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: 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..!

Creative days past

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

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

The internet always remembers?

Does the internet really remember everything? Do we need to teach computers how to forget?

I wonder if it won't just happen "naturally", like by attrition.

I imagine that sooner or later, irrelevant information will be pushed to the bottom of the pile (or search list) and then eventually be "forgotten", if not completely erased. Google already does this to a certain extent, arranging search results by relevance, estimated by factors like how many other sites link to the information and so on.

If a piece of information exists on a computer connected to the internet, but no website links to it, will anyone ever recover that obscure information? And what about when computers disconnect from the internet? Unless their data are cached somewhere (which, admittedly, Google and others do on a large scale), that information is no longer accessible. Also, over time, as formats and computer languages change, much more information will become inaccessible without translation.

Maybe it's just the same as with current information in "legacy" formats: there's a lot of it that exists, but which we are completely unaware of—like in dusty old tomes in libraries that we would have to spend hours or years searching for because it's not indexed. Still it's there.

I understand the ideal of going "off the grid", and avoiding trails of data that can tell others about one's daily habits or personal life. At its simplest, it means I can just go somewhere and no one will know where I am, or I can do something, and no one will know what I'm doing. Without such protection, we end up in Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, never sure if someone is watching, always afraid to act.

It's not about living by the law or not. I'm sure that for many law-abiding citizens, once they believe that someone is watching their every move, they will reconsider some or many of their actions; they will become unnatural, separate from their desires, alienated from their selves.

Of course, time won't help if someone wants to remove some damning information from the internet right away. Facial recognition certainly won't make it any easier. It's almost enough to make me want to give up on Facebook. Sometimes I don't want to worry about someone seeing my photos or personal information (despite security measures).

I do believe that, in time, much digital information will be lost, in the ways I've mentioned and others. As disasters and time have destroyed copious past knowledge, so they will do to current and future knowledge. Most people probably have little to worry about when it comes to their personal information. That is, besides marketers, identity thieves, and future historians and archeologists, few people care about the average person's information. And for the time being, going off the grid can be as simple as leaving the house without your phone and wallet, and paying for things with cash.

We make much of our dependence on technology, and surely much of the talk is true. Perhaps fewer people each year could survive "in the wild"; and the idea doesn't interest them. Can we say that these people are worse off than others? Is it as dangerous as some say to trade our privacy for convenience? Is it harmful to trust technology with our secrets, some of which we would never even tell other people? 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..!

Radiant Dark design show

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

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

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

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

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..!

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..!

Stuff I've read

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

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

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

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

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

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

Randoms from my phone

Read on..!

2008 round up: the year in movies

So since I bought a house, I've probably watched more movies than at any other time in my life. Danijela and I have been watching about two a week, often more, alongside some newly discovered television shows. Maybe it's nesting; maybe we feel poor; maybe we are just being lazy after all the work we've done at the house! Could be. It's very cozy here; and now that winter is upon us, there are even better reasons to stay indoors. I've just finished the major part of my Christmas shopping; now if only I could develop some sort of remote shovelling system.

Anyway, I thought somebody out there on the internet might find it interesting to know what I watched in the past 12 months; so without further ado:

It's a Wonderful Life (1946) is a Frank Capra film, starring Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed, and Lionel Barrymore. I'm not much of an older film connoisseur, but from what I have seen, I've found that the style, particularly the acting, is very different, and often difficult to appreciate. I think this film is actually remarkably modern, despite its hyper-sentimentality. The thing is, I just find the story to be so beautiful, and the performances to be so earnest, that the film creates a sort of nostalgic reality that feels right, regardless of its simple storytelling and black and white morality—it's got just enough dirt and meanness. It's a Wonderful Life is a Christmas story that doesn't need to be about Christmas—I'm not sure if the holiday is even mentioned—but it's definitely not about Santa Claus; and the spirit and reason for the season are front and centre in this one.

The Player (1993), a Robert Altman film, starring Tim Robbins and co-starring many others. Adapted from the novel by Michael Tolkin. It's an update of the noir style of film, but under the bright California sun. Altman uses incredibly long shots (the opening scene is over seven minutes long), and lots of tricks with light and shadow and close ups to create this Hollywood insiders thriller. It's full of satire, but not offensive enough to prevent half of Hollywood from doing cameos in the film. Very clever and entertaining; lots of talking makes it feel longer than its two hours; Entourage fans should enjoy.

The Sweet Hereafter (1997), written and directed by Atom Egoyan, and starring Ian Holm and Sarah Polley. Adapted from the novel by Russell Banks. This is a slow and ponderous film that has just enough weirdness about it to be clearly recognized as "Canadian". The thing mirrors The Pied Piper, with all but one of the children of a small town dying in a bus crash—but the question is "Who led them to their deaths?" There are a number of possible culprits of course, and none is clearly identified as the one, so the audience is left guessing. It's mostly well played; and Sarah Polley is excellent as the young teenager who survives the accident.

Mean Girls (2004), written by Tina Fey, directed by Mark Waters (whose brother wrote Heathers), and starring a very fresh-looking Lindsay Lohan at 18, alongside several Saturday Night Live alumni. While this movie clearly pays homage to Heathers, even directly copping some of the latter's scenes, it is definitely its own sort of beast. Mean Girls is far brighter and more optimistic—there are no murders, intentional or otherwise—and its satire is not so bleak. Still, it's very clever and well written, and it makes sense now in a different way than Heathers makes sense now. And Lindsay Lohan is very good, as is the rest of the cast.

Elf (2003), stars Will Ferrell as the title elf, and is directed by Jon Favreau. The movie also features Zooey Deschanel, James Caan, and Mary Steenburgen. This is certainly the best Christmas movie I've seen in years, which is not really fair, since I generally avoid them. Regardless, this one is fun and intelligent and somehow not at all sappy, which is the most important part of all. And the starring role—a wide-eyed fully grown man who grew up among Santa's elves but who travels to New York City to find his real father—is perfect for Will Ferrell's antics and gestures. I think the thing about Christmas movies now is that they're clearly pushing a secular version of the holiday, but the good ones at least also try to encourage some sort of Christmas spirit that is incredibly and increasingly hard to find among the consumption clatter. In other words, despite being very enjoyable, I'm not sure that Elf is a movie with any message at all, other than simply follow the Christmas spirit because that's what you're supposed to do, which cheapens the film to the level of something more crass like Bad Santa. Then again—and I'm afraid you'll have to see it to know what I'm talking about here—maybe the message is that we are looking for a Christmas spirit to believe in, and we don't really know where to look other than to that former-symbol-of-giving-now-symbol-of-consumerism, Santa Claus.

Basquiat (1996), was painter Julian Schnabel's first film. It stars Jeffrey Wright in the title role, as well as Benicio Del Toro, David Bowie, Dennis Hopper, Gary Oldman, and too many others to list. Schnabel is very talented at creating pieces of art out of movies; and over three films and 10 years (I haven't seen Berlin), he has clearly improved in his storytelling. Basquiat drops the viewer right in the middle of the story with next to no context, which works well given the subject and the time in the art world. There's a lot of neat stuff here, and regardless of how true it is, it seems to offer a realistic glimpse of the new-expressionist movement of the 80s in New York. But the film is worth seeing just for David Bowie playing Andy Warhol!

Pineapple Express (2008) was written by Seth Rogen, Evan Goldberg, and Judd Apatow, and stars Rogen and James Franco. The plot of this stoner buddy movie is simple, and it contains a lot of stumbling and bumbling around à la Superbad, which makes it easy to enjoy. But there's not a lot of depth, not that one should expect much from this type of movie. If you like these guys' work, you'll probably like this. It is funny, and occasionally surprising, but don't expect even the same sort of light social commentary that one can usually hope for from this crew.

Heathers (1988) was written by Daniel Waters (brother to Mark, who, as mentioned, directed Mean Girls), and, most importantly, stars Winona Ryder (at 17), Christian Slater (at 19), and Shannen Doherty (also 17). This film is in my mind probably the ultimate teen movie, and it is as relevant today as ever, particularly in the frightening new context of school killings. There's no doubt that it's a farce, but that doesn't make it feel any less real or powerful. In addition, it is clearly influential—I'm sure it influenced my young and impressionable mind when I saw it, probably on CityTV's late great movies—but a movie like this one can't help but be influential. It's incredibly written—smart, droll, bitter, funny, and satirical, all somehow without being over the top; and remarkably acted by such a young cast, none of whom, if I may say, went on to really fulfill her potential.

The Dark Knight (2008) was written and directed by Christopher Nolan, and stars Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, and too many others to mention. While I will certainly not buck the trend by saying that Heath Ledger's was not great, I will say that I didn't enjoy this sequel as much as Batman Begins. The sequel has all the great darkness, violence, and gadgetry of the previous film, and the cast is as good, if not better, but I think Nolan tried to force too much material into the project. Actually, I know that's what I didn't like about it: the entire Harvey Dent/Two Face story was rushed and badly developed, and I began to get the feeling that Batman could simply buy his way out of everything. It's a shame, because I really wanted to like it a lot, mostly due to Nolan writing and directing, but I guess you can't win 'em all. Still, I won't say you shouldn't rent it.

Batman Begins (2005) was directed and written by Christopher Nolan, and stars Christian Bale, Michael Cain, and Liam Neeson, among numerous others. This version is a fitting tribute to the Batman that I grew up reading. I was confused by the story at first, because I knew nothing about Ra's Al Ghul or Henri Ducard, nor had I ever read any version of Bruce Wayne's early training; but I caught on quickly. I'm a bit of a sucker for the type of story that involves lengthy training to avenge some sort of wrongdoing in the protagonist's early life. Kill Bill is a good recent example. Actually, I think I've got a thing for revenge movies in general. Anyway, it works here, against the backdrop of a crumbling Gotham faltering under the weight of bureaucracy and corruption and organized crime, desperately in need of a hero. Many of the comic book move tropes are used here: darkness pervades, steam comes from nowhere, people are afraid and paranoid, but somehow struggle through their daily lives. It's a very good effort, and better than the sequel. I hope Nolan keeps it simple for the next one.

Stand By Me (1986) is a Rob Reiner film, based on a Stephen King story, featuring several future stars, all 16 or younger: Wil Wheaton, River Phoenix, Jerry O'Connell, and Corey Feldman; and it's got Kiefer Sutherland, too! I saw this for the first time in 2008. I don't know how I went 22 years without seeing this film. I read the Mad magazine spoof when it came out, so I pretty much knew how the thing went; but it always had a certain mystique about it, which it pretty much lives up to. It's got most of the elements of a Great American Story: a gang of friends, a journey, nostalgia, friendly conflict, poor vs. rich, school smart vs. street smart. It really is great, with excellent performances from all involved—better than Feldman and Sutherland would give the next year in Lost Boys, but that's a different thing entirely.

Love in the Time of Cholera (2007) is an adaptation of the novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, starring Javier Bardem and Benjamin Bratt. I am not happy to admit that of Garcia Marquez's books, I've only read one, and it's not this one; it's One Hundred Years of Solitude. So I can't say how accurate the depiction here is, but with the little knowledge of the author's style that I have, I feel confident saying that the film misses the mark. I'm going to blame the directing here in the main, because the writing is okay, and acting is okay. But the story has no magic, and the characters share no chemistry. To the film's credit, the cast is almost entirely Spanish—even the leads—even though they speak in English. It bothers me when a film set in a non-English locale is full of English or American actors, made to look foreign and speak in awful accents.

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In the unlikely event that you've made it this far, you might have guessed that this exercise is quintessentially new dilettantish. That may not be clear since nowhere have I bothered to explain what that means to me.

Well, it's one thing to post an online journal, simply as a vehicle for thoughts, opinions, and daily exploits, whether the author intends it for general consumption or personal; but it's another thing entirely when those thoughts and opinions presume to extend into the realm of criticism or journalism, without the benefit of a professional background or the hand of a skilled editor (preferably both). In the former case, you have probably the majority of bloggers—random posts on personal topics, and possibly some specific theme of personal interest—in the latter, you have "citizen journalists" (like myself)—probably mostly aspiring writers, artists, or general self-promoters, all of whom feel they have sufficient knowledge on some or many topics to write on them with credibility—most probably don't.

This is the Dilettante: the person who has not gone to the trouble to acquire proper training or education in a small range of activity or field (those would be professionals, specialists, or connoisseurs), who retains only superficial knowledge of anything, but can speak at length about many topics. The dilettante is a product of the bourgeois revolution—at least on the grand scale. There was no time for amateurs before then, among the masses.

And now we are experiencing a new middle-class revolution, which has blessed us with more leisure time than ever and more entertainments to fill it; and, apparently, a desperate need to express to others just how we are using that time, and several means to do so. There's nothing wrong with that. But it is the circumstance of the New Dilettante: adrift on a sea of unimportance, she uses her blog as a life preserver—a beacon in the vast blue. With luck—and much self-promotion—her words might shine out like a flare and draw attention her way.

Don't get me wrong: the name of my blog is not ironic. It's merely a statement of my situation and our time. For all the talk of "democratizing" journalism—which is great in some ways—blogs are generally soapboxes for people who may have informed opinions or may not, but regardless, they have opinions that they feel they must share with the world. Case in point: this rundown of the movies I watched in 2008, featuring short, utterly unprofessional, and uninformed reviews. I don't do scholarly research—the reviews are all based on my feeling looking back on the films. But is there a point to all this babble on the internet? Is there a discussion going on?

For me this is merely an exercise. I suppose I don't expect anybody to read this; but certainly I, along with the legions of other blogger journalists, hope people will. And, as a writer, I cannot help but hope they'll enjoy what they read; for I also have the dream of being discovered—preferably by some reputable and established magazine or newspaper—but really by anyone who will pay and spread my words. But please, read on!

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27 Dresses (2008) stars Katherine Heigl as a traditionally romantic young professional woman, and James Marsden as her cynically modern young professional foil. In other words, she desperately wants to get married, and he desperately doesn't. The movie is light and fluffy, and has a happy ending—definitely a product of the time. And one might argue that it is (along with other recent movies like Juno and Knocked Up) pushing a traditional moral agenda in which the arguments of modern cynics will always come up short—could be. But I wonder about the writers of these fluffy, but cleverly written things. Has the supposed cynicism of Gen X turned to traditionalism? Was it always so? Anyway, there are a number of generational themes tied up here: for example, workaholism and over-ambition, and a new-ish take on finding true love on the other side of all the cynicism. And I think it's worth watching.

The Heartbreak Kid (2007) is a film from the Farrelly brothers, featuring Ben Stiller, Rob Corddry and Jerry Stiller as men who refuse to grow up. On a whim, Stiller's character decides to marry an even less mature woman whom he hardly knows, and queue the pissing jokes. I only watched this because I was in Cuba with cable, and Danijela and I were exhausted from too much fried food, but it wasn't bad. In short, it's a lighthearted comedy about love and fate and tough decisions, and Rob Corddry and Jerry Stiller are two hoots. I wouldn't have paid to see it though.

Knocked Up (2007) is a film from recently overexposed writer and director Judd Apatow, starring Katherine Heigl and Seth Rogan, along with much of Apatow's standard crew. None of that is bad. For the most part—that is, among the Apatow films that I've seen—he is a clever and funny writer, a combination of traits that seems to be missing from straight-up comedy these days (see The Heartbreak Kid above). Here the issue is unplanned pregnancy between unlikely strangers. The real unlikely factor is that they choose to try and continue their relationship and keep the baby, not knowing whether they actually like each other. Is it realistic? No. Is it protesting abortion? Maybe. Do either of these things take away from the writing and the performances? Definitely not. The premise of the film is that the woman gets knocked up; knowing that, we should probably expect before watching that she might go through with it.

Juno (2007) stars Ellen Page and Michael Cera, alongside a great supporting cast including Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman. It was directed by Jason Reitman, son of Ivan, so it is basically a great big Canada love-fest. It's also a sort of companion film to Knocked Up, but in high school. A young girl gets pregnant by her best friend and decides to keep the baby, but give it up for adoption. I'm getting back to near the beginning of '08 here, so I don't remember Juno especially well, but the performances are very good, and I enjoyed it quite a bit. Despite its heavy subject matter, it has a light feel,

To come:

The Lost Boys
Weird Science
Iris
3:10 to Yuma
No Country for Old Men
Blades of Glory
Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo
La Vie En Rose
The Golden Compass
Narnia
There Will Be Blood
Control
The Prestige
The Savages
Away From Her
Eagle vs. Shark Read on..!

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

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

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

What more do I need?

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


And a sample of fiction from an English OAC.


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

"

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

"

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

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

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

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

The Honourable Mr. Ernie Eves is a buffoon, and his government is full of idiots for supporting him

I e-mailed this message to several friends five years ago, with the subject: "Difficult times, do not read if easily angered by anti-dubya Bush sentiment". The title above was the title I gave the message.

It was still early in my "active" political life, and goings on in my world could still incite me to write an angry missive and forward it to people I though might care.

I didn't have a blog at the time, or I might have posted it there. And now, I found it languishing in my e-mail archive, and I thought I'd offer it a more worthwhile place.

Below is the full (but newly edited for typos) text.

"
Mr. Eves and his cabinet, unfortunately in power in Ontario, have gone the route of the Honourable Mr. Ralph Klein, Premier of Alberta, by sending word to the American Ambassador Mr. Paul Celucci that they fully support the United States war effort despite the federal government's condemnation thereof.

Although all the members of the Tory government will no doubt deny it, it is difficult to erase the perception that this support is based entirely on monetary concerns. Indeed it is nearly impossible to miss or mistake this notion, as the economies of Ontario and Alberta rely significantly on investment by our neighbours to the South.

Certainly we are all allowed to have a difference of opinion with our national government—this is the hallmark of proper democracy—but it is at times like these that further divisions of opinion at the higher levels of government reveal all the more cracks and leaks in our country’s political well being.

Why would any provincial government go out of its way to officially state its support for an illegal war that is none of our business? The answer, if it is not the one I described above, may be difficult to ascertain.

The Canadian (and American) public has spoken overwhelmingly against the war, and has supported the Liberals’ decision to remain outside the arena of war, so this is a tough issue to stand by on the electoral front, especially with a provincial election looming.

Mr. Eves said, in a letter to Mr. Celucci, “I want to reiterate that I share your expression of disappointment in the response of the Canadian government. Having grown up in a border community, I appreciate the close relations we in Ontario have with our American friends.”

Obviously, neither of them understands that close relations imply honesty, trust, support, and maybe even friendship; all of which we are more than willing to give of ourselves. Indeed our support and hospitality following the attacks on the WTC and pentagon was enormous, and if that is to be so quickly forgotten…

We cannot be guilted into joining an illegal, immoral offensive. The same rules that apply to us regular folk should apply to our higher-ups, and most would agree that we should not be cajoled into joining a compatriot in a theft or vandalism or a murder.

It is our duty as “close relations” to confront and challenge our friends, not to be yes-men. Those who play that role are merely adding to the perception of the U.S.A. as an international bully.

Apparently Mr. Celucci suggested that if Canada were to go to war, the United States would lend all the help it could. But this statement is foolish in this circumstance (and perhaps any) because the likelihood of Canada declaring war, especially under illegal conditions, is next to nil.

It seems clear that all of this talk of support for the war from select provincial cabinets really amounts to a lot of political grandstanding; but if not for the general population—those who will elect our next governments—who are against the war, then for whom? It is all for the industries who take advantage of our plentiful resources and our lax environmental enforcement; who lay off thousands while their CEOs take home record-setting bonuses; whose products we don't need…

There are plenty more problems fomenting and fermenting in Eves' Ontario these days, many of which seem to aid the rich (supposedly for the good of us all). So why, Mr. Eves, are you and your cabinet giving your official support to the U.S. government and its war?

As a related aside, one of my favourite cabinet ministers (and my preferred candidate in the Tory leadership campaign ;), the Honourable Mr. Jim Flaherty, said, Americans “were expecting us to act like friends in this time of crisis, that we would be there for them.”

This doublespeak seems prevalent among certain groups of our elected representatives these days, but what exactly is the “crisis” that he is speaking of? And if indeed there is one, of whose devising is it?

Also, it has turned out that Mr. Klein was premature in his letter to Mr. Celucci. In his letter, he suggested that he and his entire cabinet was behind the U.S., but not long after he was chastised by several members of his caucus who did not want their names attached to any such declaration.
"

Read on..!