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Polaroids Of Androids


No More Now

An image that has almost nothing to do with the words contained underneath.

Keen observers, Commander Keen roleplay enthusiasts and the miniscule demographic that falls outside of those two categories would have all noticed that the normal steady stream of Straight Arrows dick pics, TV Colours fan-fiction and 90's computer game cheat codes that used to populate this particular HyperText Transfer Protocol has fallen well-short of it's lofty content targets over the past little bit.

There's several reasons for this.

Firstly, the obvious. "Rav" was recently stabbed brutally by an unnamable music executive because of his continual insistence of publishing negative reviews. Many of you would be unaware, but his contribution to this site is as vital as his now severely damaged organs. Ninety-percent of the time when the author is accredited as "Jonny" that's just an editorial typo and the post was written by "Rav", most likely hunching over a laptop, wearing his favourite t-shirt, which coincidentally enough has a sexually explicit/suggestive picture of Jonny on it. The post-rehabilitation hospice where "Rav" currently resides has terribly insufficient wi-fi because Malcolm Turnbull isn't willing to accept the powers of the node.js framework.

Secondly — life. Turns out it's not as just a boring eighty-year dream where we wake up when we die only to discover that it was all a dream, but we can't tell anyone about it because we're now also dead. That enlightening four-day workshop in the desert that we all attended was a complete crock of shit.

Obviously, life is merely a sequence of events. One such recent event involved an employment/career change, that some of you — those that don't have a strict "delete all press releases" rule set-up for their email (like me) — might already know about, where I (Jonny, and this actually really is Jonny) was inducted as the Online Editor for Rolling Stone Australia. Surprisingly, this role involves a considerably higher volume of writing about music than my previous job of inventing clever ways to extend PHP classes in such an aggressive manner that they eventually start extending themselves to the point where they can extend other things like, oh I dunno, genitals.

Quitting this quest of achieving the ultimate medical goal of larger penises for all of mankind wasn't an easy decision. But I told myself that this new role wouldn't diminish the "four unique visitors per day" goal that I'd set when founding this website. I should note as well, this was also something insisted by Matt Coyte (Rolling Stone editor-in-chief), who made a point of saying he didn't have any desire for me to stop running PoA because of this new position.

But, alas, much like when you leave your long-term spouse for that cute young thing you've been fucking on the side for a few weeks only to discover they just needed you to "fix their sink" (in that phrases' most depressingly non-euphemism definition) the idea of shamefully returning to my original partner for the occasional dose of felatio just wasn't a particularly desirable scenario. Actually, that metaphor doesn't make much sense. I wasn't employed by Rolling Stone Australia for my plumbing expertise. I was employed to write and collate, an activity not too dissimilar to what I'd been doing in this little space for decades. Unwittingly, I'd achieved the dream that me and my fellow Nintendo Thumb Generation peers have strived for since we crawled out of our mother's vaginas in the early 80s — my hobby had become my jobby.

The result was, obviously, that my hobby no longer felt like a hobby. It felt the same as the jobby. Just ask my colleague Bobby. Further still, as it turns out, time isn't an infinite resource. I don't know if you've ever attempted to transition from a lucrative career in server-side body enhancement into an even more lucrative career placing adjectives in their correct place and refreshing Google Analytics 40,000 times an hour, but it's not easy. As a result, for the past few weeks I've been working 26 hours a day like my name is Andrew P. Street, only taking short breaks between wrapping up my deep code hole commitments and aggressively pursuing my pro-noun lobbying efforts to read a couple of notes on Scripting.com and attend council meetings about proposed development atrocities in my local multiplicity. Thus, the time I'd previously spent leisurely listening to new songs and generally staying abreast on local music developments just didn't exist anymore.

Here's a diagram that more accurately summaries the predicament I found myself in:

In addition to all of this, I recently started a record label with old mate/globe-trotter "Whaley" called Strong Look. At the moment I don't feel like I'm spending enough time focusing on that and, well, I'd like to spend less time posting new-ish music because I'm stressing over the fact people *might* expect the homepage of this site to change occasionally and more time releasing new music that's considerably better than anything being posting here.

Shameless plug: here's the very first thing we've done, the debut single from new super-group Weak Boys, Hangovers. (Buy it here).

So what does this all mean? Why the fuck are you going to council meetings? Who the fuck is Andrew P. Street? Where can I pre-order Weak Boys' future-ARIA-nominated debut album? All legitimate questions, some of which deserve responses.

As you can probably tell from the over-inflated word count of this piece — I bloody love writing words. Some people like to call this "long form". It's really just regular form though. Twitter is the short form and I'll be damned if I'm going to use that platform as a benchmark definition of what's considered an acceptance length of writing.

So here's the plan — more words, less often. Print that mantra out and smoke it. Feels good, doesn't it? That's because it's an all-natural/unfiltered/fantastic plan, void of all that grubby "look who's going on tour" and "have you heard about this band" junk. I have little/no interest in the "now", at least from the perspective of discussing it. So expect longer stuff and/or significant stuff, all probably just things less affected by the passing of time. "Timeless" makes it sound kinda special, and let's not lift ourselves up to that bar just yet. We're also going to aim to do more regular podcast episodes, which is something you might have noticed we've been focusing on lately. There'll still be the occasional how-many-out-of-ten values assigned to a piece of recorded material, but these won't be a complete coverage of all albums as they come out (were we ever even close to being this?) and they also might include reviews of records released years/decades ago because music never really dies, it just archived in the deep cache of Google's dust-covered storage centres where it's eventually re-formatted for the latest micro-payment software platform.

I'll still also be helping out as part of the (notorious) Circle Jerk Squad, putting on semi-regular shows around town. Shameless plug: we've actually got a show coming up soon-ish, featuring The Ocean Party, Disgusting People, Polyfox, Sadfaces and Cool Sounds. It'll be a bloody corker. Here's a Facebook Event.

While all of the old links/content will still exist and function as normal, the gig guide is now dead, because fuck going out (unless there's a Circle Jerk event happening or a good council meeting on). Sorry. Maybe I'll meet you halfway and just occasionally post/spam events on our Facebook Page. Free of charge. You're welcome.

Here's to a future of less web hits and more sentences. Cheers mate/s.

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