Monthly Archives: April 2005

Real Live Action

Review By Neil Braun

Bend Sinister
Black Rice
Foster Kare
Veritas
March 04
Astoria
Trekking to shows at the increasingly popular Main and Hastings locale has become such a disagreeable excursion for me that it has become sort of a rule avoid it whenever possible. Of course, as the old adage goes, for every rule there are exceptions. In my case, there were two: 1) the repossession of my skateboard after 3 months of separation and 2) the opportunity to check out Vancouver’s newest hype, Bend Sinister. How does the repossession of and subsequent obsession with my skateboard correlate to the Bend Sinister set on March 4th? Both are more fun than a night of blow and Supertramp records, and both possess the capability to knock one onto his or her ass.
Personal hobbies and drug references aside, the members of Bend Sinister are quickly proving themselves to be the local band to watch out for. Friday night’s show at the Asbalt remains in my mind as further proof of their ability to put on a unique, tight, and unquestionably enjoyable live show.
Bend Sinister is a band already awash with both energy and personality; seeing them play at ground level only served to heighten their already remarkably dynamic live performance. With the promise of a heavily produced album Through the Broken City within the next month or so, Bend Sinister is ensuring that what is lost production-wise at a live show is duly made up for in entertainment value.
For a band whose repertoire is not nearly fully developed, Bend Sinister is able to put together a tight set that has at once the ability to showcase their technical musicianship, while at the same time keep the crowd engaged. The sweaty Asbalt crowd had no problem responding to Bend Sinister’s energizing indie prog-rock, and likewise, Bend Sinister had no problem playing off the energy of the crowd. Bass player Dave Buck ended up standing on a table on stage-right and guitarist Naben Ruthnum, in a valiant attempt to stand up on the now infamous guard rail that separates the crowd from the band, was, well…knocked on his ass. Nobody skipped a beat.
At any rate, those who came to the Asbalt to see Bend Sinister and Black Rice, rather than Destroyer and Frog Eyes, who were playing at Wise Hall the same night, left pleased. For those who missed it: it seems as though Bend Sinister is only just beginning to pick up hard-earned momentum; don’t miss them next time, even if it means missing Destroyer or having to wander along East Hastings at ungodly hours. These days, $7 won’t buy you much better.
Michael Barrow

The Futureheads
Shout Out Louds
High Speed Scene
March 06
Richard’s On Richards
Something tells me, and correct me if I’m wrong, folks, that if you’re the first band on a bill where no one knows who the hell you are, you should rely on your music and not your stage banter to sell the audience. Lines like “I’ve heard rumours about Vancouver… well actually no I haven’t, I’m just trying to be clever” don’t make me want to rush out and buy your watered-down-pop-rock-sounding-like-Cheap-Trick style tunes. “We are High Speed Scene and we are desperately trying to make it in this business” is at least a little more honest.
A scruffy looking five-piece followed, and spying a banner being unfurled to my right, I saw the name of the band. I also saw a girl setting up what appeared to be (and what I later found out to actually be) a xylophone. Cool. Turns out, to everyone’s surprise, they are Swedish and not from Athens, Georgia, or whatever town is hip this month, and are actually pretty good. The singer gots a few “He sounds like Robert Smith fronting a sixties-pop band” comparisons from some friends watching the show. The bassist has a couple of legs up on the rest of the band in height; he was fun to watch, lumbering around the stage, his bass looking like a toothpick he could floss his pearly whites with. Along with The Concretes, Shout Out Louds may be part of the new Scandinavian wave ready to crash on our shores, so watch out.
Then The Futureheads, a bunch of lads from Sunderland, hit the stage and had the crowd from the first note of “Le Garage” to the last note of “Piece Of Crap.” Lots of knee-jerking, head-snapping, and hand-clapping to be had on this night. Who invited Patrick Pentland of Sloan on stage? Oh wait, that’s guitarist Ross Millard, nyuck, nyuck. Any band that can divide the crowd in half each singing the different backing vocal parts to “Hounds Of Love” (yes, the Kate Bush song), is OK in my books. In fact any band that plays equal parts Devo, The Jam, and makes me smile is OK in my books. My pal Jeffie got props three times from the band, and from now on I will only refer to him as “the little man from the record shop.” The rest of the set was peppered with songs from their debut, including the current fave “Decent Days And Nights,” “A To B,” “The City Is Here For You To Use,” and so on, but they also paid tribute to their influnces by covering The Television Personalities’ “A Picture Of Dorian Gray.” Apparently anyone who missed them this time out can catch them opening for a certain “hot” band soon, but my guess is their performance won’t be half as good as the one I just saw.
Bryce Dunn

Antony & the Johnsons
March 07
The Red Room
A night with Antony & the Johnsons turned out to be everything you could hope for: haunting, understated, and rapturous. The Red Room was an excellent choice of venue (certainly superior to the Media Club, where the show had previously been booked). It was intimate and elegant, though if, like me, you didn’t get a seat in the pit, you probably spent most of the show looking for a place to stand where you could actually see. In person, Antony is a physically imposing figure (though far from obese, as some misanthropes have labelled him), tall and broad-shouldered with a face half wounded cherub, half smiling Buddha, framed by a feminine cascade of straight black hair. His appearance, however, striking as it is, can’t compare to the otherworldly perfection of his androgynous voice.
He played all of his best songs: “The Lake,” “Cripple and the Starfish,” “River of Sorrow,” and almost everything from I Am A Bird Now. Unbelievably, he sounds even better in person than on record. He seems to draw his rich, breathy vibrato from some organ between the heart, throat, and lungs that normal humans don’t possess.
Antony’s songs evoke an extraordinary amount of emotion, so intense as to break down barriers between pain and pleasure, memory and reality, and even accepted conventions of propriety, but he’s no exhibitionist. Antony is so generous with his expressionism that the feelings in his music seem to have belonged to you all along, a profoundly personal experience that accounts for rapt response of the crowd. The silence that saturated the venue during his performance was total; it was as if everyone was holding their breath. The humming of the bar fridges was actually audible.
Antony’s accompaniment was also minimal, as promised, with only Rob Moose on guitar and occasional violin, and Julia Kent (formerly of Rasputina) on cello, both extremely tasteful. Perhaps the most surprising thing about the show was the diversity and devotion of the audience: people of all ages and persuasions were captivated by Antony’s music. Clearly, he’s come a long way from his days as an unheralded drag singer in the New York gay scene (which he claims never embraced him in the first place), and far from the transgressive spectacle you might expect from a gender-bending performer in love with Warhol’s Factory and embraced by the art elite (he played at the Whitney Biennial last year). Antony’s soul music is accessible to all.
Saelan Twerdy

The Frames
March 10
Richard’s on Richards
Ireland’s best swept through Vancouver in early March as The Frames delivered an early St. Patrick’s Day present at Richard’s on Richards. It was too bad some of the people at the venue couldn’t return the favour. For most of the night, too many people chatted loudly through the Frames’ set. The situation was compounded when the band started with a couple of quieter songs from the new album, Burn The Maps, including “A Caution to the Birds.”
But by about the third song, the band was able to truly showcase the energy they are known for to the half of the crowd that was there to see them. As photographer Neil Braun said to me, “there is something about this band that sucks you into their show.” They were able to mix in older favourites like “Lay Me Down” and “What Happens When The Heart Just Stops” with more up-tempo songs from the new album, like “Finally” and “Happy.” However, even during the introduction to “Happy,” lead singer Glen Hansard wanted to tell a story but was so annoyed with the small group of chatters; he just mumbled the title of the song.
There was a point in the set where I thought Hansard, Joe Doyle (bass/vocals), Rob Bochnik (guitar) and Simon Goode (guitar, filling in for violinist Colm Mac Con Iomaire) could have easily walked off the stage because of the chatter, but sometime in the middle of the night, during a period of silence between songs, fans started yelling requests from the Frames’ large back catalogue (from “Red Chord” to “New Partner”), just like they had done all night. Hansard looked at the fans and said, “I’ll tell you, when we came out here at the start, we weren’t feeling it. But now we are.”
A great night turned into something even better at that point. The band put even more energy into entertaining the many dedicated fans at the concert playing high energy tunes like “Fake.” They finished off their set and the crowd cheered for more. They came out for the encore and obliged the crowd with old favourites Frames’ fans had been dying to hear: “Revelate” and “Red Chord” with a little bit of Van Morrison’s “Here Comes The Night.”  They threw in a cover of Mic Christopher’s “Hey Day” as well.
The Frames’ showed their mastery of showmanship by ending their encore with a cover of Daniel Johnston’s “Devil Town.” The show ended with the crowd snapping their fingers and singing about living as a vampire. That song left the crowd quiet and contented enough not to scream for another encore, which the band would have gladly played.
With Mac Con Iomaire’s violin missing from the line-up, I was afraid there would be something missing from the Frames’ concert, but those fears were allayed about a minute into the first song and the Frames gave what one Irishman in the crowd said was one of the best concerts he had ever seen. I agree with him wholeheartedly.
Wilson Wong

Kings of Convenience
March 11
Richard’s on Richards
Ever since quiet has been the new loud, things haven’t been quite the same. Extroverts became introverts, and angst-ridden teenagers turned to making life-sized models of the Velvet Underground in clay. Chronicling all of this from Bergen, Norway has been the Kings of Convenience, a duo of acoustic guitar players and singers who write sparse but somehow perfectly arranged songs. Unlike other acoustic acts out there, though, Erik Glambek Bøe and Erlend Øye have secretly associated with different musical styles (Øye being a respected DJ), and have made friends in varied places, as noted by the follow-up to their entirely acoustic debut album: a covers album, Versus, of other artists including the likes of Ladytron and Four Tet.
That being said, maybe it wasn’t all that surprising that the Kings of Convenience were able to convince Canadian Arts & Craft star Leslie Feist to come and join them on the stage for a surprise appearance. What was surprising, however, was the fact that these guys actually put on a fun live show full of audience participation, sexy dancing, and decent banter (especially after hearing stories of their live show in Toronto, where one of them was sick, and repeatedly left the stage in anger because the cash registers at the bar were too noisy for him to play over).
As usual, during the most tender and intimate moments of the concert the edge of the crowd turned to conversation faster than I could say “shut up!” but the Kings of Convenience, instead of trying to fight it by direct means, were able to simply give the audience parts of their songs to sing, thus keeping the musical intimacy and also giving every listener who gave a damn an opportunity to help keep the talkers at bay. Dang, those Norwegians are a smart lot.
Soren Brothers

Youthinasia
Azimyth
March 15
Picadilly Pub
Nostalgia was the name of the game this night, as some Southern Ontario punks joined Vancouver’s own Azimyth for a blast from the past extravaganza at the Picadilly. The crowd was scarce, which tends to happen to a mid-week, poorly advertised show, as hipsters hit The Cellar for some pretentious boogying, and college kids stay home playing Yahoo! Pool instead of working on their PowerPoint presentations. Nonetheless, a few handfuls of locals were treated well by the $3 cover, the cheap pints, and some mean Canadian rock.
On their second self-funded, cross-country tour, the Brantford, Ontario foursome Youthinasia delivered a solid jam in support of their latest E.P.—recommended for ingenious E.T.-esque artwork and melodic punk revival sentimentality, The Solution is especially catchy. Short and sweet (pop) punk songs were masterfully executed with a bruising ferocity the Pic’s diminutive stage definitely cursed the next day. The music was reminiscent of NOFX, Green Day, and Lagwagon, with singer Ryan Jarvis lapsing into Blink 182 poppiness and brief reggae-inspired grooves, while excellent bass line bridges and tight drumming made for a set highly enjoyable to locals and tourists alike.
While Youthinasia delivered a dose of happy mayhem circa 1995, Azimyth handed out distressing, disturbing, brooding, screaming, post-grunge pop-metal that took me back a few more years, to the early nineties, when bands like Nirvana and the Pixies were dishing out their angst and noise. Surprisingly well-dressed this night, Azimyth did not ‘hit’ the stage; they walked on, looked around the room, nodded to each other, and commenced their set.
This is a band that does not require wild on-stage antics to be enjoyable. Their music has matured since the band’s conception in early 2002, and now demands a certain dignity; while I have seen a younger singer/guitarist Corey Hawkins plummet to the stage floor in Cobainesque anguish, this was not the case tonight. I appreciate this band for their soft-to-heavy transitions on all fronts. Dancing cymbals explode into merciless cannonades, happy little bass riffs get dark and broody, distortion pedals add layers of noise to the guitars, and Hawkins’ soft hums mutate into morbid, resonant screams…and back again, in the span of a single song.
Not their best show tonight, but certainly solid enough to gain more fans, provided more people would get off their proverbial asses and support local music! A hair-raising time was had by all, from crunchy opener “We Won’t Break” through a finale deliriously covering CCR’s “Fortune Son.” This local trio is not to be missed, and may well be gracing larger stages in the not-too-distant future. Eat your heart out, Blasphemers! You missed a good one.
Luke Brocki

Hood
Windows 78
March 23
Lamplighter
Giving an objective account of a live performance by a band that you have long held in high regard can be a challenging task. All too many fans watch a band they love put on a mediocre-at-best show and then stay up all night staring their friends in the face and emphatically explaining how seeing Cat Power was a pivotal musical experience for them. To be brutally honest, a lot of bands’ live performances leave fans feeling like they just got a bad hand-job from a best friend’s younger sister: a little bit let down and a little bit embarrassed. But before talking about the slightly disappointing performance that Hood put on for the slightly disappointing number of people that came out on March 23, I have to make some room for the opening act, Windows 78.They were bad washed in digital delay and reverb. The lead singer started crying, I think I was crying too.
Okay, glad that’s done with.
As I hinted at before, Hood has long been a favorite band of mine. Having heard that the members of Hood don’t identify themselves as a “live band,” I should have checked my anticipation a little bit during the week preceding the show, but all bets were off after entertaining the idea that Dose One, another long time favorite of mine who now resides in Vancouver, just might lay down some live vocals for the tracks he did on Hood’s “Cold House.” Even a B-grade performance will sour the most partial fan if their expectations haven’t been properly grounded.
To be fair, Hood’s performance wasn’t awful, they just weren’t that good. They were able to keep their set interesting and lively despite the fact that their music is regularly slow and often bleak, but their performance was irrevocably marred by some unfortunate slip-ups. This was topped off by grimace-worthy unraveling of the last song they played as guitarist/lead singer Chris Adams simply gave up and walked off stage. For a band that has been on tour for some time now, it was an inexcusably unprofessional finish. Dose proved to be a little rusty as well when he jumped in early for his verse on “Branches Bare.” So much for anticipation, I guess.
But there were moments of brilliance on stage, though, and by no means was the set a total loss. It was great to hear the drum machines and broken-up sampling done well live (see “The Lost You”), and the drummer, whom (though I hate to admit it) I had never paid much attention on Hood’s albums, was a real treat to watch. Yet overall, despite managing to recreate their sound and atmosphere quite well and despite frequent moments of greatness onstage, their set was marred by some unfortunate slips. My impossibly high expectations weren’t met and I left a little bit let down and a little bit embarrassed.
Michael Barrow

Eleanor Rigby

Douglas Coupland @ Random House Canada

Review By Dory Kornfeld

There has been something wrong with Douglas Coupland novels as of late. They have been far too full of car chases and dysfunctional family abuse and obnoxious coincidence and invented gagetry and odd human tricks. His themes are the same as they’ve been through all his work—fear of apocalypse, the tribulations of a generation that didn’t really grow up with religion, the way people relate to each other—but where the worthwhile ideas were once spoken by characters you came to enjoy in books with minimalist plot but lots of personality, they are now just folded into thickened plots that seem constructed around the things that Coupland wants to have characters think and say. Eleanor Rigby centres around a lonely West Vancouver woman (the link between her and the most musically famous of lonely women is made painfully obvious when she gives her email address as eleanorrigby@arctic.ca) and the son she put up for adoption when she was 16 who falls into her life at the same time that the comet Halle-Bopp appears in the sky. It is a decently enjoyable read; the story moves quickly, has its clever bits, and contains enough mystery to keep the plot going. It also has enough flaws so that all through your reading you are conspicuously aware that it’s just not a very good book. The language is a bit stifled (at one point a character refers to an “on-line web log”) and the Vancouver place-name-dropping is gratuitous, almost as if Doug thinks that since he wrote City of Glass all his readers, all over the globe, will have an intimate understanding of what it means to stroll along Ambleside.

The main problem, though, is that Douglas Coupland novels just don’t seem relevant anymore. A medium that Coupland used, with Generation X and Microserfs, to uniquely characterize a time or a scene or a feeling, now seems trite. It feels as though Coupland is writing novels like this one, and like All Families are Psychotic, merely because he is a novelist. At the same time, however, his other projects have been great—the alphabetical snippet-format ethnographies of Vancouver and Canada in City of Glass and Souvenir of Canada worked really well, and the gigantic green army guys he sculpted were awesome. I’m pretty sure that Douglas Coupland still matters; he has an upcoming exhibition at the Canadian Centre for Architecture in Montreal called “Super City” in which he uses toy building kits from the sixties as a jumping off point for “looking at the urban environment as both experience and mental construct,” but maybe he should stop disappointing his fans by writing novels that don’t come anywhere close to the salience of his earlier work.

The Art of Modern Rock

Paul Grushkin and Dennis King Chronicle Books/Raincoast Books

Review By Drake

My first thought upon opening this gem was a particularly eloquent “Holy crap!” as my eyes bugged out at the art. It recurred after pretty much every page turn, and then again when I started to actually read and not just look at the art.

All aspects of the wonderful art of rock poster ads are covered here: production techniques from silkscreening to Photoshop, interviews with the artists, legality issues involving limited run sales and run-ins with the merch companies, even inspiration sources. For you theme-fetishists out there, the book is organized both by artist and iconography.

The Art of Modern Rock is stunning, just stunning. Too much to digest at once, really. (I apologize if this review is too short—it’s just that the right side of my brain doesn’t write in verbal language and the left side that does can’t come up with much better than the first two words.)
I only hope that some day my musical efforts will be advertised by such fine, visceral, art.

Ballet-Fit Workout: Develop Strength, Control, Flexibility & Grace

Paula Baird-Colt, Megan Connelly and David McAllister Ulysses Press/Raincoast Books

Review By Drake

Just in time to help me stretch out the kinks in my poor screwed-up spine, this book fell into my not-so-graceful paws. I think everyone would love to have the grace and lithe stance of a dancer, and the further away some of us are, the more we try, so I gave it a go.

Ballet-Fit Workout is more a series of calisthenics and yoga/pilates type moves with a lot of stretches at the end than a workout per se (at least if you’re stuck in the only cardio and weights rut). Don’t expect to be learning ballet so much as the specific exercises used in ballet. You don’t necessarily feel you’re doing anything when you go through the program, yet after a few weeks, the results creep up on you. My flexibility is rapidly coming back, my strength is increasing, and as for the grace, well, maybe some day it’ll come too.

For me, the most beneficial segment of the book was the stretching section, which had lots of stretches for hard to release muscles, like the iliopsoas and biceps. There were also a few for more common tension areas like the low back, but even these were mostly new stretches I hadn’t heard of before, and all helped.

All in all, Ballet-Fit Workout has proven itself to be a great adjunct to the Pilates, yoga, and dance I already do. Almost makes me want to take it further and make a fool of myself in a tutu in the nearest ballet class I can find. Almost.

Sean Rippers / How to make a creepy penny doll

Review by Georgie Russel, and Gaile Addison of the Seam Rippers Craft Collective

We present this project, designed by Gaile Addison, to introduce the upcoming Seamripper’s Doll Show. The wine and cheese is Saturday April 2nd from 7-11 pm and will not be followed by a dance party; the dance party will happen on the closing date, April 23rd.
The penny doll is a simple sewing project that forces you to learn to make a button hole. It is also functional, as it puts that cache of forgotten pennies to work as a kind of macabre piggy bank where you can pluck the pennies from the eyes though the buttonholes. Gaile is secretly grim, very grim actually.

1. If you are going to use a sewing machine to make the eyeholes, use the pattern provided to cut out two of each of the head and body shapes. If you are going to make the eyeholes by hand, don’t cut yet.

2. Take one of the head pieces and mark where the eyeholes should be, about ¾ inch long. You have several options for making the buttonholes. The most obvious is to use the buttonhole setting on your sewing machine, I suggest practicing on a scrap of your fabric if you’ve never used it before. The setting looks like a rectangular box and should be on the stitch width lever/dial as well as the needle position lever/dial. On this dial you will see three versions of the buttonhole box. These will be labeled 1,2,3,4, and will indicate the different sides of your buttonhole. Start on number 1 and sew along the lines marked on the face of your doll. Always lift your needle between position changes. Switch the dial to 2 and sew about four to five stitches. Lift your needle, turn to 3 and sew. This will take you forwards on a line parallel to the first line you sewed. End your hole with the 4th setting, passing the needle though the fabric four to five times. Insert your seam-ripper inside your buttonhole to open it up and then cut the slit with sharp scissors to make your buttonhole. It’s easy, just practice. Now make another one along the other marking. If you don’t have a buttonhole setting on your machine, you can fake it with a tight zigzag stitch.
If you want to, you can make the buttonhole eyes by hand. If you are going to do it this way, don’t cut out the doll’s head out until after this step. Instead, draw the outline of the head on your fabric and put in an embroidery hoop, then sew tight stitches around the eyes and slit the insides.

3. Now that you have the penny extracting eyes you can assemble the rest of the doll. Embellish at will, we opted for the plain white bald variety with an expressionless face. Cut four of each of the arms and legs by placing the pattern on a fold and cutting 2 at a time. Put them front-to-front and sew along the edges and then turn them inside out. Stuff with stuffing (cut up nylons make good filler too) making sure to leave a seam allowance for attaching the limbs to the body.

4. When assembling the body, pin the two body pieces together front-to-front with arms and legs in the appropriate places; they have to be on the inside of the body when you do this. Sew the body together leaving a gap at the top wide enough for the neck to be attached.

5. Sew the head pieces together, minus the neckline, (for hair, sew some yarn into the seam around the head) and attach the front of the neck to the front of the body. Fill with pennies from behind the neck and stitch up by hand.

6. To make this doll creepier, you can sew the neck all the way and make an incision in the chest and fill the pennies from there. After you sew the chest up your doll has an embalmed quality to it. Also, you can sew the arms together across the chest for a lying down doll.

Your doll is complete. You can now use it as a paperweight, doorstop, or blunt instrument. You can extract the pennies from the eyes to top up your bus fare or to put over the eyes of a dearly departed for their passage across the river Styx.

Strut Fret and Flicker: Hard Rubber New Music Society Enter/Exit

Wednesday March 2 @ Vancouver East Cultural Centre

Review By Penelope Mulligan

The Hard Rubber people are a fairly whacked out lot, so they’d have probably given us a sonic shakedown even if they hadn’t won this year’s Alcan Performing Arts Award for Music/Opera. What the hefty cash prize allowed them to do, however, was throw a party, deck the whole house, hire dancing girls and give a performance that bled way beyond both ends of the time we spent in the concert hall. Even the pathway to the venue’s door was illuminated by ghostly images from hanging video screens. Inside, the decor theme continued (courtesy of DJ HoneyBee), casting its light on the crowds of mildly giddy patrons. The complimentary wine may have been a contributing factor, but something else was goosing the atmosphere as well, because from the moment I entered, it seemed like I was walking on a slant. I ran into my dentist, my date ran into his piano teacher, and we both ended up singing “Happy Birthday” to a woman we’d never met before.

Once inside the packed theatre, we felt cozy and pleasantly trapped as the 11 piece band came at us from down on the floor. A pretty, melodic overture abruptly gave way to driving, horn-shot jazz which was run over in turn by crazy, rattling percussion. From that moment on, a pressure began building and it never let up, despite the sonic shifts provided by the varied compositions of Giorgio Manganensi, Brad Turner, and Artistic Director John Korsrud. Even James Proudfoot’s lighting design kept things taut, with blackouts in which darkness decended from the rafters like a sheet. I stopped expecting any kind of arc to the piece as a whole and just enjoyed the tension.

Korsrud dragged in some vibrant visual artists whose contributions were projected above the playing area. jamie griffiths’ EEG-like patterns responded to every note of Peggy Lee’s gorgeous cello improv; Rena del Pieve Gobbi’s silvery projections of cut fruit were like a score played by the musicians; and Brian Johnson’s video footage turned dancers into amoebas.

The live dancers—Amber Funk Barton, Lina Fitzner, Katy Harris-McLeod and Jennifer McLeish-Lewis—would slink onstage every few numbers like flappers coming out to play. Martha Carter’s choreography featured her signature ripples and Egyyptian-frieze voguing, but also included some passages of Charleston-gone-made twitching that were the embodiment of jazz.

After the show, the audience hung around in the lobby for what felt like hours—being silly, getting a bit sozzled and generally behaving like party guests. In the end, maybe that’s what Enter/Exit meant: no event is over until everyone has left the building.

Under Review

Review by the listeners

50 Foot Wave
Golden Ocean
(Throwing Music/4AD)
So whose voice is that anyway? Growly, powerful, explosive, mined from the quarry and cannon-balled through a wall of whiplash guitars. Kristin Hersh is guilty of wielding both. You mean Ms. Hersh of Throwing Muses? Oh yeah! Thank god that for her, getting older means rocking harder, and constantly putting out new records. This time, she’s taken two-thirds of TM, thrown in a new drummer, turned it up to 11, made it possible for eardrums to bleed, and called it 50 Foot Wave. You get her trademark disjointed-yet-catchy songs with her equally trademarked vocals, her piercing guitar work, an ass-kicking rhythm section and her own kind of wall-of-sound. This is Hersh at her loudest and angriest, heartfelt and regretful, chaotic and bitchy.
The problem is, she will always have her past to be compared to, and good as these songs are, they’re not her best. They all seem to share a similar tone and flavour, making them seem more like eleven versions of the same song rather than the distinct gems she’s capable of writing. Take University, Throwing Muses’ masterpiece. Listen to the opening chords of “Hazing” and how they seamlessly kick into the full volume of Hersh’s howl. Or the perfect pop of “Bright Yellow Gun.” Or pretty much every track, each with its own distinct flavour. Going back further, check “Counting Backwards” off The Real Ramona (the last album with Belly’s Tanya Donelly) for some classic Muses. Or “Delicate Cutters” from the eponymous first album (back in ’86!) And in 2003, Hersh got back together with her TM band-mates and put out another eponymous record, loud, heavy and really, really good. Then there’s her solo work (fuck she’s busy) including Sky Motel from ’99 that shows off her quieter, more intimate brilliance. But in the end, Kristin Hersh at her not-so-best is still better than most of the alterna-rock pretenders out there. Pick up some of the older stuff, get indoctrinated, and then see if you can resist 50 Foot Wave. I couldn’t.
Mr. Moo

Airborn Audio
Good Fortune
(Ninja Tune)
If you’re a fan of the Antipop Consortium but always had personal issues with Beans, Airborn Audio could be for you (as this is the other two thirds of the Consortium, High Priest and M. Sayyid, though if you’ve made it this far you probably already knew that, and you’ve already bought this album, and are just reading this review to check if I agree with you). As for those of you who simply read “Ninja Tune” at the top here, this only might be up your alley—that is, if you’re one of those progressive ‘Tuners who’ve been exploring the sounds of experimental rap. This isn’t Fog, though—this is a couple guys rapping mostly about themselves and about how good their shit is, and then speeding that up, slowing it down, singing in falsettos about being stars, and then throwing out backwards loops. If it’s lacking in any way, it’s that the first half of the album feels somehow too sparse to give it a solid bite. Still, half the fun of experimental music is in coming to terms with what at first sounded like a bad idea, and the second half of Good Fortune alone is worth buying the album for.
Soren Bros.

Born Heller
s/t
(Locust)
This album came out almost a full year ago with nary a whisper to announce it, but some things ought not to be passed by. Born Heller’s Jason Ajemian and Josephine Foster (who also fronts talented folk-rock outfit The Supposed) rewrite the time-worn script of backwoods Americana as a stark incantation. Less melodramatic than Faun Fables and more tense than White Magic, Born Heller inhabit their own world, but one that seems wholly stripped of pretense or artifice. To call the arrangements sparse would be an understatement: notes are meted out like stabs in the dark—there’s never two when one will suffice. This approach doesn’t leave an inch of space between Foster’s witchy voice and your ear. And what a voice! Her high, brittle croon will stop your heart and raise the hairs on the back of your neck. Likewise, Ajemian uses his upright bass as a weapon, sharpened with dissonance, that thrusts in practised tandem with Foster’s harp and mandolin. This rebarbative style could classify Born Heller as hard-edged avant-gardists, but what really makes this record shine are the songs that embrace melody wholeheartedly, albeit with scarred arms; “Big Sky #4” is breathtakingly intimate, and “The Left Garden” is simply one of the loveliest little will-o-the-wisps you could ever hope to hear. Incidentally, this album was produced by Paul Oldham (of the venerated Oldham dynasty). If you’ve ever been a fan of his brother’s music, don’t miss out on this brutal, beautiful album.
Saelan Twerdy

Canned Hamm
Erotic Thriller
(Boompa)
This album should be played while working out. In the ‘80s. While attempting to seduce someone. I can’t imagine at any point in my life when this has happened to me, nor do I see this scenario in my future, but if I ever attempt to create this setup then this album is what I will pop into the stereo.
Canned Hamm is Li’l Hamm, who has an occasionally wailing falsetto, and Big Hamm, who has a deep throaty voice that could possibly, if you’re into large bearded men who sing anthems about divas, be described as sexy. Their album consists of dancey pumping beats and bizarre dialog that you will either find hilarious or confusing. Possibly both. The majority of the album’s content is either what sort of women they like, or why the two of them are sexy. ‘80s-style backing music is provided for the most part by Stephen Hamm, but there is a lot of local talent tossed in on various tracks. This album is quite possibly the funniest thing I’ve heard since Lovage, but holds together well as a dance album.
Jordie Sparkle

Damon & Naomi
The Earth is Blue
(Sonic Unyon)
I hate to say it, but the dream is dead. Galaxie 500 is no more, and the art of delicate slowcore is finally starting to drift away in the hands of these stranded members. If you want to squeeze every last drop out of the scene, then this critically acclaimed album (which you may have already heard being played by the aficionados at Zulu) might be your ticket. If you’re new to the scene but not really sure where to start looking, Damon & Naomi might push your buttons, but I’d check out bands like Movietone first, who just somehow (in my opinion) pull it off better. To its credit, The Earth is Blue skillfully avoids over-production, and has strong melodies that are growing on me still. Maybe it’s due to the flexible guitar work of Michio Kurihara, of the obscure enough to be hip Japanese band Ghost, or it could be the King Crimsonesque cover of the Beatles’ “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” but something strange and occasionally attractive does stick out from this recording. I can’t quite bring myself to call it beautiful, though, and that’s where I feel it just doesn’t click.
Soren Bros.

Iron and Wine
Woman King EP
Subpop
Sam Beam comes at us with another version of his blissful dreamy folk pop. This time, around there seems to be urgency to his structures. His delicate progressions are altered by a slightly faster pace and lush orchestrations. Woman King as an album deals with what it says: Women, and it seems that we may have finally reached the true heart of Sam. Women are shown to be kings, lovers, fallen, virgins, life’s driving force, and they are so influential that this album has not only its first electric guitar fuzz through the soft vocals, but also explicit language. It appears that sex drives Iron and Wine, to break out a little from his sleepy-core folk to a world where “fucking” is what we do. The dirty guitars mixed with a beautifully sprawling string arrangement, paints a picture, the act of sex in its beauty and its driving necessity in human nature. However, as soon as the journey reaches a point that you never thought possible from an Iron and Wine record, it is cut short, like an amazing date would be. Lets all hope that on the full length we get asked in after the night seems to be over.
Chris Walters

Laurent Garnier
The Cloud Making Machine
(Mute Records)
Where to start? The Cloud Making Machine is music for the mentally unbalanced and those who like it that way. Don’t listen to Laurent Garnier if you wish to stay sane and keep the world in perspective. A pervading nihilistic man/machine hybrid dominates any sense you may have of a decent society and the results of such domination are, in my opinion, cold-blooded artistic intent. If you’re already not into electronic music, don’t even bother trying to get this. The cover art and liner notes are the output of either someone extremely insane, or simply a crazy scientologist like Tom Cruise or L. Ron Hubbard. As well, the production sounds stale yet alien (like a bad sci-fi movie), providing only surprise and unwanted incisions (it’s like the aural equivalent of going to a potentially sadistic dentist). Get this: you are not actually hearing any new sounds when listening to this record, only a sharp and acid-tongued composition by one of the world’s many tricksters. However, you may just enjoy it. The release kicks it like an amateur assault, but cops out by embracing style over substance.
Arthur K

The Kills
No Wow
(Domino)
Man, this album is sexy. Sexy, dirty, and always moving, but never rushing. It’s as if it was written in the midst of a motorcycle trip, late at night in a run-down motel with a carton of cigarettes and a few mickeys of JD. What I like most about The Kills and their new album, No Wow, is that they can seemingly pull all this off without even trying. It’s in their blood. While their drum machine keeps time and even adds to the overall feel, guitarist Hotel’s fuzzed-out, bluesy, at times, downright angry playing is what carries the songs and gives them their character. Lead vocalist VV possesses such a seductive, sultry voice, that you’ve got to be a eunuch not to be even a little turned on. Hotel’s low-key backup vocals complement perfectly, keeping the songs on the ground, where they belong.
While the entire record is great, it’s not until midway through, with “At the Back of the Shell,” when everything really comes together. With everything from the above-mentioned guitar and vocals to the tambourine and handclaps, The Kills show what they are capable of. “It ain’t such a thrill,” sings VV, but I beg to differ.
The Kills have a strong country influence, especially apparent in songs such as “Rodeo Town” and the closing track, “Ticket Man,” where VV does her best Lucinda Williams impression. Sure, some will complain the record is a bit samey, but I prefer to use the word consistent. This is an impressive set of songs that combine to make an album that is driving, raunchy, and yes, I’ll say it one more time, sexy.
Robert Ferdman

50 Foot Wave
Golden Ocean
(Throwing Music/4AD)
So whose voice is that anyway? Growly, powerful, explosive, mined from the quarry and cannon-balled through a wall of whiplash guitars. Kristin Hersh is guilty of wielding both. You mean Ms. Hersh of Throwing Muses? Oh yeah! Thank god that for her, getting older means rocking harder, and constantly putting out new records. This time, she’s taken two-thirds of TM, thrown in a new drummer, turned it up to 11, made it possible for eardrums to bleed, and called it 50 Foot Wave. You get her trademark disjointed-yet-catchy songs with her equally trademarked vocals, her piercing guitar work, an ass-kicking rhythm section and her own kind of wall-of-sound. This is Hersh at her loudest and angriest, heartfelt and regretful, chaotic and bitchy.
The problem is, she will always have her past to be compared to, and good as these songs are, they’re not her best. They all seem to share a similar tone and flavour, making them seem more like eleven versions of the same song rather than the distinct gems she’s capable of writing. Take University, Throwing Muses’ masterpiece. Listen to the opening chords of “Hazing” and how they seamlessly kick into the full volume of Hersh’s howl. Or the perfect pop of “Bright Yellow Gun.” Or pretty much every track, each with its own distinct flavour. Going back further, check “Counting Backwards” off The Real Ramona (the last album with Belly’s Tanya Donelly) for some classic Muses. Or “Delicate Cutters” from the eponymous first album (back in ’86!) And in 2003, Hersh got back together with her TM band-mates and put out another eponymous record, loud, heavy and really, really good. Then there’s her solo work (fuck she’s busy) including Sky Motel from ’99 that shows off her quieter, more intimate brilliance. But in the end, Kristin Hersh at her not-so-best is still better than most of the alterna-rock pretenders out there. Pick up some of the older stuff, get indoctrinated, and then see if you can resist 50 Foot Wave. I couldn’t.
Mr. Moo

Airborn Audio
Good Fortune
(Ninja Tune)
If you’re a fan of the Antipop Consortium but always had personal issues with Beans, Airborn Audio could be for you (as this is the other two thirds of the Consortium, High Priest and M. Sayyid, though if you’ve made it this far you probably already knew that, and you’ve already bought this album, and are just reading this review to check if I agree with you). As for those of you who simply read “Ninja Tune” at the top here, this only might be up your alley—that is, if you’re one of those progressive ‘Tuners who’ve been exploring the sounds of experimental rap. This isn’t Fog, though—this is a couple guys rapping mostly about themselves and about how good their shit is, and then speeding that up, slowing it down, singing in falsettos about being stars, and then throwing out backwards loops. If it’s lacking in any way, it’s that the first half of the album feels somehow too sparse to give it a solid bite. Still, half the fun of experimental music is in coming to terms with what at first sounded like a bad idea, and the second half of Good Fortune alone is worth buying the album for.
Soren Bros.

Born Heller
s/t
(Locust)
This album came out almost a full year ago with nary a whisper to announce it, but some things ought not to be passed by. Born Heller’s Jason Ajemian and Josephine Foster (who also fronts talented folk-rock outfit The Supposed) rewrite the time-worn script of backwoods Americana as a stark incantation. Less melodramatic than Faun Fables and more tense than White Magic, Born Heller inhabit their own world, but one that seems wholly stripped of pretense or artifice. To call the arrangements sparse would be an understatement: notes are meted out like stabs in the dark—there’s never two when one will suffice. This approach doesn’t leave an inch of space between Foster’s witchy voice and your ear. And what a voice! Her high, brittle croon will stop your heart and raise the hairs on the back of your neck. Likewise, Ajemian uses his upright bass as a weapon, sharpened with dissonance, that thrusts in practised tandem with Foster’s harp and mandolin. This rebarbative style could classify Born Heller as hard-edged avant-gardists, but what really makes this record shine are the songs that embrace melody wholeheartedly, albeit with scarred arms; “Big Sky #4” is breathtakingly intimate, and “The Left Garden” is simply one of the loveliest little will-o-the-wisps you could ever hope to hear. Incidentally, this album was produced by Paul Oldham (of the venerated Oldham dynasty). If you’ve ever been a fan of his brother’s music, don’t miss out on this brutal, beautiful album.
Saelan Twerdy

Canned Hamm
Erotic Thriller
(Boompa)
This album should be played while working out. In the ‘80s. While attempting to seduce someone. I can’t imagine at any point in my life when this has happened to me, nor do I see this scenario in my future, but if I ever attempt to create this setup then this album is what I will pop into the stereo.
Canned Hamm is Li’l Hamm, who has an occasionally wailing falsetto, and Big Hamm, who has a deep throaty voice that could possibly, if you’re into large bearded men who sing anthems about divas, be described as sexy. Their album consists of dancey pumping beats and bizarre dialog that you will either find hilarious or confusing. Possibly both. The majority of the album’s content is either what sort of women they like, or why the two of them are sexy. ‘80s-style backing music is provided for the most part by Stephen Hamm, but there is a lot of local talent tossed in on various tracks. This album is quite possibly the funniest thing I’ve heard since Lovage, but holds together well as a dance album.
Jordie Sparkle

Damon & Naomi
The Earth is Blue
(Sonic Unyon)
I hate to say it, but the dream is dead. Galaxie 500 is no more, and the art of delicate slowcore is finally starting to drift away in the hands of these stranded members. If you want to squeeze every last drop out of the scene, then this critically acclaimed album (which you may have already heard being played by the aficionados at Zulu) might be your ticket. If you’re new to the scene but not really sure where to start looking, Damon & Naomi might push your buttons, but I’d check out bands like Movietone first, who just somehow (in my opinion) pull it off better. To its credit, The Earth is Blue skillfully avoids over-production, and has strong melodies that are growing on me still. Maybe it’s due to the flexible guitar work of Michio Kurihara, of the obscure enough to be hip Japanese band Ghost, or it could be the King Crimsonesque cover of the Beatles’ “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” but something strange and occasionally attractive does stick out from this recording. I can’t quite bring myself to call it beautiful, though, and that’s where I feel it just doesn’t click.
Soren Bros.

Iron and Wine
Woman King EP
Subpop
Sam Beam comes at us with another version of his blissful dreamy folk pop. This time, around there seems to be urgency to his structures. His delicate progressions are altered by a slightly faster pace and lush orchestrations. Woman King as an album deals with what it says: Women, and it seems that we may have finally reached the true heart of Sam. Women are shown to be kings, lovers, fallen, virgins, life’s driving force, and they are so influential that this album has not only its first electric guitar fuzz through the soft vocals, but also explicit language. It appears that sex drives Iron and Wine, to break out a little from his sleepy-core folk to a world where “fucking” is what we do. The dirty guitars mixed with a beautifully sprawling string arrangement, paints a picture, the act of sex in its beauty and its driving necessity in human nature. However, as soon as the journey reaches a point that you never thought possible from an Iron and Wine record, it is cut short, like an amazing date would be. Lets all hope that on the full length we get asked in after the night seems to be over.
Chris Walters

Laurent Garnier
The Cloud Making Machine
(Mute Records)
Where to start? The Cloud Making Machine is music for the mentally unbalanced and those who like it that way. Don’t listen to Laurent Garnier if you wish to stay sane and keep the world in perspective. A pervading nihilistic man/machine hybrid dominates any sense you may have of a decent society and the results of such domination are, in my opinion, cold-blooded artistic intent. If you’re already not into electronic music, don’t even bother trying to get this. The cover art and liner notes are the output of either someone extremely insane, or simply a crazy scientologist like Tom Cruise or L. Ron Hubbard. As well, the production sounds stale yet alien (like a bad sci-fi movie), providing only surprise and unwanted incisions (it’s like the aural equivalent of going to a potentially sadistic dentist). Get this: you are not actually hearing any new sounds when listening to this record, only a sharp and acid-tongued composition by one of the world’s many tricksters. However, you may just enjoy it. The release kicks it like an amateur assault, but cops out by embracing style over substance.
Arthur K

The Kills
No Wow
(Domino)
Man, this album is sexy. Sexy, dirty, and always moving, but never rushing. It’s as if it was written in the midst of a motorcycle trip, late at night in a run-down motel with a carton of cigarettes and a few mickeys of JD. What I like most about The Kills and their new album, No Wow, is that they can seemingly pull all this off without even trying. It’s in their blood. While their drum machine keeps time and even adds to the overall feel, guitarist Hotel’s fuzzed-out, bluesy, at times, downright angry playing is what carries the songs and gives them their character. Lead vocalist VV possesses such a seductive, sultry voice, that you’ve got to be a eunuch not to be even a little turned on. Hotel’s low-key backup vocals complement perfectly, keeping the songs on the ground, where they belong.
While the entire record is great, it’s not until midway through, with “At the Back of the Shell,” when everything really comes together. With everything from the above-mentioned guitar and vocals to the tambourine and handclaps, The Kills show what they are capable of. “It ain’t such a thrill,” sings VV, but I beg to differ.
The Kills have a strong country influence, especially apparent in songs such as “Rodeo Town” and the closing track, “Ticket Man,” where VV does her best Lucinda Williams impression. Sure, some will complain the record is a bit samey, but I prefer to use the word consistent. This is an impressive set of songs that combine to make an album that is driving, raunchy, and yes, I’ll say it one more time, sexy.
Robert Ferdman

The Mars Volta
Frances The Mute
(Strummer/Universal)
Face it: we could see this coming. From the 8- and 12-minute tracks from 2003’s De-Loused In The Comatorium to the marathon improvisations at live shows (jamming on “Cicatriz E.S.P.” for almost 40 minutes), it was obvious that The Mars Volta were heading far from their At The Drive-In roots into full-on prog-wank virtuoso territory. But did we expect the results to be this amazing?
With 77 minutes of music split among only 5 tracks, Frances The Mute can be seen as either a completely self-involved descent into pretentiousness, or a fantastic journey through an enigmatic blend of styles and moods. Omar’s spastic guitar riffs form the record’s most accessible parts, but the real unexpected pleasures lie in the in-between sections: John Frusciante’s solos on “L’Via L’Viaquez,” Latin great Larry Harlow’s piano, free-jazz saxophone parts, warbling electronic ambiances, and even a few short drum solos from Jon Theodore. The occasional inclusion of string and brass ensembles adds grandeur, or soft emotion in the denouement of “Miranda That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore.” As a whole, it’s pretentious as hell, but it is also such an intense musical experience that it comes across as anything but boring.
The lyrics are trademark Mars Volta trippiness—“brick by brick, the night eclipsed pricked by cuticle thorns”—and flow with the music enough to enjoy while ignoring the album’s concept. But they take on a whole new dimension if you try to decipher the storyline, which (from what I gather) includes snakes, pregnancy, and a body in the closet…or something. The title track “Frances The Mute,” released on a separate single, is supposed to “decode” the plot—but I’m doubtful of how helpful it could be with lines like the one I quoted.
So, yeah…Frances is the one of the craziest trips you can have for $10 or less, and of those trips, it’s probably the most legal to boot. So crank it, and I’ll see you in Latino heaven.
Simon Foreman

M.I.A.
Arular
(XL/Beggars)
I honestly don’t know what to say.
In expressing this lack of verbiage, a friend suggested that I start this review off with “every party I’ve been to in the last three and a half months has played at least two tracks off this album. And I go to a lot of parties.” Unfortunately, I don’t go to a lot of parties, so I wouldn’t know if this was true or not. Enough about me, though, and more about Arular.
Take Jamaican dancehall, German techno, and Japanese glitch. Throw them in a blender, along with a healthy portion of so-called world music. Layer in Maya Arulpragasam, sometimes singing, sometimes rapping, on all sorts of topics from globalization and the Tamil struggle to the seemingly incomprehensible (what the hell is a Galang, anyway?). It’s a dense album, layered with both sonic textures and meanings; “Pull Up the People” has rather an obvious message, but “Sunshowers” carries multiple themes which only make sense after repeated listens. I could go on about nuance and detail and all those silly things us music geeks love to froth about, but there’s no substitute for actually picking up a copy of the album. So go. You won’t regret it.
Gerald Deo

Montag
Alone, Not Alone
(Carpark/ gooom disques)
Amy Milan, the wonderful voice of the Canadian indie-pop sensation Stars, graces us with her vocals on a few select tracks of sprawling French techno-pop. Ahhh yes—I think that is all I really have to say. However, there is much more to this beautiful album than my secret love. In fact Alone, Not Alone is the beginning of a new onslaught of revivalist French musique. Not as full as its contemporaries and label mates M83, Montag build upon layers of blips and soft but not overbearing synthesized noise. Delicate vocals lightly add to the atmosphere of a summer day spent on the French countryside with Amy Milan beside you singing you to a lulling sleep. It appears to this reviewer that everything Amy puts her hand to will turn to gold, and it is only a reassurance when Montag is placed in the CD player beside my bed.
Chris Walters

Jordi Rosen
Lotus
(Independent)
If you were looking for the new (insert hardcore metal band name here), this would perhaps be the absolute worst album you could have found, but if that was the furthest thing from your mind when you decided Jordi Rosen was the thing for you then you are on the right track. Lotus is an incredibly cute album. It’s not deep, it’s not epic and it has no edge, but if you want to listen to about how great it is to be in love, this might be perfect. Okay, if the last album you bought was by someone who’s name included the word “blood” you’re probably gagging now, but if you haven’t been turned off by this nauseating idea, you might be interested in the fact that this album contains an eclectic mix of instruments from accordion to junk percussion. It’s sappy folk-pop, but it’s done well. Jordi Rosen might be for the very specific tastes of those who appreciate sincerity and optimism, but she will certainly satisfy those people, if nothing else. Converge fans, today is not your day. Sorry, guys.
Jordi Sparkle

Dialect Urban Forum

Review by Zach Goelman

As in most musical genres, the independent missionaries of hip hop remain on a different wavelength than the corporate rap music heard on pop radio. While the Top 40 stations broadcast cellophane-new hit singles, underground artists have been working on promoting independent styles, but few break the surface of the indie scene. Certain Canadian cities have strong independent hip hop scenes: Halifax produced several artists who moved on to San Francisco on AntiCon records and also birthed Buck 65, a DJ/Emcee of established reputation on the independent hip hop circuit; K-OS rose up through Toronto’s organic music scene, and his sounds reflect it. The diversity of global hip hop maintains its heartbeat, ensuring that newer styles will constantly emerge. From Canada’s Josh Martinez to Israel’s Dag Nachash, music enthusiasts are consistently exploring new styles of expression and pushing the boundaries of hip hop art forms.

Vancouver has few live, independent hip hop events­—“Monday Night Live” at the Lamplighter is one of only three examples of the city’s hip hop culture. Cas, the show’s host, works closely with aspiring rap artists, and while his shows celebrate local performers, they also highlight the lack of home-grown talent. Some acts, like Jay Kin and Emotionz, come from these parts, but Monday Night Live frequently features rappers from places like Halifax and Winnipeg. Vancouver is plagued by a dearth of artists and venues to promote them, and the few nightclubs that will host them often turn beyond the Lower Mainland to fill their line-ups. Cas has a casual attitude on and off stage, and he seems resigned to the struggle of creating and producing the music. Cas has his own independent record label, Camobear Records, which has produced albums by Josh Martinez, and sales are sustaining. “Camobear has produced seven records, each one making enough money to pay for the next, and anyone looking to make money in Vancouver’s local talent, well, they’re wasting their time.”
The organizer of Monday Night Live, Needle Kineval, understand Vancouver’s hip hop scene better than many, and his view takes into account the changes of the past few years. In the 1990s the music was in its infancy, and it quickly accelerated into a very popular form of cultural expression. But at some point, the culture changed. The artists that pioneered the art form were expressing their emotions and their backgrounds. Public Enemy raged against white America with political incisions. NWA and Wu-Tang brought listeners back into Compton and Staten Island to display the criminality and violence prevalent in black urban communities. But by the late 1990s, hip hop had changed from being descriptive to being prescriptive. It no longer told the stories of the artists, but instead provided a framework by which its fans could present themselves. Independent artists cannot become successful by telling fans how to live their lives and what clothes to wear—we have The Source and XXL magazines for that. Instead, artists are forced to present something new that reflects themselves and their beliefs, hoping that it will ring true with those who look beyond magazine ads for designer clothing.

Needle Kineval believes that the MP3 revolution is one of the causes of the decline of live hip hop in Vancouver. “More people could download the music that they wanted, and thus record labels only sold albums to those who were truly committed to the investment they were making in local hip hop.” Monday Night Live was Cas’ and Needle Kineval’s remedy for the situation, even though it was put together mainly for themselves and their own interested parties. Cas describes the event as giving local artists and fans a comfortable place to express and absorb new talent. It has its regulars, but its environment is friendly and transparent. “Vancouver had a lack of live hip hop. So-called hip hop nights in Vancouver are at the clubs, where people want to hear the club tracks from the DJ booth. They just hire a DJ and a mixer to keep the beats, and people dance. Needle Kineval and I wanted to know that we had a live show, a real showcase of the stuff you won’t hear on the radio, you won’t hear on MuchMusic.” The men and women who take the stage at the Lamplighter wouldn’t necessarily be recognized as microphone specialists or turntablists. The music and art they represent is more subtle in its candor, more raw in its criticism, and stripped of vestigial vocals and lyrical excess.

The music and art seen and heard in the underground arena differs from the radio hits; many hip hop fans (“heads”) complain that mainstream hip hop has been on a slow, downhill slide into a standardized formula of drum beats, bass lines and cliché choruses. For those who seek fresh hip hop, they can skip the grocery store and go straight to the tree. The roots aren’t hard to locate, follow an artist’s career and collaborations to their origins, and discover the stages they first appeared upon. I listen to The Roots; The Roots drummer Ahmir “?uestlove” Thompson produced a record called True Notes Vol. I; a lyricist named Aceyalone appeared on that record; Aceyalone collaborated with Abstract Rude in a band called Haiku D’Etat; Abstract Rude performed at the Lamplighter; I met Jamil Kemani at that show.

Jamil Kemani, 20, had done art and graphic design throughout high school, and after he graduated, he moved from Abbotsford to Vancouver. A desire for new venues for his creative output led him down an entrepreneurial path. Fusing his graphic talents with his love of hip hop, he put together Dialect Urban Forum, a cooperative of artists and vocalists with the common goal of uniting their talents and presenting positive messages in their art form. Vancouver is flooded with local designers and artists, from jewelry to organic clothing, to art galleries and basement production studios. In this market sector, Jamil has found a niche. He focuses on hip hop-styled apparel, aimed at outfitting the music’s listeners with an image that reflects their tastes and opinions. The imagery is darkly creative, exciting, and political. One shirt by Dialect Urban Forum displays dark-suited, masked mercenaries and features lyrics penned by Aysha, a songwriter/spoken-word poet and member of the Forum. Jamil explained that the words were an attack on the rationale behind the invasion of Iraq. Dialect Urban Forum has already produced several lines of graphic art and t-shirt prints, and the minds behind the forum are working to procure opportunities and connections with various distributors in Vancouver. Obtusely, the market for this type of gear is fused to the lacklustre dynamic of the local hip hop scene. To compensate and correct, Jamil and his colleagues are currently working to promote themselves and other local artists beyond the realm of clothing and business.

Dialect Urban Forum, newborn though it is, has already undergone changes. It remains a clothing company, but has moved towards hip hop promotion, and may morph again into a record label. It aims to use clothing as a billboard, specifically using art to inspire ‘organic strength’ in Vancouver’s hip hop scene. Jamil has produced a variety of men’s and women’s shirts featuring print designs by the artists of the Forum and lyrics from the writers and emcees affiliated with the company. The shirts are printed by American Apparel, certified to be sweatshop-free. In the eyes of the Forum’s founder, people should be awakened by shirts featuring fresh designs and poetic content. Dialect Urban Forum only makes a five-dollar profit off each sale. One dollar of five goes back to the artists and emcees who write the lyrics printed on the shirt. Jamil sees this as an “artistic grant,” with twenty percent of the company’s profits going back to artists to help them pay for their studio time and production costs.

The internet and word of mouth are the information networks that Dialect Urban Forum relies on, twin legs that will carry it into public awareness. Jamil works to raise the Forum’s profile on Vancouver’s streets and information highways. “Look at San Francisco,” he says. “The crowd there fully got behind hip hop as an art form, and the scene produced AntiCon. Even in the Yukon, my sister moved up to Whitehorse, and the community fully supported the youth in celebrating their art and music.” But breaking into hip hop art and culture in Vancouver is like trying to unscrew a bolt with your bare fingers. “People in Vancouver see hip hop, they like hip hop, but they don’t buy hip hop,” he explained. There are a few outlets for hip hop culture in Vancouver, and the store Dipped Urban Hookups is now carrying a few of the Forum’s lines. As well, Dialect’s catalogue can be accessed at www.dialecturbanforum.com.

Dialect Urban Forum wants to corner an emerging fashion trend. “Music sets trends in fashion,” and Jamil predicts the new trend will be ‘conscious hip hop.’ Back in the Sixties and Seventies artists like Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix helped solidify the peace sign as a comprehensive symbol of a movement and a generation. “Wearing a dove’s footprint on a tie-died shirt became both a fashion and a political statement,” Jamil explains to me. He believes that hip hop is primed to take the lead in new social and political fashion, and that socially conscious hip hop is on the rise. Sean Coombs’ campaign to Vote or Die, while marred by the glamour and gratuity typical of P-Diddy, encouraged political participation among hip hop listeners. Eminem’s Mosh video/single hit the charts right around election time, and was one of the strongest attacks on the Bush administration last year by a popular musician. Perhaps, now that hip hop has passed through a generation (its stars are now fathers and mothers), the artists are thinking beyond their immediate wealth and opulence. Andre 3000, Talib Kweli, and Eminem have all entered parenthood, and Jamil thinks that they are thinking first about the country their children are growing up in. If the leadership of hip hop is leaning in a more conscious direction, and a growing number of poets and amateur turntable DJs putting their work online and making their own mixtapes, then Dialect Urban Forum has a chance at contributing to the new movement.

As hip hop culture continues to mature, it is being refreshed from the grassroots level by motivated actors like Jamil, Cas, and Needle Kineval. They weave themselves into the fabric of the culture because they love the music, and they recognize that they can’t keep feeding off the industry without re-contributing. So to the gentlemen with the Sean John t-shirts: the improvisational creativity of urban artists in remaking the event calendars of their locales—that’s hip hop; the capitalization of activists upon prevalent political trends through innovative problem-solving­—that’s hip hop; the use of art and music to overcome—that’s inseparable from hip hop. It’s difficult to do, and both Dialect Urban Forum’s conscious ideology and Monday Night Live’s local promotions may be grains of sand in the great task of tipping the scales of hip hop towards a more valuable, less disposable product, not to mention an art.

A mighty wind blows through Montreal

Review by Val Cormier

We were sitting around Schwartz’s deli on our last day in Montreal, enjoying the smoked meat and catching up on events of the previous evening. Two young guys from Toronto sharing our table couldn’t help but overhear our conversation and figured we were attending some sort of folk music event in the city. “Is it anything like that movie A Mighty Wind?” the bald guy who was into jam bands asked.

The North American Folk Music and Dance Alliance was set up close to 20 years ago by a group in the folk music industry (yes, there is one) to “foster and promote traditional, contemporary and multicultural folk music, dance and related performing arts in North America.” Their main claim to fame is the annual conference, which takes place in February and has become the gathering of the folk tribes in North America. A motley crew of musicians, artist reps, record label reps, radio DJs, promoters, and fans of roots music attend—close to 2000 this year. And yes, many are from the “we lived through the 60s folk scare” demographic. I noticed a lot of reading-over-the-bifocals à la Bob Balaban’s character in A Mighty Wind.

This year’s Annual International Folk Alliance conference (the 17th) was paired with Strictly Mundial, a presentation of the European Forum of Worldwide Music Festivals. This combination injected a much-welcomed European ambience and world music element to the proceedings. Trad and not-so-trad Québécois music was also at the forefront. I noticed that the aging WMF (white male folkie) uniform is fairly universal: long grey hair tied back in ponytail, loose clothing to conceal paunch and sensible shoes. The Québec contingent looked similar, but smoked, drank, and leered at young women more than their counterparts.

While this character may be the prototype of the folk music conference attendee, it is not the sole character represented in the folk music scene any more. As the popularity of the Folk Alliance conferences grows, so does the contingent of under-30s. It’s a symbiotic relationship: the young folks need the old folks to do the organizing and find funding while the old folks need the young folks’ energy and talent. And the old folks hope that one day the young folks will take up the torch. What is actually happening is that the young folks have helped create one of the best music parties around. Although some go through the motions of checking out exhibit booths and attending a seminar or two, it’s more about the chance to make music long into the wee hours with friends, hoping that someone might stumble upon them and offer them gigs or a record deal. Outside of official showcases in hotel ballrooms, several floors of the host hotel (the Montréal Hyatt) are dedicated “music floors” where rooms and suites are converted into mini house concerts for the weekend. One can wander the halls sampling music late into the night.

Trish Klein (Po’ Girl, Be Good Tanyas) missed this year’s Folk Alliance, but explained the concept of their “Little Red Hen Room” which first appeared at Folk Alliance 2001 in Vancouver and helped the Be Goods get a lot of festival work that year. “The Little Red Hen thing was a really great collaboration in terms of artists trying to support each other, trying not to be competitive, just coming together to make something bigger than the sum of the parts. Every year we’ve showcased amazing talent, and we really brought a lot of people in. Our jams would basically go all day and all night. I think we made it a lot of fun for visitors as well, because we made an effort to decorate, and make the room not a hotel room, but like you were entering into another zone. You feel like you’re in a freaky little club or bordello in New Orleans, and there’s all these stunning women standing around, just hanging out with each other.”

This year there were no candles to be seen, thanks to a suspicious fire in one of the suites last year. Efforts by Folk Alliance organizers to water down this “guerrilla showcase” element (and potential liability issues) resulted in even more officially-sanctioned music in the two levels of Hyatt meeting rooms dubbed “Performance Alley.” On top of this were the usual official venue events taking place in nearby clubs such as Medley and Club Soda. The unofficial music-making in hotel suites didn’t go away, it just competed with all the other music. There was a tad too much choice and too much area to cover everything thoroughly, so I stuck mostly to the hotel happenings.

There was a fantastic mix of performers at this year’s conference. There were lots of important American acts—longtime favourites like Emmylou Harris, whose performance I unfortunately missed, and newer groups like The Mammals (Pete Seeger’s grandson is a member) who are gaining fans of all ages with a high-energy, genre-crossing roots sound that’s very au courant. However, there were also a surprising amount of Canadian groups which I hadn’t expected, despite the conference being held in Montréal. I got a good dose of Québécois bands like Vent du Nord, Yves Lambert (formerly of La Bottine Souriante) and his new band, and many of the younger bands playing in the Folquébec room, handily located beside the lounge bar. But there were also groups from all across Canada, such as D. Rangers, The Bills, The Duhks, Wailin’ Jennys, and Clumsy Lovers, and they were inciting an impressive buzz among the American delegates. As one dude I encountered in the exhibit hall told me, “I had no idea there was so much talent up here!”

I was happy to see that young women are also increasingly making their presence known and I especially enjoyed Eivor (from the Faroe Islands) and Uncle Earl (five American gals playing bluegrass). On the Strictly Mundial side there was a good representation of women as well: Mary Jane Lamond, Lhasa and Kiran Ahluwalia from our country, Dobet Gnahore from the Ivory Coast, Sandra Luna from Argentina and many more.

While the whole scene seemed like a folk festival with elevators, most people were there to forge new connections and get gigs. I benefitted from the opportunity to score new material for my roots music show (“Folk Oasis,” Wed. 9 pm on CiTR) and hang out with other folk music DJs and musicians. After the conference, I checked in with Mitch Cantor owner of eclectic indie label Gadfly Records who I’d first met at SXSW five years ago [see DiSCORDER, May 2000] (It was dinner with him that caused me to miss Emmylou’s performance, just as dinner with him had also caused us to miss Steve Earle’s keynote address at SXSW. Note to self.) “Folk Alliance is always a challenge for me,” he said. “There’s a lot to be gotten out of it, though sometimes, due to bad planning or circumstance, it’s possible to miss much of the benefit of the event. Still, as I have found with most conferences, the best things-—performances seen and meetings­—are the ones you come across by accident or that you wouldn’t have been able to predict in advance. And that is what has kept me coming all these years.”

Mitch has only missed one Folk Alliance conference since 1993, so I asked if he has seen the conference change. “I haven’t seen the event change dramatically since the beginning, except for the growth. But the core of what it is hasn’t changed: seminar sessions, exhibitors, and a small city of performers that descends on the chosen host venue. As long as you can filter out what is unnecessary or unappealing to you as an individual, it’s a good conference.”

On occasion I managed to escape the vortex of the Hyatt and soak up some of Montréal’s wonderful ambience. I polished up my French sufficiently so les Montréalais wouldn’t laugh too hard. I indulged my inner architectural geek around Vieux-Montréal and the McGill campus. It sure is hard to turn guide book pages with gloves on. I enjoyed wonderful meals with friends at Schwartz’s, Chu Chai (veggie Thai to die for), and some new joint in Vieux-Montréal with impressive vindaloo. We happened upon the very funky boutique/performance space Eva B and greatly enjoyed their special coffees, aptly named Comfort and Insight. We checked out the outdoor winter festival Montréal En Lumière. On s’est bien amusé.

Next year’s Folk Alliance conference will be in Austin, Texas. This will likely translate into stronger emphasis on country-flavoured folk, “Americana,” and Tex-Mex styles. For sure it will mean leaving my parka and winter boots at home. It will certainly be interesting to watch how the older, hard-core folkies react to Austin, and vice-versa. If anything, it’ll be almost as good as SXSW, but slightly less nutty. I can’t wait.

Awkward record romance Permafrost Records

Review By Dory Kornfeld

Sometime last spring I was standing outside Sneaky Dee’s in Toronto during Canadian Music Week, smoking a cigarette and chatting with a friend of a friend. He asked how the bands had been so far. I shrugged and responded that I didn’t know because I hadn’t seen them; I was just there to catch Jon Rae Fletcher and The River, who were playing last. “Me too,” said the friend-of-a-friend. Now, I had met and befriended Jon Rae when I was living in Vancouver, and when he moved to Toronto a few years after I did. I went to see all his shows not only because his music is wonderful, but because he was a friend and that’s what you do. But there I was, loitering outside the bar, talking to someone who was there only because of the music, and I was pleased, almost ebullient.

A year later, that friend-of-a-friend, a Mr. Steven Himmelfarb, is Commander-in-Chief of the one-man Permafrost Records, and is gearing up for the June release of the newest Jon Rae Fletcher and The River album. Old Songs For the New Town will be the third release from Permafrost since Himmelfarb took charge of the label’s operations. His change from enthusiastic fan to key part of the project is a result of a ton of hard work borne out of a desire to be a part of it all.

Permafrost Records wasn’t started by Himmelfarb. Rather, he adopted the cryogenically frozen label, moved it over a province, and defrosted it, shaping it to his idea of the perfect project in the process. The original Permafrost Records was a Winnipeg-based outfit run by Richard Siegesmund, a friend of Steven’s friend Nicole Cohen (co-editor and co-creator of Shameless Magazine). In that incarnation, Permafrost released 4 full-length albums and two 7” inch records of what Steven characterizes as “obscure indie pop from the late 1990s.” However, the label’s output stopped when Richard quit the business to pursue pharmacy. Stephen and Nicole had plans to start a label together, but Nicole backed out of the deal so that she could start Shameless instead. She referred him to Richard because of his experience, and instead of advice, Richard gave Stephen Permafrost.

“Richard told me to take over his label because it had a back catalogue and he had a little logo and other little things, petty things that I didn’t want to deal with. It was semi-established. Because anyone can start a label it looks better to have released a few things.” One of the things that Steven wouldn’t have to deal with was picking a name. “As far as I know, Permafrost was just a name that Richard picked. It probably has more relevance in Winnipeg, but names are pointless anyway. I didn’t care and I kind of like the name and it made my life easy because I had a list of fifty names and I couldn’t decide.”

Thus, in the summer of 2003, Permafrost Records was reincarnated and has released two albums since. The first was an EP by The Patients, “romantic garage rockers who are destined to stay in obscurity for another twenty-five years,” and Good Grooming For Girls, the fundraiser compilation CD for Shameless [reviewed in the December 04/January 05 issue of DiSCORDER]. Nicole may have backed out of starting the label with Steven, but there were clearly no hard feelings, as Steven worked his butt off for his friend putting together the album. It was Good Grooming For Girls that initially sparked my interest in Permafrost—I was wowed by the incredible assortment of bands brought together on one record. Steven was equally impressed with what he was able to do. He talks of how when he and Nicole were discussing how rad it would be to do a CD for Shameless, he was hit with the sudden revelation, “I have a label! I’ll put it out!” So he set about working on the project. “I wrote individual pitches to the bands I liked,” he said, explaining how GGFG came to be. “To my chagrin, almost everyone I asked said yes to the project. We were blown away when Kimya Dawson of the Moldy Peaches said she’d record a new song for us. The Arcade Fire gave us a song from their rare EP; Controller.Controller was down and so was Mecca Normal. The artists we worked with were amazing.”
Himmelfarb’s cynicism and self-depreciation about his hand in the awesomeness of GGFG spills over into his participation in Toronto’s indie music scene. Some labels are the projects of bands who start up labels to release their own material, some are collectives like Arts and Crafts or Blocks Recording Club, and some are the “big” indie labels like Mint or Three Gut; Steven claims that Permafrost doesn’t really fit in with those other labels. “I’m not an artist, though I wish I was, and I don’t play in a band, because I suck,” he says. “I don’t have a team of people working together at this.” Steven Himmelfarb is simply a guy who likes music and wants to participate in its creation and dissemination. “Essentially, I thought there was—and still is—an excess of amazing bands that aren’t signed, that people don’t know about. I wanted to use my label as a stepping-stone for bands. In my head I mapped out the label to be a fun side project where I could help bands, introduce people to good music, and keep juggling the same amount of money around until it ran out.”

So has he managed to achieve this? So far, it seems, yes. Good Grooming For Girls has been a resounding success. All of the 500 copies pressed have been sold and a second volume is in progress; the first volume brought attention and recognition to some of Steven’s favourite artists and led directly into Permafrost getting to release the new Jon Rae Fletcher and The River album. Permafrost Records is a project in a city of projects, a player in a scene Steven describes as “very friendly. Perhaps there is a very slight cold exterior, but it’s broken down pretty easily and on the inside, it’s nothing but warmth.”
That cool surface comes out when Steven talks about how his label teams up with artists. “It’s pretty awkward,” he says, “it’s like asking someone out on a date. It’s like ‘so, what are you guys up to for the year…cool…and…like…cool…so…maybe…’ I’ve said that to someone and that’s been said to me. It usually works out.” That dating trope is in play when he talks about how he’d like Permafrost to grow. “Permafrost isn’t a collective, and right now it’s a one-man label—though I’d kill to change that, I just haven’t met the right person or people who would make it work.” It makes sense though. Projects like Permafrost Records are built on personal dreams and desires. If you’re going to share your project with someone it’s going to be intimate. “Ideally, I’d like to meet one or two or three others who have the same vision as me and want to merge ideas.”

So ladies, gents, artists, musicians, indie rock enthusiasts: Permafrost Records is available! Though a bit awkward, that handsome label leaning against the wall of the club with a cigarette in hand just may be your perfect match.

www.permafrostrecords.com

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