Magic Indeed (I love you David)

Here's a little cover slash borrowing from the master himself David Bowie. Whilst searching for a clip of Carey Grant saying "never judge a book by it's cover" in the 1947 film "The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer", I inadvertently found the famous origin of a great line in the song "Magic Dance" from Labyrinth . Childhood flashbacks anyone?

You can't judge a cook by his mother

I know so very few people who actually follow this adage. Is it even possible to not judge a book by its cover? In these super fast interweb, twitterizing, you tube, I tube, we all fucking you tube days, where it's almost become an imperative to partake in a social-non-social networking that is all about judging and putting out your perceived image of who you are or at least who you wish to be—can we even attempt to not judge people? (Jeez I sound like Carey from Sex and City).

Documentation of the the commonly used saying "Don't judge a book by it's cover" stems from the saying "You can't judge a book by its binding". I think this paints a better visual about what it is that we are not meant to be judging. Each and everyone's insides, their bindings you could say, are what make them who they are. Imagine if people didn't judge each other before attaining better proof of our judgmental perceptions. So I'm going to conscientiously try to not judge a book by it's bindings all week and see where it takes me. (I just re-read and it sounds a little preachy but please don't judge).



This month's theme is Cover...

I've just added the dots to allow for additional words to Cover... for example Under, Up, Sheet, Story and so on and so forth.

In a strange and ill fitting twist of lazy fate, we are extremely behind on the release of the September Issue (no not Vogue they're on time). And in tribute to my procrastinativeness (and dumbfounded ability to yank magically long and whack words from the dictionary of the never) I have dedicated this first post to the age-old cover up we've all heard of, thanks to American television, but never actually used "The Dog Ate My Homework".

"The Dog Ate My Homework" by Anthony Rebelo. (Great I just came up with the most lame sounding title of my stop–start life biography (notice it's a biography as it would take me forever to write the auto form). So for all of us who start something and struggle to finish or never start anything at all, or are continuing on our merry-go-round-about-carousel of a one-way street, constantly, always, never-ending whilst remaining in a permanent state of dégagé-like procrastinativeness... (it's growing on me) just remember you're only one lame cover-up excuse away from...


Gay Pride Cake Anyone?


Dubbed 'Gay Pride Cake' (pretty much only by us), not only will this cake celebrate free, unhindered and accepting love on any occasion but it will get you as you high as multi-coloured kite on a shit load of sugar. Let's hope on this election day, Australians take an evolutionary step forward and give people a reason to stuff their faces!


Rebel Rebel

This clip would seem to have nothing to do with birthdays but through a fortuitous train of birthday–related cyber-stalking (and the discovery that Kim Gordon and I share the same birthday. YES!), I found this clip and discovered this concert. In 1997, David Bowie celebrated his 50th birthday by playing live in Madison Square Gardens, New York. With a line-up consisting of Smashing Pumpkin's Billy Corgan, The Cure, Placebo (relatively unknown at the time but already long lauded by Bowie as the next big things), the Foo Fighters, Sonic Youth, Lou Reed, Frank Black and, of course, the thin, white duke himself, I can't imagine what this gig must have been like. Bowie apparently once said, 'I shall welcome it!' when asked how he would feel when he turned 50. I personally love how he picked artists of the time to do this instead of harking back to some past era as if he was relevant then but not now. The real classics are everlasting. – Erin Kitchingman


Birth. And Death

Our birthday is not only a celebration of when we came into this world, it is a celebration of life. We are alive now, once we were not. Julia deVille celebrates life through death and vice versa. Her beautiful, dark pieces make a bigger impact than their delicate components of tiny animal bones and precious gems and lifeless creatures would imply. Think about it beyond the obvious references of taxidermy and death and you realise that these creatures are living again - as re-used objects but also as a way for us to engage in the age-old practice of using jewellery and trinkets to illuminate our living presence in the world. These pieces allow us to enhance our aliveness and appeal to those who's attention we catch, making them see our existence, making them aware that we are here and that we are alive, celebrating our life.


Birth Rights

The birth of gay rights is a birthday of sorts. Good sorts. Immense sorts. Historic and great sorts. This film is not being shown in Australia yet but, we can but wish and hope. Having come back from a trip to San Fran just over a year ago and by way of it realising just how momentuous these events were in the train of many people's lives, it would be amazing to see a filmatic study of such a birthday—the denial on society's part o these lives, the repressed celebration of that, the coming of age and refusal to pretend to NOT be fully alive, and the subsequent aftermath. Like any birth of an era whether it be one person's or a whole portion of society's, this would be a fantastic 'birthday' film indeed. Keep an ear out for Stonewall Uprising.

Sugarcubes 'Birthday' off the album–Life's Too Good (1988)

She lives in this house over there, Has her world outside it
Scrapples in the earth with her fingers and her mouth, She's five years old

Thread worms on a string, Keeps spiders in her pocket
Collects fly wings in a jar, Scrubs horse flies
And pinches them on a line, Ohhh...

She has one friend, he lives next door, They're listenening to the weather
He knows how many freckles she's got, She scratches his beard

She's painting huge books, And glues them together
They saw a big raven
It glided down the sky, She touched it., Ohh...

Today is a birthday, They're smoking cigars
He's got a chain of flowers, And sows a bird in her knickers, Ohhh...

They're smoking cigars, They lie in the bathtub, A chain of ... flowers

Alas poor Chocolate, I knew it would melt.

Skull cakes by Chloe Bird. Not much more to say here but... amazing. Imagine sticking a candle or two in that and wondering how long you've got left. Really these are the ultimate way of coming to terms with your slow crawl to the grave. Very grounding and delicious.


Life before birth

Our French connection Jennifer Sims shares a lovely drawing of hers inspired by a well known and very funny poem by the always quirky and forever awkward Woody Allen. You can check out her mellow musings and observations of French life through the eyes of a foreigner at her blog Indicative Daisy.

Next Life
In my next life I want to live my life backwards. You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people's home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous, then you are ready for high school. You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play. You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born. And then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila! You finish off as an orgasm! I rest my case. - Woody Allen

A belated 719 Beige Candles

Forever at the centre of any number of torrid love triangles, fence sitting Switzerland turns a healthy 719 on August 1st. I can only imagine the Swiss National Day celebrations involving kaleidoscopic cuckoo clocks and towering balloons shaped like big banks and fireworks exploding into fabulously precise time pieces and army knives. Sadly I'll miss the celebrations but still want to say a Rational and Unemotional 719th Birthday to Switzerland and thank this wonderful nation for being neutral. Your nonpartisan stance inspires us to stay non-invasive and keep that oh so crucial objective point of view.


Come on in the blog is fine.

Welcome to a creative haven and manifestation of unique ideas and contributions. 

Romanceatron will be launching a monthly theme with all content revolving around this one theme. It will offer a spectrum of elements and influences for the reader to dine upon, from modern to retro to classical to the plain unmitigated brilliance all diviners have to offer. The aim is to create a cyber-space atelier where readers learn, appreciate and forage freely! We will encourage reader input and dedicate a section to reader interaction.

Romanceatron theme for Issue One is “Birthday”.

To contribute or find out more about what romanceatron is all about send a hello to - romanceatron@gmail.com

Happy Birthday to us...

We hope you like our Birth Day Issue cover (top right of the page). We drew inspiration from the album “On the Wires of Our Nerves” by the now defunct UK electronic group Add N to (X). Their second album was released in 1998 on Mute Records which is home to Australian living legends Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Brighton based indie band Electric Soft Parade and Underworld (you know that band with the Born Slippy song-another birth!). Add n to (X) are kind of Romance-A-Tron heroes not only because their music is a warped meld of mind fuck synth, useful when traveling in large cites and traversing through thousands of robotic commuters. But also because of their use of old school analogue Moog synthesizers to create their electro-clash sounding machine noise straight from the year 3000. Our personal favourite is their single Metal Fingers In My Body. 

Baby cakes

We think these cute little cupcakes creations are a perfect birthday gift (especially for the weight conscious!) Anne Farrell studied at the Claremont School of Art and the West Australian School of Art Design & Multimedia at Perth Central TAFE. Having received a Diploma of Fine Art & Design in 2000 she then went on to complete a Bachelor of Art at Curtin University. She has exhibited at Perth Galleries, Free Range,Keith & Lottie just to name a few. "I've recently made these little cakes and desserts from all the plastic lids, beads and buttons that I collect. They are inspired by things such as Tupperware, plastic toys from the 1970's and 80's and trips to Miss Maud with my mum." Working as a primary school Art Specialist Teacher Anne says her main aim is to express ideas and depict feelings through non-figurative metaphor. “I make and sometimes draw or paint objects, mainly constructing them from readily available materials like cardboard boxes and other found objects because I like them to be imperfect.” “Working with kids has become a big inspiration for me. The intention of my recent work is to capture some of the charm of children's artwork and recapture my own childhood experiences. Check out more of Anne’s amazing art at her blog.


Although it has almost nothing to do with our monthly theme of Birthday we couldn’t not have this album featured, mostly because of its Romantic cover art by legendary photographer Richard Avedon (and of course it's amazing album title).

Romance Is On The Rise by South African bombshell Geneviève Waïte was released in 1973 with some help from her then hubby Mama and Papa John Phillips (Geneviève and John are Mama and Papa of Bijou Philips).

The kooky album is perfect for Sunday afternoons baking cupcakes and spring-cleaning. The biggest single “Biting my Nails” was later covered rather scarily by Renegade Soundwave in 1987 complete with Day-Glo video clip, synth piano and brass section. Personally the original is the best.

Geneviève’s singing style could be classed as Yé-yé girl pop, a movement from the 60’s that originated in France. Yé-yé meaning Yeah Yeah, one of the most famous Yé-yé girls being Françoise Hardy, a French Beauty incarnate.

Unhappy Birthday

The single 'Unhappy Birthday', off the Smiths Strangeways Here We Come (the legendary bands' last original release), reinforced the spoilt brat undertones of Morrissey’s attitude throughout the whole album's recording process. The band is said to have broken up during the recording of the album and consequently Morrissey, realising he was principally responsible for the split of one of the greatest song writing partnerships is pop history with Jonny Marr, has a tanty with songs like—'I Started Something I Couldn’t Finish', 'I Won’t Share You', 'Paint A Vulgar Picture' and of course 'Unhappy Birthday'. Thought to be their somewhat shabolic mess album, it’s still amazing, and of course Moz shines through with his unrelentingly funny take on his oh-so-important life. A must have in all itunes libraries.

Naked Man by Donna Brown

Up here in the Northern Hemisphere it is springtime (or it may be summer now but it is never really hot enough to qualify) and when the day gives me sunshine and the bluest skies I plan an outfit deserving such weather. The perfect spring attire for me is a floaty, flirty dress of florals, spots or stripes paired with ballet flats, a floppy hat and big retro glasses...something girly and romantic enough for sipping bubbly and nibbling cupcakes in the sunshine amongst the flowers. Sadly the majority of people who flock to the parks here in Germany do not share my views, no folks, they favour their birthday suits. For me flesh is not a valid clothing choice and yet full frontal nudity blooms here alongside the daffodils.

Call me prudish, really, I don't mind, I probably am. For me nudity should be contained at home or in designated government approved areas, like hard to reach nude beaches with a bad reputation, somewhere where those that want it can get it and those that don't can venture out safely without becoming a victim of eyeball rape. I have no interest in seeing it sprawled flabbily in my local inner city park. An innocent stroll on a deliciously warm Sunday afternoon becomes an unwanted flesh fest as I try desperately hard not to see the budgie smugglers flopping about ungraciously in the daisy patch, the boobs bobbing in the breeze or the g-stringed butts growing from the grass. All this nudity of course attracts some unwanted sinister behaviour slash attention in the form of fully clothed weirdos in nylon parkas who lurk in the shadier patches with zoom lens camera in hand and who-knows what on their mind (or in the other hand for that matter!).

On the upside (I will always endeavor to find one) at least all this nudity helps me with distinguishing the change in seasons. There is this man who lives in the apartment opposite me, I call him naked man, as he often is in the warmer months. Without him I may never have registered the arrival of spring. Having been so busy at work recently that I practically ceased to exist and having lost track of both the day and the month I had failed to notice the shift in weather. I looked out my kitchen window on a sunny morning and there was naked man in all his glory lounging amongst white draperies on his balcony—AH! Spring.

Naked man acts as my living breathing human weather report, which is convenient, as I have no time to watch the news. A quick look out the window is all I need to determine the day ahead, for example—

Naked man present on balcony splayed on turkish rugs, face to sunshine like some strange large flesh coloured bloom, hot day ahead 30 degrees or more.

Naked man on balcony in armchair-white linen cocoon smoking a cigarette, warm day expected, mid to high 20's

Naked man present inside balcony doorway basking in sunshine in catlike manner, mild sunny weather, low 20's

Naked man dressed, cooler day, take a cardigan.

Naked man absent but bottle of wine or other random food/beverage item chilling on balcony, no sunshine expected, take coat and possibly umbrella.

So today being slightly overcast veering towards depressing, naked man is unaccounted for. I guess this means I can go frolic in the park undisturbed and of course fully clothed.