EPTWhat is the best driving music? The roar of the engine? The highway howling through the open window? The rising rush of conversation, talk of grease and upholstery and other sweetly reasonable things? No, I think it’s Kraut Rock. Only Kraut Rock delivers. The motorik beat, 4/4 till road’s end. Eight high-hats per bar; the kick follows but makes way for the snare on the 2nd and 4th beat. In case you’re unfamiliar (it's a slow starter):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAXYMOgHQI4&feature=related
I saw Michael Rother from Neu! (a seminal Kraut Rock band from the 70s) last night in Sydney. He played with two musicians from other old groups. Death’s Head was on drums, rocking away among the bamboo projected behind him. Sickly Child was on synths, taking care not to play too loudly, lest he distract Rother from his famous E Major chord. The Kraut Crowd was pretty old: benign gents in Hawaiian shirts and ladies (you must call them ladies) in fur coats and blood red lipstick. They played for about an hour and a half, thankfully no longer, for I feared that Death’s Head was going to keel over and resign himself to the oblivion of his electric tom-toms.
At one point I stepped outside for some fresh air. A strange man hailed me, asking for a cigarette lighter. I gave him one. Something was obviously on his mind, for he kept looking around anxiously. I asked him if he was alright. He said:
“When the guitar speaks man, you gotta sit down and listen. What is the G-string telling you? What riddles the D? Be wary of the high E, she’s a shrill Siren. She’ll lure you onto the rocks, your aural boat rolling and pitching in the heavy waters, then CRASH: flotsam everywhere, the savage island beasts clawing at the hull, their knickers in a reef knot.”
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/M9Fvm.jpg)
This image should evoke the ocean.
When a crazed older gentlemen in starched overalls gives you advice, you should probably listen; or turn tail and flee. I went inside, committing these strange, portentous words to memory. The crowd was heaving; Death’s Head rollicking about and waving his towel above a lunatic grin. They played a couple more songs and I walked home to bed, thoughts of driftwood and boiling seas keeping me awake for some time.
I had been swimming that day at Coogee beach; I go sometimes when it’s overcast in order to avoid the crowds. In the shadows of the northern headland there’s a sheltered rock-pool where people swim and sit about, watching with impunity as the waves crash beyond the rocky wall.
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/lgT9Z.jpg)
No Sirens here, only the bleating of a thousand sun-drenched bathers.
That day, with the exception of two older Dutch tourists, I had the pool to myself. I found an old, discarded umbrella between the rocks and duly took it for a swim. Have you ever seen a man swimming with an umbrella? Oh, ok then.
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/sMzQu.jpg)
This is not the way to go. If you have difficulty treading water while holding the umbrella then I’d recommend this to you:
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/0VD5D.jpg)
It looks like an umbrella stand because it’s an umbrella stand.
With this your problem is solved (this might solve other, unrelated problems as well, though this would probably be incidental to the stand); simply place the umbrella in the slot and bingo: hands free, sheltered swimming. You can pick one of these things up pretty cheaply from one of your local high street umbrella stand shops. Alternatively, have a look online; this site may be of help to you: www.umbrellastands.com. If you know of any other reliable methods of sun-smart water recreation then please, share them with us here.
All solid blogs need a solid conclusion. I won’t bore you in the high-school way by re-iterating every trite point that I’ve made, rather the crazed gentlemen wearing overalls has inspired me to pedagogy. When the music’s playing, listen. When you want to swim, but fear a sunburn, take an umbrella with you. When a blog is ill-conceived and poorly written, go easy on the author, he’s probably drunk or at least a manic-depressive. And remember that, in the mild and unassuming sweat of life, only men and jellyfish need smile.
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/ctlNz.jpg)
