I don't pull all-nighters. Anyone who knows me is aware of this. I get tired and hungry and cranky. However, after seeing Prince at the Brisbane Entertainment Centre a week ago and missing the much-talked-about after-party at the Hi-Fi Bar, I promised myself that if, in the unlikely event, another after-party was announced for last night's show, I'd go. Here's how the events of last night (and this morning) unfolded, leading to be stumbling into bed at 5.15am.
7.00pm: Rumours had started circulating that there would be an after-party, and that Prince's management was in the process of securing a venue. Miss P and I joked that it could be at our local, the Prince of Wales Hotel; or, perhaps a little more likely, Eatons Hill Hotel. In the meantime, Mr C goes out to an art show.
8.30pm: DJ Rashida tweets that the after-party WILL be at Eatons Hill Hotel. In the meantime, the hotel tells their Facebook followers that doors open at midnight, and the entry fee is $100 cash.
9.30pm: After much discussion (and attempts to contact Mr C via SMS, phone call and carrier pigeon), Miss P and I decide that we should go. We do, after all, live on the north side of town (the hotel is in the middle of nowhere on the north side). Eurovision semi-finals are forgotten.
10.00pm: I manage to get out of my pyjamas, get dressed, find gloves and a scarf, and walk to Miss P's house. She kindly packs us some pumpkin bread for our handbags in case we get hungry.
10.45pm: We're in the queue outside the hotel with no more than 50 other people. S Club 7 are currently playing inside. There are lots of trashy bogans about.
11.30pm: The last of the S Club trash leaves the venue. Amusingly, some of them make fun of the people lining up to see Prince. The hotel's Facebook page now says that the first 500 people will get in for $50. I finally speak to Mr C. He's going to try and make it.
12.15pm: Mr C is very lost. He's heading home. The venue lets us in. For $50. No more than around 300 people have shown up.
2.00am: We're still waiting. There is soundcheck after soundcheck. Sound dudes are being yelled at. We've resorted to sitting on the floor, and are mesmerised by some Tina Turner lady wearing leopard print shaking her arse in front of us. A creepy young dude who could be her son seemingly wants to bang her. Miss P is munching on her bread.
2.30am: NPG come out on stage. Prince makes a brief appearance. The backing singers inform us that we need to put our phones away. If we do this, they will play until the sun comes up. Prince comes out and jams on his bass. And dances. And sings. And dances. We are in awe.
3.00am: The NPG singers are covering Toto and Extreme. We are singing Extreme's 'More than words' with Prince's band. At Eatons Hill Hotel. In the middle of nowhere. At three in the morning. For $50.
4.00am: We're sitting on the floor again. Prince is on stage, but we are exhausted. We contemplate leaving, as lots of others have already done.
4.30am: Miss P realises that we can stand side of stage and be literally a few metres away from Prince. We are again in awe.
4.45am: We can't do it any more. We decide to leave. On the way out, we realise it's the finale. We stay for the rest. The lights are all on. There are probably 150 people left. Prince appears to give his guitar to someone in the audience. I manage to sneak a couple of photos before it's all over.
4.50am: We're in the car heading home. Miss P is loudly playing Whitesnake to keep herself awake.
5.15: My teeth are brushed, my pyjamas are on, and I'm in bed. I feel sick from tiredness. But I am happy.
The next morning: Mr C is upset that he missed it (as am I). I get up at 9.30am and toast my pumpkin bread. Then I go back to bed. It's now 12.30pm. I'll probably eat some lunch soon, and then snooze away the rest of the weekend.
27 May 2012
07 February 2012
Bringing the '90s back on #TunnFM...
For the past couple of years I've been one of those annoying people who bang on and on about how 'kids don't know what real music is' and how things were so much better 'back in my day'. (Refer to my previous post about music festivals for an example of this.)
When I was a teenager living in Bundaberg, the national youth radio station (the one that starts with a 'T' and ends with a 'J') was my window to the outside world. I learned that, amazingly, Roxette weren't the best band on the planet, and broadened by tastes to include some very diverse artists. I spent night after night pressing redial on the phone trying desperately to get on to the Request Fest and speak to Michael Tunn (which 'Goat', as I was known back then, succeeded at on numerous occasions). I often waited all night to hear that one song I'd been wanting to tape off the radio, only to have one of the announcers (usually Tunney) talk over it right at the end. Sure, I didn't like everything that was played, but most of the music had a kind of 'drive' or passion behind it, and that had to be respected.
Fast-forward quite a few (ok, a lot) of years, and things have changed. Very little of what I hear on that same radio station resonates, and I'm pretty sure it's not just an 'age thing'. For one, most of it sounds the same. I can't tell most of the bands apart, and the majority of them don't actually seem to be saying anything. The tables have been turned: I like a handful of artists that make it on the air (like Jack White, Sleigh Bells and Go! Team), but the vast majority of it is, in my probably worthless opinion, rubbish. Last month, I was engaging in a Twitter discussion about this fact on a Friday evening. The following night, I discovered something amazing (also via Twitter):
TUNNEY WAS BACK.
It turned out that on Saturday nights, Michael Tunn was taking requests via Twitter and playing them on his online station, TunnFM. When he's not taking requests, Tunney's station continues playing 24 hours a day. Not only that, but the playlist is ALL '90s. From that moment, I started hearing bands that I'd completely forgotten existed, or that I simply hadn't heard on the radio in a really long time. Just like old times, I don't like everything that gets played on TunnFM, but I'm pretty certain that no radio station could please me 100 per cent of the time. The fact is that I can now listen to bands like Stone Temple Pilots, Arkarna, Custard and Portishead while I work or hang out at home, and (just like on the radio) I enjoy the suspense of not knowing what's going to play next.
The thing is that no matter how much I love listening to TunnFM, more people need to participate in order for the station to reach its full potential. For one, more people need to participate in the Saturday night Request Fest. It's not much fun when only a handful of us are picking the songs, and it's really easy to join in.
1. Follow @RequestFest on Twitter.
2. Tune into TunnFM online.
3. Tweet @RequestFest with the '90s song you want to hear and add the #TunnFM hashtag so we can all follow. You can even request East 17 if you want. Not that I know anyone who has requested them yet. Honest...
4. Wait for your song to get played.
See? Easy! If you're not a member of Twitter and don't really want to use it other than for making song requests, just join and use your account for that purpose only.
If you decide that you really really love the station and want to help out, you can also become a TunnFM Member for the insanely low low price of $5 a month. These funds give you access to the Members-only HD stream, go towards keeping the station running, and will help introduce new features (like apps and other exciting things).
So, what are you waiting for?
When I was a teenager living in Bundaberg, the national youth radio station (the one that starts with a 'T' and ends with a 'J') was my window to the outside world. I learned that, amazingly, Roxette weren't the best band on the planet, and broadened by tastes to include some very diverse artists. I spent night after night pressing redial on the phone trying desperately to get on to the Request Fest and speak to Michael Tunn (which 'Goat', as I was known back then, succeeded at on numerous occasions). I often waited all night to hear that one song I'd been wanting to tape off the radio, only to have one of the announcers (usually Tunney) talk over it right at the end. Sure, I didn't like everything that was played, but most of the music had a kind of 'drive' or passion behind it, and that had to be respected.
Fast-forward quite a few (ok, a lot) of years, and things have changed. Very little of what I hear on that same radio station resonates, and I'm pretty sure it's not just an 'age thing'. For one, most of it sounds the same. I can't tell most of the bands apart, and the majority of them don't actually seem to be saying anything. The tables have been turned: I like a handful of artists that make it on the air (like Jack White, Sleigh Bells and Go! Team), but the vast majority of it is, in my probably worthless opinion, rubbish. Last month, I was engaging in a Twitter discussion about this fact on a Friday evening. The following night, I discovered something amazing (also via Twitter):
TUNNEY WAS BACK.
It turned out that on Saturday nights, Michael Tunn was taking requests via Twitter and playing them on his online station, TunnFM. When he's not taking requests, Tunney's station continues playing 24 hours a day. Not only that, but the playlist is ALL '90s. From that moment, I started hearing bands that I'd completely forgotten existed, or that I simply hadn't heard on the radio in a really long time. Just like old times, I don't like everything that gets played on TunnFM, but I'm pretty certain that no radio station could please me 100 per cent of the time. The fact is that I can now listen to bands like Stone Temple Pilots, Arkarna, Custard and Portishead while I work or hang out at home, and (just like on the radio) I enjoy the suspense of not knowing what's going to play next.
The thing is that no matter how much I love listening to TunnFM, more people need to participate in order for the station to reach its full potential. For one, more people need to participate in the Saturday night Request Fest. It's not much fun when only a handful of us are picking the songs, and it's really easy to join in.
1. Follow @RequestFest on Twitter.
2. Tune into TunnFM online.
3. Tweet @RequestFest with the '90s song you want to hear and add the #TunnFM hashtag so we can all follow. You can even request East 17 if you want. Not that I know anyone who has requested them yet. Honest...
4. Wait for your song to get played.
See? Easy! If you're not a member of Twitter and don't really want to use it other than for making song requests, just join and use your account for that purpose only.
If you decide that you really really love the station and want to help out, you can also become a TunnFM Member for the insanely low low price of $5 a month. These funds give you access to the Members-only HD stream, go towards keeping the station running, and will help introduce new features (like apps and other exciting things).
So, what are you waiting for?
22 January 2012
The state of music festivals in Australia
Today is the day of the 2012 Big Day Out on the Gold Coast. A few internet conversations of late have made me think a lot about the festival situation in this country, so I wanted to share (read: rant) some of those thoughts.
I went to my first Big Day Out in 1999. I remember it like it was yesterday. My dad transported me and two friends down from Bundaberg and drove around the Gold Coast for the day waiting for us. It was the first Big Day Out after the widely reported ‘last ever’ one in 1997. I remember the day with extreme fondness, mostly for the kindness of the punters. Sure, there was the odd weirdo, but the unspoken rule of looking out for those around you was well in force. (I’ll always be grateful for the kind souls who chose to rescue my naive self from the Marilyn Manson moshpit.) That year, I got to see some of the bands that were dear to my heart at the time — Manson (of course), Korn, Hole, and even Fur and Sean Lennon. While I can’t so my love for all of these acts continues today, there is no doubt that I was there solely for the bands. Look, here I am counting down the last day!
The next few years of Big Day Out attendance continued in the same vein — great bands, with an audience of tens of thousands of people who were there to enjoy music with like-minded folks. Sure, it was often a bit of a stressful day dealing with the portaloos (or holding it in!), the heat and the crowds — particularly for those of us not used to the surf culture of the Coast — but it was a positive experience overall. Similar things can be said of the now-defunct Livid festival. Generally speaking, at that time, no-one bought tickets to music festivals unless they were really into the bands.
Fast forward a few years, and things started to get ugly. Livid had its last hurrah in 2003 (and smaller festivals like Summersault hadn’t been around for years). Great bands were still booked for the Big Day Out (Iggy and the Stooges, PJ Harvey, the White Stripes, the Beastie Boys and Jane’s Addiction, to name a few), but by the mid 2000s something had started to change (and I’m not talking about she-pees). As a small female, I no longer felt entirely safe being in the crowd on my own to watch a band. People were getting peed on, puked on, spat on, groped and punched. Very few punters were looking out for those around them; it was every man/woman for themselves. For many people, the bands seemed to be an added extra included in the ticket price.
I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that things seemed to get a whole lot worse after the 2005 Cronulla riots. At subsequent Big Day Outs, I noticed an increased number of Southern Cross tattoos, Australian flags, and aggressive people asking others to kiss said flag. A friend of mine was abused for daring to wear a temporary tattoo of the Aboriginal flag to the Sydney event on Australia Day. Due to factors such as these, I decided that the 2008 event would be my last. Rage Against the Machine was the last Big Day Out band I ever saw, and I’m glad to have ended it this way. (It is unfortunate, however, that a good number of the shirtless, aggressive, sweaty bogans in the crowd seemed to completely misinterpret the intent of RATM’s music.)
While Livid may have closed shop, in the early 2000s new festivals began to emerge. The most notable was Splendour in the Grass in Byron Bay (which has now relocated to Woodford north of Brisbane). While I attended three of these festivals over the years (twice even camping!), the overcrowding and general ‘yuckiness’ eventually started to permeate there as well. Three days of portaloos and rain and mud and no showering gets to you after a while. In addition, while there are often very high-quality international acts included on the bill, I can’t help but think that the event could (with some careful curating) be condensed into a single day with minimal ‘filler’ — thus eliminating the need to camp, arrange costly accommodation or travel long distances several days in a row.
Smaller festivals also began to pop up in the 2000s, with Laneway expanding to Brisbane in 2007. The first festival (in the alleyway next to the Zoo) was a fabulous experience, with Peter Bjorn and John, Camera Obscura, Yo La Tengo and the Redsunband making for an excellent day out. Sadly, the relaxed atmosphere seemed to have been lost by the second Brisbane event in 2008, with music seemingly not being an important factor for many in attendance. Having been jostled one too many times by Rayban-wearing, fluoro-wearing, talking-over-the-top-of-the-music hipsters, we gave up. It was easier to hear Feist from outside the festival gates than it was inside. Laneway has since relocated to a new venue in Brisbane, but I haven’t ventured back — mostly due to the fact that I recognise very few bands on the lineup (and I’m not one attend a festival if I’m not into the music).
Also emerging around this time was Sunset Sounds in Brisbane, another two-day festival. While, like Splendour, this one could also easily be condensed into a single day, it’s held at the Riverstage in the middle of the city —making it easy to come and go with little hassle. I attended my first Sunset Sounds in 2011 in the pouring rain (literally a few days before the river broke its banks and flooded the city), and was lucky enough to see Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Public Enemy and Sleigh Bells. The festival took a break in 2012, but according to the website will return for 2013.
The 2000s also saw the emergence of Soundwave, a niche festival aimed at fans of metal and hard rock. I attended my first Soundwave in 2010 (enticed by the opportunity to see Faith No More), and I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to the experience all that much (with the idea of returning to a 50 000-strong festival a little hard to stomach). Soundwave proved to be an overwhelmingly positive experience — enough so that I returned the next year. It became clear that you’d have to be a real fan of the music to spend $160 on a ticket to see this number of ‘heavy’ acts; consequently, most of the punters were respectful, the crowd seemed a little older and wiser, and I even spotted some families enjoying the day together. While I’m not attending the 2012 festival (it’s a little too much of a c.1998–99 nostalgia-fest for me), if I’m into the music on a future lineup I’ll be in attendance.
In 2011, I saw a Facebook post that gave me real hope for the future of festivals. A new event called Harvest was coming, and the organisers had somehow managed to convince Portishead (and a heap of other amazing bands) to play. The tagline was ‘A civilised gathering’ — which sounded like it was aimed squarely at me. There was also this:
Given that this would likely be my one and only chance to see Portishead live, and that I was promised a ‘civilised gathering’, Harvest excited me. A lot. I’m pleased to say that I wasn’t disappointed. While I understand that the Melbourne event had some teething problems involving drinks tickets (which doesn’t concern me greatly as I prefer sobriety when watching bands so that I can take it all in with clarity), the Brisbane festival delivered everything it had promised. The lineup was full of quality acts (TV on the Radio, the Flaming Lips, the National, Death in Vegas); there was plenty of space between the stages; the portaloos were kept clean; if someone ran into you, they would stop and profusely apologise; and, most importantly, everyone was there for the music. I had the most amazing festival experience of my life right at the front for Portishead (and, yes, this fangirl got to have a brief encounter with the lovely Beth when she left the stage to greet the crowd), and the whole day was stress free. I left the festival that day with the same feeling I had leaving my first Big Day Out in 1999 — one of pure elation, having experienced something special with thousands of people who all understood.
Some people have suggested that my disdain towards the Big Day Out and other festivals could stem from just ‘getting old’. There are a number if reasons why I think that this is untrue. Firstly, I attended my last Big Day Out in my mid 20s — hardly ‘old’ by festival standards, especially since I’d been getting increasingly pissed off with the experience in the years leading up to 2008. Secondly, I have a number of friends who are a decade or more older and stopped attending festivals around the same time. It’s not an age thing; rather, it’s a fed-up-with-idiots-who-couldn’t-give-a-stuff-about-the-music thing.
It’s clear that changes are afoot for the Big Day Out. 2012 marks the first year without co-founder Vivian Lees. The people of Auckland, Adelaide and Perth got a raw deal with much smaller lineups, and Auckland will be completely dropped from the tour after this year. It seems like the perfect opportunity to rethink the approach and start again. Perhaps another hiatus, like the one of 1998, is called for. As it stands, I’d prefer to pay for a plane ticket to see a sideshow in Sydney or Melbourne than venture to the Gold Coast for the day (because, of course, Brisbane sideshows are never prioritised).
For me, the future of music festivals in Australia lies in the Harvests and the Soundwaves — niche festivals aimed at specific markets of music fans. You know, the type of person who would have to actually be a fan of the bands to even consider shelling out $150–200 for a ticket. Whether my dream for the future of Australian festivals will be realised remains to be seen, but I’d prefer to hold onto this hope rather than simply despair for what used to be.
I went to my first Big Day Out in 1999. I remember it like it was yesterday. My dad transported me and two friends down from Bundaberg and drove around the Gold Coast for the day waiting for us. It was the first Big Day Out after the widely reported ‘last ever’ one in 1997. I remember the day with extreme fondness, mostly for the kindness of the punters. Sure, there was the odd weirdo, but the unspoken rule of looking out for those around you was well in force. (I’ll always be grateful for the kind souls who chose to rescue my naive self from the Marilyn Manson moshpit.) That year, I got to see some of the bands that were dear to my heart at the time — Manson (of course), Korn, Hole, and even Fur and Sean Lennon. While I can’t so my love for all of these acts continues today, there is no doubt that I was there solely for the bands. Look, here I am counting down the last day!
The next few years of Big Day Out attendance continued in the same vein — great bands, with an audience of tens of thousands of people who were there to enjoy music with like-minded folks. Sure, it was often a bit of a stressful day dealing with the portaloos (or holding it in!), the heat and the crowds — particularly for those of us not used to the surf culture of the Coast — but it was a positive experience overall. Similar things can be said of the now-defunct Livid festival. Generally speaking, at that time, no-one bought tickets to music festivals unless they were really into the bands.
Fast forward a few years, and things started to get ugly. Livid had its last hurrah in 2003 (and smaller festivals like Summersault hadn’t been around for years). Great bands were still booked for the Big Day Out (Iggy and the Stooges, PJ Harvey, the White Stripes, the Beastie Boys and Jane’s Addiction, to name a few), but by the mid 2000s something had started to change (and I’m not talking about she-pees). As a small female, I no longer felt entirely safe being in the crowd on my own to watch a band. People were getting peed on, puked on, spat on, groped and punched. Very few punters were looking out for those around them; it was every man/woman for themselves. For many people, the bands seemed to be an added extra included in the ticket price.
I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that things seemed to get a whole lot worse after the 2005 Cronulla riots. At subsequent Big Day Outs, I noticed an increased number of Southern Cross tattoos, Australian flags, and aggressive people asking others to kiss said flag. A friend of mine was abused for daring to wear a temporary tattoo of the Aboriginal flag to the Sydney event on Australia Day. Due to factors such as these, I decided that the 2008 event would be my last. Rage Against the Machine was the last Big Day Out band I ever saw, and I’m glad to have ended it this way. (It is unfortunate, however, that a good number of the shirtless, aggressive, sweaty bogans in the crowd seemed to completely misinterpret the intent of RATM’s music.)
While Livid may have closed shop, in the early 2000s new festivals began to emerge. The most notable was Splendour in the Grass in Byron Bay (which has now relocated to Woodford north of Brisbane). While I attended three of these festivals over the years (twice even camping!), the overcrowding and general ‘yuckiness’ eventually started to permeate there as well. Three days of portaloos and rain and mud and no showering gets to you after a while. In addition, while there are often very high-quality international acts included on the bill, I can’t help but think that the event could (with some careful curating) be condensed into a single day with minimal ‘filler’ — thus eliminating the need to camp, arrange costly accommodation or travel long distances several days in a row.
Smaller festivals also began to pop up in the 2000s, with Laneway expanding to Brisbane in 2007. The first festival (in the alleyway next to the Zoo) was a fabulous experience, with Peter Bjorn and John, Camera Obscura, Yo La Tengo and the Redsunband making for an excellent day out. Sadly, the relaxed atmosphere seemed to have been lost by the second Brisbane event in 2008, with music seemingly not being an important factor for many in attendance. Having been jostled one too many times by Rayban-wearing, fluoro-wearing, talking-over-the-top-of-the-music hipsters, we gave up. It was easier to hear Feist from outside the festival gates than it was inside. Laneway has since relocated to a new venue in Brisbane, but I haven’t ventured back — mostly due to the fact that I recognise very few bands on the lineup (and I’m not one attend a festival if I’m not into the music).
Also emerging around this time was Sunset Sounds in Brisbane, another two-day festival. While, like Splendour, this one could also easily be condensed into a single day, it’s held at the Riverstage in the middle of the city —making it easy to come and go with little hassle. I attended my first Sunset Sounds in 2011 in the pouring rain (literally a few days before the river broke its banks and flooded the city), and was lucky enough to see Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Public Enemy and Sleigh Bells. The festival took a break in 2012, but according to the website will return for 2013.
The 2000s also saw the emergence of Soundwave, a niche festival aimed at fans of metal and hard rock. I attended my first Soundwave in 2010 (enticed by the opportunity to see Faith No More), and I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to the experience all that much (with the idea of returning to a 50 000-strong festival a little hard to stomach). Soundwave proved to be an overwhelmingly positive experience — enough so that I returned the next year. It became clear that you’d have to be a real fan of the music to spend $160 on a ticket to see this number of ‘heavy’ acts; consequently, most of the punters were respectful, the crowd seemed a little older and wiser, and I even spotted some families enjoying the day together. While I’m not attending the 2012 festival (it’s a little too much of a c.1998–99 nostalgia-fest for me), if I’m into the music on a future lineup I’ll be in attendance.
In 2011, I saw a Facebook post that gave me real hope for the future of festivals. A new event called Harvest was coming, and the organisers had somehow managed to convince Portishead (and a heap of other amazing bands) to play. The tagline was ‘A civilised gathering’ — which sounded like it was aimed squarely at me. There was also this:
Take the line-up of your typical European multi day event, cut out the filler and the acts that everyone has seen once too many times and pack all the greatness into one incredible day for discerning music lovers.
Given that this would likely be my one and only chance to see Portishead live, and that I was promised a ‘civilised gathering’, Harvest excited me. A lot. I’m pleased to say that I wasn’t disappointed. While I understand that the Melbourne event had some teething problems involving drinks tickets (which doesn’t concern me greatly as I prefer sobriety when watching bands so that I can take it all in with clarity), the Brisbane festival delivered everything it had promised. The lineup was full of quality acts (TV on the Radio, the Flaming Lips, the National, Death in Vegas); there was plenty of space between the stages; the portaloos were kept clean; if someone ran into you, they would stop and profusely apologise; and, most importantly, everyone was there for the music. I had the most amazing festival experience of my life right at the front for Portishead (and, yes, this fangirl got to have a brief encounter with the lovely Beth when she left the stage to greet the crowd), and the whole day was stress free. I left the festival that day with the same feeling I had leaving my first Big Day Out in 1999 — one of pure elation, having experienced something special with thousands of people who all understood.
Some people have suggested that my disdain towards the Big Day Out and other festivals could stem from just ‘getting old’. There are a number if reasons why I think that this is untrue. Firstly, I attended my last Big Day Out in my mid 20s — hardly ‘old’ by festival standards, especially since I’d been getting increasingly pissed off with the experience in the years leading up to 2008. Secondly, I have a number of friends who are a decade or more older and stopped attending festivals around the same time. It’s not an age thing; rather, it’s a fed-up-with-idiots-who-couldn’t-give-a-stuff-about-the-music thing.
It’s clear that changes are afoot for the Big Day Out. 2012 marks the first year without co-founder Vivian Lees. The people of Auckland, Adelaide and Perth got a raw deal with much smaller lineups, and Auckland will be completely dropped from the tour after this year. It seems like the perfect opportunity to rethink the approach and start again. Perhaps another hiatus, like the one of 1998, is called for. As it stands, I’d prefer to pay for a plane ticket to see a sideshow in Sydney or Melbourne than venture to the Gold Coast for the day (because, of course, Brisbane sideshows are never prioritised).
For me, the future of music festivals in Australia lies in the Harvests and the Soundwaves — niche festivals aimed at specific markets of music fans. You know, the type of person who would have to actually be a fan of the bands to even consider shelling out $150–200 for a ticket. Whether my dream for the future of Australian festivals will be realised remains to be seen, but I’d prefer to hold onto this hope rather than simply despair for what used to be.
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