March 11

Day 6: Melbourne

Morning

Recovering from another long travel day plus show, we sleep in. Thankfully the forecast looks much-improved for the day (no rain!), and we can already feel that the temperature has gone up a bit. So I put my sunglasses and the sunscreen in my bag, though neither of us really wants to have to slather sun-protection goo all over ourselves. We did that our first day, Sydney, only because it was so hot and sunny we would have surely burned otherwise.

I’m looking forward to trying a new breakfast place in the neighborhood. Not only is breakfast is my favorite meal (EGGS 4 EVA), but this particular spot, Breakfast Thieves, has a menu that’s really inventive without getting outright weird.

On the walk to breakfast I do get slightly waylaid by the Icebreaker outlet store just around the corner. Icebreaker is a New Zealand brand that I’m kind of addicted to. They make kind of sporty-yet-simple NZ wool clothing that, comfort-wise, is like wearing pajamas in public. Even when it’s a cute stripey belted dress.

As I walk around the store, a clerk says to me “nice skirt” and I say thanks before realizing, duh, I am wearing an Icebreaker skirt. In fact, it’s on the mannequin by the register.

None of the 70%-off clothing is my style, so I manage to avoid spending money that really should be earmarked for records, the shopping plan for which we’ll finalize over breakfast.

Hopping up onto the super-tall stool at our table, I begin to scan the menu and see the dish I want to get pretty much right away: the Breakfast Chain. Two soft-boiled eggs with a stack of cheesy “soldiers” (toast sticks), a tiny pot of yogurt with fruit and muesli, and a nectarine-pineapple-almond crumble. I could tell you how delicious this meal was, or I could just share this photo:

Soon I’m staring the bottom of my crumble ramekin, resisting the urge to lick every sticky crumb off of it. But at least now with some food in my tummy I can focus on plotting our record-shopping course.

Afternoon

We actually didn’t do a ton of advance planning, mainly identifying the main indie music retailers in each city. The thinking is that other cool things will be nearby, and we can always ask the folks at each store for suggestions.

On our way to our first stop, Polyester Records, we happen upon another, smaller store, so we pop in to take a look. It’s mostly soul/dance/funk oriented, but I do find a Cornelius 5″ record in an origami-esque fold-out sleeve.

But Polyester, our next stop, that certainly delivers. I immediately go to the “new Australian/NZ” 7″ singles bin by the register and proceed to pull out a bunch of things: split singles with Chook Race and the Terrible Truths, a Mope City 7″, and singles by Teaser Pony and Contrast. Those last two were the most exciting finds, as I’d been listening to/loving those releases on Bandcamp for months, and didn’t expect to be able to get the actual goods.

Mike buys a few CDs, including the new Goon Sax album, which I also can’t wait to hear. Oh, and spots this enormous, rad Jonathan Richman poster at the back of the store:

Next we consult our Google Map to see what else we should check out on Brunswick Street. As part of our trip planning we created a map for each city we’re visiting, noting record stores, thrift stores, rock clubs, espresso joints, restaurants, bars and other places of interest. It’s not a comprehensive list, but it’s a place to start.

The next spot is a store with both records and books. There are some really nice records, but most very expensive, and mainly UK or US releases anyway. I do, however find a 7″ from 2009 by Australian band Kitchen’s Floor, who I’d recently discovered.

On the list after that is a store that is supposed to have records, though from the front it appears to be a vintage clothing store specializing in menswear. We decide to check it out anyway, and… hey, what do you know? There are indeed records, including a decent selection of both older and newer indie releases. I grab a sealed Chook Race LP, and we admire some old old kitchenware and a midcentury bar with a light-up panel on the front featuring an aquarium scene.

The clerk is super-friendly, asking us where we’re from, what kind of music we’re into, and suggesting a few other stores to check out in the area. He mentions there is a “Digging Melbourne” record guide we should try to find (he’s out of copies). It’s a free flyer listing all of the area record stores. Yeah, we need that.

We get pointed towards a store called Dixon’s, right across the street, so there we head next. Again we follow what is soon to be regular pattern: first check the Australian and New Zealand vinyl releases — new and/or used, either 7″es or LP’s — then the bargain bins. Second, check the Australian and NZ CD’s (and cassettes, if available). Finally, if we have the time or stamina (or interest, given our assessment of the quality of stock), the remaining indie/punk/alternative vinyl and CDs.

I score a handful of records from the 7″ bins, mostly dollar singles, plus a paper copy of the Digging Melbourne guide! This will make things much easier.

Moving along Brunswick Street, we’re seeing shops are beginning to close. It’s a little after 5pm, which seems very early by U.S. standards. But most of the signs in the op shops have 5pm (or earlier) closing times, and we later see in the Digging Melbourne guide that almost all shops have 5 or 6pm closing times as well. We’re going to have to get an earlier start the next day.

So stopping for dinner at this point doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. We settle on Vietnamese and, thinking of our appetizer at the dumping place in Wellington, I get the roast duck Vietnamese slaw plus a Vietnamese iced coffee. Mike gets a veggie and tofu stir fry over vermicelli noodles. Not bad for our having picked a place at random. Though the napkin solution — a box of tissues at each table — is a little odd.

After finishing dinner, we’re just about to walk to a bottle shop (liquor store) to get some local brews to take back to our place when we see a sign in the distance that says “Georges.” Wait, is that the George Costanza bar we discovered in our Melbourne city research? *checking the map* Yup! What the heck, let’s grab a post-dinner drink there.

Walking into the bar, there is a white subway-tiled foyer with various quotes from Seinfeld scribbled on the tiles:

Further inside, there are Seinfeld references everywhere: a Candy machine dispensing Twix bars, two Frogger video games, and original “George” art on the walls. Mike orders a Hand Model (whiskey sour-ish), and I get a Marisa Tomei (pina colada).

Sitting at our Frogger table, we decide to play a couple of games. It is usually one of the classic video games I’m pretty good at, but my frog dies quickly and repeatedly. Bah.

After drinks, it’s definitely time to get some relaxation in before our next show: Flyying Colours! On the walk back to the flat we pass a different bottle shop and decide to stock up on beers. We grab a mixed 6-pack of local bottles, each of us choosing three.

Evening

We have just enough time for a couple of beers and a sit down before heading out again. After all, Flyying Colours are the opener, so we definitely don’t want to be late.

The tram route to the venue appears to involve at least one transfer, and being lazy (and wanting to extend our chill time a bit), I call us a cab over. It’s a bigger venue than the previous night, maybe the size of Seattle club Neumos, but with two stages. And it’s pretty damn empty in here. Clearly the draw is headliner Ash, from Northern Ireland. After all, Flyying Colours are just another local band. (Though obv not to us!)

We’re able to stand right in front of the stage, along with the four or so other Flyying Colours fans. Then the red curtains part, the music played over the PA dies out and the band, fiddling with their instruments, is revealed.

We get a 45-minute set of fuzz-pop bliss, including favorites “In the End” and “Not Today.” The drummer is rocking the fuck out on the kit, a fuzzy blur in most of my pics. He’s also rocking a long blonde mane with shaggy bangs, a haircut that the male guitarist asks the audience to vote thumbs up or down on. (We clap appreciatively — rock on with your bad self, dude!)

In addition to poking fun at the drummer, the guitarist mentions that they’re working on a new album, and that a lot of the songs being played tonight are new, some performed for the first time. Aw, yeah. It all sounds so good! Can’t wait for the new record.

Though we’d settle for some current merch. Mike is especially keen on getting a Flyying Colours t-shirt if they have one, as he’s down to one clean shirt. (We are both rapidly approaching the need-to-do laundry point.)

So when the band mentions from the stage that merch will be available for sale, we head right over to the merch table at the end of their set. But there’s only Ash merch there. Hmm. So we wait. And wait. In fact, we decide to catch some of Ash’s set from by the merch table, because hey, the sightlines aren’t bad and we probably won’t stay for the whole thing anyway. We agree to stay for the first 20-25 minutes of their set and decide from there what to do.

Four songs in — Mike says they sound like Weezer, but I am reminded of the Tony Hawk video game skate-punk soundtrack — we decide we’ve had enough. Exiting sans FC merch, we are directed by the doorman through a different room to exit. And there, sitting at a booth, are two members of Flyying Colours.

Me: “We should ask them about the merch!”

Mike: “Uh, I dunno.”

Me: “Oh, I’ll just be forward and do the talking. You want me to?”

Mike: “Okay!”

So we walk over and I interrupt their conversation to blather a little (we’re fans! we’re from the USA! we loved your set!) and ask about the merch. The female guitarist says oh, it’s over at the table. I say we didn’t see it, and then she looks flustered and tells us to hold on and she runs to bug the other guitarist, who was apparently responsible for that (oops!).

Coming back to the table, she tells us it’s now all set, so we thank her and head back over to the table, where that other guitarist and the drummer are now stationed, with tote bags, badges, and copies of their two EPs and a couple of singles. (Aw, no shirts.)

I buy a vinyl copy of ROYGBIV and Mike gets a badge and pins it to his shirt. We tell the guys that the band needs to come to America, specifically Seattle, so hopefully we’ll get to see them again sometime soon.

Exiting the club, Mike and I say to each other: “Worth it!” Because it pretty much always is when going to see bands. I can always remember the shows I regret missing. But regrets the other way around? Very, very rare. (And usually involving stupid festivals.)

Tomorrow night: Robert Forster (again!). Then a break from live music for a few days. Whatever else will be find to do?? Something cool, no doubt. We’re only beginning to explore Melbourne’s many charms.

March 10

Day 5: Melbourne

Morning

Another day, another ridiculously early departure. Cities that appear to be nearby on a map are actually quite distant. So in order to get to Melbourne in plenty of time for that night’s Robert Forster gig, we need to be on a 7am flight, as the only other flights to Melbourne are in the afternoon. And since we can’t check in online (they want to see proof we’re leaving the country, and it’s a one-way ticket), we need to get there no later than two hours before. Or we don’t get on the plane.

The Wellington airport is pretty small, which makes this looming figure above us in the gate area seem even more imposing:

It’s 5am and time for first breakfast. No fancy lounge breakfast this time, as we’re flying a budget airline. Though I am impressed that we’re able to get some quite good poached eggs on toast with spinach from one of the food vendors. Poached eggs, as I’m learning, are a standard breakfast offering in this part of the world. I approve!

The flight is long (around three and a half hours), and we’re both pretty tired, so Mike tries to catch some zzz’s and I zone out for a bit before catching up on my writing. It’s a budget airline, so no second breakfast (for now).

Stepping into the arrivals area at the Melbourne airport, I can already feel the temperature change — no more need for wool leggings. And time to switch our SIM cards in our phones from the NZ to Australian ones.

The clerk at the Vodafone kiosk in the Wellington airport had been very helpful in setting up our NZ SIMs, finally getting the Internet to work properly with Mike’s phone. He even showed us where the settings were to likely make things work when we got back to Australia, so Mike fiddled with his phone for a bit and then — voila! — the tweets and Instagrams began rolling in.

And it’s a good thing we had internet access again, because I hadn’t yet researched how to get to our Melbourne Airbnb from the airport, or even how far away it was. However… trying to use transit directions in Google Maps proved to be a bust. I guess they don’t have that in Melbourne yet? Signs pointed to an airport express bus that looked like it was going to be the quickest way into town, we hopped on that.

Arriving at the central railway station at the end of the bus ride, it appeared that we still had a ways to go. Time to cab it to the Airbnb and figure out the transit stuff after we’d dropped our bags and caught our breath.

I hadn’t heard from our host recently, so I messaged him now. By the time we arrived at his place in the Collingwood neighborhood, there was still no reply. So we walked up and rang the bell and… nothing. Another ring, still no response.

Uh, oh.

At this point, the wisest move seemed to be… second breakfast! A small Japanese cafe was a few blocks away, so we sat down to get some food and wait, while I messaged our host yet again.

Another flat white, and this time avocado toast. This is another thing I’d kept seeing on menus over here, and heck, for something so simple — very ripe avocado slices drizzled with a little olive oil plus salt on a large slice of toast — it was freaking delicious!

We finish breakfast and there is still no word from our host. And we have these heavy backpacks we really want to ditch. So we head back over to the flat to try ringing the bell again.

Ring, ring, no answer. Uggggghhhhh!

Time for Plan B: head back to the cafe for another coffee, contact Airbnb and start scoping hotels for the night just in case this goes completely south. Because we actually experienced similar flakiness with our Airbnb in San Francisco at the beginning of our trip: our host was non-responsive, then kind of evasive about checkin, so we ditched that for a hotel.

I call Airbnb and am starting to explain our situation to a customer service rep when the connection drops. Less than a minute later there is another call — from our host! He apologizes profusely for forgetting to message us with entry details, then gives me the code for the lockbox with keys.

Chugging down the rest of my coffee, we walk back over to the flat, get the keys, and take a breather in our space for the next four nights. It’s a self-contained, modern studio flat in our host’s back yard that looks like it was converted from a garage. With all the mod cons and a complimentary bottle of wine. Nice.

Afternoon

We still have some time to kill before night #3 of the Jen’s Musical Heroes Tour (tonight: Robert Forster!), so we decide to walk over to the main retail strip near our part of north Collingwood. There are a couple of “op shops” (thrift stores) we check out, in search of cool t-shirts or records.

Just as we arrive at the first one, a “Salvos” (Salvation Army), the overcast skies deliver on their threat, dumping down sheets of rain. We have no jackets and no umbrellas, so this is a worrying development. On the plus side, Mike finds a Making of Dune book and a t-shirt for NYC comic shop Forbidden Planet, plus a circa-1960s LP of Moog synth-peppered instrumentals that I gladly scoop up.

The store doesn’t have any umbrellas for sale, and we’re at the point of considering buying a couple of secondhand rain jackets when I think to text our host to see if maybe he has a couple of umbrellas we could borrow?

He replies quickly that he does (yay!), so we check out and buy a bag to protect our purchases (and Mike’s head) from the rain, which has now lessened from torrential to heavy downfall. Our host, a very tall, gregarious Australian, meets us at our flat with the umbrellas, and we’re good to continue exploring on Smith Street.

The rain is fairly constant for the rest of the day, though it does ease in a bit. At one op shop I spot a “University of Washington” t-shirt on one rack, which makes me laugh. A little bit of Seattle in Melbourne.

We somehow manage to not do any record shopping before hunger gets the better of us. We both agree on the best food for a rainy day: soup. Specifically, we are lured by the promise of ramen at Shop Ramen. Though we first start with a steamed tofu bun for Mike plus a couple of cocktails: a watermelon shoju concoction for him and some Japanese rum mixed with ginger beer for me.

Then the ramen arrives, and it is seriously the best I’ve had outside of Japan. Still-crispy pork belly in a shoyu broth and soy-marinated egg and mushrooms. I sample some of Mike’s and it’s just as delicious: tofu in an intensely-flavored milky-white broth with edamame and marinated shiitakes. OMNOMNOM.

Evening

What comes after dinner? A rock concert, of course. We make our way down to the bustling central-city neighborhood where The Toff, tonight’s venue, is located. It’s on the 3rd floor of a building called the Curtin, which also houses a restaurant, a nightclub, and a venue for rooftop movies, among other things. We’re a bit early, so we get our stamps and head out for a drink in a slightly less posh setting. ($20 cocktails? No thank you.)

Mike finds a listing for a bar that looks pretty good, so we head down a street that seems to house an enormous, upscale shopping mall on both sides, then down a side alley. Inside are bottles of beer from all over the world lining the walls.

We grab a couple of pints of a local brew, find a seat, and start leafing through a local music weekly that someone had left at our table. Maybe there are some other gigs happening this weekend? Because we didn’t have anything planned for either Friday or Saturday.

A few pages in, I see it, and jab the paper with my finger: local band Flyying Colours is playing a gig on Friday! We both love that band — they’re on our personal short list of local bands we’d hope to see while in town — so this is pretty exciting. Then we see this is actually an opening slot for Irish band Ash, which is part of a festival, and the tickets are therefore pretty pricey. Hm.

Then I say, “what the hell, why not!” because when are we going to get the chance to see them again, and wouldn’t we totally regret it if we didn’t go? So I order tickets on my phone right then and there. Sorted!

We down the rest of our beers and make our way through the bustle back over to the Toff. The opening band hasn’t gone on yet, and there aren’t that many people there, so we’re able to grab a table near the back. There’s only one chair, though, so Mike asks if an empty one at the table in front of us is taken. Indeed — it’s for a friend who has yet to arrive. Other folks do have a free chair, though, so we settle in an wait for the first act.

Shortly afterward, the friend arrives to take that seat in front of us. He looks mighty familiar. “I think that’s one of the guys from Dick Diver,” I whisper to Mike. He starts looking up photos from the Dick Diver show we were at in Seattle last year, as I do a little Googling. “Yeah, that’s Al Montfort from Dick Diver.” Indiepop celeb-spotting powers: activate!

It looks like the first band, Lower Plenty, is about to go on, so we get up and move towards the (still mostly-empty) stage area. Wait, who’s that on stage? Why, it’s the dude from Dick Diver, plus some of his table-mates! They play minor key, slightly shambolic tunes, with odd bits of percussion — a rainy-sounding metal shaker, a brushed snare sound — gently flowing over most. Quite nice.

Since a few really tall dudes had ambled over and stood in our general area during the first band, as soon as the band is done we move to almost directly in front of the stage with surprising ease. Unobstructed sight lines, hooray!

I’m fidgeting with excitement yet again. I’ve seen both Robert Forster solo and playing with fellow Go-Between Grant McLennan (RIP) numerous times, mainly in the 90s when they’d visit NYC to play shows to promote their solo albums. But the last time I’d seen Forster was in 2005, also the last time I saw the Go-Betweens, at the Triple Door in Seattle. It would be interesting to see what mix of his own and his (late, great) band’s songs he’d choose to perform.

Taking the stage in style, with subtly stripey trousers and suit jacket over white dress shirt, Robert Forster briefly acknowledged the crowd’s adulatory applause before launching right into the first song with his four-piece band. The initial few songs were from the new album, 2015’s Songs to Play, which I still need to better acquaint myself with, especially since those songs sounded so great performed live. His band is ON IT, three younger dudes on drums, guitar and bass (plus backing vocals and keyboards from the latter two), as well as what I believe is his wife Karin on violin and backup vocals. So on top of every note, so effortless-sounding.

Of course the highlights for me are the Go-Betweens songs, especially one of my favorites, “Head Full of Steam.” He even dips as deep back as Spring Hill Fair-era, with “Draining the Pool For You,” which I’d never heard him perform live before. And of course the latter-day Go-Betweens catalog was well-represented: “Surfing Magazines,” “Finding You,” “Darlinghurst Nights” and “Here Comes a City” are all treats.

Throughout the set, Robert seems a bit quieter than usual, which he later acknowledges as he begins to loosen up, saying that this is the first time in awhile they’ve played. But by the time he encores with a 1-2 punch of two early solo live favorites — “I Can Do” and a riveting, guitar-less, Robert-at-the-mike tour-de-force performance of “Danger in the Past,” any lingering reticence has been shed. Out with a bang.

Would I see Robert Forster again on Saturday night for his second gig? Why yes, I do believe I wanted to now, after this performance. Mike, having never seen him live before, was also impressed by the show.

Why any doubt about going on Saturday? Well, as much as I love seeing old favorites, I’m just as excited to check out newer bands. So I wanted to leave room for the possibility of attending another show stacked with current Melbourne bands. But none such gig materialized, at least not with a strong enough lineup to tempt me. Besides, we already had tickets for Saturday due to my ordering for both nights when our final itinerary was not yet clear.

We hopped on the tram to take us back to Collingwood, and two stops later, wouldn’t you know it, on hops… the dude from Dick Diver! Maybe he’s able to play with so many bands because he’s secretly triplets? Anyway, see ya in Brisbane next week with one of those other bands (Terry).

Sleepytime now, so we can rest up for a day of hardcore record shopping (and hopefully better weather) on the morrow…