September 2026
By
Dromedar
109
Listening Tip Extra: The Australian Scene
Mallee — Freya Schack Arnott & Benjamin Ward
Sometimes I sit with my friend, the Sea Dog, on the mountain, and we look out over Lake Maggiore. We listen out into the vastness and the deep blue, and we are usually in a good mood.Today I have already subjected him to all kinds of musical thoughts and explained my last Listening Tip to him. And he says:
“Dromedar, I have to admit: I don’t know much about the Australian scene.”
“Not yet,” I reply. “Because now you’re going to get something for your ears. Australian powerhouse free jazz.”
“And believe me,” I say, “the band is called Believe and the record is Nature’s God.”
“Oh God,” says the Sea Dog.“Hush,” I say.And now we are listening to an Australian band while still looking out at the Swiss lake. The Sea Dog is very quiet.
“Sea Dog,” I whisper, “I’m feeling so reverent.”
“You are a sensitive soul, Dromedar.”
“Yes. I’m deeply moved. Don’t you think you can get really close to the musicians? The sounds reach right inside me ...”
“That’s the sound, Dromedar. Extremely good sound. Cool.”
“But Sea Dog, cool is such an undifferentiated word. This is called Nature’s God.”The Sea Dog keeps looking at the lake.“Strong current,” he says.
“Water the color of the sky, with iridescent shades. The ship sits solidly on its course, one with the waves and the horizon. The brain gets washed clean. The sailor is happy.”
“How beautifully you speak about the divine, Sea Dog. I’m sure it’s an eight-armed god.”
“Of course, Dromedar. Four human musicians make eight arms. And besides, a band just as a band should be. Sailors with vastness in their hearts and aired-out souls, everyone knows what they have to do, nothing can go wrong. The elements meet capable free spirits. With this crew, you can sail around the world. The names, please, Dromedar.”
“Laurence Pike on drums, Clayton Thomas on double bass, Novak Manojlovic on piano, and Peter Farrar on alto and soprano saxophone. And now comes the decisive point, Sea Dog: all four also play percussion.”
“Eight arms,” says the Sea Dog.“Eight arms,” I say. “I can feel the eight-armed being. A god who dances and destroys the world.”
“You mean free jazz?”
“If you like ... But my limbs are twitching ... How about a little dance?
”Of course, as four-legged creatures we have a serious advantage over humans when it comes to dancing to free jazz. The Sea Dog and I strike out in all four directions at once.
“Sea Dog!” I shout.
“Only an octopus can compete with us!”
“That really pulses,” my Sea Dog pants.
“Sea Dog, is the music cool or hot?”
“Dromedar, the fiery heart of free jazz is the coolest thing of all.”We have to take a break.The record comes to an end.
“I know another Australian band. A trio.”
“Bring it on,” says the Sea Dog.
“They’re seasoned gentlemen. Maybe they won’t leave us quite so out of breath.”
“With seasoned gentlemen, you never know, Dromedar.”
“Well, I listened to them when it was terribly hot. And I found them refreshing.”
“Aha.”
“The record is called Weft. It’s an English word from the craft of weaving. It’s the thread that runs across the warp.”
“Cross-thread ...?”
“Yes. The thread that shoots across.”
“Ahoi!!!”
“Yes, Robbie Avenaim at the typewriter!”
“Great Neptune!”
“Chris Abrahams on synthesizer. And then there’s someone on bass flute. Jim Denley.”
“I know them,” says the Sea Dog. “Good men.”
“The gentlemen often get together for tea and then make music ...”
“Dromedar, please be quiet, I can’t hear a thing.”
And I am completely quiet.
For 45 minutes and 16 seconds.“Good heavens,” says the Sea Dog.
“Mystical, meandering. Masterful.In deep stillness, the vibrating fluidity merges into atmosphere. I set sail ...”
“Look, Sea Dog. My ears have become very large.”
“They suit you, Dromedar.”
“I would so love to be able to read what he wrote on his typewriter.”
“It isn’t meant to be read. It’s meant to be heard, and it says something like: What vibrates intensely within can unfold into something great even in the smallest things outside ...”
“Sea Dog, the shamans could read the writing of shadows cast by the leaves of the forest onto the earth. And Avenaim writes that down, while Abrahams gives it space and reads the traces, while Denley shapes sculptures out of air that first hum and then speak or grunt, but in any case want to come close to us ...”
“Dromedar, you are a strange ungulate.”
“I’m also a ruminant ... and I’m still under the influence.
”We have to listen to the quiet lake again for a while. And to the wind. And the leaves. And the shuffling neighbour feeding his chickens.
“Sea Dog, before you get hungry now, you absolutely have to listen to one more thing.”
“I think so too, Dromedar. Don’t you know any Australian woman musician?”
“Of course, old Sea Dog. There is a wonderful Australian cellist who has just released a record with a wonderful double-bass player.”
“Let’s cast off, Dromedar.”
“We’re not casting off. Now we’re going inland, Sea Dog, where creatures like me feel at home. Mallee, Sea Dog. That’s that dry Australian bush landscape with its multi-stemmed eucalyptus trees. And I think the two of them deliberately connected themselves with the vibration and energy of this landscape. As if the sounds weren’t simply made, but drawn out of the earth, the stones and the dry air.”
“You’re very spiritual today, Dromedar.”
“Even-toed ungulates are always like that, Sea Dog ...”
I put on Mallee, by Freya Schack Arnott and Benjamin Ward. She plays cello and nyckelharpa, and Ben Ward double bass and microtonal keyboard.The Sea Dog visibly falls into a trance. He rolls onto his back and hypnotizes the sky.I close my eyes and see red earth, warm stones, something far away from the tangled and ordinary affairs of human beings.I relax and simply let the intense, earthy sounds take effect. Peace.
When they end, the Sea Dog says: “Now it’s happened.”
“What?”
“My heart is picking up speed.”
“Don’t do this to me.”
“I’m going to Australia now. I want to see what I have heard. There’s a hint of eucalyptus in my nose ... and mystery. And all of this is so special because people can perceive it. Special people who have a sense for the depth of beauty. Wonderful Freya, wonderful Ward. Dromedar, we’re heading into the Australian bush.”“Yes, they really are wonderful. But, Sea Dog, I’ve got used to the Alps now. Lush meadows and all that ...”
“Dromedar, you’ll look good in the bush, too.”
“Stupid bear ... I have no idea about Australia.”
“Dromedar,” says the Sea Dog, looking back at the lake.
“Just imagine: somewhere over there in Australia, two people are sitting by the sea, looking out at the water and talking about the Swiss music scene in three records.”
“Sea Dog, that’s too much for my dromedary brain. I can’t keep up anymore. I want to cook.”
“All right. Let’s cook. But put the one about the god on again.”
“Gladly.”