Sweet Emotion in a red connie

It recently occurred to me that one of the best things ever in life (and possibly even what I would choose to do in a continuous loop for the whole of my afterlife...if there ends up being one) is probably driving through the Arizona desert on the hottest of hot summer days, in a red convertible with the top down and Sweet Emotion cranked on the radio.
Picture it -sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet emooooooooooooooooootioooooooooooooooon...
Yes.
Awesome.
Not much could beat it.

Jack Johnson

Uhhhh...the DJ's on FM96 were just talking about Jack Johnson and referred to him as "a musician with a real cult following".
I wonder if they know Ben Stiller was in one of his videos and he's scheduled to play the Molson Amphiteatre for the second time in under a year.
I like the guy, but in my opinion -these statistics do not a cult figure make.
Fools. This is one more reason I should have their jobs.

Canadian Music Week

I'm still feelin' the burn from Canadian Music Week (which took place March 2-5, and for which I volunteered 3 days of my time in exchange for an all-access pass to the week's events, shows and conferences) so I apologize if this entry is lame.
I saw a whack of bands and singers and was duly impressed by most of them.
Let's begin at the beginning, shall we?
Thursday night, on my way to the Opera House to see Bedouin Soundclash (who I've seen and enjoyed) open for Grady (who I've not seen and really sort of wanted to) I was waylaid by the art show of a friend so the live music intake was non-existent, but the bar I ended up in was playing 80's tunes the majority of the night so all was not lost.
Friday night however, my partner-in-concerts, Karen, and I made it to Lee's Palace to see a Kitchener/Waterloo band called Shaker. Now I've seen Shaker multiple times before and I fucking love that band, but they played a bunch of new stuff last week that seemed far more mellow than I know their older songs to be. I still enjoyed the show and I still have a shitstorm of good things to say about Shaker, but it was lower energy than I've seen in the past.
The Golden Dogs played after them, which I was excited about cause I'd heard a lot good things. Turns out these good things were not without grounds. I was quite rocked by this band as well as amused by the spastic nature of the chick on the keys, who switched up song title plates whenever they started into a new one. Also a huge fan of the mini-lights-edged drum kit. Trippy.
After that Karen and I tried to hop the subway to the 360 on Queen to catch Limblifter but the effing station was closed and its machines ate my toonie, so we staggered back to Lee's (which was not truly as huge a hassle as it sounds, by simple virtue of the fact that it meant I could flash my laminated CMW volunteer pass at the door one more time, arousing jealousy in a whole new lineup of shivering latecomers. Heh heh heh...). Back inside, we each ordered a beer, scammed seats on the upper left deck of the bar, and suffered through a grand total of one Marble Index song before coming to the inevitable conclusion that we were going to be sick all over ourselves if we didn't get as far away from that band as possible. I'm sorry to any MI fans -there's really nothing wrong with the music but their lead singer? Drives. Me. Fucking. Crazy. He's suuuuuuuch a huge wanker, but that's a whole other story.
So we decided -Limblifter halfway through their set be damned. Selves a mere third of the way through our beers be damned. Cab fare further eating up our overdrafts be damned. We were outta there.
Ten minutes and $7 later I was far happier almost getting run over by Queen Street crazies in their unnecessary vehicles as we crossed lanes to the 360, and happier still as soon as I whipped out the ol' laminate and flashbacked about nine years to the days of Limblifter's debut.
Mother of God I used to love those guys. Turns out I still do. Even though they're not really Limblifter anymore...with the exception of the Ryan Dahle factor...but since he's always written everything anywhoooo, they still sounded like sweet, sweet high school honey to these ears.
So yeah, we only heard about 6 songs before the set finished but I dug it, bought the album, a sticker cause I'm a sucker, and almost a t-shirt cause I'm a drunk who's fast and loose with the cash when she's trashed. Good night.
The next day I worked from 12-5 at the Canadian Radio Music Awards. That was wicked cause I ended up guarding the door to the backstage area (and why the fuck not? I mean, you wanna mess with me? I didn't think so), which meant I had an excellent view of the stage for the show.
The Waking Eyes kicked my ass during sound check and then again mid-awards so I ended up even more pumped about seeing them at the Horseshoe later that night. Also, this chick Simon Wilcox did a bang-up job with her CRMA performance. I saw her again about an hour after the awards ended when a songwriter's circle/chat/performance-type dealie moved into that room. She, George Canyon, Liam Titcomb, and Lindy each took stools onstage and played a few songs in between short interview questions from...some radio host lady. So I was down with the Wilcox, Titcomb was impressive especially considering he's only 17, and Lindy was awesome. I want that guy's album. And Canyon you ask? Well I'm not usually a nu-country fan but he had some good tunes, a fantastic voice, and some heavy lyrics. Thumbs up to him. He was pretty captivating.
Exit the daylight hours; enter the shadows of night.
I got to the 'Shoe about 8:45pm, which was a darn good move on my part because it was turn-away-at-the-door packed by 9:30.
The Mark Inside played first and they were all right. I don't know. They hedged pretty close to being a screamer band and we all know how I feel about those (if not see the post on Billy Talent. Cocksmokes). Projet Orange played after that and they were all right. Cool. Mellow. Kinda Radiohead-y at points. Kid A-era Radiohead-y. Good music but not a band I think I could just stand and do nothing but watch again (though keep in mind I might have ADD).
And on a completely unrelated note -I gotta say here, one thing that pissed me off about this show had nothing to do with the band, but with the chick standing beside me in the audience. Our acquaintanceship went a little something like this...

Projet Orange finishes set and leaves stage. Random Woman turns to me.
RW -Who were they?
Me -Project Orange (hard English accent even though I know it's meant to be said in French. I just don't like saying it that way cause hardly anyone knows this and it sounds pretentious).
RW -Who? (strains forward to hear)
Me -Project Orange
RW -ooooohhhhh you mean Proooojaaaaayyyt O(hack)raaaaaange (leans back with this smug and righteous smirk on her face. End of conversation).

Did she only ask me so she could correct me? I think so, and to her I say (or more likely just to the memory of her in my head cause I doubt she's reading this), you suck lady. I know the name of the fucking band. I'm just not such a high-GD-roller that I have to ride around on my holier-than-thou-hipster cloud, faking accents and correcting the peons. You are all that is wrong with the live music scene in Toronto. Bite me.
And now back to our regularly scheduled programming...
After that fiasco came Boy and hot damn I like them. The first time I heard them on the radio I was like "right on, Sam Roberts has a new song out?", and while they do sound similar, they put enough of their own spin on it to be doing their own thing. Plus they're from Whitehorse. I mean let's get real here. Don't they only have a bridge connecting that city to the rest of civilization in the winter when they build one out of ice? Or is that Yellowknife? Whatever. It's one of the two. And they're both way the fuck up there. Heck, I'd be surprised if they have the technology to recieve strong enough radio signals to deliver them any Sam Roberts tunes to rip off, you know what I'm say(kidd)ing? Either way, Boy's good times, sweet band, wicked tunes. You got a problem with them sounding Sammish? You take that up with me. And I promise you -you don't want to mess with this shit. I'm backstage security in my spare time, remember?
So enter The Waking Eyes. I've been told that I've been to concerts where they've played before but something always seems to get between me and the show...mostly the bar...but that night, flying solo and with very little booze in my system, they had my undivided attention and held it effortlessly. Those guys fucking wail. They pretty much blew my mind -had some jazz and some alt-country in there with straight-up rock-and-roll, plus they hauled the Boy boys back out at the end for a cover of Come Together. They had a trumpet kicking and everything, and God knows I love the horn (man that sounds dirty...wasn't meant to) so I was thrilled.
Post-that, Oliver Black played and I wasn't originally going to hang around for the whole set cause I was dead tired, I was mostly there for The Waking Eyes anyway. Plus I've seen Oliver Black a stack of times, but a friend told me Colin (from The Trews) was going to join them for the encore, so I stayed. And ended up screwed. Cause Colin? I'm afraid he was just a rumour that night.
So Oliver Black. What to say about them? They're loud as a...something superloud, their songs sound pretty similar (except for the one that sounds exactly like Pearl Jam's Spin the Black Circle) but they're pretty entertaining. Their lead singer, Serena, is a madwoman and she looks like she could take just about anyone in a fight, and their guitarist, Nick, plays solos with his teeth, so that's impressive. They just got signed to TVT where they'll be getting some songwriting help from a few people (including Simon Wilcox I believe), so who knows? I dig 'em all right. They're not going to revolutionize rock music or anything but they make for a good night out (though not so hot for a clearly-heard morning after -my ears are still ringing 4 days later).
All in all -excellent week. Always is. I fucking love Canadian Music Week. None of that Avril Lavigne/Nickelback/Sum 41 bullshit that the radio crams down listeners' throats claiming it's the face of Canadian music. CMW is where real Canadian sound rocks out. It's where bands spill free EP's like they chug free beer cause that's how the word gets 'round, where pretention fades away (unless you're the Marble Index dude -get over yourself already), where the musicians are just as psyched about the all-access laminates as you are cause they're dying to see bands A, B, and C too and hey -free never hurts. Here the songs are written by those who sing them, and the equipment has to be home by 4am cause the van has to go back to the rental place.
There's a huge fierce landscape of love in my heart for Canadian music and the people who do it on their own and nothing gets the blood pumping like a good 3-day feast on the beast of the real best of the best of what this country has to offer. Woop woop kids. Woop woop. Mark it on next year's calendar.

The Trews

I've seen these guys 22 times in the last year and they never fail to blow my fucking mind.
Many who hear me say this ask what the fuck is up. "The Trews?" They ask. Well heck yes, the Trews. And I'll tell you why...
This is a kick-ass band. KICK. ASS. I'm serious. Whenever I go off about them (and it happens frequently), I get these odd looks tinged with that "radio band" disdain that hipsters and music snobs (and those out of the know when it comes to these boys) seem to have down to a fine science, and while that look may rightly apply to boatloads of radio-play-heavy bands -that is not the case in this situation.
The Trews do get a lot of air -especially in Canada- and true that many of their freshman album tunes are not the most stunningly laid-down tracks ever. In fact, if the first time I had ever heard these boys had been over the airwaves I'd probably have been a little more skeptical of them myself. Fortunately I stumbled across them playing at an outdoor "hip-hip-hooray for school starting" shindig on the Ryerson campus in Toronto last September (2003).
Unknown to me then, I quickly realized that this band was a live force to be reckoned with.
I shit you not. Their album and their concerts are comepletely different animals. House of Ill Fame was the Trews' first record, and there are definite shortcomings to its production (not the least of which are the effing lack of audible bass and the thin overall sound) but set a stage underneath them and they are a hurricane of talent and energy.
These are four dudes who are true musicians. They love, listen to, know, and consistently pump out good music.
From the top to the bottom, we'll start with Colin...
Colin's the lead singer/guitarist and I cannot, for the life of me, understand how (barring souls sold to the devil) that guy can get up onstage more than 250 nights a year (which he does -up onstage out of the back of a dilapidated blue van that, until last year when they started making enough cizzash to book Westjet every once in awhile, was their only mode of transportation for each of their multiple cross-Canada tours) and sing (sing, not scream) with this powerhouse set of pipes that's probably doing damage to the Earth's tectonic plates. Plus, the cat can play gee-tah.
Speaking of which -John Angus. Mother of guitar gods, the guy is a vision, a sure-to-be legend, a myth in the glorious 70's tradition of cock-rock axe-wielding. He is a mad bastard on that bitch. I believe I've seen smoke rise from the frets of his board more times than times I've spilled my own drinks on myself at any given show.
So, bass. So, Jack. The guy doesn't do a lot in terms of moving around but that's probably a good thing since I'm sure if he ever got in the way of one of John Angus's wild and crazy Indy400-esque laps of the stage, all 98 pounds of the cat would be crushed like sugar cubes. What he does do however, is lay down thick satisfying basslines while maintaining a spaced-out, razor's edge waifishness that's more than mildly amusing (and I'm not going to lie -quite a bit sexy in that pale androdgynous kind of way Brian Molko's perfected).
Rounding out the quartet is Sean. He drums in his bare feet and has an awesome collection of faded black rock n' roll t-shirts. On top of this, he wails like a mofo. I mean, the guy always holds that shit together and drops incredible drum solos like they're bats of the eye, but I gotta say -at the Opera House this past December (2004) he fucking beat that kit like I have not seen in years of concert-going. Ludicrous speed. Ludicrous sound. Ludicrous solo. Plus -he plays a wicked cowbell. That's right. You heard me. You got your ass a fever and the only perscription is more cowbell? Then get yourself to a Trews show because since that fateful December night, the bell has become a staple of their live shows and Sean shows no sign of slowing down.
Further to this (I know, I know -have a break and take a breath before reading on if you must), as a whole they're only getting better. They've written a whack of new songs in the last few months and are in the middle of recording them for their second album (due out some time this summer I think), but they've been testing them heavily on audiences since last summer. And I tell you what. This album is going to be so bloody incredible you may shit yourself on first listen. Mark my words when I tell you this -Poor Old Broken Hearted Me? If you have a rock bone in your body that song is going to put a stranglehold on you this summer that you will NOT be able to shake. Song of the year. Mark me I say. Maaaaaaaaaaaark meeeeeee.
In the meantime, do yourself a favour and catch the next Trews show that comes through your town. Well ok, town or surrounding area...though it's not like states and provinces are that big either, ya baby! Step on whatever feet or planes you need to step on -just get to the next show you catch wind of.