Coostin’ 2016: January


Here at The Coost, we’re trying to live in the now, because now is pretty freaking exciting. At the conclusion of each month, your coosts will fill you in on the stories that mattered to them. Some will be big, some will be small. Some will be global, some more local. Some will matter, some won’t. But they’re all us. They’re all coostin’. This is 2016…

Dead Celebrities

2016 kicked off with a bit of a rough start for those of us inspired by the calm coolness of classic rock and Hollywood evil.

Already mourning the death of Motörhead’s Lemmy in late December, we saw the passings of all-around artist David Bowie, actor Alan Rickman, and Glen Frey of seminal rock band The Eagles. We watched as death ate away at those that we subconsciously considered immortal.

With the myriad of Facebook comments, tweets and conversations being exchanged between casual acquaintances about celebrities that they’ve never met, it’s hard for me not to initially feel that we are a shallow and consumerist society wrapped up in our own bullshit. Every day entire nations are being ravaged by war, famine and disease, and yet somehow Western society is drawn to glorifying the deaths of rich and talented artists by buying albums, revisiting movies/music videos and trying to be as loud as possible via social media on what the world has lost.

Why do these celebrities that we treat like modern-day gods mean more than the mortals with whom we probably have more in common? Perhaps because we are saturated with information regarding these icons so often. A Harry Potter movie was released every year or two between 2001-2012, so Alan Rickman has been a relevant player as Professor Snape in many of a younger generations’ brain for over a decade. This amount of saturation overwhelms the amount of information being given to us on a regular basis about, say, the Syrian crisis this last year. Yet it can’t be ignored that these superstars touched us all in different ways through their works, inspiring a large portion of the population creatively or personally.

So what does this mean for us as a culture? Are we selfish and/or self-involved, or are we all on a new plane of self-awareness and self-exploration?

Anyone between the ages of 20-40 grew up over two decades where carefully placed ads alongside Sesame Street were hell-bent on teaching us that we are all unique flowers with indefinite possibilities. It was only until the evolution of social media that we took it upon ourselves to flaunt our individuality and invite people onto our private islands. The irony of course being that we are all similarly inspired and connected through these people we are now mourning. What’s interesting is that we are finally coming to understand, however subconsciously, that there is nothing wrong with this. More than anything, we want to connect through what we perceive to be our individuality.

I don’t have any delusions. I love David Bowie, but I am certainly not the only one to have connected with him. David Bowie didn’t just change the game by reinventing himself and his music several times over the course of four decades. He was an inspiration to countless people all over the world. His works and influences inspired and connected people on a global scale.

Even if I never met Bowie, Rickman or Frey, I feel a genuine loss and sadness. 

Annie Lennox said it best in her tribute to Bowie: “At the loss of someone who has impacted your life, you can hardly begin to measure the shape of what’s left behind.” We aren’t as self-absorbed as I initially felt. We are all just feeling connected through loss.


The Big Bash Behemoth

In early December, once were warriors the West Indies began a trivial three-Test series in Australia. Cricket-starved Tasmanian fans seemed about as interested as Marlon Samuels, as a paltry 15,343 people bothered to turn up across three days. The Calypso Kings sparked a little more interest in Melbourne as 127,069 made the effort, although Melbournians would turn up in droves just to watch Australia train… which is pretty much what they did. The Sydney Test ended up being a fairly successful one for the Windies and for cricket fans; the heavens opened and saved us all the boredom of another thumping Australian victory.

On a Saturday night in early January though, an unbelievable 80,883 people rocked up to the MCG for a mere three hours of cricket. They were treated to a cracker of a match, as English import Luke Wright guided the Melbourne Stars home with a magnificent century against cross-town rivals the Melbourne Renegades.

January's Australian cricket crowds mean that T20 is the world's dominant form of the game. Image courtesy
January’s Australian cricket crowds mean that T20 is probably the world’s dominant form of the game. Image courtesy

What does this mean? T20 cricket is here to stay. In fact, it is now just about the dominant form of the game. Is this a good thing? I say yes, even if I have some misgivings about the format as opposed to the gentlemanly Test version. Australia, India and England have moved too far ahead of the chasing pack in terms of salaries and facilities, but T20 gives players from across the planet a chance to compete on equal footing. Despite being virtually irrelevant to America and China, cricket is the second-most played sport in the world. For the future health of the game, T20 revenue needs to be directed into growing the sport in far flung corners of the globe. Will this happen? Fat bloody chance.


 “Can You Accept The Universe As Expanding?”

Ugh, here we go! The Doctor Who universe is about to change again. After series 10 it won’t only be Peter Capaldi regenerating but also current showrunner Steven Moffat.

Capaldi is the Doctor that was made for me, I have no idea how I will deal with him leaving…
Capaldi is the Doctor that was made for me, I have no idea how I will deal with him leaving…

Although it may be a joyous occasion for those that hated Moffat’s tenure, they should stop and look at Chris Chibnall, regular Doctor Who writer and the man taking the reins. Chibnall’s contributions have been either sleep inducing or completely forgettable. Ask any Whovian to recount what happened in “The Power of Three” and you’ll see exactly what I mean (I’ll jog your memory – it’s the episode with the little box things and Ron Weasley’s dad). If you still can’t remember what I’m talking about, here’s the trailer:

Chibnall also created and wrote UK detective series Broadchurch, a series that went off the rails during season two when Chibnall tried to make it The Wire. He failed. I stopped watching after Denmark got involved…

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Chibnall is a horrible writer by any means. He presents very good concepts to play with… for a better writer. Take “42″: The Doctor has 42 minutes to save a ship from crashing while at the same time destroying a crew possessing aliens that (DUN DUN DUN) crawl into his head! This synopsis is exactly the kind of premise that has so much potential, but falls flat in Chibnall’s hands, giving no sense of danger or tension despite the situation. Maybe he will be a fine showrunner – as long as he doesn’t write too many of the episodes himself.


Primavera Means Springtime

Pasta primavera is the reason Russell Dalrymple vomits profusely in the Seinfeld episode “The Shoes.” Upon revisiting that episode to search for a link between pasta primavera, Seinfeld and Barcelona’s Primavera Sound Festival that is better than puke – and rest assured, friends, that a link was found and is about to be presented – I came across a look I recognised.

This look:


The look. One of longing; of unquenchable lust.

For George it’s Denise Richards’ cleavage (yeah, seriously check it out, it’s her) that causes the look. January 21st was the last time I had the look (well, that’s not true, it probably happens six to 40 times a day depending on how cold it is outside but for the purposes of this piece just go with it) and it wasn’t due to the fairer sex. It was when I got a glimpse at the Primavera Sound Festival 2016 line-up:

Jeeeeeeessssuuus! Image courtesy

Radiohead. LCD Soundsystem. Sigur Rós. Tame Impala. Air. A Beach Boy. Neon Indian. Battles. Daughter. Savages. Floating Points. Kiasmos. DJ Koze. A plethora of other acts that I haven’t mentioned. And the fact that I haven’t mentioned them is annoying you, isn’t it. I’M SORRY! I’VE NEVER LISTENED TO A BEACH HOUSE ALBUM IN MY LIFE! IT’S MY PROBLEM AND I’LL DEAL WITH IT!

The inaugural Primavera in 2001, with Armand Van Helden headlining 17 acts, saw an attendance of 7,700 revellers on one springtime Catalonian Saturday. 15 years later, 200,000 people will have a choice of nearly 300 acts from the first to the fifth of June.

All this for a 125€. Or around 136 US dollars. Or around 200 Australian dollars. Or 190 Canadian dollars. Or 270 Belizean dollars. Or it would have been, if full festival tickets weren’t already sold out. You can still get day tickets though, at 80€ a pop.

But what really gets the mouth drooling is the prospect of this being a preview of what is to come, festival wise, globally in 2016. Radiohead are already confirmed to be headlining Chicago’s Lollapalooza and Montreal’s Osheaga (where I live, yo). If those upstanding Englishman can bring some Primavera friends to North America for the big-dog summer festival circuit, there will be only one response:







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