Doof doof!

These are a few of my favourite things.
If you’ve ever been moved by music so much it hurts, physiologically, I feel your pain. Keeps happening to me now as I fight to keep the narrow list of songs I’ve chosen to slot into the kids’ musical Melted.

It’s good pain, isn’t it? Well, it’s good if you’re feeling it internally and not simply exposed to it audibly, viciously and vicariously because your colleague (let’s call him Jase) in year five next door is playing Bob Marley’s “No woman, no cry” on loop at 7am when you arrive early to concentrate on marking.

Looks like I’m not marking, again.

Bah. Who needs to mark? OR proof read reports for that matter? And it’s near impossible when music plants itself like a wildflower in your soul, not to mention your belly, left hip and every one of your finger tapping phalanges.

What would be on your perfect Life Playlist?

I’ve often said that I wish my time on earth came with its own soundtrack. Problematically, it would be a debacle of eclectic chaos. Waltz and six-eight timing would be in fierce competition with doof doof four by four, not to mention that seven-six to warp the universe nicely. But at any point, any piece of music can become my life and it plugs the gaps in my soul where life keeps dropping out on me. Indeed, music is perhaps the ever present wireless in a dial up world.

So, writing a script for primary school kids where the action is punctuated by the perfect song at each turn is hard yakka. Not because there are no songs out there that help tell the story of two kids in the playground, a crazy nomad and a forty thousand year old Indigenous woman, but because, suddenly, EVERY song does it!

Suddenly, my main character Hurley is wailing in grief to everyone from Cold Play and James Blunt to TISM and Madness. Then I’m picturing my female protagonist Alexa pulling out powerhouse moments I envisage punctuated by Taylor Swift, Leonard Cohen, Andrea Bocelli and They Might be Giants (I know, “The sun is a mass of incandescent gas” is a pretty emotional power ballad if you’re…melting).

So, this weekend, with my suberb JBL in the background thumping and pumping (literally – I love how it does that), I’m off to dance in my kitchen and listen to everything on my phone until I fall asleep on the tiles. That is, until we get to ‘La Cucaracha’. I draw the line at a song about cockroaches. Seriously.

What cockroach has ever entertained anyone?

Wink. Nudge. Pump up the volume on your doof doof!


Off you go now and crank up your own crazy list.

Yours musically,

Elise signature




When (If) I grow up

IMG_9672When I grow up, I would like to write scripts. Last year I began with a script for a ballet school’s production called, “Something about a girl who goes into a dream and she wakes up and discovers her true self”. Aka The Music Box by JaBaT Dance. It was utterly liberating, thanks to principal teacher Janine Felt.

You see, as a person attached to a pen for most of my life, I am still finding my love of words in myriad genres, yet still not through one in particular. Through this script, however, I discovered that I rather like the format of a script: Its simplicity in structure contains onomatopoeic, wild abandonment. Its formal sensibility is protective. The potential for chaos within abounds. All built around steadfast, sturdy symbolism, fugue-like, figurative and fanciful all at once. Or at best. brevity and the hint of transcendence. Making hard look easy. Like a Torvill and Dean Bolero. And I continue to dream.

So, having put it off for weeks, due to more than a smidge of confounding anxiety, I meshed together a simple musical today…this afternoon. It’s not rocket science, but it filled the nooks and abandoned crannies of my creative self. And now I believe I have the seed of a starting point of not-quite-exactly or anywhere near my hero Tim Minchin. but a…thing.


So let’s see what happens when I take it to a school.

My school.

And see.

Mug courtesy Roald Dahl…


Elise signature