Bold Saber, live.

Accomplished comic artist, earnest defender of the nostalgic faith, and Royal Art Lodger Drue Langlois fronts Bold Saber. They'll be performing in their all-Winnipeg formation tomorrow night at the VAV Gallery, located in that hub of Anglo intrusion, the Visual Arts building of Concordia University. The only local group who can convincingly call to mind The Ronettes and Roxy Music, while singing of car crashes, synchronized swimming, and the hallucinatory Aztec visions of third-year Mcgill history students.


Xplosions Of The Fantastic Vernissage
Tuesday, November 22nd
gratuit! - 7pm - 11pm
w/ Blunderspublik and Hexes & Ohs
1395 Rene Levesque

Grab-Bag.

Not the same Soul Searchers...

Arguably the best song you'll hear all week, unless you're some sort of go-go archivist, in which case, please contact me and tell me how the hell I can get my hands on some of the more elusive go-go shit.

Chuck Brown & The Soul Searchers - Blow Your Whistle.mp3

AIDS Wolf

AIDS Wolf, massive fans of Merchant Ivory films, pay homage to 1973's The Savages.

I ran into Beaver in front of McGill a couple of days ago, his bag full of loot from the burning house of CD Esoterik, returning home to put the finishing touches on his album. He had an advance copy of the new AIDS Wolf record - the packaging looked amazing, and yep, one of those infamous nude photos (taken by local aperture master Yannick Grandmont) is smack dab in the middle of the four-part fold-out liner notes. Pre-order the album from Love Pump United here.

AIDS Wolf - Multiply.mp3

The quartet is playing this Friday, part of a benefit for label-mates DBMQ, who were recently in a tragic car accident. Lend your support and cash, there are details here.

@ Zoobizarre, 6388 St. Hubert. 21h, $10. w/ Duchess Says, Dead Messenger, and Ex-Girlfriend.

Bring your tracksuit and gold chains...

Local hip-hop impressario producer Ghislain Poirier is set to expand his sphere of influnce internationally in the next little while, beyond the influential critics (Wire magazine, f'Christ's sake) and heads that tout his dirty, mammoth production style and musicians that collaborate with him or demand his remixing services (Les Georges Leningrad!), as he tours with pint-sized puntess Lady Sovereign and infiltrates the fickle, fickle minds of the modern day hip-hop consumer. (The two will be back in Montreal on December 2nd for a performance at La Tulipe.)

Ghislain Poirier - Cold as Hell, feat. Beans.mp3

Beans is basically the southern poster boy for cross-border cultural exchanges - touring with the Unicorns, collaborating with Holy Fuck, and this heavy, abstract cut, available on 12" through Chocolate Industries

Lady Sovereign - Fiddle With The Volume (Ghislain Poirier remix).mp3

Ghislain remixed this for the new Lady Sov album, adding some nice echoed synth-stabs, flushing out the original.

BOUNCE LE GROS V.4 Saturday, November 26th

And locally, Ghislain is still cramming his crates of beats into the above-ground wine-cellar that is Zoobizarre. Not this Saturday but the next (that's the 26th) he's got Fader writer and blogger Nick Catchdubs up from NYC, along with a surprise guest, for another night of BOUNCE LE GROS, which presents dancehall to ragga to electro-worshipping hip-hop to every barely tapped resource of new and innovative stuff in between. Bring your tracksuit and gold chains.
at Zoobizarre, 6388 St. Hubert (corner of St. Hubert and Beaubien)
22h, $5

Check the master's website for more specifics on his tours and releases, and more downloads.

Celebration & Get Hustle

photo by Mindy Tucker!

I've heard it said before that Baltimore is where white people who live in Washington, DC actually live. It very well could be, I've never been there. and unfortunately I've never seen recent 4ad signees Celebration reside in that city. They played last week in Montreal with Brooklyn's Calla, but for some reason, I ended up watching Guelph's favourite prairie rockers, The Constantines, who conjured up images of endless, drab and beige landscapes.

Outside of the physical confines of Baltimore, Celebration spend some time in a murky underworld of N. American music, which shares stylistic similarities with the world of goth music, though tactfully avoiding the kitsch and cliché that weighs down the buckle-booted and leather-strapped. (It seems like a nice even split - they have their Fields of the Nephilim, and on the other side, another strand of developement: Slaves/Pleasure Forever and associated groups (VSS, the dubby Subpoena The Past, Lion Fever, let's even say Angelhair), and occasionally the two meet and talk about Bauhaus...)

The group have been around over a number of years, existing as Lovelife and Birdland, before settling upon a three piece line-up, sticking with a moniker, and finally getting some recognition. Keen observers might notice that Celebration and The Get Hustle share more than aesthetic similarities - singers Katrina and Valentine have the same husky and hounded voice found in post-punk foremothers such as Ari Up or Siouxsie Sioux. Incidentally, The Get Hustle released an album a couple of days ago on 31g.

Celebration-War.mp3
The Get Hustle - Pharoah's Horses
ADDENDA Portland, Oregon's G. Candy fit quite nicely, too... A newer track.
Glass Candy & the Shattered Theatre - Iko.mp3

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It's a good week for getting in touch with your spirit animal.

Tuesday at Le Divan Orange, 4234 St-Laurent
Emboldened psychotropic voyageurs The Besnard Lakes will be presenting another chapter in their intergalactic space opera tomorrow night at Le Divan Orange, along with fellow travellers The Kickers and Bionic. Cover is pay what you can...

Wednesday at Friendship Cove, 215 Murray St
The Unireverse, beloved Damo Suzuki collabos, hot off of this weekend's scintillating GROOVE WAGON (eeeerk) with Islands' Jammie Thompson will be opening up a night of primordial klink, scrape and pummel with Dreamcatcher and The Shalabi Effect.

Friday at The Main Hall, 5390 St. Laurent
I always avoided listening to Holy Fuck, not being much of a fan of The Remains of Brian Borcherdt, but this is one of the best things that I've heard from Toronto for a long time, or so it seemed, halfway through Pop Montreal, when I caught the tail end of their set. Tape-loops, rhythm-oriented noise. The Unireverse and Land of Talk, fronted by Outremont's favourite peeping tom, Elizabeth Powell, open.

---

As December hits, all of NY will no doubt be talking about the scheduled week-long Montreal invasion, beginning with Telefauna's stateside debut at Pianos with fellow city-dwellers The Hot Springs on the 1st, and ending with Islands' Knitting Factory show on the 6th. There's two warm-ups as Montrealer Ghislain Poirier opens for British hip-hop princess Lady Sovereign, who will, hopefully, stay away from McDonalds' prior to the performance, and We Are Wolves are performing at the Mercury Lounge on November 26th with honourary Montrealers Mixel Pixel.

EUROPHILIC

The last couple of weeks I've been salivating over Modeselektor, Gernot Bronsert and Sebastian Szarya, two German heads that have me salivating for more of their sliced electro-hip-hop dub-studio wizardry. If there's a holy trinity of EU hip-hop for me, it's comprised of The Father, Roots Manuva; The Son, TTC; and The Holy Ghost, Modeselektor. Over the next couple days, I've have some Modeselektor, along with some Swayzak, Bpitch Control, the final MEG wrap-up stuff (Ashley Dynamo Wong has a great bit with an Adult. interview on the Pop Montreal webzine that everyone should check), and that four-band-fuck-fest post (Paper Cranes et al.), too. Also, some news concerning a new monthly best-guest night that'll be navigating the city and hitting up random new spots. Gentrification Now! 'Ight, enjoy yr weekend, maybe I'll see you all at Zoobizarre for Indian Jewelry and pals. Below, some Jeans Team for you...

Jeans Team - Oh Bauer.mp3

MEG Thursday

FAKE DJing

The MEG Festival was a blur that, following my personal tradition, began with too much boozing, too many late nights, topped off with crippling sickness that saw me bed-stricken for three days straight, sweating, coughing and bemoaning the inherent genetic stupidity that drives me to self-abuse. Cursing my ancestors, too.
THURSDAY
On Thursday I managed to catch Detroit's GENDERS: they hit up that pre-pre-pre 808 Suicide vs. YMGiants scouring the dub forest sound, akin to what Seattle's CHROMATICS get up to, when they're not busy re-arranging their line-up. Alex Auche, beloved co-programmer of the festival (along with Alex Lemieux) and Zoobizarre head (along with Alex Lemieux) managed to bring in his friends SISTER IODINE from France, and they were easily one of the highlights in a festival where it was hard to pick favourites. A caucophonous run-through of noise n' textured soundscapes served well by the unique acoustics of the SAT room. Lionel Fernandez of the group is involved with the büro organization in Paris, who seem a wonderful compliment to the work and aesthetics of the two Alexes (Alex'?) here in Montreal.

DER PLAN raised the bar with a set of uber-theatrical Tiki-soaked kraut kitsch that was equally parts baffling and delightful, if such a word can be used to describe something slightly sinister and of a more serious intent than I'm able to articulate. Patrick Vezina, now in Berlin, had been hyping up the group prior to his departure, and either it fell on some understanding ears, or the French kids in this city are fourty times hipper than the Anglo outsiders who invade their neighbourhoods and jack their rent up.

I was forcing myself to have a good time during ADULT, which isn't a good sign. I didn't have that high of expectations, and once I put it into my head that this group was, like a lot of electronic music (though not necessarily electro), more about texture than songwriting, it sat easier with me. Exhaustion forced me away from the venue prior to OPTIMO's set, which I had earmarked as one of the highlights for the festival, unfortunately. I also missed the DUCHESS SAYS and CALL ME POUPEE afternoon double-bill, an aggravating little oversight on my part - I'd been eager to see CALL ME POUPEE in their new incarnation as a three piece.

...More wrap-up stuff tomorrow.

SUNRISE! BLACK!

THE WAGES OF SIN?

There's a five song demo of some rough and new Besnard Lakes material that's been hanging about the office recently, and the first track is an all-out swish that merges the best of The Beach Boys with Spiritualized. Until I get some permission to put some of that up here, you'll just have to imagine how truly astonishing it sounds. But don't worry, I'll ask soon.

The Nightlife continue their quest for market saturation/national domination with the launch of their new website... First 2500 free subscribers to their news service get a compilation CDs with songs that, quelle surprise, 1) don't stink and 2) aren't shitty club house. The magazine's certainly changed directions, and while they're still hosting DJ Tiesto launch parties at Time Supper Club (that's basically the definition of cruel and unusual punishment in my own personal Geneva Agreement), at least they're employing some solid and knowledgeable writers like Jonathan Cummins and Sarah Levesque, and covering relevant shit. Maybe this whole trend of marketing companies running magazines isn't such a bad thing? Cutting to the chase? Well, no, it's not the smartest or even smarmiest of the pack, and Ukula is more of a curse than a blessing... That said, Torontonian punters might find 25 err, quid out of their pub n' chips budget to participate in the Anglophilic explosion that is the UKULA Bright Lights Festival this very weekend. PG Wodehouse fans ISLANDS will be performing.

SPOON

Nick D., Dante and myself went to Club Soda last night, to check out Spoon and I ended up guzzling a bit too much of the random club soda and vodka concoction that Nick had mixed up in a water bottle, and while I'm no stranger to hangovers (unfortunately, sadly, pathetically), this particular mid-week one is both embarassing and a doozy. But despite sizing up alleyways on my wobbly way home, I was still with-it enough to remember that Spoon put on a pretty swell performance, running through some old standbys, and (in my mind) not receiving appropriate enough crowd response for Jonathan Fisk, which is about 8 times the song that I Turn My Camera On is. And hey, did any of you know that there's this random and great little bar on the east side of de Bleury, just above Rue President Kennedy?

They may have not made POP Montreal this year, but I still stand by my conviction that the opening track on the The Golden Dogs is as infectious as whatever topical nightmare disease might be scaring children this week, and they're playing tomorrow night at the Main Hall as part of Joey's well-crafted Decade Danse event. I'm not much of a burlesque fan, but flesh packs the youngsters in, and the last event's vaudeville routine was an inspired choice.
...Creature, The Golden Dogs, Echo Kitty, DJ Mlle Bacon

at the Main Hall, 5390 St. Laurent
9pm, $10

Floated Ideas By Apollo...

Ghost Exits - She Is Beyond Good & Evil.mp3

GHOST EXITS are a New York duo, on the Social Registry label who are here witnessed taking a more prozaic electro-drone approach to the Pop Group's She Is Beyond Good & Evil. Ghost Exits have something of a similarity to the toothless ARE Weapons, and I actually enjoyed that group's first EP (one of the only decent things to receive some publicity from the mire and muck of the oft-reviled electroclash "thing" that happened a couple of years back), so though it's a back-handed compliment, it's still complimentary. Mark Stewart's howls here have been artfully replaced with a Jagger-Vega hybrid that serves the song well, I think.

I don't know if this band is still around or not, and given some stories circulating regarding disastrous and embarassing live performances in their hometown, it may be safe to say they've packed it in and are off working on other projects now.

Ponies In The Surf - Government Brand.mp3

Former GHOST EXITS organist Alexander McGregor, a sensitive soul, eventually grew out of the straight-jacket of staged confrontation and post-punk piss-take, moved to Boston, spent some time with his sister Camille and formed the duo Ponies In The Surf, which presented a 180 degree turn away from aforementioned shennanigans to a more humane musical vision, one that embraces the Sunday brunch crossword puzzle fans (such as myself), the grandmothers, and thankfully, it's not too precious. It reminds me a lot of the husband-wife duo of Puerto Muerto or some of the stuff done by Victoria's PantyBoy (and friends) - cinematic lo-fi pop swashes, dreamy harmonizing and most of all, tenderness! Go buy their stuff, or check out some more mp3s on their website.

Alexander McGregor - Aviary In The Snow / X-M-A-S.mp3
Alexander McGregor - White Caribou

Young McGregor also spends some time away from his sister, which is healthy, which is good: working on his own music and perhaps having tea. The first track is from a Christmas compilation: a bold step in the direction of headphone friendly dub-pop: McGregor marries Badalamenti-esque guitar with overlayed chiming saloon piano and overdubbed vocal-lines in an evocative and spacey film.

The second song is from his own Aguirre Returns EP, which, we've been helpfully told, is titled after his grandmother, not the Herzog film with that spectacular panning monkey river-raft scene. "Love is not the answer, it's just a joke... from France."

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BONUS XENOPHOBIC COMMENTARY WITH MP3!
Gang Gang Dance - Untitled (Track 6).mp3

Brooklynn's Gang Gang Dance didn't make an impression on Stypod with God's Money - fetishism of the exotic, over-sexed moaning vocals, the inverted mirror of post-colonial cultural masturbation and all that - better than Gehry, but it ain't real, it ain't authentic, it ain't fourty Guineans flopping about on the compressed dirt floor of a mud-hut, exorcising the demons and cursing the tribe of flesh-eating savages who live down the road... Did Torontonian mayor Mel Lastman know of what he spoke when he professed a fear of dreadful happenings prior to an official visit to the Dark Continent?

Booty Bumping, Disco Dumping.

My friend Jordan said something the other night to the effect that his being unable to listen to Fleetwood Mac was akin to an incest survivor being unable to enjoy sex, and while it's a bit of an icky metaphor, I feel the same way about the Eagles and AC/DC. Traumatic childhood experiences have imbued the music with a dark and dank power that casts a shadow, and only years of therapy and unconditional positive regard from a mentor or lover will heal the scars...

Fleetwood Mac - I Know I'm Not Wrong.m4a

I know the re-assessment of Fleetwood Mac by members of my generation and the critics who speak for us (?) quite a while ago, at least a whole month before Kate Bush popped up on the revival radar, but I'm still not entirely behind it. MOJO magazine's story on Tusk gave me the hard-sell, but I only came out of the album clutching this song, a handsomely crafted piece of pop bric-a-brac that I assume was recorded in a Silver Lake closet, with napkin boxes substituting for Mick Fleetwood's drum set and Lindsay Buckingham barking orders to a paranoid and strung-out Stevie Nicks.

Incidentally, Cameron Crowe's newest film Elizabethtown is sure to be an unwelcome shit stain in theatres, already polluting the collective cultural space with images of leading star Orlando Bloom and his douchebag pompadour and long-in-the-back combo haircut (Is the Adam and the Ants haircut a knowing nod from one pirate to another?), but the soundtrack does feature one amazing track by a husky-voiced Lindsay Buckingham - a haunting number with fingerpicked guitars and minimal production that might serve as the basis for his initiation into this loosely-defined psych-folk world that's the newest ratchet-hatchet movement to lob handgrenades against the self-serving barricades of protective irony, etc. etc. etc. It's currently floating around on mp3 blogs and other places. Check it and show yr Mom...

Tomorrow or so I'll have a little rundown of a sub-scene of 'bit shy of adolescent sophisto-poppers doing some similar things in Montreal and Victoria... The Dymaxxions, Code Pie, Shapes and Sizes, and The Paper Cranes.

Warrior Magazine has a long awaited issue out, reaching the milestone of the first issue in their second volume, and this one is probably the best yet, in terms of content and design. (T-dot zine-heads n' nerds might have spotted them at this weekend's Canzine Expo.) Beautifully done abstract-geometric cover by editor Tony Trew, great articles on Deerhoof, a conflict-of-interview with Naomi Klein by paint-lobbin' Aaron Maté and plenty more. Anyway, check it out, subscribe: their 1 year anniversary party is coming up this Sunday (November 6th) at Blizzarts in Montreal with yours truly providing some crate-digging gems. More surprises too, check the website.

BOMB THE BASS!

Over the last couple of weeks I've come across some interesting pieces of vinyl - Bob Ray's Initiation Of A Mystic album (post-Sunshine Superman pop on the wicked Soul City imprint) in a Salvation Army, a truckload of acid house records along with a promo 12" for Japanese alt-tentacle noise-band Ultra Bide in an alley a couple of blocks from my house... Acid house was supposed to be back again, wasn't it? Around late last year at this time? I'll wait for the vinyl archeologists at 20jazzfunk to alert me on that.

Blathering Pop Wrap-Up

Tuesday, September 27th

I head out of the office with Nick to shop for Annie's rider - figuring that we're going to be eating it all later tonight anyway, we seek to satisfy ourselves while sticking to the criteria provided by her contract. Organic teddy bear cookies, Ceres juice (not from concentrate!), cashews (The Rich Man's Peanut), 86% cocoa chocolate, fruit and other assorted snacks round out the list. At this point I'm not quite sick of hummus, a substance that will cause a minor flare-up between myself and three others backstage at the Gonzales concert a number of days later.

Later that evening a frantic call comes in - Cannonball Jane can't make it across the border! I stay at the office until 5:30am or so in the morning writing up new immigration letters for the artists and frantically trying to contact them before more of them meet the same fate.

Wednesday, September 28th

I'm quite busy again, but stop by the opening party to stuff my face with a bit of sushi and drop some stuff off. A number of familiar faces in the room, including My!Gay!Husband!, who's in town and looking chipper. He asks if I want to throw Josh Martinez on the bill for our show at Petit Campus later that night, as Poni Hoax cancelled the week prior, and Duchess Says is no longer playing, probably owing to the fact that no one asked if they wanted to play - I assumed the SLUMers asked them, they assumed I asked them. (They ended up playing only one show, with Call Me Poupee, and from reports, blew everyone away... I'm going to do a post about Call Me Poupee in the future.) I arrive at Petit Campus a little later than I would have liked and find that the venue, despite cancellations, will not drop the ticket price, and have added on both tax and a venue surcharge to the ticket, bringing the total up $2 to $10 at the door. Christ. I spend a while frantically trying to sort out some magical accounting with Lisa, the venue manager, but it's all for naught. Black Moth Super Rainbow are playing and people are a bit turned off by the rather hefty ticket price, especially considering the two cancellations. Dandi and Szam are waiting to go on, I make some apologies and hope that people start magically popping out of the woodwork.

AN IMAGE OF TTC WOULD GO HERE, IMAGINE A BIG BALD FRENCH GUY WITHOUT HIS TOP ON, HE'S KIND OF PLUMP.

Sarah Levesque does show up - doing some preliminary work for a cover of Voir, if I can remember correctly. I chat her and her boyfriend up about French hip-hop, specifically TTC, who're playing at Club Soda as we speak. The above photographs will pop-up after the festival, featuring one of the TTC MCs topless, resembling boxer and video-game celebrity Butterbean.

Dandi Wind put on a great performance despite the lack of enthusiasm for the room, I feel like a chump, and the show loses a stupendous amount. Douglas kicks in a bit to help the BMSR kids get back to Pennsylvania, and the venue charges are invoiced. Yikes. MGH and a gaggle of others, including myself, march up the boulevard to the Academy Club, for the Besnard Lakes/Bionic/Donkeys show. We miss the Besnard Lakes, and there are a couple of scuffles in the crowd during the Bionic set.

Thursday, September 29th

There's no venue manager at Saphir, so I end up subbing in for the World Provider/Kill The Lights/Genevieve et Mathieu show. Genevieve et Mathieu are replacing The Russian Futurists, who dropped out owing to recording conflicts. There aren't that many people in the bar to see Malcolm and crew bash through a great set, but Olga of The Besnard Lakes provides solid backing on the drums... My volunteers are great - keeners who both possess a sense of humour and eventually the venue fills up quite heavily - friends of Kill The Lights, who play new-wave tinged rock with enough enthusiasm to excite the crowd, but fails to move me. At this point I'm sleep-deprived and quite hungover (it'll get much worse), and in festival zombie mode. Yannick, the salt-and-pepper haired overlord of Nightlife Magazine is in the crowd with a couple of friends, I assume to see Genevieve et Mathieu. There's a mild bit of tension between him and the Pop heads over media sponsorship or some such nonsense, but it's neither noteworthy nor interesting. The magazine is co-presenting the upcoming Broken Social Scene/Islands/Jadfair and Lumberob show at the MEG festival that I'll be DJing, though.

Genevieve et Mathieu are awesome, and I retire to a small backroom with one of the volunteers to count out the surprisingly large amount of cash made from the door. We split the amount between the bands, who seem quite happy, and I'm off, yet again, to the Academy Club. The Old Soul are performing - an unhealthy melange of party-time polkas and band student in-jokes that, nonetheless, works some sort of magic on the bleary-eyed, drunk and enthusiastic dancefloor residents. After this, work, sleep, drink, load equipment? I can't recall...


Friday, September 30th

There are more crises at the office, I'm scrambling around trying to put together the PA for the Pre-Loved instore, and my eyes have developed serious and startling bags underneath them. I'm stuck at the Academy Club releaving Spanky as The Grates run through a soundcheck in the afternoon but eventually get everything sorted and run up to Pre-Loved. I spot Ian Svenonius and crew soundchecking at Sala, and eventually learn through Alan that Sebastien from Trans Am is drumming with them. No more 16 year old? Telefauna, the only North Bay export I'm aware of outside of an ex-girlfriend's mother has an enthusiastic following, which is both surprising and expected at once.

A tall blonde kid with a pink fannypack who might have been a younger Wilson brother turns out to be the ubiquitious Drew Danburry, solo artist from Utah who, denied a bank loan that would allow him to fly up to the festival, decided to hitchhike. He, One Man Machine (from N'Oleans, yah) and an intrepid volunteer named Katie from Virginia are the notable pilgrims for the festival, by my accounting at least.

Far too many sketchy DI connections and jerry-rigged microphone stands later, Telefauna plays to an eager crowd - Meaghan is ecstatic about the turnout and the kids - everyone seems to be happy. At this point, I don't know if Alan is going to show up, but eventually I spot both him and Rob and Kaia from Mixel Pixel, and a soothing sensation comes over me - chances are, most of the people will get across the border.

I pop my head up at Sala for the Nethers set - no one's really there, Brian and I make small talk about absurd guarantees for bands we love that double over a year, but don't double attendance. Everything turns out a bit better than projected in the end, though.

I run back to the office with Steve of Expo 67 to get some more beer and deal with some more office mania - I'm sort of glad I don't have a cellphone for the festival at this point, because anytime I'm within 15 feet of the office phone, I end up answering it and dragged into some gigantic situation involving load-in times, immigration, and other technical disasters. Into the festival I don't know what becomes of these crises as the phone gets answered less and less. I assume some of these major level crises sorted themselves out with time.

After the Pre-Loved show I pack up and head back down to the Academy. I run into the Nemesis and we go over some of the criticisms and highlights of the festival thus far, and tells me a bit about what the A&R types are salivating, or expecting to salivate over. Think About Life are playing on this night, and there are a gaggle of unfamiliar faces at the door and around the venue asking about them - a side-effect of wrangling that coveted opening slot for an upcoming Wolf Parade tour, I assume.

.......More later.....

Festival Hangover.

I'm still recovering from Pop Montreal - just came down with a cold/flu the other day, a couple of days after popcaster Andrew Rose did, and at the same time as a bunch of other Pop team members.

I ended up in some strange places, at some strange shows, some of which I programmed (sweet, sweet poetic irony), but it worked out for the best - I saw some stuff that I wouldn't have, missed some stuff I didn't want to, and got way less sleep than I ever had in my life before. Yikes.

So, that's sort of a pre-amble to me telling you that you've got to wait for the wrap-up. It promises to be lengthy, though not entirely interesting, and unfortunately light on the accompanying photographs...

Last Crime Nights!

CRIME

Hey everyone, the last two nights of Crime are coming up... The first will be hosted by yours truly with some special guests, while the second will feature Vancouver's own favourite pedant Steven Balogh on the decks, spinning everything from Ethiopian psych to soul and r&b to whatever else. Come down, say goodbye to summer.

Tuesday, September 20th
w/ Jay Watts III and special guests

Tuesday, September 27th
from Vancouver, special guest DJ Ol' Dirty Balogh (The Pink Mountaintops, Baron Samedi, E.S.Q., many others) takes over the turntables, in preparation for Pop Montreal!


The Green Room
5386 St. Laurent
Doors 21h
Drink Specials
No Cover
http://goldkicks.blogspot.com

You-You-You Are On My Mind, 2000 Times

The Zombies - Hung Up On A Dream.mp3

Pegged by critics as too twee collegiate nerds during their brief career, unfortunately picked by Wes Anderson (or his music supervisor) for devious and dubious purposes, and remembered by the middle-aged and beyond for the primitive beat-boxing of Time of the Season or the unfortunate post-humous embarassment Argent, The Zombies managed to do in a couple of under-recognized years what it took The Kinks many, many more years and albums to do - craft songs of uninmpeachable quality and sophistication while still maintaining the urgency and freshness necessary in pop music.

The Troggs - I Can't Control Myself.mp3
The Troggs - I Can Only Give You Everything.mp3

The Troggs's controversial I Can't Control Myself concentrated primarily on the negative, provoking outrage amongst a public unwilling to deal with the undue cynicism and can't do attitude of the band, primarily Reg Presley's . Why not concentrate on what you can do? Why so negative? That other Presley isn't such a downer! The response I Can Only Give You Everything, would meet with muted appreciation, the public already having turned sour on the group. (1. Quick Quiz: Did Beck sample Montreal's Les Sultans for Devil's Haircut, or The Troggs?)

Os Mutantes - A Minha Menina.mp3
Os Mutantes - Tudo Bem.mp3

The first song above is the Os Mutantes a lot of people know and love - Brazilian psych that wed tropicalia to the Beatles, giving birth to Tom Ze's solo career, a couple solid re-issues and a periodic re-appearance of interest in the group every five years or so. The second track is from a more overlooked time in their career, a magical time when boogie-rock elements with heavily harmonized vocals, drum solos and thumping bass-lines could co-exist with wickedly overdubbed Rick Wakeman-esque synth lines, with nary a smirk or ironic nod in sight.

Velvet Underground - Who Loves The Sun?.mp3

Cass McCombs may be a terribly prickly interview, but he's certainly got impeccable taste. "Thematically" pinching from the more refined and lighter moments of the Velvet Underground's back catalogue marks him as a sophisticate with a good ear and an extensive knowledge of music history. Kudos!

---

I'm quite busy with all this Pop Montreal stuff right now, but for anybody interested in hearing what's coming up at the end of this month, or anyone who alternately wants to listen to the soft cooing and gooey goodness of Andrew Rose's voice over a glass of wine and some gorgeous silk throw pillows, check the website - the good Dr. has a put a podcast up on the zine section of the website.

Also, I'll be performing as part of the MEG festival halfway through October here in Montreal. More details to follow.

The Obvious Child

With the exception of some Bo Diddley, Cab Calloway, one Chubby Checker song and lectures on the intellectual history of Judaism, all I've been listening to recently is Paul Simon. Once I've rummaged through every crack and crevice in his near 50-year long career, I will emerge, with some songs and words of praise, for all of you!

Rye & The Coalition

A couple of years ago in Vancouver I went to see the Rye Coalition at the Picadilly Pub and managed to insert myself into an interview with them that my friend Zsofia was doing for Discorder, as she didn't really know the band, and I'd had some long standing love of the group, being introduced to a couple of their 7"s by my friend Rick. Anyways, singer Ralph Cuseglio and bassist Justin Morey and I chatted for a long time about Led Zeppelin, their testy relationship with Gern Blandsten label honcho (and former throaty Rorschach vocalist - they covered King Crimson!) Charles Maggio, recording with Steve Albini, and other shit. Jersey. Anyway, owing to some probably some fatwah against me in the editorial offices of that paper (the result of a mean-spirited dig at Chris Eng, I think), my completely wicked and involved questions didn't end up in the pages of CITR's rag.

I hear the sweet sounds
Sweet sounds of Nevada

Rye Coalition - 300 Foxes.mp3

One of the things I learned was that the sound at the beginning of this song was that of a quarter being flicked and spun on a table. Ya know, quarters, slot machines, the "sweet sounds of Nevada."

They were never that comfortably situated in the post-hardcore mileu that they found themselves in at their inception in the 90s, but their splits with The VSS and Karp, singles, and early albums are high-marks in what was, looking back on it, one fucking bleak time for American music.

On schedule with their plot for getting the band "fucking big" on their own terms, they've finished recording with Dave Grohl, which is, Jesus, not my cup of tea, really. But fuck, as long as he's not writing the songs. Also, Jared Leto is no longer in the band.

It's Getting Colder!

Swervedriver - 99th Dream.mp3

There's a new overview of Swervedriver's Creation Records output floating about that I'd recommend to anyone checking out. Oxford was more than a city of scholars and lawyers and Ride and Radiohead, apparently. I'd heard the name bandied about a bit, Olga from The Besnard Lakes was rumoured to worship the group, and having a more than unhealthy interest in the back catalogues of The Jesus & Mary Chain, The House of Love, Ride, My Bloody Valentine (not as unhealthy as JRC on that one - that boy's suffering from a deep-rooted obsession with Kevin Shields), and the other brighter and lesser lights of the shoe-gazing scene (keep your Sigur Ros, Ambulance Ltd. post-shoegaze recommendations to yourself if you have them, though you probably don't - thanks) made it only a matter of moments before
I found myself struck dumb by a track like 99th Dream, with its Ventures-lifted guitar-slide intro and whirlpool of effects-laden guitars and Anglo moans. A pre-cursor to Dylan's 115th Dream, and set to appear on their Geffen debut, before their A&R guy got canned, and they settled for Zero Hour. A great song for bicycles!

This is the internet, the 21st century, a new age, so I'm far too lazy to try and contextualize any of these tracks in terms of the albums they appeared on, and, hey, I don't have to - there's All Music Guide for that!

Swervedriver - The Other Jesus.mp3

The Other Jesus, our second selection, comes alive with hammer-on guitar leads, slightly similar to MBV's tremolo drops, and that's one hell of an unfortunate bass-line intro, preparing you for some high school band's rendition of a Rage Against The Machine song, or maybe Helmet. (Songs about Jesus seemed pretty de-rigeur in the 90's, huh? Depeche Mode's Personal Jesus, Ministry's Jesus Built My Hotrod (with Butthole Surfer Gibby Haynes on lead vocal), Jesus Jones, and who
could forget the pride of New Berlin, Wisconsin, Housecat Sized Fennec, with their chart-raging number Do The Jesus? Anyone remember that song Bigger Than Jesus Now? I can't recall the band's name, but in the video, the lead-singer/guitarist was wearing a THIS IS NOT A FUGAZI T-SHIRT shirt.)

Swervedriver - Son of Mustang Ford.mp3

Heads-up to T.Dot's Are You Familiar blog with the early song Son of Mustang Ford, an early song that convinced Alan McGree of Creation Records (now svengali of single-lovin' Poptones) to sign the group. Allegedly he first heard this song while driving in a limo, and woah, it's a song about driving!

Swervedriver - The Birds.mp3

Here's a song that's the genesis of my "BUffalo Tom but way better" brainwave. There's an April Wine reference in here. Listen to the snarky drawl on these lyrics, huh? Disaffected generation Xers, who were "born on an aeroplane."

Swervedriver ended tragically as a result of Adam Franklin revealing an affinity for bearded Christian rockers Pedro The Lion in a post-humous(???) interview.

As you've just heard, the 1990s was a boom decade for production that accented the ride cymbal. Colin Stewart, bearded studio guru at Vancouver's The Hive, related a story a
couple of years ago about Ride playing in Victoria in the early 90s. Being a gigantic fan of theirs, (though, and this is a strike against him, not a fan of Carnival of Light) he struck up a conversation with them and they ended up all skipping out on co-headliners Lush's set to go to a movie. Uhhh, I have no more Brits in Victoria anecdotes, though, I should, that's the city's whole schtick, isn't it? Hence the double-decker buses, tea-houses, Wax Museum, and old ladies in weird hats. Quaint!

Daddy's Hands

Addenda to a previous post, via the well-worn and controversial comments box...
"The other track is called Granny's gotta eat. Anybody want to see us, we play Victoria at the Fifty Fifty this Friday.
Hope to see you there.
MTR"

Friday, July 29th
10pm. $7.
2516 Douglas St. Victoria, BC . Canada V8T-4M1
Daddy's Hands (Vancouver)
The Shapes and Sizes (Victoria)
Dante Decaro (Victoria/Montreal)
...and film shorts from The Secret Schoolyard Collective. Plus The Firearm Arts Opening.

Volare, Voltaire, Volatile!

Dean Martin - You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You.mp3
Dean Martin - Return To Me.mp3
Dean Martin - Volare.mp3
Disclaimer: It should be noted that I have recently discovered shamelessness, and now, favour the maudlin, kitsch-laden and slightly nostalgic in all things. Pity me and my lack of taste. Thanks!

For a couple of weeks prior to my friend's Derek wedding, I had brushed on my Dean Martin - his nuances, his sleeves-rolled-up handling a highball charisma, his eyebrow positioning, his unique sense of humour and carefree attitude towards life, and those damn roasts (which were, apparently, filmed in over 12 hour shots - sometimes roaster and roastee weren't even on the same coast, much less the same room, and everyone just acted drunk after the booze wore off) - in preparation for delivering a roast for the reception. The night before the wedding I took a chlonazepam to put myself to sleep, heeding not my co-workers warning that half of one made her drool out of the side of her mouth and miss her metro stop, and awoke to find that, not only was I completely unstressed, I was also stumbling a lot. 'Perfect,' I thought to myself, 'this is like a god-damn Dean Martin pill.' The wedding came to pass, a lovely event, planned perfectly by Jessica (the bride) and Derek (the groom) - as inviting to their friends as their family, and enjoyable.

Twenty minutes prior to my stage-moment, I realized, after questioning by the groom's youngest brother, a terminally-hyper and a shade nerdy 14 year old, that I had nothing at all prepared. I sat down, a bit tipsy from actual booze this time, penned something, and ended up delivering an anecdote about a shared birthday party of mine and Melissa (who did duty as half-best man at this wedding) a couple of years back when Derek boozily faced up to the police and ended up in the drunk-tank. I compared him to some famous civil rights warriors and what not and finished the anecdote with a toast, to what I assume was nervous laughter from the crowd, realizing, in hindsight, that my speech was a lot more Stuart McLean (CBC's Vinyl Cafe) than Dean Martin. Oh well, shouldn't be much more of those in my future!

In honour of that wedding and Dean-o, here are some tracks to tide you over until the Swervedriver's up.

Trapped In The 1990s With Two Tall Men.

Pavement - Spit On A Stranger.mp3

I never had any interest in Pavement during the years that they were around - I think Jawbreaker's Dear You album was about the only indie stand-out in a record collection dominated by political pop-punk and screamo releases from Goleta's Ebullition Records - and I'd probably call myself a Pavement "fan," though it's hard to maintain that when I'm only really interested in the later albums, specifically Terror Twilight. I've yet to meet a Pavement fan who actually likes that album, but I loved it, and was delighted to find that Stephen Malkmus' solo debut carried on in the same manner. That Wilco (the roots & Americana, self-mythologizing, barely-disguised jam band) tried to re-create with their dopy and yawn-inducing Yankee Hotel Foxtrot? Well, I didn't like the Preston School of Industry album that much either, thanks any. (Maybe the Wilco version of Terror Twilight sounds best in the middle of a field in Maryland, the scent of patchouli, body odour and dreadlocks wafting about...) Was it Nigel Godrick's production that turned off old Pavement fans? No Spiral Stairs songs? Well, of little concern to me - this is the first track from that album, and it's a spacey and beautiful, nay!, sublime composition complete with occasional falsetto jumps and wonderful production that opens up ONE OF THE MOST CRITICAL ALBUMS OF 1999.

Archers of Loaf - Scenic Pastures.mp3
Archers of Loaf - Form & File.mp3

And, on the topic of the 1990s and indie rock bands with later albums not-so-beloved by their good-for-nothing turncoat fanbase, I will direct the reader's attention to an album put out in 1996 by Archers of Loaf, All The Nation's Airports. Fronted by the soft-spoken preacher-man Eric Bachmann, a gangly gentleman with a great fingerpicking technique, and like Stephen Malkmus, a lover of stripclubs (inferred, not confirmed), Bachmann and Black Mountain's Stephen McBean obviously attended the same vocal training school. This album pointed the way to the sparseness of their final album White Trash Heroes, while still maintaining some of the guitar squelches and squeals that dominated previous works. The above track, Scenic Pastures, is probably the most palatable to long-time fans of the group - a heavy bass-tone, a delayed-lead guitar, and those stop-start dynamics. The rest of the album sounds like Neu. Well, no, not really. But it's quite a bit different - looped and piano ballad Chumming The Ocean foreshadows Bachmann's current project, Crooked Fingers, the equivalent to McBean's Jerk With A Bomb song Summertime. Pathos! Piano! I haven't included that here, (the later song Form & File is above) but it's a strutting little number (uhh, okay, mid-tempo shuffle bordering on dirge, maybe?) that ends in a tidal wave of vocal overdubs. Get the album!


Welcome to Jay Watts' 1995 Bedroom *
In a similar vein to this post and a couples ones prior, that is Alienating Any Of The Four People Who Read This, I'm going to do a Swervedriver post tomorrow! It's everything I remember liking about Buffalo Tom's song on this 411 skateboarding video I had in grade 9, but without being terrible when I went back to listen to it. (Did anyone else discover bands through 411's video skateboard magazine? More often than not the soundtracks avoided the double-time kick-drum poppa-punk criminals that dominated most of the other skateboarding videos at the time... And is Ed Templeton the Stephen Malkmus of skateboarding?)

* Or rather, an approximation of what I want the cultural contents of my 1995 to be, looking back at it with selective memory and a healthy dose of revisionism.