Community Groups Urge Carlton Supporters to Dispose of Membership Cards Responsibly

*An edited version of this little piece of smart-aleck-ery has also been posted at satirical football website The Daily Maggot.

Carlton supporters have been urged to ensure they act responsibly when disposing of membership cards in the wake of Sunday’s dispiriting 69-point loss to Adelaide. In an unprecedented joint statement released to the media last night by Clean-Up Australia; the Australian Conservation Foundation; and the Australian Council of Social Services, significant community groups have joined forces to avert the potentially disastrous environmental fallout from a spontaneous event that now embarrassingly overshadows themed rounds in the AFL’s pantheon.

“We were ready to be proactive when the Blues were defeated by the Bombers in Round 4," the statement read, "but fortunately for the environment that 30-point loss was misinterpreted by Carlton people as a one-off and so didn’t have the usual triggering effect it did during 2008-10. But now that Carlton’s hubris has been confirmed as entirely misplaced after successive defeats at the hands of St Kilda and Adelaide, we don’t want charity bins and inland waterways clogged with tonnes of navy blue plastic.”

Carlton CEO Greg Swann confirmed that additional casual staff on well-below-minimum wages would be ruthlessly exploited to deal with the expected deluge of lost and damaged card applications when Carlton’s fortunes take even the slightest upturn. “The AFL have reminded us of the need to be proactive on all levels about this sort of thing, and we have been,” Swann said this morning. “For example, in anticipation of a loss to Melbourne next week, not only has our major sponsor VISY seen fit to divert funds from Chris Judd’s under-the-table payments to research and development into sustainable membership card recycling solutions, but flying squads of trained counselors will be stationed around the ground to deal with any depression hot-spots..”

However, a spokeswoman for the Beyond Blue Foundation denied any involvement. “Look, apart from their annual begging expedition to have us come on board as major sponsors, which we strongly suspect might end up involving us in money-laundering, we haven’t heard from them at all. So in all likelihood, they’re just skirting around the edge of the issue. Like their midfield.”

The Thin Envelope I

Our boys, Moe, Larry and Curly range in age from 14-18. They’re good lads, as they say. Show me a teenager who doesn't cause issues for his parents in some way and I'll show you a teenager who's been replaced by an alien clone. But there's plenty about them to make a parent feel greatly relieved: they don't hang around with dickheads; if their mates act like knuckle-draggers, as they do now and then, they don't join in; and they have loving if occasionally humourously adversarial relationships with parents and siblings.

In short, they haven't given their folks even a skerrick of the hassles their dad caused for his parents. For that alone, I'll always consider myself very fortunate. Okay, they’re inclined to be bone lazy when it comes to study, but there are swings and roundabouts.

However, let's just pop into flashback mode for a bit and check out what their dad was up to at around the same age...

The end of a fairly eventful school year was coming up. My inner suburban Catholic boys' school was experiencing some of the cooler days that had been the signature weather pattern of that November in 1975. What was hotting up though was anticipation: we were counting down the days to the school holidays and quite a few of our Form Four class were already aware that they wouldn't be coming back.

Some had secured apprenticeships, including a couple of good mates of mine, while others had opted to seek educational opportunities elsewhere. Guys who in some cases jumped before they were pushed. Because as the school's higher-ups had been stressing all year, there was going to be something of a cull at the end of Fourth Form. Quite a few of us would not be taking our place in the senior wing for 1976, as the school's administration had droned on and on to us during the year.

There was nothing for me to be apprehensive or even mildly concerned about though, I reasoned. Maths and Italian I'd written off at around the mid-point of the year as not being worth my energy, so I'd almost deliberately failed them. But there were As in English and History and a mix of Bs and Cs for the rest. Alright, teacher comments indicated a lack of effort and application but overall I thought it was a nicely balanced report. And that might have been the problem: I had very limited reasoning powers. No fucking idea, in fact.

Although self-conscious, I wasn't self-aware, so I thought that my place in the scheme of things as a kind of forthright smartarse made me a likable sort of young fellow on the way up. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I was a pain in the bum on just about every level imaginable in almost every instance – to teachers and fellow students alike - a compulsive shit-stirrer who gormlessly believed that was an okay thing to be.

Inevitably, there was some alarming news making a bee-line for me. News that I hadn't really anticipated at all.

With about three days of school to go, large envelopes were given out in class. My classmates tore theirs open to reveal a mass of coloured paper detailing what looked like booklists, subject requirements and the like. When my name was called, the first thing I noticed was my envelope’s lack of bulk and weight. It was thin and floppy.

There'd been a mistake, surely.

Classic Albums Augmented III

Yes, the third in a series that adds artists' hit singles left off their contemporaneous album releases and looks at the likely ramifications. Sorry folks, but it's kind of for fanboys only.

The Beatles:
Revolver - Paperback Writer; Rain

It's a tough choice, but this August 1966 release is my favourite Beatles album. And I'm not going out on a limb there either: you won't meet anyone who doesn't at least like it a lot; and Rolling Stone magazine placed it at 3 on their 500 Greatest Albums of All Time list.

All that said, it's a fantastic collection of songs and hangs together beautifully. The US version differed from the UK and Australian LP releases in two key ways: three John Lennon songs, I'm Only Sleeping; And Your Bird Can Sing; and Doctor Robert were all left off in its stateside form. And the US mix gave you a stereo separation that put vocals and a small amount of instrumentation on one side exclusively, with the remainder on the other side. Sounds weird, I know, but I really liked that dichotomy between left and right, and the separation suited the material. The CD re-release mixed it in a much more orthodox way and seemed to sacrifice the immediacy of the original.

The album represented a consolidation of what the Fab Four had started on their previous LP release, Rubber Soul: multi-tracked overdubs; sound effects; backwards guitar; a plethora of unusual influences; and additional instrumentation beyond what the Beatles could provide themselves. And the enigmatic cover, with its combination of photomontage and line drawings, was probably the first album cover to be pored over in search of hidden meanings.

It's been described as the first psychedelic album and that is arguable. I'm inclined to think of it as more of a proto-psychedelic album - the kinda trippy one immediately before the really trippy one. It opens with what was George Harrison's most exciting composition to that time, Taxman. Straight away you know you're hearing something special – the production values are bright, clear and timeless and the sinewy guitar lines echo those of the Paul McCartney song Baby, You Can Drive My Car from Rubber Soul.

Next up is Eleanor Rigby, with its Psycho-influenced string quartet backing - a stunning blend of form and content that made the music “establishment” really sit up and take notice of the Beatles’ creative abilities. I’m Only Sleeping is a wonderfully dreamy John Lennon ballad and Here, There and Everywhere is as lovely as anything McCartney has ever done. There’s a dark edge to Lennon’s She Said, She Said, commonly thought to have been inspired by a girlfriend of Peter Fonda’s, who took acid with the group during some down time in California and kept saying over and over “I know what it’s like to be dead...”

McCartney segues from the likely lad style of Good Day Sunshine to the poignant For No One and then George manages to squeeze in a third cut on the album with the Byrds-influenced I Want To Tell You. McCartney's Got To Get You Into My Life has always sounded rather Broadway to me but it's Lennon's album closer, Tomorrow Never Knows, that has become the album's signature track. With lyrics based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead and a droning, modal, raga-like feel, this song boasts sound-effect loops that were played like keyboards. Most listeners are surprised to learn that it stays on a C chord for its entire duration. It's been cited  as a profound influence by many mid-60s luminaries including Roger McGuinn and Jefferson Airplane as a liberation from the tyranny of the three-minute hit single.

So, how is it then that someone's favourite Beatles album could possibly be made even more favouriter?

I'm so glad you asked:


The Beatles' May1966 single release Paperback Writer opens with a killer guitar riff and an incoming bass run that should put any doubters straight about what a great bass-player Paul McCartney is. Paul's fast-paced lead vocal is augmented by John and George's high pitched Frere Jacque vocal inserts. The song's genesis is believed to have been inspired by an aunt of McCartney's who asked him "Wha doan't yew do one that's not about loov lahk all the rest?"

Rain is a hidden gem among Beatles songs that would sit nicely with all of the other surprises on Revolver. Lennon wrote it as a counter to constant complaints about the weather - and cited Melbourne's wintry blast on their 1964 arrival at Essendon airport as a catalyst. And just to make things a little interesting, it has backwards vocals and deceptive tempo changes.

So Which Tracks Would Miss Out?

None - even with two additional songs, Revolver's duration stays under 45 min

Here In My Car Again

This is what's going around on the 6-stack CD-player in the car at the moment.

Let It Bleed (1969) Rolling Stones
Let It Bleed is generally held to be one of THE quintessential late-60s albums. And this despite the fact that its 5th December 1969 release date meant that it was only available for the last 26 days of that decade. But never mind that. The album has a dark, brooding vibe to it that very much fitted the mood of the times.
I first heard this album when I was 14, in the middle of 1974, and it quite simply floored me. The intriguingly spooky introduction to Gimme Shelter, the country-flavoured Country Honk - a Hank Williams-inspired version of their earlier hit Honky Tonk Women, some more dark atmospherics on Live With Me and Midnight Rambler and one unsung track, Monkey Man that should be as well known as the song that follows it to close the album, You Can't Always Get What You Want. It has bright production values at odds with the slightly muddy sound of most Stones' albums up to that point, driving rhythm section and a track listing that would cover all of the Rolling Stones' major influences and directions.

This album marked the period of transition when Keith Richard was playing almost all of the guitar parts - the dearly-departed Brian Jones features on just two tracks, on neither of which he plays guitar. Likewise, there are only two songs featuring the incoming Mick Taylor.

The album is coloured throughout by some very rootsy instrumentation like violin, mandolin, and slide guitars and heralded the Stones' intention to make increased use of outstanding session musicians like Leon Russell, Al Kooper, Ry Cooder, Merry Clayton and Bobby Keys.

Never A Dull Moment (1972) Rod Stewart
Hey, where are you going? Come back here. Now look, Rod Stewart made some really good music prior to his 1976 departure from the Faces. Before he seemed to become, well, a bit of a tosser. But in reality, most of us would have seized the same opportunities that Rod did if they were presented to us. Would we be yelling "No, get away Britt Ekland, leave me alone..."? I don't think so. The guy's allowed to make a good living. Besides, to those in the know, everything up to that execrable Atlantic Crossing (1976) jumping off point is good enough to still regard Rod Stewart very highly.
Rod's previous effort, Every Picture Tells A Story (1971) is a rolled-gold classic, and Never A Dull Moment would be the follow-up that stopped just a little short of that. It employs the same personnel as Every Picture, from his Faces bandmates keyboardist Ian McLagan, bassist Ronnie Lane and the ubiquitous Ron Wood on guitar as well as hand-picked mates like ex-Jeff Beck Group bandmate Mickey Waller on drums and classical guitarist Martin Quittenton.

The catalogue of Rod's great cover versions grows with the inclusion of Jimi Hendrix's Angel featuring knockout open-tuned guitar by Ron Wood, and Dylan's Mama You Been On My Mind. The songwriting synergy between Stewart and Martin Quittenton follows on from their earlier collaboration Maggie May to this album's hit single You Wear It Well.

Mystery To Me (1973) Fleetwood Mac
Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks were still two years in the future when this album, featuring singer-guitarist Bob Welch and guitarist Bob Weston, was released. The group had reached something of an impasse with internal harmony disintegrating and sales nowhere near record company expectations.
Apparently Bob Weston was having a fling with Mick Fleetwood's wife Jenny, younger sister of George Harrison's wife Patty Boyd, and that led to understandable tensions and Weston's departure soon after this album made it into the shops. It's got a lot of soft-rock on it, not an indictment if it's done well, and mainly funk-influenced songs from Bob Welch, but there are a few outstanding Christine McVie sad-girl-in-love piano ballads with that exquisite contralto voice of hers up front. Bob Weston is an amazingly versatile guitar player and the unsung rhythm section that gave the band its name, (ie Mick Fleetwood and John McVie) fattens the sound.

Stand out tracks are: The City, a Bob Welch composition on which Weston plays slide guitar through a wah-wah pedal and gets a sound too good to have been heard neither before nor since; a Bob Welch-led cover of the Yardirds' For Your Love; and any of Christine McVie's.

Teaser (1975) Tommy Bolin
I'm inclined to be a bit evangelical about this James Gang and Deep Purple guitarist who died of a heroin overdose in 1976. Being into him is like being a member of a secret society of guitar-players. Hardcore Deep Purple fans tend to snort when his name is mentioned.
For Bolin's only Deep Purple album, Come Taste The Band, no homage was paid to Richie Blackmore. Make no mistake, that was a Tommy Bolin album that one, and damn good because of it. This contemporaneous solo effort, his first of two, mixes funk, hard rock, reggae, jazz and even a dash of glam in its song structures.

Bolin's voice is subdued and languid but it's his guitar-playing that permaeates the whole album so richly. He is an exceedingly distinctive player with a wide range of great signature licks, many of which are repeated, but why not? They sound great. He seems to use slide more as an effect but Wild Dogs showcases his capacity in this area.

Standout songs on the album include; the slightly campy title track; the glam album opener The Crunch; the jazz-flavoured Savannah Woman; and Wild Dogs, but the song-quality is even right across the album from an artist who was just starting to achieve his considerable potential.

Robin Trower Live (1976) Robin Trower
You could say, as many have, that Robin Trower is a Hendrix imitator. However, if you did, my response would be, "Yes. And did you also have a point?" If rock music's history isn't one of musicians borrowing from their major influences and extending them, then good evening, I'm Jimmy Page. This is one of the best live albums ever made, and captures the essence of Trower's power trio and its material.

If anything, they have a sound and style similar to Cream and The Jimi Hendrix Experience. Trower is a brilliant player and gets that extraordinarily bluesy front pick-up sound from his ever-present Stratocaster. Too Rolling Stoned, Living in a Daydream and the best-ever version of Rock Me Baby will make you sit up and take notice and it's one of the few live albums from the 70s full of very lengthy tracks that just never wear out their welcome.

Front Page News (1977) Wishbone Ash
The first I heard of this group was awareness of their 1975 tour of Australia. A couple of years later, a mate dragged me over to the speakers at his 18th birthday party and insisted that I listen closely to their 1974 double-live album Live Dates. I had to acknowledge they were pretty good, with two, count 'em, two, hot guitar players.
Their 1973 album Argus had gained a lot of attention and that would be their zenith in record sales. But that doesn't mean they weren't producing good music. This album has a great selection of tracks where the two guitars of Andy Powell and Laurie Wisefield intertwine beautifully. All of the band-members of this English group were superb musicians and bass-player Martin Turner's voice is a little reminiscent of Jack Bruce, only more restrained.

They can be heavy enough but also demonstrate English folk influences on a great many songs. Diamond Jack is my all-time favourite Ash song and there are ballads and flat-out rockers on this album that proceed without a wasted minute anywhere.

It's a great album from a band that I expected to view as a youthful infulgence when I took the record out of the rack for the first time in many years but in music at least, youth wasn't wasted on the young.

Out of the Past I

I wondered whether this was too pissy to post about. Then I had a look through the Lad Litter archives. And came to the conclusion that this might just be the equivalent of a Foreign Policy White Paper by comparison with some of the complete piffle I've churned out on this blog. Plus, it gave me a pretty good excuse to use the title of my all-time favourite film to head up a post. Evocative, no?

I'm on Facebook. I have the security settings on Friends Only, but my name and profile image are searchable. I'm not on it all the time like some, but I do attend to it by putting up the odd smart-aleck comment on my wall and the occasional patronizing and by-no-means-heartfelt "like" on friends' wall posts. It's the nature of the medium, boys and girls. Facebook, where the shallowness glows wanly through even the densest layers of mock-sincerity.

But I'm not really as cynical about Facebook as all that. No, if used for niceness and goodness instead of meanness and rottenness, it works pretty well. Except for the people who seem to think you're important enough to send a friend request to, but that you lack the critical cachet needed for them to actually reply to any message you might send them.

But as I said, it's not like I check in on Facebook all that often, just now and then. So it was something of a surprise to find about a month ago that I'd received a message from someone whose name I didn't recognize. The message wanted to know if I was the same tall Lad Litter with long blond hair who'd gone to a particular inner suburban high school. She identified herself by mentioning that she'd dated a mate of mine from those days. I told her I remembered her well, but not to leave the porch light on for any long blond hair.

I also let her know that I hadn't maintained contact with her old boyfriend for long after school had finished and had no idea where he might be. That didn't seem to faze her, so we exchanged messages about current events and figures in our lives and briefly and superficially discussed my reluctance to engage in any cavalacade of reminiscence about that time. It's been quite a lovely correspondence.

But back in 1976, she used to wait in the mornings at the Mt Rd tram stop at the top of my street. I'd cycle past on the footpath on the other side of that busy road. She was on her way to the Catholic girls' school in North Melbourne and used to wait there with a friend. We'd be looking at each other as I rode past, the two girls and I, but without any interest, just awareness. Some mornings I'd wave to them, but I can't remember if they ever waved back, or just rolled their eyes. If it was eye-rolling, someone had given them sound advice.

It was such a small part of all our days that I'm sure none of us gave it much thought at all. Besides, they looked a couple of years younger than me too.

Late December of that year seemed replete with balmy, well-lit evenings and it was my ritual to walk our dog across the park out the back of our place, south along the Moonee Ponds Creek valley, and have a cigarette in one of our kitchen window’s blind spots. Once I'd crested the low hill that put me in Travancore, walking through the naturalized aniseed, I met a bloke I knew on his way to see a mutual friend and neighbour of mine. We smoked and then headed back in the direction of my place. As soon as we'd retraced my steps over the hill, we saw two girls sitting having a chat right in the middle of the park.

Our path was going to take us close by them, but before any awkward encounter could take place, my dog Tiger had sidled over to make friends. The ol’ tail-wagging icebreaker was in top form and seemed to be demonstrating an aptitude for social graces that would elude me for quite a few years more. It was about then I realized it was the two girls from the tram stop. And they’d both turned out to be very attractive.

My Facebook correspondent, Leslie, was tall and with long straight brown hair parted in the middle. It’s a look that just always seems to work. As well, she seemed graceful and smart. Her friend Lisa was a stunner. Maybe a bit Mia Freedman-ish with a dash of Sigourney Weaver, although both were unknown in 1976.

I can’t remember much of what was said and it’s probably just as well. Because I’d be guessing that the other guy and I would have been talking a whole load of complete rubbish, trying all-too-desperately to be funny and probably not succeeding. Somewhere during the conversation they worked out that I was the guy on the bike and that sent them into hysterics. I just had to giggle along nervously in the hope they were laughing with me, not at me. You can never be completely sure about that.

But they seemed okay with our gormlessness. So it was nice to learn a couple of weeks later that Lisa had met this guy she really liked. Yeah? It was my neighbour, whose girlfriend lived in Lisa’s nearby street who told me this. He’d heard it from his girlfriend. And his girlfriend reckoned the guy was me.