[Powderworks] Review of Rob's book in the Sydney Morning Herald
GrnVillageGirl@aol.com
GrnVillageGirl@aol.com
Sun, 18 May 2003 03:23:32 EDT
--part1_189.198a2ee8.2bf88ef4_boundary
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
An excerpt from the review, which included another book (link follows):
But, then again, how anyone could think they could make a record, sell
millions and then tour the world is beyond me, too. It would never work. Ask
Rob Hirst.
Hirst - drummer, songwriter and occasional singer with Midnight Oil - fell in
love with the idea of music long before he could play it and half a lifetime
before it took him beyond a safe middle-class life on Sydney's North Shore to
New York and Arnhem Land and Brazil.
And, somehow, more than 30 years later, even as he climbs back into his bunk
on a silver tube always heading somewhere else on those faceless highways of
Middle America, the feeling's still there. Sure, it's tempered now by the
necessary carapace of cynicism adopted by anyone whose work is constantly
tested and critiqued. And there's no escaping the weariness of the family man
missing the brood and dreading another night of diner-food farts drifting
down the aisle. But Hirst still loves the idea of music, and its capacity to
change him and others.
Willie's Bar & Grill - ostensibly a report from the post-September 11 America
in which the most political band we've produced arrives with a new album to
sell - is in one sense, then, his love letter. It's partly an explanation of
why a fairly wealthy man, who need not break his back thousands of kilometres
from home, chooses to keep heading out there. And, in his most lyrical
passages, Hirst shows a real eye for the beauty, in both the natural world of
North America and the supremely unnatural world of the rock stage, that makes
his choice understandable.
It's harder when we can't work out whether Hirst means this to be a tour
diary, a band history, an essay on the nature of the music industry in the
21st century, or even a subtle political treatise. At times, he tries to do
all of them and it doesn't always work. This is not because he doesn't have
it in him - although there are some moments when he writes like the most
cliched of rock journalists, Hirst is smart, well read and amusingly defies
the image of Midnight Oil as dour saviours - but because we end up wishing we
could have all four books from him, rather than the teasers offered here.
It's even more odd, then, that the book, and the band, end with an almost
complete absence of emotion, or even context, as Peter Garrett departs. He
leaves the band shortly after the last concert of the Australian Capricornia
tour opens the final chapter. And that's about as much as we get. Was there
any anger, disappointment, regret, happiness? Who knows? We're never told.
For Hirst, the man who wrote many of the most passionate and lucid of
Midnight Oil's lyrics, that can't be the end. Another book beckons.
http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2003/05/16/1052885399886.html
--part1_189.198a2ee8.2bf88ef4_boundary
Content-Type: text/html; charset="US-ASCII"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable
<HTML><FONT FACE=3Darial,helvetica><BODY BGCOLOR=3D"#ffffff"><FONT style=
=3D"BACKGROUND-COLOR: #ffffff" SIZE=3D2 FAMILY=3D"SANSSERIF" FACE=3D"Arial"=20=
LANG=3D"0">An excerpt from the review, which included another book (link fol=
lows):<BR>
<BR>
But, then again, how anyone could think they could make a record, sell milli=
ons and then tour the world is beyond me, too. It would never work. Ask Rob=20=
Hirst.<BR>
<BR>
Hirst - drummer, songwriter and occasional singer with Midnight Oil - fell i=
n love with the idea of music long before he could play it and half a lifeti=
me before it took him beyond a safe middle-class life on Sydney's North Shor=
e to New York and Arnhem Land and Brazil.<BR>
<BR>
And, somehow, more than 30 years later, even as he climbs back into his bunk=
on a silver tube always heading somewhere else on those faceless highways o=
f Middle America, the feeling's still there. Sure, it's tempered now by the=20=
necessary carapace of cynicism adopted by anyone whose work is constantly te=
sted and critiqued. And there's no escaping the weariness of the family man=20=
missing the brood and dreading another night of diner-food farts drifting do=
wn the aisle. But Hirst still loves the idea of music, and its capacity to c=
hange him and others.<BR>
<BR>
<I>Willie's Bar & Grill</I> - ostensibly a report from the post-Septembe=
r 11 America in which the most political band we've produced arrives with a=20=
new album to sell - is in one sense, then, his love letter. It's partly an e=
xplanation of why a fairly wealthy man, who need not break his back thousand=
s of kilometres from home, chooses to keep heading out there. And, in his mo=
st lyrical passages, Hirst shows a real eye for the beauty, in both the natu=
ral world of North America and the supremely unnatural world of the rock sta=
ge, that makes his choice understandable.<BR>
<BR>
It's harder when we can't work out whether Hirst means this to be a tour dia=
ry, a band history, an essay on the nature of the music industry in the 21st=
century, or even a subtle political treatise. At times, he tries to do all=20=
of them and it doesn't always work. This is not because he doesn't have it i=
n him - although there are some moments when he writes like the most cliched=
of rock journalists, Hirst is smart, well read and amusingly defies the ima=
ge of Midnight Oil as dour saviours - but because we end up wishing we could=
have all four books from him, rather than the teasers offered here.<BR>
<BR>
It's even more odd, then, that the book, and the band, end with an almost co=
mplete absence of emotion, or even context, as Peter Garrett departs. He lea=
ves the band shortly after the last concert of the Australian Capricornia to=
ur opens the final chapter. And that's about as much as we get. Was there an=
y anger, disappointment, regret, happiness? Who knows? We're never told.<BR>
<BR>
For Hirst, the man who wrote many of the most passionate and lucid of Midnig=
ht Oil's lyrics, that can't be the end. Another book beckons.<BR>
<BR>
http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2003/05/16/1052885399886.html <BR>
<BR>
<BR>
</FONT></HTML>
--part1_189.198a2ee8.2bf88ef4_boundary--