Yirrmal and the End of Summer

On a Sunday in Autumn The Blonde and I went to the Museum of New and Old Art's (MONA) Sunday market - MoMa.  MoMa is not your typical Sunday Market but more like an old fashioned Fayre.  You can get fantastic slow cooked meats with exotic sauces, purchase handmade jewellery or soaps, buy yourslef a new silk shirt in fantastic colours made from Indian Saris or just sample some of the artisanal ice cream.  If none of this takes your fancy then you can grab yourself a beanbag a lounge on the grass whilst some amazing artist serenading you all afternoon.

The Blonde and I were particularly interested in seeing the wonderful Yirrmal.  He is a young indigenous singer and the grandson of the inspiring Dr Yunupingu.  Yirrmal has an optimistic air about him that is fresh and new.  He does a great version of Yothu Yindi's 'Treaty'.  Yirrmal does some songs in language and I feel guilty that I speak German better than any one of the indigenous languages of Australia.  Even though I do not understand I love to listen to these languages that seem entwined with the land.  They send to transcend literal understanding.  It is great to see an artist at the beginning of their career.  It makes me feel like I part of it somehow.

There were a couple of other acts on show.  Canadian folk singer Tennyson King who charmed us with his version of Otis Redding's ‘Sitting on the Dock of the Bay’.  Great way to start a Sunday.  Also, Andrew Marshall.  This guy is my sort of singer.  A folksy type that seems to be able to read your thoughts and plays songs accordingly.  He played a song with his beautiful ref headed daughter of about 5 years.  She was wearing the most magnificent rainbow striped dress and seemed not to have a care in the world.

This concert had that melancholic end of summer feel.  For those of you familiar with Hobart, it was a real jacket on, jacket off day and it was the first day of the year where items from my winter wardrobe were required.  Yirrmal usually performs barefooted but he had to resort to wearing socks.  The market goers all had an air of making the best of things before the world descended into an absence of light.


I felt sad to see the end of such a fabulous art-filled summer but I am looking forward to those long Hobart winter evenings in pubs with open fires, mulled wine and dancing.  Dark Mofo festival in the depths of our winter is always a highlight, closely followed by the Festival of Voices and the Huon Valley Mid-Winter Festival.  No hibernating for me.  The absence of light ushers in a world of new experiences and adventures.