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the same feeling accompanied my reading of last year’s horne prize winner – a hollow-bodied effervescence where the words take on a mysterious power, as though they hold secrets that a deeper reading would uncover, as though there’s a way of arranging words that is more desirable than any other way, as though there is one right way. this hollow feeling seeps into my efforts to string words together here (anywhere); with an outcome in mind of reproducing this soda stream, rather than simply writing what is true in a moment, of a moment. the truth should be much simpler and easier to articulate because it’s a matter of communication, of channeling a perception of the world back into the world, rather than an attempt to impress or be perceived as intelligent or desirable. that is the trick of the ego, the challenge of getting out of your own way. this is my most engrossing challenge at the moment.

but I also have Twitter  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and this important:

Things I have learned over the course of my masters:
1. How contemporary music practices are conducive to wellbeing
2. How sitting down to write a thesis about it is not

— Brigitta Scarfe (@BrigScarfe) August 10, 2018

To explain, I submitted my MA thesis on time almost 6 months ago and I have been trying to restore balance ever since. But here is me with my precious baby the day I submitted:

Final title: ‘”These are the Places I Call Paradise”: Community Musicking and Wellbeing in Derby, Western Australia’

Final mark: 80, H1

If you’re interested in the Royal Commission into the Protection and Detention of Children in the Northern Territory, this article by Russell Marks for The Monthly is fucking harrowing.

“Kate moved interstate with Rachel and her two youngest children. “I googled supports for [Rachel] in different places before we moved,” she remembers.

“It was the best thing she could have done,” says Tammy. “The way the department was behaving was like something you’d see in a DV relationship: it was abusive, and it was a misuse of power.”

Here’s the link.

You have navigated with raging soul far from the paternal home, passing beyond the sea’s double rocks, and you now inhabit a foreign land.  – Medea

Why does a settler sense of belonging and ownership (‘Australian’) stretch across such vastness as 5,000 km? 5,000 km of varied earth – from endless red dust dunes to swirling salt deposits, sandy scrub to yellow patchwork agriculture, from freezing well below to sweltering well above the Tropic of Capricorn… Politically, I am still in Australia, my birth country. But every other sense indicates I am not.

And so I find myself in Derby, again, rustled in on a bus from Broome at 9 at night, and my efforts to fit in feel in vain. I checked in to the Spinifex hotel (the ‘Spini’) to stay for a few days. The bar was almost empty, except for a few older men watching sport on the TVs. I had dressed for the conditions: sensible boots, modest but practical cotton shirt and shorts, and lathered in insect repellent; but the exact suitability of everything made me feel as though I’ve tried too hard. It’s approximately the same attire as the stragglers in the Spini (and exactly the same attire as one middle-aged man), but me, I’ve thought too much about it, and this thinking goes against what seems to be an apparently laissez-faire rural attitude. I’m all in my head, but I need to be in order to navigate the newness of this space. I suppose everything (perceived and expressed) is going to go somewhat against the grain until it develops into second-nature. On my next trip to the Kimberley I will drive into Derby triumphantly in a 4×4, I will be a little less soft, and a little less foreign, I say. 

The following morning I made my way to 6DBY, the local radio station. The station will be my base for the next 12 weeks, thanks to Bill and Darren. It’s perfect: cool, close to a kettle, fitted with a usable music studio and instruments, and full of the warmest musical folk. I’m learning all about radio, and apparently there is a ‘Derby sound’ that they try and emulate in their shows. I’ll write about that in another post when I figure out the formula.

If all goes to plan, I have also found accommodation near 6DBY for $150 inc utilities. And if you remember from the last time I visited, I was upset about the prices at the local IGA. What I didn’t realise at that time is that there is a Woolies! and everything is always on special! and it’s really close to where I’m going to be staying! Such luck. I move in tonight (so, photos to come) from Broome where I’ve been staying, which I keep going back to for their cheap reliable accom and kitschy tourist activities:

New World settler societies loosen moral accountability from the powerful constraints of place and time. In detaching people from place these societies enable action to escape feedback from the place. Settlers imagine themselves free to depart, indeed many of us make a virtue of departing, and both geographical and economic mobility are fueled by people’s efforts to escape the results of their actions, to search yet again for that better future. In detaching people from continuity in place they also loosen people from the feedback of time. Founded in disjunction (‘new’ worlds), settler cultures posit an endless overcoming in which the present is always already about to be superseded. Detached from organised moral accountability in two of the most fundamental domains of human life, New World settler societies generate catastrophe.

– Deborah Bird Rose, Reports from a Wild Country (2004), p 5-6.

I arrived in Derby travel-weary and aching just before 5am on Thursday morning. As such, the day was not productive. Tiredness seems to makes everything a fraction less bearable. The day comprised of unsuccessfully napping, unsuccessfully rearranging my flight home, burning my tongue on the only coffee I could find in the whole town, and trying not to cry in the local supermarket. In my defence, capsicums are more than $9 a kilo here.

The coffee eventually cooled down and I eventually pulled myself together by the afternoon. On my way to the visitor centre I was beckoned over to a group of aboriginal men sitting at a park bench. They were carving pictures into boab shells and trying to sell them to passers-by. They were mostly of local wildlife – barramundi, kangaroos, dogs – and filled with intricate patterns and shadings. They were only using small chopping knives. They wanted to know my name and shake my hand, some were more drunk than others, but they were all very pleasant. One man’s hand was so calloused and feathered from carving that it felt like the coarse fibres of a bath towel. I said I’d see them again if they were at the markets the following Saturday, and one promised that he’d he’d play me a song on his guitar. I had not mentioned my interest in music at all.

I had a long chat with the ladies in the tourism office about the shifting economies of the town. There has been a military base and a detention centre at various points in time; mining and pastoral ventures have come and gone. The population has swelled and shrunk with the coming and going of these industries, as has the flow of money into the town. I found out later that the Indigenous youth of Derby and surrounding communities are in crisis, as are many youth in WA. There is a sense of disempowerment and despair in this rapidly changing place, especially for those who are less inclined to leave due to familial obligations and connection to country.

The town itself is spread out on an ovular patch of red earth upon tidal mud flats. The main street is lined with boab trees, spaced evenly along a nature strip of perfectly manicured, vibrant, green grass, made so by automatic sprinklers between the hours of 12 and 5 AM. Judging by the tone of voice of the tourism officer these lawns are a source of much pride for the town. The main street leads to the Derby jetty, a very tall structure under which flow some of the highest tides in the world (up to 11 metres!) and upon which one will find posies of grey nomads marvelling at how their cameras capture the colours of the sunset better than their own eyes.

The main attraction in Derby for me was the ‘Make Smoking History’ Moonrise Rock Festival on Saturday night (21 May). It was one of the festivals I found while trawling the Internet a few months ago, and I was drawn to its name for reasons I’ll come to. It was a family-friendly environment, obviously alcohol and drug free, and the bands were mostly local and mostly indigenous. The kids almost outnumbered the parents and footballs were flying everywhere.

I made friends with the people from the local community radio station 6DBY, who were familiar with most of the artists. Like 8PAW in Yuendumu, 6DBY are very involved in the local and surrounding Aboriginal communities. One of the bands from nearby community Mowanjum, Red Alert Worrora Band, has just finished a nine-month recording stint at the station. They played early on in the night and their songs and musicianship were really really good. Another local Derby band, Trax, often play around town. They opened their set with what seemed to be some junior family members. A little girl of no more than 10 was yelling the lyrics into the microphone with indefinite pitch. The kids stopped playing football and ran to the front of the stage to see their friend, who had no reservations. It was the most adorable thing. The crowd soaked it up. The whole night was really entertaining, and not just for the music but for the community vibes – the crowd seemed to get into the music more if they personally knew who was playing (although the Michael Jackson tribute performer had some serious crowd skills).

For such a tiny town I wondered how they have managed to scrounge the funds for 20 years running, and I found the answer quite interesting. ‘Make Smoking History’ is a trademark of Healthway, who collect the taxes made from tobacco sales in WA and put them back into the community through sponsoring health- and youth-based activities. Their other major sponsor is Lotterywest, an actual lottery company. Don’t get me wrong, festivals like this need consistent funding in order to be sustainable and they sure as hell won’t get it from either state or federal government, I just find it maybe slightly troubling that the money has come from things that are tearing the community apart.

Many thanks to Bill Hart for sharing your time and expertise, and to Darren and Tina from 6DBY for being so welcoming. There is so much more to learn here. On top of all of these experiences I’ve also done a lot of article-reading along the way. I have so much thought-sifting and -arranging to do when I get home…

I arrived in Mataranka at an appropriate time on Sunday morning (15 May) despite an incredulous bus driver. “What on earth are you going to Mataranka for?” And when I got off the bus- “are you sure? You ‘right? Do you have somewhere to go?”
It didn’t make any sense because although Mataranka is a tiny truck stop along the highway, it has some fair dinkum treasures hidden all around it. Perhaps the bus driver didn’t know about the little campground I was headed for, as there is another one not far from Mataranka township that is a more obvious choice. I guess I was the only unpowered camper that needed to set up when I arrived.
The Territory Manor was where I met my travel companion for the next few days – Chris (good one, gumtree). Chris works for the Department of Employment in a small Aboriginal community called Palumpa, all the way up near Wadeye NT. Apparently they have a thriving music scene up there too, so I absolutely must visit.

The Territory Manor was full of wildlife – peacocks frogs and kangaroos at dusk. I took a video of the kangaroos, which is how I learned, upon watching them back, that I was at the stage of solo-traveling where I was talking aloud to myself. A travel companion could not have come at a better time. Somehow we managed to score a free home-cooked meal that evening because the staff were having a ‘staff meeting’ to which they had invited us (i.e. a bit of ‘right place right time’). They comprised mostly of backpackers, from Canada, Scotland and Germany. What a pleasure it must be to work and live in such a secluded paradise.

The next morning, after a swell sleep underneath the stars, we visited the Bitter Springs and the Thermal Springs around Mataranka, which were all a bit tame and underwhelming until we came to wilder creek where a sign warned us of ‘crocodiles occurring’. Alas, no crocodiles this time. We headed to Katherine and then west along the Victoria Highway. The trees along the gently winding roads were much taller than in the centre but the earth was still dusty red, and the air was much more humid and intense (and we didn’t have the luxury of aircon… We did, however, have the luxury of windows!) We were stunned by the views while passing over Victoria River so we went back to take a few snaps. We spotted a crocodile snoozing in the river (an actual croc!) The whole of Gregory National Park is lush and green with high plateaus and sheer red rock cliffs, formed over thousands of years when Australia was covered with water. Lucky for us we got to drive back and forth through it after finding two women whose car bonnet had been crushed by a wallaby. We towed them to the nearest roadhouse and set up camp there, as it was too late to drive (safely) to the next town. For the second night in a row it was warm enough to sleep with the canvas rolled down on my swag, and in the middle of nowhere I was able to ogle at the slowly shifting skyscape. I don’t have any pictures of this.

C’est beau, non? How can such pristine and fluid nature be owned when we all only inhabit it briefly?
We arrived in Kununurra WA on Tuesday afternoon (17 May), in time to prepare for a comedy show in the evening. It turned out to be the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, who have toured up in WA for a few years now. I found myself crying with laughter at a few of the comedians, although I’ve forgotten their names, sorry, but I think live comedy is easy to lose yourself in anyway, because everyone around you is laughing and it becomes contagious.
I was slowly becoming anxious that I was having too much fun and relaxing and absorbing things in places that needed not to be absorbed. I felt that I needed to at least be in Derby, because even just breathing the air there would be more relevant to my research than staying in quaint picturesque little Kununurra. I’m completely mad by this stage, so I decided to bid adieu to Chris and board the 10 hour nighttime bus to Derby the following day.

This is a delayed post due to being out of range for a thousand or so kms. Note to self and others: Optus is Useless up here.
On Thursday and Friday last week (12-13 May) I had a last-minute, serendipitous opportunity to visit Yuendumu, an Aboriginal community 300km northwest of Alice Springs in the middle of the Tanami desert. It’s a tiny place with only a few streets this way and that, yet it’s one of the largest remote communities in central Australia. If you look closely in the picture above you can see the lights of the streets just beginning to stand out against the dusk (if you need a hand it’s the row of lights in the centre third of the frame, between the hills and the line of dust left behind by a passing road train).
Where to begin… My host while in Yuendumu was Teghan, who I met through Katie in Alice. Teghan works at the local community radio station 8PAW. The radio station brings together the musics and stories of the three surrounding language groups: Pintubi, Anmatjere and Warlpiri. The station facilitates festivals, local radio shows, public announcements, employment opportunities… It’s incredible what the place does. It has a recording studio and a film studio. From an initial, outsider’s perspective, 8PAW seems to act as the voice of the community, spreading messages and music and aspects of culture not only to the community centre in Yuendumu but also to surrounding communities and even the remote homeland outstations, where Aboriginal people are returning to live a more traditional way of life.*
I’ve had a fascination (fixation really) with Yuendumu since I bought a replacement glasses case from the gift shop at Monash university, which is decorated with Aboriginal art from Yuendumu. On the inside is a name I’ve been rolling around my mouth and mispronouncing for months now – Warlukurlangu. Warlukurlangu Arts Centre is located in Yuendumu and I managed to track down the name of the artist whose artwork decorates my glasses case, but unfortunately he has passed away since he painted that artwork. The word Warlukurlangu itself translates to ‘belonging to the fire’ in Warlpiri.
Now, I’ve heard that it’s offensive for tourists to claim they have a spiritual experience in response to certain aspects of aboriginal culture and dreaming but with a concept as evocative as ‘belonging to the fire’ it’s hard to not let your imagination run absolutely wild. What is the fire? Is it the fire of the creative spark? Of creative genius? Or of the impermanence of human experience? What do the Warlpiri people make of the phenomenon of creativity? The questions are endless. The arts centre is huge in relation to the size of Yuendumu, and holds an unexpectedly large collection of Aboriginal art from the surrounding region. My favourite contemporary aboriginal art are those paintings of the night sky. A friend told me that some aboriginal cultures conceive celestial shapes as the negative space in between groups of stars, rather than as the lines between individual stars as Western constellations go. This way of thinking (or seeing) may be a reflection of Australia’s position on the globe where the Milky Way is largely visible, and also given that light pollution is only really a recent phenomenon in the grand scheme of things and is confined to cities and towns. Or it could be because, ontologically, various central Aboriginal cultures conceive patterns as not drawn between points but as the continuous lines that can be drawn in the negative spaces aroundpoints… So much baseless speculation is probably not productive nor appropriate to voice on such a public platform as this. Yet I do it in the hope that perhaps someone can answer my questions.
Sunbell the van broke down many many times on the way home – luckily we managed to get towed back to Alice by a passing friend of Josh and Teghan. The upside of this little misadventure was that we got to see the desert sunset again.
Gratitude to Cassidy for getting me there, and Teghan and Josh for having me, for your warmth and willingness to share, and for showing me all the ins and outs of 8PAW. Yuendumu has indeed forged a little space for itself in my imagination…

*This is a potentially huge tangent that I’ll refrain from exploring here – basically the government is reluctant to fund the gradual return of Aboriginal people to outstations (read – country) because they deem these outstations to be a ‘lifestyle choice,’ a concept made popular by Tone Abet during his Prime Ministership. Despite a lack of federal funding for these outstations there are people in Yuendumu working towards making these outstations as successful and sustainable as possible.

I posted the last entry with the last of the 4G signal for 500km. North bound, we watched the sun rise from the bus, from 5am pitch black to full colour. I’m using the first person plural because there was another young woman on the bus from Coober who was also on the bus from Adelaide. She’s a Canadian who can sleep easily on buses and who also, like me, likes to watch English-language movies with the subtitles on. I was dying to see red earth all morning. I’m not sure if it’s classified as desert here but it’s even greener than south SA. The vegetation doesn’t reach much higher than the horizon line and it’s mostly covered with small dense shrubs or grey, green and the pale violet of their hair-like branches.
Water has pooled and glistens in patches of the red earth. In places, and because the eye catches it for fractions of a second only, the wind makes the ripples seem like tiny clay dunes. I joke to myself that I am Terra Madre because it is sunny wherever I go but really I have just managed to navigate the various severe weather systems better than usual. When I was in Adelaide the centre was experiencing heavy rain, and now that I’m in Alice the storms have found Adelaide and there is water in the gullies here for me to marvel at. A once-in-three-years occurrence. I’m going to say that this is why I didn’t want to catch the Overland a day later.

The energy of the town itself is similarly chaotic. On my last night, myself and a few friends went to karaoke at Uncles Tavern. The place was overflowing with people, representatives from across the globe and the socioeconomic spectrum. As the crowd became gradually more courageous and gradually more tired of the three middle-aged male karaoke veterans singing pub rock the night turned into a absolute mixed bag of entertainment. From the timid couple of girls singing Alicia Keys to the sweaty squat man singing power ballads (yes plural, yes better every time) around the entire perimeter of the tavern because it was a cordless mic. I did a Duffy song and some middle-aged ladies really liked it and showed their appreciation by dancing goofily along with me. A group of lawyers were going absolutely wild on the dance floor. It made me appreciate that karaoke (and alcohol) brought us all together, arms across strange shoulders, rendered less strange by the common knowledge of the lyrics and the movement of the music.
Many thanks to my gracious hosts Katie, Cass and Sophie. One’s feelings about a town are usually entirely dependent on one’s individual experience, and in a place such as this those experiences would be as diverse as the people who populate Alice. As such, my experience was one of abundant love and kindness, and I daresay I’ll even live here one day soon.

Next up – 975km bus ride to Mataranka.