Unintentional Hipster

I just like wearing women's jeans, not eating animal products and writing shit nobody cares about. It was an accident, I swear

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A Defense of Pop Music-Rhythm

I’m going to warn you all well in advance, this series of blogs is going to be nothing other than purely musical wank. I’m basically going to demonstrate that discrimination against pop music as a result of its (usually) inherent simplicity as a generalisation simply isn’t justified. I’ll be doing a separate blog series on electronic music, but that’s a whole other kettle of hipsters which I’m learning about.

This blog isn’t an attack against those who aren’t well-versed in musical theory and conventions. It’s more of an attempt to educate people against hating on a style of music for what’s going on in it when quite simply don’t know what’s going on. Like I said, it’s gonna be a big blog’o’wank! It’s also gonna be quite a good deal of music theory, but I’ll ‘splain all of it!

First topic: Rhythm! Pop music is often criticized for being too rhythmically simple and as straight-ahead rhythmically to play as punk music. We’re not touching on stuff like Will.i.am. and Rihanna in this section, because they live that stereotype quite comfortably. Instead, we’ll look at John Mayer and Justin Timberlake in this blog. 

A quick side-note for everybody: I am not defending Pop music as a whole. Some pop music is just BAD! Some simply lacks originality, quality production or imagination. It over uses auto-tune to a point where you can no longer tell the difference between one singer or another. I will be seeking to demonstrate that there is pop music that falls outside of these stereotypes and that hating on pop music as a whole isn’t appropriate. Hate the gold-diggers in the industry if you want, but some people out there are making pop music that is wonderfully musical, original and innovative. 

This blog is written for those who aren’t educated in any music theory, so there will be explanations of what concepts I’m talking about throughout the blog. Important words will be written in bold.

First track we’ll check out: Waiting on the World to Change-John Mayer.

When you have three dudes like John Mayer, Steve Jordan and Pino Palladino playing together, you can expect nothing but some pretty intense stuff to be going on. Grab some good quality headphones or plug into some good speakers and really have a good listen to what’s on in this track. 

I’m going to talk about these three as musicians another time but for now-what’s going on that makes this track rhythmically cool?

The most obvious thing is that there is a late backbeat in every second bar. In traditional rock’n’roll/pop music, the backbeat sits solidly on beats 2&4 (usually marked by a snare hit). Although this is not in itself an example of musical wizardry, I can’t think of another modern pop tune that has a displaced backbeat in the same way, let alone one that has achieved such success. A downbeat is usually the strong beat and is traditionally marked by a bass-drum/bass guitar hit in rock/pop music. These generally occur around the 1&3 beat of each bar.

The next thing is the groove and the way that the subdivisions are broken up. A subdivision is that a bar is broken up rhythmically. For example, if you tap your foot along to a piece in 4/4 on the beat, each tap is called a quarter note (or a crotchet). This is because there are four notes subdivided into the bar. Half of that is an eight (or a quaver) and half that again is a sixteenth (semi-quaver). The two most simple approaches to subdivisions in terms of constructing a groove are called straight or swung 8ths. Straight 8ths are completely even, they are exactly half a beat, whereas if it’s swung, the beat is split into three equal(ish) parts and only the first and third note are played, giving a shuffle feel. Here’s a shuffle played by the glorious Steve Gadd:
As you can hear, it’s got a triplet feel, you can hear it’s not evenly placed into two exact subdivisions. You’ll hear this stuff going on all the time in Jazz and Blues, but more modernly, it’s very prominent in the Dubstep scene.
And why am I talking about this?

If you listen close to the 16ths (remember a quarter note is a beat, so a fourth of a beat) being played, they’re leaning more towards being swung, although not that heavily-they’re kind of in the middle (although leaning more towards being swung).

Again, even though this isn’t that musically wild and wonderful if you’re familiar with jazz, it is something that a computer will never really be able to simulate. It’s also a very small subdivision to time perfectly, especially when it’s not precise. If there were a numerical value given to what these subdivisions are, they would be called 24th notes. At 60 beats per minute, that would be six notes per second. 100bpm, closer to where this song sits, is ten notes per second. So you would be subdividing each second to one decimal place; and this piece isn’t computer-precise swung. 

The point? When cats like John Mayer are writing and performing Pop music, it isn’t overly-simple anymore. They may not be immediately noticed but every little bit counts in the difference between a song that will be listened to in twenty years time and one that won’t be heard again after it leaves the charts.

The piece feels organic and instrument driven because it is. It’s subject to certain human imperfections. It’s not something a 13 year old could put together on their computer, that’s for sure.

Next piece: Suit & Tie-Justin Timberlake
I really wanted to go through some of his older stuff but I wanted to use something more modern than the last track as an example.

So this piece starts out EXTREMELY slow. When it switches from the intro to the verse (and when it again repeats this at the B section where Jay-Z tears it up) it’s not a tempo change (tempo being the speed of the music)-the tempo never changes. Instead, it’s use of something called half-time. Remember how earlier I was talking about the backbeat being on two and four? In half-time, the backbeat appears on the three instead. Half-time’s meaning is very literal, each subdivision’s (i.e. 8ths) value is treated as half, so the backbeat will appear on the 3, instead of the 2.

This piece switches between half-time and regular time three times (intro-verse, chorus2-rap, chorus-outro), most pop songs will not switch between the two even once! This is an incredibly difficult thing to do in a piece and actually make it work. Although it does stand out very strongly in this piece, the shift between a brisk lounge-jazz feel to a drop-build that never ends (electronic music) is so powerful and leaves the second half of the piece begging to rhythmically resolve (or “drop” if you prefer). It constantly teases at this idea frequently when the drums drop out, leaving an ambiguous feel(i.e. 2:00 not so much, but prevalently at 3:53, where it could comfortably transition back into regular time). Again, this is HARD to do and much harder to do well. The piece is not lacking in rhythmic complexities. 

It is also possible that the B section/intro are actually in quarter-time and the A section is instead a quick half-time, although I doubt that was the intention so I assume it isn’t.

So there you go! Two hugely popular pieces of Pop music-one seven years old and the other not even seven months old-breaking traditional “conventions” (I use that word VERY lightly with Pop) of overly simplistic use of rhythm.

Next blog, I’ll talk about orchestration/instrumentation, that being what the instruments are doing. I’ll be using The Script, Maroon 5 and Daft Punk.

Peace and love, and good happenings and stuff!

❤ Fredkin


A Thought On International Women’s Day

Considering how pro equal rights I am, I get very, very upset when I see people in articles, books and social media referring to men, not only in a sense of a collective but in often very hateful ways. I’m not sure what the word for it is-I know it can’t just be extreme feminism but I just don’t know the word for it. And it hurts.

But then a few days ago I had a terribly sad realisation. Now, I’m not particularly into following the news because, more often than not, it makes me terribly sad. Maybe I’m ignorant, maybe I’m overly sensitive, it doesn’t really matter. But over the last week I’ve been trying to keep slightly more up to date on events (for uni) and the last week has been a very bad week for the sexual abuse of women in Sydney. A VERY bad week.

And after reading these articles, I’ve sat down and thought about it. And I’m ashamed. I find it hard to not feel disgust and anger at what is far too huge a proportion of my gender, even despite how well I try to live my life by equal treatment of all different sorts of people. I feel somehow responsible and I cannot for the life of me explain why. I’ve never hit a girl (or even really a boy for that matter) and I understand that no means no. But I can’t explain it, I feel like I haven’t done enough.

And even more so than anything else, I feel like men haven’t done enough.

And I know I’m very far away from being the only person who thinks this.

But I just don’t hear enough men speaking up about it. And I’m guilty of this too (In fairness, for the most part this is due to an astounding lack of education on the issue, which I’m trying to alleviate [any recommendations on things to read would be appreciated!]).

So, on this day we have set aside to celebrate the wonderful achievements of women and mourn the atrocities that are still happening all over the world, even in our first-world Western society, I’m going to try and change. I don’t want to be one of those men that stands on the side and says, “oh, that’s awful. I’m so lucky not to be a woman”. No! It shouldn’t be like that!

I feel like a good Catholic father who loves his wife, kids and gay neighbour every time a priest gets pulled out for child abuse.

I don’t wanna feel like that. This has to be as much of a men’s issue as it is a women’s issue. Fellow men, speak up for equality! Especially amongst just mates at the pub with all the wrong kinds of disrespect. There is always a point before somebody commits abuse-maybe through disapproval of bad habits we can prevent a potential abuser from being created. I don’t know.

I know I know very little on the matter, but I was really shocked at the lack of these feminist articles being written by men and every article calls for men to do something. So…here I am. Trying, maybe poorly, to help make a lil’ bit of difference!

Peace and love everyone, hope your weekends are smashing!


A Diary Entry-Lauterbrunne, Switzerland.

So it’s been a fairly long time since I’ve actually sat down and written anything on here, cause for quite a substantial period of time I simply haven’t had access to a computer where I could sit down and write stuff about stuff. I wholly intend upon finishing off all my, ‘What I learnt in…’ blogs, as I’ve been keeping a fairly detailed journal but for now it’s been a bit too hectic for such a thing.

Instead, I’m going to share one of my diary entries that I made whilst sitting on a rock over a freshwater river, in a tiny town in the Swiss Alps called Lauterbrunnen-I liked this entry and I felt that it was worth sharing this, or just that I wanted to share it (even if it wasn’t worth sharing. Unedited except for grammatical errors.

Like I said, this was initially written only for me to read. So it’s not clean and classy or whatever. But maybe you’ll enjoy a little bit of insight into my mindset 🙂

Aight: Go!


05/09/2012 – Lauterbrunnen

It’s so strange to be sitting somewhere, looking at something that you’ve only ever seen photographs of. It’s even stranger to try and appreciate the fact that most of thse pictures aren’t just pictures, they’re real things. Does that make sense? In my head it does…

I’m looking at these awesome, snow-capped mountains with their peaks pushing through the bottoms of the clouds with ease and trying to process that they are actually real. This is reality, not a photograph.

Toorrow, for the first time in my life, I will touch snow.

Tomorrow, for the first time in my life, I may just get to touch a cloud.
That’s like touching the sky man…or as close as I may ever come.

One can find it terribly difficult not to be wholly overcome by the sheer beauty of it all.  So why need one even bother trying?

The concept of, “I can’t do this, it’s too hard/too big of a job/too unknown,” seems to become far beyond untrue underneath the grandess of these mountains.
For some reason, I seem to have lost what little poetic touch that I have…Oh well. Man, I’m sitting on a rock, which for all intents and purposes, seems to be simply hovering over a roaring, fresh, springwater river (straight from the peak of the mountains! Should I…Should I drink it?).
In this instance, I feel like eloquence in a journal matters sweet, sweet fuck all.

I think I’m starting to get better now. Not in a just, “I’m not sad all the time anymore,” sort of way, but actually better. Better than I was before the sadness even started.

I’m still terribly confused and befuddled by so, so many things…but I feel okay.
Okay is good…right? Yeah.

It’s been, in truth, a really, really, really fucking long time since I thought so many things were possible for me.
A stable career.
A healthy lifestyle.
Best friends who you genuinely mean “BFFL!” with.
And last, but not least, a lover.

Everything most people could associate with a ‘normal’ life.
And though this mightn’t seem a big deal to most people I know, ever since I was fourteen years old, the concept of having anything that even mildly resembled a normal life seemed alien to me.

I was just too…different, I suppose.
Too everything that isn’t ‘normal.’

Sitting here, what I’ve just realized is that I’m far more different than I ever actually thought I was before.
But that’s cool, baby. I can dig it, y’know?

Cause there’s a lot to dig about being different. Why do you think the word is used to strongly around jazz and more forward-pushing styles of hip-hop and the like?

You dig it because it’s ‘fresh,’ it’s ‘cool.’ But these qualities are only ‘dug’ cause the things that make it fresh and cool reside in difference of it all. Difference is groovy, man.

I spend too much time focused on limitations and what things aren’t. Of course, an apple can’t be an orange and you’re only going to be disappointed if you expect it to be.
Do not, do not, DO NOT even get me started on the staring contests I’ve had with a block of tofu, just begging it to somehow become a sirloin…
…Where’s Dobby when you need him?

A limitation isn’t a bad thing, you know?
Especially the ones that don’t exist. Those are just perfect for what I’m talking about here.

I can only run this fast.
              Right now.
I can only write this well.
              Right now.
I can only love this much.
              Right now.

So much time…so much stuff to do.

But don’t ever forget Toby, my dear sweet boy, that scheduling a little bit of nothing can be a terribly good thing. It’s an important thing to do!

Toby Fredkin

What I Learned in Lagos: Part 1

Oh my lordy lordy lord.

Oh how I wish I could describe to you all how many different parts of my body are just aching with…let’s for the moment call it love? Not like…pretty woman love, love fo’ Lagos! Ohh it’s pretty there! Oh the girls are pretty! Oh the drinks are cheap!

Ohh my head…

I learned a lot of very, very strange things in Lagos. I call these strange because given the circumstances of where I was combined with what some distilled potatoes did to me shouldn’t really have resulted in me learning much…at all. But I’ve picked up some really valuable stuff in Lagos and I’m trying to put it into words. I’m still pretty yucky from last night, but I want to start whilst it’s fresh!

The first part of what I learned in Lagos is how crazy similar the concepts of confrontation and rejection actually are. Sometimes you are enacting stringent amounts of rejection by embracing confrontation and when you embrace confrontation, you’re rejecting something else.

Okay, I’ll rewind a little bit. I know I repeat myself a little bit but the reason that I’m travelling is to help me overcome some big and little problems, some involving questions of the self and some involving questions of others.

I spent almost my entire time in Lagos confronting one of my huge problems by adamently rejecting it (“The Octopus in the Corner”). I went out, I partied, I danced like a twit, I giggled at nothing, I slept on the beach. I did absolutely nothing and then I went out and went absolutely crazy.

I’m still not really sure if it worked or not. But it addressed a really interesting idea about the psychology or philosophy (probably neither, I just want to sound educated and stuff…) of how we behave in our lives. Everything that really reflects any major importance in our life is either a confrontation or a rejection. But in every confrontation, there is a rejection. I don’t think I’m making sense…

I thought about this because I was thinking over how I need to learn to say, “no.” I desperately need to learn it but I’m not sure that that’s going to be happening anytime soon! But I say yes to these others things to avoid having to confront the initial problem. It’s almost like procrastinating with feelings.

This is just a short blog, just a quick rambling of thoughts. There was a lot more stuff I learned in Lagos-I’m not sure if I’ll write it sooner rather than later but it will be out and about in the not too distant future.

Admittedly, I’ve never been to Ibiza or Prague or Tel Aviv or any other crazy party cities but when you go to Lagos, be prepared. It sneaks up on you and it does not want to let you go.

Toby Fredkin

Gotta have faith

i really find bravery to be a very particular and very strange thing. I really don’t understand what is actually is. I hear the word all the time and I use it all the time but I’m still a bit unsure.


There’s all those cheesy things about how bravery isn’t courage or strong-will or the absence of fear but the willingness to stand up in the face of your fear and fight up against it. But if somebody isn’t afraid of anything, does that make them brave? I’d have thought that would make them stupid but I guess maybe that’s just me. Maybe that’s why the word ‘brave’ isn’t often one that precedes a description of me.


Every day, with all the little writings and doodles I make, either on here or in my little Nanushka journals, I feel like I’m getting to understand myself just that little bit better enough to better grasp what bravery is. And I don’t think that bravery is courage or strong-will or an absence of fear.


I think that it’s faith. Faith that what you’re doing is the right thing. Faith that what you’re doing isn’t stupid and everything is going to come out okay on the other side. Or just faith in knowing that even though everything won’t come out okay on the other side, you still just have to bear with yourself and have faith.


Especially when you know what you’re doing is exceptionally stupid but you have faith that it has to get done.


It’s not really a belief in yourself so much as it is faith in the lack of stupidity of what you’re doing. Anybody can stand up and volunteer to go bungee jumping, talk to somebody cute in a club or even moon the police. I could do that, no worries. 

But only the brave will throw their entire lives into the poor metaphor of a black hole that is the uncertain, certain only of that and have faith that what they’re doing is the right thing to be doing, even if it gets the wrong results.


Today, I’m going to do something that is either the bravest thing I’ve ever done, or the stupidest. I think it’s both.


Wish me luck.


Hola everybody! How´s we all doing?


So I´m in Spain, Madrid at the moment, chilling with Muffy, Miffy, Ricki and Nicole and it´s just a swell old time. I´m not going to write too much about the city now, or about how stupid it is that I just became legally allowed to drink in the United States of America (also, this keyboard as a right bloody hassle to figure out how to actually use it properly) so I´m just going to write about the evening I had last night on my birthday (but again, not the actualy birthday).

Last night, as a complete and wonderful surprise, my friends took me to go see an authentic Flamenco show in the heart of Madrid, at a little, apparently very famous (I feel awful in myself now for not even remembering the name-but I´ll explain that in a tick) Flamenco bar. Now, I´ve been to see some very moving and personally important concerts in my time. To say yesterday that Flamenco was close to my heart would be a lie-I mean, I liked the recordings I´d heard on record and youtube, but I really knew very little about it all except how to file your nails for it. Never, until last night, had I experienced love at first sight.

So we started the evening by leaving the hostel at around 11 and went walking through the centre of the city for fifteen minutes till we got to a little out of the way bar. We went in, I closed my eyes whilst the girls (so wonderfully and thankingyou’ly!) paid for it all so I wouldn´t know how much it was and we grabbed a seat. After my first glass of Sangria in Madrid (good God, no wonder people in this part of the world drink so much!), three very serious looking guitarists with deadly nails walked up onto stage, grabbed three chairs and sat themselves in a line. They then started the most technically proficient tune up I have ever heard in my life and then without warning, suddenly all kicked into it. It was, for lack of any better term, chaos. There was just the most beautiful music emananting out of these three men-not plugged into anything but just sitting there with their guitars playing away and for all I knew, they were all just playing their own little things, till every so often without warning, there´d be the quickest snap you´d ever heard and perfectly timed 32nd notes in unison then back into chaos. Sitting there watching that, it was almost like imagining the hypothetical of God creating the world. All of a sudden, wild chaos, everything is happening and everything is crazy, then perfect and beautiful order before he/she would tear off into another chaotic bit of creation, seemingly unrelated but perfectly fitting with its predecessor until it would snap into perfection and continue on and on.

These were then followed by a group three very Spanish looking men and three of the most beautiful women I´ve seen in my life. Wait, let me rephrase-one woman was gorgeous and the other two seemed nothing special from the outset-nothing to drive me into a stupor certainly.

Then, the clapping began. The dancers faces lit up and you could see them driving into the groove.
Then, the guitars set the backdrop. Sitting so strongly against yet perfectly with the stomp claps of the dancers and singers.
Then the singers, singing the most desperate yet beautiful songs you´ll ever began (still, nobody has been amplified) and the dancers smiled.
And the dancers danced.
Holy mother of…I don´t even have swear words to use.

This show really let me understand how beautiful sexuality truly is. Not how I´ve always seemed to perceive it before, as something almost wrong and dirty, that is to be enjoyed only in ostensibly appropriate company or in private. I saw and heard passion. I can´t describe it…I spent the entire night in a total and utter state of wild infatuation. I was entranced, I felt things deep in me in places that I never even knew I could feel things, let alone that I could feel those things. Extraordinary is the most incorrect word I could possibly use, because it was so far beyond the ordinary.

The way they moved. The way they expressed these things that nobody can without using a single word (at the very least, a word I understood), it was…ahhhh. It was sexy! I ain´t got nothing else I can say about it. It was just so sexy.

My God, whoever you are, how on Earth have you not spread this culture everywhere?! I can´t understand it. It was just the most wonderful thing ever.

I sat down to write this thinking that I would have something far more incredulous and dramatic to write, something more…fitting on something so beautiful. But again, I simply don´t feel I possess the talent to do any such thing. I really wish that I did, but I just don´t.

I´m totally head over heels in love…

Wait, I’m turning WHAT next week?!

So, it looks like I’m getting old.
Yeah sure, not old by old people standards(totally PC) but old by my standards. And old by my whole hermited-in-a-city-I-have-become-very-socially-awkward-in-without-many-people-I-know mindset of “House, I just met you and this is crazy, but here’s my life, so lock me in maybe?” Yeah, worst reference to that ever made. At least I made one without a dick or drugs or stabbing. Yeah, watchu got punk?! Nothin’, s’what I thought.

I turn twenty-one in eight days. Not that big a deal. Seriously, I’m not that old. I have no wrinkles, no age related illness or physical problems, got the quarter life crisis going on nicely but that’s really it. The problem I’m having is like…oh shit, I’m turning twenty-one in eight days and I haven’t done ANYTHING with my life. “Anything” in this context being defined as furthering myself in terms of education, creativity or  career. I moved to London…but in my mindset that’s fairly short lived. Fuck the job-I wanna go to Spain and get some sunshine while shit’s still going. The job won’t further my career either, just give me something to do and people to meet whilst I’m in London. Meh. Fuck that, I hate everything! 😀 (haven’t you seen the cat?! It’s cute look him up). Going to Spain, getting drunk and forcing myself into flamenco jams-that’s doing shit yo.

I dunno if I wanna stay here that much longer, not cause this place isn’t lovely or nothing. This is just a bad case of first world problems really…but here’s the new problem I’m having(totally better than the old one-it has actual face value!). I’m twenty-one and I’ve done NOTHING with my career or education (leave culture and creativity for later). I’m not really sure if I want to be turning twenty-three when I go back to uni…I was planning on being back there kinda soon-ish (on a gap yah-making munnee and shiz) but it’s sort of backfired and turned into a gap-three-yah! That’s too much.

Gettin’ old son. Got my first grey hair. Time to start worrying about the future? Maybe. I miss my friends and home enough to say that it matters a great deal. Even if that means just going back to music/arts at UNSW, that’s sweet. I’ll transfer across to something else when I get good marks cause I’ll be mature and do good at shit and shit yeah!

I wish I had something to write about besides missing shit. I don’t know, I guess that’s all that’s really on my mind right now. I wanna write about music and life and the universe and films and birds and nature and stuff but I guess that’ll have to wait until I literally and figuratively harden the fuck up!

Much love y’all!

Toby x

Mental sobriety

So I’m feeling pretty good today. Which is a very pleasant change cause I’ve been such an emo little bitch for the last few weeks, but I’m back at gym, my tonsilitis is pretty much goneskies and the house is empty this weekend for me to…well, walk around really loudly in I suppose..

The point is I’m not really feeling depressed today. And I’m starting to think my deciding to just up and quit my job (which I’ve only had for two weeks) and then move to Brighton on a short moment’s notice was a potentially bad idea. Well, not a bad idea, just not a very well thought through idea. Because really, I didn’t have any notions of any form of immediate move out of London until I got ill and depressed and rah rah “everything here is shit! I should just leave here and that will make everything better!”

That just makes me sound like a seventeen year-old girl who says Sydney is a shit-hole because she had her heart broken a few times and everybody thinks that she’s a slut because she’s a slut. She hates it cause she isn’t helping herself to love the place. It is an outrageously beautiful city, filled with loads of lovely people. She’s having a bad time cause she’s a slut and she’s not okay with. I’m unhappy cause I ain’t making myself happy. And yes, Brighton was an absolutely, positively beautiful, lovely place.

But I mean…come on. I’ve hardly done anything whilst I’ve been in London. Let’s leave it a bit, straighten out a bit. Figure out what in the flying fuck is going on here maybe. I don’t know. I feel like there’s probably some fancy psychological term for it, like evasionist or some other mumbo jumbo. I never really cared for psychology anyways.

I don’t know. Decisions are hard and stupid. 

Being grown up is stupid.

Gotta mature before you can get immature (fo’ realz)

Hola everybody! How’s everybody been doing? I know it’s been a little while since I actually went out of my way and posted a blog, it’s not really any form of an apology cause I know nobody really minds but I got tonsilitis on Thursday and my body has been, in every sense of the word but the literal, shitting itself at this. So I was pretty tripped out and woozy for a little while-I’m still kinda trippy from the medication now but feeling good enough to write so I’m gonna write in the hope it straightens out a bit.

I will apologise in case stuff comes out sounding like absolute muck because well…yeah, kinda squiggly off the medication for it but let’s just deal with that problem when it’s already here?

I think the best part of having moved to London, pretty much all on my own, is almost having time alone forced upon myself. Now, I do have some friends here and they’re lovely but being as suddenly quiet as I’ve become (in person, not stoopid internetz), I spend most of my time alone. I used to spend quite a good deal of time at home alone as well, but I find myself behaving in very different ways here as opposed to home. Most of the time at home was spent listening to music and watching random shows online. Now, I’ve only been actually alone in London for two weeks now and I’ve found myself sitting in silence a lot more, thinking a lot more about what’s going on now and what was going on before, unfortunately uneducated on most matters that cross my mind. That’s really more my bad than anyone else’s, I’m the one who dropped out of a music-arts course after all :p

I was talking to Chris about this a bit last night and I’ve been thinking a lot, not about the finer moral and ethical issues disparaging people at the moment (because let’s face it, there are far, far more intelligent people out there struggling with it and I’m sure my two cents on the matter is a bit worthless[if not simply a restatement]) but just nice, little problems that are more of an annoyance than a huge hindrance. Wow, I’m going to change the music from 30 Seconds to Mars to something else, this writing is all sounding very dark..

Ah..Kings of Leon. Better.

Maturity! There we go, I finally got there. From when I was as young as I can remember, (and I’m sure similarly for most others out there) I’ve always wanted to be big and grown up. Now, I don’t think that ever had anything to do with wanting responsibility or power or money or any of that nonsense. I think I just wanted to be better than other people-I wanted to be the kid that didn’t laugh at the word “penis” during class…I wasn’t that kid but I definitely wanted to be. I don’t think that’s a maturity though-it’s a bloody funny word. Penis…hehe. But you get what I mean, I was always trying to be more adult about things, approach everything as maturely as was possible for me.

I started drinking pretty young. Not to rebel or be cool, that just seemed like an adult thing to do. I started smoking pretty young (although from what I understand, not young by English standards). I’m not sure why that was-I think it’s because I was drinking so often with people who did smoke…who knows. 5 days cigarette free at the moment! (In fairness, I’ve only been sick for 4 days so…shut up, a good thing is still a good thing even if the catalyst forced it!) I started trying to approach everything in my life from a far more adult perspective, from a mature point of view…I’m not really sure how to phrase it properly.

Anyways, now I find myself slightly confused. Two more weeks and I’m twenty-one years old. That’s completely insane. And all I want to do is be the kid that I never really let myself admit I was. And now, I really am that. I’m just lacking an appropriate sort of…set off for it. I know that the people I feel most comfortable around, friends wise, I behave like an absolute child. And I love it, I love just being able to be so much more care-free and nonchalant (am I using that right?) than I otherwise am. I show affection and disappointment like a little kid, I take offense and get over it like a small child… I don’t know why I can’t just be that way with everybody. Maybe I’m not mature enough to actually be immature? 

Penis…penis…PENIS… No, nothing. Hmmm.

I think I need to grow up a little bit more before I can just be comfortable to be how I actually wanna be I guess? Although knowing me, in a month I’ll be pissy over how immature I’ve become.

Shit, I’m immature as all hell now. These blogs are probably a testament to that. But they’re helping me become more comfortable with myself by sharing little bits of myself with you. And I know it sounds corny and it’s one of the few things that I have a genuine level of faith in, but I know I cannot be happy with anybody else until I actually become happy with myself. Until my own company pleases me, I don’t understand how it could please anybody else. I’m not going to give a load of rubbish over how I can’t love somebody else till I love myself-maybe I’ll love them more but there’s a heap of people out there I absolutely love and adore. Like I’d not love y’all just cause I’m a whiny little bitch hey?

I think I’ll move to Brighton…


I write music and stuff.

Hey! To my like, five followers-I assume most of you follow me because you like ethics, vegans or poetry and this girl is a highly ethical vegan who writes songs and sings. Yuh. Also I want you to watch me play guitar SQUEEE



This is my amazing friend Toby Fredkin and I having a bit of a giggle and playing the first song we’ve ever written together 🙂 I stayed with Toby for a month in England and couldn’t be more thankful to him for being the most welcoming, hospitable and loveliest bro ever. So glad we got to play some music together, and so glad we can.


He also blogs! So I’ll share with you his wordpress site… not sure what good it’ll do since I’m almost certain that the only people who read this are the folks who work at China Daily News (they’re following me, wut?), my Mum… and Toby.


So here it is! https://fredkinstein.wordpress.com/


PS; Miss you Tobywan!




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