Gravity Wave Gambol CD release at Téranga, November 6, 2009

The Gravity Wave always put on a quirky and high-energy show, mainly thanks to the group's core duo, Finlay Braithwaite and Ken Farrell. Their songs are always original, and in performance they revel in the strangeness of the music they're playing. Ken is an engaging singer who unself-consciously throws in a rap or toast as necessary, and Finlay embodies his bass lines in his movement, occasionally interjecting with a hoot or a quip.

They always surprise in some way or another. Like: I think every time I've seen The Gravity Wave play, they've consisted of different members (besides Ken and Finlay). I saw just the two of them rock the Boat a couple of years ago. Then I saw their previous CD release at the Great Hall, and there were seven or eight of them. At Téranga there were four of them, including a DJ scratching along and a drummer. I'm not too fond of the record-scratching-as-instrument thing, but with the already eclectic mix of sounds these guys create, it worked.

The band played mostly new songs, like "Yo-Yo" and "Great One", along with a couple of fan favourites; and everyone had a good time—I could tell because of the jumping, dancing, and yelling—and I don't think it was because Ken was giving away Gravity Wave-branded shopping bags.

Sometimes I'm impressed that people enjoy The Gravity Wave's music. It isn't always easy to digest as pop music; although I consider that far from a bad thing. I'd like to say that it takes a sophisticated ear to get it, but I think the boys in the band have just achieved a balance of pop and avant-garde elements, as well as a healthy measure of dance beats, irony, and nostalgic cultural references. It's a balance that generally works, but stays far away from more mainstream artists whom you might describe similarly. At the same time, I won't deny that their fans seem to fall within a certain age group that can't help but appreciate that sort of thing.

I would say it's clear that their goal—whether explicit or otherwise—is to deconstruct pop. However, I think it's also clear that they're not creating a simple (or complex) pastiche of musics, but rather a new pop music that doesn't recognize the boundaries of the old. I'm going to run with that a bit.

So much of current music—especially the stuff based around sampling and mash-ups, but really anything that displays its influences with excess pride—weakly rehashes the old, what's come before. It's not always bad, and certainly I don't want to denigrate the institution of influence. There is nothing wrong with sampling and mashing up songs in order to create something new. The problem is that the result is rarely actually new. It's usually boring and overly simple. The fact that people like this music confounds me and the music itself sometimes angers me!

The worst offenders in my mind are those producers who just take the music form an older song, add new lyrics, maybe a revised melody, and some additional effects, and call the thing a new song. The best are those who use older songs and samples as though they were themselves instruments or notes, and craft songs like songwriters. I'm sure you can think of some from each group off the top of your head.

My point is that most of the pastiche music of today that might appear innovative on the surface is far from it, and certainly has not escaped the traditional boundaries of pop. But some has looked over the fence and imagined what's on the other side. Maybe some pop musicians and producers have even gone over. I think Ken and Finlay of The Gravity Wave have at least had a glimpse of what lies beyond.

I'm going to make up a coincidence now: I've been reading "Goodbye 20th Century", a biography of Sonic Youth, and seeing The Gravity Wave perform, I immediately thought of the culture of experimentation that informed Sonic Youth's early work, along with the desire to create something that was really new, but which a general audience still might like. Sonic Youth did not start as a pop band, and they never became one, although they did manage to find a few hooks along the way. What Sonic Youth did—whether they wanted to or not—was expand the boundaries of popular music so that they eventually found themselves within the realm of pop. (I'm prepared to agree to disagree on that.)

At the moment, pop music is so bloated and distended (in more ways than one) that it's basically amorphous now, and shows no signs of contracting to a state where anyone could come up with an acceptable definition. I don't think it could be any other way. Some will disagree, but I say the sole criterion of Pop Music is popularity, and if some strange and esoteric band or artist become popular, it's only fair to pull aside the velvet rope and let that artist in. Of course, what happens once you get in to the club might leave you wanting. For one, an artist can hardly be both popular and esoteric.

Anyway, The Gravity Wave aren't there yet. They still seem to me more like an experiment than a long-term ambition. For instance, I prefer to watch a band play instruments rather than listen to prerecorded backing tracks. I'm sure there are many others who don't consider that a hurdle on the path to stardom.

Regardless, it's a pleasure to watch The Gravity Wave, and I look forward to seeing them transform from experimental indie darlings into serious pop stars.

Oh, and by the way, you can grab Gambol on CD from Fuzzy Logic Records (look under "Shop") or as a digital download from Zunior.com. Read on..!

VIVIV/Ken Reaume at Holy Oak, October 29, 2009

Ken Reaume has never disappointed me in the music department, either live or recorded. His immense talent, skill, and passion define his songwriting, although you might not know it from his humble stage presence. Nevertheless, his performances explode with subtle emotion and energy. But he doesn't just write songs, he crafts them, and his work is as fine as any other craftsman I know. Unfortunately, like many craftsmen, Ken has worked in relative obscurity for much of the time since he first put his name out there.

Amid a recent explosion of talent and success in folk and similar music in Toronto, too few have caught on to Ken. And it's a damn shame, because when it comes to the music and the shows, I've rarely seen a performer so poised and with such charisma—who can so easily captivate an audience.

The setting for this show was new to me—and relatively new to the neighbourhood. Holy Oak is a café and bar transformed from a storefront in a diverse and run down section of Bloor St. W., near Lansdowne Ave. I had no idea what to expect going in, just surprise that another entrepreneur has decided to bring another hip space to the area (also new: 3Speed, Starving Artist, and Disgraceland). At first, I find it to be an underwhelming space. Maybe because it's night, the place doesn't seem to know quite what it is. It's all painted white and the lighting is uneven, but the atmosphere didn't appear to bother any of the few patrons. It reminds me of Montréal quite a bit, though, which pleases me a lot. My companions, Danijela, Jen, and Elly, wanted couches, but I think the space is just too small.

And it's quiet. The acoustic ceiling tiles (presumably held over from one of the place's previous lives) seem to absorb most sounds that originate from inside, and some kind of excellent sealing around the windows and doors prevents any noise from entering via the street. Without looking out the window, I hardly felt I was on a busy stretch of Bloor. It wasn't rush hour, but this place was really quiet. Still, they serve a good Americano, and various other refreshments went over well at our table. I can imagine spending a sunny autumn afternoon there, working by the window, or even just people-watching. But that's not why you're reading is it?

I mention the atmosphere because it had a part to play in the show itself: first, as I mentioned, the place was super-quiet, which was great for listening, but made every non-musical (e.g., audience) noise stand out and between-song talking awkward; second, because the place is a coffee house, with few seats, and something about the place made it feel strange as a musical venue—there's definitely no place to go if you want to have a conversation while a performance is happening. (But in fairness to everyone, only about 15 people attended the show, and a bigger crowd would change the dynamic of the place entirely.)

But on to the interesting stuff!

Ken played a shortish set, maybe ten songs, and most of it was new.

"Hiatus" is brooding, with a stomp beat, and a step away from the Leonard Cohen influence that I heard in his recent (but not new) stuff. Despite, the song consisting only of voice, guitar, and foot stomps, I hear a lot of things going on in "Hiatus". The song's repetitive picking creates a hypnotic rhythm that never quite reaches beyond the droning bass beat, and the whole thing feels a bit like shoegazer folk. The live version lacks the harmonies of the recording, but I didn't find it missing in performance.

"Sapling" could hardly be different. It's an uptempo strummed number—a significant departure from his usual arpeggio work. It shows much richer influence and range than anything I've heard from him before. It's so simple, but it evokes a full on rock'n'roll assault with only a Spanish guitar and a voice. The melody (and harmony in the recorded version) is like something Lennon and McCartney could have written, and Ride (along with a hundred others) would have stolen. Truly remarkable and new, and yet fully VIVIV.

In performance, there's no ignoring Ken. Sometimes his shows are well attended and other times not, but at all times, his audiences pay attention and notice. This show was no exception.

He says he'll be releasing a new record early in the new year. When he does, you'll probably be able to get it through his MySpace or Facebook pages. You can get his past releases at Zunior.com.

Also, he's playing at Holy Oak again this Saturday, November 21. Don't miss it! 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..!

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..!

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..!