Bumped. ∗

Friday 13 June, 2008

Media Temple have just incremented some versions on their (dv) product line. Notably PHP5 has been upgraded to 5.2.6 (current stable release) which is a welcome improvement and Plesk has jumped a version to 8.4.0.

Both shipped during May, thus it forms a very proactive and on-the-ball choice — be sure to check out Media Temple’s release above for all the geek-worthy details, there is a lot of improvement (in Plesk particularly) overall and as such it represents a worthy return for the short upgrade period.

I also have the (slightly dubious, yet intensely pleasing) distinction of being the first cab off the rank to have an existing (dv) upgraded — oh yes, here at the The Lab we bravely risk it all¹ so you don’t have to.

The process was slick and entirely painless.

As a result, it would be remiss of me not to thank the wonderful folks at (mt) — for building such great systems — and in particular Daniel Greene who drew the short straw to place their bets on the upgrade-user-plus-all-their-shit-and-pray roulette wheel. Nice work brother.

Since rolling from the grid to dedicated-virtual, I cannot stress strongly enough the level of commitment and professional support Media Temple have brought to the table. Nothing is ever too much trouble, no issue is ever left un-answered. If you are in the market, they are the go-to guys for virtual hosting. If you decide to take the plunge, help a brother out and tell them I sent you.

New orders will see the above improvements from day one, if you’re already a (dv) playa, maximum respect yo — submit a support request — profit.

¹ ok, so I do have multiple-redundant stored copies of all SQL databases and full data backups. I’m crazy, not stupid.

Grindhouse Revival. ∗

Wednesday 28 May, 2008

Something that started off as being a bit of a stress diversion has become a monthly event I entirely look forward to. And it has resulted in a realisation that viewing movies will never quite be the same again.

It all started with the realisation that a “night at the movies” just doesn’t thrill me the same as it used to. The anticipation has faded, jaded by the reality that the modern cinema has been reduced to a cash generating machine, more intent in churning over screenings and jamming souls into rooms seldom larger or less generic than public transport.

Gone are the old style theatres, with truly massive screens, luxurious curved bucket seats and the unique odour that always permeated the dimly lit, cathedral-like atmosphere. Gone is the intermission at the most inopportune moment, where our dashing hero, or busty bimbo is about to do something really. fucking. cool. And gone is the “life” it all seemed to imbue to the entire experience.

So what does one do, when recreating that experience means attending a gold class like establishment with all the stresses and effort required? And it’s not quite the same, is it? Oh it’s quite exclusive, you can consume alcohol, recline in comfort and have food delivered on demand, but it’s still just that little bit fake. And if a night-out is on the cards, why not spend it at a nice eatery instead?

The surroundings might be agreeable, but that life, that atmosphere, that excitement is still missing — the very thing that made going to the movies, well, special, has gone. And that is where my partner and I found ourselves at then end of yet another tiring week a month or so ago. Getting all dressed up to go out, to then relax seemed somewhat counter intuitive.

We could have gone out, spent up on the credit card and tried to pretend we weren’t actually being strip-mined by yet another faceless corporate cashing in on the “old movie” experience. But we decided to do something different.

We put various beers in the fridge to reach that perfect frosty chill. Wine was cooled to near-perfection. My wonderful partner whipped up a batch of some of the singularly best tasting Nachos I’ve ever experienced (why nachos? Why not?!). We turned off the lights and fired up Grindhouse — the Tarantino and Rodriguez collaboration and experiment into re-creating the 70’s style B-Grade epics.

And it was heaven. Cold beer, comfortable surroundings, pleasant company with no pimply faced thirteen-year-old angst-ridden teens throwing food, cellular phones or each other around the theatre. No oh-my-fucking-god-you-have-a-HUGE-head idiots all clumped together in the middle row. No half-drunk projectionist pissing away his last deciding to fuck with the focus every quarter-hour just to make everyone as miserable as he was.

We had a genuine, honest-to-god intermission. With yet more beer being opened, more wine poured. We had the experience that a night at the movies should always be and that is no more. We watched Death Proof and Planet Terror the way it was meant to be seen. And it was, frankly, fucking magic.

Sure, it wasn’t “on the big screen” but what the hell does that actually mean anymore? We don’t go for the experience any more. We only go to see the big effects, or to be bruised any battered by the seventy-billion forty-thousand-watt speakers.

And when you realise that going to the movies is now really just going through the motions of seeing something on the big screen — out of some crazed belief that that is the way everything must be seen — that you realise you’ve just been conned by the motion pictures industry. Because if it’s “good enough” you’re just going to buy the same damned thing on DVD, or Blue-Ray disc regardless.

They’ve conned us all into believing we somehow owe them and by God we must attend, or else! Why? With modern surround-sound systems being a dime-a-dozen and large screen TV’s almost the norm, what in the hell do we get out of our ticket anymore, when one can almost replicate the very thing that we use to justify going in the first instance?

It can’t be “for the experience” because that last shred died when George Lucas proved beyond shadow of doubt that it’s entirely possible to fuck over one of the last truly cinema-worthy epics. There’s just nothing enticing about spending money to sit in someone else’s over-grown lounge to see yet another remake that should have been taken out the back, along with it’s director and shot.

It’s grind-house-time at our place this weekend. Saturday night we’ll have two shows on. One has been decided , the other is still pending. The random assortment of beer will be cold, the wine on ice and the Nachos piping hot. That’s my idea of a good night at the movies. It’s a revival and we will sully ourselves in 70’s style b-grade. The more eccentric, eclectic or horrific, the better. Eurovision is all of these things and so much more, yet it will be just one of the two glorious indulgences.

Who knows quite what we’ll see after intermission. And that is just how movie nights should always be.

Apocalypso. ∗

Sunday 27 April, 2008

In world full of recycled-candy-pop and generic-blend-techno it is often a complex task to find something different. Granted, whilst my good friend Bill Israel of Tunage has been a beacon of rainbow-coloured light¹ in a beige and grey world, there are rare moments when this author manages to find something unique.

There are a growing number of Australian groups that have captured the imaginations of jaded dance music lovers everywhere with freshly squeezed beats.The Presets definitely belong squarely in that category and their latest release Apocalypso is no exception.

Eleven Magazine have this to say:

“Back with a wicked mix of deranged dirty pop and cool melodies, Apocalypso shines the spotlight on why the Presets are in a class of their own.”

FHM (Australia) heap on the praise:

“Bangin’ choons from Aussie beat makers that will have people going ape-shit at your next house party. A combo of ’80s electro and ’90s techno, this is great if you’re up for a bit of shape throwing – but not so great if you want a cup of tea and a nice lie down.”

With edgy-yet-crystal-clear vocals, thick beats and New Order like influences this album will not disappoint with track-after-track of electro-funk goodness. This is an extremely well-executed album with an almost dirty and raw cut. Track-after-track delivering a broad, rich and crisp soundscape and with such clarity of vocals few demands are ever placed on the listener.

About now one might ask, “where is your rating?” I don’t have one. This is a lab, not Rolling Stone. Music is an entirely subjective and intimately personal experience and rather than give a rating, I will simply point you in the direction of the album and strongly recommend you have a listen.

¹ Tuneage is a must for the music lover and audiofreak alike.