Cheyne told a press conference that she had asked her directorate for “a briefing […on] any safety treatments that we might be able to implement” on Canberra Avenue.

  Joseph Mann

• Walking on a Dream: The Disappointment of the Bunda Street Shared Zone

  February 12, 2025 12:58 pm Comments Off on Walking on a Dream: The Disappointment of the Bunda Street Shared Zone

  Canberra’s inner north has been my home my whole life; my backyard, Bunda Street. 
  The street has always been on the frontline of the fight between car-centric road planners, pedestrians, and resilient small businesses. Back in the 70s, Gus Petersilka, the founder of the recently closed Gus’ Cafe, fought with the federal government for the right to have outdoor dining, today a key attraction of the area.
  My own memories of Bunda Street include family birthday dinners at long-gone Chinese food establishments like Sammy’s and Hidden Dragon, being stood up at what was to be my first-ever date at Kokomo’s, and many strolls up and down the street, a cup of Via Dolce coffee in hand, after a late weekend brunch.
  Last year marked the tenth anniversary of the ACT government’s designation of Bunda Street as a shared zone. Pedestrians were given priority, popular crossing spots were raised to slow cars down, line markings were removed, the bitumen was painted and paved differently from other streets, and the speed limit was reduced to a much safer 20 kilometres per hour.
  This comprised the last stage of the ‘City Loop’, a project to create a cycling and walking corridor through the city that avoided busy roads like London Circuit and Cooyong Street. Has this car diet been a success? To anyone who regularly uses the street today, the answer is obviously a resounding no.
  Crossing the street as a pedestrian remains unpleasant (and, during peak hours, dangerous) as it was before the renovation. Drivers refuse to yield as they are required to, frequently slamming their brakes just before hitting people — a sin most commonly committed by white cars bearing NSW license plates, in my experience. 
  The choice to keep a large number of street parking spaces means that using the street for its intended post-renovation purpose — cycling — requires negotiation with cars that randomly stop to take a parking space or pull out without looking or indicating. 
  Many drivers use it as a rat run from Northbourne Avenue to avoid the stretch of traffic lights on Cooyong Street. This includes many commuters, but whenever there’s a large national event in Canberra, you can bet that an even longer line of cars will inexplicably line up Bunda as a poorly thought-out shortcut.
  Bunda Street’s shared zone signage seems more directed at reminding pedestrians of their putative right to cross unimpeded rather than informing drivers of their obligation to slow down to preserve said right. At the intersection with the pedestrianised part of Ainslie Avenue that runs through the Canberra Centre, there’s an unnecessary and confusing set of traffic lights with crossing signals erected before the pedestrianisation that were never removed.
  This is not to say that the renovations were entirely pointless. The street is much more pleasant than the dangerous car sewer it replaced. A video of a pro-same-sex marriage march in 2011 shows activists being wedged onto the tight footpaths on either side of the street — a stark contrast from the colourful street-wide protest march against the “bigot bill” a decade later. The shared zone, combined with the Canberra Centre’s recent pedestrianisation of Scotts Crossing, has made Bunda Street even more vibrant and accessible.
  The territory government has for decades tried to encourage the take-up of active and public transit, but it has often done so with vague and unclear initiatives like “car-free days”, which scare the car-dependent Canberran public into thinking that Chairman Barr is coming for their beloved vehicles.
  They would do better at reducing our dependence on cars by making a real effort to make active and public transit as comfortable as driving. The tram provided a fantastic alternative for inner north and Gungahlin residents, but the sharp reduction in suburban bus frequencies that occurred at the same time as the tram has been entirely unhelpful.
  My dream for my backyard, at the risk of sounding like a NIMBY (Not In My BackYard), would be for Bunda Street to be closed to car traffic. Not every street needs cars running down it, much less an eat street atop a large underground car park a block away from Canberra’s largest transit interchange.
  There is no argument against freeing Bunda Street from the tyranny of the private motor vehicle.
  For all the hassle they cause, the number of parking spaces along the street and the revenue they bring in is miniscule. FOI documents last year revealed that the territory government makes (on average) only about $80,000 a year from paid parking on the street while issuing about $250,000 in parking fines. It is the businesses along the street, not the parking spaces, that attract people to come here.
  The idea that businesses need unimpeded car access to the street is also bunk. During the annual Multicultural Festival, where the whole street becomes a pleasant car-free marketplace, deliveries to businesses along the street are certainly impacted, but not meaningfully prevented. 
  A good compromise would be closing the street between Tocumwal Lane (the laneway near Via Dolce) and Genge Street (near Wilma), which would force away the worst of the through-traffic while leaving cyclists, deliveries and other essential traffic largely unimpeded. Retractable bollards could allow vehicle access during emergencies or public events like parades.
  Closing Bunda Street to car traffic would be transformative. The street would join the great Australian malls like Pitt Street, Bourke Street, Queen Street, the Rundle Mall and Murray Street as vibrant, people-first spaces. It would be a much safer route for cyclists and pedestrians to roam the city and inner north — a much nicer backyard for Canberrans to gather in.

  Joseph Mann

• ‘THE HOUSE’: ANU’S RESIDENTIAL HALLS AS A MICROCOSM OF PARLIAMENTARY ELITISM

  December 13, 2024 1:47 pm Comments Off on ‘THE HOUSE’: ANU’S RESIDENTIAL HALLS AS A MICROCOSM OF PARLIAMENTARY ELITISM

  ‘Is there much of an upstairs-downstairs feel in Parliament House?’
  ‘Yeah, we’ve got people upstairs who have probably never been down to the basement… if I wanted people to take note, I’d stop delivering coffee and toilet paper.’
  These are the words of Sandy McInerney, Logistics Manager of Parliament House’s underground ‘catacombs’, in conversation with Annabel Crabb in her 2017 docuseries The House. Offhand words in one twenty-second conversation of a three-hour documentary series, which amongst all those exploring the glory and intricacies of Parliament’s ‘upstairs’ rooms, were the ones that lingered in my mind. 
  Parliament is a living, breathing organism of democracy, of high-level thinking, of the most important people in Australia. But McInerney’s words starkly remind us that no well-pressed suit, nor feet on immaculately steamed red and green carpet, exempt our high-calibre Parliamentarians from their human needs.
  It does, however, seemingly exempt them from having to fulfil these needs themselves.
  Our most important figures simply float through the halls of Parliament unaffected by such lowly considerations as where to buy their next coffee, or whether the toilet will be clean for them to use. They take blissful baths in the upstairs glory of The House, while a hidden workforce who ‘rarely sees the light of day’ weaves its way through an underground road and tunnel network, ensuring the functionality and comfort of Parliament; it’s just part of the job. The structural hierarchy – the dichotomy between the presentable and the obscured, the up and the down, the fore- and background – is built into the building itself, and subsequently built into parliamentary culture. This culture only works to perpetuate complex notions of ‘upper’ and ‘lower’ that pervade public reality: if the physical manifestation of Australian freedom and justice, representing the views and interests of the Australian people, is so plainly hierarchised, how can we expect society’s culture to reflect or embody anything else?
  As I watch the flag fly atop Parliament’s glistening roof from just down the street, I contemplate the people I’m surrounded by, studying at Australia’s National University. I’ve met many a person in my eight months on campus who I could confidently say will sit in Parliament in twenty years. ANU graduates ‘go on to become leaders in government.’ I’m decidedly nestled in a culture that is fostering the minds that will fill the rooms of Parliament soon enough, and who similarly have their day-to-day needs managed in a basement that they will likely never lay eyes on.
  My realisation, then, was that these future parliamentarians are, given the immense population of fellow first-year students living on campus, living their day-to-day lives now in much the same dynamic.
  When I moved to Canberra, one of the biggest shocks to my system was learning that the kitchens, the bathrooms, the dining areas, and everything short of the individual rooms (unless you’re a Johns resident, if I’m to disseminate frivolous rumours) of my residential hall got cleaned not by those that used it, but by cleaning staff who have nothing to do with the dirtying of these spaces. Clogged sinks filled to the brim with ominous soup turned to sparkling silver overnight. Abandoned pots and pans and knives and forks left strewn across benches after the 7pm rush disappeared eventually. Moulding food was swept away when it got too apparent that its owner was probably not coming back for it.
  I couldn’t believe it – I’d gone from being a nineteen-year-old who, despite her freeloading at home, had some semblance of responsibility for cleanliness, to a twenty-year-old who could ultimately leave whatever mess she’d like with very limited real consequences, despite likely dirty looks from others trying to use the stoves.
  While having cleaning staff in itself is by no means condemnable, it highlights a crucial element of residential hall existence – that there is a certain, in-built element to this lifestyle that places our education and frankly, in many cases, our exercise of privilege in attending university, above our need to take responsibility for our everyday existence. We are being implicitly told that our intelligence and our ability to pay to live on campus – or, more commonly, to be paid for – places us above the need to engage with the mundane aspects of adult living, particularly for those living in catered residences. In this respect, we are young parliamentarians in more ways than being students of politics and law: living as if we are too important to change a toilet roll.
  So many of us wouldn’t know the names of the people who mop our floors for us, and no matter how clean we keep our spaces, we therefore play a part in being the upstairs residents who would take most note of our cleaning staff if they stopped filling the paper towel dispensers and wiping the desks we study on. We can beg the question of whether living in residences, being fed and cleaned for, prepares us for the ‘real world’, but the cold truth is that, for many people, it sure does. Their real world will become the professionalised version: a workplace where they are cushioned by assurance that they need not lift a finger to feel cared for and have not since their first day at college. They will not see the insides of a maintenance cupboard nor the basement of whichever sunlit office they work in and will learn that this is what they worked for: to have the less palatable requirements of comfortable existence offloaded onto someone else.
  The wake-up call here is not to drop out of college and start a commune, by any means. This lifestyle gives so many people the opportunities to pursue elements of independent living and study that they otherwise never would have dreamt possible. What lingers in my mind, though, is that this way of living is not as natural or normal as it can begin to feel when immersed in the insularity of it all. Hierarchy does not sit well in houses of any description, yet Australia’s most important House has it coursing through its veins; food for discomforting thought.
  The wake-up call is, instead, to thank your cleaners, next time you see them; they are the people who underpin the lifestyle we’re lucky enough to lead, and there will never come a fictitiously constructed hierarchy that changes that.

  Greta Clark-Walsh

• Third Year Blues

  December 4, 2024 12:47 pm Comments Off on Third Year Blues

  On the night of the 1st of September, a category 2 cyclone hit Melbourne. I was alone in my parent’s house, lying high and awake in my childhood bed. Checking my notes app the next day, I noticed that I’d written something. 
  “It’s two forty-five in the morning. I’m alone in my childhood home, and I’m a little scared.”
  I used to love storms. I still do, at least on an intellectual level. There’s something empowering about the natural world, and the quiet strength of our buildings withstanding a battering. But it’s been three years since I was in Melbourne for a proper storm, and I’m not used to them anymore. Melbourne isn’t entirely home anymore.
  The storm, and my reaction to it, cemented a realisation that’s been dawning on me for some time; I’m getting older. I’m not the same Henry as I was in first year. When I first moved to Canberra, I was a fresh-faced (albeit hirsute) eighteen-year-old. There were endless streams of new people to meet, and I had complete freedom for the first time in my life. As these years went on, Canberra became home. Daley Road became home. I don’t know when Canberra became home, though I know that it is. But now, I’m about to turn twenty-one, and I’m preparing to leave this leafy home. Moving out of Daley Road feels like I’m moving into a new phase. I’m on the precipice of adulthood, and I’d be lying if that wasn’t daunting.
  Canberra is a transitory place. Most of us never plan to stay here forever, though many of us will. As students in Canberra, we live a quasi-nomadic life. Our friends are from all over, and there’s endless trips to someone’s hometown that can be made. Since moving to Canberra, I’ve spent more time in Sydney than I ever thought I would. I’ve become familiar with a smorgasbord of small towns —places I didn’t even know existed when I decided to leave Melbourne.
  Just like Canberra, being college-age is transitory. For the past three years, my identity has been in constant flux. Every possible experience is handed to you on a platter. I’ve attended talks at embassies immediately after coordinating some of the Engineering School’s brightest minds to make a bong. That’s the beauty of early adulthood. It’s a period of constant discovery. Of constant change, excitement, and experimentation. There’s a reason you don’t see many 40 year olds packing into the forests near Pialligo for a doof. After a while, the chaos becomes disorienting. I’m aware it’s bizarre that I’m writing this sentence but nevertheless, I’m getting old.
  Adulthood excites me. A while back, I had a conversation with one of my best friends. Being from Melbourne, we’re both rarities in our Sydneysider friendship group. Driving along Hoddle Street in Melbourne, on our way to a day of unnecessarily expensive sandwiches and thrifting in Fitzroy, he asked me whether I’d rather get older or get younger and redo my childhood. I generally avoid existential crises before lunchtime, but this dilemma gripped me.
  I didn’t have a good answer at the time, but I can now confidently say that adulthood excites me more than youth. Stability is more thrilling to me than chaos. I think that makes me boring and I think that’s what scares me the most. I was asked once if I’d prefer to be happy or interesting. At the time I said interesting. But I can’t stand by that answer anymore. I would rather be happy and simple.
  The tragedy of youth is that it ends. We can only be interesting for so long, at some point, normalcy comes knocking. What is daunting to me now is that I know I’ll open the door. As I attend my last college events, as I go to house inspections and fill out rental applications, as I apply for APS and paralegal jobs, as I leave hospo behind, I am walking down the corridor. I don’t know if I’m ready to open the door, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll have to turn the knob anyway. 

  Henry Wise

• Autumn at the ANU

  May 19, 2023 11:06 am Comments Off on Autumn at the ANU

  Stark Red Series

  Orange Series

  Chris Jackson

• Interview with Boo Seeka – Woroni Artist Series

  February 18, 2023 11:10 am Comments Off on Interview with Boo Seeka – Woroni Artist Series

  Boo Seeka is an Australian electropop artist currently touring Australia, with a show in Canberra on the 2nd of March. He has featured on the Triple J Hottest 100, played Coachella, and recently released his sophomore album, Between the Head and the Heart. We sat down with Boo Seeka to discuss his creative process, his musical influences, and the highlights of his career. 
   
  Let’s start with our first question, you’ve obviously recently released Between the Head and the Heart. We just want to know what’s the song that you’re most proud of on the album? 
  There’s a few, but I guess the most iconic one that kind of set up the whole record for me was I Like It Like, purely because I actually had a whole record written prior to the one that I wrote for Between the Head and the Heart and I guess where I was at in my life at that particular time and some stuff kind of happened, pretty spontaneously, that I wasn’t expecting that. Everything that I’d written for the record, it wasn’t speaking to me personally at that time. I scrapped it, and I had this moment where I just was standing in front of a mirror, and it was almost like I had this sensation of myself talking back to me through this mirror. I just started writing down like this conversation that I was having with myself, which turned into I Like It Like, so I guess for me, I got to give that song a highlight for the record, considering everything kind of grew from there. 
   
  That’s really interesting. You’ve spoken on having to sort of redo the whole record, essentially having to make a brand new record. What was the hardest song on the record to make?
  The hardest song was Happen. I’d written the song and we had a demo, and we liked the demo of it, but it still wasn’t speaking to us. And then, literally, I think probably every other song that was on [Between the Head and the Heart] really didn’t take any longer than a day to record it, but Happen probably took nearly three weeks in itself to find the way that I wanted that song to come out. 
  For me, it was also another stepping stone of not worrying too much. You know, obviously I want things to be cohesive, but not worrying too much about it all sounding the same. I think for me it’s making the sound around the song that I want to write, to have the justice that it needs. So for me, that’s going into the next record that I’m writing now. It doesn’t necessarily have to be one particular sound across the whole record. You know, I think there’s other ways to artistically make it cohesive as a record but serve each song differently in a way so that it has the justice musically for the lyrical content that I’m writing. 
   
  So obviously you’ve written two records and you’re currently writing your third. What’s your main source of inspiration? Does it differ between each album?
  Yeah, if you speak to most artists, we’re all sponges. I don’t think there’ll be that many artists out there that don’t take in anything that doesn’t inspire them within a day. But I guess the most key one for me is just my brain will suck in a lot of things going on in my world, and yet I find it very hard to just talk to people in a normal conversation about what I’m feeling. But I find it very easy to get it out through a song. So for me, the inspiration is getting out all those thoughts, whether they’re negative or positive in my head through music. 
   
  It’s really interesting to hear your opinions on people’s inspiration for music and everything, and how you don’t sort of have one thing but rather everything that you do in your day to day life. So to talk about other musicians, just briefly, what is your dream music collaboration? Like if you could collaborate with anyone in the world, alive or dead, who would it be?
  Oh, that’s a hard one. It’s a very hard one actually. I’m going to be a bit sneaky here and pick two. Alive? I’d say Billie Eilish. I just think she’s absolutely incredible in everything that she does. And you know, she’s just doing her, and I think that’s a very inspiring thing. 
  Someone that’s passed? I’d say George Harrison. What an iconic songwriter. I came from a singer-songwriter background before I started writing electronic music and I still do to this day. Most songs written by me are on an acoustic guitar. At one point in my career, I reckon I’ll do an acoustic tour, with all the songs basically stripped down–bare minimum, to an acoustic guitar– because I really do think that not all songs, but a majority of great songs, can all be stripped down to literally just a piano and a guitar and a vocal. To me, George Harrison was just so iconic in his writing. That would be pretty, pretty awesome. 
   
  Our Art Editor is sitting just outside the frame and nodding. Those were good choices for musicians.
  Aw, sweet. Thank you. 
   
  You’re on tour around Australia now. But I want to know; what’s your most memorable live performance so far? 
  Well, there’s been so many. There’ll be a few for different reasons. I was actually in a band prior to Boo Seeka and I felt like I cut my teeth with those guys, and learnt everything that set me up to be able to do Boo Seeka the way that I’m doing it. I owe a lot of credit to those guys, but they got to an age where they didn’t want to do it anymore and it was, honestly, the most devastating time of my life, getting told that they didn’t want to do it anymore. To me, I had nothing else to do but play music. 
  When Boo Seeka kicked off, and I guess having that first iconic moment of completely selling out your first-ever show. You know, you’ve worked so long to get to a point, and then you finally fill the room. I think that would be one iconic moment for me in my career. 
  Playing Coachella last year was obviously a massive one. Definitely a bucket list thing I never anticipated in doing. Playing Red Rocks in Denver. Growing up as a kid, watching DVDs of Red Rocks with all the bands and artists that I love with my parents, and then actually standing on that stage and playing to a packed house was a moment I’ll never forget. 
  And I’m just so thankful for all the stepping stones that I have been able to do, from the festival scene within Australia and playing all those iconic festivals. Playing regional tours and capital cities and packed rooms, and having people have that experience of singing back to me songs that I’ve written for myself but connecting in their own ways with me every night. I’ll never forget that and I’ll never get sick of it. 
   
  That’s amazing. I follow these big music festivals and it’s really amazing to see people’s progression from small Australian shows and festivals to these massive American festivals like Coachella and Red Rocks. It’s really awesome to see and really interesting to hear it from someone who’s done it. 
  If you’re able to, can you tell me about your creative process? I know we talked about where you find your inspiration, but once you’ve got the inspiration, how do you go about making a song or a record? 
  There’s definitely a lot of different ways, I’m not really the guy to just go “right, today I’m going to write a song”. It works for a lot of people. One of my best friends ever, he’s basically my brother, another very incredible and inspiring person, inspires me every day in writing. But he writes in such a different way, he wakes up at like three-thirty or four in the morning, every morning, and just writes. His kind of thing is writing at those very early hours of the day when his brain is fresh, which is a very inspiring thing. But in saying that, I’ve tried that twice and it’s not for me. I like my sleep. 
  I think for me, again it’s just sucking in inspiration, walking down the street, to finally putting the jigsaw puzzle together in my head, or that there’s a certain line that will set up the whole rest of a song of what I want to say. That might be me just literally humming out a line for a couple of hours just by myself. I’ve always got a guitar laying around the house and picking it up and strumming a couple of chords, and it really is to me like putting a puzzle together. You find one piece and you find the next piece and you put it together. Sometimes those pieces come really quickly and you put the whole thing together in literally 15 minutes. Sometimes you have to put down a couple of pieces and walk away and come back and look at it again and connect more things. I wouldn’t say there’s one specific way that I write music, but in a whole, that would be how I go about it. 
   
  You’ve been making music since 2015, so about eight years. Tell me how your creative process differs from how it was 8, 10 years ago.
  The first three songs that I wrote were Kingdom Leader, Deception Bay, and Fool. They were literally tracked, recorded, mixed, and mastered in three days. Three songs in three days. That was coming out of this big turnaround in my life with my previous band. It was writing about taking on this new journey and being the ruler of my own kingdom moving forward. Then meeting Sam [Croft], and everything that he brought to the band. We were in sixth gear straight away, we literally put out a song and then, two weeks later, we left on tour. After that tour, we had the whole year booked out. So for us, writing became part of being on the road. When our manager at the time was like, “right guys, it’s time to do a full length record”, most bands will pull off the road and book time into a studio and won’t tour.
  For Sam and I, we just loved being on the road and finding that we’re getting more inspiration being on the road. So for us, we basically set up a little recording kind of vibe that we could take literally around the world. We were recording in hotels and in RVs and in buses and at airports. Some of the sounds that no one will ever pick up, I think there’s only been about two or three that have actually picked up some certain things. There are sounds in that first full length record that were literally Sam going around and recording different street sounds and building them into beats. I think that was a big thing that Sam brought to the project at that time that gave that first full length record a bit of a worldly feel. 
  Whereas now? Writing a record was very different compared to [Never Too Soon] for Between the Head and the Heart, because we couldn’t tour. I was almost struggling to find what I wanted to write about for the next record because for me, again, I pick up inspiration from being outside. Like I hate a regimented kind of routine every day. I hate doing the same thing twice. I like to do everything different, every day, as much as I possibly can. [Lockdown] was really hard for me. I went digging in deeper, inside my soul and into my head to write Between the Head and the Heart. Very different to the first record. 
   
  I guess the world has changed a lot in the eight years since you started making music as Boo Seeka. It’s really interesting how your creative process has changed with the world.  You were nominated for a Triple J Unearthed Award and you were also on the Triple J Hottest 100. What do you think the value of platforms like Triple J is for emerging artists in Australia? What was the value of that for you and what do you think it is for other people? 
  It’s massive, I genuinely think Triple J is one of the greatest platforms for any up and coming band ever. We got Unearthed through Triple J, but still to this day, I’m going on and finding new music. I go back on that platform and just go searching for bands all around Australia. Whoever came up with that concept is a genius because you find bands that aren’t packing out rooms all around Australia, not selling out thousands of tickets but you go and find them and you go “holy crap, like, I love this music” and you hope that you see those bands go out and tour. But there’s bands that I follow on there that I’ve never seen play a show but I love listening to their music. You know, I think it’s just a great platform to go and find new music and things that you’re into and see where music is going. It’s an incredible platform. 
   
  A final question. Do you have any advice for people looking to get into music here in Australia, like getting into the music scene?
  I guess it’s a little bit cliche – it’s very cliche. I just genuinely think it’s where every musician needs to start; just do it because you love it. Like genuinely just do it, doesn’t matter whether you’re in your bedroom or not. There’s some artists who don’t even want to tour, they don’t want to play in front of crowds, and they do it because they genuinely love playing music and writing songs. But if you’re getting into this game to be famous and play in front of a packed room, then you’re doing it for all the wrong reasons. 
  Don’t get down on playing to one or two people. You should be going into any gig, whether it’s one person or 10,000 people, playing 100% exactly the same as what you would do in a big crowd. I’ve always had that philosophy since I played in my old band. We literally played to two people that were sitting in front of us and the bar staff, and those two people sitting in front of us owned a very well known guitar company that I’m still endorsed by and set us up for life with guitars. It showed me that you just never know who’s sitting in the room. So always get out there and do your best.
  That’s great advice. Thank you so much for the opportunity to interview you.
   
  Boo Seeka will be playing in Kambri at ANU on March 2nd with support from Apricot Ink as part of his Regional Tour around Australia.

  George Hogg

• The Speed Of Light (Rail)

  August 10, 2022 5:41 pm Comments Off on The Speed Of Light (Rail)

  ALINGA 
  Runway cleared for takeoff, a clear morning is heralding this service.
  Onboard, we will fly though this small universe using highly sophisticated light rail technology. Red backed sentinels will oversee their metal dominion, protective of the finest blue spiral-patterned seating that $675 million of government money can buy.
  I give you: The Fare-Evader’s Guide to the Northern Canberra Galaxy.
   
  ELOURA 
  The air of this tundra blows in icy, colliding with an increasingly humid airlock interior.
  Representatives of the Eloura jurisdiction appear in the form of a young couple, deep in terse conversation. They are directly followed by another, shrink-wrapped in black spandex, his neon green socks pulled flush to shivering knees.
   
  IPIMA
  Dried grass sprints alongside as we glide into the next dock.
  I see the husks of residential halls hovering to the right, old Fenner Hall gone feral, dystopian.
  Orange neuron skeletons litter the avenue with roadkill.
  They lie supine on their side, with white helmets disjointed. Cranial and skull-like, they reflect the sunlight like bleached plastic bone.
   
  MACARTHUR
  ABC Canberra stands unadorned on the crossroads, traffic swarming before it. Onlooker to many, messenger to some. Inside the station, the radio corps that have been enlisted in service will broadcast to those few willing to listen.
  The young couple vacate the shuttle, braving the frost in tandem.
  Hotels with hundreds of tiny matchbox rooms have shot up from the earth.
   
  DICKSON
  The environs of this planet open up, streets suddenly wide.
  A few creatures mill around the forest floor, with glass trees towering above. Cranes swing their metal branches in the breeze.
   
  SWINDEN
  Here, the glass trees are swiftly cut down to squat brick dwellings. Wire cages encircle asphalt courts, fencing in the inhabitants. They are clothed in matching uniforms, their bodies in a perpetual game. The ground is struck with force, as they run over, around, weaving between one another, up and back again, always focused, rhythmic.
   
  PHILLIP
  The world has its back turned. The graffitied rears of houses are sheepish, afraid to meet my eye. Any unique terrain is obscured by scrubland, only occasionally peeking out from behind stiff-lipped pines.
  I spot a figure zooming across the scenery. A motorised skateboard, weilding a tiny dog on leash. The four-legged beast is frantic, barely keeping pace with the four-wheeled beast that drags it.
   
  EPIC
  An empty expanse, either abandoned, or biding time in wait for harvest. The frozen plateau is packed hard by hooves and tyre tracks. Off-season has silenced the baying of all creatures, their convoys shuffled on. Freedom fighting has long since begrudgingly packed up, migrated, with no trace but memory remaining.
  White combat boots and moon-soled sneakers rush up to the doors, eager to be sheltered from the harsh elements outside.
   
  SANFORD
  Passing by the light rail stables, the rest of the fleet are standing by. Pilots idle, hands twitching for another stint at the reins.
  To the left, a fish bowl is full of runners. They race no one and get nowhere. In ceaseless worship, they toil, Sisyphean, for the Club Lime cause.
  Carpet Choices and War Memorial stand side by side, their warehouses occupied, allegedly. There is a lack of life, despite the warning signs.
   
  WELL STATION
  The Green Shed flashes by. Mecca for share house dwellers – an epicentre of cheap furnishings, wobbly tables and mismatched dining chairs.
  We pause at a platform. It is landmarked by a turnoff, suburbs with the names of fathers of friends I only vaguely remember. Mitchell, Franklin, Harrison – I sat at their family dining table eons ago, universes away.
  The loudspeaker warns us that the doors are closing. The doors never opened to begin with.
   
  NULLARBOR
  A billboard floats above highrises, boasting “Times Square.”
  Maybe if I strained my neck, I could just about spot our Lady Liberty – Telstra Tower.
  And as the journey surged forward into cosmopolitan Canberra, I couldn’t help but wonder… If New York City is the Big Apple, what does that make Canberra? Rotten to the core?
   
  MAPLETON
  The car creaks around the corner, protesting its own weight. The mechanical belly of this beast is suddenly bloated with passengers. A suburban sprawl seeps through the surroundings.
  Brown brick McMansions, piles all the colour of syrup, drip from streets and cul-de-sacs.
   
  MANNING CLARK
  Apartments huddle together for warmth in lonely paddocks. White sedans roam the fields.
  Eight little dollhouses sit forlorn in a blasted heath, webbed like toes and joined at the unfortunate hip.
   
  GUNGAHLIN
  The end of the line, furthest distance allowed by my public transport safety tether.
  Another terminal, mirror image of Alinga, played in reverse – passengers drain out instead of pour in.
  A new crowd is exchanged for old as I remain sat on my blue patterned perch, observing a faraway planet.
   
  It is alien to me, although I too am an alien to this land. A blow-in from a distant station, unknown to the crowd now chattering around me. Judging, anonymous, from behind a paper mask and clicking laptop keys. My reflection on the dusty carriage window scowls at an uncaring audience.
   
  The car goes quiet for a moment before jerking backwards, flying again into the concrete beyond.
   
   
  Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 4 ‘Alien’
   
  Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
   
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  Letters to the Editor

  Have some thoughts? Questions? Ideas? Send a Letter to the Editor below.Name (optional)

  Elizabeth Walker

• Scotty’s 2021 Diary- Leaked

  March 7, 2021 7:17 pm Comments Off on Scotty’s 2021 Diary- Leaked

  Dear Diary, 
  Today was NOT a good day ::(((( 
  I got made fun of because I said assaulting women was bad. Wtf???????? Do the haters think it is good?????????? 
  Apparently some people think I should have known that assault was bad without asking Jenny or thinking about my daughters…. What do they know? Isn’t it good to learn new things? To challenge yourself? #keepmovingforward
  Anyway, I think this might be a big issue – the whole gendered violence and harassment thing. I’ve decided to put it on my “to fix” list for next week. I’m not sure how yet but we can probably get to the bottom of it if we work hard, pray harder. 
  That’s it for now I think. Bed time! 
  Love from Scotty. 
  P.S – Someone suggested raising Centrelink by a whole $3? Sounds a bit outlandish but I might sleep on it…
  P.P.S- I must remember to tell my EA to schedule a meeting with Christian’s office too….

  Katie Sproule

• The 10 Best Inner-North Pints

  October 25, 2020 5:33 pm Comments Off on The 10 Best Inner-North Pints

  It’s finally Spring, and as Canberra cautiously relaxes after its stressful year, it’s time for a well-deserved pint.
  I visited, and ranked, the inner-north’s ten biggest pubs. For your convenience and my pleasure.
   

  King O’Malley’s (Civic)

  Quality: 2.5           Atmosphere: 3           Price: 3           Overall: 2.83/5
  Taking the tenth spot on this list is one of Civic’s two Irish pubs.
  Earlier this year, on St Patrick’s Day, the vibe at this pub was great. Mostly, however, there is not a lot about King O’Malley’s which is particularly remarkable. While this pub delivers the Irish staples (Guinness and Kilkenny on tap) and classic pub meals, its beer range is limited and its food is on the dearer end. By way of example, a beef burger costs $25— more than Grease Monkey’s most expensive burger.
  This is a place to consider if the occasion calls for it.
   

  Civic Pub (Braddon)

  Quality: 3.5           Atmosphere: 2.5           Price: 3.5           Overall: 3.16/5
  The Civic Pub sports a pretty standard range of tap beers, though that range notably includes Balter XPA, a decent alcoholic ginger beer, and a tapped espresso martini.
  Although its price bracket is pretty standard, sadly this pub does not offer a Happy Hour. What is most confusing about it, however, is the atmosphere. On a sunny day, the pub feels unusually dark and gloomy. Walls lined with books and a ‘yak’ (actually a buffalo) from Fat Yak apparently strive for a refined atmosphere. However, Civic Pub feels like it’s occupying an uncomfortable middle space between classy and conventional.
   

  Brew Nation (Civic)

  Quality: 5           Atmosphere: 3           Price: 2.5           Overall: 3.5/5
  With an incredible range of canned beers (which can also be taken home) and a great range of beers on tap, beer snobs – and those wanting to learn a bit more about their drink – will love Brew Nation. As a reasonably minimalist, one-room pub, the atmosphere at this place is not particularly special. However, good background music, a volume at which to talk comfortably, and notably friendly staff all add to this space’s value.
  One gets higher-end brews here, and it’s reflected in the prices.
   

  Badger & Co. (Acton)

  Quality: 3           Atmosphere: 3.5           Price: 4           Overall: 3.5/5
  The ANU’s primary bar/pub does its job reasonably well. Its beer range is not enormous, but it pleases a wide crowd, including brewery-fresh Carlton and a couple of Canberra brews in its range. The atmosphere can be good, but – to flog a dead horse – it does not hold a torch to the late ANU Bar. Arguably the best thing about this establishment (after its location) is its daily deals, whether it’s $10 schnitzels or $5 Happy Hour.
  Not a bad place for a pint.
   

  Braddon Brews (Braddon)

  Quality: 4           Atmosphere: 3.5           Price: 3.5           Overall: 3.6/5
  Being a daytime café / coffee roaster and a night-time beer bar, Braddon Brews wins some points for uniqueness.
  What’s more, for an establishment that is only sometimes a beer bar, this space offers ten pretty diverse and delicious range of tap beers. The atmosphere is good if you don’t mind drinking in an alleyway. The prices are in the middle-to-upper range.
   

  The Duxton (O’Connor)

  Quality: 3.5           Atmosphere: 3.5            Price: 4           Overall: 3.66/5
  The Duxton is a good middle-upper pub, plain and simple. Happy Hour is here from 3-5pm on weekdays, during which they offer $5 selected tap beers and $5 house wine. Outside these hours, prices are reasonably standard. They also host trivia every Wednesday.
  This pub is in O’Connor, so it’s a little bit of a trip from the ANU area.
   

  PJ O’Reilly’s (Civic)

  Quality: 3.5           Atmosphere: 4           Price: 3.5           Overall: 3.66
  This is a good Irish pub, although it suffers from the opposite fate of its counterpart in King O’Malley’s: a good range of craft beers, but an absence of the staples (Guinness and Kilkenny) needed in any self-respecting Irish pub.
  Significantly, the prices here are better than at King O’Malley’s. There’s also a decent spread of events at PJ’s, including trivia every Monday night and regular live music. This is also the stomping-ground of the Canberra Democrats Abroad. Having been here to watch the 2016 Presidential election, I’d recommend popping in for a pint over the upcoming 2020 election. 
   

  The RUC (Turner)

  Quality: 3           Atmosphere: 3.5           Price: 5           Overall: 3.83/5
  The Canberra North Bowling and ACT Rugby Union Club, or RUC, knows what it is. 
  Although the Club only offers big-name commercial beers on tap, the range of these is broader than usual, and probably sufficient for every beer-drinker. The RUC’s atmosphere is good, with live music every Friday and relaxed vibes always. Above all, the RUC’s prices stand out. In addition to cheap meal deals from Monday to Wednesday (including $12 rump steak on Mondays), the Club boasts $5 select wines, basic spirits and standard draughts during Happy Hour; $4 Coopers Pale Ale schooners on Fridays; and $3.90 basic spirits from 8-9pm every week.
  This is the place to go if you like your beers cheap and simple.
   

  Bentspoke (Braddon)

  Quality: 5           Atmosphere: 4           Price: 3           Overall: 4/5
  With a range of about 30 tapped beers and ciders, Bentspoke is – beyond all question – Canberra’s tap beer leader. If you’re willing to shell out a bit of money, you can even take some of its delicious brews home.
  Adding to Bentspoke’s aesthetic is its Lonsdale Street location, as well as its back wall of large metal kegs. In fact, all that can be detracted from this venue is its higher-price range (especially granted its new $40 minimum spend due to COVID-19). Bentspoke also lacks live music / events.
  Nevertheless, the fact remains: Bentspoke offers Canberra’s best home-made beers.
   

  The Old Canberra Inn (Lyneham)

  Quality: 4           Atmosphere: 5           Price: 3.5           Overall: 4.16/5
  Claiming the top spot on this list is a pub which barely makes it into our ‘inner-north’ scope. However, if one is prepared to venture out to this Lyneham location, good times surely await.
  The Old Canberra Inn sports an excellent range of rotating beers, as well as a huge range of packaged beers. Its prices are at the upper-middle end, though these are made better by a 4-6pm Happy Hour every weekday.
  What makes this pub truly special, however, is its atmosphere. In addition to hosting regular events, the Inn is one of very few pubs in the ACT which can truthfully boast of providing an authentic, European-style pub vibe. In the winter, roaring fires in its main room keep patrons warm. In the spring and summer, its beer garden delights. The pub’s largest room imitates German beer halls.
  If one is looking for an excellent inner-north pint, whatever the weather, then look no further.
   
   
   
  Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.

  Nick Mezo