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..!

Beautiful songs: Under Pressure

Like many members of my general age group, I'm sure, my first exposure to "Under Pressure" was not via the original Queen and David Bowie version, but another artist: a white rapper called Vanilla Ice, which (correct me if I'm wrong) basically translates into "Whitey White" or perhaps "Whitey Cool". In his hit single of 1990, "Ice Ice Baby", Vanilla Ice used a modified version of the bass and finger snap line (lacking the piano) from "Under Pressure", after which I'm sure it must have been one of the most recognizable bits of music of the 90s. It was certainly an extremely popular song, being the first rap song to reach number one on the Billboard pop music chart, spending several months on that chart, selling upwards of 15 000 000 copies, and reaching gold or platinum in several countries.

To preteens, without broader knowledge and greater discernment of the quality and depth of music—especially rap music—the song was great: it has a fun tune and beat, it's lyrics are easy to sing along to, the video is cheesy in a way kids can appreciate, and so on. And who at that time could tell that Vanilla Ice was basically a fraud? At 12 I just didn't have a deep background in hip hop music to base my judgments on!

By an interesting coincidence, another hit rap song came out that same year that sampled another 1981 song. The artist was MC Hammer, the current song was "U Can't Touch This", and the sample was from "Superfreak" by Rick James. Only time will tell which, if either, of these artists history will be kind to.

The point is, when I first heard Queen and David Bowie's performance of "Under Pressure", I was completely shocked. I'm pretty sure that it was in fact my first real exposure to Queen, as Wayne's World was still in the future. It was such a moment that I remember the scene pretty clearly: I was sitting in the living room at my parents' house, with all of my family, I think. I was probably 13 at the time. The television was on—I can't recall whether this was before or after we had a TV with remote control—and the video came on, incredibly, since we didn't have cable. (I guess that it was channel 11 (CHCH from Hamilton, Ontario), because they used to show music videos between programs at random times during the day. I recall seeing INXS's "Guns in the Sky" a lot for some reason.)

The image I remember from that moment is of a building collapsing in black and white. That image has probably defined my perspective on the song since then, though no doubt at 13 I could hardly appreciate the message. It was the performance that touched me. I guess, if I wanted to get all McLuhan on everybody, I'd say that the performance is the medium and the medium is the message; or, at least, the message is implied through the performance. I've never studied McLuhan though, so I wouldn't want to embarrass myself by getting into that. Regardless, the song's message, I believe, is one of humanity—my very favourite theme.

"Under Pressure" is remarkable for many reasons: coming during what was a decadent transitional period for both parties—Bowie had recently come out of his "Berlin period" and kicked the heroin habit—maybe—and Queen had begun experimenting with synthesizers and dance music—the ultra-group created something graceful, deep, and simple, which resulted in a strikingly original and powerful performance. It is the kind of performance that only seasoned and experienced artists can produce, and despite their decadence—and the spontaneity of the recording session—all were clearly at their best.

So the performance itself is simply excellent (a facade of objectivity prevents me from saying brilliant). Freddy Mercury's falsetto and Bowie's baritone complement each other in a way that I'm not sure I can compare to any other performance, and their passion is evident. The two lower and lift their voices at a moment's notice, giving the song its urgency and compassion, as well as softness and humour. And Bowie does backup vocal duties, too, which is a role he always does incredibly well (though usually to his own lead). His soft and purposeful voice ascends behind the lead, quietly supporting it and elevating it.

The music is simply terrific, managing to be both isolating, meditative, and inspiring, creating a great rush of emotion before the chorus: "It's the terror of knowing...". But there's nothing to it really, beyond two notes on a bass, two on a piano, and some light guitar picking, and building to a crescendo at the bridge that crashes into great timeless guitar rock. It creates the mood of the song, and the template against which Mercury and Bowie sing (particularly the scatting bits), while at the same time staying out of the way of the vocals. But it is undoubtedly there in its softness and hardness and underlying power, and I wouldn't change a thing about it.

As with most songs, at any given time, I recall only a few lines of "Under Pressure". Sometimes, when I read the lyrics of a song and sing along to it a lot, I'll remember the whole thing, but usually not. So I've heard "Under Pressure" probably hundreds of times—and there are not a lot of lyrics to begin with—but in a number of places I didn't hear the lyrics quite correctly:

Pressure, pushing down on me, pushing down on you, no man has fault
Pressure, the kind that builds with time, splits a family in two, puts people on streets

Close, but not quite (see below). But the first bridge, oh dear! I always had that right on. It's clear as day:

It's the terror of knowing what this world is about
Watching some good friend scream: "Let me out"
Pray tomorrow gets me higher
Pressure on people, people on streets

I mean, wow. It may not show up in the lyrics alone, but to me, rarely have so few words expressed such a great amount of anguish; and Bowie's smooth and tainted voice seems to express the pain of the world—or at least the pain of the world as understood by a 13-year-old boy and a 30-year-old man.

And the scatting says nearly as much as the words, tempering the tough subject matter with its playfulness and mirroring of the bass and piano line. But it's the crashing climax that brings the message home:

'Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night
And loves dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves
This is our last dance; this is our last dance; this is ourselves

Broadly speaking, there are two sides to humanity: the fundamental "terror" that we experience in the face of life itself—the face we spend so much time trying to hide from—and the "love" we feel for others and ourselves in spite of it—the love that is so hard to feel when we are hiding. The terror makes us want to escape; the love makes us daring; and the eternal tension between them we call life. At the same time, "this is our last dance": this life is our chance to love and care and dare. "This is ourselves": this is who we are—human—and if we don't dare, this dance is our—humanity's—last. Or, it's always humanity's last dance: there is no other moment but this one, and why should we spend it in fear? And, then, what are we afraid of? This is us; why should we fear each other?

"Under Pressure" measures the musical modesty of Bowie's "Changes" and the breathtaking emotion of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody". And while it doesn't employ the humour of either of those songs, it does have their playfulness and optimism, and avoids any self-indulgence, criticism, and irony. To me, the performance and song come off as completely honest, devoid of pretense, existing for no other reason than to be a great song.
__

Pressure pushing down on me
Pressing down on you no man ask for
Under pressure: that tears a building down
Splits a family in two
Puts people on streets
It's the terror of knowing what this world is about
Watching some good friend scream: "Let me out"
Pray tomorrow gets me higher
Pressure on people: people on streets

Chippin' around: kick my brains around the floor
These are the days it never rains but it pours
People on streets
People on streets
It's the terror of knowing what this world is about
Watching some good friend scream "Let me out"
Pray tomorrow gets me higher high high
Pressure on people: people on streets

Turned away from it all like a blind man
Sat on a fence, but it don't work
Keep coming up with love, but it's so slashed and torn
Why, why, why?
Love love love love love
Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking
Can't we give ourselves one more chance
Why can't we give love that one more chance
Why can't we give love give love give love give love
give love give love give love give love give love
'Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the night
And loves dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under pressure
Under pressure
Pressure Read on..!

Beautiful songs: Stoned (Out of My Mind)

It seems that there was a time in the early 1970s when "stoned" was an adjective that meant something like "happy" or "blissful". But then maybe it meant "confused" or "trippy". I think I can say honestly that I don't know.

"Stoned Love" is one of my favourite Supremes songs. It's mature and understated pop soul with a subtle hook and a curious theme. Overall, a lovely song, though more of a groover than a dancer. But that's not the song this is about.

This is about a song called "Stoned (Out of My Mind)", and I would understand if you've dismissed it as simply a weird psychedelic soul song in praise of marijuana. But it's not—as far as I can tell. It's one of the smoothest soul love songs I've ever heard, by one of the smoothest soul groups of the era.


I first heard the Chi-Lites (those are two long "i" sounds) courtesy of the Crooklyn soundtrack, which features the familiar song, "Oh Girl". You might also recognize the brilliant funk tune "Are You My Woman (Tell Me So)", which Jay-Z sampled for Beyoncé's "Crazy in Love"—thus demonstrating their strength across the soul spectrum. And if I remember correctly, a talented artist named Hammer covered the popular ballad "Have You Seen Her?" back in my early teens.



So, I'm not sure what "Stoned" is supposed to mean, but I know there's more to "Stoned (Out of My Mind)" than a gimmicky title. This is a Heartbreak Song. That's clear from the very beginning. There's barely a hint of a story here, but if there's a real woman behind this song, I don't pity the author. If all Odes to Cheatin' Women were this smooth, they would be worth the heartache.

Still, the ultra-smooth production and the mid-tempo rhythm belie the troubled head behind the words; and combined they create a bittersweet moment that makes it easy to sympathize. And it's got terrific soul lyrics like these:

Baby, when I found out you were lyin'—
Playin' around and connivin'—
Undesired tears I was cryin';
'Cause sugar coated lies I was buyin'.

This is one of those songs that grabbed me despite it not being a real dancefloor filler. I mean, it's danceable, but it's not middle-of-the-night, prime time funky. It hasn't got a driving beat, a compelling bassline, a break. Instead, it has terrific horns, solid and subtle rhythm, and stunning, simple, and clear melody and harmonies. In a strange way, it reminds me of David Bowie's "Sound and Vision"—in style, sound, and structure.

Part of what I mean when I say it just grabbed me is that I don't really have a story to go along with it. I didn't grow up with it. I've only known the song for maybe ten years. And while I've included it in playlists and mixes over the years, and turned friends onto it, "Stoned (Out of My Mind)" has never really attached itself to any particular event in my life; although I often think of it and hum or whistle the tune. Off the top of my head, I can't even recall more than two or three lines from the song.

I was just a backseat driver in a car of love—
Goin' wherever you take me.

Okay, I've got it. Here's the story: I can't be sure of when it happened, but I can say that "Stoned" was one of the early songs I downloaded via Napster or whatever else I was using at the time. I'm almost certain that I was living on Huron St. The internet offered me exposed to a whole world of music, most of it in the soul and R&B veins. This also coincides with my early DJing career and probably my most creative music-writing period—the rise and fall of The Sound of Circles! But "Stoned" rarely made it into the club, and it didn't seem to inform my songwriting. It was a private thing—almost a dream—that I wanted to let everyone know about, but I just couldn't figure out how.

"Stoned (Out of My Mind)" remains a staple of my DJing, and when I sat down and listened to the song to finish this review, I had several insights into it that I'd never considered before, so I guess it doesn't matter if it ever fills a dancefloor. And maybe all the title and chorus mean is that the author is so distraught at learning his woman was cheatin' that he's getting stoned out of his mind. Whatever, just listen and feel the bittersweet.

I've hidden some humour in the above. If you find it, please let me know.
___

Baby, when I found out you were lyin'—
Playin' around and connivin'—
Undesired tears I was cryin';
'Cause sugar coated lies I was buyin'.

I was just a backseat driver in a car of love—
Goin' wherever you take me.
Don't know why I put up with the pain;
'Cause nobody else could make me.

You got me goin' (Stoned out of my mind)
You got me goin' (Stoned) Hey, hey (Out of my mind)
You got me goin' (Stoned out of my mind)
You got me goin' (Stoned) Hey, hey (Out of my mind)

When you led me to the water I drank it.
Man, I drank more than I could hold.
When you took my mind and body,
You know you wanna take my soul.

Where can I run?
Where can I hide?
Who can I talk to?
Tell me what, what can I do?

When you got me goin' (Stoned out of my mind)
You got me goin' (Stoned) Hey, hey (Out of my mind)
You got me goin' (Stoned out of my mind)
You got me goin' (Stoned) Hey, hey (Out of my mind)

Hee...you got me goin' (Stoned out of my mind)
You got me goin' (Stoned) Hey, hey (Out of my mind)
Been around with every guy in town (Stoned out of my mind)
Funny but I just can't put you down (Stoned out of my mind)

You got me goin' (Stoned out of my mind)
You got me goin' (Stoned out of my mind)
Read on..!

Beautiful songs: Do I Love You (Indeed I Do)

I don't remember precisely when I first heard Frank Wilson's "Do I Love You (Indeed I Do)", but I can narrow it down to a brief two years, during which I lived at 607 Huron St. in Toronto, with my great friend Derek, to whom I owe much gratitude for invading his apartment and life, and often monopolizing his computer. If memory serves, that was May 2000 to May 2002. I'm not sure if that seems like a long time or not. Certainly a lot has happened in that time, and equally certainly eight years feels longer than six. If I could find the original CD onto which I burned the song, I could narrow down the period even further; but I'm sure that I've since copied and thrown away that scratched disc.

Those were my early Soul years and still the early years of mass illicit downloading. The two are connected since, through Napster and its descendants, I discovered a world of music, thousands of songs—of all genres, but particularly Soul and Funk—that added fuel to my flaming passion for music. I made a series of soul compilations—14 at last count—each containing between 20 and 25 songs; and those were only the ones I deemed worthy of repeat listening or spinning. I was a DJ then, too, and few activities gave me greater pleasure than serving some excellent new discovery in the club and watching the crowd eat it up. Discovering new hidden gems (and playing them for people, in clubs or in private) still gives me immense pleasure.

Ironically, though, "Do I Love You" is a song that I rarely played for the crowds. I'm not sure why exactly. It's almost too specific, too perfect, too sweet for the congregation I ministered to. I feel like it stands apart from other soul music, other music generally, so much that I would have had a hard time fitting it in, mixing it with any other song, as if anything else would seem vulgar in comparison, or bland. Or perhaps I was afraid that other songs would vulgarize "Do I Love You" and make it seem too simple.

The song is simple and sweet. It is devoid of the pretensions of rock and the sappy syrupyness of its Motown brethren. But it is lush and driving and powerful. And at two and a half minutes, it is desperately short, though perfectly indicative of its time. It is over before you realize it and practically demands that you listen to it again. I must admit, I never knew the lyrics before researching this story, because the song sends me into a reverie halfway into the first verse and the song changes to a feeling.

From early morning until late at night
You fill my heart with pure delight
Do I love you?
Now whenever I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord your soul to keep
And bring you home safe to me, forever darling
Do I love you?
...
Indeed I do

The vocal performances—both lead and backup—are urgent, approaching breathlessness, as if the words are coming at the moment they are sung, direct from the inspired heart, and occasionally Wilson bursts forth in a sort of raspy yell that suggests he can't contain himself.

Frank Wilson was a songwriter and producer for Motown from the mid-sixties to the late seventies, and he wrote or co-wrote numerous hits during that time. ("Stoned Love" is another great favourite of mine.) But for some reason, when he recorded this song—his own song—the label said no, even after pressing several hundred copies. The label ordered all copies destroyed and Frank Wilson's solo career was over before it began. But a year later, the song was resurrected by female Motown artist Chris Clark in a new vocal recording over either the original music track or a near identical rerecording. The two versions are very similar, but Chris Clark's vocal lacks the energy of the original, and the urgency—really, I think it suffers simply from its lack of originality.

At any rate, the legend says that two copies of the record survived, and in the seventies, one of them found its way into the hands of a Northern Soul DJ. The whole story is repeated in great and variable detail elsewhere, and if you're at all interested in music history, I recommend you take a look for it. Truly, the legend adds to the song's intrigue, but not to its greatness. The simple fact of its existence—its creation—is a miracle, a testament to momentary genius. That we have the original recording to enjoy today is testament to the unsuppressible nature of genius and creativity: art.

I find it interesting that my connection to this song isn't through some collection of important life events that are somehow wrapped up with it. Rather, my connection is somehow instantaneous, imperative. Despite all of the great great Soul music that exists and that I absolutely love—from both before and after "Do I Love You"—this particular song embodies Soul music: it is simple, it evokes God's connection to love, it contains a chorus-like call and answer, all characteristics that come from Gospel music, the essence of Soul.

It's in a space of sheer wonder that I experience "Do I Love You (Indeed I Do)". And in that space I am open to the pure love the song proclaims in its every aspect.
__

Here I am on bended knees
I lay my heart down at your feet
Now do I love you?
All you have to do is ask
I’ll give until there’s nothing left
Do I love you?
As long as there is life in me
Our happiness is guaranteed
I’ll fill your heart with ecstasy, forever darling
Do I love you?
Do I love you?
Do I love you?
Indeed I do
Indeed I do

The very thing that I want most
Is just to have and hold you close
Do I love you?
From early morning until late at night
You fill my heart with pure delight
Do I love you?
Now whenever I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord your soul to keep
And bring you home safe to me, forever darling
Do I love you?
Do I love you?
Do I love you?
Indeed I do, sweet darling,
Indeed I do

Now whenever I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord your soul to keep
And bring you home safe to me
Forever darling
Do I love you?
Do I love you?
Do I love you?
Indeed I do, little darling,
Indeed I do Read on..!

Beautiful songs: Strangers

My good friend Josh Raskin recently sent me this song, after a long discussion of amazing stuff we're enjoying at the moment. I said the Junior Boys' latest album Begone Dull Care, which I find a really beautiful and excellent collection of songs. Josh mentioned the cable television series Peep Show and a couple of songs: a cover of Prince's "1999" by a band called Dump, led by Yo La Tengo's bass player, and "Strangers" by The Kinks (written by Dave Davies, to be precise). I haven't heard yet what Josh thinks of my recommendation, but I have at long last been converted to The Kinks. I am ready to listen!

I've always appreciated The Kinks on a superficial level—well, I guess since I was properly introduced to them, probably in my teens. Who doesn't like "You Really Got Me", "Till the End of the Day", and "All Day and All of the Night"? But, while these songs helped fill in the gaps in The Beatles' grand music- and world-changing scheme, I'm not sure they ever properly represented what the band was about. They sang more political and satirical songs, like "Well Respected Man" and "Dedicated Follower of Fashion", and I was never quite sold on this other, more thoughtful, side of The Kinks, probably because I didn't consider those songs sufficiently danceable. (That was a prime concern of mine from about 18 on.) I guess I liked this "other" stuff just fine, but being stubborn I wouldn't go out of my way to listen to it. I'm sure that once in a while I even scoffed at "Dedicated Follower..." or other "non-dancey" Kinks songs at clubs. (Before you call me crazy, let me say that I was wrong on the danceable factor, too, since many of what I call the "other" songs are perfect for the dancefloor!)

But most of the music fans among my friends—the ones who know the bands, their albums and songs—said that The Kinks were great. For my part, I just couldn't quite place them in the Pantheon of the British Invasion: where did they fit among The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Zombies? (The latter, they were my type of group, the one I really loved. But, heck, much of what I say about The Kinks I could also say about the Who.)

Anyway, eventually I discovered "Victoria", which became a great favourite and opened my mind some, and then The Village Green Preservation Society, an album that clearly showed The Kinks were doing their own very worthy thing, and they didn't much care what anybody else said about it. I'm not sure that prepared me for the assault of genius I experienced when I heard "Strangers" though.

I can't tell if I have some real memory of this song from before or not because it is so clearly reminiscent of others and so generally nostalgic. I feel like Wes Anderson must have used it in one of his quirky nostalgic films—he used The Kinks' lovely "Nothing In this World Can Stop Me Worryin' 'bout that Girl" in Rushmore, what feels like ages ago—but I can't place "Strangers" among his soundtracks. ... Well, now some accidental research tells me that in fact it was in The Darjeeling Limited, Anderson's most recent film, along with a couple of other Kinks tracks. (It seems he's become far less creative in his musical research as time goes by: all three are from the same album.) The song makes sense in that film, with its searching and cynical quasi-spiritual theme: "Where are you going? I don't mind. I've killed my world and I've killed my time." Of course, since I've seen the movie, now I can't tell whether my feelings are as genuine as I initially thought. No matter; the song will certainly outlast the film, and I can hardly fault Mr. Anderson that his work sowed a seed so deeply that I would think its flower came straight from my soul.

Regardless, I found "Strangers" instantly recognizable—uncanny—the way incredible works often are upon first (or subsequent) experiences. It felt right and good, like it just gets right to the heart of things—of me and you. Mostly it reminds me of "The Weight" by the Canadian-American rock group, The Band (and which, surely not coincidentally, was released and became a hit in the United Kingdom in 1968, just a year or so before "Strangers" was written and recorded). The two songs share many similar elements, from the slow but forceful bass drum beat and acoustic strum to the rolling piano flourishes and organ. But as beautiful as that song is, I find "Strangers" the more affecting, possibly because it's more intimate, and captures the feelings of love, alienation, and the lost promise of the spiritual/love revolution that had occurred in the mid- to late-1960s (and which feeds our current cultural condition); while "The Weight" seems less personal and more narrative—more neutral. It might also have something to do with the fact that I've just heard "The Weight" so many darn times; for example, at the Sports: the Band show at the Tranzac club last winter, I heard a group of ageing hippies jam to it—poorly. I don't know.

To me, "Strangers" synthesizes the roots rock of the time in the United States and the balladeering of the later Beatles; and it seems to predict David Bowie's "Soul Love" and "Five Years" from Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, and some Pink Floyd yet five years away. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that The Kinks were covering this American rootsy rock ground (the sound is evident elsewhere on the album Lola Versus Powerman And The Moneygoround, Part One). Certainly others—notably, both The Beatles and The Stones had gone there—and The Kinks' already eclectic and influential late-60s output justifies any diversion.

There is another aspect to hearing this song besides its uncanniness: a sort of surprise. And I think that comes from the lovely lyrics: at turns passionate and cynical, wise and powerless, patient or lazy. These are real troubled, if not especially heavy, thoughts: "So where do I go what do I see? I see many people coming after me. ... So I will follow you wherever you go, If your offered hand is still open to me." They are thoughts that could easily come off as too simple or too sincere, and the surprise is that something that teeters on the edge of trite can maintain balance so well throughout.

In fact—and if you know the song, I'm sure you understand—at the chorus, the feeling reaches a new level, and grows into a sort of awe. "Strangers on this road we are on; We are not two we are one." It's so obvious, but the performance gives the words life and allows them to tell a thousand stories that, alone, the words are incapable of expressing. Now don't get me wrong; I find the lyrics quite nice on their own, but I don't think they're poetry. Many many musical artists had trod the same ground before, some with far greater flair. And now I can't tell whether the repetition of the word "on" is clever or unnecessary. But it's genius for all these reasons and just because I say so. I tend to find awe in simple things, because I think it's the simplest things that are best able to describe to us our world and our place in it. And music seems to hold a special ability to tell a near-infinite number of individual stories, in a very-finite package of two to seven minutes.

At last, "Strangers" maintains the uncanniness and surprise throughout. I find I become entranced, and I want to climb inside of the song, to see and feel its inner workings, to sing it aloud, to grab my guitar and play it, as it appears that many others have done before me. Or I can just sit and listen and enjoy, which I look forward to doing many more times.

Thanks Josh!
___

Where are you going? I don't mind.
I've killed my world and I've killed my time.
So where do I go what do I see?
I see many people coming after me.
So where are you going to? I don't mind.
If I live too long I'm afraid I'll die.
So I will follow you wherever you go,
If your offered hand is still open to me.

Strangers on this road we are on;
We are not two we are one.

So you've been where I've just come:
From the land that brings losers on.
So we will share this road we walk
And mind our mouths and beware our talk,
Till peace we find, tell you what I'll do
All the things I own I will share with you.
If I feel tomorrow like I feel today,
We'll take what we want and give the rest away.

Strangers on this road we are on;
We are not two we are one.

Holy man and holy priest,
This love of life makes me weak at my knees.
And when we get there make your play,
'Cos soon I feel you're gonna carry us away.
In a promised lie you made us believe,
For many men there is so much grief;
And my mind is proud but it aches with rage,
And if I live too long I'm afraid I'll die,

Strangers on this road we are on;
We are not two we are one.
Strangers on this road we are on;
We are not two we are one. Read on..!

Beautiful songs: A New England

The name Billy Bragg didn't mean a thing to me until one early morning about 10 years ago, in the dingy upstairs of the pre-renovation El Mocambo. The name still only holds limited meaning for me, event though the man has made a comeback in the years since I first noticed his music. But that meaning is strong, and rests on the power of his first release, the EP Life's a Riot with Spy vs Spy—in particular, the song "A New England". I have in my mind some negligible recollection of the song's name from before that fateful day, but it is most probably false, and it doesn't matter anyway.

It was that morning, probably around four o'clock, when Billy Bragg, alone with his electric guitar, roared into my life with the perfect anti-political slogan: "I'm not looking for a new England; I'm just looking for another girl".

I don't think I considered the politics or simply the meaning behind the words too closely at the time—really they're quite direct and don't need a lot of interpretation—but I clearly remember connecting with them intuitively (i.e., without bothering to think about them), as representative of my state of mind at the time. I was anti-political, and I was looking for another girl, although it sounds simple, and it could probably have been said of the great majority of my friends.

I was 21 years when I wrote this song;
I'm 22 now, but I won't be for long.
People ask me "when will you grow up to be a man?"
But all the girls I loved at school
Are already pushing prams.

So this song was the perfect way to end a long night of dancing, drinking and desperate socializing: with some poetry from another time—when most of us were babies or children—that tidily summed up our lives. This was at Blow Up of course, in case you hadn't guessed. And many songs that one could hear there summed up quite succinctly us mods' and britpoppers' attitudes towards life: the intense focus on style, fashion and cool; the cynicism, apathy and condescension; the need to belong, evinced through excessive drinking and drugs. Pulp, Blur, the Divine Comedy—they all made the life clear: "Modern Life is Rubbish", so let all us "Common People" grab "Something for the Weekend", and so on.

But Billy Bragg wasn't the frontman of some English bourgeois neo-glam art-school band with six members all wearing suits, dresses or jumpers. He was an activist punk and poet with a guitar and a middling voice. And at 3:30 in the morning you could even dance to him in a solo Britpop fist-pumping kind of way. The sound in the El Mo echoed with a few last souls on the floor—this was the "real" end of the night after all—and the touch of distortion screamed and shivered through the place. And then you'd go home—or to someone's home anyway—more or less satisfied that you played your part; your life was justified by some words written as the 1970s turned into the 1980s, as though that time were simpler—oh sad nostalgia.

So anyway, "A New England" finished my Saturday nights for many months. I couldn't say for how long—probably over a year; maybe even two! This was somewhat before I became a DJ at Blow Up, so I wasn't quite "in" yet. I don't remember whom I asked about the song. It might have been head honcho Davy love—it was he who played it every weekend—or it might have been my excellent dancing partner James S.; or I may have harnessed the power of the World Wide Web way back when, and searched for the easily understood lyrics. Either way, I know I bought that record as soon as I saw it at one of my local second-hand record stores. I had remarkable luck finding records I wanted. I played it over and over at home, taking in each of the stunning songs. I hadn't heard anything like it—so powerful, sincere and sparse—and I'm not sure I have since. But nothing else—no other Billy Bragg work that I've listened to—has given me even remotely similar feelings. Clearly the time played a great part.

I wish I had recorded in some way (you know, like in memory) what other groups or albums I got into around the same time, to do some sort of comparative study on what was influencing me. I think I prayed through music then, and throughout my long adolescence. By listening and singing along and dancing to certain songs, repeatedly, I reinforced the themes, ideals and wants they contained. I came to understand the world in terms of middle-class British (anti-)romance and vices and (anti-)politics—a sort of ethic of non-engagement, disdaining authority, but not bothering or willing to dispute or subvert the prevailing order. This is what I brought into my life, and how I lived my life at the time, it's fair to say. I guess it's not an uncommon theme for youth generally.

Recently I gave up the delusion that I might digitize the album from my vinyl copy, and I downloaded Life's a Riot. I hadn't listened to "A New England" for several years. Although I've since and finally left my adolescence behind (as far as I imagine I ever will), along with my apathy and several other traits that are acceptable—even charming—in youth, but distasteful in adults, the song still resonates deeply with me.

And now I'm free to consider the wider circumstances of the song: it is the product of a certain time and condition in the United Kingdom—which I won't pretend to know anything about—and it's certainly not anti-political, despite the appearance of its disarming lyrics. The chorus makes it clear that there is call for a new England, just that the subject of the song won't have anything to do with it. Instead, he is focussed on the issues—or the one main issue—facing young people anywhere in the world at any time: the passage into adulthood, the acceptance into society, the original political act. It did presage this passage in me. Within a couple of years, I moved out of my parents' house, began working regularly, engaged in political discourse, and eventually went to university—and left behind Blow Up, with some sadness. I guess it shouldn't be surprising then, that I stopped pulling Billy Bragg off my record shelf about that time, too.

Now I can listen to it at leisure, and I have. I almost feel guilty listening to it, like I'm indulging in some deep nostalgia. But would I ever feel indulgent listening to The Beatles or New Order? But enough of that! "A New England" is almost overpowering in its simplicity. I was certainly more indulgent the first time around! I hold it in Awe, like a Spring of Pure Beauty filtering through the Fabric of the Universe. I recommend a listen—to the album version first. Some live versions are very good, but none of them match the original recording, to my ears.

I hope you've enjoyed my little story; I promise to have something more for you soon.
___

I was 21 years when I wrote this song;
I'm 22 now, but I won't be for long.
People ask me "when will you grow up to be a man?"
But all the girls I loved at school
are already pushing prams.

I loved you then as I love you still;
Though I put you on a pedestal,
They put you on the pill.
I don't feel bad about letting you go;
I just feel sad about letting you know.

I don't want to change the world;
I'm not looking for a new England;
I'm just looking for another girl.
I don't want to change the world;
I'm not looking for a new England;
I'm just looking for another girl.

I loved the words you wrote to me,
But that was bloody yesterday.
I can't survive on what you send
Every time you need a friend.

I saw two shooting stars last night;
I wished on them, but they were only satellites.
Is it wrong to wish on space hardware?
I wish, I wish, I wish you'd care.

I don't want to change the world;
I'm not looking for a new England;
I'm just looking for another girl.
Looking for another girl
Looking for another girl
Looking for another girl
Read on..!

First principles

All is one.

I find this assertion to be clear and unassailable. Something exists, and while that something appears to be manifold (i.e., that's how we experience it), it is nonetheless one. No part can be separated from the whole. Therefore everything is one. By "everything" and "all" I mean the world, the universe, reality. Spinoza calls this alternately substance, nature, and god. 

One (reality) is also complete (whole), perfect, and infinite. 

It is complete because it is everything. It is perfect because it is complete. It is infinite because it comprises all possibilities, past, present, and future—because there can be nothing more, but it has no limit. (For if it had a limit, there would be something else as well, but it is everything and therefore there is nothing else.)

Everything exists. That is, everything possible has happened, is happening, and will happen. In other words, time is an illusion.

Those are the first-ish principles. Read on..!

Over a bridge, 2006

Here are some pics I took on a random bike trip into the Junction in 2006.

(See the album here.) Read on..!

Medieval Times are some odd times

Before I can even begin, I have to add two warnings about the Medieval Times experience: one, if you suffer from asthma, allergies to dust or horses, or any other similar respiratory illness, make sure that you pre-medicate and take any necessary medication with you; two, avoid sitting in the first or second rows. I will explain.

But don't let me frighten you; in the right circumstances, Medieval Times make for some very good times. If you have young children who like this kind of thing—the knights, horses, princes, sword fights-type of thing—then you'll all have a great time. If you are a large group of open-minded folks looking for something different, then you'll have a good time. If you want to take your beau on a date, make sure she's into it first. Also, if you are a group, you'll pay a deep discount, which makes the experience much much better.

The thing was almost a complete surprise to me. I heard on Wednesday that my friend Jacqui Oakley was coming into town from Hamilton on Friday to take in Medieval Times for her birthday—short notice, but as a 9–5er and new homeowner, my Friday plans usually involve a distinct lack of activity, sometimes penetrated by yoga or a video; what I'm saying is I was free. I was also game, having wondered for many years what exactly went on inside the walls of that "castle" on the CNE grounds, formerly the Dominion Government building and the Arts, Crafts, and Hobbies building. (See it here, in the fourth and fifth pairs of pics.) You see, in my early teenage years, I was a Dungeons & Dragons fan, and Tolkien was long my very favourite author. This fascination with history and fantasy has stayed with me, and while I didn't expect Medieval Times to offer a precise reconstruction of the middle ages, I was curious as to precisely what they would offer.

My curiosity was not disappointed.

Here are a couple of immediate observations: Medieval Times is not a history lesson; it is entertainment—dinner theatre to be more precise. The company says that it is committed "to the accuracy of weapons and costumes", but I think I can say that it is not educational—particularly when it comes to the history that it purports to portray. As entertainment—dinner theatre—the audience is expected to participate, to cheer their knight (ours was the Yellow), respond to the unfolding narrative, and, if you like, to join the merriment during the pre-show, where the King's Chancellor will try to rally the crowd with subtle mocking, poor jokes, and a bad English accent.

Also, you will be gouged on drinks (with or without alcohol), and you will have your experience sold back to you in the form of pictures and collectibles.

Still, somehow I didn't have a bad time.

Here's how it goes. After you get your tickets, you receive a coloured crown that represents your knight (and seating area). Then you may have your picture taken with the princess on her throne. Then an usher will guide you into the medievally decorated common area, or "Knights' lounge", or "bar" where you can buy overpriced drinks in cups in the shape of horses' heads and sparkly goblets—if you can get the attention of a bar wench, that is. You can also meet the falconer and one of his birds here. You can visit "The Dungeon" for two dollars (none of us did, so I can't say any more about it). You can take a peek into the stables, and the aviary, which houses a couple more attractive and well behaved falcons. You can peruse the concession stands, "The King's Sale" one is called, and buy prince and princess costumes, child-sized wooden swords and shields, adult-sized replica steel swords and other assorted bits and bobs. I was half expecting to see bongs in the shape of dragons, but no, this is a family event after all. (However, I do recommend that you smuggle booze into the show. There are plenty of opportunities to mix it into a soft drink, in the lounge or at your table.)

I heard there was a court jester about the grounds, but I didn't see him. Eventually, the Chancellor climbs to the stage and offers something in the way of explanation of how the evening's festivities will unfold, and tries to raise a few rallying cries from the audience. Attention at this point is not mandatory, although the Chancellor will act disdainful if you ignore him. I thought a couple of fair-style games of skill and chance would have enhanced the medieval experience. At last, the Chancellor announces that it's time for dinner and the games, and the crowd is ushered into the heart of the castle to the arena.

You sit at arena-style tables, and the metal bowl with handle in front of you gives you an idea of how you will eat your dinner—without utensils. Soon, the games begin! I won't divulge the narrative, partly since I don't think I could reconstruct it accurately and partly because I wouldn't want to spoil it for anyone. But what follows are several acts of horsemanship, jousting, grandstanding, flag-carrying, hand-to-hand combat with a wide assortment of weapons—including swords, axes, morning stars, pike axes, and more, for you nerds out there—falconing, "Hollywood caliber" light shows, and overall, quite a bit of excitement. Sparks fly, knights jump, horses run, people cheer, dust rises, and good wins over evil. (That's not really a spoiler, is it?)

And dinner, well, it's a simple and tasty meal, built around two meat courses—half a roasted chicken and a barbecued rib. (There is a vegetarian option, but I didn't experience it.) The dinner is almost certainly very wasteful, though. I can't imagine that more than one-third of the people there ate the whole thing. There's also the issue of the dust. The games take place on sand, and the action stirs up that sand from the very start. I guarantee that no matter where you sit, your food acquires a fine or not-so-fine layer of dust, but the closer you are to the action, the more dust your food will have. It's possible that the very rear row of seat/tables might avoid this fate, since that row is behind the powerful fans that are supposed to keep the dust down and in the centre of the room, but that row was closed for the show I attended. I can only assume that the city's health department has determined that the amount and quality of dust that gets into the food is not harmful, and frankly, I didn't worry about it that much. (I guess if you eat quickly, you'll get less dust, too ;) There is also the curious experience of eating in the dark

The dust is also the reason I mention asthma and allergy sufferers, like myself. About half an hour into the show, I started to experience the laboured breathing that indicates the charming condition of asthma. Since I've never experienced a full-on asthma attack, and in the last 15 years, I've very seldom had significant trouble breathing, I often do not carry my asthma inhaler with me—as in this case. Perhaps I should have known, but I find no indication on the website that anyone should avoid the show for health reasons. Very unfortunately, this case was more serious than I'd experienced in 20 years! I left the arena for five or ten minutes to calm myself down, and when I returned, I managed to maintain control over my breathing, with difficulty. Naturally, this condition prevented me from focusing on and enjoying the rest of the show. At any rate, I got through it, although the after-effects lasted for a couple of days.

After the show, you can meet the knights in the lounge and continue your souvenir shopping, but all I wanted to do was get out of there.

Overall, my impression of the event is that it fills a strange void in Toronto's entertainment scene. I figure besides the families with children, the seats are filled with either enthusiasts or the curious. The former just love the show and the latter want to know what it's all about. And I guess Toronto has enough of them all to maintain the business. The entertainment is pretty good, but seems aimed at children more than adults. This is fine, since I assume young people and their families constitute the greater part of the audience. But I thought there were several relatively simple ways in which the show could be improved to make it more entertaining for adults, such as the fair games I mentioned, improved choreography, reduced dust clouds, a simpler, but more engaging story. The thing I found most interesting about Medieval Times was the spectacle itself: the fact that it exists at all and people go, the chintzy decorations and lack of atmosphere, the theme park feeling, the limited service and amusements, the people, the cast and staff... It all just seemed so weird.

Finally, unless you are in the enthusiast category, I simply don't recommend paying full price for a ticket (adult $63; under 12 $40; plus taxes). I don't think it's worth it. You're better of looking for or waiting for promotions. (For example, until the end of February 2010, there's a group promotion: four can go for $30 each.)

Have you experienced Medieval Times? Was it as interesting for you as it was for me? 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..!

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..!

A clean desk is a productive desk

Yesterday, I was inspired to clean my desk in order to finish off my workyear on a high note.

Okay, I was fed up of the cat hair and bumprints all over the place, and my keyboard had reached a critical level of greasiness.

Here are the results.

Before:


After:


You might not notice a large difference between the two, but the before picture doesn't come close to portraying the coating of cat fur that my desk had attracted, or the depth of the pile of papers under the indeterminate stuff and wires at the left side.

The main culprit:


Of course, the mess didn't even come close to reaching the proportions here!

As you were. Read on..!

More thoughts on laptop DJing (in response to...)

Recently I wrote a post for BlogCampaigning on my experience transitioning from a vinyl DJ to a laptop DJ, which, from personal comments, appears to have been generally well received. But the only comment anyone actually posted on the blog was quite negative and passively critical. Initially, I wanted to tell the semi-anonymous commenter where to go, but I decided to take the high road, thanking the fellow for his post and offering a very brief apologetic response.

I was wrong. I've thought about it, and I now recognize that that person's comment was uninformed and thoughtless, and I had no reason to apologize. I don't want to insult him, and I hope this response doesn't simply come off as petty. I have a far more appropriate response in mind, and it is basically a brief description of the nature of entertainment media today.

In his passive-aggressive note, the commenter appears to make three points:

1. DJs who use iTunes (or similar software) don't deserve to entertain club or bar crowds.
2. Whatever happened to DJs who can match beats by simply listening to songs (as opposed to using software to digitally and automatically beat-match)?
3. DJs today suck.

Check out the post at BlogCampaigning.com Read on..!

Learning to love laptop DJing

Hey, recently I've been trying to get back into DJing around town, and I spent a few nights at a newish bar called the Painted Lady on Ossington. Since the place is small, I don't have a lot of gear, and more of my music is now in digital form than physical, I've taken on the challenge of laptop DJing.

In my angrier moments, you're likely to hear me remark that laptop DJing resembles spinning vinyl in no respect whatsoever, but that's simply untrue—it just poorly resembles spinning vinyl. While using a laptop to DJ resembles spinning vinyl records in the most fundamental ways (selecting and playing songs), it has none of the other pleasurable aspects, such as flipping through records, handling records, placing the needle, actually spinning the record backward and forward, beat-matching, crossfading, mixing, &c. Unfortunately for me and laptops, these activities make up a large part of what I find enjoyable about DJing in the first place, so you can imagine I've had a mixed experience using a laptop to play songs.

Still, I press on, and I know there are ways to improve the experience, for example, by adding quality software, or better, hardware.

I wrote up some thoughts on my first night of laptop DJing at the Painted Lady. Take a peek at blogcampaigning.com.

You can also check out some songs I played that night at Parker Mason's music blog, Nineteen Ninety Never. 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..!

Stews

Hey, I've been really into cooking stews with leftovers lately. Don't knock it till you've tried it; it's a blast! The first one was really delicious, partially thanks to Danijela's Mum who cooked the lamb. The second I'm just waiting to eat now, so I'll have to let you know. I've tasted it quickly, and I just don't want to judge it until it's in my bowl.

Well, I thought I'd share these two wonders with you, so take a look.

Here is the recipe for a stew I made today. It's called, What's left over in the fridge after making a stew with most of what's left in the fridge.

First, in order of their appearance in my memory, the ingredients:

1/2 small tin month-old tomato paste
15 medium-sized collard leaves sliced
4 old grape tomatoes sliced
1 tsp Italian herb blend of unknown provenance (packet two)
1 tsp paprika
2 cups organic wheat macaroni
1 medium eggplant
1 tbsp olive oil
1/2 medium Slovenian sausage
4 pieces artichoke hearts in oil sliced
sun-dried tomatoes in oil
romano cheese
1 cup frozen peas
1 tsp freshly ground pink rock salt
1 tsp freshly ground pepper
2+ cups direct-from-tap water
1 small brown onion finely chopped
3 small cloves garlic pulverized
1/2 tsp hot pepper flakes

And their order of appearance in the large iron pan:

Oil, onion, garlic, tomato paste, water, eggplant, herbs, hot pepper, collards, water, sausage, paprika, artichoke, grape tomatoes, pepper, salt, peas, water, three-quarters-cooked macaroni, water. Cook until pasta is ready. Sprinkle cheese after dishing into pasta bowls. Place sun-dried tomatoes at side of bowl.

Here is what I remember from a stew I made a few days ago. It's called Leftover lamb stew

Ingredients, in order blah blah blah:

300 g chunk leftover roasted lamb (courtesy of Mara Pruginic)
3 cups tap water
10+ medium large leaves collards (with most of stems)
1/2 tsp cumin seed
1/2 tsp Italian herb mix of unknown provenance
2 small bay leaves crushed
540 mL tin chick peas rinsed
2 medium brown onions
2 very vine-ripened tomatoes
1/2 Slovenian sausage
freshly ground salt and pepper
1 tbsp olive oil
1/2 cube organic chicken stock
6 good stems once-fresh parsley
Corn meal as much as you like!
1/2 tsp sage

Same pot, different day. Oil, onion, cumin, tomatoes, sausage, collards, lamb, herbs, sage, salt and pepper, bay leaves, parsley, chick peas, stock. Cook until done. Serve with pollenta in bowl.

I hope the one from today is as good as the previous one. I'll let you know.
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..!