This story again, really? Are you not over it yet? Dredging that pointy stick like a faithful puppy out of sand that isn’t sure if it belongs to the desert or the sea? There were waves of internal cognitive sabotage happening around the notion of summoning the witch back from the dead with her own spells, reinventing the missionary, pulling hot 4 teacher from an early retirement and getting the band back together… but…
The band is kinda hanging in the cerebral zone now, and that will be echoed by what will be reincarnated as a drawn and animated cartoon series. A band inside the minds of some people who are inside our minds. For everyone who is in a band in their mind. I am in about seven. Cerebral shreds!
Clues were sent, that the summoning was a good idea, like the letter from a woman who was hiding at her mum and dads place in regional victoria, wrecked from caring too much, the pearls that I sent her back, the story in the café about the glitter pen white dot painter who won the art prize, the hours spent stalking participants in a music program earlier in the year and the agonizing gulf between my former and current emotional reactions to work in the bush. Kate Bush, a million clues exploding in all directions always.
And, egged on by the feeling that you get when you’re making art about shit that matters to you HARD. And, is swimming in thickly nuanced territory, busting binaries like a whirly-whirly. Wiggle vision in the radical centre.

Like a scientist and not like a scientist:
Listening to endless episodes of radiolab while I work out, Robert and Jad are always interviewing scientists who have been spending their entire careers working on one infinitesimal PROBLEM and if they’re lucky their moment in the sun, eureka comes, maybe it doesn’t, maybe they get interviewed by radiolab, maybe not…
So I realised that as an artist I feel like I am working on heaps of problems all at once, but that letting myself off the hook from all the problems for a while and maintaining focus on this one that feels like I’m getting a little traction on would not be such a bad thing at all. Thanks again science.
And not like a scientist – some of whose activities seems to be a bit like or actually splitting atoms, a kind of reductive investigation into endlessly expansive fields, that the work of the artist is more like mustering things together or acknowledgement that some things just don’t split.

So, the exciting news is, fans, that the ok sluts are roping together a crack team in order to manifest this next appearance of the most cathartic satire to ever hit the smalltime!!!

Their sound is a product of taking the music of black American rap artists, passing it through tinny Holden Commodore speakers in a remote community, looping it four times around an Indigenous world view, filtering it through the complex and cynical mind of a burnt-out white Aboriginal service industry worker then adding distortion and a little bit more echo.

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