Beautiful songs: Ceremony

Thanks to my big sister, Jane, I grew up listening to New Order and other great bands in the eighties. My early memories of NO come from the Substance singles compilation LP, in particular the songs "Bizarre Love Triangle" (of course), "True Faith", "Perfect Kiss", and "Blue Monday". But the very first song on this album is the one that today gives me chills from just thinking about it. One might find "Ceremony" unassuming at first. When it comes to NO singles, many will inevitably skip it in favour of the pure electro-pop joy of their other songs. New Order songs are (for the most part) danceable, uplifting, and upbeat, despite their often obscure and occasionally melancholy lyrics. But not this one.

The type of pop music that New Order creates is nostalgic. This is a pretty common trend since the seventies, when bands began to long for the blissful pop songs of the sixties. But that is not NO's nostalgia. Theirs is more the uncanny sort that makes you feel instantly comfortable (or uncomfortable), like you recognize the music, though you may not connect it with anything you've heard before. (Clearly I'm biased on this point, since, as I mentioned, I grew up listening to this music; but bear with me. I have felt this type of instant nostalgia with several bands since, both new and old, and I am certain that it points to a real phenomenon.) I think New Order reached the peak of this form with the song "Regret" from their 1993 album, Republic. In my opinion, that is one of the greatest pop songs of all time. But I digress.

"Ceremony" feels nostalgic, but it is hardly a pop song. It was written by Joy Division—meaning the members of New Order plus Ian Curtis, but minus Gillian Gilbert—but never properly recorded in studio by them. The only existing recordings of "Ceremony" by Joy Division are a demo and a live version from a show just two weeks before singer Ian Curtis's suicide. I was ecstatic when I discovered a couple of years ago that these recordings existed, and more so that I actually possessed one of them—the demo—on the Joy Division box set, Heart and Soul. It is beautiful and haunting, and it leaves me wanting a proper JD recording, not just the New Order version. Still, NO were faithful to Curtis's memory and voice, and I can't imagine that Joy Division would have created anything more beautiful than their successors did. As on their tribute to Curtis, "Blue Monday", New Order singer Bernard Sumner channels his predecessor and sings with his stirring monotone voice. That spirit would follow the latter band throughout their career. And today I discovered that there exist two versions of "Ceremony" by New Order also! It's like a strike to the heart. How could I not have known! How soon can I find and hear the other! Not soon enough.

Occasionally, this song makes me tear up, but they are not tears of sadness that "Ceremony" causes me, and the song does not make me feel nostalgic for any particular time or thing in my life. The shivers and tears are for the beauty of the object: the divine nature of music and the reality it exposes. Good, honest music bares the soul; and if we listen to it honestly, it frees us from our bodies and minds to connect with the soul of the creator—with life. And the nostalgia is the soul yearning for that connection: remembering a time when it knew no walls, when it was restricted by no mind or matter.

"Ceremony" flew low on my radar for most of my life. I was generally aware of it, but I hadn't connected with it the way I do now. I was one to skip past it to the "good stuff" on Substance, meaning the dancey party songs. I felt a more artificial nostalgia for the songs "Bizarre Love Triangle" (my childhood), "Temptation" (my mid-adolescence, caused by the film, Trainspotting), and "Regret" (adolescence generally); not that I don't think those are great songs. I'm just aware that my feelings towards those songs are very closely tied to times and events in my life. I was more connected to "1963", a rather odd and melancholy dance song about a man, Johnny, who only seems to be able to leave romantic relationships by killing his partner. Thinking about it now, it is a common theme among people who are unable to express themselves in relationships: one feels it is impossible for him to tell his partner that he wants to leave, so the only way out is murder. This is all over film, literature, and theatre. My point is that maybe the affinity I felt with this song was due to difficulties I have had communicating with people. Regardless, I now feel towards no New Order song like I do towards "Ceremony".

Now, perhaps I will contradict myself. I couldn't say precisely why I came to connect with "Ceremony". But it "started" like this: Several years ago, when I was still spinning records at Blow Up, the local indie-mod party, DJ Davy Love would occasionally play "Ceremony" later on in the night, often well after last call (2:00 in Toronto, for those who want to know). Unfortunately, my memory of this period is not entirely clear. I can't remember at which club this happened, though I'm fairly certain it was the El Mocambo, which places this event at least seven years ago. And I can't recall my relationship to the song at the time. I knew it and liked it very much, certainly, but let me go on. One night in particular, I remember catching the last bridge of the song, a rising three-note guitar riff repeating quickly over a beat driven by the hi-hat cymbal. I remember thinking, "I know this. What is it?"

Blow Up was the centre of the mod-britpop-indie universe in Toronto for several years around the turn of the millennium. It wasn't part of a scene; it was the scene, every Saturday for people from as far away as Hamilton, Buffalo, New York, and Detroit (not to speak of the boundless Toronto suburbs). In 2002, I went to our namesake mod party in London, England, and that was nowhere near as popular as our Blow Up in Toronto. Anyway, I attended as a partier, a fan, a young mod, nearly every week from the time I was 18 and a half (that's below legal age in Ontario, for the curious), and eventually I began DJing there, too, crystallizing my taste and feel for the unique and particular music that constitutes a scene like that. There is still an awful lot of music from that period that gives me strong feelings when I hear it, and if I were to compile a list of favourite albums, probably at least half of it would comprise things I fell in love with then. So clearly, I have a nostalgic interest here, and, if I examined more closely, I could probably find that "Ceremony" speaks to my state of mind and my feelings about the mod scene at the time the song struck me. Like, maybe the song is somehow the story of my life then.

It's sad to say that even at that point, in the middle of its tenure, the Blow Up/mod scene was dying in Toronto. (At least the scene as I had known it.) Or rather, it was having an identity crisis. This certainly mirrors my own experience at the time. If I remember correctly, this was soon before the El Mo closed (a sure and sad sign of trouble, though it has reopened since), and Blow Up moved to other, less felicitous venues. After it moved, my heart was no longer in it, and now I don't miss those times. I enjoyed myself, I made good friends, I honed my skill behind the 'tables; I dressed well, I danced hard, and I fell in love. But it's over now, and while very influential, I have no desire to return to that time or to relive it now. In other words, I'm not sad that that part of my life is over, and while "Ceremony" may be connected to an important time of my life, I don't believe that connection is nostalgic. In that "What is this?" moment, I heard the song afresh; it was new to me and out of place and time; it was a sign of things to come. I think that's what it was in the beginning and is still.

The ceremony is the act of recognition, acknowledgment, preparation, and, consequently, transformation. In the ceremony, we prepare to transform, to become new. Is that what this song is about? I don't know. Bernard Sumner himself had to put the early Joy Division recordings of "Ceremony" through graphic equalization to make out the lyrics. But a great song is more than the sum of its individual parts. This is a song written by a troubled man and a band in troubled times. It is a product of a certain time and space, though it persists across those dimensions. It is a credit to the remaining members of Joy Division that they moved on to form New Order and that they paid tribute to Ian Curtis with "Ceremony" (and its b-side "A Lonely Place", also written by JD). It seems to me that they understood the beauty of the song, and would not let death prevent them from giving it to the world. I am very glad that they did.
__

This is why events unnerve me,
They find it all, a different story,
Notice whom for wheels are turning,
Turn again and turn towards this time,
All she asks the strength to hold me,
Then again the same old story,
World will travel, oh so quickly,
Travel first and lean towards this time.

Oh, I'll break them down, no mercy shown,
Heaven knows, its got to be this time,
Watching her, these things she said,
The times she cried,
Too frail to wake this time.

Oh I'll break them down, no mercy shown
Heaven knows, its got to be this time,
Avenues all lined with trees,
Picture me and then you start watching,
Watching forever, forever,
Watching love grow, forever,
Letting me know, forever. Read on..!

I love autumn

Here are a couple of artworks I made a few years ago to send to a Young People's Foundation show in Los Angeles.

I think I used summer photos, but I also think these pieces convey the feeling of fall pretty well.

The original images are from somewhere in Montréal—probably Parc Lafontaine or the mountain. Read on..!

Manufactured Landscapes

Here is the final draft version of my review of the Edward Burtynsky documentary “Manufactured Landscapes” for AND Magazine, issue 1, June 2007.

“
May I begin by asking what is the difference between natural and artificial, anyway? Then, can we just drop the pretense and acknowledge that we don’t know? Artificial, manufactured; these are words that signify things made or conceived by humans. Natural, by nature or God. But surely I’m not the only one who recognizes that all things come from nature, and no matter if humans form them and put them together, they never belong to us. In other words, the very distinction between nature and artifice is artificial. We made it up! Just like we made up words, beauty, cars, art, TV, politics, countries, objectivity, and coincidence.

This is all to say that the manufactured—the man-made—can be equally as beautiful as the natural; even those things that, when we hear about them in the news, we click our tongues and shake our heads at. And we have no objectivity; that is why when faced with something we disapprove of, we can have an entirely different reaction than if we only hear about it.

Edward Burtynsky is a photographer who can show us these confusing elements of the human being, and make them okay. He can make us find things we think atrocities of human excess to be the height of beauty, and it’s okay. At least that has been my experience of Burtynsky’s work. The documentary film, “Manufactured Landscapes,” directed by Jennifer Baichwal, is much the same. It explores Burtynsky’s work from the beginning of his Manufactured Landscapes period, starting with the brilliant orange-red veins of runoff from nickel mining set against dark earth in Sudbury, Ontario, and the immense empty footprint and incredible classical and abstract formations of stone quarries in Vermont, Italy, and India; she looks at fields of fractalized scrap metals and the great hulking shapes of gigantic oil tankers cut into bits in Bangladesh. From there she quickly moves to the film’s main focus: China and the radical changes taking place there due to industrialization and urbanization unprecedented in human history. It is a country where development is undeniable and unquestionable, and our Western, first world, moral arguments are out of place, irrelevant. Perhaps the perfect location for Burtynsky's neutral lens. The Three Gorges dam project, for example, has displaced over a million people in more than a dozen cities, many of whom were subsequently hired to demolish their own homes and neighbourhoods; but it will provide electricity (to the tune of 84.7 TWh per year by 2009) and facilitate the transportation of goods for the next generation of Chinese. Old, 20th century houses and quarters in Shanghai are torn down to make way for high-rises—condos we call them in Canada— their family tenants forced to move to more distant, cheaper homes, to make way for the next generation of economy-driving Chinese. Nearly unimaginably large factories, manufacturing plants, dominate vast tracts of land and house innumerable interchangeable labourers making products for who knows who now. Seas of coal sit waiting to heat the next generation of nuclear power plants.

This is where the documentary diverges from Burtynsky’s own project. Looking through Baichwal’s film lens, following Burtynsky on his unusual tour of China as he speaks with Chinese of the old and new economies, it is hard not to fall into judgments about the changes taking place there. While watching, I wanted to think that it’s wrong what we’re doing to the earth with our gross exploitation of its resources; it’s wrong to displace such a great amount of people no matter what perceived benefits; it’s backwards to think in such simple, short-sighted, and inefficient terms; et c. And surely there’s nothing wrong with thinking those things. If nobody ever did, there might not be human rights or environmental movements. But there are always at least two sides to a judgment: my side and the “other” side, and if there were not another side, we would have nothing to judge. I might look at these images and see atrocities, or I might see progress, and as soon as I pick one or the other, I create someone with whom I do not and often cannot agree: an enemy.

Burtynsky’s own works—his grand, silent, still images—don’t encourage such judgments with the same urgency. They merely present what’s there, and while perhaps we, as humans, cannot help but to judge one way or the other, I find these images at least initially give pause—a brief moment of freedom, a glimpse of objectivity. And in that moment I find I can choose whether to judge or not: whether to see what’s there—the bare beauty—or to see through a veil of judgment—the ugly, wrong, corrupt, immoral. The neutrality of this moment, this meeting with barefaced reality, is a position from which we can re-envision beauty and progress and most, if not all, of our moral concerns. Maybe beauty can sometimes look like ugliness, and the world can be beautiful just the way it is, with all the trouble and suffering that we cannot avoid; and maybe progress, too, can look ugly, but still be progress, and maybe it does here in the west as well. These ideas don't need to be attached to a single ideology or moral framework. My “right” doesn't have to be my enemy’s “wrong”, and indeed, our disagreement doesn't have to make us enemies. For I don’t know what's right or wrong or good or bad, and when I’m presented with images like those in the film, I don’t especially care. I'm simply ecstatic that somebody is taking the time and risk to capture these moments.

These are easily politicized images that Burtynsky has created, and in the end, it’s impressive the amount of restraint that Baichwal shows in her own take on their story. She makes her opinion known without propagandizing and without making the viewer feel guilty or stupid. Nonetheless, and I admit that this may be my guilty conscience speaking, she seems to me to be saying that what is happening in the world is wrong, and we, the decadents, for various reasons, are to blame. My opinion is only that you would do well to see this film and the photographs of Edward Burtynsky, and enjoy being suspended between your judgments and awe.
”

For more information on the Three Gorges Dam:

Three Gorges Probe Fact Box
Chinese Government Official Web Portal - The Three Gorges Dam Project Read on..!

Creative days past

Here are a couple of base images from a painting I made several years ago as part of a Young People's Foundation show in Montréal. I don't remember the title of the final piece. I'm pretty sure it's sitting in my basement somewhere—I hope so! If I remember correctly, this painting was shown at the Coachella festival on a boat in L.A. I don't remember the details though.

The view is of a then-unfinished UQAM building on the southwest corner of rues Sherbrooke and St-Urbain, with the downtown skyline in the background. I was fascinated by construction cranes at the time, as they had appeared in Montréal and Toronto like tall pisse-en-lits, and the winds seemed to carry their fluffy seeds all over. Read on..!

Art projects past: the YPF 24-hour Art Party

It feels like a long time in the past now, but about five or so years ago, I and a group of friends, the Young People's Foundation collective, performed our second major installation: the 24-Hour Art Party, also known as Days are Numbered + Aftermath. (Our first was really just a big party and fundraiser with a relatively small exhibition—does anyone have photos of that?) The object of the event was to create a work of art (approximately 7" x 7") every 24 minutes for 24 hours, producing a total of 60 pieces per artist. (13 or 14 of us participated.) It was awesome. At the end of the 24 hours, Galerie Accidentelle (at Spencer's and Mandy's boutique, Lemon Lime) was covered from floor to ceiling in art.

Well, I don't consider myself much of an illustrator, painter, or collage artist; I'm not visually creative enough to put together that many individual pieces in that amount of time. So I decided to make music instead, and here is a mix of my many pieces. (I did create a piece for every 24-minute period. Mostly I wrote out lyrics or thoughts on the process.)


The next day, Josh and I mixed it down from 60 tracks, and I dropped off a CD and discman at the gallery so viewers could look and listen. And now, finally, so can the whole world. Let me know what you think!

Track one Track two Track three Track four Track five Track six Track seven Track eight Track nine Track ten Track eleven Track twelve Track thirteen Track fourteen Track fifteen Track sixteen Track seventeen Track eighteen Track nineteen Track twenty Track twenty-one Track twenty-two

Read on..!

Radiant Dark design show

I like furniture, and I like art, and I appreciate quality, durability, and design. I also appreciate cheap, but while it's possible to find all of the former qualities together, it's not possible to find the former with the last one. This is actually a major ethical quandary I face (not just with furniture): should I buy a more expensive product of higher quality when there is always a cheaper and lower-quality alternative?

Am I capable of incorporating long-term economics into purchasing decisions? Is there any point?

With all products, the issue is disposability: this is a feature of the vast majority of consumer goods today. The opposite is sustainability or durability, and it is the theme of this year's Radiant Dark design show.

See my full write-up, with pics by Danijela, at Toronto Craft Alert. Read on..!

NOMO at the El Mocambo, September 18, 2009

Overall, a very good show.

Maybe you've figured this out already, but it only really hit me at this NOMO show that music is invisible, and this fact has implications I can't even imagine. That was actually my first thought when these guys started playing, and I couldn't stop thinking it for the rest of the show.

It is the main difference—well, it's one way of describing the main difference between seeing a band perform music live and listening to a recording of it, regardless of the quality of the recording; because while music itself—the sounds that comprise it—is invisible, and involves mostly hearing, performance is highly sensual, involving each of the major senses. Listening to music on its own—at home, in headphones, at a bar, even at a dance club—lacks so much sensory information about the music that it's almost unfair to place it in the same category as live music.

They must put something in those sound waves, because at a good live show, they penetrate mind, body, and soul; and each sense enhances the others, as the vision of the artist creates a wonderful—in fact, necessary—connection with the sounds they make, and those waves press into your body. Volume helps in many cases; but at any volume the feeling of the music from watching an artist live is usually incomparable to listening to a recording.

I might make an exception for dance clubs, because in those cases, the audience is actually participating in a performance of sorts, and one's senses are reasonably engaged. But in most club situations, volume acts as the major sensory stimulator, almost artificially compelling the body to move, and pushing the non-aural senses to the edges. Even hearing can play a minor role at a dance club, since it's the rhythm that moves the body, and the rhythm that the body feels the most—but a song's rhythm is commonly interchangeable, rarely unique to a particular song. In other words, at a dance party, the songs are less important than the rhythm that animates them. That doesn't mean that individual songs are unimportant, but there's a reason that we prefer to hear some songs at home and others at the club.

I don't mean to denigrate the experience and joy of listening to music recordings. The difference is like that between watching a play and reading a book: one is immediate, the other reflective. With live music and performances, the audience has to remain with the performer, and doesn't have a lot of time to think beyond what is contained in the script or song; with recordings and books, the audience can take its time and look out for things that are less obvious in the work.

Which, I suppose, brings me to the show on Friday. It starts with a happy combination of events that don't quite add up to coincidence.

I had never heard of NOMO before last week. Then my friend Elly started mentioning that some friends of hers from Chicago were coming to Toronto to play a show. That's the first event. (They're actually half from Chicago and half from Ann Arbor.) In fact, the band were to stay at Elly's and Danijela's studio, which has lots of room, but very few beds (that's facetious—it has no beds).

So, when I saw Elly's post about the show on Facebook, I decided to have a listen some NOMO. Usually I don't listen to music while I work, because it prevents me from focussing, but sometimes I can, and recently I have done, mostly because I've discovered Hype Machine (that's the second event), which is a Web 2.0 service that scours music blogs across the internet and adds any songs it finds to its database, aggregating in a user-friendly way for easy finding and listening; but also because I've been working on a project that requires a different kind of focus. It helps if I listen to instrumental music—it's mainly the singing that distracts me.

I liked what I heard. (That's the third event.)

Now, if you read my show reviews, you'll know that I hardly ever see live music, and that's sad because I adore the experience. Not only that, but Danijela and I have been going through a period of almost-unprecedented busyness—improving the house projects, work projects, various trips. (Sorry neglected friends! I'll be free again soon from the shackles of adult responsibility.) So we're like tired, and often cranky, old people right now. But I hate to turn down the opportunity to see a potentially good show (and for free—thanks Elly!). In this case, I had an open evening (recent Fridays I've been busy DJing at The Painted Lady) and some remaining energy from the week and day. Unfortunately, Danijela didn't have the same energy.

Which, I guess really brings me to the show. All of the above is actually relevant to what I experienced at the El Mo. If you listen to some of NOMO's music, I think you'll find it pretty funky in a jazzy and white sort of way. I would say they are obviously fans of Gil Scott-Heron and his style of acid jazz, but initially I heard a lot of Steely Dan (especially from the Rhodes keyboard and sometimes in the guitar) in the mix. The recordings also made me think of experimental artists like Can and !!!, who are often funky, but frequently too avant-garde to be dancefloor funky. Regardless, I liked the songs and definitely heard a lot of potential; and when I saw the seven band members walk on stage, I was ready to be impressed. They surpassed my expectations.

It was immediately clear that NOMO is made up of very competent musicians—this had better be the case in a group with three horn players (trumpet, tenor and baritone sax) and two drummers. They're tight and at the same time they rely pretty heavily on (presumably-)improvised horn solos, which is always a pleasure to hear. I couldn't help thinking of Sharon Jones's backing band, The Dap Kings, or any of the several revival jazz bands I've seen.

But: NOMO are thoroughly modern. Despite wearing their influences on their sleeves, and keeping within the realm of traditional jazz instruments (drums, bass, guitar, horns, keys, &c.), there is little sign of retrospection in their music. Reverence, yes—at one point I was wishing they would play John Coltrane's "A Love Supreme"—but no nostalgia. Maybe it helps that many of their songs feature two drummers and no guitar, and others feature guitar in a purely rhythmic mode, so that the songs remain unique, despite frequent similarities, which I think are inevitable in instrumental music.

More: early in the show—after three or four songs—I started to think that NOMO's songs followed a relatively simple formula: start out with a funky synchronized groove, introducing the melodic theme with the horns, giving way to solos and duos—a little bit chaotic, the unity falling apart—then a rhythmic breakdown followed by a return to unity, with the horns together reintroducing the theme or some modification—rise to crescendo and stop. (In this structural sense, they actually reminded me of Godspeed You Black Emperor!, whose entire catalogue was defined by this formula (with strings in place of horns, and no funk). Well, that's an exaggeration; that was my experience of that band, and it bored me.)

In one sense, this is simply a standard song structure that countless artists use to this day—sort of an instrumental version of the "verse-chorus-verse" form—the really important part is how the band uses the structure. In any case, it quickly turned out otherwise, as NOMO used enough variations on the form to keep their songs from becoming repetitive.

And, for me, watching talented and skillful musicians helps keep a performance interesting. Part of the visual aspect of music is seeing the players play their instruments—especially nice when there are so many players to look at—and communicate with each other, which these guys did a lot.

Finally, at the end of an hour-plus show, each of the band members, beginning with the horn players walked off the side of the stage and into the crowd, playing all the while (the drummers carried their toms, the bassist grabbed some bells). The crowd surrounded them, clapping and dancing along to the music—much reduced in volume, but heightened in presence.

In short—if it's fair for me to say that at this point—NOMO provide a serious sensory experience, better live than on record; but the recordings that I've heard so far are impressive, and totally worth hearing. I bought their new album, Invisible Cities, and I'm sure I'll be introducing a few tracks from it at The Painted Lady in the near future.
Read on..!

Stuff I've read

So, now I'm scanning through my Delicious links to find stuff that's worth sharing directly with the world, and it turns out—not really surprisingly—that many of the links from a couple of years ago are broken. In some cases, the sites themselves no longer exist; in others, it appears that the articles or items have simply been removed, or the content is no longer free or public, which, in the latter case, I think is bad form. But I guess it makes the internet seem more like the real world of empty storefronts and changes of address. What might be more interesting are some of those pages that haven't changed substantially over two years.

Communications — The internet causes people to think of and do things that are entirely unnecessary, but highly functional. This is Google re-imagined, with all of its features on one page. I have no idea what 90 percent of it means or does. Not so simple now, is it? Simply Google

People — Here is a man named Neil Freeman's collection of semi-random stuff. It's not really random because it's all stuff that he's created. It's worth a peek. His photos on Flickr are also good—maybe better. Fake is the New Real

Entertainment — "Elite" was an amazing, and I think revolutionary, video game from the early 1980s, originally programmed for the Acorn BBC Microcomputer. I first played it on a later Acorn—no idea which one. If you've played this game, you know that it's monochrome polygons lit up your imagination. (Colour did come along, eventually.) This site is maintained by the original game designer, who apparently has no concern for contemporary web design. The Elite Home Page

Environment — Here you can find out all about the rivers that run or ran under our feet in Toronto, along with all sorts of urban ephemera. Toronto Lost River Walks

Arts — Zoomquilt is a sort of three-dimensional semi-immersive exquisite corpse—and it's way more than the sum of its parts. Given it's relative simplicity (the idea, not the artwork), this sort of thing could be really great or really poor. I'm sure this might have been executed better, but it's beyond my skills, so I'll just chill the rock out. Zoomquilt I
Read on..!

Stuff I've read

In an effort to: a) keep my online presence reasonably up to date; b) justify all of my general interest reading; and c) possibly offer something of value to my friends' lives; I present my first collection of random tit-bits from the World Wide Web.

Communications — First, more news that big business is conspiring to keep consumers in the dark about something that in theory could ruin their profits. It's misinformation and omissions, though; sorry, no uncovered conspiracy (yet). Better still, it's from that paragon of meaningful reporting, London's Daily Mail. The painful truth about trainers: Are running shoes a waste of money?

Arts — This tit-bit is just cool. Art for a Dollar

Science — This is the story of an archivist at NASA who almost single-handedly saved the thousands of images taken by the earliest lunar orbiters, basically against the institutional wishes of her employer, and at some significant sacrifice to herself. I find the story almost as extraordinary as the pictures. NASA's early lunar images, in a new light

Environment — This is just obvious, but sometimes it's okay to beat people over the head just a little bit. Bottled Water Carries Hidden Cost to Earth

Arts — I originally had another link to this, but it didn't show all of the images, so I chose the source instead. Aren't you lucky? Yes. International Garden Photographer of the Year Finalists
Read on..!

Sports: the Band, with Hexes and Ohs, Green Go, and others at the Tranzac, January 10, 2009

A Saturday afternoon in winter is a surprisingly fun time to see a show. And it feels pretty good to support local scenesters, such as the good folks behind The Singing Lamb, a new music blog based in Toronto—er, a new Toronto-based blog about music. And the show was five dollars, what!

It was thanks to Facebook that I heard about Hexes & Ohs playing at the Tranzac; even better, they were playing with Sports: The Band, which features friends Shayne "Extra Large" Cox and Nathan "Home" Rekker, as well as Michael Small of The Meligrove Band and Robin Hatch (both of whom I'm sure are equally deserving of meaningless but clever nicknames, but I'm not sure that's appropriate for people I only know through others).

According to their Facebook page, and their preview in the Eye Weekly (I think), Sports is a vehicle for Nathan's songwriting. I'd never heard any of his songs, but I know that Shayne has great taste, and is a great performer himself, so I was anxious to see them. Luckily I know how rock'n'roll shows work, and I got there just in time for their delayed 1:30 start.

So, once again I've been amazed at a friend's band, particularly one that I've waited ages to see and hear. I'd made half-hearted attempts to see them in the previous few months, but it just hadn't happened—not surprising, knowing me. Anyway, I saw them this time; that's what counts.

It's a great sign when a band makes me smile, because that usually means they're doing something I haven't heard before—in some way, the songwriting or performance stands out. That happened pretty much throughout Sports' set.

For someone of my age and taste, I think it should be hard not to hear a certain mid-1990s North American indie aesthetic in their sound, but I would have a hard time pinning it down to specific bands. mostly it was the simple, but slyly innovative song structures, the clever lyrics, and the confident and nonchalant performance. But now that I've forever painted them with my 90s brush, I have to make it clear it would be a real shame to say that Sports are some sort of 90s revivalist band—frankly, the idea of such a thing sounds awful! It's just interesting to see some uncommon influences displayed—unlike, for example, with the next band at the show.

All of that said, Sports are clearly a product of now; they just don't bother with all of the new-new wave post-post punk electro nonsense, like so many others. As a musician, I'm always watching and listening for the little things—changes, motions, chords—that make a band or individual band member stand out. With Sports it was all about ease. They just write and perform excellent pop-rock songs, with little fanfare, good energy, big smiles, and a healthy dose of noise. I like that—a lot.

Green Go performed next, and if I had no idea what to expect from this young group, I learned quickly enough. The five-piece band immediately pounced into a set of driving dance pop, and the crowd responded, doing their best to make 2:30 in the afternoon seem like 11:30 at night.

These folks didn't show me anything that I haven't heard before from the Rapture, controller.controller, Hot Chip, the Arcade Fire, or others, but that doesn't mean they weren't good. They didn't exactly sound like those bands, I just didn't achieve the same amount of smiles as with Sports—in fact, none, until near the end of the show.

The thing is, this is new music today, and Green Go are not afraid to say it. Anyway, this band is young. With luck—and these guys (and girl) seem plenty talented and energetic—they will move beyond the simple self-referentiality of the present, to the hyper-self-referentiality of the near future, and create something new from within themselves. I hope they do, because despite the lack of sly smiles, I enjoyed their show very much.

The only thing that bothered me was the instrument-switching that they did too frequently. It's a time-consuming, distracting, and almost certainly totally unnecessary gimmick that takes away from the energy of the show. Still, the show consisted of pretty much all live instrumentation, which is better than I can say for Hot Chip when I saw them a couple of years ago.

As for Hexes & Ohs, I've heard the hype over the past couple of years, and I tried to find some of their music early on—without actually, you know, going to a record shop—to no avail. So I went to the show knowing only what I'd read, which wasn't much more than a piece in the Star a couple of days before: basically, they're a two-piece electronic pop band from Montréal who are also a couple. And they have a cute name.

But for all the hype, I was expecting better than I got. Their songs were fine—some of them even verging on good—but their performance was weak. I simply find it uninteresting to watch two people play over canned beats and music. That might fly at a dance party, but not at a rock show; and certainly not in the afternoon. Also, maybe they were off that day, but it seemed that neither of them could sing very well: the lead whined, and the harmonies were flat. I'll probably just sound bitter if I mention that they had some technical problems, and, like Green Go, they switched instruments too often.

Somehow, remarkably, these negatives didn't add up to an awful show, which they probably should have; so I must give them credit for that, whatever it means. I did enjoy the show overall, but it wasn't good. I'll have to reserve judgment on Hexes & Ohs until I hear some recordings, but I won't be looking out for them to return to Toronto.

Also at the show were Maylee Todd and Winter Gloves, but I didn't watch them, so I'm not about to review them, am I? Read on..!

A portrait of the artist as a young man, part 1

I've been looking at a lot of old stuff recently: early writing samples—I found online the back catalogue of Pro Tem, York U's bilingual magazine, which was edited by my sister Jane when I was in high school. I wrote music reviews for the paper during my senior years. Earlier writing samples—my mum has finally decided to show my junk the door and I've just gone through the bulk of high school notes that I decided were worth keeping for a dozen years. (Aside: apparently I wasn't as, er, diligent in my studies as I might have been.)

What else? Ancient songs—I've copied mine and Danijela's entire CD collection to my computer. The thing is, the last time I or Danijela regularly bought CDs was the mid-90s; so, needless to say, they're nostalgia trips when they come up via shuffle.

What more do I need?

Here's an example of what I thought my time in algebra was worth.


And a sample of fiction from an English OAC.


See my critical voice developing in this unabridged 1997 review of Teenage Fanclub's Songs from Northern Britain. Here's the text:

"

The latest release (I believe it's their fourth) from this Scottish foursome is probably the last thing you'd expect to come out of Britain in these days of generic britpop like Dodgy and Oasis. This album manages to sound more like (good) North American indie than Blur's latest album wanted to. There also seems to be plenty of Neil Young and more than a wee bit of Beach Boys influence underneath these pop ballads about love and well... Northern Britain. Harmonies, jangly guitars, and strange effects are what dominate this album and somehow amidst everything else out there they managed to become Oasis' favourite band of the moment (next to themselves, of course) so how about that?

"

Turns out it was their sixth album. Jane got me free sample CDs in exchange for the reviews, mostly the britpop stuff. I thought it was a pretty sweet deal at the time. I got to dabble in Wildean dilettantism (long before I read the man), pretending to have it figured out, which I loved so much; and I got something free for the pleasure. I think now that it might have been my older sister encouraging me to create—or just to do something worthwhile other than act like a teenager. Due to the aforementioned dilettantism (read: slacking), I only managed five reviews in my short but brilliant Pro Tem period. Nonetheless, eventually I returned to my magazine roots.

I haven't read too much of it yet, this old writing, but it seems good. It's clear at least, and pretty honest, bordering on earnest. I'm very interested in the fiction, but I'm sure the formal writing will be revealing of who I was and how I became me (if no one else wants to know).

The crowning achievement of my high school writing is probably a thirty-odd page manuscript of the first chapters of a science fiction novel in the style of Douglas Adams. It was my independent study for English OAC II — Writer's Craft. It remains one of the longest things I've written; it might top the list actually, which I suppose is a little embarrassing! It will be a while before I offer that one up for perusal though. My desk is adrift with papers to deal with first.

See this portrait of the artist as a much wiser, but equally messy, man! (And you should see what's under the pile—here's a hint: more junk.)
Read on..!

Toronto has neighbourhoods!

Hey, for all of those people who compare Toronto to Montreal: Toronto's neighbourhoods do have names. It's just that hardly anybody uses them and even fewer people know them. (Have you heard of Treffan Court? I hadn't. It's north of Corktown and south of Cabbagetown.)

So for your edification, I present five Toronto neighbourhoods: the South Annex, the South Junction, Corktown, the Annex proper, and U of T.

The South Annex
This is Brunswick Avenue, between College and Ulster Streets. I never discovered the results of this clearly significant meeting.



The South Junction
Here is the intersection of Lansdowne and Wallace Avenues. Unfortunately, this sign was updated recently.



Corktown
Here is where King Street starts in the East end and begins its longs parallel journey to the great Queen.



The Annex
This is Bloor Street, east of Bathurst. I think that might be the Midoco building on the right, but I can't recall. In any case, somebody really didn't want others to know that was on those posters.



University of Toronto/Yorkville
The Royal Ontario Museum, if you don't know, is at Bloor Street and Queen's Park. This is the Bloor side, featuring the new crystal, now complete and awesome.

Read on..!

The High Dials and The Disraelis at the El Mocambo, September 27, 2008

Unfortunately, at this point in my life, I attend few live shows, though I enjoy seeing bands perform immensely. Watching a good live performance is often cathartic and usually occasions in me deep feelings of regret that I am not on the stage with a group of like-minded musicians.

Music, particularly live, is primal and carries the power of the simple soul. I imagine the first singers must have shocked themselves and their audiences with their expression, regardless of their intention. I'm sure I feel some of that wonder when I see a great performance. I was certainly impressed on Saturday night.

The Disraelis are a strange beast. They are three talented musicians trying to do something old and somewhat obscure in a time when audiences seem always to demand new (even when that new is often regurgitated old). The band has been together for a few years now, but I hadn't had the pleasure of hearing their music until Saturday. They are all friends of mine for many years, but I have been away, even while at home. Actually, I wasn't expecting them to be good, since I had heard some negative things in their early days. Nonetheless, I wanted to see them—after talking to two of them the day before the show for the first time in a long time, I was excited to see them—and I couldn't go wrong with a bill featuring The High Dials at the El Mo.

For a bunch of current or former mods, you might expect a rehash of The Who or The Jam, but The Disraelis' influences are clearly more recent—if still not current. I suppose they show their ages, being approximately my age. Here is where I feel conflicted. I find music reviewers lazy when they write 100 or 1000 words simply comparing their subject to other bands. Music writing should be creative; most is just sad. But I, myself, have a hard time watching shows or listening to albums critically without making such comparisons. Maybe the creative act in music writing lies elsewhere. So, if you want the simple overview, here it is: The Disraelis sound like a band from the Manchester scene of the 80s transplanted into the present day, but without the firm guiding hand of a great producer. (I'm not sure Toronto is lucky enough to host a producer as talented as Stephen Street or Martin Hannett.) From the first notes, I heard New Order, and the impression stuck with me throughout. They clearly also show a reverence for The Stone Roses. And I suppose I might say that that says it all, but that would be lazy, wouldn't it?

It was simple post-disco drum beats—not quite the kind that all cool bands seem to offer—but played so earnestly and almost certainly with clear knowledge of their source; it was driving bass lines, mostly unpretentious and unselfconscious; it was straight-up vocals, in the vein of Bernard Sumner, that didn't try to overpower the music but willing and ready to burst out in the moment; and it was melodic, playful guitar, nonchalant and flowing, that brought the sound together. These guys know their influences and aren't afraid to show it.

What I find refreshing is that, while so many bands try to emulate "the 80s sound"—because electro-pop is so cool—The Disraelis live it because they lived it. Not only that, but they are recreating or revisiting or reinvesting a side of music that hasn't really been revived, and they don't seem to care if it has mass appeal. The 70 or so people at the club watching seemed to appreciate them, too, though you can be sure that many among the audience were friends. In any case, if you like poppy rock music, particularly that Manchester style, this is a Toronto band worth seeing.

The High Dials must be one of the hardest-working bands in Canada, and now that I've seen them, I think they must be the most under-appreciated. I followed these guys when Trevor Anderson headed the Datsons, but foolishly I haven't followed since they grew out of their mod phase. Now I know just how foolish I was. The Datsons were tight back in the day, and they put on an excellent high energy power pop show. Apparently, I missed a few years of kick-ass shows by not paying The High Dials much (er, any really) attention until now.

Adding to the excitement of the night, the band's bass player was involved in a car collision on his way to the club and had to visit the hospital to get checked out. So the crowd waited over an hour between bands and The High Dials finally went on after midnight. You may have guessed that I thought it worth the wait. Unfortunately, quite a few others didn't. By the time they came on, there were probably only 40 people in the audience.

Anyway, it didn't matter. I was under the rock'n'roll magic from the first moment. The sound in the club was exquisite—each note rang out, even in the half-empty room, and the band came together like I don't often see. These guys are good, and if you like rock music, I think you will have a hard time finding better.

I wonder what it is that keeps this band below the radar. Their music may not be the most innovative thing coming out these days, but that doesn't mean it's not exciting. Over the last few years I've noticed a thoughtfulness and even a sort of wisdom entering the music and words of new bands, especially in the words. It often takes the form of a simple, stripped-down, and rootsy rock music, unconcerned with the schizophrenia of contemporary rock and avant garde pop. Instead the music is a vehicle for an experience and the expression of this new ethic. The High Dials are such a band, and their music is exciting in spite of its familiarity, and heck, it's definitely danceable, in a cool way.

The Soundtrack of our Lives was the first band that really conjured in me this depraved notion of simple wisdom in rock music. But I recognize it now in The Brian Jonestown Massacre and a number of others, as well as in some more cutting edge stuff, like !!!. I saw it in the High Dials at the El Mo, as I stood impressed throughout the show—and the extra long two-song encore.

It wasn't a perfect show, but it was pretty easy to forgive the late start and forget about the off moments. On a few occasions I saw The Datsons rock a club full of people, and I'm certain that The High Dials can do better. So I recommend everyone see them. Luckily, Toronto will host them again, after they finish a brief U.S. tour. Check them out at the Horseshoe, November 11. Read on..!