Akron/Family photos

one hundred photos

"Crowd" One Hundred




Chris One Hundred




John One Hundred

Turn off the porchlights

Back at work after what seems like a whirlwind tour of the maritimes, but really wasn't. Saturday did menial tasks (laundry, groceries, sweeping the mines out of the bathtub) in between bouts with the soundfiles for the One One Hundred show that evening. Things there went fairly well... not a big crowd, but we didn't do big buzz on it (at least I don't think we did). James videotaped it and will be featuring clips on the Lost Boys site. Chris made a minidisc recording that turned out very very nicely so there may be soundfiles and/or actual CDs floating around in a while.

Sunday was breakfast at the Blue Canoe with Mandy, John and Margaret... where in a semi-daze (brought on by a cholesterol surge, no doubt) I managed to forget my camera on the table, so we had to drive all the way back out to Lincoln. Scenic, frustrating, embarrassing... but successful in retrieval.

Sunday night was a birthday pisser for the H-man, Howard Biggar, whose birthday, it turns out, wasn't until Tuesday in reality. Luckily we got started early with pizza and cake alongside the beer & rum. The early start meant we got wrecked early enough to be in bed at a reasonable hour. Though as per usual I stayed up an extra couple of hours at home listening to Damien Jurado and watching Waking Life.

Monday was a medium-well-done hangover/work day. I had booked the night off from the lab and was fully prepared to not go to Saint John that night... then James called with that puppy dog phone voice of his, and his cynical enthusiasm warmed my heart. Ergo, shortly after the end of the working day we found ourselves on the bus to SJ, and eventually parked on stools at Elwoods waiting for things to get underway with the Akron/Family show.

The show was all laidback intensity... I have a few pictures to post of it (and the other show once I get my camera cable up here) so you'll be able to see for yourselves. Elwoods itself is pretty cool and renovated. The menu is funky pub... I had some yummy vegetarian potstickers, deep fried with hot chili dipping sauce... only $5 for a dozen. Good good.

Spent the night at Gordie's in the Narrows. The family was down a vehicle so we had to get an early start to make sure everyone reached their destination in a timely fashion. It's the first time in a long... ever... that I've found myself in a mini-van with three other adults and five kids (all before 9 a.m.) That and a bowl of porridge made for an odd start to the day. Though it was early to rise we still only made it into Fredericton for 11:30 am... late to open the store. No one was there to complain, though.

Now I'm here without having been home yet.

I'm looking forward to bed, yes.

Pictures tomorrow.

I am Jack's tylenol and antacid

I am less ironically serene.

My day included comfort in a couple of primitive forms:



The working part of the day was blessedly free from abstruse interactions...

Oh, I neglected to relate my "Question of the Week." This week features a double-header from a single individual. Said individual was mainly after Dutch Mason (he's the one sitting down) vinyl... I was listening to the new release by Final, one of many projects by Justin Broadrick (Napalm Death, Godflesh, Techno Animal, Ice, Jesu, etc.). The record is a series of quasi-ambient, though fairly feedback enhanced, guitar noise loops. The question:

"Is this music legitimate?"

And secondly, looking at a poster for the Garrett Mason show taking place at the École Ste. Anne the following night... the question:

"On this Garrett Mason poster, is that a picture of Garrett Mason?"

Abstruse.

But anyway, after work I stopped in at the Underground Café and looked around. Their PA will probably do the trick... it's go multiple inputs, which was my main concern. I really like the room, too. So there. Serenity abounds.

Just have to have a show to put in there now, right? Here we go.

This is a link to Little Pictures... a track from Final3, just out on Neurot Records.

I am Jack's ennervated stomach acid

I am serene.

Though in the last two weeks my part-time guy started a new full-time job and so could only work part-part-time, leaving me to pick up the slack...

I am serene.

Though having to work one of the last four days I've had off at the lab on Sunday...

I am serene.

Though I've been trying to plan when to see my folks for the last three weeks (and they keep asking when, when, when in creaky, old folks' voices) but things keep popping up to force rescheduling (hey, call your mom, right now)...

I am serene.

Though Exclaim! sprang a last minute interview assignment on me last week where I had to write a review, track down the artist, request the interview, come up with questions and hound him for answers... all between Monday and Thursday...

I am serene.

Though I'm supposed to be playing a show on Saturday where my main contribution is the manipulation of sounds... but because the lab's been busy and the store's been busy and there really aren't anymore hours in the day and I'm too tired to stay long afterhours (though not tired enough to get to sleep before 3 or 4 am each night) therefore I have maybe a tenth of the material I'd hoped to have prepared...

I am serene.

Though James and I don't have a way to Saint John to see Akron/Family on Monday yet...

I am... serene.


This is the sound I am hearing in my head: AaaaOOOOUUuuuummmm.

Not all sandwiches...

I had a bunch of really deep thoughts today... but the one that nagged at me all afternoon was this (and I'm sure you've all pondered this too): If I were going to tattoo my knuckles what words would I use?

Classicists would likely either go with OZZY, or if they're Robert Mitchum fans, LOVE/HATE:


The guy in the store today had "MOM/DAD" (and he smelled like feet that had been tucked in someone's armpits for three days), but that seems unfinished; what about those two extra knuckles?

So how's about it? What would it be? By the regular rules of the game the two words would have to be four letters long and probably opposite in meaning... but don't stick to that, unless you want to see how many you can come up with:



So lets see them folks. Make your knuckles sing and post links to the results in the comments section. Best submission gets to punch the "MOM/DAD" guy full on in the face... then run for their lives (though the smell would forever alert you if he was near).

Til' then:

Burning Down the House II

It's a working holiday... put in an afternoon at the lab covering for Julie who had a film shoot for class. I'm also working on some sounds for the show at the Underground Café this coming Saturday. I uncovered a few minidiscs of stuff I did while I had Marc's laptop with his shmancy software. It's fun listening to the stuff a couple of years later and discovering (a) it sounds actually pretty darn good (mostly) and... (b) I have no idea how I did it in the first place.

I had a semi-social/semi-unibomber weekend. After work at the store on Friday I ate, showered, napped for an hour the came up to the lab to get a couple of things I forgot, then stopped off at the ArtZone launch at Memorial Hall. Checked out John and Matte and Andrew jamming it up as XIII Wise Mothers... pretty low-key... with the sound system on the floor you could be standing next to them and still hear very little... I understand this was a problem with 9volt soundsystem later too. It's something you have to learn from experience: Memorial Hall is great for either unamplified instruments from the stage under the proscenium... or loudly amplified (with a higher end PA) low-end reinforced electric instrumentation. I ducked out while people were preparing for their poetry slamming to go put posters up around the Market to startle the Saturday morning sheep... er, people... and to get some booze for James' post-show. Once I was halfway through postering a wave of non-specific lethargy overcame me... perhaps brought about by the numerous St. Patrick-related cries of EEeeeeaaaAAAARRRrrgggghhyaHAHAha!!! I heard rising from the basements and bedrooms of Saint John St. Whatever it was, that and a little fevery, chilly feeling sent me to my nearby abode for some frankly needed snoozy-by time.

Saturday was a low-frequency mix of picking up after myself and reading Denis Johnston short stories. That and killing hookers. You know, with my PS2... sicko! Later I broke up the monotony by cruising box stores for shelving... settling on something cheap and easily put together (like myself) from Zellers. Which brings us back to DO (a deer, a female deer)... which is me here writing this.

Two little sidetrips of insight:

1) I went down to the SUB at 5 pm to get something to eat at the Shoppe... choices are limited to $5.99 sub sandwiches (lots of bread, a little cheese and cheap meat and onions that never seem to break apart when you chew them), $6.99 "Real Roast Beef" sandwiches... which call into question all the other meat sources in the slightly cheaper sanwiches. I settled on: an egg salad sandwich on whole wheat ($2.69), a bean and cheese burrito ($1.49), a 500ml carton of 2% milk (price unknown) and a small bag of Lay's Old Timey BBQ chips (price unknown). I had $10 in my hand and was paying the counter lad, who had on an excellent Caber Tossing t-shirt, when Pierre Loiselle wandered in from The Bruns where he works in his usual Rev. Jim from Taxi-crossed-with-Care Bear style. We were chatting a little and the counter lad rang my stuff in and said "$4.40." I finished chatting w/ Pierre and grabbed my bag of "food" and was on the way out when my mental math-ulator went off saying, "That couldn't have been $4.40. The sandwich/burrito alone totaled $4.18... without tax." But then I did a little knee-jerk reflexive, "the amount of money I put into UNB... the actual value of the food... the actual food value..." type calculus and just kept walking back to the lab. I am a bad man.

2) You know how in the movies, or TV show, or in commercials for insurance or diet Pepsi, there are those scenes when someone steps off a curb to cross the street... and they're chasing a ball or dazed from a large lunch or just not paying attention... and someone further up the sidewalk spots this.... There are all the quick shots to heighten the tension: the person's feet and legs up to the knee stepping off the curb, racked focus beyond the legs to a diet Pepsi delivery truck rumbling towards them. The person further up the sidewalk, seen 3/4 from behind, wearing a loose fitting black hoodie pulled up over their head, just finishing a big gulp of diet Pepsi then tilting down their head and spotting the person and... swish pan... the truck. A close up of feet as the diet Pepsi can hits the ground and they breaks into a sprint. Cut to the person crossing the street... she has her iPod on listening to Shakira... and she too is an impossibly attractive woman with blonde curls bobbing as she walks then cascading down the back of her DKNY jean jacket as she takes a seductive sip of her diet Pepsi. Cut to the driver of the truck with his eyes not on the road but on the radio as he tunes in the same Shakira song we heard on the iPod. Cut to a long pan, full frame of the woman, the truck and the other person's hand entering frame from the right. Cut to a close up 3/4 from behind the woman as the other person grabs the shoulder of her denim and propels both of them to the far curb just as the truck driver spots them and... cut to inside the truck... swerves to the left, spilling the diet Pepsi in his cupholder onto the floor. Cut again, long shot, to the woman and other person sprawled on the far curb in a heap. Medium close-up as the woman turns over into a sitting position and the person pulls back the hoodie top, blonde hair spilling out. Close-up of the woman's face... ice blue eyes growing larger and larger, mouth in an astonished oval. Pull back to medium close-up from a side on two shot revealing the woman has just been rescued from a certain pancaking by... Shakira.

You know those types of incidents? Well last week I stopped off at Coffee and Co. to get a large, black organic coffee before work then wandered out to the corner of King and York, waiting for the light to cross York. Already standing at the curb was a guy in a (possibly) expensive overcoat talking loudly on a cell phone about some crap people talk about on cell phones that couldn't possibly wait until they were indoors somewhere. A guy with a bald head and a goatee carrying a box ran across King to our corner... obviously in a hurry to get somewhere... paused at the corner for a second, looked both ways and saw a car about halfway up from Queen coming towards him, gauged the distance/speed and ran across against the light... he had plenty of time as the car was travelling quite slowly after turning onto York. The guy on the cell phone, who was standing about five paces in front of me, noticed absently that the bald guy had run across the street and followed behind him at a dopey slow-assed pace. I saw the guy step off the curb and walk out in front of the car... realized that he mistakenly believed the light had changed because the other guy crossed, but didn't bother to look... because he was on his cell phone, having an important conversation you see. So, did I drop my Coffee and Co. large black organic, run out and drag him to the far curb? No friggin' way. I didn't even yell. I just patiently watched the car slam on its brakes and the driver lay on the horn while the guy froze in his tracks realizing his mistake. Nothing happened to him, finally. He didn't even drop his cell phone, or stop his conversation for that matter... just sheepishly wandered back to our corner and let the car go by.

I am not Shakira. I am a bad man.


So for those of you who didn't guess... or whose technology didn't reveal to you... and those of you who even care who last week's mystery artist is. Of course it was Gene Simmons of KISS. All three tracks and the fourth below come from his 2004 solo album ***hole. Here are a few shot of Gene and Kiss from the early years as mimes, then as proto-KISS and then, later, finally getting it right.





The last track is Gene's take on the Prodigy's Firestarter... featuring Liam of Prodigy providing the music, of course. It makes sense where Gene was the original Firestarter, right...


...well except for Arthur Brown, of course, who did his fire act in 1968. But he never had an action figure or comic book. Slacker.


Firestarter

Look Who's Talking Part XII

There is a story my people tell... that is if my people are John, and to a lesser degree, Phil. It goes like this:

Last Friday John and I went to The Capital around 10 pm to catch a show featuring Phil as A/V as well as a band from Halifax called Windom Earle and Todd Drootin, a mad scientist from L.A. who rocks the house (as well as bars, clubs, and occasional funeral homes) as Books on Tape. It being the tail end of March break people weren't out in the fullest of forces. John and I were sitting watching Phil and James make hoola hoops out of speaker wire when I spied (out of the corner of my little eye) a fast moving white blur. As it got rapidly closer it became clear that the blur was in fact a not-unattractive young woman in light khaki pants and a puffy white jacket. In a startled supply teacher-like tone she asked: "What's going on here???" To which we of course replied: "A Happening." Without waiting for much in the way of questions from us she launched into a stream-of-(un)consciousness blizzard of factoids concerning her personal life that we were powerless to dodge. Within what seemed like three hours but was most likely only 3-5 minutes we learned that:

she was really nervous and might be having a panic attack

she hadn't taken her medication for that in three days

her "friends" were supposed to meet her here later

these same friends had ditched her the last time they were out

she liked DJs and liked to play with turntables

a famous DJ had once told her she had natural skillz

she had scratched up (not in the good way) one of the records that he'd paid over $100 for

when she was last pregnant some woman had called her fat

she wished she had, "punched that bitch in the face"

her breathing seemed to be getting back to normal

she had forgotten her wallet at home

she was in a habit of forgetting her gloves, scarf and often even her jacket at friends' houses

the last time she stayed over at a friend's house she'd taken a bath but was paralyzed with panic when she thought she spotted shadows outside the curtainless windows

she had no plans to go back to the bottom of Smythe and Brunswick to retrieve her wallet

she thought juice might be free at the bar

John and I hid upstairs when she left the table.


Some have pointed out that their Windows Media player reveals the identity of the mystery artist... but sportingly they've not revealed the name. For the rest of you:

Mystery track#3

I walk SOME line

OK, my house didn't burn down... but neither was it entirely ash-free. Someone should clean that cesspool.

I once again am working late... making with the rock criticism. Plus-wise I've been getting some pretty plum picks (or is that cherry picks... watermelon?) to review lately. I'll go into greater detail when I'm not so punchy from having to describe what makes an analogy synth line "sublime."

I've been neglecting to relay the store-based excitement from last week. An acquaintance of mine takes pictures for The Gleaner and occasional uses the store as a setting for "stand-alones," pictures to fill in otherwise dead space when nothing of note happens (which is thrice weekly in Fredericton). This time when he called it was to employ the colourful, prop-filled environs to photograph a person for a specific feature. The person:


Casey LeBlanc.

For those of you scratching your head right now, Casey LeBlanc was a Canadian Idol runner-up (or runner-runner-runner-up... I dunno) last year and comes from nearby Nackawic. Apparently she'd just signed a recording contract in... TORONTO!!!! and front page coverage was needed, and plenty of it. Although Backstreet/Canadian Idol are not two avenues (concepts?) generally juxtaposed I thought what would be the harm?

She arrived with her entourage (mom, little sister, little brother) and Dave was quick and efficient with the shots. No one struck up a conversation... my presence was acknowledged... kinda... and the whole thing was over in 6 minutes. The one regret I have is that Dave couldn't get her to pose in front of the large Johnny Cash wall poster I have of the famous "finger" picture:


I thought Casey standing in front with her dainty little middle finger aloft would make the front page a happier place, but alas her mom nuh-uhn'd it.

That said here is your second taste of mystery rock goodness:

Mystery track#2

Watch out... you might get what you're after

Do you ever go through this: You're just sitting at work... there's a bit of a lull so you take a break both physically and mentally... and suddenly a thought pops into your head... "My house has burned down."

It's after 1 a.m. and I'm taking a break from writing reviews for Exclaim! In fact more than a break... I'm stopping for the night/early morning. Deadlines be damned.

Not much energy to regale y'all at the moment so I'll provide three things:

1) A poster for a show coming up.



2) A picture from the new camera I picked up on the weekend.



3) A song by an artist I'm not disclosing at the moment (Kevin Cormier knows who it is, but don't cheat and ask him)... try to figure out who it is on your own, smart guy. I'll post a different track each night to help you along... here's the first one:
Mystery track#1

OK. Have to go and sift through the ashes

99 gas balloons

One lapse in concentration and your whole evening... >><<poof>><<.

As I stated in a previous post (quite some time ago... re-read them all now and find it so I don't have to link to it... **hint** October 2004) one of my low-grade guilty pleasures is 80s rock touchstone Nena. One of my fondest memories of... well one of those years in the 80s... was sending in a request to MuchMusic (whatever the name of the request show was back then, I forget) for Nena's 99 Luftballoons. I remember specifically asking for the cheap-ass concert version of the video that featured prominent usages of sweat, armpit hair and leather pants. Of course I included a poem that posed wistful questions concerning the resemblence between Winston Churchill and WC Fields... going on to wonder about their dancing abilities. Apparently this was enough to get my letter (and poem) read on air... by Christopher Ward (remember?)... and the video played.

Now the thing was that the request show was on Saturday afternoon. At the time I worked most Saturdays at the SUB cafeteria for the food service (then it was the mighty BEAVER FOODS). So I missed the initial broadcast of the video, which would have been around 5:00 pm, give or take. Even if I had been home I likely would have missed it... since I'd probably forgotten about sending the request in the first place. The funky fresh thing about MM in those days was that their broadcast day was a strict 8 hour block that started at noon each day... so at 8:00 p.m. the cycle started again... but still I wasn't watching MM... in fact I had gone to bed... sleepy-by.

Around 1 a.m. my phone rang and I sleepily slid out of bed into the living room and answered it. A drunken lively voice on the other end said, "Hey, Eric, dude they just played your request on MuchMusic... congratulations!!!" I thanked the voice who added a hearty, "Yeah, way to go!!!" Then I went back to bed.

The next morning I woke up vaguely remembering the telephone call... worked out that it wasn't a dream... did the math on when the show was on... and, bingo... a little of that fifteen minutes we all have coming.

I never did find out exactly who it was that called me though.

So, back to tonight... I came across a link to a fan site and went looking if there was anything like a video collection/DVD offered anywhere, but no luck. I did find a little in the way of media though... including this snippet from a video press conference. Not understanding German, I have no idea what Miss Nena is talking about, but it obviously is having some sort of adverse effect on her bandmate behind her. Can anyone explain to me what's going on?


nena clip.mov

Sorry. No .mp3 tonight. Don't get greedy. It makes you fat... or if you're German it could give you gas.

gluttony... and other good sins

I probably couldn't handle jet lag. I can't even handle bus lag.

Spent the weekend in Florenceville, NB... and for a toddlin' li'l town there was a go-go-go kinda atmosphere... in the best of all possible ways, mind you.

Worked 'til 5pm on Saturday then raced around returning/renting movies, checking e-mail for possible (and, unfortunately, actual) store cock-ups to affect my inner peace, and peeling through Harvey's for an on-the-run dinner of buffalo chicken and poutine... just want you want in prep for an extended period of sitting down.

The bus atmosphere was dominated by a "sweatshirt mom"... a term I've come to apply to young women who have fairly obviously unplanned pregnancies and are coping with the stress of taking care of a little human and losing their figure beneath the swath of a ROOTS hoodie... trying to placate her toddler with the fun, fun blue lights of her cell phone. I didn't think it possible for children to burst into tears more than 4 time per minute, but this little guy proved me wrong. At the front... sittling in the aisle to the left of the bus driver... was a gentleman in his 50s who, apparently from the unavoidably overheard conversation, worked with the driver's son on a road construction crew. The gentleman, you see, spoke loudly in a manner one assumes has everything to do with working around heavy machinery every day for 30 years. Ergo I've learned of the plans for a: NEW BRIDGE IN FLORENCEVILLE BECAUSE THE OLD ONE IS NO GOOD... CROOKED, and later projects such as going to Fort McMurray in BC to: CHANGE A RIVER... MAKE IT HIGHER... ON THE BANKS... FOR THE LEVEL. Yeah.

Florenceville itself was punctuated by three meals, two by invitation at other folks' houses and one just with Mandy and I trying out a page from the American Sandwich book...

...we made the Conneticut offering... a Cobb Chicken Salad Wrap with a side of Men's Favourite Coleslaw and Fried Sweet Potatoes... both adapted from recipes in an anniversary edition of Gourmet magazine (sorry Mandy, I forget the actual name of the potato dish).

This morning we made a little trip into Houlton to an Organic cafe and a book sale at Marden's (kind of a clearing house for liquidated goods from other retail stores). Had some good coffee, a panini and found cheap fiction from Chuch Palahniuk, Denis Johnston and Jonathan Lethem, amongst others.

We headed back to Woodstock where I had to catch the bus to come back to Fredericton in time... well, actually, about a half hour late... for work tonight. As we arrived at the Irving in Woodstock we saw that the bus had already pulled in and was unpacking it's mail so we parked quickity split and I grabbed my bags and waited to board... bidding Mandy a fond adieu.

Now it's important to note at this point that my bus ticket was a round trip to Fredericton-Florenceville/Florenceville-Fredericton.

I got on the bus and installed my headphones... though it seemed like a much quieter crowd... and planned a drowsy hour and a half of music filled relaxation on the way to F'ton. As I occasionally opened my eyes and glanced out the window at the sun-gilded fields dappled with snow coasting by I had an uneasy feeling... something not out of place at any time during bus travel. I couldn't quite pinpoint the reasons for the uneasiness so I let the feeling go. It wasn't until 10-15 minutes later that I realized what this uneasiness was borne of: I was on the wrong bus. This became evident as I spied the Hartland bridge (longest covered etc.) coming up in the distance... a site I should be leaving behind.

What happened was I hadn't checked the actual departure time of the bus from Woodstock for Fredericton... simply assumed, bus here... get on bus... go vroom. This was the bus that had just left Fredericton and was on it's way to Montreal. The driver seeing Florenceville on my ticket (though as a departure point instead of an arrival) blanked and let me on despite the oppositeness of our paths. When I brought this to his attention at the Hartland Irving he looked not so much peeved as indifferent... but I managed to get my original ticket back from him with an agreement to drop me back off in Florenceville where I planned to try the whole thing again the next morning... figuring I could call and once Dana and Vickie were done laughing at me they could close the lab up, given it's March break and traffic is light. Much to my surprise the driver radioed ahead to the bus I was actually supposed to be on and the two met across the highway between Flo-ville and H-land. I sheepishly crossed over and sat my ass down and headed East... young man.

Tonight's track is from the CD I listened to in an effort to give audience to my chaos... a brand new, 2006 release on Temporary Residence records by a duo called The Ladies made up of Zach, the drummer from Hella and Rob Crow the singer/writer/guitarist/bassist from Pinback and many many earlier projects. The song's title is a tip of the hat to the unseated best picture of the year, Brokeback Mountain.


Nice Chaps, Buddy

You miss me, you really, really miss me

It's been brought to my attention that I didn't update for a whole week. Would you believe I've been in a coma? That I was taken up by the pre-Rapture party planning committee to make sure there were enough tatamis and warm Ovaltines for everyone? That I was so bored that I put my finger into my navel and, finding little to no resistance, kept pressing in and in further until my whole hand was in there... then I wriggled my wrist around and pushed further until I got a firm hold on my spine... which I pulled out and showed to myself just before I fell into the coma.

Actually I was just kinda busy...

...with a bit of writing, bit of reading, bit of editing. Nothing too stressful. The lab has also been more of a hive, too, given March break is next week.

My favourite phone question of this week, you ask?

------

He: Do you buy records?

Me: Yes we do.

He: Do you know the records that were thicker before they got thinner?

Me: We don't buy by thickness, only by title.

-----

Went to The Capital last Thursday to see Sylvie, who were back in town, headlining this time. They got much (deserved) love from the crowd... but I was a little less impressed this time around. I feel like they're splitting into two separate bands... Joel and Riva in a mid-nineties pop/post-punk band (a-la-Jawbox) and Chris (w/ his table o' pedals) in an atmo-rock band (a-la-Radiohead). Not to say these things can't be combined... I just didn't think they always worked together... the wispy wispy parts seemed kinda tacked-on.

Their tour-mates From Fiction got my full attention though. A four piece from Toronto, they combined the instrumental destruction you usually expect from metalcore bands, but with an unscripted looseness closer to (gulp) jazz. Drummer Rob Gordon especially was a man possessed... all hovering cymbals, pounding on walls... only pausing to slam into the audience. I see by their site that Metric is taking them with them through the states! Americans beware!

What else, what else??

Got dates mixed up for the Akron/Family show in Saint John. I mistook Monday March 27th for Monday February 27th!!! Why would two 27ths both fall on Mondays? Only in Canada you say? In any case that's much better and likelier to be visited by me and The-One-Who-Michael-Jackson-Would-Possess (At least his skeleton). Embarrassingly I ended the evening at The Capital by loudly exclaiming to all in my path that they should go to SJ to see A/F on Monday (again the show wasn't on Monday).

Well. I have a few more things to accomplish before I call it a night... so... I'll leave you with tonight's track. Since you went a week without I've made it an extra-long track. Sharks and Sailors is taken from a 1997 e.p. by June of 44 called The Anatomy of Sharks. It bridged the gap between their two best albums, Tropics and Meridians and Four Great Points. JO44 brought together members of many disparate groups, incorporating all their strategies: Guitarists Jeff Mueller (Rodan) and Sean Meadows (Lungfish), Bassist Fred Erskine (Hoover, Crownhate Ruin) and Drummer Doug Scharin (Codeine, Rex). Their last album, Anahata, came out in 1998 and showed signs of a new direction that never got explored, though Mueller continued in a similar vein with The Shipping News while Scharin now concentrates mostly on his dub-based project Him (no, not the crappy Scandinavian goth-emo-metal band).


Sharks & Sailors

no time but the meantime

I just have a second...

Helmet had two indie releases Strap it On and the collected singles Born Annoying before unleashing a post-Nirvana hard rock slab for Interscope called Meantime. It was metal for uptight jazz fans. The 1994 follow-up Betty was not as critically well-received... but I think letting a little air in was good for Page and the boys.

Tonight's track, I Know, contains two excellent and underused euphemisms for masturbation: Shine the Baptist and De-bark the Log. Listen for 'em.


I Know

Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name...

So I made it through last week... wasn't that hard... busy... good.

Having listened to the little yahoo desktop widget that whispers the upcoming weather to me I knew that the wind was gonna blow, hard, all weekend. I guarded against the cold by stocking up on movies, soup and alcohol (just a little wine, nothing to worry about). Saturday night I was sitting peacefully in my 30 year old LA-Z-BOY (the one my dad won at bingo, or a raffle, or something illegal) with cathode rays hypmotizing me into a stupor and it flitted across my brain: I didn't have any insane people ranting at me in the store all week!!!! While that diminishes my blogable occurances, it certainly is easier on the head. However... moments later my phone rang and...

Me: Hello?

He: Heeeey dude!!! How's it going? What's up?

Me: [not recognizing the voice right off] Ah, not much, not much, just hanging out, taking it easy.

He: Heeeey man... that's good, that's good. You doing anything later?

Me: [still not recognizing the voice... but the voice seems to be recognizing me, so...] I don't think so. It's pretty crappy out. Think I'm in for the night.

He: Duuude!! We should go out. We should drink.

Me: [definitely not recognizing the voice...] Ah, who was it you were calling for?

He: You man!!! You!

Me: No, who do you think this is? Who do you THINK you're talking to?

He: Samuel, man!! You!!!

Me: Ah, no... no... I'm, not Samuel, sorry... think you dialed the wrong number.

He: Oh man!! Well... hey, are YOU drinking right now?

Me: ...ah, no, not at the moment.

He: But... DO you drink, man?

Me: Well, yeah, but not right now... don't you think...

He: Smoke, man!!! Do you smoke!!!

Me: Not for a long time.

He: Ah, man. You SHOULD smoke!!! WE should smoke... TONIGHT!!!

Me: But I don't...

He: Man, I'm so high right now...

Me: That's obvious... the phone seems to be giving you trouble. Don't you think you should try to get ahold of Samuel?

He: Oh, yeah, right, man.

Me: 'Kay. Bye.

----

Tonight's track is from Damien Jurado. A Pacific Northwesterner with a knack for writing songs that sound like the best, darkest and most melancholy of Bruce Springsteen's back catalogue. Like most of my eventual favourites I came across his first album, Waters Ave S., by accident, receiving a playcopy of it from our Sub Pop rep at the time, France.

France was excellent to talk to on the phone... she was enthusiastic about the music, flustered by the amount of work stretched out in front of her... literally from the description of boxes of promo crap stacked in her little apartment. My mental picture of her was a young Jaime Lee Curtis with long hair tied back, hunched over a computer on her living room coffee table... a cat walking over the keyboard... a rubber tree in the corner butting against a chinese lantern... and stale cigarette smoke masked with just-past-useful air freshner.

But, anyway... Waters Ave S was low key, mid-tempo electric/acoustic affair with Jurado's mumbled monotone vocals somehow managing to make everything compelling. It was followed by the old-timey-er, and spookier, The Ghost of David, the title of which referring to a dream Jurado had about David Bazan... his pal and leader of Pedro the Lion. I Break Chairs came out in 2002 and featured band billing for Damien Jurado and Gathered in Song. It was more balls-out in places, but maintained the Darkness at the Edge of Town vibe from the first two albums. There's been a few releases since this one, but a favourite track of mine is Like Titanic from this album. The constant undertone of feedback drone and celeste plinking bang home the innocence and experience duality of the song. Enjoy.


Like Titanic

pitchers

Bonus Blog!!!

I was perusing a few music blogs and noticed that a Boston blogger had gone to see Sigur Ros at The Orpheum, the show the night after the one Mandy and I saw in Portland. He, unlike us, got some photos, so I thought I'd post them as they capture pretty well what our [visual] experience was.





Thanks to I Guess I'm Floating.

I don't do too much talking...

Investment Opportunity #1

SONNY JAMES TEETH WHITENING PROCESS




There's enough to go around for everyone.

Today's track is from that Siren of the Teutons, Nico. Chelsea Girl came out nearly 40 years ago, the same year she recorded with The Velvet Underground. Songs from her album were written by Jackson Browne and others. Not until the following few years did she start writing most of her own material... notably on the John Cale produced Marble Index (1968) and Desertshore (1970). Those albums hold up against the wild women of today... i.e. Joanna Newsom... for pure otherworldliness. The track I've picked today is featured in The Royal Tenenbaums. It plays as Gwyneth Paltrow arrives (in slow motion) to greet Luke Wilson who has realized he's in love with her (despite being her half-brother). It's a scene that makes me fall for Gwyneth a little... until I remember she married the doofus from Coldplay. Apple my ass.


These Days

The Boy with the Thorn is His Side

Mes amis!!!

I've been logging in some time over on the Backstreet blog the past couple of nights. If you go over there it'll more than make up for the lack of "track a day" action as there is an hour long .mp3 mix called
I Can't Stress This Enough!!!. In addition you'll find notes on what's recently made it's way onto the store's shelves.

I've come to wonder, since I've been posting my clever little stories of the daily twilight zonish 'appenings at the store, if there's been an increase in the level of public insanity or if it just seems that way 'coz I'm remarking of it.

This past Saturday one of "my people," as I like to think of them came in as I was racking some recent used vinyl arrivals. So you picture this 6+ foot man with a ball cap and dirty blonde hair with a wadded up leather jacket under his arm... oh and with a voice halfway between Randy Machoman Savage and The Cookie Monster.

Him: You don't know anyone who'd be looking to buy a vintage WWII leather bomber jacket. would you?

Me: Ah... no, no. We don't deal in clothes and, ah... I don't know of any vintage clothing stores in the area.

Him: This coat is over 50 years old and [flipping it inside out to display the lining] it's been taken care of. It was worn by an aviator... you can tell by this material.

Me: Oh. Well... I'm sure someone would be interested in it... but most clothes around town seems to either end up in the Salvation Army or maybe sold through auction houses...

Him: No. No. I'm not in a position to auction anything [???].

Me: OK? Well, good luck with finding someone for it.

Him: I just thought that, where you sell used stuff you might know... you know... and where I buy a lot of stuff here [first time I've seen the man]... because I'm a fan of the old stuff, like the Creedence and the Revival and Bob Seger... the older Bob Seger stuff like [he starts naming albums but I've stopped listening, preferring to let a fine glaze slide over me... carrying my consciousness far, far away... but then...] I did a lot of Bob Seger songs at karaoke nights at The North Star... and I made it to the finals, but this other guy beat me with a Fleetwood Mac song. Just as well, the regional final were in Moncton and I can't even swear in french.

Me:

Him: OK. Thanks.

I've been thinking lately about this strange duality:
Being a fan of "indie rock" brings with it a certain attitude of pride for being loose from the machinery of rock marketing... that is to say being a fan of a band because a magazine ad/radio station/video channel is co-opted into oversaturating a profile, making it seem incontrovertible that "X" is the biggest best band in the land. Indie bands seem to grow organically and/or virally with whatever actual or electronic equivalent "word of mouth" is spread, usually beneath the radar of mainstream media. That is good. Yes.

However, on the other hand, there seems to be a short, short, short attention span for the very brief history of "indie rock" (if you place it's roots in the late 80s/early 90s). New grassroots acts spring up monthly, seemingly displacing into obscurity artist from a couple of years previous. Does this amount to a "no heroes" mentality fostered within the fandom of the underground... or is it plain old media oversaturation on all of these new playing fields (internet/web radio/music blogs) that, instead of concretizing a bands rep, pushes aside today's successes to make room for "the next little big thing."

Mostly I wonder why people who are "huge fans" of Arcade Fire don't know who people like J Mascis are. Today's track is from this once and still guitarist for Dinosaur Jr. who broke big in indie's first wave with albums on Homestead and SST... the first three of which were recently re-issued on Merge Records, home of the aforementioned Fire. This track is from a solo live acoustic album called Martin and Me, and it is a cover of The Smiths, another groundbreaking outfit from the 80s and 90s. Enjoy.


The Boy with the Thorn in His Side

Just a drink?

Hola!

Nothing much to report. Went to the Back Nine at the behest of JB last night... found out that renovations=high prices (appetizers? or financial investments?). And $7.25 for a glass of Stella Artois? I'll be drinking alone at home, thank you. Sure there'll be a few tears... but the neighbours don't mind.

Here's a quote from an interview w/ David Cronenberg (Uncut Jan06/pg80):

Cronenberg: We no longer are physically responding genetically to pressures of the environment. That has completely derailed the mechanisms Darwin outlined....

Interviewer: But the primal impulses remain?

Cronenberg: The primal impulses remain, and that's the paradox.

Here's something you should try if you like music and not thinking too hard: Pandora

Finally today's track is from David Grubbs. He is probably best known as half of w/ Jim O'Rourke, but he's been involved with a number of underheard yet influential bands... starting with Squirrel Bait, a youthful hardcore band whose membership also included 2 future members of Slint. He moved on to Bastro with SB bassist Clark Johnson and help from future Tortoise member and Chicago producer John McIntire. He has eight solo records since Gastr Del Sol's split... they polarize between avant-gardist minimalist composition and more song-based, folk style recordings. This track is from his 2000 offering The Spectrum Between


Seagull and Eagull

Land of Ports

Back.

Was back yesterday... but the old skull sponge was only receiving blurred signals, not in any kind of shape to output anything.

Mandy and I rented a car for our excursion since hers had an extreme case of heartburn. We got off early out of Woodstock and had breakfast at the Denny's in Bangor. Our waitress' name was Sunshine. Diner food is cheap in Maine. Plus you can get stuff like country fried steak (essentially battered beef) with biscuits and gravy, two eggs and a stack of pancakes... for $5.99!!! I couldn't bring myself to risk the possible cardiac arrest/gastrointestinal meltdown that kind of excess would bring, so I stuck to the Pepperjack Scramble with hashbrowns and a short stack.

Portland was great. Had never been before. The only downside to visiting cool little towns is the invariable, "Why don't we have ______ in Fredericton?" questions. Like, "Why don't we have... a dozen cool little coffee shops? ...a choice of Thai restaurants? ...a converted theatre that brings in current touring bands instead of Pink Floyd karaoke?"

Sigur Ros were phenomenal. It was rush seating (the show was in a venue called the State Theatre, which, despite its name, didn't feature assigned tickets... mainly because its main floor has the front two rakes of seats yanked out to make room to stand at the stage's edge) so we stood in line for a little under an hour to get good seats. The temperature dropped to torment us but it was worth it. A helpful soul told us the best course of action was to head straight for the balcony... which we did and scored front row seats. If you've ever been to Memorial Hall in Fredericton the distance from the balcony to the stage was only slight greater at The State.

The unbilled openers were a quartet of Icelandic ladies called Amina. They played as a string quartet (three violins and a cello) before scattering out to various posts across the stage to play everything laptop and marimba to water glasses and admission bells. A scrim was drawn across the stage front during the turnover and when Sigur Ros began (playing the intro and first track from Takk...) they played behind the sheeting which served as a projection screen from the front and a screen for silhouettes of the band thrown by the backlighting.

Their entire set was material from Takk... which might've been a little disappoointing had the performance not been so intense. All four members played different instruments and Amina returned to the stage after the first few pieces to further flesh out the sound... which was simultaneously delicate and intense. The sound in the Theatre was just perfect... enormous, but not overwhelming or distorted. The sold out crowd brought them back out for an encore, the second half of which was played once again from behind the scrim with a build to a crescendo as tumultuous, terrifying and beautiful as anything I could've hoped to hear.

The rest of the night was dinner and the drive back (to return the rental) punctuated by some breaks to sleep in shopping mall and truck stop parking lots. If you're going to see America... do it right I say.

Today's track is from Amina's four track e.p. called Animamina they were selling at the show.


Hemipode

Bonus Blog

Since I'm going to be away on Monday, thought I'd provide you with a bonus weekend blog. Thoughtful, no?

I'm kinda behind (esp. since the hot turkey sandwich I scarfed at the Zellers seems to be running through me like a grease free range... er... turkey) so I'll skip ahead to today's track(s)... now featuring bonus track!!!

First up is a track from Sigur Ros' most recent release Takk... As you read this, probably I'm either on my way to or in Portland, ME getting ready to see them. This is their current single.


Hoppipola

Up next is a track from the upcoming Mogwai album called Mr. Beast due out on March 7th. The album is killer killer killer.


Folk Death 95

Caughwrf

I've got a headache right here:

...and pains and aches in places too awkward to photograph. I don't want to do anything... not even this. But it still feels good to be alive.

I'm going to see Sigur Ros in Portland on Monday night with Mandy... I just had a pretty good bowl of soup (Beef Barley) and I posted a new edition of Surgery on my radio blog. You can listen by clicking this.

But now my energy is gone. Time only for today's track. This time it's a preview. Julie Doiron has been the most prolific alumni of Eric's Trip. During their post-break-up decade (almost) she's released 6 solo albums... with a 7th on the way later this fall. This time around she's joined by the three other members of her former band... but don't call it a reunion. The album is as yet untitled, but will be released on Endearing in Canada and Jagjaguwar in the U.S. This track is an unmastered demo.



No More

Hot for... bank teller??

There's something about a woman in uniform. How else to explain the seeming proliferation of websites/Yahoo groups/etc. dedicated to female news anchors and weathergirls... er... Gender non-specific Meteorologists (who are hot). These women seldom dress provocatively, often are only seen from the chest up, and usually only from one camera angle. Yet apparent teams of shut-ins with Tivo hooked up to laptops spend hours making grainy screen grabs and putting them up to share with fellow meals-on-wheels recipients.

And bless their obsessions.

Some of the slightly less single-minded among us have fallen into the WIU (woman in uniform) undertow. How else explain the raptures and adorations heaped upon Gillian Anderson during her stint as Scully on The X-Files. Chris Carter, the show's creator, seemed to have tapped into a dormant gene in male viewers that reacted to a "less-is-more" trigger. True, Sci-fi fans have a certain affinity for uniforms... but even on the flagship Star Trek series the female uniforms were essentially go-go dresses and all the alien women were swathed in togas and bathed in soft-focus lighting.

The current crop of CSI/FBI/CIA shows perhaps owe their success to this template as well. Or maybe I'm thinking about Without a Trace's Poppy Montgomery too much. But if your name is Poppy I'll think about you too. Promise.

In the meantime today's track is from the 1996 musical tribute to The X-Files, Songs in the Key of X. It's a compilation that collects seemingly disparate artists like Sheryl Crow, Nick Cave and Danzig... yet somehow manages to sound cohesive. Some versions of the CD sported nifty-keen hidden tracks you could only get to if you pressed stop as soon as the disc started then backed up to before Track 1! If you did you were treated to Dirty Three's rendition of the theme song.

One standout track was by The Foo Fighters, not especially a favourite band, however they do a slightly muscled-up version of Gary Numan's Down in the Park... a track that appeared on his 1979 album Replicas.



Foo Fighters-Down in the Park