Stall 16 was buzzing. There must have been 15 people waiting to buy a zine. Dom was at Stall 17 and glancing at the crowd beside him while he tidied his pile of untouched zines.
Usually one of the perks of zines is the lack of rivalry, but the Zine Fair 2009 was a competitive event. Set up in a large hall at Sydney’s Museum of Contemporary Art were zinesters drawn together in a busy environment battling for readers.
The Zine Fair was just one of the many events of the Sydney Writers Festival. And, like every other event, the Zine Fair was an opportunity for artists to sell their latest products to consumers old and new.
I was one of the new. I was welcomed in the foyer of the MCA by a table of women handing out the fair program. On the first page was a handy definition for new comers like myself, ‘A ‘Zine’ (an abbreviation of the word ‘magazine’; pronounced ‘zeen’) is most commonly a small circulation, non-commercial publication of original or appropriated texts and images. More broadly, the term encompasses any self-published work or minority interest.’ I had heard of zine’s before, but this was the first time I had seen them for myself. They are usually found in independent art, record, book, comic, video or clothing stores.
When I entered, the hall was packed with hundreds of people squeezing their way around the stalls. There were 52 stalls all together and couple of last minute entrants set up on the floor. Usually 2 people –the producers of the zine - were seated at each stall. Every time I picked up a zine I could feel their eyes on me waiting to see if they had another fan. Some of the zines were professionally made boasting of glossy paper and seamless magazine binding. Others were back to basics, printed on A4 paper in black and white and stapled to open like booklets.
Most of the producers were laid back. If they were anxious to make a sale it hardly showed. Some on the other hand, had decorated their stalls and even themselves for attention. My friend's graphic design zine called Burrow had a very edgy and elaborate stall complete with a rabbit hatch filled with hay and their zines for which you had to burrow, and a girl in pink bunny ears giving instructions from behind the table.
There were lots of fanzines, graphic design zines, and personal journal zines around. I ended up buying two: Emma Davidson’s ‘Fairytales in the Supermarket’ which is a list of Davidson’s pet hates about work, and also ‘Just Like Candy’ - a zine that discusses current fashion, music, and art. Burrow gave their zine away free of charge on the condition we literally burrow for the zine in their display or sign it as a symbol of support. My self conscious nature got the better of me, and I chose to sign.
Zine writers seem to be at the bottom of the heap when it comes to writers. They put in their time and money to produce a zine that may never be bought, and even when it is, they often only make a humble 3 bucks. But, for most people making zines is a hobby more than anything, even though the Zine Fair paints a different picture. On the way out, I passed by lonely Dom at stall 17. I found out Dom was a newbie zine producer. He was surprised at how competitive the fair was, too. He hoped to sell upwards of 5 copies. But so far, not so good.
Have you ever wondered what it’d be like to look “middle-eastern” during the 9/11 attacks? Or what it was like to be big boned in an era of obesity? Me neither. Until I was forced to.
For two weeks, I was treated like an outcast as a result of the media’s latest fear frenzy – the swine flu pandemic. My runny nose, coughing and sneezing was as threatening to the people around me as a man with a machine gun.
It all started on the 28th of April 2009. That’s when my sneezing began. I palmed it off as a case of hay fever, and went about my day: 9AM breakfast with Mel; 10AM lecture; 3PM lunch with friends; 7PM dinner with the family. By this time, my sneezing had turned into a runny nose. We were about half way through dinner when mum raced to the television.
'There’s a special report on the swine flu.'
She changed the channel to A Current Affair where Tracey Grimshaw was interviewing a New Zealand family outside their house. A husband, his wife and son answered questions from a window on the second floor. They all wore masks. ‘You know five people in Australia were quarantined too,’ mum said. ‘Four live in Sydney. It was in the Telegraph today.’ I left the kitchen table to grab a tissue. ‘Are you sick?’ mum asked me. ‘It’s not swine flu - if that’s what you’re thinking.'
According to the Centre for Disease Control and Prevention in the U.S, ‘swine flu’ or the A(H1F1) virus, is a composite virus made up of two genes from flu viruses normally found in pigs in Europe and Asia, and also contains avian genes, and human genes. The swine flu is as contagious as the common flu. But, the swine flu has proven to be deadly to humans in several cases in Mexico. The World Health Organisation has also confirmed 79 cases of the disease world wide, and fear there are many more to come.
When I walked downstairs the following morning, I saw a small jar of vitamin C tablets, and packet of Lemsip on the kitchen table. Mum’s always made an effort to watch A Current Affair. It’s all her workmates talk about on their lunch break. I left the cold and flu treatments untouched on the table, and headed into the city.
My nose had become worse since yesterday. I pulled about twenty tissues from a box at home, and I needed more by the time I reached central station. I walked into the railway square pharmacy, grabbed a pack of tissues, and stood behind a man talking to the pharmacist at the counter.
‘Do you have any medical masks?’ ‘Nah, sorry. We’ve sold out.’ The man sighed. ‘I’ve been to about six other pharmacies in the city, and they’re all sold out too. Well, thanks anyway.’ I handed over my tissues, and asked the girl how long had she had been sold out of masks. ‘About a week, now. You can’t get masks anywhere in the city at the moment. We’ve got access to two wholesales, and both of them are completely sold out.’ ‘Has anyone come in that you thought might have the swine flu?’ ‘No, it’s mostly travelers asking for them.’
There was no one left in the store, so I continued to chat to her.
‘I was watching some news programme the other day, and they said there’s already a drug for the swine flu, called Tamiflu.’ ‘Yeah, it’s old. It’s an anti-viral drug that can treat the swine flu. But, it’s not a cure. We’ve also heard that some news programmes have been saying Tamiflu is a vaccination for the swine flu, but that’s wrong. It’s been such a big deal that we were even sent an email by the Pharmacy Guild of Australia on how to deal with customers that have been given incorrect information by the media’ ‘Do you stock it?’ ‘Yeah, we do. We usually have heaps in stock. But, not anymore. What we had we sold, and I think now there’s been some arrangement by the government with wholesalers to control the sale of the drug.’
According to ABC news, about 10 000 courses of Tamiflu is sold in Australia’s normal flu season. But, 120 000 courses of the drug were sold over the past seven days. Health Minister, Nicola Roxon, has stated to the public that the Federal Government is concerned some doctors may be mis-prescribing Tamiflu. Now, hospitals and doctors will have to approach the manufacturer, Roche, to access the drug for patients diagnosed with the swine influenza.
Later that evening, when I returned home mum asked if I had taken the vitamin C and Lemsip. She noticed my new cough.
‘No, I was in a rush. What are you watching?’ ‘What’s good for you,’ mum said. ‘There’s a special on how to protect yourself from the swine flu’
…The people we’re most concerned about are the ones that fall into a very specific criteria at the moment. Those people are the ones with an influenza-like illness, and when I say that I mean fever, cough, fatigue…
‘Do you have a fever?'
‘No. Mum, I’m fine.’ ‘You look tired.’ ‘I got called into work at six o’clock this morning!’
...shortness of breath, chest pain and those people also must have traveled to the United States or Mexico in the last seven days…
‘See, Mum? I can’t have the swine flu. I haven’t traveled to the US or Mexico. Not in the last seven years, anyway.’ ‘But, how do you know you haven’t caught this flu from someone who has been to America and Mexico?’
I tried to tell mum that all these stories were rubbish; that the media was just fear mongering, and that producers incorporate stories like these in their shows because they get fantastic ratings.
‘You just shouldn’t watch all this stuff, mum.’ But, she just ignored me. ‘Julia, it’s true. We have to protect ourselves from this flu. I only wish I knew these tips earlier. I mean, look what’s happened to you.’ I couldn’t argue and headed up stairs to sleep. I really was feeling tired.
Morning came, and I had one more symptom than the day before - a sore throat. I turned on the news: ‘Swine flu pandemic ‘imminent’. I couldn’t escape it. Karl Stefanovic proceeded to tell me what I needed to know about the swine flu “situation” that morning: The Red Cross were mobilising sixty million volunteers across the world to deal with the disease; 114 Australian’s were still waiting for tests to confirm whether they had the virus; thermal imaging scanners were being used at international airports to identify passengers that might have a fever; and farmers were insisting pork was safe to eat.
I gave my illness few days, but the symptoms weren’t going away. Neither was the news about the swine flu. There were reports from Mexico on almost every channel.
Maybe I had bumped into some with the swine flu. I remember someone on the train coughing behind me. I saw my Mexican friend, Lorena recently. She hasn’t been to Mexico for years, but she is Mexican. Or maybe it was that retail assistant. She definitely had something. She had a red nose and a pale, clammy face.
It was time. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to see a doctor.
‘So, what can I do for you?'
‘Well, I’ve had a runny nose, and I’ve been coughing for about a week. And, I’ve had a sore throat for a few days now too.’ ‘Let’s have a look.’ First, the doctor felt around my throat. ‘Well, the larynx are not too swollen.’ He then put a thermometer in my ear. ‘All normal.’ Then the doctor put on his stethoscope. ‘Deep breaths in… and out… in… and out… are you using your Ventolin?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do have refills?’ ‘No, I think I’m all out.’ He began writing a prescription for Ventolin refills. ‘So, is that it?’ ‘You’re having a bit of asthma, and you’ve got a cold. Just rest up.’ ‘So, I don’t have the swine flu?’ ‘What makes you think that?’
I couldn’t say it. It was too embarrassing. The news. The news made me think I had the swine flu.
Over the past two weeks, news and television programmes have swamped viewers with stories about the swine flu. In truth, swine flu is a very real problem for the people of Mexico. But, here on the other side of the world, media outlets were only too ready to give Australians a sense of the swine flu’s imminent arrival to our shores - along with an idea of the carnage to expect.
Swine flu joins a long list of virus’s to fear. Remember SARS in 2003? SARS barely registers a blip in the annual body count caused by infectious disease. Experts agree that SARS warranted a vigorous reaction, but questions remain about the way in which the threat was communicated to the public. And, what about bird flu in 2006? Although there were 115 cases of bird flu in nine countries around the world, the number of deaths caused by the virus was a comparatively small 79.
I was sucked in to the media to join their latest fear frenzy. But, this time I was on the other side. Where people look at you like you need to be destroyed.
According to the International Weekly Journal of Science experts agree that it is better to be accused of overreacting than of allowing the disease to run out of control. And, that if a similar fuss had erupted in the early days of AIDS, maybe HIV would not now be killing three million people each year.
So, perhaps the hype will not be in vain. The news worked to my advantage in some instances. For example, I did get more space on the train then usual. Though overall, I think I’ll practice a little more caution the next time a big news story comes my way. I’ll have to remember a few things: a current affair is great entertainment – nothing more; avoid headlines with ‘imminent’; don’t let TV presenters decide ‘what’s good for you’; and, I don’t need anchormen to brief you on the latest “situation” - I can experience it first hand.
Tony has driven the food van every Tuesday night for the past six and a half years. He and the other volunteers set up on the corner of Yurong parkway and St Mary’s road in Sydney’s CBD. A line of 200 people usually await their arrival. But, Tony has noticed something new.
Over the past six months, the food line has grown longer with people that don’t look homeless.
The number of homeless people identified in the national census grew 4.8% from 2001 to 2006. And this was before talk of the global financial crisis. In the December quarter 2008, the ABS reported that unemployment rates rose 0.4%, housing prices rose 0.7%, and food prices rose by 2%.
When Tony began volunteering he was surprised, and at times angry, by the people that came through looking clean and tidy. He has never seen this category of homelessness - known as secondary and tertiary - in large numbers.
‘When I started volunteering it was hard. I didn’t think much of these people. But, then I started chatting to them…’
It’s a thirty minute drive from the kitchen in Callan Park to the city. In that time Tony usually prays. But, tonight he considered all the newly homeless joining the queue.
‘Well, there are influxes of people. I mean, you would say some things are seasonal. But definitely this year, the numbers have been bigger. And, a lot of them look like you or me. Some of them even look like they’ve just been at work as a labourer of some sort.’
Tony pulls up onto the curb and another van carrying the hot food pulls in behind him. They are met by a line of people stretched out about 100 metres. Around the queue, more people are sitting on a low retaining wall, hunched over on the ground, or under some trees. More volunteers are waiting for the vans and help unload when they arrive.
Tony likes to walk up and down the queue handing out muffins, serviettes, and cutlery for their hot food.
‘Some of the usuals like to chat. I guess the longer that you go, the more they know your face and open up. Most new people are closed off. But, then again, some people don’t just come for food. They come for socialising and to talk to somebody.’ Like Chris.
Chris joined the line in October after he lost his job sewing t-shirt hems at a Sydney clothing factory. He was evicted from his home in December, just after his thirty-second birthday, and has been staying with his parents since. Chris fits into the category of secondary homeless. He is temporarily residing within another household because he has no accommodation of his own. In the 2006 census, 44% of Australia’s homeless were recorded as living temporarily with family or friends - just like Chris.
‘There are some people that are just on the poverty line.’ Tony says. ‘You get so many people who look reasonably well dressed. It’s because, possibly, they haven’t really had to live on the street yet, but they’ve lost a job and this is a means of holding on to whatever little they have to pay their rent.’
People live in poverty when they do not have the means to meet their basic needs like food and housing. Homelessness Australia estimated that in 2006 one in every ten Australians was living in poverty. Since the global financial crisis, the numbers appear to be growing. In March of this year, the Sydney council’s homeless information centre reported that callers who were unable to meet rent or loan repayments and had become homeless because of crisis eviction in 2008 rose 52%. Homeless people who were alcoholics or drug addicts dropped by 14% and those with mental illness fell 9%. There was also a 49% increase in people blaming family breakdown for the cause of their homelessness. These breakdowns were brought about by arguments over money.
Tony lives in Sydney’s north-west with his family in a stylish, two-story home. He counts his blessings everyday, especially after seeing the homeless on his volunteer night. But, sometimes he can’t help worrying about the effects of the global financial crisis on his jewelry business at the local shopping centre, and on his mortgage.
Housing stress and poverty can contribute to the reasons people become homeless. Homelessness Australia found that Australia’s poverty rate increases to 15% if they factor housing costs into their estimation of poverty. They have reported that one in three people requests financial assistance or material aid from homeless assistance services. And more than eight out of ten people who use those services are on a government payment. Like David.
Tony noticed David about four months ago. He sits next to the van from eight thirty and waits. By his side are a cane and an empty Peter’s ice cream container for any extra food he can bring home. He can’t make the long walk to the van too often. He left his job in June 2008 when he was diagnosed with Leukemia. But, David considers himself lucky. He still has shelter in a boarding house in Surry Hills and is on the pension. Homelessness Australia reported that 9% of people in homeless assistance services have no source of income at all. David is classified as a person living in tertiary homelessness. It refers to people living in boarding houses on a medium to long term basis.
Tony gets ready to drive back to the kitchen in Callan Park after an hour and a half when the line has disappeared.
Tonight, one man approached Tony when he finished loading the van and asked if there were any blankets.
‘Sorry, not tonight. We usually wait a little bit longer before we give out blankets. When it’s a bit colder.’
Winter is already here. Fortunately the new people on the line still have a roof over their heads – at least for now.
Susie Matthews, manager of social policy and programs for the City of Sydney, has reported to the ABC that there are not enough places in crisis accommodation centres for this influx of newly homeless people. Matthews stated that there is an increasing amount of pressure on homeless accommodation services and that the city will be seeing a more visible presence of homeless people on the streets of Sydney.
On the way home, Tony noticed a lot of people roaming the streets. People walking past shops and bars; people in crumpled suits walking into train stations and apartment buildings.
‘Any one of them could be homeless. They may not look it, but anyone of them could be homeless.’
Tony has met a lot of people throughout the years he’s been volunteering. But, he remembered one encounter with a homeless man that taught him about the complexities of homelessness.
‘He was a guy who came out from Italy. He had a small business over there but came thinking he could start something. But, his English was pretty poor. He was out here on his own, and things didn’t work out. So, he was trying to study, trying to learn a bit more English. He tried getting a little bit of work as a waiter, but still things weren’t working. So, by coming out and getting a plate of food it meant that he didn’t have to go home and cook and that’d save ten dollars. And that ten dollars meant that he could message his mum or pay for emails or phone calls or try to save. I mean, he did want to get back home sooner or later. And it meant that he could also go out and buy some clothes and start looking for work. So, I realised then that homeless didn’t mean they had to be people on the street. Like, there are some that are just on the poverty line. So, then I sort of decided that I couldn’t say ‘Mate, you look clean and tidy and you shouldn’t be here and this is for the homeless’. If they were willing to wait in line and get food then they got food.'
'Whether society’s doing the right thing for them, I’m not sure. Does feeding them solve their problems? No. But, if they can face the next day a lot easier if they’re not hungry, and it makes their day or their night… at least it makes them feel like they’re worthy of something. Or they can feel the next day ‘cause they’re not hungry. Their mind’s not thinking of just of food. They can feel a little positive. Hopefully that’s what it does.’
Work sucks. Work in vacation sucks harder. There are no exceptions to this rule.
I received a call around one in the afternoon. At the time, I was watching a Simpsons marathon on cable, and eating toast in my old trackies. “It’s a really great job, and the people are really nice, and the kids really love it.” Monica worked in the HR department of David Jones. I should have picked up on her desperation by the amount of times she said ‘really’, but Christmas time? Santa’s workshop? My inner child couldn’t help herself. Besides, I needed the extra cash.“Congrats! David Jones in the city? How glamorous!” Tiffany was such a sucker for the marble floor and high ceiling department store. It started to rub off on me after ten minutes on the phone. Surely, working at the store would be as good as shopping at the store?
I rotated on five jobs in the Christmas Cave: the magic Christmas tree, the queues, lucky dip, the carousel, and balloons. None of these were exciting as they sound. Imagine a seven-foot talking Christmas tree with a painted smile on, and shifty eyes. At times, this was my favourite job. I was able to sit down, alone, behind a cardboard backdrop, and confuse the kids that walked by. ‘Hello there! Meeerrry Christmas! My name’s David! The magical Christmas tree!’ It was even better when it confused the parents. Other times, it wasn’t my favourite job. Usually the microphone smelled of the sour and stale breath from the person before me. There were also the kids that wanted to stay and talk. “I know you’re not real. How could you get here from the north pole with no legs?” There wasn’t much I could say but “I’m magic!” and secretly give them the finger.
It’s impossible to avoid queues at Christmas time, and if you think lining up is bad, watching people line up is worse. This role was about standing still and giving people the OK to move on to the main event. It would have been boring as batshit, if it weren’t for the chitchat. “Finally! We’re at the front Chanel!” I smiled with her, while Chanel played limbo with the velvet rope.“These queues are unbelievable! We’ve been waiting to see Santa for thirty minutes.” “This is the queue for face painting and lucky dip.”I found the same lady in the queue for Santa later. She had her eyebrow raised at the children pushing in. She scanned the room for the parents in question. Chanel was busy ripping down the Christmas set. “Mummy! Look at this big candy cane!” To make the lines move quickly, there were three Santa’s concealed behind three different curtains. Funnily enough, I never saw one of them. I did hear a lot about Santa no. 3, though. “Again?” I asked the photographer. “Yeah, this is his second or third warning.” Santa was taking cigarette breaks that lasted entire shifts. “We know he’s still around, though.” “How do you know?” “Well, he left his things on his chair – this month’s issue of Screw.”
Time spent on the lucky dip involved trips to and from storage for more prize packs. There were two variations: A ceramic flower for girls with yellow, pink, and green paint, or a ceramic car for boys with blue, red, and black paint. Sometimes parents would buy two spins for one kid. “I want two of the boys prize, mum!” Then we were stuffed. Luckily, mum put both the ceramic cars away to be opened at home.
The carousel was the main attraction. It was more popular than Santa - at least for the kids. Helping them on and off the ride was an awkward job. I hadn’t signed any child protection forms, and as far as I’m aware no one did. We were asked to lift the kids on and off the ride if they couldn’t get up themselves. I also had to tell the heavy ones they couldn’t sit on the horses.
Balloons duty involved standing by the entrance with a large bouquet, and handing out the helium. A few parents asked me how much each balloon cost. I could have made more in an hour than what I was already getting paid. Unfortunately, my supervisor was too close to make any transactions. “They’re free.”
These jobs were different from filing reports and emails, but it became pretty ordinary after a few hours. It had the same dynamics you get everywhere else. There was that one male colleague that was too touchy-feely. Every time a female co-worker passed by he would open his arms for hug, then push his groin against her for self-gratification. Our manager was only ever seen from a distance like most offices. He always wore black suit pants, a white shirt, and black tie. He never smiled. Then there was our water cooler. In our case it was a helium tank. We would congregate here and inflate red and green balloons while we bitched about customers and colleagues.
Work sucks. Work in vacation sucks harder. There are no exceptions to this rule. I wanted to tell Monica 'No, it’s really not a great job. The people are not really nice, and the kids are really not going to remember it'. I also wanted to smack my inner child with a big wooden spoon. Not only did I miss out on my break with family and friends, but Christmas just lost all its hype. Wizzard wishes it could be Christmas everyday. Wizzard have no fucking clue. At least one person was able to see the truth. Tiffany visited to see how glamorous the job was. An oversized t-shirt, black pants, and flat shoes made my uniform. My hair would stand up because of the helium balloons. I had dark circles under my eyes because of twenty hours work on five hours sleep. The Christmas Cave felt more like Santa’s sweatshop, and I, an underpaid elf with blistered fingers and a bad back. OK, maybe I’m exaggerating about the blistered fingers. After all, I was able to earn a bit of money. Most of which was spent on train tickets, food, tolls, petrol, and parking for work. I also learnt some valuable lessons like how to watch a queue. I mean, where would the world be if I didn't know the quickest route to the toilets? Last, but not least, a lesson for all: do not put your kids on Santa lap no. 3. Why would you when Myer’s just next-door?
It was a late afternoon in CentennialPark, when I walked with thousands of others to see musician/pro-surfer/film maker/environmental activist: Jack Johnson.
Upon entry, a girl offered me a small booklet with the smiling Hawaiian on the front cover playing his guitar. ‘All At Once’ was scrolled above Johnson’s head –the first track on album Sleep Through the Static, and a campaign supporting environmental non-profit organisations and active participation in local and international communities. Whilst flicking through the booklet, I noticed a cop with a sniffer dog also working the crowd. He too, was concerned about the environment -particularly “grass”.
Thousands upon thousands of people were already sprawled on the field, marking their turf with random thongs and bags. The crowd anticipated the occasional cool breeze, which would provide relief from the Saturday sun. Though for the most part, people took matters into their own hands. Guys and girls carried beer cans stacked in each hand, carefully manoeuvring around the seated patrons. An hour later into the first supporting act Will Conner, and I overhead that a girl was past out in the toilets. Maybe she just wanted a nap and some shade before the show.
As tempting as it was to sweat in the sun and have drunks spill beer on me as they lunged toward their spots, I went to see what was on offer at the tents: seventeen food stalls, and twice as many for the bar; a Red Cross medical tent; a free water station; merchandise; and the Village Green. It was here that I could enter a draw to meet Jack Johnson in the flesh today. All I had to do was show proof of travel by mass transit, recycle something, and donate to a non-profit organisation. Considering the odds were twenty thousand to one – and that I really didn’t give a stuff - I moved on to find a place to sit down for the concert.
By sunset, I settled on the green down back - with all the other fans that wanted to ‘properly enjoy the show.’ From here, I was able to see the complete stage, a sea of heads, and the police escorting young men to the exit gates.
The stage was set and it quickly turned to dusk. A pearly half moon hung over the open clam, and clouds moved swiftly in the sky. Some hurried off to the toilets while others headed for more beer. A familiar full-bodied herbal smell passed my nostrils as these people walked by.
My attention was caught from a cheer created by the mass before me and I squinted to see an Aboriginal performance group on stage. My partner said it was Yothu Yindi, to which I gullibly responded ‘Is it?’ …I bet I wasn’t the only one. The crowd stood for the group from Sydney’s southeast, as they began a welcome ceremony. The sound of the Didgeridoo, wood blocks and singing filled the grounds whilst a red and orange glow oozed from the stage. I suppose I should have seen this coming, after all he is friends with Xavier Rudd.
Fifteen minutes after the Aboriginal group finished the welcome ceremony, a roar swelled as Jack Johnson casually strolled on stage with his acoustic guitar strapped around him. He opened the night with ‘All At Once’: a sombre and heartfelt song about losing hope. He sung, ‘Which way will you run?’ when you feel overwhelmed and out of control. I thought about the girl unconscious in the port-a-loo, five in the afternoon. He went on, ‘There’s so many things we got too proud of, we’re too proud of, we’re too proud of.’ The smug look on the man under arrest earlier popped up in my mind. If you’d like a preview of the ‘new hell’ Jack Johnson refers to, stick around for the concert aftermath. Beer cans and plastic bottles lay in clusters on the field, while used napkins and sauce stained paper cups tumbled around in the wind.
Global warming, greed, heartache, and war - Jack Johnson made a delightfully deep turn with his latest album by drawing attention to the cloud, and not the silver lining. Before us stood a man that accepted the way it was, despite his hunger for the world to change.
Jack Johnson’s 2008 world tour is a campaign against our weaker and lazy selves; a tired attitude more widely held than should be. Of course I drove to the concert, does Jack Johnson know anything about Sydney’s public transport system? Sure, the war in Iraq disgusts me, still the total number of petitions I’ve signed are zero. Where is the love? Well, I love to hate just as much as the next person. Jack Johnson sees the storm cloud overhead, but he doesn’t give up on his audience completely. All his efforts with eco-minded organisations have rejuvenated the connection between youth culture and social awareness, prominent in the 1970s. His maturity has flourished in this album, along with his passion for environmental reform. With any luck, his new tone will strike a chord for young people around the world.
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