Poms stumped why iconic Aussie beer is more myth than truth
Chris Hutchinson and his wife Tamira were confused when they went to a bottle shop and discovered that Fosters was in the imported section.
'We thought that Australians drink Fosters, because in the UK, that is what it is marketed as — the Australian beer,' Mr Hutchinson said in a TikTok video.
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'I think the slogan is 'think Australian drink Australian'' he continued.
'But it seems to be in the imported section, and I've just asked someone and apparently Australians don't really drink Fosters. It's really weird.'
Fosters is brewed in Australia by Carlton and United Breweries but has been owned by Japanese brand Asahi since 2020. Fosters Credit: @mcrichardlofish / Instagram
Followers flooded the comments section on the video to confirm that the Australian relationship with Fosters wasn't the stereotype it was made out to be overseas.
'Fosters is the biggest and longest joke we have played on the world,' one person wrote.
'I'm a 31yo Aussie and I don't think I've ever actually even seen a fosters in person my whole life 😂,' another said.
The revelation of Fosters not being an Australian-owned product is not a new one.
'Foster's lager, as we know it in Britain's pubs and supermarkets, is an Australian brand; it is not an Australian beer. 'Australian for lager' it may claim to be, but 1.2bn pints of the amber nectar a year are brewed in Manchester, not Melbourne,' a Guardian article stated in 2011.
Despite the lack of Fosters, the family of five are loving their trip around Australia and admit it's made them re-evaluate their future.
'It's absolutely blown us away, being here in Perth,' Mrs Hutchinson said in a TikTok video on Thursday.
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Perth Now
6 hours ago
- Perth Now
Comedian coming to Perth reveals most signed body part
There's only one conversation where boobs and Adam Sandler get mentioned — an interview with comedian Urzila Carlson. The Australian and New Zealand comedy star has been touring the country and on August 29 will bring her You Don't Say show to Perth's HPC across two days. Carlson, who grew up in South Africa, said Perth fans can expect an hour and a half of 'solid laughs'. 'You're not going to learn anything or cry, but I just talk about stuff that has happened in the year, and, yeah, it's a funny show, and people seem to love it, and I love it. I think it's my favourite show that I've done so far,' she said. The 49-year-old said one major standout for her this tour was the number of bosoms she has signed. 'I must say, this year, so far, I've signed more boobs than any other year in my entire career, maybe even accumulatively, I've never signed as many boobs,' she said. 'But yeah, one of the shows, because normally people just pull a blouse down and go, 'Can you sign my boob?' And then I sign the boob. But then this woman took her entire t*t out, and it was quite a sight.' While signing body parts may or may not be on the cards for Carlson's Perth visit, she has fond memories of WA that include a trip to the island paradise that is Rottnest Island. Comedian Urzila Carlson. Credit: TheWest 'I rode the bike all around, and a quokka came up to me, and I didn't touch it like a Hemsworth. I just laid in the grass, and it came up, and it put its little nose against my nose. But I never touched it. It touched me, for the record,' she said. 'I just love Perth and I've even been on the outskirts of Perth, you know, when you're still in WA but you're like a 20 hours drive away, that kind of thing.' Another favourite adventure of the regular Have You Been Paying Attention? guest was the time she starred in Netflix film Kinda Pregnant alongside Amy Shumer which was produced by Adam Sandler. Carlson said she was 'star-struck' after meeting Sandler who she said gave her the ultimate compliment. 'He's really cool. He's kind of quiet but he just came up to me and goes, 'You're really funny, buddy. You're very funny.' I don't often feel starstruck, but yeah, meeting him and meeting him was the highlight for me during the whole thing. 'I don't need anyone else to tell me nothing else. I've got Adam Sandler in the pocket, and he says I'm funny. 'I've blocked all reviewers from coming to my show.' Carlson said filming her first movie was 'so much fun' especially getting to work with fellow comedians who she still texts and sends 'video notes' daily. 'We would just sit in the green room and crack each other up. Hardly anyone sat in their trailers,' she said. 'I said to them, you've ruined this experience because if I get to make another movie and those people aren't as amazing as these people are, I'm going to be furious.' Kinda Pregnant was viewed 25.1 million times in its first week, making it the most-watched title on Netflix from February 3 to February 10 and the number one movie globally. With her first film done and dusted, Carlson is set to tick off another bucket list item — performing at the Sydney Opera House for an encore show on December 13. She is the first comedian to have performed at the iconic venue during the last 10 years. Adam Sandler. Credit: BANG - Entertainment News 'Growing up in South Africa I knew very little about the outside world except for the basics, Eiffel Tower, Statue of Liberty and the Opera House in Sydney,' she said. 'The fact that I get to perform at one of those is one of the most iconic unreal feelings. 'But I think the worry that I have is, you know what Australia is like in summer and I'm going to be outside with bright lights on me, so you bet I'm going to have some bugs fly straight into my face at night. 'So I'm thinking I should get one of those hats with the corks on it. I've never actually worn one, you know. But I think if ever there was a time, it would be during that show.' Elsewhere, Carlson is working on two different, Australian produced TV projects that plan to be out early next year. She also plans to continue touring and appear on her usual TV shows unless 'I get a call from Adam Sandler or someone, then of course, I'll go.' Tickets to the You Don't Say Perth shows on August 29 and August 30 are still available here.
Sydney Morning Herald
8 hours ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
His album was finished. Then he scrapped it and made a new one in 12 days
Mac DeMarco has been digging a well. This is not some poetic metaphor, like Mac's own Chamber of Reflection. Before jumping on our interview, the Canadian indie rocker was out on his new property, a farmhouse on an island off British Columbia that he shares with his partner Kiera McNally, digging a literal well. Or, to be specific, he was building a well? A house for his well? Look, I'm not a carpenter. 'It's a well enclosure. It looks like an outhouse, but it's made of cedar and it's beautiful,' DeMarco, 35, explains, appearing on Zoom like a gap-toothed storm cloud: grey shirt, grey hat, scraggly beard. 'My uncle and cousin came over and were like, 'You know you have to be able to lift it off if they have to pull the deep well out?' So my day has consisted of taking off the siding and finding where the fastener bolts are to the foundation and removing them. It's good because the stress of 'If my well explodes, will we be able to get it out?' was a lot, but I'm also dismantling the nicest looking thing I've ever built so it's been tough.' I don't understand a word he's saying but Mac DeMarco, DIY tradesman, isn't an odd image to conjure. He's been DIYing, in a musical sense, since his 2012 debut, 2, the album that first launched DeMarco's persona as the ' loveable laid-back prince of indie-rock '. His new album, Guitar, was DIYed to a freakish degree – songs, cover art, even videos – and written and recorded in 12 days. 'I'd wake up in the morning and get a song going, or maybe I'd write it the night before,' he says. 'It was quick and easy, and it feels good. When I leave something for too long and try to come back to it, it doesn't feel right, like I'm already onto something else.' Guitar, an album title so bland it feels like a troll, is DeMarco's first proper album since 2019's Here Comes the Cowboy, which debuted in the top 10 on the Billboard 200, an unlikely scenario for such a stridently independent artist. In 2023, years after the album's release, the track Heart to Heart went viral on TikTok and became DeMarco's first song to break into the Billboard Hot 100. After years watching his cult of personality grow, this was tangible evidence of his pop star reach. But DeMarco's not buying it. 'I don't think Here Comes the Cowboy was that big and the top 10 thing, I don't think it was based off some kind of top of the mountain sales,' he says. 'There's ways to pump that stuff up. We had a big tour around then too, so you sell concert tickets and then if you give a vinyl for each concert ticket, it counts as a sale.' It sounds like he doesn't quite trust his own album's success. 'I like that record, but… yeah, maybe I don't trust the success of it,' DeMarco laughs. 'I just think it's funny that the music industry heralds things like that. They're like, you charted. And it's like, so? 'It's like the metrics on Spotify: these artists can have a bajillion listeners, and then nobody comes to the show,' he continues. 'When Heart to Heart charted in the Hot 100, it didn't even get high – it went to 80-something – but everyone was like, 'Oh my god!'. [Distributors] were telling me we should advertise more to keep it going.' He mocks disgust. 'This album came out five years ago and we didn't even do anything to make the song go crazy, so why not just leave it alone, you know?' It's fair to posit that DeMarco – who has run his own indie, Mac's Record Label, since 2018 – has little sympathy for major labels scrambling amid the music industry's new world order. 'TikTok is confusing for a lot of them. But, at the same time, a lot of the big record labels have figured out how to squeeze the lemon. They want to make it seem like they don't know, but they know.' He chuckles at his own cynicism. 'Maybe I'm just a music industry conspiracy theorist. Whatever. It's cute. You chart on this thing, it's cute. I have these gold records now, they're all in my basement. I don't know what to do with them, but it's cool. Amazing.' I've never had an artist work so hard to dissuade me against their own sales triumphs, but such is DeMarco's mission. Numbers? These things don't interest him. So little that he followed his biggest pop success with an album made entirely of instrumental compositions (2023's Five Easy Hot Dogs) and then a monumental 199-track data dump named for Canadian legend Wayne Gretzky (One Wayne G). You ask DeMarco why, he answers why not. 'I know with One Wayne G, some music journalists were like, 'Is this a middle finger? What's he doing?' but it was nothing like that. I just wanted to share music. I wasn't saying 'Listen to the whole thing!'. I don't care if people listen to none of it. It's there if you want it,' says DeMarco. As an oddity – inspired by his Japanese avant-pop idols Ryuichi Sakamoto and Haruomi Hosono, and partly a comment on how we consume music – he's proud of it. 'It's so long that it won't fit on a CD. You could put it out on a 15-record box set, but that's ridiculous. The only medium it'd work on is a Blu-Ray, but I don't even have a way to play a Blu-Ray. I think One Wayne G might be the coolest thing I ever do. The whole thing was just an experiment in, why?' 'I have these gold records now, they're all in my basement. I don't know what to do with them.' Before he recorded Guitar, DeMarco had completed another album titled Hear the Music, which he scrapped. 'I liked the songs, but that was me turning on the faucet or cleaning out the songwriting pipes,' he says. 'I had maybe 14 songs, I demoed them, tried to do master recordings, but I got lost in the sauce. I started trying to change the drum sound every day. I was building isolation tents in the studio. I built a hut out of PVC pipe. I did vocal takes over and over. I went completely nuts.' He's had this problem before, ever since he stopped recording onto tape with 2015's Another One. He'll go into 'an OCD zone', he says, recording and re-recording demos trying to recapture what he loved best about the original take. 'You're just chasing perfection in something that is inherently imperfect. You might as well just take the original, that has that life force in it, and run with that,' he says. 'The cool thing about Guitar is that all these songs are the first time they were recorded. They're the demos, essentially. Even just saying that is soothing for me.' Does he plan to release Hear the Music? 'I don't know. I like the idea of having an album just in the vault. Prince-style, you know?' he laughs. 'I think it'll simmer for some time, long enough where I can listen to it again and be like, 'Hmm, that's cool.'' The songs on Guitar are sparse, unbothered. The pace is hazy, guitars warbly, and DeMarco's cracked falsetto leads each track. Thematically, it's heavy. On lead single Home, he's severing ties to his past. On the jagged Nothing At All, he's contending with his sobriety. DeMarco quit alcohol during the pandemic, and nicotine just after. 'It's been an interesting journey,' he says of his sobriety. 'The first couple of years, I was the kind of sober guy where it was like, 'Everything's fine, I can go to the party, do the show, go to the bar. I can do everything the same, and it's not a big deal.' But as you progress, things get amplified and emotions get more intense. Whatever dulling substance abuse does, it takes longer than I thought for it to completely leave your zone. Sometimes you feel fragile, but other times I'm fine.' Sobriety, a farmhouse, wells. It's a wild shift for someone whose dirtbag antics were once as much part of his lore as the music (just Google 'Mac DeMarco drumstick incident'). Social media is filled with threads from distressed fans at shows five or six years ago, worried that DeMarco was sozzled onstage or burning himself with cigarettes mid-song. 'Absolutely, I was a headcase,' he says. Loading Later this year, he'll embark on his first tour since getting sober. Is he concerned about reviving ghosts of the past? 'We'll see,' he says. 'I think that energy was usually present because I felt the music or the show was lacking; it was a way to subsidise like, 'Uh-oh, that song didn't go well.' If we do the songs in a way that's satisfying to me, I'll probably be okay. But who knows? Could crash and burn. Come and see!' he adds with a gap-toothed grin, a salesman in him yet.
The Age
8 hours ago
- The Age
His album was finished. Then he scrapped it and made a new one in 12 days
Mac DeMarco has been digging a well. This is not some poetic metaphor, like Mac's own Chamber of Reflection. Before jumping on our interview, the Canadian indie rocker was out on his new property, a farmhouse on an island off British Columbia that he shares with his partner Kiera McNally, digging a literal well. Or, to be specific, he was building a well? A house for his well? Look, I'm not a carpenter. 'It's a well enclosure. It looks like an outhouse, but it's made of cedar and it's beautiful,' DeMarco, 35, explains, appearing on Zoom like a gap-toothed storm cloud: grey shirt, grey hat, scraggly beard. 'My uncle and cousin came over and were like, 'You know you have to be able to lift it off if they have to pull the deep well out?' So my day has consisted of taking off the siding and finding where the fastener bolts are to the foundation and removing them. It's good because the stress of 'If my well explodes, will we be able to get it out?' was a lot, but I'm also dismantling the nicest looking thing I've ever built so it's been tough.' I don't understand a word he's saying but Mac DeMarco, DIY tradesman, isn't an odd image to conjure. He's been DIYing, in a musical sense, since his 2012 debut, 2, the album that first launched DeMarco's persona as the ' loveable laid-back prince of indie-rock '. His new album, Guitar, was DIYed to a freakish degree – songs, cover art, even videos – and written and recorded in 12 days. 'I'd wake up in the morning and get a song going, or maybe I'd write it the night before,' he says. 'It was quick and easy, and it feels good. When I leave something for too long and try to come back to it, it doesn't feel right, like I'm already onto something else.' Guitar, an album title so bland it feels like a troll, is DeMarco's first proper album since 2019's Here Comes the Cowboy, which debuted in the top 10 on the Billboard 200, an unlikely scenario for such a stridently independent artist. In 2023, years after the album's release, the track Heart to Heart went viral on TikTok and became DeMarco's first song to break into the Billboard Hot 100. After years watching his cult of personality grow, this was tangible evidence of his pop star reach. But DeMarco's not buying it. 'I don't think Here Comes the Cowboy was that big and the top 10 thing, I don't think it was based off some kind of top of the mountain sales,' he says. 'There's ways to pump that stuff up. We had a big tour around then too, so you sell concert tickets and then if you give a vinyl for each concert ticket, it counts as a sale.' It sounds like he doesn't quite trust his own album's success. 'I like that record, but… yeah, maybe I don't trust the success of it,' DeMarco laughs. 'I just think it's funny that the music industry heralds things like that. They're like, you charted. And it's like, so? 'It's like the metrics on Spotify: these artists can have a bajillion listeners, and then nobody comes to the show,' he continues. 'When Heart to Heart charted in the Hot 100, it didn't even get high – it went to 80-something – but everyone was like, 'Oh my god!'. [Distributors] were telling me we should advertise more to keep it going.' He mocks disgust. 'This album came out five years ago and we didn't even do anything to make the song go crazy, so why not just leave it alone, you know?' It's fair to posit that DeMarco – who has run his own indie, Mac's Record Label, since 2018 – has little sympathy for major labels scrambling amid the music industry's new world order. 'TikTok is confusing for a lot of them. But, at the same time, a lot of the big record labels have figured out how to squeeze the lemon. They want to make it seem like they don't know, but they know.' He chuckles at his own cynicism. 'Maybe I'm just a music industry conspiracy theorist. Whatever. It's cute. You chart on this thing, it's cute. I have these gold records now, they're all in my basement. I don't know what to do with them, but it's cool. Amazing.' I've never had an artist work so hard to dissuade me against their own sales triumphs, but such is DeMarco's mission. Numbers? These things don't interest him. So little that he followed his biggest pop success with an album made entirely of instrumental compositions (2023's Five Easy Hot Dogs) and then a monumental 199-track data dump named for Canadian legend Wayne Gretzky (One Wayne G). You ask DeMarco why, he answers why not. 'I know with One Wayne G, some music journalists were like, 'Is this a middle finger? What's he doing?' but it was nothing like that. I just wanted to share music. I wasn't saying 'Listen to the whole thing!'. I don't care if people listen to none of it. It's there if you want it,' says DeMarco. As an oddity – inspired by his Japanese avant-pop idols Ryuichi Sakamoto and Haruomi Hosono, and partly a comment on how we consume music – he's proud of it. 'It's so long that it won't fit on a CD. You could put it out on a 15-record box set, but that's ridiculous. The only medium it'd work on is a Blu-Ray, but I don't even have a way to play a Blu-Ray. I think One Wayne G might be the coolest thing I ever do. The whole thing was just an experiment in, why?' 'I have these gold records now, they're all in my basement. I don't know what to do with them.' Before he recorded Guitar, DeMarco had completed another album titled Hear the Music, which he scrapped. 'I liked the songs, but that was me turning on the faucet or cleaning out the songwriting pipes,' he says. 'I had maybe 14 songs, I demoed them, tried to do master recordings, but I got lost in the sauce. I started trying to change the drum sound every day. I was building isolation tents in the studio. I built a hut out of PVC pipe. I did vocal takes over and over. I went completely nuts.' He's had this problem before, ever since he stopped recording onto tape with 2015's Another One. He'll go into 'an OCD zone', he says, recording and re-recording demos trying to recapture what he loved best about the original take. 'You're just chasing perfection in something that is inherently imperfect. You might as well just take the original, that has that life force in it, and run with that,' he says. 'The cool thing about Guitar is that all these songs are the first time they were recorded. They're the demos, essentially. Even just saying that is soothing for me.' Does he plan to release Hear the Music? 'I don't know. I like the idea of having an album just in the vault. Prince-style, you know?' he laughs. 'I think it'll simmer for some time, long enough where I can listen to it again and be like, 'Hmm, that's cool.'' The songs on Guitar are sparse, unbothered. The pace is hazy, guitars warbly, and DeMarco's cracked falsetto leads each track. Thematically, it's heavy. On lead single Home, he's severing ties to his past. On the jagged Nothing At All, he's contending with his sobriety. DeMarco quit alcohol during the pandemic, and nicotine just after. 'It's been an interesting journey,' he says of his sobriety. 'The first couple of years, I was the kind of sober guy where it was like, 'Everything's fine, I can go to the party, do the show, go to the bar. I can do everything the same, and it's not a big deal.' But as you progress, things get amplified and emotions get more intense. Whatever dulling substance abuse does, it takes longer than I thought for it to completely leave your zone. Sometimes you feel fragile, but other times I'm fine.' Sobriety, a farmhouse, wells. It's a wild shift for someone whose dirtbag antics were once as much part of his lore as the music (just Google 'Mac DeMarco drumstick incident'). Social media is filled with threads from distressed fans at shows five or six years ago, worried that DeMarco was sozzled onstage or burning himself with cigarettes mid-song. 'Absolutely, I was a headcase,' he says. Loading Later this year, he'll embark on his first tour since getting sober. Is he concerned about reviving ghosts of the past? 'We'll see,' he says. 'I think that energy was usually present because I felt the music or the show was lacking; it was a way to subsidise like, 'Uh-oh, that song didn't go well.' If we do the songs in a way that's satisfying to me, I'll probably be okay. But who knows? Could crash and burn. Come and see!' he adds with a gap-toothed grin, a salesman in him yet.
