Jook Joynt

Missing Dawson

2007-07-11T15:05:00.000-07:00

So it's getting close to the end of July, which is when DCMF occurs.
I miss it. In a huge way. I am deeply saddened by the fact that I'm not going to be there. Particulary since a lot of the bands that are playing are awesome.
For example:
- John-Rae and the River
- Amy Millan
- Great Lake Swimmers
And these are just the bands I already know. Last year, there were a ton of wicked bands I never would have heard of had it not been for Dawson. This is why I can't even visit the myspace sites of any of these bands for a little listen. It would crush my soul to hear how fantastic (I know) they (probably) all are at the same time as I know how un-present I will be at DCMF.

Up to Speed

2007-05-17T14:12:00.000-07:00

Dan Griffin was awesome at the Spades show. The Spades were equally awesome in a different way; in a makes-me-twist-the-night-away-way. Their new album is also sweet as fuck and I suggest, to everyone who hasn’t already, buying it. I saw Dan Griffin & The Northern Lights again last week, which makes me one of the few and the proud who can say I’ve seen every single show they have ever played. All three of them. With them, I saw two new bands. Rock Plaza Central is a pretty wicked Toronto band that uses accordions and horns, among other things. I loved them. They’re an eastcoastified mix of Arcade Fire meets Modest Mouse. Also saw Paper Airplanes; a Kansas-based band with a whole lot of guitars and rocking. Sounds like Rock Plaza Central minus the horns. All six of them, plus merch guy, plus someone’s Mom slept at mine and Sean’s place afterwards because Aaron (our friend/Northern pedal steel star) took it upon himself to take care of them and while his place isn’t, our house is big enough to handle the hospitality. They all made their beds and washed their dishes the following morning so pats on the back to them. That’s more than I do most days.
Best news this month –Joel Plaskett’s new album, Ashtray Rock, came out last week and it is wicked. When I first heard these new songs at the last couple live shows I’ve seen I thought, “ well…those are…new…” but since getting the CD, oh man. I am obsessed in a hugely unhealthy way. The songs make up an hour-long singsong story of what I am assuming is the downfall of Thrush Hermit due to the love triangle that formed when Plaskett scooped a bandmate’s (again, I will assume –Rob Benvie’s) woman. An added bonus is that the album got me a-researchin’ on Rebecca Kraatz–Plaskett’s wife /NovaScotia artist (and suspected Mistress of AshtrayRock). I had always been quite obsessed with the cover art for La De Da, which she did, and when I discovered that she had a wholecache/collection/empire built on similarly-styled wood burns and watercolour work, I was in Heaven! Plus, she also writes a memoir-esque weekly comic, and since those are my favourite kinds of comics, I was even more thrilled!

Preparing for the onslaught

2007-04-04T14:33:00.000-07:00

Soooooo much muuuuuuuuusic!
Going to see Adam Cooke tonight –a local guy n’ guitar musician who has a weekly gig at Slainte. I know nothing about him other than the good somethings I’ve heard.
Even more exciting –the return of the Spades to the Pepper Jack on Saturday. I haven’t seen these guys since before we left for Dawson which was…almost a year ago now. They’ve got a new album that sounds awesome, and Dan Griffin & the Northern Lights (consisting of most of the former members of The Surly Young Bucks) will be opening. I am psyched for this because Dan Griffin is awesome. His songs make me fuzzy and nostalgic over the memories of a past I don’t even think is mine.
Sunday night, Hank & Lily are playing in Guelph, along with a bevy of west-coast musicians including Carolyn Mark. I had originally planned to see Hank & Lily play the Casbah in Hamilton on the 14th but things have arisen and I can’t make it. Fortunately, upon re-examining their tour schedule, I discovered their date with another of my favourite western acts. For once, hooray for things arising!
The show I am perhaps most pumped for however, is Hungry Hill. The stand-out band (for me) from DCMF is finally touring beyond the Yukon and is, as I type, making its way across the country to play Hamilton’s Studio Theatre at the end of April. The following week they’re playing Burlington so we’ll see how the old finances hold up and maybe I’ll go to both.

Escape to Hamiltonia

2007-01-07T09:57:00.000-08:00

Oh Ontario how I have missed you!
Made the escape "back east" (according to the Westerners) and am thrilled to be back in the land of way-too-much-music-to-even-decide-which-music-to-go-and-see. It's so refreshing after so many months in the musically barren landscape of Victoria (well, I suppose it's not entirely barren, especially not if teen punk death-metal is your thing -there's a thriving local screamer scene in Victoria).
Shows on the horizon include Hamilton's own Charlemagne (who I haven't seen in about eight months and who I am very excited to rock out to once more) the ever-intrguing but not-yet-seen-by-me Po' Girl, the new-and-incredible-(so I've heard)album-touting Golden Dogs, BC's own Wassabi Collective and Matt Mays on an Angels Make Contact tour.
For the new year I also have high hopes that Modest Mouse will pass nearby, that Arcade Fire will tour their new business in my neck of the woods, and that I will -please God- get to see Jenny Lewis before I explode.
BRING IT SOUTHWESTERN ONTARIO!

Kinski vs. tequila -they make me equally sick

2006-11-12T13:53:00.000-08:00

In what was to be our last Victoria week-end Sean and I went to see some muz-ak at a bar called Lucky on Friday night. Lucky is a sweet bar. I enjoy the exposed brick everything, the bartenders are nice, and I especially love the autographed Luke Perry glossy they display so proudly and prominently behind the bar.
A Seattle band called Kinski played after two openers -a Victoria band called Run Chico Run (who I've been weirdly obsessed with for years despite never having heard them) and some other band I think was called Espionage and whose hometown I'm sure I don't care about.
Anywhoooooo we attended the show with one of our three Victoria friends, Chris, and his girlfriend. I was already quite drunk when we arrived and then Chris insisted on buying shots (plural) of tequila for all of us. Did I miss something? Was it frosh week? Would it have applied to us if it was? Questions I ask myself now, but thought nothing of at the time. Mostly because I was too busy shooting tequila. And then beer. And then wine. So I was spetacularly trashed rather early on, but still. This should only have served to make me think more of all of these bands by virtue of the fact that my powers of judgement were at an all-time low.
The first band sucked. I think I may have danced to one song and that was only because I was thinking about the Joel Plaskett show I'm going to attend on my triumphant return to Ontario in a couple weeks. Run Chico Run was also un-exceptional, which made me sad because it means all the years of curiousity about them were for naught. Or at least, only for suck.
The third band, Kinski, was supposed to be some hot shit Sub Pop Seattle band but really...when was the last time being on Sub Pop meant anything? Not bloody lately. Jokes on their website still reference Singles, and that was a looooooooooong time ago. Roughly the same time Bridget Fonda did anything worth anything.
Now I may have drunk (drank?) a lot but the bands sucked at least as much, and I maintain that it was the music that pushed me over the edge from "woozy" to "sickly smashed and unable to even consider riding my bike home", which is something that's never happened before. I can always ride my bike home. We ended up catching a cab three songs into the Kinski set.
On the upside Sean and I ran into a guy we worked DCMF with. On the downside of that upside I was screaming and embarassing-drunk in his face. I may have spit in his mouth, and I'm sure I stepped on his toes a bunch.
Also made a fool of myself (or at least made a stranger feel like a freak of nature) getting grossed out by this one dude's mechanical arm. He fell out of a window while working construction or something equally stupid. I don't know. It took me ages to get that information out of him. At first I thought his idiocy came with the territory (he was, remember, a construction worker) but then Chris told me he'd had a run-in with the same guy and that he was on LSD, so that accounted for his crazy eyes and inability to focus on anything I asked him. Plus it made me feel a bit better about making gagging/puking sounds about his sickening arm because I'm sure, in his head, words only made sense in Vulcan or Mandarin or Pig Latin.
Here's to our bikes not getting stolen overnight, and also to the awesome breakfast we had at Paul's Motor Inn the next morning.

Artsy-Fartsy

2006-11-07T10:12:00.000-08:00

So last Thursday I was flipping through Monday Magazine (Victoria's sorry excuse for an alt-weekly) when I happened upon a show listing that, wonder of wonders, sounded like something I might give anything close to resembling a damn about!
Carolyn Mark, Lily Fawn, Amy Honey, and BJ Snowden were playing at a place called The Fifty-Fifty Arts Collective the next night. I immediately hightailed it to Ditch Records to pick up a couple tickets for Sean and I because, though I had no idea who the last two musicians were, I love Lily Fawn adn Carolyn Mark, and I missed the latter's show last week because I was working.
So. Friday night rolled around and Sean and I revved our bike lights and pedalled off to Bay and Douglas to find this place. We were a little skeptical about what we were going to find because the corner of Bay and Douglas is quite a ways from downtown, and a corner highly populated with quickie car repair places.
As it turned out, with good reason. The Fifty-Fifty was a small storefront on an old yellowed brick block that also housed a number of out-of-business-looking establishments that specialized in such things as furniture refinishing and junk collecting. Smack in the middle of these was the venue we sought -a small white gallery jammed with some "meh" paintings of I don't know what. There was a handful of people milling about inside, eating chips out of a plastic bowl, and drinking beer out of plastic party cups. We locked our bikes outside, took a deep breath, and dove in.
Inside was a non-scene that quickly developed into a weirdo scene as we sat and waited for some music to start.
First off, I was the ONLY chick in the place who wasn't wearing knee-high boots of an ass-kicking nature, crazy socks, a skirt, and some variation on a velvet coat/cape/shawl (though had I my purple winter coat on, I would have given them all a run for their money).
Secondly, every one of the twenty-odd people there seemed to know each other except Sean and I and one other dude who, perhaps smelling the similar reek of "outsider" on us, sat right beside us all night. I don't know why this twenty-plus posse didn't just get together in one of their basements to drink and play music instead of each paying $8 to get together and drink and play music at the Fifty-Fifty...maybe it was all an elaborate ploy to bilk Sean and I and Random Dude out of our $8?
Anyway, the show took place behind the gallery -in a concrete boxy space with some sort of unfinished overhead loft. There was a makeshift stage lit by one sorry, drooping strand of mini-lights, and a row on uncomfortable vinyl benches against the back wall.
We didn't venture into the back, back room because it looked like something out of the movie Seven but people kept coming out of it with drinks in hand so I assume there was some sort of fridge or keggerator beyind the greenish glow.
But all atmosheric insanity aside -the music.
Lily played with some mousy chick in a little band called "Deer Legs." There was much singing, violin, flute, and there should have been a tambourine at one point but it had apparently been misplaced. So now I love Lily Fawn but this other chick sucked. She was good with the violin but her voice? Tortured me. That is all I have to say about that.
Amy Honey was pretty good. She could play the guitar, she seemed very nice and chilled and she had some good songs. Some made her voice sound better than others but on the whole, I would see her again.
Next up was Carolyn Mark and she appeared to be smashed out of her tree before she even got onstage. Nevertheless I thoroughly enjoyed her set. I love the girl's voice and even drunk and speaking in inside jokes to the large group of everyone but Sean, random dude, and I, her ramblings were entertaining.
Unfortunately for BJ Snowden, we had to get some alcohol into ourselves before Friday night ended so we bolted as soon as Carolyn Mark finished, but I can tell you this -BJ was a middle-aged black woman wearing a lot of silver whose contribution to the merch table was a handful of autographed 8x10 glossies and a bunch of white T-shirts with giant prints of her face on them. Sean and I have since listened to songs on her website and Sean's take is that she's a female Wesley Willis. Mine is that she is a one-woman version of the Will Ferrell/Cheri Oteri SNL skit where they play Casio keyboards at school and church dances.
Anywhoooooo, moral of the story? Carolyn Mark can D-rink, Lily Fawn needs to get rid of sullen, mousy, awful singer, Amy Honey can stay, and if BJ Snowden doens't add something other than Casio samples to her act she's going to end up an SNL skit.

What's up...or not up as the case may be, and is?

2006-10-12T22:32:00.001-07:00

Well it's hard for me to write about music in a city that has none.
I spent the summer cycling through northern BC and the Yukon with my lovely boyfriend Sean. We attended the Dawson City Music Festival, which rocked my socks off in a way that I may explain at a later date.
Afterwards we moved to Victoria where we have seen one band (The Hylozoists) since August because none of them seem to make it past Vancouver before heading back east.
In other news, we've also grown to hate this city and everyone in it. Because they suck. Or at least the native Victorians do. I miss Ontario and its overwhelming, neverending, too-many-shows-in-one-night music scene.

Pause

2006-03-16T21:33:00.000-08:00

To all the idiots who keep posting comments about how "inquisitive" my blog is, and how I should really check theirs out -you need to brush up on your knowledge of the word "inquisitive."
Cause these posts?
Ain't.
Go fuck yourselves. Or at least link me to a blog that allows me to leave comments so I can innundate you with mindless spam-babble-jibble-jabble too.

Cuff the Duke

2006-02-22T14:23:00.000-08:00

My boyfriend just won 2 tickets to the Cuff the Duke show in Hamilton tomorrow night (via their "Where do you want to see Cuff the Duke? A winner for every city on the tour!" contest) ...which isn't that huge a surprise cause we figure there were probably about 3 people who entered that contest hoping for Hamilton tix and one of them was me.
Hooray though -I was surprised cause I'd forgotten we even entered. I'll be busting a move free-style to the country-rocking sounds of Oshawa's own!
Next on the list is Matt Mays at the beginning of March and The Trews at the end. What will fill up the days in between? Hmmmm...we shall see. Jenny Lewis is playing in Toronto and I'm DYING to see her, but am exercising restraint as I've already blown my February budget to bits. If there are tickets left in March, I'm there. Otherwise...till next time Miss Lewis. You have awesome red hair.

Thank-you Q107 thank-you...you made my day

2005-12-09T14:14:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Q107 played nothing but Lennon and the Beatles.
It was the best radio day ever. You know how when you listen to the radio for 8 hours a day, if 3 or 4 songs make you go "Yessssssssssss!", it's been a wicked day? Well I went "Yessssssssssss!" every couple of minutes.
It was the best radio day ever.

I love Fleetwood Mac but...

2005-10-05T20:59:00.000-07:00

I love Fleetwood Mac. Love 'em. It shocks me to realize I am one of the few but to each their own, and that's not the point here.
The point is that I love Fleetwood Mac. Love 'em. But for God's sake, why did they ever let Christine McVie sing? Especially when they had a singer like Stevie Nicks? She has such a beautiful voice -all low and full and lovely, so full of personality and the ability to carry a tune- I have no idea who in that band first stepped forward and said "Hey I've got an idea! Let's let Stevie be strictly tambourine for this one and we'll get Chrstine behind the mic!" (but I'm laying money on the bassist)
She sounds sort of like Nico...only the bad part of sounding like Nico that no one ever really mentions cause she was down with the Velvet Underground and if they dug her why shouldn't we, you know? Not in the "it-just-don't-matter-if-she-sounds-a-little-wonky-and-tuneless-cause-it-
works-and-she's-motherfucking-NICO-by-the-by-and-Andy-Warhol-was-
fascinated-by-her" kind of way.
In more the "she-plays-keys-and-even-though-that-takes-way-more-
talent-than-any-tambourine-Stevie's-ever-played-it-still-kind-of-feels-like
-there's-a-bit-of-a-Jan-and-Marsha-thing-between-them-cause-A)-Stevie-
can-sing-a-song-and-B)-she's-the-chick-all-the-guys-want-to-get-with-not
-Christine-and-C)-it-doesn't matter-who-was-there-first-people-will-always
-think-of-Stevie-when-they-think-of-Fleetwood-Mac-partly-because-D)-
hers-and-Buckingham's-break-up-spawned-one-of-the-best-records-ever
-where's-your-blood-sweat-and-tears-on-Rumours-McVie?)" kind of way.
She's just not as good. I often skip the songs she sings cause they are quite blah and get irritating as fuck. You don't hear anyone saying that about Stevie. Not anyone who knows what's what anywhooooooo.

What gives, music non-appreciaters?

2005-09-22T18:34:00.000-07:00

Q107, my personal classic rock station of choice, played Wish You Were Here in its entirety today. Needless to say I was pretty psyched because a good shift soundtrack makes all the difference.
However, some Ottawa random staying at the hostel I work at decided the most opportune times to bother, and drag me away from the desk (where the stereo is), were during "Wish You Were Here" and "Shine on You Crazy Diamond". I know. I know. You don't have to tell me. I too was quite shocked by his suggestion that I do anything besides enjoy the tunes. I mean, was he being serious with me right then? Seriously serious? For real? Who does that? Foolish Ottawanian.
Fortunately for my mood, after the Senator left (and Q107 moved onto their regularly scheduled programming), I found a copy of Abbey Road in a stack of burned CD's, so I threw that on for a good, long spin before a co-worker switched it up...and I've got to say, mildly pissed me off once more. Now somewhere in my head I know she has as much right to music selection as I do behind the desk that we share, but...why fuck with such a good thing? I still can't get my head around it. She has good taste in music. I know she does. We've talked and she knows what's what. If I was listening to some band that was an acquired taste I could understand but... it was The Beatles. Who doesn't love them? Especially Abbey Road? Besides fools I mean? Like the dude from Ottawa? Who probably would have kicked me in the eardrums if he'd been around when I was all pleased and thrilled to the tips of my fingers and "Oh! Darling"-ing it up?
Dang it's just so good! From the eerie, sliding shooooooooop of "Come Together" to the trippy swirl of "I Want You" to the cartoonish, anthemic quality of "Octopus's Garden". Never heard of a little ditty called "Here Comes The Sun"? And I'd like to sit down and really talk with anyone who doesn't think they could fly or burst or commit some extreme act of physical physicality when listening to the trumpets on "Carry That Weight". Feck now!Let's give our heads a shake.

Back in Black

2005-09-20T16:34:00.000-07:00

I had the username and password for this site written down in the front cover of my 2005 planner.
I recently lost my 2005 planner and have been unable to access this account since then.
Before "recently" I was on dial-up, so there's that excuse.
Moments ago however, I found out about the "get-all-your-secret-jazz-e-mailed-to-you-if-you-forget-it" business and did just that.
So now I am back...even if it's really in a blue t-shirt and psychedelic flannel pants instead of black.

Sweet Emotion in a red connie

2005-03-18T08:04:00.000-08:00

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

2005-03-15T06:46:00.000-08:00

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

2005-03-09T07:02:00.000-08:00

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

2005-03-01T10:40:00.000-08:00

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.

Mix tapes

2005-02-28T11:32:00.000-08:00

About a year ago I was talking to a friend of mine who had recently been given what he deemed a "mix," by a friend of his. A long-time lover of mixes, I was curious and asked how it was made.
"Well on the first CD," he started, "there are 22 songs ..."
Whoa, whoa, whoa –on the first CD? This so-called mix was a burned CD? And he dared call it a mix? I bet. It probably took 30 minutes -tops- to make. Just over a minute a song. A minute and 36 seconds a song, in fact.
"Blasphemy," I told him. "That's no mix."
I don't remember when I first noticed the popular ignorance among some music lovers as to what constitutes a mix, but it seems that lately the term is tossed around all fast and loose with a carelessness that's leading entire generations to accept shitty compilations as valid mixes.
True, a mix is a matter of personal choice but there are a few unspoken yet (I thought) universally intuited rules when it comes to mixing. At this point, if you find yourself wondering just what the hell I'm talking about, you need to take the I-Pod headphones off your ears and listen up ...
1) First off, downloading songs from Kazaa and burning them to CD (or some MP3 doo-hickey) does not a mix make; burning a CD, results in a burned CD (and don't get me started on the MP3's). There are spaces between songs. Fade-out's lead lamely to fade-in's. Songs just don't go because you're not putting the effort into figuring out how they fit together. Point-click, point-click, point-click on the computer, burn, ten minutes and new CD is a lazy, disgusting and sacreligious way of going about things. The first and most golden rule is that YOU MUST USE A STEREO AND A TAPE. That way, you can listen to your beginnings and endings to make sure they blend well before you commit them to an eternity of following one another. If you're doing this correctly, exercising the required amount of discretion and giving the proper ear time to each song, every minute of tape should take two to three minutes to mix. Let's do the math together now -a 120-minute mix should take four to six hours to record.
2) Have a list of songs you want to include. Make it up a week in advance and re-read it a couple times before your scheduled mix day so you can be sure you haven't forgotten anything. The number of songs that'll fit on the tape rely on many variables so have some extras and alternates of varying lengths on hand in case you have too much or too little tape. And while we're talking tracklisting, choose your opening songs wisely. Nothing too obvious and nothing too unknown. "Bohemian Rhapsody" is too much; Leeroy Stagger is not enough; maybe you want some non-single Strokes, or a little Modest Mouse.
3) Breaks are for pansies and people not committed to the tape. If you are making this mix, you had better be making this mix; set aside a whole morning and afternoon for it. If you must eat, answer the phone, pee, or interact with other people, at least wait until you've finished side A so you don't lose the feel of it. Then go ahead and take care of your business, but lock your door and leave the phone off the hook when you get back to side B.
4) Fades suck. A song that fades in sounds wussy and one that fades out fucks with the transition to the next song. If you really want to use a song with a fade-out, cut it off at a choice spot before the fade, so it sounds like there is no fade, or make it the last song on side A or B.
5) In the same vein, every song must follow directly on the heels of the song that comes before. Gaps are cheese and the antithesis of mixes. As crap as the Dance Mix series was (is? I don't know. Is it still around?), it had it right with the transitions. Lack of gap is 100% of what makes a mix a mix and 50% of what will make it a stellar mix. True mix lovers will appreciate your transitions as much, if not more, than your song choice. Conversely, they will heckle the crap out of you if you do it badly. I once broke up with a guy because he gave me a half-finished mix with three-second gaps between songs.
6) Never put two songs by the same band back-to-back. I know Led Zeppelin rocks but "When the Levee Breaks" piggybacking "Whole Lotta Love" sounds ass. They have albums for that shit, and that's the only place it sounds right. If you need (and I mean paralyzingly, sick-to-your-stomach-with-indecision-over-which-song-to-use-NEED) two Zeppelin songs on your tape, mix them in at the furthest points from one another - like the middles of side A and B. Just don't expect a pat on the back when you're done.
7) Balance the mood. If you follow "Fake Plastic Trees" with "Famous Blue Raincoat" you will want to kill yourself. Follow a depressing song with something like "Love Shack" or "Magic Carpet Ride," then stay away from the slow stuff for awhile. Make sure there's at least a six-song buffer zone before you get back into your Cure or any of that wickedly slow Lydia Lunch. Exceptions include songs that are so kick-ass they seem neither depressing, nor optimistic. For example; "Simple Man" can follow a relatively dismal song and remain nothing but splendid, where a lesser song might bring you down, simply because it is so fantastic. Similar rules apply to high-energy songs. If you line too many up, especially in the case of a driving mix, you could accidentally drive yourself into a ditch. A perfect example; never include "My Favorite Game" by the Cardigans on a mix you know is destined for your car stereo -waaaaay too tempting to hit ridiculous speeds with a devil-may-care attitude.
Of course this column just skims the surface. There are a whole whack of rules, mistakes, and techniques to be observed, made and learned. These are simply the most basic of guidelines (yet, infuriatingly, also the most oft-made errors), put out there for those shoddy mixologists who may or may not be reading. To those of you who've been nodding your heads along to these points, "right on!"-ing and pounding your fist on the desk -cheers to you. Keep mixing, print these tips off and hand them out to your friendly neighbourhood musical morons. You're doing us all a favour. To you potential prowlers, I don't know where to start. Mixing is an art form, not a way to kill a half-hour. Wise the hell up. Start here. Today. Learn it, love it, live it. Just don't overplay it.

Billy Talent can suck it

2005-02-28T11:21:00.000-08:00

I hate this band. Talentless screeching fucks. I'm so bloody sick of bands that bang simple, lacklustre tunes out on their trashy instruments and substitute screaming for singing or ridiculous hair for some sort of hipster's definitive characteristic-type cred.
Effin' screamer bands. Billy Talent leads the pack. I hate them. Almost as much as Nickelback, but for different reasons.

Super 400

2005-02-24T19:25:00.000-08:00

Despite a name widely held to be lame, these guys (and gal) are kick-fucking-ass.
Saw them for the first time at the 6th Annual Wheeliefest -held in the lovely, lovely Poconos.
If memory serves me correctly, I was hammered and climbing out of a pond in a denim skirt when they started their set...but it's highly likely that memory fails me as I was in hour 4 of what ended up being a 12-hour beer guzzling bender (though it was American beer, so I guess the translation to Canad-ese shaves a few hours off).
Either way -the point is that this band saw out, and sums up, one of the best summers I ever had -in terms of music as well as a whole whack of other things. A wicked three-piece from some unhip part of New York State, there's a heavy, nostalgic quality to their tunes that's awesome on a stereo and even better under a setting September sun with a beer buzz kicking.

Nickelback

2005-02-24T12:03:00.000-08:00

Chad Kroeger is a whiny bitch.
His hair is disgusting, he's a crybaby poser with a ten-year old's vocabulary, I hate his band, all their songs are shit, they're giving Canadian music (which kicks all kinds of ass) a bad name, and I don't know who the fuck said they could cover Elton's John's Saturday Night's All Right For Fighting but that person (or persons -heck I'll point as many fingers as are necessary) should be prodded with a high-voltage electrical tool of some sort.
I won tickets to see Conan O'Brien when he did a week of shows in Toronto last year and I was aaaallllll psyched cause I love the Cone-dog, and there was a one in three chance that Stompin' Tom Connors was going to be the musical guest the day I had tickets, but nooooooooo.
Whiny Chaddy probably whined his whiny whine about some whiner's reason his band had to play the Wednesday of the Great Canadian Conerama, pushing Stompin' Tom over to (I think) the Friday show and subjecting me to that effing "pants around your feet" song when all I was in the mood for was some Good Old Hockey Game and some good old-fashioned board stompin'.
Fucking bitches. Suck it Nickelback. I hate you (*disclaimer -the term "you" does not include Nickelback's guitar tech Tim, who I have a mad crush on. I saw him skipping around in the shadows during Conan, and then again when he joined the Trews during a show in Barrie, and wailed some Zeppelin on the guitar. I like to think there's a wicked evil stepperson in his life who has cursed him with a decade of being a crap-band-bitch, as revenge against one of his parents or ancestors, like in Sleeping Beauty or something, because then his involvement with Kroeger & Co. would be completely against his will and better judgement).

Jeremy Fisher

2005-02-24T08:47:00.000-08:00

Saw Jeremy Fisher for the third time last night.
He played at a place called the London Music Club, which I always thought was a music conservatory that gave lessons or something, but which turned out to be my new favorite live music venue in this city. Bonus to this -it's right by my place on Dufferin (post-show, on the 20-second walk home, my friend Andrew and I debated whether or not it's an actual stone's throw from my doorstep, and while he remains unconvinced of my fantastic strength, I'm pretty sure I could do it).
Anywhoooooo, ol' Jeremy. The first time I saw him was at a shoulder-to-shoulder showcase at Toronto's Rivoli during the NXNE Festival last year. If you've never been to the Rivoli, it's a highly pretentious hipster joint on Queen West (On Queen? No!) where drinks seem to be, as far as I can tell, priced differently according to where in the bar you purchase them, must be consumed within said designated area, left behind if you choose to move from that particular area, and replaced with new and foreign-ly priced drinks should you move into a new area. Now if that's not outstanding promotion of responsible drinking, you can poke me in the eye with a sharp stick.
But back to the music.
So.
The Rivoli.
Packed to the tits with elitist scenesters sipping their mojitos and scotches on the rocks, yammering endlessly to everyone within a ten-foot radius about whatever under the sun will take their minds off the all-consuming nic fits that have become a staple of their Saturday nights on the town since the no-smoking bylaw was introduced in Toronto.
Fisher hops onstage with a beat-up old guitar that makes me think of The Red Violin (only if the violin was a guitar I guess), a head full of Medusa-crazy curls and the first genuine smile I've seen in this city all weekend, and starts spilling these West Coast hippie, Dylan-esque anthems all over the getting-progressively-drunker crowd.
Some of his lyrics are a little cheese, I'll admit that, but he's an excellent guitarist, good on the harmonica, and he has the uncanny ability to make even the most hopped-up of bar-crawlers shut yap and take notice. The guy's just so textbook genial. I mean, I've heard a lot of people lay down a lot of shit about how "guy next door" certain singers are, and cliche as it is, Fisher must have been the inspiration for the term. It doesn't feel like a show, it feels like hanging out with some dude at summer camp (only in a bar...full of hundreds of people...who all think they're way cooler than everyone else). He shakes mistakes off with a toss of shaggy chestnut hair, owns up to nervousness with superconfident laughs that almost betray those nerves, and tells long rambling stories about the second time he biked across Canada, without being anything but a pure delight to listen to (I feel I must digress for a minute here to mention this fact: I dig the guy's music and he's a wicked entertainer, but I would be bleeding out my eyes with lies if I said he's not also wildly attractive, and that the fact that when he tours the country, he does it on a mountain bike with his guitar strapped to his back, makes him THAT. MUCH. SEXIER. To the point where I want to jump him in the hallway after the show and have my way with him on the pile of his own ice cream-coloured t-shirts that's fanned out over the merch table. Yeow).
So.
At the end of his 45-minute set he plays this song Fall For Anything, that breaks and smothers everyone in the bar. I shit you not. That place was full and feisty at the beginning of the night, and somewhere mid-show the roar moved down from dull to din to non-existent, so by the time he closes the set with the afore-mentioned tune it's pin-drop silent. Bizarre. Beautiful.
And there you have encounter number one, in far more detail than I planned to include when I started typing this out, but it laid the groundwork that lured me back to his audience last night, where I was, once again, blown away (which, I might add -his status in my books was in dire need of after he bailed, without warning, on a gig at The Ugly Mug back in December). He was all smiles and cinnamon hearts between songs and stories, with a considerate washroom/smoke (pick your poison) break in the middle and an accidental encore on a piano he happend to stumble over in the corner post-show. Far cheaper show the third time around, on a far better lit stage, in a place that was far more suited to the type of guy Fisher seems to be (they gave out happy face stamps at the door to keep track of re-entry and also, as owner Janice Denomme told me, "to keep you happy all night long").
I don't really have much of an ending left to pull this all together nicely because right now I really just want a cookie, but maybe once I've eaten one, and thought about it a little, I'll come back and tack something a bit more graceful on to the end of this bitch. In the meantime, grab yourself a cookie and sit tight.

Blind Melon

2005-02-23T11:12:00.000-08:00

Don't know where this thought popped into my head from. Probably cause I was listening to Soup last night and the memory of that hour is far more appealing than what I'm actually doing, which is sitting in front of a computer in the basement of a pretentious university -where I sell train tickets to the stuck-up offpsring of old money hotshots (though not this week cause they're all in Cancun on their parents' cizzash)- wishing to GOD that's what I was still doing instead of sweet fuck-all at this ass job (less than 2 more months, less than 2 more months...) but that's neither here nor there.
What is, is that it recently occurred to me that Shannon Hoon was a far greater loss to music than Kurt Cobain was.
Cobain is remebered and revered the way he is because he allegedly blazed the trail towards the grunge movement that welcomed a million disaffected youth into its angry and understanding arms, but guess fucking what? There were hundreds of greasy-haired dudes just like him kicking the same damn jams out of a hundred dirty bars -he was just the first one to get noticed. I mean, I like Nirvana (I really like Nirvana), and that trio was a hell of a lot better at what they did than a whack of others doing the same exact thing, but there were a whack of others doing the same exact thing, you know what I'm saying? Cheers to them for doing it well, but cheers to aaaaalllllllll the other late 80's/early 90's grunge bands that did it well too.
Blind Melon, on the other hand, was a new and crazy trip packed with broad and complex psychedelic tuneage, intelligent, intelligible lyrics, orchestras of instrumental experimentation, an overall sound and feel no one else was coming close to, and a nutty touring schedule that would have broken most bands (and I guess ultimately had a hand in doing just that to them).
Cobain may have been the first competent figure spotted in the sea of a widespread movement, but Hoon gave something to music that hadn't been heard before, and hasn't been rivalled since.
While kids all over my high school wrote suicide notes to themselves and walked around wearing Cobain's down-and-out, heavily-mascared face on their t-shirts, I had a shot of Shannon taped inside my locker door -wearing a blissful smile and electric blue t-shirt as he danced onstage, his long, wavy hair crowned by a wreath of flowers. He was one of the few fresh things that came out of the 90's, and in the mess of embarassing musical influences we all trip over in our youths, he was a dude I'm proud and happy to say shaped my preferences and still spins on my stereo weekly.
To rip a quote from Blind Melon bassist Brad Smith, "he was a special cat...He could just nail it".

Smashing Pumpkins

2005-02-23T09:22:00.000-08:00

I was a rabid Smashing Pumpkins fan back in the day. RABID. Rabid.
I bawled for weeks the year they played the Phoenix in Toronto and I missed out on tickets.
I cried staring at Billy Corgan's eyes at the end of the "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" video.
I wore cords.
I shopped at Value Village.
I was full of angst (however unwarranted...but come now -that was par for the course, no?).
I liked the word "jaded" and hated people who didn't know that the Pumpkins' first major release was not Siamese Dream, but 1991's Gish (subtext -I hated a lot of people).
Hardly anyone knew Gish then, and hardly anyone knows it now, which is why it always surprises me when a mad commercial rock radio station like London's FM96, plays Siva -something they've been doing a lot in the last year or so.
1/3 of me is always mildly pissy that it took them so dang long, 1/3 of me is pumped cause the song kicks fucking ass, and the final third of me sort of wants to cry because it reminds me of Billy the way he was before he found God and went off the deep end.
I'm serious man. The guy has completely lost it. Post-Pumpkins he dredged up Zwan and while I truly did like Mary Star of the Sea (it was so dang happy and sparkly and I wasn't a black-nailpolish-wearing sixteen-year old anymore so I was SOLD on the sunshine), ol' Billy sounded more than a little out if it in most of the interviews I read during that time -on and on about the many different Zwans that existed within the band, religious references galore (none of which included the word "fuck"), bizarre opening bands made up of starry-eyed folk duos who blissfully played mandolins to crowds of akward hangers-on in Zero t-shirts.
As I said, I did like the album, I skipped a Politics class to watch them give a radio interview at the Edge, and I even shelled out $40 to see them play the concrete box of Guvernment that passes as a concert venue in Toronto, but I wasn't surprised when they broke up barely a year later.
What did surprise me however, was visiting billycorgan.com a couple months after that and finding -all non-threatening and deceiving on a sky-blue background- a collection of rants and diary entries from the man himself that made him sound a) illiterate b) like a six-year old child and c) crazy. Apparently he had found God and all was sweetness and light with his life, but not in a good way as far as I was (and still am) concerned -in an off his rocker's rocker kinda way, in a self-indulgent (and many would argue he's always been that way, but...) stream-of-consciousness-drivel-with-an-almost-scary-religious-thread-running-through-it-in-parts kind of way.
I mean I haven't been on the same wavelength as guy in years. I didn't run to the bookstore and buy his book of poetry whenever it was that the thing came out, and I haven't included a Pumpkins song on a mix in the last...at least three I've made but still -this shit's a little hard to take coming from him. I mean -whatever happened to God being empty? Just like you? Cause you seem to be pretty full of shit these days my boy.
I realize we're not all teenyboppers, and mad at the world forever, but it's such a Twilight Zone/Invasion of the BodySnatchers-type situation I just can't get my head around it.
And Siva makes me think of this. It makes me a little bit sad, like someone I used to know just died, and a helluva lot grateful that he waited until the post-Pumpkins phase of his life to go off and get saved because though it retroactively hurts me now, if he'd done it back when I was 15 and the Pumpkins were all I believed in, I don't know how I would have carried on.
So here's a cheers to Siva, and another round of good old-fashioned contempt for those who don't have a clue what I'm talking about.