The Cambodian Space Project

Got home from the Remission Tour and promptly headed off again (took one look at a partially renovated house, overgrown garden, pile of paperwork, various unfinished projects and decided it was all took much). My cousin Julien had just arrived back in Australia from Cambodia, with other members of his band The Cambodian Space Project; they were about to kick off an Australian tour with a couple of gigs in Thirroul, on the NSW South Coast, so I gave Jules and Chanthy a lift down. The first gig was at a private party, great stuff, lots of French accents and fine food and a view over the beach that stretched way down the South Coast, a collage of hills and trees framed by a dramatic granite escarpment. As the band played on an open air deck, the sun set behind them, and I was reminded of a time I climbed a large hill in Turkey so I could watch the sun go down, the sound of chanting filling the air like a strange movie soundtrack.

Here’s a clip of the band in their nominal hometown of Phnom Penh:

The second gig was at one of those strangely attractive, unrenovated seaside pubs that have windows rotted open or rusted shut by the salt. The pub was the sort of place where not so long ago there would have been a seperate lounge for the ladies, you could still feel the ghost of gender seperation in the air: it’s the kind of venue where guys sit on one side of the room, girls on the other, and no-one dances. Hammerhead shark skulls nailed up behind the bar and a fishing trophy board that finished ten years ago. Anyway, I expect largely due to the music and the presence of most of the people from the party the night before, everyone got up and danced. This doesn’t usually happen in Australian pubs, but it happened in Thirroul the night after New Year’s Day, with rain and a cold ocean wind hammering against the windows.

CSP single: I'm Unsatisfied

Dropped Jules and co back in Sydney the next day, headed home, found the same stack of crap waiting for me, and decided to head off again asap. A few days later I booked an air ticket and flew down to Melbourne for the band’s Friday night gig at Yah Yah’s in Fitzroy. Haven’t been on Smith Street for years and astonished by the changes that have taken place. I remember it was a place to be avoided, a solitary kebab shop and an old pub full of derelicts that did suprisingly good counter meals; the old men ate them with the neat knife and fork strokes and lowered heads of people that don’t often get a good feed.

At the time I was living in a hotel in nearby Clifton Hill. One night I went to have a shower and accidentally locked myself out of the room wearing nothing but a yellow towel, I borrowed some clothes off the barmaid’s fifteen year old sister and went looking for my room mate, and more usefully, her spare set of keys. The room mate (my cousin Rachel) was working in a dodgy pub called The Champion near Smith Street; it used to be infamous, but it’s a Post Office now. The memory of walking down Smith Street in pink trainers, fluffy white tracksuit and glitter puppy dog t-shirt with battered cars stopping to beep and the occupants howl stays with me to this day.

Anyway, Jules and co got them dancing at Yah Yah’s too.