Puta Madre Brothers

It was a warm but quiet Thursday night at Transit Bar when I turned up to see the Puta Madre Brothers, with most people enjoying their evening out-doors instead of the sweaty, cavernous room.

Thankfully when Canberra band Voss hit the stage, people migrated inside to see the talented young five-piece perform. The lead singer, Owen, belted out rock’n’roll ballads while brilliant Elyane provided the necessary shade to the four boys’ enthusiasm with electric violin and soothing backing vocals. Their standout songs were ‘Little Fears’ and ‘Icarus’ which had a touching melancholy feel to them. While the audience didn’t get to their feet, all appeared to be enjoying the tunes while waiting for the Puta Madre Brothers.

My knowledge of Spanish swear words learnt during a three month trip through Argentina, and the resulting rude translation of ‘puta madre’ made me assume that I was in for a performance of Latino inspired fun, with tongue-in-cheek humour. I was surprised to find out that the members are as gringo as they come, all growing up in Victoria, but this was just the start of the surprises for the evening.  

The three-man band diverts from the usual formation, with each member set up like a one-man band. Each had a kick drum, a guitar and assorted other percussion instruments, including symbols that were hit with the end of their guitars in a careless fashion. Playing in unison, their sound was a mesh of rock’n’roll, motown and mariachi, creating a sound that had people tapping their toes instantly. Initially, I thought ratio of drums to people would make the beat messy, but with obvious practice their sound was clean and rhythmic, a feat in teamwork which many bands could learn from.

Opening with an instrumental song that set the scene for what was to come, imposing a Mexican feel to Transit Bar. The drink of the night amongst the intimate crowd was certainly tequila slammers and Coronas, as drinking anything else just didn’t seem right. 

The boys looked like soldiers returning from a long battle, all three were dressed in old Spanish military uniforms, complete with red shoulder tassels. Their beards were un-kept, they had enough hair gel to make their long locks stand to attention and black paint smudged on their faces.

The brothers, who aren’t actually related, sang in Spanish with many ‘whoops’ and ‘yee hahs’ scattered throughout the lyrics. Their songs ‘Queso y Cojones’ (translated literally to ‘cheese and balls’) and ‘Putananny Twist’ had a few people up on the dance floor, breaking out classic moves like the shimmy, toe-tap and twist.

Their hour set kept the audience’s attention, although with a little more crowd interaction from the band I think everyone would’ve ended up jiving the night away, in true Mexican style.

Life is what you make it

These are words that so many of my generation have been told over and over by older, wiser folk. Known as the ‘lucky’ generation, or the ‘spoilt’ generation, depending who you ask, gen Y get told so often that we have the world at our feet and all we have to do is jump in. And learn to swim.

The problem with this is that the countless options and opportunities that present themselves to us each day becomes mind-boggling. Should I travel before uni, or after? Should I work full time and move out of home, or put up with my mother’s nagging about the cleanliness of my room for another few years while I get an ‘education’ and not have to survive on 2-minute noodles.  Should I just work for a modest sum of money forever, or be a poor student for a few years for the dream of being rich some day? And the most annoying question of all, what do I want to be?

I know that at times my friends have felt a little jealous hatred for me as I’ve always known what I’ve wanted to be. Listening to them ‘um’ and ‘ah’ about their life direction and what they want to be when ‘they grow up’ is a painstaking conversation I have had to listen to over and over. Every month they change their mind/degree/job. Unlike our grandparents who took any job that was offered, we muse over the details: the expected salary, the flexibility of work hours and the job vacancy rate.  I, on the other hand, had decided by the tender age of 12 exactly what I wanted to be.

In the first year of high school my teacher set the class a task that made some of my classmates cry.  We each had to think of a job we would like to do when we were adults and interview someone currently doing that job. Some kids hadn’t even thought about the next year of school, let alone a career. But it was an easy task for me, I quickly wrote on my piece of paper- political journalist. My teacher laughed, and quizzed me about my choice. After discovering I was deadly serious, he arranged for me to interview the chief political journalist for the Canberra Times, Ross Peake at Parliament House the next week. 

Looking back, I think Ross was probably curious about the 12-year-old kid that wanted to interview him, because I can’t think of any other reason he would have said yes to such an out-of–the-blue (who the fuck are you?) request. Consequently our scheduled 10-minute interview turned into more of a half an hour conversation, filmed by my trusty friend Anna. I was tickled pink just to be in the press gallery offices, sitting in a room with a retractable sunshade looking out onto the magnificent green lawns, let along talking to a ‘real journalist’. From that moment, I promised myself that one day I would work there as a journalist too.

Over the next decade I would be asked countless times ‘Grace, any thoughts on what you want to do when you finish school?’ My answer was always the same: journalist, journalist, journalist. I was drawn to the promise that every day would be different, and I would get a front seat to history in the making. I wanted to inform people, educate people; I wanted to make a difference.

Fast-forward a few years to college. To my scientist/economist father’s horror my class choices were devoid of any mathematics or science and instead focused solely on subjects that would prepare me for my journalist career. Only taking double extended English, double photography and media meant that I couldn’t go on to do any sort of science or economics degree at university, but that didn’t matter to me at all.  I knew exactly what I wanted to be.

I researched all the journalism degrees in Australia. Should I go to RMIT, Wollongong, UTS or stay at home and go to UC? After calling course conveners and generally being a pest to student services, I decided on Wollongong. I applied, went through the interview process and was accepted. But I was in love with a boy in Canberra, and the idea of a year off after working so hard in college sounded like a wonderful idea. So I settled. I took the year off and enrolled in Journalism/Law at UC for the following year. I’ll admit that UC isn’t the most prestigious journalism school in the country, but it’s comfortable. Canberra has all the integral F words that make me happy; family, friends and familiarity, and as a bonus, the opportunities that have arisen have been incredible.

Not prepared to wait until I had finished my degree to start looking for work, I have been writing gig and music festival reviews for an online entertainment and dining guide. The experience of working towards deadlines and being pro-active about working has been priceless.

Next week I start my exciting new job at Parliament House. I’ll be working for Australian Associated Press as a multimedia journalist. Some of my journalism classmates seethe with jealousy, but I am quick to point out to them that I have been working towards this goal for almost a decade now.  That fateful day back in year seven sparked the dream within me, and I have been chasing it ever since. Now my office is just around the corner from that room I sat in and did my first interview in a decade ago. 

So my advice, to all of you reading this, is that as cliché as it sounds, life really is what you make it. So don’t just jump in, dive in, and keep swimming after your dreams like there’s no tomorrow.