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COMMODORE BALLROOM
06/20 AMON TOBIN
/ i -• \
+ Meta4 Collective
T\\ /Ua ... 1
06/21 LITTLE FEAT
+ David Gogo
06/22 CINEMATIC ORCHESTRA
+ sekoya
06/23 K-OS
+ Kia Kadiri
4?
PERFORMANCE WORKS henkell
06/24 ZAWINUL SYNDICATE
+ Lappelectro
06/21 Beady Belle
06/23 Adios
06/25 PLENA LIBRE
+ Rumba Calzada
06/26 ANTIBALAS AFR0BEAT ORCHESTRA
+ Shango Ashe
06/27 BLONDE REDHEAD
HIGH TONE
06/24 Crowd Control Collective
06/26 sekoya
06/27 Smokey & Miho
06/28 Magic Malik Orchestra
06/29 Erik Truffaz
06/28 MR. SCRUFF
SMOKEY & MIHO
COASTALJAZZ.CA
06/29 ORCHESTRA BAOBAB
jazz hotline 604-872-5200
+ Magic Malik Orchestra
TICKETS ASTER 604-2 80~4444
Canada"
Music
TO THE BEAT OF
H9HTEYIHA A clu bvibes.com OOastalwJUT
Wc set the stage. You set the
du Maurier Jazz New Music Wasteland by Chris Eng p.l2
Young and Sexy by Emily Kendy p.l 5
Art Spread: Scooter Girl Showdown
by Chynna Clugston-Major p. 16
Death Cab For Cutie by Merek Cooper p. 18
Gl Joe Killai by Shad McAllister p.20
Sinoia Caves by Paul Loughlean p.21
Mita
Music Sucks p.6
Airhead p.7
Fucking Bullshit p.7
Panarticon p.8
Over My Shoulder p.8
Strut & Fret p.9
Vancouver Special p.10
Screw You and Your Pointy Shoes p.10
Under Review p.22
Real Live Action p.24
Leprechaun Colony p.26
Charts p.27
On the Dial p.28
Kickaround p.29
Datebook p.30
(BfiiMgfr
Shannon Hemmett did the cove
short notice. In the beginning \
take a picture, and she said al
changed our minds about what
she accommodated that. Then we just
if she could do the whole thing
this month on
: asked her to
•ight. Then we
e wanted and
ked her
id okay.
kers
Then she turned in this beaut (featuring local
Crystal Pistol) with time to spare. Now, that's pro
Editor-ln-Chimp:
Chris Eng
Deputy Editor:
Merek Cooper
Ad Master:
"Ay, Steve" DiPo
Art Directors:
Chris & Merek
Editorial Assistant:
Donovan Schaefer
RLA Coordinator:
Brian Piskorik
Website Design:
Esther
Layout and Design:
Chris & Merek (Like Butch
Cassidy and The Sundance Kid,
but we're not planning on dying
in a Mexican bank robbery.)
Production:
Kimberly Day, Julie C, Doretta,
Esther, Luke Meat, saelan, The
Ubyssey (as per always)
Masthead Photo:
Stinkmitt
On the Dial:
Bryce Dunn/The Limey
Charts:
Luke Meat
Datebook:
The Limey
Distribution:
Matt Steffich
US Distro:
Frankie Rumbletone
Publisher:
Lydia Masemola
"DiSCORDER" 2003 by the Student Re
I rights reserved. Circulation 17,500. Subscript
$15 for one year, to residents of the USA an
(to cover postage, of course). Please make cheque
DEADLINES: Copy deadline for the July
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DiSCORDER Magazi
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iljur
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3 DiSCORDER out June 10
14 tracks plus
s|i
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Itrxnb
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EUNK-OiRAMAS
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Bouncing Sculs^Matchbook Romance Jg NOFX ^Bad Religion^t Error
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ILE UNDER BLACK
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"an album that will ha
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something fresh, n
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*wv^nemoreblackonJ CANADIAN -*
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TOUR -j
2003
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Tired of the same ol' same ol'?
Looking for a club night with some real bite?
This is the real dance underground,
drawing simultaneously from the heavier and more
electronic genres and rejecting the tired tunes of the
mainstream, and delivering a mix of favourite classics
and fat new tunes.
Come dressed to the 9's in your swankiest or freakiest
gear or come casual, and join the weekly worship -
whether it's the simple experience of the music you're
after, heavy consumption or incessant dancing, this is
the best kept secret in town.
Dfti
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SUNDAYS
THE PURPLE ONION
IMMAICAMC
editorializing by Chris Eng
Ask people nicely. This
my advice to you. ,
people nicely and see
what kind of super-nice magic
things happen.
Send your favourite comic
artist a letter saying how much
you like her work and ask if
she has any other art kicking
around that she might want in
print. She just might respond
that no, she doesn't have anything on-hand, but she'll do up
some original art ASAP.
Which is more or less how
it transpired that Chynna
Clugston-Major ended up
doing the centre art-spread
in this issue. As the creator
of the wildly successful Blue
Monday comics—and her new
series, Scooter Girl (right, and
in the spread—both from Oni
Press)—it's not like she has a
lot of free time on her hand,
but, like most people, a politely
delivered "please" went a long
way. So thanks, Chynna.
And if all of this doesn't
convince the non-believers
to start reading comics, then
there's nothing more I can do
for you. Hide under a rock and
enjoy your Jennifer Aniston
movies, heathens.
<www.onipress.com>
MORRISSEY
RISH HOUSE
Bryce
Dunn
3.oo
Wells
y^&ff
k 2.36 CANS AND
THE SOON-TO-BE FAMOUS
BENNyTHEBy.OV
JUKE BOX
you bring em' ^
he'll play em'
■ rftg-i.r.i;i'«m t-ti.j i \A Icarair
WHUTEHFU?
Dear Sir or Madam,
Write to comment on the first
issue of "DISCORDER" 2003
I've seen. I loved the sound of
spectacle by tobias, panarticon,
actually. Canada must be proud.
Bullshit by Christa Min, fucking bullshit, is another glowing
moment immediately after
reading REACHING FOR GOD'S
BALLS. Next, book reviews by
Doretta, over my shoulder; Here
I end with "images endure".
Canadians! The cherry on my
cake was tour diaries, road
worm and weary, by Jenny
Smith. 'Toronto', as a subject.
Last chance for Tim Horton's!
Just kidding. My reader did not
get most of this from me. El
Aaiun beats Toronto.
The music stuff went right
past me. I didn't know any of the
artists mentioned. I'm willing to
wait one hundred years to see if
anyone salted and stuck upon
a hook to cure finds perfection
with age. Okay. Skip the salt, if
expense matters, but no rusty
barbs.
I thought about a subscription. Fifteen dollars is not unreasonable. The material reminded
me of my own student period
within University of California
at Santa Cruz. The problem is
that I need to buy rope this week
e stump that That it makes you want to die
seems inclined to slide into my wonder what could be so tragic
Caves are more fun.
Yours truly,
J.A. Clardy (in the dark)
ion. Makes you v
life You have your savior on the
cross While you sit on the throne
Put youself up on that cross Put
T
(Written on the back of the
photo—Here is a tribute for your
efforts. Pink and Plastic should
suffice. Better than Benz!)
THREE FROM PLEE
(There is no explanation for these,
"plee" sent them to us and they
appear as is. You figure it out.)
"There is
edge, anc
e good, knowl-
I, ignorance."
youn
"I wonder what can be so bad one..."
your savior on the throne And
I know It's hard to take what's
happening And 1 know Life is
tough sometimes And I know
It seem like there's no hope for
you And 1 know Your life is worth
more than you can say It's hard
to see beyond your pain When
you feel so dead inside It's hard
to see what you've been given
It's hard to find a hope in life"
it show this to any-
here are three people
who never get the
credit they deserve: Julia
Roberts, Kobe Bryant, and Clif
Magness. Julia Roberts is the
greatest living actress to never
win a Juno Award. Kobe Bryant
is the world's best basketball
player without a penis sponsor. It is absolutely ridiculous.
1 believe that some day both
Roberts's and Bryant's hard
work will pay off. I don't think
Clif Magness will ever be recognized for the genius that he is
without my help.
Clif Magness is the greatest songwriter of all time. He
has written hits for DeBarge,
Wilson Phillips, and Celine
Dion. More recently, he has
penned the majority of the
songs on Avril Lavigne's debut
album, including the masterpiece "Losing Grip." Magness
was lucky enough to get some
credit for his songwriting on
the album. Lavigne insists that
she and Magness 'co-wrote' the
songs. This is completely false.
Sure, she threw in a yodel here
and there, but all she really did
was cup Magness's balls while
he came up with the melodies.
That gave him inspiration.
Nothing's more inspiring than
a good old cupping of the balls.
Anytime Avril's arm would get
tired, he would say "Hey now,
you're losing grip."
1 suppose the money Clif
gets for every thousand times
that song is played an hour is
wrote for The White Stripes.
He doesn't get a cut of the
profits. He barely even gets
a pat on the back from Jack
and Meg. They're friends and
all, but Jack and Meg know
that they'll be more popular if everyone thinks their
songs are truly authentic and
Sure, Avril threw in a yodel here and there, but
all she really did was cup Magness's balls while
he came up with the melodies.
credit enough for him, but I
don't agree. In the music business, he has a reputation for
being a 'Hit Machine.' Most of
his songs are extremely overproduced. He isn't particularly
happy with this, but once he
sells a song, there's not much
he can do. Some people think
he's a sell-out, but the fact is
he only sells the songs that
don't mean anything to him.
The songs he loves the most
are reserved for The White
Stripes.
It's true. Avril Lavigne's
songs and The White Stripes'
songs are written by the same
person. Of course, Clif doesn't
get any credit for the songs he
intensely personal, not written by a 46-year-old Texan
with blonde highlights and a
moustache. The strange thing
is that Clif doesn't seem to
mind at all. He told me that the
joy he gets from the fetching
shape of Meg White's boobs is
enough for him.
Sorry, Cliffy, but I think you
deserve much more. Unlike
Mike Patton (who secretly
wrote most of Aaliyah's hits),
no one thinks you're cool_. You
don't have to worry about
ruining your reputation. You
don't have to worry about Meg
thinking that you're a creep.
She already knows you are.
Avril told her. •
-"HE LOCUST
PlflGUC 5QUNDSCAPGS
Hfl Mvtofr
•mm : I jun EM 5D03
7 DiSCORDER tanarticon
the sound of spectacle by tobias
VACUOUS AND VICIOUS:
VANCOUVER
Flying back to BC was a lesson
in depression. As soon as you
cross the Rockies you can hear
the world's largest vacuum
cleaner performing its duties
as the welcoming anthem to
No Fun City. Suuucccckkkkk...
Swooping in just in time
to hear schoolmarm Anne
Drennan advance the finger-
wagging on iivmg-it-up if
the Canucks pulled through,
it was enough to hurl me
straight through the remants
of a once-beautiful city, deep
management, paranoia, and
brutality all collapsed into
about 10 square blocks—the
Downtown Eastside. it seems
that despite the best efforts of
COPE, Vancouver Police Chief
Constable Jamie Graham has
added an extra pillar to the
Four Pillar strategy: aggression. Every iota of data collected in the past 10 years on
reducing crime and dealing
with the Vancouver Eastside
drug problem in a humane and
supporting manner has gone to
tne fish (or what's left of those
Pacific salmon). Moreover,
Graham has succeeded in
poiicmg efforts in implementing an uncalled for strategy of
increased policing. To say this
is disappointing only begins to
recognise the power struggle
in play between the public and
the police. It is an old struggle,
of course, between those with
the blue and the badge and
those without. It seems that
it is time to consider another
agenda for COPE, for what
needs to be changed is the very
way in which the constitution
of the police department is
determined. Why aren't Police
Chiefs elected by the community in tandem with a weighted
vote from other sectors, including the Police Department
and the City Councillors? A
balanced electoral process,
while admittedly never being
able to avoid the nepotism of
democracy, would nonetheless
ensure a degree of harmony
and an alignment of vision
between the public's support
of various tactics—such as
the overwhelming support
for the Four Pillars plan—and
the Police Department's aims.
And when I mean aims, I don't
mean the rhetorical bullshit on
their website—<www.city.van
couver.bc.ca/police/>. I mean
fear, intimidation, detainment
without arrest, harassment,
surveillance (cameras or otherwise), violence—the tactics of
the cop, the actual encounter
between cop and citizen, and
the fact that today, an over-
8June 2003
zealous and aggressive police
could become the city's worst
vice, in sabotaging efforts to
open much-needed safe-injection sites and in presenting an
atmosphere which, for some
atmosphere for living. It is
about creating a space for the
ravages of capital to cruise out
of control. It's about making
the Governmenta
-and ir
vithv
stronger,
Libera
rallei
Any
that
ious powerplays by previous
Councils and business—has
resembled xenophobic smalltown wagon-circling more
than the energy of a world-
class city. (Come to think of it,
Jamie Graham was Police Chief
of Surrey. And Surrey turned
out just fine, right? Right.) I
don't mean post-Giuliani NYC
as a model for Vancouver, nor
do I mean the overblown hype
of the Olympics. Something
a little intangible that comes
about through public partici-
and
fare-state or not—were to be
"returned to" under Campbell
is now having his doubts; and
even the Libertarians, followers of Ayn Rand or no, are realising that the current Liberal
Government is more solidly
anchored as a State than ever,
and is no closer to loosening
up the deeply Puritan foundations of this Province that
even hold back those hidden
Supermen. Why aren't clubs
Why are the police still passing out fines
for wiggling ass in a cafe? Why are youth
still being harassed for choking a joint?
Why can't I carry alcohol in a backpack to
my apartment during the fireworks?
pation, through a relaxing of
laws pertaining to the public's
right of assembly, of inges-
i of >
jbsta.
of ho:
ing and creating events, art,
music; of raising awareness
of social issues that plague
others in our neighborhoods
and communities; of creating
a ward system for improved
regional representation—certainly none of this calls for
the ruling decisions of an elite
cabal, which means that the
Vancouver City Councillors,
Chief Jamie Graham, and the
Provincial Liberals are on a
collision course, a course that
necessitates a few markers:
think Berlin's reconstruction,
Montreal's political negotiations... Imagine converting
Vancouver's scenic backdrop
beauty to a network node of
the West Coast, a city on the
flow of the Fraser—blow down
the dam that holds this city
and province confined to puri-
tanism and big business.
JACKBOOTDOWN, BC
From mountain to ocean, the
province has ushered in a new
error. Everything is now in the
hands of those clammy humans
whose only earthly goal is the
accumulation of fabricated
interest, these strange, future-
projected visions of profit, and
what amounts to, in the end,
the future of the CEO: holidays
in Cancun. Which all boils down
to—as water becomes privatized (don't worry BC, we'll
get our Walkerton too)—the
quest for power. The deregulation of the Province, while in
some areas welcomed, is not
about creatine an efficient
.open til 4am? Why are the
police still passing out fines
for wiggling ass in a cafe? Why
are youth still being harassed
tor choking a joint? Why can't
I carry alcohol in a backpack
io my apartment during the
fireworks? Why am I filmed by
surveillance cameras on a daily
basis in a relatively peaceful
Central Business District?
The petty issues, perhaps—as
they are all signifiers of the
major struggles being played
out over the very lifeblood
of the province: the working
classes, a century and a half of
what can only be understood
as class and anti-racist/sexist
struggle, and—for the first
time in this history—the fault
and failure of the institutional
structure that has staged the
fight: the Union. The Unions
have, for better or for worse,
had their Liberal dreams
smashed. Kudos to the HEU
for rejecting the downsizing
and vicious "offer" from the BC
Liberals. The time for negotiations is over; the time for collaboration—COPE and Unions
vs. the Province—has come. If
the Right can easily coalesce
diverging splinter-factions to
formulate effective strategies,
so can the Left: the time for
infighting is over, the time for
thinking of effect has come: of
ways to change the way people
live in this Province, and that
ting
vith
ing everyone like humans,
world citizens—be they in the
Downtown Eastside or letting
loose a little dancing desire in
a late-night cafe.
Oust the Fuckers. •
over mv
book reviews by Doretta
I SHALL WEAR THE BOTTOMS
OF MY TROUSERS ROLLED
The title of this coiumn has
much more to do with growing old than it does with a
fashion statement (points to
my fellow nerds who got this
and iast month's references to
T.S. Eliot). Oh yes, I grow old, 1
grow old. If I'm not careful, I'm
going to sit around moaning
about taxes and how kids these
days have no respect for their
elders: I'm primed to become
a curmudgeon and my friends
are not far off with their preferences for wearing old men
hats and inclinations to spend
evenings playing shuffleboard.
And as it is, I'm mourning the
fact that Liz Phair has hired the
same songwriting team that
Avril Lavigne favours. (Is Ms.
"Fuck and Run" now going to
be singing about Sk8ter Boiz?
a mortgage, a marriage and
two kids are already in the
picture. I mean, look at Reese
Witherspoon. She's twenty-
something with a family and
a hot career, plus she's legally
blonde. Oh yeah, she's also
a Hollywood star, so her life
really has no useful comparison
of the world I'd be hitting the
halfway point in my life: I'd be
an official old maid. My parents
would be lamenting the fact
that they could never be rid of
me at this ripe old age. There
alter
) the
"I don't know what I'm doing
with my life and I'm chronically
single" camp, but these are the
first ones that come to mind.
Oh! Give me disposable income,
another student loan, an unful-
filling job and the ability to
choose to see such fine movies
I've taken to leaving shows early, even in the
middle of sets that I'm enjoying, because I
need to go to sleep. There's only one
conclusion for this behaviour: I'm making
the transition into being Little Miss No Fun.
I shudder when I think about it
for longer than a few seconds.)
I've even taken to leaving shows
early, even in the middle of sets
that I'm enjoying, because I
need to go to sleep. There's only
one conclusion for this behaviour: I'm making the transition
into being Little Miss No Fun.
Perhaps this is all happening
because it's time for my very
own quarter-life crisis.
For the longest time, I
made fun of other people's
quarter-life crises and their
what-should-l-do-with-my-life
angst. Better to have the crisis
now than have it at forty or
fifty, I always thought. Carpe
diem and all that noise. But
lately, I've begun to wonder just
what I'm going to do now that
I'm supposed to be all grown
up. I'm not liking it. This situation may be aggravated by the
fact that I've recently moved
back to my parents' house in
the suburbs in order to save
money before going to grad
school in the fall. It might also
have to do with the fact that
Buffy the Vampire Slayer has
ended and the show had been
on air for the duration of my
two undergraduate degrees.
Oh, the passing of an era. I
don't miss having to read Plato,
and whatever will I do with my
Tuesday nights now that I can't
laugh at Andrew's antics and
roll my eyes as Buffy gives yet
another epic speech?
But I digress. I should get
back to this month's topics:
growing old and the quarter-
life crisis. For other people,
hittine twentv-five means that
as The Hot Chick over being
responsible. Yes, give me more
of the selfish lifestyle I lead.
But the realization that
maybe this whole extended
tinue on until my thirties is a
little depressing: Sex and the
City is an amusing television
show, but I don't want to live
it, even if there's good shoes
involved (I can't walk in heels
anyway). To tell you the truth,
I'm tired of customer service
jobs and dealing with unscrupulous landlords. I really want to
be able to start something big
and finish it. All I can do at the
moment is try to finish reading
a book or two and not complain
too often, because I've got it
pretty g
W.H. NEW
Riverbook and Ocean
(Oolichan)
W.H. New teaches at UBC and
his second year literature class
was where 1 learned to ponder
questions of landscape, race,
class, and gender. During this
time I also realized that he is
one of Canada's pre-eminent
scholars in Canadian Literature
and he's responsible for a
new way of reading CanLit
and Canadian-ness. We have
to thank him for giving us
an alternative to Margaret
Atwood's idea that CanLit is all
about survival and Ontario. He
also edited The Encyclopedia of
Literature in Canada, an excellent reference guide that has
stirred up controversy in the
literary community because
various writers and reviewers
felt that they either 1) should
have been included, due to the
fact that they are important
people, or 2) should have a
longer write up than so-and-so.
Did 1 say controversy? I meant
petty jealousies.
In any case, Riverbook and
Ocean is New's fourth book of
poetry. You may have read a
poem of his on the bus about
cycling (have a look for the
poem, it's a good one). This
collection is divided into four
sections: "Riverbook & Ocean,"
"Shorelines," "Garden Bed," and
"Taking Turns."
The most compelling section is the last, "Taking Turns,"
which is a series of poems
about a cast of mostly marginalized characters—farmers, the
elderly, juvenile delinquents and
alcoholics—in British Columbia
environments. New references
the West End, Dundarave,
Ambleside, White Rock, and
Steveston. He also pays homage
to the flora and fauna of our
region, mentioning the Oregon
grape and salal. By doing so, he
adds to the growing cannon of
Pacific Northwest literature
and is helping to broaden the
definition of Can Lit. As he
writes in this last section: "But
always somebody's claiming
space/& privilege" and in these
poems, he works to claim space
for West Coast Canadians from
different walks of life.
To conclude, I quote my
favourite lines in the collection: "You never see the other
stories, though/the ones
where life goes on:/ Boy picks
scab in the park/Storekeeper
opens door at 9,/Old man
refuses to recollect his youth."
Newspapers and history books
are mostly concerned with big
events and tragedies. The beauty of poetry is that it allows for
the ordinary to be recorded
alongside happenings that are
considered by some as more
important. New is successful
in capturing the everyday and
in leading us toward seeing our
own landscapes and life stories
as relevant as anyone else's. • Atrut and fret
performance/art by Penelope Mulligan
ELECTRIC COMPANY and
THEATRE AT UBC
The Fall
Friday, April 11, 2003
The Factory
Vancouver has been on a bit of
a roll where stagecraft and site
performance are concerned,
but the Electric Company
brought things to an insane
crescendo when it located its
latest production in half a million cubic feet of abandoned
Finning Lands.
Co-written by director Kim
Collier and company members
David Hudgms, Kevin Kerr and
Jbnathon Young, The Fall is a
thriller set in a 1950s factory
crumbling under the weight
of dames, doublecross, and
an unsolved murder. Its pulp-
noir seductiveness is actually
a vehicle for the hefty ideas
of anthropologist and historian Rene Girard—particularly
the notion of "scapegoating"
as a means of creating and
maintaining social order (for
a recent, real-life demonstration of the scapegoat ritual
involving an entire nation as
sacrificial victim, see Gulf War
III)—but the show would have
been just as enthralling if we
hadn't known that.
Collier's vision was enormous and I can't imagine it
being realized more fully. The
company's tendency to choke
a good idea with too many
embellishments wasn't so
much held in check here as
surrendered to the stupen-
dousness of the place. They let
every catwalk, crane, cubicle,
pulley, portacabin, nook, cranny and loading bay show them
what to do. Workers poked
long poles into nasty-looking
pits in the floor, a portable site
office slid across the ceiling
and bay doors opened to reveal
killer views of the night sky. My
eyes were out on stalks.
The venue's sheer vastness
made it feel that we were on a
soundstage following an invisible film crew around as it shot
each scene. Live video feed
would suddenly appear like
ghostly rushes on the factory
walls and I occasionally had
the sensation of tumbling into
the movie as a passive observer. This was, without a doubt,
the most cinematic live theatre
experience I've ever had.
Performances had better
crack like whips if they're going
to rise to this kind of production—and they did. As the
brothers Buddy and Wayne,
vying for control of the family business after their father's
mysterious death, Jonathon
Young and Andy Thompson
were perfect opposites. Young
is a hyperactive physical comedian and he left a jet stream of
blue-collar sexual energy in his
wake as he whizzed around
the factory in an electric
cart. Thompson was a knot
of straight-arrow anxiety in a
performance both subtle and
hilarious and Kevin Kerr gave
the wheelchair-bound watchman, Les, an insidious aura
straight out of Fargo.
As Betsy, the new recruit
who rises quickly to management but ends up taking "the
fall" in a ghastly death at the
hands of her co-workers, Erin
Wells carried the story with
layers of innocence, cunning
and allure, and iced the cake
with a perfectly-nailed New
York debutante accent.
The best supporting actor
award goes to the "Broad
Squad," a bevy of female factory drones whose chorus-like
function crossed Greek tragedy with Broadway. Their Rosie
the Riveter kerchiefs matched
the red "No Smoking" signs
in front of which they were
constantly puffing and they
always seemed on the verge of
breaking into "Big Spender."
Composer Patrick Penne-
father played against plot and
period with suspenseful down-
tempo that was like airport
music for the end of the world.
It honoured the space and
drove the production. Adrian
Muir's lighting design was masterfully sinister and even made
you suspect the worst about
what you couldn't see.
All right. I'll stop raving
now. The year's top three list
starts here.
RADIX
Sex Machine
Friday, May 2,2003
Shelly Building
Sometimes it's better if artists
don't elaborate too much on
the meaning and purpose of a
particular project. When they
do, I often find my experience
of the piece at odds with their
apparent intentions. Such was
the case with Sex Machine,
an exploration of the work of
renegade psychotherapist and
orgone box inventor, Wilhelm
Reich.
While Reich's ideas about
the connection between sexual
repression and institutionalized violence have always
resonated, one has to wonder
if his gadget-heavy clinical
methods actually managed to
liberate anything. This doubt
is mirrored by the fact that,
despite its being almost completely concerned with sex,
the show didn't feel erotic. Nor
did it seem to "examine our
physical needs, our emotional
defenses, and our spiritual
longings." Instead, it played
more like a gentle satire on
our misguided obsession with
these things.
The production was set
up as a tour of a Reichian
research facility, and the Radix
collective's stunning sense of
place was all over it. Arriving
at an old building on the
fringes of downtown, we were
escorted to a waiting room in
, offic
ind checked
in like patients. The hushed
discretion of the proceedings
had the cozy audience of 12
in quiet fits of giggles which
carried over into the orientation room. As we sat gazing
at fluffy clouds and wiggling
sperm projected onto the
floor, a mellifluous, disembodied voice told us ti
phrase "these a
o repeat the
e the days," if
irmfortable or
confused.
Thereafter,
things got
we were led
down hallways and into rooms
to watch a dedicated team
of researchers experiment
with their labcoated libidos.
Some took turns riding a
kinky-looking vintage exercise
bike. Others read out lists of
sexual fantasies while wearing electrodes on their heads.
Sometimes they weren't wearing anything at all. A scene in
a psychiatrist's office started
promisingly with the patient's
steamy "confession," but then
it became all about the analyst's repression issues and I
lost interest.
There was no promise of
liberation here—only a parade
of neuroses which began to
feel a little oppressive. Sex,
the star of the show as it
were, was always one slinky,
chuckling step out of reach.
Not surprising, since only
dead things stay still under a
microscope. This was hinted
at when someone on a gurney
described their first sexual
dreams at age four as "always
containing a euphoric sensation of freedom." "Of course
they did," I wanted to shout,
"you hardly knew any words
then!"
I stopped feeling badly
about getting off on the set
decoration instead of just getting off, and took illicit pleasure in popping the blisters in
the bubblewrap walls of a labyrinth (which ended in a tiny
storeroom where absurdity, in
all its wisdom, put things back
on track). I felt drawn toward
our guide, a mewling nutter
who finally detonated in a
fabulously gnarled dance solo
that stopped the research in
its tracks. What a relief.
I liked this show a lot,
though I suspect it might have
been for the wrong reasons.
But deep down, I know Radix
will understand. •
9 DiSCORDER va Mcouve r adgc i a
local reviews by Janis McKenzie
Eminem and Shania Twain
have 'people' who help
them decide what songs
to put on their CDs. Songwriters
in bands have to win over their
slick and stylish package, leaving
the business of playing, recording, and singing the ten songs to
about twenty experienced local
fellov
hard stares or merciless teasing
in the practice space). But people
who write songs, who have a
capital-v Vision (and capital-d
Drive) but no band, no co-writers,
no live audiences and no record
label, are left without any quality-
control mechanism at all. This is
just one problem facing Jon Doe's
Innercity Meltdown CD (Tesla
Records) and Anthony Seto's
project, Lostsongs Lostdreams,
by pseudo-band The Pseudos
(Mattle Black Music). Another
problem is figuring out who is
going to perform the songs and
give them that all-important
sound. Jon Doe (not to be confused with other Jon and John
Does—this one played guitar in
the Subhumans, Modernettes,
and the Scramblers) goes to
one extreme, singing, playing
(almost) all the instruments, and
producing the whole CD himself.
Anthony Seto—a confessed non-
musician—goes the other way.
He wrote the lyrics, came up with
the concept, and put together the
Of course, the results are
quite different. Jon Doe's CD
looks defiantly home-made and
sounds, mostly, like the work of
a stubborn punker who's been
through it all. His voice (and I
don't think I've ever heard him
sing before) is snarly but more
wrung-out than "rawk". He covers Dee Dee Ramone and Lou
Reid with the audible reverence
and familiarity of a Nashville star
doing the Carter Family. It is still
startling to me to think that punk
is so old that someone who started playing it in his teens might
now be sitting-down with his guitar and singing to an audience so
wasted and indifferent that isn't
paying any attention. But when I
hear these 14 songs I find myself
erasing the (so-so) rhythm section and envisioning some bar
where heart-broken folks drink
until their faces are flat on the
little round tables and Jon Doe, all
by himself on a low stage in the
corner, is clearly wishing he was
somewhere else.
The Pseudos are from a dif
ferent planet altogether. The individual performers (they're not
members really) may have serious musician cred, but they don't
have much to do with the entity
that's pictured on the cover.
(There's a voguish sexiness to
the CD insert that's helped quite
a bit by a couple of good-looking
women who don't—to my knowledge—appear anywhere on the
CD.) The songs themselves are
sometimes elevated by the guest
vocalists, as in the case of "Two
Wrongs," sung by Linda McRae
and Graham Brown, who sound
great together. At other times the
gimmick doesn't work, as when
Siobhan Duvall duets with Bobby
Bruce (aka—gasp!—Nearly Neil)
on "Big Heart." As a live show,
The Pseudos may just come
off as a kind of all-star karaoke
event. But if you're going to go to
all this trouble, why stick to the
songs of the untested Anthony
Seto? It would defeat the whole
purpose of course, but this is
where a few well-chosen covers
might be in order. •
John Doe:
<junglejirm99393@hotmail.com>
The Pseudos:
<www.thepseudos.com>
LIBERATION
- HOT WATER MUSIC
Tii'ty
GOOD RIDDANCE
THE FAINT
PROPAGANDHI
DISTRICT 7
FRENZAL RHOMB
STORY OF THE YEAR J
THE EYELINERS
ANTI-FUG
DESPARACIDOS
BIGWIG
NOFX
...AND MANY MORJ!
SCREW VOU
and your pointy shoes. ^.
DR. ROBOT ' CHIROPRACTOR
Then common wisdom
would suggest that
you not do that...
OL
Ha ha... Doctor joke.
Please, lay face down
on the bench...
Alright, relax your neck...
I'm just going to roll your head...
CM
^(ffl
(To)
v5l w
yA
[ Perfect! J
^^v%
\Mh
[ crop, j
S /
p
Pi l
fw METALLICA/CRUE/KI8S/GNR/P0IS0N/J0AN JETT/SKID ROW/JUDAS PREIST
WE'RE DOING IT ONE LAST TIME
WMrV
il
THE PURPLE ONION
THURSDAY JUNE 12TH 20 03 9.00PM
DRESS TRASHY TO WIN OUR DOOR PRIZES
DJ THRUSHMUFFLER
15 WATER ST. GASTOWN 604.602.9442 NEW MUSIC WASTELAND
CHRIS ENG DISCOVERS THAT MAY IS THE
CRUELLEST MONTH AFTER FOUR DAYS AT NMW
77
THE NASTY ON CAPTURE THE SPIRIT OF THE FEST: "They had taken over—rocking and drinking and cursing up a storm as they flailed blindly around and drank Crown Royal and wept' (Photo by Kimberley Day)
The problem is that all music writing is self-serving. It's either serving the author, or it's serving the magazine (or website, radio station, TV channel or any other given medium)—but it's serving
someone. At least one party benefits from the arrangement, and usually monetarily. If that happens to include the band, that's nice, but it's generally a happy accident. The author writes to
secure his or her position at the magazine/paper, please the editor for a fat cash bonus, or jockey for an increase in status. The magazine runs the article in order to please the advertisers and
bump up the circulation. It's all about money. The music itself doesn't really enter into it anywhere.
Caught in the middle of this is the musician who wants to play his or her music. They want to get heard and cut an album. They want to be famous. If they're especially lucky, they might acquire
their 15 minutes of local fame and then be offered the chance to play a major music industry festival like CMJ, Canadian Music Week (CMW), South By Southwest (SXSW), North By Northeast (NXNE)
or New Music West (NMW). They'll have the opportunity to play for half an hour in front of industry executives. By the end, more than 95% of them will be chewed up and shit out.
And I saw it all.
(NB: I lost my notes for this, so when reconstructing the large
that I couldn't remember, I improvised and made them up.)
MAY 21,2003
"Cut it finer. Finer. Who did you learn to chop from? Leatherface?
Fuck, give me the razor."
Video Tokyo had just finished their set and I was busy trying to
wrest control of the coke implements away from Matthew Good who
was scuffling with me over them in the washroom of Richard's on
Richards.
Video Tokyo rocked with a decent supply of verve (aside from the
disputes that emerged when they told the soundman to turn down
Christa Min's guitar in the mix—Christa had told me before the show
that she liked to hear herself "louder than God," and to that end had
bribed the soundman to max her out—but no fistfights emerged and
everyone simply retreated to disparate corners of the stage, offended
and hurt), but afterthey finished the canned music started in and that
was too much for me to take. I was determined that Sheryl Crowe
was not going to put me into a soaking-up-the-sun-induced coma,
and when I saw Matt Good anxiously and furtively heading for the
bathroom, I followed close behind.
"Look, your new album was really great. I liked it a lot, especially
the video where that stuff turned into the other stuff, now let me do
it." He stared at me quizzically, but let go of the razor after I stamped
hard on his foot. "Damn rock stars..." I muttered, lining up the blow on
a promotional mirror for Bruce, Almighty. 1 peered at him with disgust.
"You carry this around with you for just this purpose? Goddamn, man,
I hope you don't think you're gonna impress the ladies with Jim Carrey
drug paraphernalia."
One, two, three, four, five lines. "Oh, sorry, Matt. Forgot to save
I blew downstairs mid-way through Notes From Underground,
listening to them bullshit their way through something about missing
the bus and needing twenty-five cents for fare. Pushing my way to the
back I found my way to one of the tables where Derek Sterling Boone
had set himself up like a Don, surrounded by a cadre of his closest
female confidantes. "What is this?" he spat. "An indie jam band?" He
nursed his beer and played with his pinkie ring as I stared at him.
I wanted to say something in response, but I was wired beyond
speech, so I sat there in silence, staring at the stage as I got hit by rush
after rush, muscles locked tight as the set shot past.
"Chris, what did you think of that?" I felt an elbow in my ribs
as the canned music cut in again, Van Morrison warbling something
interminable. 1 nodded and grunted, not wanting to move before The
Cinch came on in case I took off like a rocket. I don't know what I'd had
in the bathroom, but it had a long-acting chaser attached to it that
was keeping me glued to my seat like PVC to an ugly dude at fetish
night.
And then, without warning, it was gone. The rush died and 1
slumped forward against the table, letting the music lull me as my
extremities fell limply about me like the appendages of a punk rock
rag doll.
1 pushed myself away from the table, stumbling and shambling
toward the stairs. Where was Matt Good? I wanted more of what he
had. I found him leaning into a conversation with an indie-cougar—
forty-five at a guess, with bangs and a white belt.
"You. Good. The washroom—now. C'mon, let's go." I put a friendly
and forceful hand on his shoulder, steering him up and off toward the
men's room, propping myself up in the process.
"Line 'em up good. And you do it this time. I trust you. You're
talented. You wrote that book. I didn't read it, but it was genius. 1
mean, you used pictures, right? Fucking brilliant." He cut up six lines
and looked at me, our eyes locking behind our respective glasses:
"Three of those are for me."
I shrugged and inhaled the three lines in a single breath, bolting
upright and staring at him, trying to hold it all in. "Wait," I said, peering
at him intently. "You're not Matt Good, are you?"
"I could be."
"Yeah, you probably could be. But you're not." A wall of light
barreled into me with the force of a Mack Truck pumped full of nitro.
"And this isn't coke, is it?" I gasped.
"It could be."
"Fuck you," I ejaculated, as I staggered from the room.
The Cinch were no longer playing. At some point they had left the
stage and The Nasty On had taken over—rocking and drinking and
cursing up a storm as they flailed blindly around and drank Crown
Royal and wept. Jesus, how long had I been in that bathroom for?
I avoided the dance floor and the coat-check and spun out into
the rainy Vancouver night without a jacket. Fuck that: Stinkmitt were
playing at the Purple Onion. I needed to see Stinkmitt. Betti Forde. I
needed to see Betti Forde. She could help me. She could... was... hott...
hott... rapp... sloppy sock... spinning... fuck... where the hell was I...
Gastown?... the ground?... why was this puddle so warm... cozy...
perfect place to sleep... shit...
May 22,2003
Morning arrived like a SWAT team, kicking me in the face as I tried
to maintain unconsciousness lying beside some Gastown train-tracks,
sore and swaddled in a pool of my own sick. No, it wasn't pretty—it
was about as ugly as it could be—but as it happened, that's the
essence of rock journalism: bile, vomit, and boredom, heaped up on
each other until individual elements are indistinguishable from each
other and it transforms into a heaping mound of deadlines, two-
facedness, and hurt feelings.
Fuck, what time was it? Was it time for more music? 1 had to
figure out the game plan for the day. I'd spent the previous evening in one spot, not particularly
interested in roaming between the twenty-odd clubs that constituted
the bulk of the music performances. Christ, who were these bands,
anyway? I'd never heard of half of them. More than half, probably.
Well, that wasn't surprising in and of itself—if there's anything worth
hearing, the Music Editor, alone and inviolate in his ivory tower, is
always the last to know—but it made the whole deal substantially
less interesting. So, I'd stayed rooted in place, petrified by Matt Good's
Mystery Nose Powder (of which a packet remained in my possession,
purloined, no doubt, during the heart of my white light/white heat
freakout in the bathroom). Was I missing out on the intent of the
fest? Was the point not the big bands that played giant, prohibitively
expensive shows, but to see as many of the up-and-comers as I was
physically able? To acquaint myself not with bands who had already
peaked, but with bands that hadn't even charted on the roadmap to
local fame. Maybe. And if that was the case, I wasn't going to waste
this opportunity. I was going to see as many bands as I could in as
many venues as possible.
Pulling myself into a vertical position, I wandered out of the train-
yard. What time was it? With difficulty, I raised my watch to my face
and peered at it until the numbers coalesced into something coherent.
9:15. Shit. 3 Inches of Blood started at nine. Still, 1 wasn't worried about
being late. The bands started 45 minutes late the previous night. The
music industry thrived on tardiness. It would shut down or consume
itself or spontaneously combust if a show started on time. I was fine.
The rain was coming down thick and heavy as I slogged through
the streets of Gastown (disturbingly familiar to me as flashbacks of
the previous night came in fits and bursts—a cat peeing on me, me
wearing a Subway baggie on my head like a hat, me wearing a cat on
my head like a hat) toward Sonar.
3 Inches of Blood was more than halfway through their set when
I walked through the doors. Former DiSCORDER editrix Lyndsay Sung
(who managed to make it about a month and a half before fleeing the
post—a statement on either her lack of stamina or advanced survival
instinct, I'm not sure which) stood in the doorway and exchanged
pleasantries while growls and howls erupted in the background.
Chad Ferris, an old confidante of mine from the Victoria days,
stood near the stage, arms crossed and scowl fully in place. "Why do
people think this is cool?" he barked at me over the music. "Do they
think they're superheroes? They're not children—they're men and
they're singing about ores! It's cripplingly sad."
I shook my head at him. "Never mind. Just go think happy
thoughts about Fleetwood Mac, you pathetic SOB."
"Bite me."
I was trying to figure out how to score free drinks but I hadn't
quite cracked the formula, since I was pretty sure my "Delegate"
pass wasn't going to get me any beer. It didn't get me into any of
the premiere shows (Flaming Lips, Shawn Desman, et al.) either, and
it certainly wasn't getting me any action (not that 1 was trying the
seemingly infallible pickup line: "Hey baby, my pass is orange—that
means I'm important."), so I figured free liquor probably wasn't on the
agenda. I sat back and decided to enjoy myself sober.
Five minutes later I was back out in the rain, desperately looking
for anything cheap, substantial and alcoholic. I was desperate for some
kind—any kind—of high. I was still riding an adrenaline wave from
3loB, but that was going to fade unless I found something fast. I settled
for running five blocks to the T&T Asian Supermarket and literally
choking back a bottle of salty cooking wine in a nearby alcove.
I wandered into the Purple Onion sick and drunk, with my
personality having re-achieved equilibrium with how I looked. I flashed
my pass at the bouncer and he waved me in, seemingly to be rid of
me. Fuck him, I was a Delegate. Amil, music editor for a rival weekly,
bounced out of the Lounge arms spread wide, and then, getting a good
look at me, shoved her hands in her pockets, reconsidering the hug.
"Uh, Chris, how are you doing?"
"Crappy. It's hell trying to get free booze in this town, you know?"
"Yeah... right. So, what are you doing here? Not observing the
boycott?"
"Boycott on what?"
"The festival."
"Why? Aside from the obvious lack of free booze."
"There was the huge blowup with the hip hop showcases. They
claimed they weren't getting decent venues or getting treated with
any respect, so they pulled out. Big thing, didn't hear about it?"
"No, I'm the editor, I'm the last to hear about anything. So, what
are you doing here?"
"There's a good hip hop band playing tonight."
"I'm not even going to try and figure that one out." I staggered
back and into the Purple Onion proper where there was some pop
band playing. Pop music in one room, hip hop in the other? Who was
putting this together? Is someone coming in randomly from a 1964
London reject band likely to click with the new De La Soul or Fugees?
Possible, I suppose, but pretty fucking unlikely. They'd be more likely
to spit on the ground and cross themselves.
Chad nudged me with his elbow. I wasn't surprised to see him
here. Endearing Records was much more his speed. He was holding a
beer in his fist. "Where did you get that?" I demanded.
"The bar?"
"Buy me one."
"No. Watch the band."
"Why? They were stale a decade before I was born." 1 shifted. The
salt was making me anxious. 1 needed another drink. Anything would
be fine: rye, beer, Coke, that puddle 1 slept in last night. "I have to go,"
I blurted.
Back on the street the rain was coming down harder than ever.
I walked along, thirsty as a motherfucker, gob open like the yawning
maw of the Sarlacc, catching rain and bugging my eyes out at anyone
that had the temerity to look in my direction. Shit, the Spitfires were
going on soon. No way 1 was going to miss that.
The water was running out of the sides of my mouth when I hit
Dick's on Dicks, mostly because I kept forgetting to swallow. I spat
it onto the sidewalk and flashed my pass at the bouncer, strolling in
like the Delegate 1 was. The Spitfires were onstage, spitting beer onto
the crowd. Good. Great minds think alike. "What a waste of a good
fucking beer!" the lead singer yelled at the crowd, who yelled back
gibberish.
I took stock of my surroundings as The Spitfires launched back
into a song about being drunk or having sex or having drunk sex. There
were new decorations since the previous night, which seemed to be
comprised of... rock banners. Rock banners upon rock banners upon
rock banners advertising a radio station that I was pretty sure was not
sending the concert out live (partially because I didn't see anything
mentioning it, and partly because the between-song banter would
probably contravene several different CRTC regulations at once). Why
so many? I didn't know. It didn't make any sense to me, but then again
I didn't listen to the radio. Shit, was that why 1 was always the last
to know? Was it my fault? Was I to blame? I watch MuchMusic from
time to time—do I need to listen to commercial radio, too? Hell, who
fucking cared—the cooking wine cold-cocked me like a rubber bullet
in the liver and I careened wildly off toward the washroom.
Clear vomit swirled around the sink drain as I braced myself
against the counter, lamenting my inability to make it to the toilet. "At
least I made it up the stairs," I thought
Why was I doing this to myself? Not the cooking wine—that was
fine; the panting and the gasping and the sweating and the puking
were just part and parcel with the experience, and I was definitely
used to that—just the running around. If I wasn't running to the
washroom, I was running from show to show to catch minutes of
bands who deserved at least an hour. I was run ragged and run down
with the stupidity of the whole thing. Who can compose a coherent
review of the bands they see while maintaining a rag-tag schedule like
this? No one.
And at that moment—as my white-knuckled fingers clutched
formica—the warmth of my music journalist's epiphany washed over
me. With brutal clarity, 1 realized the truth about the entire music
industry: lives were bought and sold, held aloft or dashed to pieces
on the basis of five minutes of performance. Did the A&R dude score
some good shit earlier? You're signed to a five album deal! He couldn't
get his cock sucked? Screw you—you'll never work in this town again.
And was I in any different situation? No. My sad, dried (and fresh)
vomit-encrusted body was going to drag itself back to the office and
pound out an assessment of every single band that I saw; moreover,
I was going to judge them with my wine and coke-goggles on and set
Well, if that's the way the game was played, I could play it. I was
holding my own in the arena before, but nobody bothered to spell
out all the rules for me. Now that I knew them, I was down for some
serious five-card stud, and woe betide any motherfuckers that got in
my way over the next few days.
1 threw the door to the bathroom open and strode out looking for
anyone with a pass-card hanging around their neck.
Check. "Hey, you—Luke Perry!"
Some '90s pissant past his forties and a decade behind talking to
a Boys From Brazil clone of Dave Matthews looked over at me as I shot
him a shit-eating grin and double fingers. "Eat my ass, human scum!"
Okay, it wasn't that good, but what the hell—it didn't have to be:
my sense of purpose had just gotten a five-point overhaul and I was
riding high on life.
MAY 23,2003
I woke up in my own bed, rose when 1 felt like it, showered when 1
got around to it, poured myself a cup of coffee when I was ready for it.
Life was never so good.
1 had given the finger to one music industry ass-wad the night
before and now I had bigger plans. Give the finger to the whole
damn industry. Over the course of the day seventy-odd performers
would be playing at 19 venues. Seventy-odd bands and solo artists
that would get up in front of stony-faced record-label Caesars who
would proclaim, "Impress us or die!" Over 35 hours of music, laid out
consecutively, performed by people with everything at stake to people
who were above the idle whims of men. That's a lot of music.
And I wasn't going to go to any of it.
I had a different showcase to go see. One venue, six bands, and an
audience that was guaranteed to give a shit. How could I pass it up?
The Alf House was, by general standards, squalid. The regimen of
antiseptic cleanliness effected by the Commodore was conspicuously
absent here. Dirt lined the foyer and the place was in dire need of a
paint-job. All the sightlines to the stage were bad and the dance-floor
was cramped. On top of that, the washroom was unisex and the toilet
was broken. But judging it in comparison to Sonar or The Royal was a
futile gesture, because the Alf House had something that none of the
other clubs had: occupants.
A long-standing punk house on Vancouver's East Side, it is
occupied by a rotating cast of characters involved in bands or friends
with people in bands—people who love music and have a personal
stake in what they hear or go out to listen to. And if they can arrange
to have the bands play in their living room, it saves them a trip out to
see them.
I rolled up on the proceedings stone cold sober and figured that
with the exception of the straight-edge folk in attendance, I might be
the only one. I wasn't sure that was the state 1 wanted to be in, but this
was a different forum, so I felt obliged to give it ten minutes before I
started scrambling for Matt Good's Magic Stash.
Last month's half-naked DiSCORDER poster children, Paper
Lanterns, were rocking the cramped room as 1 made my way
inside. This despite bass player Dan's body shooting calcified rocks
(otherwise known as kidney stones) out of his cock, and drummer
Metal Steve's almost complete drunken paralysis due to it being his
last day of school. But the punk rock train apparently makes no stops
at Slouchvilie, and the boys weren't gonna take it lying down. The
crowd, bouncing up and down like a sugar-high toddler on a Pogo-Ball,
seemed to appreciate it.
There was a tap on my shoulder and I turned to face my friend
Deena. "Chris," she yelled at me over the wall of sound, "how's it
going?"
I shrugged, not wanting to waste my vocal cords making small
talk over the music.
"Wanna talk out back?"
I nodded, following her through the narrow artery in the kitchen
and emerging into a post-industrial landscape of broken furniture and
broken pallets hovering next to a garden that hadn't begun to sprout.
The back yard was about as populated as the front, but the crowd
seemed more diverse: the dyed black hair and denim of the indie
pose-rocker next to the neon cuteness of the thrift shopper standing
shoulder to shoulder with the French-Canadian krusty-punx who
were fighting for a stick with their dogs.
"So, how have you been, Chris?"
"Tired. Rock journalism is long, hard work."
"New Music West?"
"Such as it is."
"Seen anything good?"
"Don't know."
"Can't you remember?"
"Not with any degree of accuracy."
"How will you review it, then?"
"Make it up."
"Can you do that?!"
"Sure, people do it all the time. All of those CD reviews you read
in any given magazine: 1 bet you dollars to donuts the reviewers never
listened to them all the way through. I'll further bet you that they only
listened to thirty seconds to a minute of each track before skipping to
the next one. And the most efficient but least accurate of the bunch
might not have listened to any of them at all."
"That's kind of a cynical view, don't you think?"
"Is it? Maybe. Generally true, though."
"Do a review of Chuck Norris, then."
"What?"
"Chuck Norris, the band that's up next. Do a review of their show
tonight."
"Okay. Gimme a sec... All right: 'Playing the crowd like an
adrenaline-powered violin, Chuck Norris brass-knuckled their way
into the living room of the Alf House, stomped their way through the
front hall, in through the kitchen and held a house meeting on the
carcasses of the sweat-coated and mosh-weary. The new house rule:
don't fuck with hardcore.' See. Sounds good without actually tying you
down to meaning anything."
"That's not really how people write reviews."
"Gimme the rest of the bands. I'll write reviews right now off
the top of my head and we'll see how accurate I am at the end of the
night."
"God, okay. Red Light Sting."
"I don't really know their stuff. I mean, 1 know I've heard it, but I
can't remember what they sound like."
"That's not the deal. Come up with a review."
"Fine. 'Ukrainian polka-trance artcore has finally managed
to wend its way west. Coming off as a Cronenberg-esque genetic
melding of My Bloody Valentine and Frankie Yankovic with fly-sized
bits of Merzbow thrown in for good measure, they kept repeatedly
stunning the crowd with their cattle prod-like time changes and
accordion feedback."
"I don't think they sound like that."
"Whatever. Next."
"Death From Above."
"'Does flipping around spastically like you're covered in fire ants
qualify you to do meth-induced straight-ahead rock 'n' fucking roll?
No, but it doesn't hurt. Intense with a sound which filled the house
from top to bottom, spilling out into the surrounding industrial
neighbourhood and mingling with the sound of late-night machinery,
Death From Above kicked unbelievers in the balls and then raided the
fridge for beer and dumpstered soy milk.'"
"Okay, The Crush Conspiracies."
'"Lyrics that try for wit paired with cute keyboards are usually
a combination that signal bile-inducing twee, or at least a fast-track
to the K Records discount bin. It's a good thing then that The Crush
Conspiracies have songs that are catchy, lyrics that are hilarious and
bandmates that exude genuine charm. You could have danced and
laughed, you stupid fuckers, but instead you were at the Brickyard
and missed the best show of the fest.'"
"Juls and Kahla."
"Folk duo sings about hobos."
"That's it?"
"They're a folk duo with a song about hobos. In French. What else
do you want me to say?!"
"Nothing, I guess."
"What time is it? Who's playing?"
"I have no idea."
"Let's find out. Say, do you have any beer?"
The flames in the back-alley dumpster were licking out of the
lid now, and the French-Canadian krusty-punx danced about it with
glee. Deena and 1 had a perfect vantage point from the roof, where
we reclined and watched the drama unfold, passing a carton of
dumpstered soy milk back and forth.
"I didn't think they actually had any of this stuff, you know? It was
just a joke on my part."
"Truth is stranger than fiction."
One of the residents came rushing out with an enormous bucket
of water and ran across the yard with all speed, leveling it at the
dumpster and letting the contents fly in a watery arc, soaking the
walls of the dumpster and some of the punx nearby.
13 DiSCORDER "Why you do dis?! You are not 'ardcore! You are 'ippy! No
revolution in dis 'ouse. Pfft."
I looked over at Deena. "So, how did I do with my reviews?"
"Not so good with Red Light Sting."
"Fuck them. My review was good, they fucked it up by not pushing
the envelope."
"How about The Crush Conspiracies? You don't really think that
was the best show of the fest, do you?"
"Don't I? That remains to be seen. There's still a day left."
"Juls and Kahla?... I mean, how hard was that one?"
"They played the hobo song, didn't they?"
"Yeah."
"Four out of five. I think that qualifies as a win."
The occupant wrestled with the punx while the flames sputtered
and a dog howled.
1 slugged back another shot of espresso soy milk. "You know, I
made it through the entire night here totally sober."
"That a good thing?"
"I don't know. I feel sketchy, iike I need to run around the block
or wear the skin of a bear or play Super Mario 3 for eight hours. Then
again, I haven t had to deal with industry pus-heads or any degree of
schmoozing. Maybe this is just withdrawal."
"Maybe you should just get some sleep."
"Maybe I've just been enjoying myself more here than at any point
over the last two days."
Deena took the carton and a sip. "Any plans for tomorrow?"
"Uhhhh... shit. Yeah. Chad Kroeger's keynote address."
Somewhere the punx had found a can of gasoline and the dumpster
suddenly lit up the night in a cascade of orange and red. "Tonight was
okay, but I don't think I'm gonna make it through tomorrow without
chemical aid."
MAY 24,2003
"Blankets. Blankets are the key for our dominion over the mole
people." Chad's head disconnected itself from his body and floated
aimlessly about the crowd on pinpoint beams of light.
Not content to trust myself to the bottle of Mega-Flu
Robitussin I drank before showing up at the Commodore (which
had itself transformed into a Norse feasting hall of yore), I had also
wholeheartedly snorted back the packet of Uncle Matty's Nose Tonic
ten minutes prior and was now fully immersed in what Mr. Kroeger
had to say. If this was his appraisal of the industry, then I was on board
for his Five Year Plan.
"Gentlemen, grab your adult diapers and repulse the invasion
of battery-operated squirrels! 604 is MAGIC!" Cheering erupted
throughout the room and the sound of warhammers being brought
down on the great tables was nearly deafening. The head floated
the length of the hall, past the Viking princes and out the door and I
hurriedly scrambled after it, elbowing aside the tightly packed groups
of handmaidens that littered my way and showered me with flowers
as I emerged onto Granville Street.
The sun was bright and unrelenting, and 1 suddenly realized three
things: one, the head had disappeared; two, if Chad Kroeger's head
wanted to remain discreet, it was not going to be found; and three, I
was in no fit state to mingle amongst the industry jackals at the panels
and conferences.
All of the exclusive industry-only events/socials/schmooze-
fests were scheduled for the weekend afternoons, but I'd scanned
the schedule several times and the only thing remotely interesting
was a panel discussion entitled: "Nelly Furtado: How Can We Make
Another One?" My tolerance for the whole affair was waning and my
increasing need to experiment pharmacologically was pushed to the
outer limits by my proximity to it all. This wasn't going to end happily,
and not even the smoking-jacketed tiger-men roaming the streets
could make me believe otherwise. I needed this to be over with, and
there was no way under the excessively bright and low-hanging sun i
could handle being around cash grins and predator smiles for the rest
of the day, let alone two.
I'd been back at NMW for fifteen minutes and I needed to get the
fuck out. Screw it, I was going to my happy place.
"Starscream, you are a fool!"
"But Megatron, I only did it to sen/eyou! Forgive me, PLEASE!"
I looked over at the clock. 8:20. I had been shooting sideways
glances at it for the past couple of hours, trying to convince myself
that the bands would be more entertaining than the third of my
Transformers videos. Fuck it, the bands would be good. I had already
circumnavigated the business crap; only the music was left. Besides,
Billy The Kid and The Lost Boys were playing, and they always put
on a good show. There was also the Mint Records Showcase, and
War Room later. It would be good times; I wouldn't have to talk to
anyone from the industry. I'd go; I'd just go and have a good time. Now
I just had to get up off the couch. Go. Go, already. Just go go go go
gogogogogogogogo.
I got up.
It was only one night. I couldn't not enjoy myseif.
Billy looked out at the throng with rapidly thinning enthusiasm.
"Thanks for coming out. Hey, you know what's fun?! Dancing is fun."
it was about the third time she'd said something to the same effect
and she had a point. The audience had about as much receptivity as
a collection of value-sized Easter Island moai. I had been bouncing up
and down in place for the past twenty minutes (perhaps due in part to
the rails of ephednne I'd lain out in the bathroom), but my motion was
becoming decidediy conspicuous in a sea of dead faces.
They ripped into a song and ploughed through another, then Billy
looked around and leaned into the mic while the suits politely clapped.
"Thanks again, we're Billy and the Lost Boys. We give our all every
time we play. Audiences, well, maybe not so much."
She was really probably only giving 75%—I'd seen her play before,
14 June 2003
running like a maniac back and forth across the stage with the guitar
behind her head, and that was probably 100%. There was none of that
tonight, but audiences get what they give and, with that in mind, they
were probably getting more than they deserved.
It made me wonder how the music industry supposedly had
enough of a foothold to thrive here, trapped in a place where live
music is something to be caged and prodded, looked at clinically and
methodically, appraised but not enjoyed. The only people who seemed
to regularly dance at shows were the people who enjoyed electronica,
which was regularly derided by the rest of the industry and culture en
masse for having no soul. Ironic.
Three more songs, played masterfully but without zeal followed
by a flat "Good night." I waited a minute and then pushed my way past
the crowd backstage.
"Billy, hi. Good set. Thanks for playing."
She looked slightly confused for a second (which may have been
in response to my body language being amplified by the drugstore
pumping its way through my veins), but then let go and smiled.
"Thank you. It's appreciated. Here," she reached into her bag and
pulled something out. "Have a sticker!" She passed it over to me, and
just for a second, our exchange captured the purity of an all-ages
show—no pretense, nothing on a level other than the people that
make the music and the people that love it. No bullshit interface,
no falsity, just appreciation from both parties.
I smiled, thanked her, and left her and her band to the
packing up. I had other places to be.
The Railway Club is probably the unofficial home of
Mint Records, since at least every other week it seems
to feature a show from Tennessee Twin, John Guliak,
and Carolyn Mark. Arriving in the middle of Tennessee
Twin's set, therefore, seemed more than appropriate.
The crowd was packed and seated, though that
was fine: it was country music and there wasn't much
of a floor for slow dancing. Nobody seemed to have
the cojones to sit near the front, though, so 1 plunked
myself down in one of the empty seats and enjoyed
the set. The lead singer, Cindy Wolfe, caught the
gesture and smiled, playing out a set that ranged
from sweet to bittersweet to her lifting up her skirt
for a random cameraman. Cool.
While they played I tried to reassess my
opinions on my role at the festival. Maybe it wasn't
to see as many bands as humanly possible for five
minutes each, exposing myself to the new music
inherent in the title, while stripping the humanity **«y2i
and greater sense of scope from the performance. Qf -
Maybe, rather, it was to see what I could, watch
appreciatively and show my respect in a visible
way for what the performers were doing—to let
them know there was at least one person out
there who was there for the music and not to
be seen, chat up an exec, chat on his cell phone,
or do any of a million disaffected and assholish
things that had nothing to do with the band.
At this point, I practically felt it was my duty
to be the one person in the room who looked S^yHP^K
like he gave a shit.
Tennessee Twin wrapped up and I ™~~—■—~—~_^
clapped and cheered before making my
way to the back room to see if anyone else
was around. Indeed, the former editrix, Barbara,
was enjoying beers in the company of her gentleman friend, Steve.
Barbara wouldn't go near the DiSCORDER offices anymore—too
many sleepless nights compounded by the passage of years made
her shudder involuntarily when the subject was raised. She withdrew
from the game and I couldn't blame her. A mere four days was turning
me into a bitter crank.
She looked up at me as I walked over. "Heyyyyyyyyy," she said,
her general levels of alcohol probably approaching me for chemistry,
"How's it going? You been making the rounds? Seen much?"
"Hey, Barbara. Yeah, I've seen a bit."
"Anything good?"
"A few things."
"Anything bad?"
"The whole freakin' industry." She cocked an eyebrow at me. "It's
a grotesque behemoth," I added. "I think I hate it."
"Hear, hear." She raised her pint glass and toasted me before
slamming it back. "Never did me any good either."
"I don't think it does a lot of people any good. It's certainly not
about the music."
"You just figure that out?"
"I'm a slow learner."
"Hmm. You gonna see anything else this evening?"
"Yeah. Operation Makeout's here. My friend Mandy's band War
Room is playing at Sonar later. There's still a couple of things left."
"Well, if you want to drop back, you know where I am."
"At the back of the bar, far away from the music."
"Exactly."
I was standing at the front of the stage, saddened, horrified, and
destroyed. War Room were tearing Sonar a new asshole with their
usual brand of L7-inspired auditory terrorism and 1 was watching
them, but I wasn't moving. I was standing rapt, staring at my friend
Mandy. A bass virtuoso, her performance was flawless. Hitting every
note without missing a beat—arm up, windmill, rock kick—she turned
out the moves like a clockwork rock machine. But she was looking
rough.
I had been binging on any number of substances for the previous
few days, allowing them to carpetbomb my system and beat me into
submission. They had, in fact, done exactly what I wanted them to: get
dele
SfCTCC*
Chris
Disc
Stilt
Bng
order
or/ai
me to the end of all of this. And standing before me was the shell of a
girl who looked like she'd initiated a Blitzkrieg on herself as well, but
not for the purposes of escaping the festival. Tired, baggy-eyed, wan,
pale, and bloated, she was an eerie doppelganger of the girl I'd known
a couple of years back whose sprightly demeanor was a demolition
crew in the face of any given scenesters reserved cool.
"Mandy, are you okay?"
"I... no. Not really... This scene is getting to me."
"This scene gets to everyone."
"Yeahhhhh... I need to get away." Her attention wavered and she
watched a patch of floor near her feet.
"Yeah, you do. Look, I know we haven't been hanging out a lot or
anything, lately, but if you need help with anything, let me know all
right?"
"I'm fine, Chris... don't worry about me... It'll all come together
eventually... I have to go."
Sobriety has never been faster coming. Within seconds I had had
my high forcibly removed and I felt a raw breathless heat wash over
me, like I had been given the strap. War Room commanded the stage,
working their way through a tight, technically brilliant set, but I had
my eyes on Mandy the whole time, watching her choke back tears,
going through the motions exhaustedly, devoid of passion.
And if, at the end of the day, it was all about the music, then War
"I was trying
to figure out
how to score
free drinks but
I hadn't quite
cracked the
formula, since I
was pretty sure
my "Delegate"
pass wasn't going
to get me any
beer. It didn't get
me into any of the
premiere shows,
and it certainly
wasn't getting me
any action, so I
figured free liquor
probably wasn't on
the agenda."
Room fulfilled the demands of the fest impeccably. If, in the end, it was
just about music and the packaging thereof, then War Room delivered
seamless product with nary a complaint. They were consummate
professionals and didn't let anything intrude on what was important
during their half-hour: playing music. But if, on the other hand, New
Music West was about anything else, then Mandy mattered. Her
dissociation from the music she was playing mattered; the fact that
she was unable to find joy in it mattered; and the gross inhumanity of
the scene mattered.
The faceless crowd didn't care. They clapped when they were
supposed to, giving the bare minimum of themselves necessary, and
the music rolled on. Mandy cried herself to sleep and wondered why, in
terms of her happiness, a needle had taken the place of her bass, and
the music rolled on. Billy got frustrated and yelled at the crowd but still
couldn't kindle a spark, and the music rolled on. The suits made their
deals, checked their voice mail, slept like babies as their stock closed
a quarter point higher, and the music rolled on. The musical-industrial
revolution ground forward, occasionally catching a child in the gears,
spitting them out—mangled, crippled, lost, dead—but that's fine:
there's no short supply of them and exploitation of cheap labour is the
name of the game. And the music rolled on.
And me? I walked into NMW alone and inviolate on my ivory
throne, determined of nothing but that I be allowed to make it
through four days and experience everything it had to offer. I got that
and found, at the end, two personal choices—one leading down the
road to a career, writing fake reviews of Our Lady Peace shows while
sipping double cappuccinos; the other steaming toward indignahce,
aggravation, and bitterness at the way of the world. And after careful
consideration, there is only one option:
I'm heading back. I'll catch up with you where the road started—
that place before innocence, infatuation, humanity and love were lost.
I'll see you at the Alf House, 2nd Ave, the Triple Threat House, the Cool
Club—wherever.
And if, during The Crush Conspiracies' set, you save me a dance,
I'd be honoured. • FEY FEY FEY. WIMPY
WIMPY. FEY FEY
YOUNG AND SEXY ARE INTO NELLY FURTADO
AND THEY DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS
Interview by Emily Kendy. Photo by Lara Jane Petelko
PJ
One of Vancouver's biggest little malcontent rock bands is,
of all things, shy. Well, to say all the members of Young and
Sexy are shy is inaccurate, especially since Lucy Brain, the one
female in the five-piece group, had no problem saying out loud any
old thing that popped into her head during a beer session (she chose
a Crantini) outside of Subeez in Yaletown. Drummer Andre Lagace
(also Brain's fiance) simply gave quiet one-liners in between saying
"hello" to those he recognized on the sidewalk, while Paul Pittman
turned red at almost every question put to him, chain-smoking his
way through his apparently communal pack of Dunhills and wiping
his face as though he was running on two hours' sleep. As for Ted
Marcel Bois (piano) and Ron Teardrop (drummer)—who were AWOL
for the interview—I can only speculate on their personalities...
Not only was their last album, Stand up for your Mother, the
object of much critical acclaim, the group that started as a drummer-
less, bass-less three-piece in the late 90s has evolved so far that
their performance at last year's North By Northeast music festival
in Toronto earned them a top ten spot on a list of best newcomers to
the Canadian indie-rock scene, while, perhaps more obscurely, their
video for "Silent Film Star" was number 17 on the Bravo channel—
ahead of Norah Jones—much to Pittman's amusement. Now,
with less then two weeks left in the recording of their new album
(tentatively entitled Life Through One Speaker), they seem ready to
tackle a brand new year of live shows—which for shy people can be a
nerve-wracking experience—and are also ready to divulge pre-stage
jitters, guilty pleasures, the mock title they gave their new album, and
why a member from Sloan was once turned away from a show.
DiSCORDER: So, you guys are on Mint records, but where did you
record this album?
Paul Pittman: We recorded with JC/DC [John Collins and Dave
Carswell—the former of The New Pornographers, the latter of The
Smugglers, and both of The Evaporators].
Lucy Brain: It was at Galiano Island, at John's parents' place. We spent
14 days there; it was very idyllic. There was a big deck [where we could
watch] eagles. When I recorded my vocals my view was of the ocean.
When we weren't recording we could go play on the rocks.
Not too much pressure, then?
Brain: No, we feel pressure now, with the deadline in a week...
What did you learn this time around, in regards to the recording
process?
Pittman: [With the first album] everything sounded good the first
time. Now we're more critical.
Brain: We have higher standards.
Andre Lagace: We weren't recording in a dark and dingy basement...
How do you compare this album to your first?
Pittman: It's better.
Brain: I'd like to think it's less sweet and twinkly.
Pittman: It still sounds like us.
Brain: There are a few more leads, more instrumentation.
Lagace: We have better instruments. We have a real piano. There's
more forethought.
Brain: Last time we didn't really know what we were doing. [This
time], as a band, we worked on songs, developing them together.
What music did you listen to last year that might have influenced
the direction of your music?
Brain: We all have pretty different tastes. Ted's into space rock, which
influences his playing. I really like Big Star.
Pittman: I don't know, I listen to what I've always listened to: The
Beatles, Stones, Zeppelin—not that that you hear much of Zeppelin...
Brain: I like the new Shins record.
What's the most off-base description of your music that you've
heard?
Pittman: It's weird when people compare you to [stuff from] Britain.
Like if you heard our first song on Stand Up For Your Mother you'd
think we were weird New Order...
Brain: I've heard us compared to St. Etienne, and I've never really
listened to them before.
Well, I like to think I'm a music critic but I've never heard of the
terms "fey" and "twee." [Come by the DiSCORDER office—Merek
plays that shit all the time, -ed.] What sort of gibberish are these
words that are often ascribed to your music?
Brain: Fey just means limp-wristed, no balls.
Legace: Like Badfinger, Raspberries...
Pittman: Nick Drake... literate, intellectual types.
Lagace: Men who are in touch with their feminine side.
Brain: It's not a bad thing, unless you want to be a rock band. Twee is
sort of the same thing...
Pittman: We were going to call our new album Fey Fey Fey, Wimpy
Wimpy, Fey Fey.
I read in an interview with Pittman that he called Vancouver a
"fashion-conscious teenager," in regards to us tearing down old
character buildings and replacing them with new buildings. Do you
Right. At least tell me what recent places have closed that have
bummed you out?
Brain: The Pig and Whistle.
Lagace: Luvafair, kinda....
Pittman: Aw, really? I guess the Starfish-Room.
Lagace: The Marble Arch?
Pittman: Oh, Aristocratic—do you know that place? It was an old
diner, with huge windows, where Chapters is now on Broadway...
What's the best live show you've played?
Brain: The Commodore, with The New Pornographers, last year. And
North By Northeast in Toronto.
Pittman: One guy fainted at that show.
Because of you guys?
Pittman: Well, it was really hot, but still!
Brain: That show was really hyped.
Pittman: Yeah, it felt like we were a real band. Some guy from Sloan
was turned away.
Why, sold out?
Pittman: Yeah, 1 guess.
it the dress code.
Brain: We could' write a novel about Ron. He's always tuning his
drums, and he's always ordering food before we go on-stage—do you
remember when he had that bowl of black bean soup he was eating
between songs? And when he had the cheesecake and between the
sets he yelled out, "Hey, can I get another slice of that cheesecake?"
Paul also refuses to use an electric tuner, or tighten his mic stand.
Pittman: Oh, that was because I was drunk.
Brain: The mic kept spinning away from him...
Pittman: I followed it...
Brain: I guess you could say we all steal your cigarettes.
What do you think before you go on stage?
Brain: I hope Paul hasn't drunk too much.
Pittman: Ohh... rock.
Brain: We're all pretty nervous... I tend to hope we make it through
with some sort of semblance of integrity.
Pittman: I think the more nervous the better. When we played at The
Commodore, I had so much adrenaline I don't even remember the
show—I just remember thinking, "I'm so happy to be here."
What music would people be surprised to know you listen to?
Brain: Stevie Wonder... Mary J. Blige, Lauryn Hill...
Pittman: That's Lucy.
Lagace: Zeppelin.
Pittman: Sabbath. We all like Sabbath. I wish I could say I liked the
new Justin Timberlake, but 1 don't.
Brain: Andre likes Eminem. Captain and Tenille. Paul loves Captain
andTenille.
Pittman: I know, oh, never mind, I can't even say it....
Brain: You have to! Say it!
Pittman: I can't... Oh, I can't.
If you don't tell us, I'll make something up, like Donnie Osmond.
Pittman: Okay, there's this Nelly Furtado song.
Brain: Ooohh...
Pittman: I don't know, just one, it has nice piano. I mean, I think she's
kind of gross but that one song... Listen, I think we should just cut out
this guilty pleasure thing...
Do you remember your first gig?
Pittman: Yes, there were only three of us then [Pittman, Brain, and
ex-member Colin McLean].
Brain: It was at Ms.T's.
Pittman: We were opening for Jungle. Before the show—
Brain: Colin was wearing his mom's cardigan, with pearls, and he
wanted me to help him with his eyeliner.
Pittman: I remember I wanted to play a song I'd just written, and you
guys didn't know about it.
What was it called?
Pittman: "Herculean Bellboy." Actually, it's on the new album, but it's
a lot different now.
How passionate are you about this band?
Lagace: We're here aren't we?
Brain: I'm passionate about it. I'd like to make more albums. I think
we're getting better. Paul's obsessed. He was recently told off at work
[city hall] for always being on the phone or the computer with band
stuff. Do you think they'll read this?
Pittman: DiSCORDER? I don't think so—I mean, nothing personal. •
15 DiSCORDER ii
PRETTY NORMAL DUDES
I'd love to do what we do and be huge," says Death Cab For
Cutie lead singer Ben Gibbard, speaking on the phone from
his Seattle home, "but it's not like we have any plans for world
domination. And anyway, there's no community at that level."
Community, it turns out, is an important concept for Ben and
his Death Cab For Cutie bandmates. My conversation with him
is peppered with references to bands he likes and friends he has
worked with. This admirable community spirit has served Ben
well over the last few years. His name pops up again and again
on records I own, whether it be a guest credit on an American
Analog Set record or a simple thank-you in recognition of
support, as appears on the just-released debut Thermals record.
Most recently, a friendship with Dntel's Jimmy Tamborello lead to
the formation of The Postal Service and the release of the duo's
sublime debut album, Give Up. Named after the communication
medium by which Gibbard and Tamborello traded musical ideas,
The Postal Service will continue to produce music Gibbard
assures me, but for now his main focus of attention has switched
back to Death Cab for Cutie.
Formed by Gibbard in Bellingham, Washington in 1997, Death
Cab For Cutie have released three perfect albums, gone through
three drummers, and become one of the most cherished bands
on the American Indie scene. Their second album, We Have The
Facts and We're Voting Yes, released in 2000, was hailed as an
indie classic and The Photo Album, released just one year later,
saw Gibbard tighten his already accomplished songwriting, and
made a fan out of the man who discovered Oasis. Even Johnny
Marr has professed a liking for them. As 1 spoke to the affable
Mr. Gibbard, he was busy finishing up recording the new album,
which is due to drop this fall, and hastily preparing for the short
tour that takes them through Vancouver on June 10.
DiSCORDER: How are things going?
Ben Gibbard: Good, I just walked in the door.
You're just coining back from recording your new album?
Yeah, yeah. It's all coming together well; I'm really excited about
getting it finished and getting it out there.
Where are you recording this time?
The Hall of Justice, the same studio we did the last one in.
It's Chris' [Walla, Guitar] studio, here in Seattle. We've been
recording off and on since December. We also did a large chunk
of recording in San Francisco at Tiny Telephone Studios.
I'm ringing from Vancouver and you're from not too far away—
Bellingham, is that right?
Yeah, for the most part. We're not all originally from Bellingham.
We started playing in Bellingham when we were going to school
there.
Did you ever organize trips to Canada for cheap booze?
Yeah, we used to, before we turned 21, but then as soon as you
can walk down the street and drink it's not as appealing to go
through a border crossing just to get some alcohol, you know?
I'm gonna ask you a question that I know you really hate—but
I think it really needs to be asked because I don't think people
know. How did you get your name? I know that it's from [obscure
late '60s comedy group] the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band...
That's it, right there.
I've never read that in any interviews with you, though—but I
did read an interview that said you hate that question because
you get asked it so much.
Yeah, I hate that question, [laughs] It's like, how long do you have
to be around until people don't ask you about the name anymore,
you know? I think maybe at first we accepted that that's what
you get for having such a silly name. But then after a while we
were like, how many interviews do you have to do before people
view it as common knowledge?
A CONVERSATION WITH BEN GIBBARD
OF DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE
BY MEREK COOPER
That's good that you.know the reference. It's very rare that
anyone actually knows the album or knows the band.
I think I know it because as a kid I used to love The Beatles, then
I got into The Rutles [The Beatles spoof film featuring Eric Idle
and Neil Innes] and then I just traced all of Neil Innes's career
back to that first album.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I love The Rutles, too. My dad had it on VHS
when I was a kid. 1 just loved it. I thought it was the fucking best.
It came out on DVD last year and I picked it up.
You have something else in common with another comedy
band: Spinal Tap. You keep losing your drummers.
Yeah, we have. I don't know what the deal with that is. I think
there's always been the joke about the drummer always being
the least stable person in the band, and for some reason in our
band that's been somewhat true. We had one person who played
with us for like a month or two, who was absolutely horrible on
a number of levels. That was really early on. But our first real
drummer, Nathan [Good], was in school. And unfortunately that
was at a time when we were not making any money and not
really at a level where it was feasible for someone with a shitload
of student loans to go run around in a band. But we're still friends
with him. And we parted ways with our last drummer [Michael
Schorr] because... let's just call them creative differences. It was
nothing sinister, evil or violent, so...
No exploding drummers?
No, no. Jason McGerr—who's playing with us now—we've known
him since the Bellingham days. We go way, way back, and I may
have said this before, but 1 definitely believe this will be the last
drummer we'll ever have. It's kind of come full circle. It makes
more sense having him than it has anyone else that's ever played
with us.
Will you be taking any new directions on this album?
Erm, yeah, I would hope that people would view it as such. I
mean, we're not busting out any new toys that are bleeding all
over the record, or things like that. But unlike The Photo Album, I
feel like this record is definitely more like a proper album. We've
tried to construct it with transitions of songs going in and out
of each other, and I think it's a little bit more expansive than the
last record. We've made a conscious effort to make a record that
we'll have to learn how to play live before we can ever tour it. And
we've made a point of not trying to play this record together until
we go out to tour it in the fall, just so it'll all be fresh to us.
So you won't play any new songs at the Vancouver show?
We're gonna play one or two. We've got three new songs and
we'll probably play at least two of those, because they're the
songs that are the easiest to play live and are definitely the
more guitar-based ones on the record. We'll play the hits; so to
speak—the big, glistening pop songs.
A lot of people think that The Photo Album was a dip in form
after We Have The Facts and We're Voting Yes. How do you view
it?
I don't know. I have to say that I'm proud of both records; records
are like your kids—you never want to admit there is anything
wrong with them. But with every record you make, there are
always things you wish you had done differently.
I feel that this record that we're making now is definitely
more akin to We Have the Facts... than The Photo Album, in the
sense that it's feeling more like an album than a collection of
songs. We'll know when the record comes out.
I wanted to ask you about your songwriting techniques—
»
whether it's a totally personal expression or if you put yourself
in a certain character which you wish to explore? Take for an
example the song "Styrofoam Plates". Is that sung from the
perspective of a character or is that you?
That's a character. It's based on people that are close to me, but
it's not a biographical tune by any standards. I think it varies
from song to song. There is a lot of material and it has to come
from somewhere and, being that I live in my own skin, there
tends to be elements of my life in everything that I write. I don't
know—as I go down the list of songs on The Photo Album, it
seems it's a half-arid-half kind of thing.
You do a few cover songs: "All Is Full of Love" by Bjork and "This
Charming Man" by The Smiths. I just wondered if the either
Bjork or The Smiths have heard them and if you've had any
feedback?
I don't know about that. 1 do know that Chris just recorded some
live sessions for Johnny Marr, and he turned out to be a Death
Cab fan. And apparently he went so far as pulling out his iPod and
showing him: "Yeah, I got your records in my iPod!!" Which was
pretty exciting for all of us.
That must be pretty pleasing. You're obviously a big Smiths
fan?
Yeah, of course. I don't know if he'd heard our version of "This
Charming Man." It's such a butchered version, I think that maybe
it would be a good idea if he didn't.
But it's difficult to do good covers of Smiths songs. No one sings
like Morrissey for a start.
Oh, it's incredibly difficult, but we were very young and thought
we could do anything.
There was talk that last year you turned down signing to Alan
Mcgee's Poptones label in England. You could have been the
next Oasis or even the new Hives.
1 did. There was some talk a couple of years ago maybe to go with
Poptones, but Fierce Panda has put out our last couple of records
there. And I don't claim to know much about how the English
scene works.
It's pretty hype-based.
Yeah, indie labels there can be very different from indie labels
here. But you know, we're pretty pleased with what Fierce
Panda is able to do for us. But we definitely don't have a world
domination mentality and there's no real story for us. We're
not gonna attract contemporary, fashionable people. There's no
crazy backstage antics with Death Cab; it's probably gonna just
be me drunk on whiskey at the end of the night, but that's about
it. All of us have girlfriends, we're all pretty normal dudes so
there's nothing to write about.
You have pretty fanatical fans though, don't you?
We have some, yeah. I've never run into any psychotic fans.
It's interesting—especially after we hadn't played in the US for
about a year—you're away from it and you kind of live with
yourself and don't think of yourself as anybody other than a
normal person who goes about his life doing normal things, and
then, all of a sudden, you get on a stage and people are just going
insane, [laugfhs] It's a weird juxtaposition of my normal life, my daily life, and what happens a couple of months of the year when \
I climb up on stage and play some songs.
And what exactly is your normal life? You must be pretty busy
with all your side projects?
I've been busy this year. Last year, we did some stuff in the first
half of the year, but for most of the rest of the year I was just
kinda writing and finishing up this Postal Service record with my
friend Jimmy [Tamborello, of Dntel and Figurine] and just kind of,
you know, poking around. Working on songs. Hopelessly dating
girls I shouldn't be dating. Errr... [laughs]
So what's next for you?
Well, right now we're putting the finishing touches on the record.
I just went in and redid some little tiny vocal thing, and Chris is
in the process of just deconstructing a whole song and putting it
back together all crazy and it sounds great. I'm like [adopting the
voice of an old time sea captain], "Arrr, it sounds great." I think
the record's gonna be done June 1 and it's gonna come out in
October.
You've also got an American Analog Set/Death Cab split release
coming out?
Apparently. It came out on Tuesday and I haven't got a copy of it
yet. Yeah, Ben Dickey, who runs this label Post-Parlo, he's kind of
an indie rock renaissance man—he's in a band, he tour manages,
he runs a label, he does all this stuff. He had this series of releases
called "Home"; the theme is home and he asked me to do one last
year, and I was like, "I'd love to." So me and Ken [Andrew Kenny
of American Analog Set] did it. We each did four songs; three
originals and a cover of each other. I did "Choir Vandals" from the
last Analog Set record, Know By Heart.
You appeared on that album, didn't you?
Yeah. I did a bit of singing on it. We were just on tour together
and he asked me: "Hey, do you wanna sing on this record?" We've
been friends with them for a long time—since Death Cab's first
national tour in the summer of 1999. We've kept in touch ever
You seem to know so many people in the indie scene. Let me
see: There's everybody at Barsuk (John Vanderslice, Kind of
Like Spitting, The Long Winters and Rilo Kiley), The Analog Set
and Jimmy Tamborello. Then, of course, The Thermals who you
introduced to Subpop. And this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Yeah, I think it's just a really great world to be involved with. We
have bands sleeping on the floor two or three times a month,
you know, friends that are coming through. It just feels like the
closest thing to some '50s Beat Generation thing. People roll in
for one day and hang out and everybody gets drunk and has a
great time and catches up with each other and then they're out
the door the next morning. Then you show up in their town and
they take you in and feed you. It's nice, I like the nomadic life
where people roll in for a day and you wildly discuss everything in
your life and then they're out the door. There are no expectations
of keeping in touch like normal people keep in touch. You just see
them when they show up. We're all like war buddies.
I recently read Michael Azerrad's book on the building of the
American underground music scene in the '80s...
Yeah, Our Band Could Be Your Life. Oh, it's fantastic.
Yeah, and listening to you it seems that the network that Black
Flag and their contemporaries built is still alive and well.
I think it is. But it has obviously changed quite a bit. 1 mean, when
I was reading that book, I was just like, "Man I can't believe what
it must have been like to tour in 1981, having to book your own
tour." Now it's so easy—email and cell phone have made booking
so simple. Still, 1 think that those communities that began back
then still really need to exist. Even in the age of cell phones and
email, there is still a need for a community backbone to help
everybody out.
If we were a band like Coldplay or REM, there's no community
at that level. I mean, we're playing this crazy show this weekend,
the Sasquatch Music Festival, and Coldplay is headlining. And
we were all making some jokes like: "Man, we'll get a chance
to hang out with Coldplay." But they're not going to hang out,
they're gonna show up a few minutes before they play, play and
then leave. That's the way it works at that level. I think they're
great, though—as far as big bands go. I own their records and 1
really like them. I just feel that I'm more proud of the community
of friends and musicians that we exist with almost as much as
the music we make itself. Just because it feels good like when
somebody says, "Hey, I got my new record, I just did it!" I'm like,
"Great, let me check it out." It's great just working on music with
friends and hearing this whole community move forward and
continue to make better music. It's really inspiring. You have to
get inspiration from somebody and it may as well be your friend
who only lives down the street. •
(Death Cab For Cutie plays The Vogue Theatre on Tuesday, June 10
with The Dismemberment Plan, Enon and Gold Chains)
From left to right: Incoming drummer Jason McGerr, Bassist
Nick Harmer, Ben Gibbard and guitarist Chris Walla.
Photo by by Justin Dylan Renney and Jenny Jimenez
19 DiSCORDER LAZER RAP APOCALYPSE
THE G.I. JOE KILLAZ BUST PHAT BEATS ON
THE BALANCE OF WORLD POWER
Interview by Shad McAllister, Photo by Tele-Vipers
9*
Gl Joe is the code name for America's daring, highly trained,
special mission force. Its purpose is to defend freedom and
justice against Cobra—an evil organization determined to
rule the world."
Millions of children during the '80s heard these words,
committing them to memory and reciting them by rote. Some of
the brighter ones even figured out the subtext of the message: The
Joes were a bunch of reactionary pussies.
Cobra had plans to take over the world; The Joes had plans
to stop them. Were they trying to stop anyone else? It was never
brought up. Whatever strengths they had—an aircraft carrier,
hovercrafts, VTOL fighters—Gl Joe was always playing catch-up
with Cobra.
Today, a decade and a half on, nothing has changed other than
the methods of dissemination. Operating from a secret bunker,
Cobra now sends out hip hop messages in the hopes of convincing
a new generation to join forces with the only team that matters in
the New New Order.
Destro and Stacy DeCobray (a.k.a. The Baroness), team
staples of Cobra right from the beginning, kick rhymes as Cobra
Commander does duty on beats. Their media empire is expanding
by leaps and bounds, having achieved control of Eastern Canada
and MTV2, Stateside. They are at work on a new album of songs for
the politically malcontent and their website <www.gijoekillaz.com>
just got a complete facelift.
But is it worth picking up their CD? I dunno. Is it worth picking
up your teeth as the jackboot of mediocrity smashes down onto
your face and you think, "If only I'd hooked up with Cobra, they
could have saved me from the tyranny of the majority."
That's a call that you have to make.
So, what happened after the downsizing of Cobra in the late '80s/
early '90s and the economic depression (which undoubtedly
affected your stakes in the weapons industry) that inspired you
to turn to music?
Destro: Well, after our network TV show was cancelled, Cobra
Commander became very depressed. He's very hungry for the
spotlight, you know. Essentially, he'could take over the airwaves
whenever he wanted—and every channel at that. But that's not
the kind of thing that gets listed in TV Guide. With recording
artists selling hundreds of millions of albums each year, he came
up with this idea as an alternate way to reach the masses and
spread our message.
The on-again/off-again relationship between Destro and the
Baroness has always been an open secret at best. Are you two
still a couple? How is it different working together in a musical
20 June 2003
setting as opposed to a terrorist setting?
Stacy: It's the sexual tension that keeps people cor
more, so we can't reveal whether or not we are a i
time. We don't want it to get boring like Sam and Dia
or Joey and Dawson on Dawson's Creek. Since our r
nothing more than a vehicle for our terrorism,
ng back for
mple at this
e on Cheers,
jsic is really
lly not
that different than our old work atmosphere, except with n
Are you still in touch with the other members of Cobra, like
Zartan, Major Bludd, or Firefly? Have any of them tried to branch
out with their skills like you have?
Destro: We're still in touch with everyone. You have to understand
that Cobra is still in full effect. The organization is still running
and we are still working every day at our ultimate goal of world
domination. In fact, Major Bludd is one of our backup dancers. And
1 think Firefly tried out for American Idol, but Simon really tore
into him and so I think he's taking some singing lessons now. He's
the kind of guy that doesn't give up...
Stacy: Man, I love that Simon!
Do you respect any of the Gl joe team? If you do, who and why?
Destro: What's to respect about a bunch of sleazy pedophiles?
What if those were your kids playing near some fallen electrical
wires that were still live and sparking—and some burly 40 year-
old biker with a parrot on his shoulder started harassing them?
Hey, kids are mischievous. I'd rather have them get a little shock
and learn their lesson, instead of get groped by some weirdo.
Stacy: Well, 1 really have to say that I have a great respect for Lady
Jaye for singlehandedly bringing back the "femmullet." Oh wait,
that was David Bowie. Screw Jaye.
Global terrorism, over the last decade, has gotten a makeover as
it stepped away from uniforms and laser rifles to dirty bombs
and civilian casualties. Where does Cobra fit into the Bushs' New
World Order?
Stacy: Well, since we are trying to establish our own New World
Order it wouldn't really serve our purposes to fit into someone
else's New World Order. So we pretty much don't. Suffice it to
say that Dubya doesn't fit into our New World Order, except as an
attraction at the "people zoo."
Also, in the last decade, advertising has taken a step away from
the literal and focused on the emotional. When promoting a
"ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world,"
is that an advantage?
Destro: That "ruthless terrorist organization" stuff wasn't made
up by us. That's a TV network marketing team labeling us with
that. We like to call ourselves a group of "diabolical masterminds
hell-bent on destroying the world's current social structure." But to
answer your question—yes, it does help. Because generally, people
are unhappy and what we're trying to do is make the world a better
place.
Are you comfortable with the term "terrorist" anymore? If that's
not accurate, what would you prefer?
Stacy: Personally, I prefer to be called a terrorista. I like to get a little
girly when I'm bringing the terror.
I know that he was cloned from the genetic material of several
great world leaders, but let's face it—Serpentor sucked hard. Why
did you follow him?
Destro: I never liked the guy. 1 think he had an alcohol problem,
I'm not sure. You have to understand, it costs an absurd amount of
money to find and then rob the graves of history's most legendary
tyrants. Not to mention clone their DNA and then create another
human out of it. We wanted to get our money's worth, so we gave
him a chance.
Recently declassified documents revealed that the use of the
name "Springfield" in The Simpsons was a last-ditch attempt by
G.I.Joe to lessen the fear and respect inspired by your home-base.
Are there any psy-ops or black ops that you pulled on the Joes that
you have good memories of?
Destro: Hell yeah! It's a little known fact that in the '80s, Cobra
Commander posed nude for Playgirl. Unfortunately for the ladies,
the photo spread (and I do emphasize the word "spread") never got
published due to a disagreement over money. However, we did get
the film negatives because Commander is weird like that. Anyway,
it's a well known fact that the Joes love to play cards. We had all
these Cobra Commander nude playing cards manufactured, then
we secretly went in and replaced all of the Joes' regular decks with
them. The next day when they sat down to play Poker, things turned
ugly. There was mass confusion and anger at the Joe base, which
enabled us to kidnap a few of the world's most powerful leaders
with ease. A half-man/half-snake mutant in such compromising
positions sure can cause some damage...
What are the Killaz upcoming plans for the world?
Destro: After we take over the music industry, we'll have Lazer Gun
Rap on the radio 24/7. It will of course be full of subliminal messages
to join our organization, and our growing power will eventually lead
to us taking over the world. We will then destroy any semblance of
society that you're currently familiar with and re-build things our
own way. • EVERYTHING'S VINTAGE
TALKING RETRO KEYBOARDS WITH JEREMY
SCHMIDT OF SINOIA CAVES
Interview by Paul Loughlean. Illustration by Lori Kiessling
ff
Tired of electronica? Secretly like folk, but not the
folky kind? Prefer analog to digital? Jeremy Schmidt,
aka Sinoia Caves, reveals all the secrets behind those
spaced- out sounds in 1970s TV commercials while sitting
down in the most rural setting we could find to talk about his
album The Enchanter Persuaded and his mellotron (on loan to
John Medeski at this year's Jazz Fest—go see it!).
DiSCORDER: In your bio to the album, you write "file under
mbient/psych/synth/pastoral/no age" Are you more
connected to mu
ic that was made in the past
or to what
going on now?
Jeremy Schmidt:
dor
't feel 1 fit into any conter
nporary mus
community. 1 gue
ss 1
would have fit in
pretty
well with tr
early '70s Germa
cperimental rock
scene. 1
feel more c
an affinity with r
ock
music than electr
onic mi
sic, 1 guess.
consider what 1 do to
oe electronic musi
:—mere
ly because it
-bu
t I find most cor
music is very urb
an;
whereas I'm more
interes
ed in evokin
something very ru
rai-
-or outer space [la
jghs]... non-urban. 1"
not interested in i
rba
n imagery for this
stuff.
This album has a mix of song-oriented tracks and
soundscapes. What did you set out to do?
When I started making music alone, I was playing in bands, and
what I wanted to do on my own was make more soundscape
music, where I could put stuff together at home. I really
wanted to make this kind of music—soundscapes. I was really
into organs and synths and tone clusters, effects, drone-based
music. I really wanted to extrapolate on that interest. I wanted
to do long pieces with subtle harmonic changes but I also like
to aspire to write songs. While 1 want to do something that's
evocative of soundtrack music of the early '70s, I also like
bands like The Flaming Lips or The Byrds who write melodic
songs.
I mentioned that a couple of songs on the album reminded
me a little bit of Air, and that someone who is into Air
would probably also appreciate Sinoia Caves. But then I
was thinking that while you probably respect Air, you are
actually approaching music in a different way. Can you see
any comparisons at all?
I can see a little bit of a comparison, maybe—like embellishing
songs with old electronic sounds. I'd say that Air, is much more
song-oriented than 1 am. I don't really know how much music is
out there that's using vintage electronic sounds in the context
of songs with folk elements. Combine acoustic guitar with
synthesizers and people think of Air pretty quickly.
The vocal songs on your album are really folky—nice acoustic
Yeah, I really like what would be called psychedelic folk. I like
the combination of a stripped down acoustic guitar songwriting
method, combined with freaky, spacey synth sounds.
Everyone knows you are the vintage gear king of the
West Coast. What about the gear you used on this album?
Sometimes with space rock, they love to list every piece of
gear, right down to the pedals they used; did you think of
listing the gear used on your liner notes?
I thought about doing that. A lot of bands from the mid to late
'90s, when vintange synths were really de rigeur, were making
quite an effort to list all the vintage gear they used, but of
course they didn't list all the slick digital tools they used as well.
If they can use a moog for one little thing on the track, it gives
them a license to list it in the liner notes, and I'm aware of that,
and actually, when I look at liner notes, I kind of like looking at
the list of gear they used. Like when Air do it, they painstakingly
list everything they used on each song, and that's great,
because the instruments contribute greatly to the character of
the music; but, at the same time, I find it tedious when people
do that. Sometimes they're just doing it to be fashionable or
something, so in the end, I opted not to list them. But now that
you are asking me! [laughs] For just about everything I used
combo organs, like Farfisa, and Korg CX3, which is kind of like
an analog Hammond simulator from the late '70s. I really like
the churchy sounds of organ, and they're so conducive to drone.
I also use tape delay for everything—the only processor I used
on the album was tape echo. I used ARP synths a lot—also a
Mellotron, and Taurus 2 bass pedals which Moog built. And an
acoustic and electric guitar and a vocoder for the vocals.
You've got a lot of old gear; do you have anything new?
Actually, no, everything's vintage. Old instruments have a
resonance, personally, with me, like growing up hearing weird
synth sounds from a Halls commercial, or the soundtrack to Wild
Wild World of Animals: that's very much part of my subconscious
experience. A lot of the '70s electronic sound stuff is like
somebody conducting planets [laughs], or something from outer
space for me. It's like it didn't come from anywhere earthly. I've
always loved that.
Growing up, when did you decide to st;
yourself?
I guess my last year of high school and first year of art college,
1 started getting into stuff like the Jesus and Mary Chain and
Spacemen 3, and thought, "I could maybe learn to do this." I
was also into The Stooges and My Bloody Valentine, and from
there I rediscovered prog and synth music. And an interesting
thing was when I started acquiring gear, 1 discovered what the
instruments were that actually made those sounds that I heard
in commercials or albums I had. It's cool because the gear 1 use
is obsolete but still capable of making sounds that it has always
made.
If you had to get rid of all your gear and keep one thing what
would it be?
The mellotron. That's definitely a holy grail type possession for
And what's something you would love to have, but have never
found, or can't get?
A synth called a VCS3 or a synth E from a company in England
called EMS. I hear them on all my favourite records. Brian Eno
used one in Roxy Music and Tangerine Dream, in the early days,
used them—Pink Floyd as well. They were the first portable,
commercial modular synths.
Why don't you have one?
Well, they're quite rare. Somebody was
years ago, but changed his mind—but
I'd like to have a Theremin, too... •
21 DiSCORDER minnHEimHiii=
JUNE
under review
ALL SYSTEMS GO
Mon Chi Chi
(Aquarius)
Sometimes, when members of
well established bands move
on to form other bands, something worthwhile is created.
Take the Kinsella brothers—or
even Dave Grohl—for example.
On the other hand, attempts to
continue putting out quality
music can faii miserably. The
band All Systems Go, which
contains former members of
such bands as The Doughboys
and Big Drill Car, makes a valiant effort with the album Mon
Chi Chi, and almost achieves a
decent sound. But not quite.
Upon losing a member of
the band after their last album
release, the band recruited the
front man from Toronto's The
Carnations to play bass and
share singing and songwriting duties. Thomas D'Arcy's
contribution to the album is
quit
vident-
sound almost i
nt from the c
; his songs
irely differ-
acks.
of the
Jther
.ngi b
as if they should be on a punk
compilation. The cover art on
the album looks like that of
a punk compilation, and the
tracks are certainly the length
of typical punk compilation
songs. If this album were, in
fact, a punk compilation, it
wouid be a great success—
except for the fact that songs
like "Taking Up Space" and
"Fascination Unknown" sound
like Danko Jones without the
attitude, which, as I'm sure you
II agree, is not a good thing
this
all.
The one great aspect about
a i bun-
whelm
ing number of "bonus tracks"
tacked on. There are 24 songs
on Mon Chi Chi, and exactly
one half of them are bonus
tracks—mostly songs from
the band's 1999 release, All 1
Want. With 24 songs on one
album, there are bound to be
a couple of decent tunes, and
this is no exception. The two
songs that stand out as anything more than decent are
"Roll Your Eyes," a semi-mellow
song with a nice melody, and
"Motorbikes", which just has
a very catchy tune. Although
there is some evidence of
thoughtfulness that must have
gone into portions of the song-
riting and creation of this
album, the i
Ting t
on Mon Chi Chi do not stray far
from the familiarity of generic
pop rock.
Kimberley Day
A.R.E. WEAPONS
s/t
(Rough Trade)
This is like Grand Buffet open-
recorded media
ing for Wesley Willis: not as
monotonous, but funny only
in confusion—and you leave
wondering if you're annoyed
or amazed. A.R.E. Weapons
offers us industrial-ish, garage-
ish, video game punk rap
while bearing messages such
as "Don't be scared, be cool!"
in the opening track. I read a
review of the duo that mentions
"electro(ba)c(k)lash"—which is
brilliant! A.R.E. Weapons seem
to be a mockery of genre games
and they seem to include every
style possible in this album.
Some stand-out tracks
are "Strange Dust", which
offers spy movie hip hop, and
"Headbanger Face", which
features a spooky, Rammstein-
ish theme. "Street Gang" is
like freestyling while playing
Nintendo, while "Hey World"
ends the album with a cheesy,
New Wave, ballad-turned-stadium cheer song.
I'm not sure whether to
laugh or run madly around in
a circle until I fall down and
knock myself out while listening to this, but I'm sure both
THE BAPTIST GENERALS
No Silver/No Cold
(Sub Pop)
"Hey, little girl, 1 had a swell old
time..."
Awoke in Denton, Texas—
on a hardwood floor; a cup of
tea placed beside me. Then
music from out back... 1 think
I've been drugged. A cheap
aluminium garage door rattles
with the slow drums, and a
guitar tight in rhythm. I walk
barefoot on grass. Long day
summer sun, and my hair is
hung with sweat. Closer, close
enough now so that I hear a
voice. A creaking door of a
voice, something bent and broken in that voice.
Who are The Baptist
Generals? Why does the
American south frighten me so
much?—such deep roots and
bent ideals, and backwardness
meshed with some misappropriated sophisticate pretense.
A history almost profane and a
culture rooted in honour—but
defended with performance
and lies. All grand gestures and
drunken winks...
I fell asleep on my floor
listening to the gothic wail of
aimless speculation. I fell asleep
after I put on a record called No
Silver/No Gold by The Baptist
Generals, and slept in some
drunken fever. The recording
is a lo-fi garage masterpiece,
a sound wearied with alcohol
and shaky acoustics. A nervous
embrace of dark tension, all
centred—round the sickly bravado in Chris Flemmons' voice.
The lyrics sustain a moment
in the singer's confused inner
narrative, there is no attempt
to pretty up the poetics: it's all
honest and walking dirty. Like
picture frames hung empty
and nervous on the wall, they
can belie something more than
was meant. The emptiness
and convolution in the songs
is yours; all that eerie strumming just casts long shadows
you step in. I know this can't
sound pleasant, but the music
sounds of redemption. Not
quite hopeless, not yet the
moan and wail of some rickety
mad Texan. The album begins
with "Ay Distress"; a poignant
whisper of a refrain: "the way
you run your way is wrong/and
you miss the song your heart is
singing." Near the end of this
track it breaks down with the
ring of someone's cell phone,
a modern intrusion that ruins
a gentle gesture. Flemmons
in disgust crashes something
to the floor and, with it, any
sense of roots-driven irony.
The Baptist Generals are so
desperately honest it settles
you to the floor with a windy
midnight chill. What follows
after this wrenching moment
is again all yours—lost love,
dead children, late-night drunk,
beaten mothers... take it all on.
Wait until "Going Back Song"
and let it all drift like a hat in
some Texas zephyr.
Derek Sterling Boone
THE BLACK KEYS
Thickfreakness
(Fat Possum/Epitaph)
Hotel Desk Clerk: "Welcome to
the Down-And-Out Inn. What
can I do for you fellas?"
Black Keys: "We'd like a room,
please, but, er, thing is, see...
well, we don't have a lot of
money. We've been on tour
playing our broke-down blues
holler for people all over the
country, and we just hope
you can spare us a bed for the
night."
HDC: "Shee-ooot! If I had a
nickel for every time 1 heard
that story! We is pretty full
up right now as it is without
you folk. We got some shady
characters from Lee County
holed up in here. Tried talking
to 'em once—kept mumblin'
how they be immortal or some
nonsense—think they're in
trouble with the law or sumpin'.
Then we gots a couple of skinny
white boys all the way from
Motor City—call themselves
The Soledad Brothers—but
they don't look much alike to
me. Anyway, what makes you
think I'll take you in?"
BK: "Well, sir, we may look
young, but we've studied the
blues, and play it like we mean
it. I even took lessons from one
of the great delta blues masters, T-Model Ford."
HDC: "Well I'll be a monkey's
uncle! If you boys say you can
play, let's see ya sing for yer
supper!"
BK: "All right! Let's tear the
roof off!" [Plays some tunes
from new album.]
HDC: "Mercy! That boy's got
some voice! Sounds like he
been swingin' in jukejoints his
whole life! And that guitar has
done gone been possessed by
the devil hisself—it be smokin'!
Woo-ee! And that beat, baby, is
wild, I tell ya, crazy! Shakes the
shingles right off this ol' shack!
Lordy! All right, you boys have
proved yo'selves. You can stay
as long you need to... but do me
a favour, would ya?"
BK: "Sure, anything."
HDC: "If you see that young
couple stayin' in room 5B,
the ones wearing the red and
white get-ups, tell 'em if they
don't pay up by tonight, they're
gonna have my dirty bootprints
all across their backsides, 'nuff
said!"
Sryce Dunn
CUL DE SAC
Death of the Sun
(Strange Attractors Audio
House)
Together for nearly thirteen
years, Death of the Sun is the
first studio release by this electro-acoustic ensemble in four
years (last year's Immortality
Lessons was a live release).
Esoteric but listenable, Cul de
Sac's releases have always been
highly regarded, even if their
appeal is to that rather eccentric fringe which inhabits the
often difficult territory between
Dark, dreamy, at times with a
tinge of quiet psychedelic shading, Death of the Sun neither
falls into the emotionless, over-
intellectualized trap of modern
electro-acoustic art-music, nor
the plethora of ambient elec-
texture and rhythm than musicianship. Although the band
touts the Velvet Underground
and krautrock veterans Can
as some of their influences
(they toured with Can's Damo
Suzuki), I find they have more
in common with the work of
guitarist Michael Brook or Jim
O'Rourke.
Cul de Sac's leanings are
clearly towards the fidelity
of acoustic instrumentation,
but everything is augmented
and whispers, clicks and clacks,
buzzes, and layered, shifting
soundscapes. The band even
plays homemade instruments,
hunting horns, and toy pianos
as well as conventional guitars,
sitars, and standing basses.
New for the group is violinist
Jonathan LeMaster—usually i
:ello
violin
a ens
mble
like this is the kiss of death,
but on this album the mythology of those instruments is
never abused. Even my cat, an
unrepentant violin-hater, will
tolerate this recording.
James Boldt
CRADLE OF FILTH
Damnation and a Day
(Sony)
This newest concept album
from Cradle of Filth is pretty
much what one expects of the
British black-metal crew. A mix
of stunningly gorgeous orchestral and choral segments overlaid with hook-laden, grinding
metal guitars and drums,
and—unfortunately—grunting,
garbled vocals from Dani Filth.
Admittedly, my bias is
towards more melodic vocals,
but I have noticed that throughout CoF's evolution they have
added more melodic elements
into their music, and I think
it's time they made the vocals
match. Besides, the lyrics are
always so gorgeously poetic
and filled with intelligent commentary—it's a shame they
aren't more intelligible. But
that's me and my bias.
Damnation and a Day follows the story of the fall of
Lucifer. Lucifer goes about
messing around with humans,
falls in love with an angelic
woman named Faith (no transparency there), who then dies
and ascends to Heaven, leaving
Lucifer behind to be bitter and
to eternally pine for his lost
love—and his last chance at
redemption. I find it suspicious
that supposed Satanists like
Cradle of Filth rely so heavily on
Christian texts, and seem to be
working within (and believing
in) a Christian mythology. Then
again, CoF are pretty ambiguous in their writing, and Lucifer
is portrayed sympathetically:
maybe their intent is to rot the
mythology from the inside out.
It can be read either way.
So, with those quibbles out
of the way, on to the music. CoF
has brought in the whole range
of their influences—from black
metal to goth to classical and
operatic. There are even more
hooks on this CD than on
the last one, Midian, and the
orchestral and choral sections
are quite well developed, setting up the mood of a given
section of the CD perfectly.
These sections have a sweeping, cinematic feel—as though
they were actually soundtrack
music. The percussion is fast,
hard, and intricate—which
always gets my attention. Even
with my whining about the
grunting vocals, I thoroughly
enjoyed listening to Damnation
and a Day, particularly the
tracks "Better to Reign in Hell",
"Presents from the Poison-
Hearted", "Doberman Pharoah",
and "Babylon A.D." It seemed to
me the album got better and
better the further along it went,
but it could just be that by then
my ears had adjusted and
the lyrics were more geared
to Egyptian, Babylonian, and
Crowleyan topics—which 1 find
more palatable, anyway.
I'm looking forward to seeing in July how Cradle of Filth is
going to pull off this material
live—it should be a pretty damn
awesome show.
Vampyra Draculea ELECTROCUTE
A Tribute To Your Taste EP
(Emperor Norton Records)
This music is dirty. The debut
EP from Berlin's (transplanted)
Electrocute reeks of sex—and
in sweet juxtaposition to lyr-
lo'
for
daddies and candy-induced
sugar buzzes. American-born
Nicole Morier and Austrian Mia
Dime found each other—just
like true love—in the recesses
of a cafe, and only one week
before they began performing
album
feels
iris
feels like short skirts with no
panties and a bottle of gin in
your backpack. The fact that
Dime sometimes serenades in
German makes the whole trip
feel a little bit more out of con
trol
ling v
t she's
saying means she could be saying anything, and you almost
don't want to know what is
going on. All 1 know for sure is
that this music makes me want
to dance.
The cover art for this
album depicts bizarre bunny
sock puppets—in dresses and
buttless chaps with flowers in
pink hair. Set in a cityscape,
this image is exactly a hint of
what awaits once the album
cellophane is removed and
"Play" is pressed. There are
guitars in the sounds, but this
is not rock and roll. There are
beats, but this is not electronica. There are two girls,
but they are not naive (and
definitely not chaste). Take
these elements, fuck it up
Electroclash-style and you
may have a vague idea of the
musical and ideological irony
that awaits.
sweetcheyanne
EYES LIKE KNIVES
S/tEP
(Secret Fire Records)
According to the press release
which accompanied this
album—as well as some friends
of mine who would know-
Eyes Like Knives sounds like
Sonic Youth. I'm not usually
one to perpetuate the "if you
like this music, you'll love this
other music" cop-out method
of description, but I never really liked Sonic Youth, and I don't
much like Eyes Like Knives.
The sounds are heavy in
guitars—noisy, but disappointingly generic. Much is made
of the duel that is boy against
girl, there being both a girl and
a boy who sing and play guitar.
As for the creative tension that
is supposed to emerge between
them, all I can say is that I prefer her (Rebekka Takamizu)
over him (Scott Toomey), the
fern' vocals edifying what is
otherwise somewhat boring rock and roll. Listening to
Eyes Like Knives' remastered
and re-released debut (after
being put out independently,
initially—homemade packaging and all), it just couldn't
hold my attention. The best
part of the album is the last
track, a complete departure
from everything that precedes
it—a stripped-down, almost
haunting piano piece. And it
is probably not a good thing
when the best part of a rock
album occurs when the guitars
and drums fade away...
sweetcheyanne
IDLEWILD
The Remote Part
(Capitol)
Idlewild came highly recommended to me by an individual
whose tastes I often share, an
honourable man who, happening also to be one of my profs,
once gave me an A+ on an
essay I wrote about Muppets.
Despite this compelling
evidence of a keen aesthetic
sense on this individual's part,
I'm afraid I can't share his
enthusiasm for this band. First
of all, half the songs are just
no good—doughy samples of
half-baked pop punk, removed
from the oven prematurely; to
the band's credit (and other
long-term Idlewild fans have
assured me that past efforts of
this band merit at least some
credit now) this is perhaps a
hazard of being on a major
label like Capitol: the company
wants filler and the band must
obey.
Then the other songs
sound like mid-90's pop mush.
Not that they're bad pop mush:
a handful of tracks—"Modern
Way of Letting Go" and "I was
Made to Think It" really stuck
out—really do deliver the quality bounce.
Donovan
THE KILLS
Keep on Your Mean Side
(Rough Trade)
I can't believe that The Kills'
singer, Alison—1 mean "VV"
(vroom vroom!)—used to sing
for Discount! Happy poppiness
has been exchanged for pouty,
breathy grit with support
from "Hotel." The Kills may
be a band of one guy and one
girl, with ($2) guitars, a drum
machine, and such, but they
are in no way associated with
red and white striped novelties.
Well, except for that guitar of
Hotel's... This is bluesy, pulsing,
raw, crunch rawk. 1 can chill to
this but I can also imagine The
Kills rocking out live.
Natalie Vermeer
MISS KITTEN
Radio Caroline, Volume 1
(Emperor Norton Records)
Caroline Herve—better known
as Miss Kitten—has forged
herself quite a reputation as a
club DJ. However, she is mostly
known for her collaborations
with The Hacker and Felix
the Housecat—in which her
wry, deadpan vocals give a
fun, Euro-Disco/Trash edge to
the music. On Radio Caroline
(named after the famous pirate
radio station), Miss Kitten has
compiled her favorite tunes
by some well-known artists
like Autechre, Panasonic, and
Conrad Black, as well as lesser
known ones such as Der Zyklus
and Walking Endustries
Stylistically, the tunes range
from dreamy techno to a mild-
ish dub to more upbeat raver
Herve, in her classic deadpan way, offers her observations on life as the thread
that binds the selected music
together. This, unfortunately,
ends up being the CD's weakest element. Her running
commentary becomes quite
annoying after repeated listening and reveals itself as inaneiy
self-indulgent, disrupting the
flo\
of the
Overall, the first half of the
CD is at best average; luckily,
the quality picks up towards
the end.
"Mushrooms", by Noosa
Heads, is OK, recounting a
drug-induced dream (it can't
hold water to "Z.N.S." by
Einsturzende Neubauten,
recorded many years earlier,
whose take on that state of
nuch r
;che Modelle'
ing). "Mathen
and "Hippies in da Houze"
are pretty decent little pieces
of minimalist electronica.
Kinesthesia's "Flicklife" is a
cool, downtempo number that
is reminiscent of the sound of
local label Upstairs Recordings.
The best track is "Makee", performed by Walking Endustries.
With heavy doses of sampled
film noir movie dialogue, this
slinky number is awesome and
perhaps the only reason to get
this otherwise mediocre CD.
pes
MARILYN MANSON
The Golden Age of Grotesque
(Nothing/Interscope)
I've been eagerly awaiting this
it was originally supposed to
come out (usual record company bullshit), and it's well
worth the wait.
The last album completed
a backwards trilogy, and so
Marilyn Manson has now gone
off in new musical directions
his overall vision. This new CD
has an experimental, exploratory feel to it.
For this album, Manson
was inspired by the Weimar
Republic—the period of ultimate decadence in Germany
after the end of World War 1
and before the Nazis came to
power. The album mixes this
dichotomy together well, playing with fascist (especially in
the visuals and videos) and
burlesque imagery. (No doubt
this is partially inspired by
Manson's relationship with
burlesque dancer Dita von
Teese.) Other influences are
the subculture of dandyism in
Britain during the same period—the wealthy young men of
the era with nothing to occupy
their time but looking good
and being social butterflies
and dilettantes—and Dadaism,
the art movement of the teens
and 20s that advocated going
with instincts and just painting what came to you, even if
it made no sense—eventually
growing into a movement of
"nonsense art" for the sake
of reaching a purer artistic
expression that often incorporated childish or ridiculous
motives. Manson changes his
persona slightly every album,
and in keeping with these
themes central to the new
paradigm of The Golden Age of
Grotesque, his new identity is
the Arch Dandy of Dada.
On
the
while retaining that distinctive
Marilyn Manson timbre and
feel—and the expected air of
defia
-thei
and more energetic feel to
most of this album—as if in
the writing of the new material
he was rediscovering the joy of
playing around with music and
just seeing where the experiments took him. It has a fresh
yet timeless quality to it, and
I think this is his best album
yet. There are lots of catchy
grooves and the usual hooks
based on word-play; listening
to it is great, but it's even better to listen while reading the
lyrics pages because the spelling changes, new compound
words, and double entendres
do matter to interpretation.
As for a favorite track, too
soon to tell—I like them all.
But even at this early stage
some are starting to shine
more than the others. My current favorites are "sAINT" and
"Use Your Fist and Not Your
Mouth"—but i'm sure I'll have a
different new one every week.
It's all great, and I suspect this
disc may well outsell even
Mechanical Animals as more
singles are released. At least
six of the 15 tracks here have
real hit potential.
Commercial radio is about
to greatly improve over the
next few months if I'm right.
Vampyra Draculea
RANDY
Welfare Problems
(Burning Heart/Epitaph)
I used to know this kid in high
school named Randy; he was a
smart guy with a habit for pulling pranks—like the time he
pulled down the shorts of this
other kid while he was rope-
climbing in gym class—man,
that was funny! Or the time he
replaced a dribble glass for a
coffee cup, and our social studies teacher spilled it all over
his pants... Good times, good
times. Or there was that other
time when... Oh, wait—you
mean I'm supposed to write
about the band Randy? Well
why didn't ya say so?
Imagine the brattier cousin
of The Hives messin' with all
them books and manifestos
and political mumbo jumbo
of The (International) Noise
Conspiracy, and you got yourselves four Swedes who can
write a catchy punk song and
still deliver a message, which is
more than I can say about my
friend Randy—he was still pulling stuff like he was doing in
high school all through college
and even after. What a dork.
Bryce Dunn
LUCINDA WILLIAMS
World Without Tears
(Lost Highway)
They are all going to leave you,
and truth is you will never hold
onto them. Leftover memories
of sweet days leave a bitter
trace on the inside of my lips.
only say the same things over
and over again, I'll understand
eventually—I'll never fucking
understand. Lucinda, 1 miss
her. If you see her—let her
know.
Monday morning—drink
drank coffee. Thick smoke just
hides these tears, and brings
fear. Let it fill my lungs, and
then speak in tongues. So I see
you out the door constantly.
How did I lose your eyes?; the
photographs turn inside. The
way you would light a smoke
with that tortured glare. When
all we had were bad jokes—and
caught together sweaty,
speechless kiss. I know it seems
distant, but I can still taste
you, and oh sweet lord this still
haunts me. High priests and
doctors sullen in confusion;
they will never see the way, to
cast all this away. Lately, my
words have betrayed and now
So Lucinda, I got your album
and a bag of dope—drink on my
nights out and refuse the girls
that take my eyes. I sit on the
floor with my dog, crying—listening to your voice. Pregnant
pauses give birth to white
noise, and the rushing vertigo
of a still scene. Then music, oh,
what damn transcendent
music. So much sweet guitar
and travelled dry voice. Guess
what, darling? You don't know
me, and I don't know you, but
let's try it once more. We need
to feed a late night. A sweet
smile mystery, where a piano
will play from across the hall. I
can't believe how beautiful you
are—I just lay on the floor and
watch you on the ceiling. And
you smiie, then begin to sing
with a not of laughter. So let
me try, try, try... I remember
that late night back alley kiss.
Lovesick, in the cinema of my
rotten brain I replay that kiss,
let it slow down and, in every
moment, watch your closed
eyes and your lips as they took
mine. In a back alley with such
glamorous cinematic beauty,
and Lucinda you know this is all
for her and not you.
To everyone—all those you
love will leave silently at night.
Let them go, maybe find them
again on a perfect Monday
morning. So for those brokenhearted, go and find Lucinda.
Walk down your street, any
street—buy a bottle and a
pack of smokes. Fuck the World
Without Tears; let the struggle
turn all my sorrow into long
nights of sleepy dancing. Come
on now, sensitive children, and
let her hear you whistle. Put
this album on the hi-fi, and let
Lucinda tell you that eventually
everyone gets fucked over. So
suffer away with her, and then
give the album to the one who
left you.
Derek Sterling Boone •
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DIVISION OF VITAMIN A INDUSTRIES, INC.
JOHNNY MARR
AND THE HEALERS
PALO ALTO
Thursday, May 1
Richard's on Richards
I'm not quite sure how 1 ended
up at this show, but being mysteriously given a media pass
was one of the best chance
happenings of my week. Not
having heard either Palo Alto or
Johnny Marr's solo music before,
I was able to enter the club with
a clear, unbiased mind and a
willingness to absorb whatever
I possibly could.
Palo Alto's performance
was fantastic. The melodic
rock music and loud, wailing
vocal harmonies left the crowd
silently gazing at the band from
California with sincere admiration. The sound was reminiscent
of U2 back in the days when
they were first getting their act
together and creating powerful,
Technical difficulties interfered with the first few songs of
Johnny Marr and the Healers' set,
but the former Smiths guitarist,
along with three recruits including Kula Shaker bassist Alonza
Bevan, did not let his constantly
deteriorating set of earbuds keep
him from pleasing his long time
fans, or at least attempting to.
Once the four musicians were
able to begin playing smoothly,
it was evident that Johnny Marr's
solo project was not quite up to
the standards of many Smiths
fans, but rather delightful to fans
of the more recent work of fellow UK band, Oasis. As a closet
Oasis fan (there goes my secret),
this was not necessarily a bad
thing, and the crowd at Richard's
on Richards did not seem to be
the least bit disappointed.
KimberleyDay
THE RAPTURE
HINT HINT
Sonar
Saturday, May 10
There are bands that put style
before substance, and then there
are bands that are so creatively,
intellectually, and emotionally
bankrupt that you feel angry and
a little ill knowing that they got
some portion of your ticket
money. Hint Hint are unfortunately such a band. I had the
displeasure of seeing them open
up for Les Savy Fav in January,
at which point they were only
unremarkable latecomers to the
dance-punk bandwagon. Now
they've evolved into an efficient corpse-fucking machine,
shamelessly aping both the
past and their contemporaries,
and once again they're opening
up for an original, cutting-edge
band that does everything right
that they do wrong. Like fellow
New Yorkers Les Savy Fav, The
Rapture have been working for
years to push the boundaries of
modern and artistically ambitious punk rock while remaining
totally conscious of the value of
live music reviews
pure danceability. Having been a
long-time fan, I was initially leery
of the steamroller of hype that's
accompanied their collaboration
with shit-hot production duo the
DFA (in case you've been living
under a rock, the Rapture's been
featured in pretty much every
American and UK music magazine over the last year), the first
crossover dancefloor hit "House
of Jealous Lovers." Their new
sound leans heavily towards the
rhythms and sounds of house
music, and interviews have them
referencing Primal Scream
and The Happy Mondays as
new influences, but within the
first few songs of their set, it
was apparent that they haven't
abandoned the desperate, messy
noise that attracted me to their
oEPs.
They kicked off with a
muddy version of "Notes" and
slogged through another tune
before stopping to shout a few
things at the soundman. After
some technical problems were
fixed, they dove into a rave-
up rendition of the title track
from their Out of the Races and
Onto the Tracks EP, a driving,
nervy rocker that started the
crowd dancing. They thrashed
enthusiastically through a few
more old songs, demonstrating all their fabled strengths:
Vitto Roccoforte's impeccably
tight snare-and-hi-hat-focused
drumming, Matty Safer's jumpy,
propulsive bass lines, and Luke
Jenner's impossible falsetto (the
Robert Smith comparisons don't
do him justice). Jaws dropped
halfway through the set, however, as puzzled indie rockers
watched Vitto leave his drum
kit and head for a drum machine
as the Rapture launched into
their new material with "Olio"
and "Sister Saviour," off their
forthcoming album. Rubbery,
pulsating synths echoed the past
sounds of Chicago house music
rather than the new wave reviv-
alisms we've become used to,
and they collided with slashing,
minimal guitar and a stomping
four-on-the-floor. This fusion
seemed to confuse the audience
and the dancing was temporarily relegated to a few hardcore
fans. Disorientation peaked with
"I Need Your Love", the band's
most overtly house-y tune. The
hook was Luke's stunning vocal
range, however, and skeptics
were soon won over by the aching warble of his upper register.
The band morphed that song
into an improv noise-breakdown
that exploded without warning
into "House of Jealous Lovers",
at which point everyone in the
house lost their shit at once and,
to my slack-jawed amazement,
a full-on mosh pit broke out at
Sonar. The Rapture left the stage
amidst hoarse and sweaty shouts
and applause, and returned
quickly to play "Heaven" and
finish with a couple more new
numbers. They managed to live
up to their namesake and deliver
on the promise made by a heavy
burden of hype, and, if some of
the most enthusiastic dancing
I've ever seen from Vancouver
ther
weren't many leaving disappointed,
saelan
COLDPLAY
THE MUSIC
ISLEY
Friday, May 23
Pontiac Theatre (GM Place)
What's this, mainstream in
DiSCORDER? Read on, fair reader. Forget the mass amounts of
money, forget the screaming
14-year old girls (there aren't
as many as you'd think), forget
your friend that would laugh if
he knew you liked one of these
bands. Maybe, just maybe, the
kids are on to something.
Opening in a packed theatre
(it looked a lot more like a stadium then a theatre) was Isley,
a charming group from Texas. I
had to feel a bit sorry for them.
They had talent and their songs
were pleasant enough to make
me consider getting the EP, yet
,as they had four young blond
girls as their vocalists, guitarists
and keyboardist, every few minutes the air was pierced by some
drunken male comment or not-
so modest proposal.
Following Isley was The
Music. Now, I'd never seen them
before. Whenever I'd see their
music video I'd quickly change
the channel, assuming they
were the same unoriginal shit
you always see on MuchMusic. I
didn't expect to be knocked off
my smug, indie-lovin' pedestal.
How to describe them? Think
of vocals with a striking resemblance to Robert Plant's, or a
riff-heavy, almost psychedelic
Chemical Brothers. These guys
were born to perform in arenas.
Robert Harvey, lead singer and
guitarist, blew me away. And
he's quite the dancer. In fact, he
inspired me with a gripping urge
to stand up and break dance (not
that 1 have a clue as to how),
but I realized I'd be the only one
besides the few awkward hippies. In fact, they were one of
the best live acts I've ever seen,
unmarred by the dead crowd
(who were obviously mainly
there for Coldplay.)
Finally, Coldplay.
Earlier in the day I was fortunate
to be one of 12 permitted past the
burly British security guards and
into the empty stadium, into the
grail of the music fan, the sound
check. Damn, they are genuinely
endowed with some sweet skills.
This was confirmed at the actual
show. Sometimes I didn't even
mind the 30-something year
old woman in front of me that
danced like Elaine on Seinfeld,
waving her hands in my view.
Even if you don't like
Coldplay's music, you have to respect their efforts to support
the Fair Trade campaign, with
handouts, signs, pamphlets,
petitions, and videos that would
warm or guilt-rid even the darkest of exploitative capitalists. And
you have to respect the energy,
effort and heart these guys put
into their music. Don't dismiss
that as a cheesy comment, it
holds true for them more than a
lot of bands out there.
The highlight of my evening
was hearing Chris Martin dedicate a song to the infamous Billy
(a friend of Martin's I met earlier
in the day), reminiscing of the
days when it would "take 40 gigs
to get thismany people to come
to our shows." Coldplay ultimately is an indie success story. They
were four poor, ignored guys a
long time before they became a
record company's wet dream.
At the end of the night 1
left with mine eyes dazzled by
a stunning light show, my ears
ringing, my throat a little sore,
my wallet a little lighter, and an
overall tingling of content.
Parmida Zarinkamar
MY MORNING JACKET
DETACHMENT KIT
Friday, May 23
Richard's on Richards
To continue the tradition of
rushed Friday night shows at
Richard's on Richards, the opening act for this New Music West
show, Detachment Kit, was
already playing as the doors were
finally opened (late, of course).
Aside from a couple of photographers up by the stage, the
venue seemed virtually empty.
This didn't keep Detachment Kit
from playing a great set, how
ever; the four-piece band from
Chicago was able to impress
the unfamiliar crowd with their
strong vocals and appropriate
balance of loud music and emotional vocals.
To the dismay of several,
the next band to come on stage
was not Burning Brides, as they
had been abandoned somewhere
along the trek to Vancouver.
Instead, My Morning Jacket
jumped on stage in no time at all,
and immediately erased whatever disappointment the crowd
may have had from the lack of
a second opening band. Now, if
you've ever seen a band like, for
example, Victoria's Hot Hot Heat,
live and thought, "Man!, these
guys have huge hair'.W", well,
wait until you see My Morning
Jacket. Not only do these guys
have the largest hair-per-capita
ratio since ZZ Top, but, unlike
certain other big-haired bands,
the styles are real and the live
music is amazing.
My Morning Jacket played
an hour of beautiful songs, highlighted by "Bermuda Highway,"
obviously a crowd favourite. The
levels and sound during their set
were absolutely perfect, a shoeless Johnny Quaid's vocals were
strong, and the show ended up
going very smoothly despite the
rushed start. Listening to the
guys from My Morning Jacket up
there on stage playing such great
music with their faces entirely
covered by giant manes of hair
(except for the short-haired keyboardist who can only be asked
one question: "what are you
thinking?") has made me never
want to wear shoes, ever again.
KimberleyDay
If you had a guitar stuck up your arse, you'd thrash about, too. (My Morning Jacket,
Richard s.) Photo by Kimberley Day
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Collectively owned and operated. For more information on the sounds and ideas we put into the fucking
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Wednesday 4th...Red Cat Records Night with guests Magic Ass
Thursday 5th...Folk/Pop with The Honey Brown Band
Friday 6th...Pete Campbell and His So Called Friends with Rodney DecRoo
Saturday 7th..The Bumettes with Amy Honey
Thursday 12th... Slide Guitar & Blues Harp with Scott Smith and Victor Polyik
Friday 13th..RockabilIy, Surf and Country with Eldorado
Saturday 14th...Airhorn Protocol CD Release/Launch/Fareweli
Thursday19th...An evening with Doug Bennet (Doug and The Slugs)
Friday 20th... Local Ait-Country Faves Bottleneck
Saturday 21st. Ali the way from Winnipeg, Nathan & Greg McPherson (G7)
Thursday.. 26th...Astray Boy with Guests
Friday 27th..Ranchfest Preview w/ Tennesee Twin and Andrew Burden
Saturday 28th..Locai Hip-Hop with Teach Your Own and Glenn Garinther
4210 Main St. Vancouver BC 604 709 8555
cover charge is a measly3- 5 bucks, why not support local music?
Red Cat
Records
p^Vinyl * T Shirte * Panfips
ph. 708 9422 * email buddysredeaiea cliartA
what's being played at CiTR 101.9f
June Long Vinyl
June Short Vinyl
June Charts 20 Years Back
1 New Pornies
2 Set Fire To Flames
3 Gossip
4 v/a
5 Turbonegro
6 Kinnie Starr
7 Tim Hecker
8 Erik Truffaz
9 Burquitlam Plaza
10 Be Good Tanyas
11 Skinjobs
12 STREETS
13 RJD2
14 Hot Hot Heat
15 Starlight Mints
16 Flaming Sideburns
17 Chains
18 JWAB
19 Goldfrapp
20 White Stripes
21 Speed To Kill
22 Subarachnoid...
23 Bitchin' Cameros
24 Red Snapper
25 Yo La Tengo
26 Martin Gore
27 Boy
28 Northern Chorus
29 Stinkmitt
30 Ikara Colt
31 The Dears
32 The User
33 Mouse on Mars
34 Cat Power
35 The Buzzcocks
Electric Version Mint
Telegraphs In Negative Alien8
Movement Kill Rock Stars
Merzbow: Remixed Important
Scandinavian Leather Epitaph
Sun Again Violet Inch
Radio Amor Mille Plateaux
Walk of the Giant
Big on Fall
Chinatown
Burn Your Rainbow
Bo Bo Gnar Gnar
The Horror
Scenes 1-13
Built On Squares
Sky Pilots
On Top of Things
Pyrokinesis
Black Cherry
Elephant
s/t
Also Rising
s/t
s/t
Summer Sun
Counterfeit 2
s/t
Spirit Flags
Smell The Mitt
Basic Instructions EP
No Cities Left
Symphony #2
Glam
You Are Free
s/t
Blue Note
Hive-Fi
Nettwerk
Agitprop
Global Symp.
Defjux
Ohev
Pias
Jet Set
Get Hip
Global Symp.
Mute
V2
Indie
Strange Attractors
Indie
Lo
Matador
Reprise
Indie
Sonic Unyon
Indie
Epitaph
Maple Music
Asphodel
Thrill Jockey
Matador
Merge
1 Gentlemen of Horror
2 Frog Eyes/JWAB
3 Destroyer
4 New Town Animals
5 The Spitfires
6 Kevin Blechdom
7 The Lollies
8 Kung Fu Killers
9 Cato Salsa Exp.
10 Get Hustle
11 Chromatics/Monitor
12 The Evaporators
13 Gene Defcon
14 Mirah
15 The Riffs
16 The Agenda
17 v/a
18 Rag Boosters
19 Veal
20 The Cheats
Independent
Global Symp.
Independent
Dirtnap
Glazed
Four States Fair
Evil World
TKO
5 Song 45
Split
5 Song 45
Fashion Fallout
Jukebox High
Jelly Donuts
Channel Heaven
s/t
Picture Disc Emperor Norton
Who Do You Love? Gravity Scat
Split GSL
Honk The Horn Nardwuar
Baby Hallelujah Modern Radio
Small Scale k
Such a Bore TKO
Are You Nervous? Kindercore
Modern Radio Modern Radio
Side Tracked ZVA
I Hate Your Lipstick Six Shooter
Save Yourself Longshot
1 Shriekback Care
2 Spear of Destiny Grapes of Wrath
3 The Undertones The Sin of Pride
4 The Members Uprhythm, Downbeat
5 Gun Club Death Party EP
6 Phil Smith The Phil Smith Album
7 Dead Kennedys Plastic Surgery Disasters
8 Eddie Grant Killer on the Rampage
9 The Birthday Party The Bad Seed EP
10 Rip Rig and Panic Attitude
11 Ramones Subterranean Jungle
12 New Order Power, Corruption and Lies
13 Echo and The Bunnymen Porcupine
14 Black Uhui
15 v/a
16 The Stranglers
17 The Violent Femmes
18 Tears For Fears
19 U2
20 The Blasters
The Dub Factor
Pillows and Prayers
Feline
s/t
The Hurting
War
Non-Fiction
c
HOW THE CHARTS WORKJ
The monthly charts are compiled based on the number of times a CD/
LP ("long vinyl"), 7" ("short vinyl"), or demo tape/CD ("indie home
jobs") on CiTR's playlist was played by our DJs during the previous
month (i.e., "June" charts reflect airplay over May). Weekly charts can
be received via email. Send mail to "majordomo@unixg.ubc.ca" with
the command: "subscribe citr-charts." •
27T>iSCORDER OM
tUc: dial
IIIIBIIIIIBHHal
SUNDAY
ARE YOU SERIOUS? MUSIC
9:00AM- 12:00PM All of time
is measured by its art. This show
presents the most recent new
music from around the world.
Ears open.
THE ROCKERS SHOW
12:00PM-3:00PM Reggae
inna all styles and fashion.
BLOOD ON THE SADDLE
3:00PM-5:00PM Reakowshit-
caught-in-yer-boots country.
CHIPS WITH EVERYTHING alt.
5:00PM-6:00PM British pop
music from all decades.
SAINT TROPEZ alt. 5:00PM-
6:00PM International pop
(Japanese, French, Swedish,
British, US, etc.), '60s soundtracks
and lounge. Book your jet set
holiday now!
QUEER FM 6:00PM-8:00PM
Dedicated to the gay, lesbian,
bisexual, and transsexual communities of Vancouver. Lots of human
interest features, background on
RHYTHMSINDIA 8:00PM-
10:00PM Rhylhmslndia features
a wide range of music from India,
including popular music from
Indian movies from the 1930s
to the present, classical music,
Ghazals and Bhajans, and also
Qawwalis, pop and regional
language numbers.
TRANCENDANCE 10:00PM-
12:00AM Join us in practicing
the ancient art of rising above common thought and ideas as your
host DJ Smiley Mike lays down
the latest trance cuts to propel
us into the domain of the mystic-
aktrancendance@hotmail.com>
THE SHOW 12:O0AM-2:O0AM
ANTELOPE FREEWAY 2:00AM-
6:00AM The Freeway Beckons!
Offering new vistas, exotic folk,
and old memories. With your host
Ian at the wheel. Four hours of
aged LP pleasure. Five stars all!
MONDAY
BBC WORLD SERVICE 6:00AM-
8:00AM
BREAKFAST WITH THE BROWNS
8:00AM-11:00AM Your favou-
rite brown-sters, James and Peter,
offer a savoury blend of the
familiar and exotic in a blend of
aural delights!
LOCAL KIDS MAKE GOOD alt.
11:00AM-1:00PM Local Mike
and Local Dave bring you local
music of all sorts. The program
most likely to play your band!
TANZEN IM 4-EK alt.
11:00AM-1:00PM Hopefully
happy music to get us through
these rough summer months.
Proof that Germans make more
than scary industrial music, too.
PARTS UNKNOWN 1:00PM-
3:00PM Underground pop for
the minuses with the occasional
interview with your host, Chris.
SANDBOX THEATRE 3:00PM-
4:00PM A show of radio drama
orchestrated and hosted by UBC
students, featuring independent
works from local, national, and
international theatre groups.
We welcome your involvement.
<sandboxtheatre@hotmail.com>
ABSOLUTE BEGINNERS 4:00PM-
5:00PM A chance for new CiTR
DJs
flex thei,
Surprises galore.
WENER'S BARBEQUE 5:00PM-
6:00PM Join the sports dept. for
their coverage of the T-Birds.
CRASH THE POSE alt. 6:00PM-
7:30PM Hardcore/punk as
fuck from beyond the grave.
SOLARIZATION (on hiatus) alt.
6:00PM-6:30PM Current
affairs with an edge. Kenneth
Chan exposes issues that truly
matter. None of that mainstream
crap. Anybody say controversy?
Email: <solarization@radio.fm>
MY ASS alt. 6:30PM-7:30PM
Phelps, Albini, V me.
WIGFLUX RADIO 7:30PM-
9:00PM Listen to Selecta
Krystabelle for your reggae
education.
THE JAZZ SHOW 9:00PM-
12:00AM Vancouver's longest
running prime time jazz program.
Hosted by the ever-suave Gavin
Walker. Features at 1 1.
June 2: Conflict is one of the most
powerful jazz statements of the
'60s. Little known and forgotten
alto saxophonist/composer Jimmy
Woods leads this mighty ensemble that includes Andrew Hill
(piano), Elvin Jones (drums),
Harold Land (tenor saxophone),
and others.
June 9: The whole program will be
devoted to this year's Jazz Festival
with Gavin's guest, festival media
director John Orysik.
June 16: Saxophonist/composer
and jazz magician Wayne
Shorter with the same band he'll
be playing with at this year's jazz
festival. Footprints Live.
June 23: Newly discovered, a live
performance by a swinging edition of pianist/composer/band
leader Stan Kenton's orchestra at
the Newport Jazz Festival.
June 30: Drummer Dave Bailey
leads a fine group that includes
guitar great Grant Green and
also features legendary tenor
saxophonist Frank Haynes in one
of his few recordings. Reaching
Out.
VENGEANCE IS MINE 12:00AM-
3:00AM Hosted by Trevor. It's
punk rock, baby! Gone from the
charts but not from our hearts—
thank fucking Christ.
PSYCHEDELIC AIRWAVES 3:00AM-
&30AM DJ Christopher Schmidt
also hosts Organix at Club 23
(23 West Cordova) every Friday.
TUESDAY
PACIFIC PICKIN' 6:30AM-
8:00AM Bluegrass, old-time
music, and its derivatives with
Arthur and "The Lovely Andrea"
Berman.
HIGHBRED VOICES 8:00AM-
9:30AM
THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM
9:30AM-11:30AM Open your
ears and prepare for a shock! A
harmless note may make you a
fan! Hear the menacing scourge
that is Rock and Roll! Deadlier
than the most dangerous criminal! '
<borninsixtynine@hotmail.com>
. > Sunday
Monday
TUESDAY
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
Saturday
6*m
:l
:i
n
12pm
7
8
9
10
11
l 12pm
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12am|
1
2
3
4
5
REGGAE LINKUP
ARE YOU
SERIOUS?
MUSIC
K
ROCKERS
SHOW
BLOOD ON THE L
SADDLE
I Po I SAINT I P~
I TROPEZ I
BBC WORLD SERVICE
BREAKFAST
WITH
THE BROWNS
El
LOCAL
KIDS MAKE
GOOD
K-
PARTS L
UNKNOWN
SANDBOX THEATRE(TK)
ABSOLUTE BEGINNERS
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PACIFIC PICKIN'
HIGHBRED VOICES L-
THIRD TIMES
THE CHARM
IE
CIRCUIT TRACING
MEAT EATING VEGAN(Ec)
BBC WORLD SERVICE
SUBURBAN JUNGLE
FOOL'S PARADISE L
EXQUISITE CORPSE
THE SHAKE Ifi
THE DIM SUM SHOW
E
MOTORDADDY/
RUMBLETONE RADIO
RACHEL'S E
SONG
BBC WORLD
SERVICE
END OF THE
WORLD NEWS
PLANET E
LOVETRON
RHYMES &
REASONS
BBC WORLD
SERVICE
CAUGHT IN
THE RED
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BBC WORLD
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ANNIHILATION
POWERCHORD
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10,000 VOICES (Tk)
QUEER FM
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RHYTHMSINDIA
WIGFLUX RADIO
TRANCENDANCE
THE
JAZZ
SHOW
TZ
SALARIO MINIMO
BLUE
MONDAY
(Gl)
OUT FOR KICKS
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CITR NEWS AND
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ELECTROLUX HOUR
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THUNDERBIRD HELL
TK
AFRICAN
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VENGEANCE
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HANS KLOSS'
MISERY HOUR
WORLD HEAT
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PLUTONIAN
NIGHTS
T*
ANTELOPE
FREEWAY
AURAL
TENTACLES
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PSYCHEDELIC
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Hk= Hans Klos
Cf= conscious and funky • Ch= children's • Dc= dance/electronic • Ec= eclectic • Fr= french language • Gi= goth/industrial • Hc= hardcore • Hh= hip
Hk= Hans Kloss • Ki=Kids • Jz= jazz • Lm= live music • Lo= lounge • Mt= metal • No= noise • Nw= Nardwuar • Po= pop • Pu= punk
Rq=reqgae • Rr- rock » Rts= roots * Sk = ska »So= soul • Sp= sports » Tk= talk • Wo= world THE NORTHERN WISH alt.
11:30AM- 1:00PM
FILL-IN 11:30AM-12:30PM
REEL TO REAL alt 12:30PM-
1:00PM Movie reviews and
BEATUP RONIN 1:00PM-2:0OPM
Where dead samurai can pro-
CIRCUfT TRACING 2:00PM-3:30PM
EN AVANT LA MUSIQUE
ALT. 3:30PM-4:30PM
ELECTRIC AVENUES alt. 3:30PM-
4:30PM Last Tuesday of every
month, hosted by The Richmond
Society For Community Living.
A variety music and spoken
word program with a focus on
people with special needs and
THE MEAT-EATING VEGAN
4:30PM-5:00PM
10,000 VOICES 5:00PM-
6:00PM Poetry, spoken word,
FLEX YOUR HEAD 6:00PM-
8:00PM Up the punx, down the
emo! Keepin' it real since 1989,
yo.
hrrp://flexyourhead.vancouverhar
dcore.com/
SALARIO MINIMO 8:00PM-
10:00PM
THE LOVE DEN alt. 10:00PM-
12:00 AM
<loveden@hotmail.com>
SSCAPISM alt. 10:00PM-
12.00AM
es'cap'ism n: escape from the
reality or routine of life by absorb-
fantasy. Host: DJ Satyricon.
<DJSatyricon@hotmail.com>
AURAL TENTACLES 12:00AM-
6:00AM It could be punk,
ethno, global, trance, spoken
word, rock, the unusual and the
weird, or it could be something
different. Hosted by DJ Pierre.
WEDNESDAY
BBC WORLD SERVICE 6:00AM-
7:00 AM
THE SUBURBAN JUNGLE
7:00AM-9:00AM Bringing you
an entertaining and eclectic mix
of new and old music live from
the Jungle Room with your irreverent hosts Jack Velvet and Nick
The Greek. R&B, disco, techno,
soundtracks, Americana, Latin
jazz, news, and gossip. A real
gem! <suburbanjungle@channel8
FOOL'S PARADISE 9:00AM-
10:00AM Japanese music and
talk.
EXQUISITE CORPSE 10:00AM-
11:30 AM
ANOIZE 11:30AM-
1:00PM Luke Meat irritates and
educates through musical deconstruction. Recommended for the
THE SHAKE 1:00PM-2:00PM
THE DIM SUM SHOW alt.
2:00PM-3:00PM The theme is:
there is no theme! Kat and Claire
push around trolleys of alt-pop,
alt-country, Canadian indie,
electroclash and other delicious
morsels.
MOTORDADDY alt. 3:00PM-
5:00PM Cycle-riffic rawk and
roll I
RUMBLETONE RADIO alt.
3:00PM-5:00PM Primitive,
fuzzed-out garage mayhem I
RACHEL'S SONG 5:00PM-
6:30PM Sociopolitical, environmental activist news and spoken
word with some music, too.
www, n9C8»qryVQic8s,Qrg
AND SOMETIMES WHY alt.
6:30PM-8:00PM
(First Wednesday of every month.)
BLUE MONDAY alt. 6:30PM-
8:00PM Vancouver's only indus-
trial-electronic-retro-goth program.
Music to schtomp to, hosted by
Coreen.
JUICEBOX 8:00PM-9:00PM
FOLK OASIS 9:00PM-11:00PM
Roots music for folkies and
non-folkies... bluegrass, singer-
songwriters,worldbeat, alt country
and more. Not a mirage!
<folkoasis@canada.com>
HANS KLOSS' MISERY HOUR
11:00PM-2:00AM
FIRST FLOOR SOUND SYSTEM
2:0OAM-6:O0AM
THURSDAY
BBC WORLD SERVICE 6:00AM-
8:00AM
END OF THE WORLD NEWS
8:00 AM-10:00AM
PLANET LOVETRON 10:00AM-
11:30AM Music inspired by
Chocolate Thunder, Robert Robot
drops electro past and present,
hip hop and intergalactic funkman-
ship. <rbotlove@yahoo.com>
FILL-IN 11:30AM-
1:00PM
STEVE AND MIKE 1:00PM-
2:00PM Crashing the boy's club
in the pit. Hard and fast, heavy
and slow (punk and hardcore).
THE ONOMATOPOEIA SHOW
2:00PM-3:00PM Comix comix
comix. Oh yeah, and some music
with Robin.
RHYMES AND REASONS
3:OOPM-5:OOPM
LEGALLY HIP alt.
5:00PM-6:00PM
PEDAL REVOLUTIONARY
alt. 5:00PM-6:00PM Viva
la Velorution! DJ Helmet Hair
and Chainbreaker Jane give
you all the bike news and views
you need and even cruise
around while doing it!
www.bikesexual.org
OUT FOR KICKS 6:00PM-
7:30PM No Birkenstocks, nothing politically correct. We don't
get paid so you're damn right we
have fun with it. Hosted by Chris
B.
ON AIR WITH GREASED HAIR
7:30PM-9:00PM The best in
roots rock 'n' roll and rhythm and
blues from 1942-1962 with your
snappily-attired host Gary Olsen.
<ripitup55@aol.com>
LIVE FROM THUNDERBIRD
RADIO HELL 9:00PM-
11:00PM Local muzak from 9
til 10. Live bandz from 10 til 11
www.stepandahalf.com/rbirdhell
WORLD HEAT 11:00PM-
1:00AM An old punk rock heart
considers the oneness of all things
and presents music of worlds
near and far. Your host, the great
Daryl-ani, seeks reassurance via
<worldheat@hotmail.com>.
WIRELESS CRUELTY 1:00AM-
6:00AM
FRIDAYS
BBC WORLD SERVICE 6:00AM-
8:00AM
CAUGHT IN THE RED 8:00AM-
10:00AM Trawling the trash
heap of over 50 years worth of
real rock 'n' roll debris.
SKAT'S SCENE-IK DRIVEI
10:00AM-12:00PM Email requests
to:<diska_t@hotmail.com>.
THESE ARE THE BREAKS
12:00PM-2:00PM Top notch
crate diggers DJ Avi Shack
and Promo mix the underground hip hop, old school
classics and original breaks.
THE LEO RAMIREZ SHOW
2:00PM-3:30PM The best mix
of music, news, sports, and commentary from around the local
and international Latin American
communities.
NARDWUAR THE HUMAN
SERVIETTE PRESENTS...
3:30PM-5:00PM
CiTR NEWS AND ARTS
5:00PM-6:00PM A voh
produced, student and community
newscast featuring news, sports
and arts. Reports by people like
you. "Become the Media." To get
involved, visit www.c
click "News Dept."
FAR EAST SIDE SOUNDS alt.
6:00PM-9:00PM
AFRICAN RHYTHMS alt.
6:00PM-9:00PM David Love
Jones brings you the best new
and old jazz, soul, Latin, samba,
bossa, and African music from
around the world.
HOMEBASS 9:00PM- 12:00AM
Hosted by DJ Noah: techno but
also some trance, acid, tribal,
etc. Guest Djs, interviews, retrospectives, giveaways, and
I LIKE THE SCRIBBLES alt.
12:00AM-2:00AM
THE ANTIDOTE alt. 12:00AM-
2:00 AM
THE VAMPIRE'S BALL 2:00AM-
6:00AM Dark, sinister music of
all genres to soothe the Dragon's
soul. Hosted by Drake.
SATURDAY
BBC WORLD SERVICE 6:00AM-
8:00PM
THE SATURDAY EDGE 8:00AM-
12:00PM Studio guests, new
releases, British comedy sketches,
folk music calendar, and ticket
giveaways.
8AM-9AM: African/World roots.
9AM-12PM: Celtic music and
GENERATION ANNIHILATION
12:00PM-1:00PM Tune in for
a full hour of old and new punk
and Oi mayhem!
POWERCHORD 1:00PM-
3:00PM Vancouver's only true
metal show; local demo tapes,
imports, and other rarities. Gerald
RatHehead, Dwain, and Metal Ron
do the damage.
CODE BLUE 3:00PM-
5:00PM From backwoods delta
low-down slide to urban harp
honks, blues, and blues roots with
your hosts Jim, Andy, and Paul.
ELECTROLUX HOUR 5:00PM-
6:00PM
SOUL TREE 6:00PM-9:00PM
From doo-wop to hip hop, from
the electric to the eclectic, host
Michael Ingram goes beyond the
call of gospel and takes
to the nth degree.
SYNAPTIC SANDWICH 9:00PM-
1 1:00PM
PLUTONIAN NIGHTS 11:00PM-
1:00AM Cutting edge, progressive organ music with
resident Haitchc and various guest
performers/DJs. Bye-bye civilisation, keep smiling blue, where's
me bloody anesthetic then?
http://plut0nig.9rg
EARWAX 1:00AM-4:30AM
"noiz terror mindfuck hardcore
like punk/beatz drop dem headz
rock inna junglist mashup/distort
da source full force with needlz
on wax/my chaos runs rampant
when I free da jazz..." Out.
REGGAE LINKUP 4:30AM-
9:00AM Hardcore dancehall
reggae that will make your
mitochondria shake. Hosted by
\(\0< ^Touf\c\ \or\c2oo3
29 DiSCORDER dateb
ool
^HHHHiBhIhm
SUBMISSIONS TO DATEBOOK ARE FREE. FOR
THE JULY ISSUE, THE DEADLINE IS JUNE
11. FAX SHOW, FILM, EVENT AND VENUE
LISTINGS TO
604.822.9364 OR EMAIL
<DISCORDER@CLUB.AMS.UBC.CA>
SUNDAY, JUNE 1
Finger Eleven, Voivod, Ozzy Osbourne@GM Place; 23rd
Psalm Branch@Blinding Light!!
TUE 3
Sum 41@Croatian Cultural Centre; Built to Spill,
Draw@Richard's; Boom Bip, Four Tet@Sonar; In
Medias Res, Sketch Brothers, Cornerstone@Brickyard;
Amandasonic@Pic; Didcin'Around@Blinding Light!!
WED 4
Sugar Ray, Matchbox 20@GM Place; Built to Spill,
Draw@Richard's; Shawn Desman@Sonar; DJ Epine, Sarah
Vain@Pic; Faces of Eve, 5 Way Radio, Junedog@Silvertone;
Fryertuck, The Winks@Unit 20 Legion; Superstar: The
Karen Carpenter Story@Blinding Light!!
THUR 5
Funkstorung@Atlantis; Ed Harcourt, Sondre
Lerche@Richard's; Royal Grand Prix, Riff Randells, Cinch,
Orphan@WISE Hall; Davis Trading, Six Block Radius,
Distance, Kyle@The Brickyard; DTES Film Festival@Pacific
Cinematheque; Building Heaven, Remembering
Earth@Bfinding Light!!
FRI 6
Lennon, Nazareth@Commodore; Powerclown, Tard,
Evilive@Brickyard; Technicians, Dollarstorejesus®
Silvertone; DTES Film Festival@Pacific Cinematheque; New
Live Works by Loscil and Randy Jones@Blinding Light!!
SAT 7
DJ Tiesto@Commodore; Witness Protection Program, Brute
Medium, me, Wilmot Proviso@Seylynn Hall; Faces of Eve,
5 Way Radio@Studebakers; DTES Film Festival@Pacific
Cinematheque; Cabinet of Dr. Ca/icj(an@Blinding Light!!;
Joel R.L. Phelps, Secret Three@Pat's Pub
SUN 8
DTES Film Festival@Pacific Cinematheque; Cabinet of Dr.
Ca/(gan'@Blinding Light!!
MON 9
Foo Fighters, Pete Yom, The Special Goodness@Plaza of
Nations; DTES Film Festival@Pacific Cinematheque
TUE 10
Death Cab For Cutie, The Dismemberment Plan, Enon,
Gold Chains@The Vogue; Amandasonic@Pic; DTES Film
Festival@Pacific Cinematheque; Okie Nood/tng@Blinding
Light!!
WED 11
Black Eyed Peas, Christina Aguilera, Justin
Timberlake@Pacific Coliseum; DJ Epine, Sarah Vain@Pic;
Jungle Brothers, Black Sheep@Commodore; Musa,
Jetstream NV, Detour, 80 Proof Yob@Brickyard; DTES Film
Festival@Pacific Cinematheque; Okie Nood/tna@Blinding
Light!!
THUR 12
Counterfit, Moneen, Selfmademan@The Pic; Planet of the
Drums: AK1200, DJ J-Messinian, Dara, Dieselboy@Sonar;
DTES Film Festival@Pacific Cinematheque; BY08@Blinding
Light!!
FRI 13
Cinerama, The New Pornographers, The Organ@The
Commodore; Counterfit, Moneen, Selfmademan@Video-
In; 200 Mote/s@Blinding Light!!
SAT 14
The Paperboys@Alcan Dragon Boat Festival; Brian Blade,
Daniel Lanois@Richard's; Do Make Say Think@Sonar; Faces
of Eve@Royal; 200 Motels@Blinding Light!!
SUN 15
The Paperboys@Alcan Dragon Boat Festival; Goldfinger,
Story Of The Year@Commodore; Yo La Tengo, The
Clean@Vogue Theatre; Stacey Earle and Mark Stuart@WISE
Hall; Jerry Cranelli: In the Moment@Blinding Light!!
TUE 17
Amandasonic@Pic;P/asterCaster:ACockumentary@Blinding
Light!!
WED 18
Beck, Dashboard Confessional@Plaza of Nations;
The Moody Blues@Queen Elizabeth Theatre; Fugazi's
/nstrument@Blinding Light!!
FRI 20
Amon Tobin@Jazz Festival; The Smugglers@The Royal; TV
Carnage's Casual Fn'dqys@Blinding Light!!
SAT 21
David Gogo, Little Feat@The Commodore; Blur@Vogue
Theatre; TV Carnage's Casual Fridqys@Blinding Light!!
SUN 22
Cinematic Orchestra, Medeski, Martin and Wood@Jazz
Festival; Cesaria Evora@The Orpheum; Direct Animation
Revolution Now!@Blinding Light!!
MON 23
Reel Big Fish@Croatian Cultural Centre; Joshua Redman@Jazz
Festival; Chore, The Ghosts of Modern Man@The Pic;
Dredg@Richard's
TUE 24
Joe Zawinul and and the Zawinul Syndicate@Commodore;
Presrevation Hall Jazz Band@Vogue; Amandasonic@Pic; Jesus
Christ Vampire Hunter@Blinding Light!!
WED 25
Plena Libre@Jazz Festival; Zubot & Dawson@Performance
Works; The Target Shoots Fi'rst@Blinding Light!!
THUR 26
Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra, Patricia Barber@Jazz Festival;
The Dears@Royal Hotel; Incident at Oglala and America's
Mande/a@Blinding Light!!
FRI 27
Blonde Redhead@Commodore; Chris Smither, John Scofield,
Smokey and Miho@Jazz Festival; Tennessee Twin, Andrew
Burden@Main; David Lee Roth, Flairs@Orpheum; Dan
Bern@Richardis; Communique, Minus the Bear@Royal; The
Narcoleptic Videographer 3@Blinding Light!!
SAT 28
Karrin Allyson, Marcio Faraco, Mr. Scruff, Smokey and
Miho@Jazz Festival; !!!, Out Hud@Richard's; The Narcoleptic
Videographer3®Blinding Light!!
SUN 29
Orchestra Baobab@Jazz Fest; Holly Cole@Orpheum; The
Narcoleptic Videographer 3@Blinding Light!!
MON 30
Aceyalone, Eyedea, Prince Paul@Commodore
Apectaf eveiitA
THE DOWNTOWN EASTSIDE
FILM FESTIVAL
JUNE 5-12
PACIFIC CINEMATHEQUE
A whole week of movies about Eastside
History. And you don't even have to go there,
you cowardly sods.
NAZARETH
FRIDAY, JUNE 6
COMMODORE
30 years ago you might have been messing
with a son of a bitch, but nowyou're messing
with a $30 cover charge.
DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE,
THE DISMEMBERMENT PLAN,
ENON, GOLD CHAINS
TUESDAY, JUNE 10
THE VOGUE
Don't go, so our fey Deputy Editor Merek can
stand closer to the stage.
LOADS OF AMAZING MUSIC
NEARLY EVERY NIGHT
IN THIS TOWN!!
There are good shows going on all month, so
if you keep whinging about No Fun City, we'll
make you watch re-runs of Family Matters
until you pee blood.
place* f<
y he
active pass records
324 w. hasting
604.646.2411
pic pub
620 west pender
604.669.1556
bassix records
217 w. hastings
604.689.7734
railway club
579 dunsmuir
604.681.1625
beatstreet records
3-712 robson
604.683.3344
richard's on richards
1036 richards
604.687.6794
black swan records
3209 west broadway
604.734.2828
ridge cinema
3131 arbutus
604.738.6311
blinding light!!
36 powell
604.878.3366
red cat records
4305 main
604.708.9422
cellar
3611 west broadway
604.738.1959
royal
1029 granville
club 23
23 west Cordova
scrape records
17 west broadway
604.877.1676
commodore ballroon
n 868 granville
604.739.4550
scratch records
726 richards
604.687.6355
crosstown music
518 west pender
604.683.8774
sonar
66 water
604.683.6695
futuristic flavour
1020 granville
604.681.1766
sugar refinery
1115 granville
604.331.1184
highlife records
1317 commercial
604.251.6964
legion of van
300 west pender
teenage ramapage
19 west broadway
604.675.9227
lotus hotel
455 abbott
Vancouver playhouse
hamilton at dunsmuir 604.665.3050
the main cafe
4210 main
604.709.8555
video in studios
1965 main
604.872.8337
ms. t's cabaret
339 west pender
western front
303 east 8th
604.876.9343
orpheum theatre
smithe at seymour
604.665.3050
WISE club
1882adanac
604.254.5858
pacific cinemathequ
; 1131 howe
604.688.8202
yale
1300 granville
604.681.9253
pat's pub
403 east hastings
604.255.4301
zulu records
1972 west 4th
604.738.3232 VtmiMXi
ESTILL THE
*" BIGGEST AND
THE BADDEST
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ALL PARTY*.. starring
DJ CHICLET with the SUGARCOOKIES
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RANCID * PENNYWISE ' DROPKICK MURPHYS > SIMPLE PLAN * LESS
THAN JAKE * THE USED * LIVE ON RELEASE * FACE TO FACE * ANDREW
W.K. ' SUICIDE MACHINES ' THE ATARIS * GLASSJAW * POISON THE
WELL * TAKING BACK SUNDAY * MEST • THRICE * DAMONE ' SLICK
SHOES ' S.T.U.N. • UNSEEN • RUFIO • MAD CADDIES • VENDETTA RED
TSUNAMI BOMB * MAXEEN ' I IN TEAM • THE HEATHENS * LETTER
KILLS • WITHOUT SELF • WESTERN WASTE * PEPPER ? VAUX .
THE DEARS
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The Great, The Magnificent & The Usual Unusual.
SIMPLY SAUCER:
Cyborgs Revisited
CD
For many of us in Canada at the
time, 1974 meant only Wayne
and Schuster thick moustaches,
a not yet insignificant manufacturing industry. Pierre Trudeau, and brown velour v-necked
sweaters. Believe it or not, however, innovative rock and roll
was also being produced in humble little Hamilton, Ontario.
Inconceivable? Read on Simply Saucer were perhaps Canada's
first proto-punk band, making forward-thinking music way out
of step with the 1974 Canadian radio status quo of Terry Jacks
and BTO. Sounding more like a masterful mixture of the Velvet
Underground. Stooges. Modern Lovers, Can, Neu, Hawkwind,
Pink Fairies, and Syd Barrett, both with and without Pink
Floyd, than MOR rock, Simply Saucer quietly became
deservedly legendary. At long last, their music is again re-
released on CD, this time to an informed Canada (and the
world, too) better able to appreciate their expansive and innovative genius. Well worth the wait, Cyborgs Revisited is everything it's rumoured to be. Highly recommended.
CD 16.98
NINANASTASIA
Run To Ruin CD
N astasias done a couple
albums now for Chicago's
Touch 'n Go label. The first was
underground cult favorite, The
Blackened Air Her plaintive tak
on Americana treads pretty dark and brooding ground. Its
emotional weight scared off a few timid listeners, even leaving
some mainstream critics haplessly pointing to the catalog of
P.J. Harvey, Cat Power, and Lucinda Williams for security. Of
course, they're only half right; although just as good as her
peers, Nastasia is uniquely on her own path. Today, Nastasia
calls Manhattan home, but judging from the gritty realism of
Run To Ruin, she hasn't bought into the fairy tale of New York.
Instead, the songs on this recording are sharp, pointed and
succinct, without romanticizing the "morose," a mistake typical
of many lesser wanton troubadours. Recommended.
AVAILABLE JUNE 3RD.
CD 19.98
THE CINEMATIC
ORCHESTRA
Man With A
Movie Camera
CD/2LP
By now you're probably familiar with the hybrid jazz-elec-
tronica beauty of Jason Swimscoe's big band, The
Cinematic Orchestra. Sitting pretty on Ninja Tune Records, his
outfit seamlessly blends laidback down tempo beats with the
stirring highlights of the Impulse jazz hay-day. Appropriately
for this project's name, Swimcoe was asked by the Porto Film
Festival to produce a soundtrack to the famous experimental
silent film, Man With a Movie Camera. Shot in 1929, Dziga
Vertov's classic film documents a day in the fife of Moscow,
unified by the theme of labour. This film also demonstrates
what Dziga described as an "absolute language of cinema," a
language unique to film alone. With plans to re-release the film
sometime this summer as a DVD with their new soundtrack,
The Cinematic Orchestra's score also works well alone, perfectly conjuring the hustle and bustle of contemporary everyday urban life. AVAILABLE JUNE 3RD
CD 16.98 2LP 19.98
DEAD MEADOW
King And
CD/2LP
likeminded groups Acid
lothers Temple and Kinski,
Washington D.C.'s ferocious power
trio, Dead Meadow, don't consider
themselves "stoner rock." It's an insult. They're as sober as
boards and decisive. After all, the flower children got fried and
then created loose body music to the beat of the bongo drum am)
winsome acoustic guitar, not the thick rock of power chords and
lock-grooved riffs. Believe it, this shits like the excessive remain:
der in the pipe, the ugty cousin in the ctoset The hippies didn't
GET Sabbath - they were too scared, bummed out. To them, it
was a sonic assault, meant to damage. But history has a way of
distilling the truth. Hippies are consigned to the cliclvs of advertising and historical revisionism; so-called stoner rock sprouted a
thousand new heads. Dead Meadow make high volume electric
psychedelic rock'n'roll that you feel in your soul as it swallows the
aural space of your mind. This isn't a eulogy for a failed hippy revolution - this music will not be cornered!
CD 19.98 2LP 22.98
JACKIE-0 MOTHERFUCKER
Europe 2002 2CD
Laid out for a few days in an American hospital, Joshua
Stevenson wondered, "What have I got myself into." He'd
only been with the band for a year or so, and it already seemed
set to consume his life (for example, a bank loan with interest in
exchange for a release of some of the rawest music of the
moment). Meanwhile, knowing the early signs of magic, Byron
Coley was tearing up the highways of upstate New Vork in a
rented Jaguar - the Brits didn't mess with this beast, nothing is
toned down, and it's the only way to make it into Montreal,
Quebec proper. Like Stevenson, the city was burning, running a
fever Godspeed You Black Emperor was returning. One last gig,
one last gig. Their American cousins with some skinny kid from
Vancouver were opening; Jackie-0 Motherfucker. Their very
name shoots a flag up at customs, but this revue won't be
stopped. Eventually, this semi-delusional exchange took place:
"Coley? Is that you?" "Yes." "There's hash in the poutine." "It's
okay." "If ghosts sleep, do they dream?" "Probably." "I've lost
the LAST two hours." "it's fine, sti okay." "Time has evaporated
and is now condensing on the tent vilJage outside of the halt -
it's everywhere." "Relax, let go." "It's Live and Recorded."
"Right, both." Listen up.
2CD 16.98
MOGWAI
Happy Songs For Happy People
CDyiP
Obviously, this title is a joke. Mogwai don't seem very happy;
yet they don't seem very sad, either. What gives? What's the
story with these shrouded, moody lads? Let's look at what we
DO know: they play oceanic (mostly) instrumental rock, heavy
with atmosphere and pathos. To the extent that Sigur Ros are
light and angelic, Mogwai are thick and earthy. Could it be that
the Scottish skies refract light differently? Could it be a differ-
- ence in food and drink? Matador records, their label, has offered
this observation to help explain the enigma of Mogwai:
"Confronted with a music that has all the emotional impact of
tie greatest rock, but few of its obvious signifiers, you're left
struggling to make sense ol the nebulous, but powerful feelings
they provoke." Hmm, yes, a good point, thanks. However, our
advice is rooted more in the body, in the physical joy of pure,
deep listening than merely the aesthetics of rock hubris and
rhetoric: TURN THIS SHIT UP. AVAILABLE JUNE 1TTH
PERNICE
BROTHERS
Yours, Mine &
Ours CD 16.98
CD/IP 19.98
I'm thinking about making a documentary film about the brothers Joe and Bob Pernice. They've been around for quite a
while and made a number of outstanding records. Their sound
is pretty simple. Some call it a mixture of stark alternative
country and ornate chamber pop. I figure it's just plainly honest, openhearted ballads - rich songs about the poorer
moments in life. In each one there's always a charm, though, a
hope that everyone can grasp. In the future, people will speak
about the Pernice Brothers in the same way as Love, The Lett
Banke. and Big Star. Not the capital "C" classics, just the lowercase ones, the sincerely good ones, no hype. Sound interesting? Filming starts soon.
CD 16.98
THE TINDERSTICKS
Waiting for the Moon CD/LP
Finally, the buzzing back bulb went out, the last light hanging
infinitesimaily in the air around us. On the grass behind our
house, the night became clearer, the stars multiplied by the sudden darkness. Time, however, stood still. The moon was
nowhere, lost. This was unusual, of course, even terrifying, but
also entirely mesmerizing. The moonless sky was lit from within,
flickering with ghostly stars, their twinkling signifying everything
that was missing. We held hands and held our breath, waiting in
the fantastic quiet of the endless, moonless night And in this
waiting was everything, the absolute, but just like the stars, it
was out of reach. Yet, although enigmatic, this eerie twilight was
in the end completely welcome and comforting: a question
whose answer is unwanted, an empty feeling that makes us full,
the unstated providence;' the universe -the everlasting waiting
for the moon. AVAILABLE JUNE 10TH
CQ/LP 16.98
HERBERT
Goodbye Swingtime CD
Ambition is something Matthew Herbert has never been lacking. The jazzy downtempo producer has vaulted to the top of
the K7 roster by continuously morphing his epic soundscape
approach. For example, for this his latest genre-defying outing,
Herbert coaxed a 16 piece jazz band into London's Abbey Road
studios to record the organic backdrop for his chilled out vibe.
Next. Herbert placed a collect call to Plaid and Mouse on Mars
saying, "Pick up if you want to Collaborate." Without missing a
beat, Herbert's ambitious program required a dispatch of emails
to Arto Lindsay, Jamie Lidell and others. One by one the chips
fell into place... Montreux Jazz Fest. Sonar 2003, etc further
proof that Herbert can beat them and join them.
CD 24.98
JEDI MIND TRICKS
The Psychosocial Chemical... CD
Never let it be said that Zulu records does not keep its collective
ear to the (under)ground. Since its original release five years
ago, Jedi Mind Tricks' debut album has slowly been gathering a
reputation as a classic of post-Wu Tang hip-hop mysticism. This
recent re-release suggests to us that it's finally time for these
heads to be getting their long overdue props. And we think our
customers will be only too willing to give up the respect when
they are confronted with the task of decoding JMT's downright
gnostic lyrical flow. Deep dark arcana, to be sure, but we're taking
a chance on it and we think you should
The Found Reading - Sunday June 15th at 4PM
Join...
DAVY ROTHBART editor of FOUND MAGAZINE and author of THE
LONE SURFER OF MONTANA KANSAS. Musical accompaniment
from Peter and Devon.
MICHAEL TURNER author of HARDCORE LOGO reads some found'
debris.
MATTHEW DORRELL who writes for FORGETMAGAZINE!
Plus MC LEE HENDERSON!
CASSMcCOMB
A CD
Our soft spot for indie rock receives some welcome attention trom this (fairly) new singer-songwriter with some
loose (if now former) affiliation to Portland, Oregon and Will
Oldham. With wisps of Galaxie 500, East River Pipe,
Clientele and even a little Belle and Sebastian, we think
everyone should really love Cass McCombs. It's good stuff:
the songs are thoughtful and Hkeably happy/sad - just the
thing for repeated listening. Indeed, this record is so agreeable that it reminds us all here at Zulu of our good fortune:
sometimes our job is great! Helping more people get into
good music like Cass McCombs is immensely satisfying.
Come on in and listen for yourself and we know you'll be
convinced that we are right - and probably you'll also leave
inspired to proselytize the good word "McCombs." Ah, the
good life.
CD 16.98
And if all that was not
enough
VARIOUS-CHANNE 2 CD
BRIAN JONESTOWN MASSACRE - Spacegiri & Other
Favorites CO
ESMERWE-If Only a Sweet Surrender... CD
NEU MJCHAR HAGERTY-The Howling Hex CD/2LP
S.T.R.E.E.T.S-WonnsCD
MURDER CITY DEVILS-R.i.p CQ/2LP
MOKA ONLY-Lowdown Suite CD/2LP
ODD NOSOAM-No More Wig For Ohio CD/2LP
ULYS-Precoltectjon CD .^afflBSiB
ELECTRIC 6-Fire CD
STARLIGHT MINTS- Built on Squares CD
NATACHA ATIAS- Something Dangerous CD
PIXIES-Classic Reissues!! CD
T>tE FAINT- Danse Macabre Remixes CD
LOU REED-NYC Man 2C0
SUPffiSILOfT- Supersilerrt 6 CO
SCTFIRETOFUMES-Telegraphsln
Negatjve/Mouths Trapped In Static 2CD/2LP
THE LONESOME ORGANIST-Forms and Follies CD
CD 16.98
KZCO*RV3
L*
■ BY POPULAR
I DEMAND
^ZULU'S
(SUMMER
SHIRT....
JL
z
s
s
"Each morning the day ties like a fresh t-shirt on our bed;
this incomparably fine, incomparably tightfy woven tissue
of pure prediction fits us perfectly. The happiness of the
next twenty-four hours depends on our ability, on waking,
to pick it up." -Walter Benjamin (1892-1940)
"I go to every show. I walk around the parking lot, checking
the groovy scene out. Floods. Long Hair. Leather. Whatever
man. We are all wearing t-shirts you know. Mods, rockers,
hippies, heads, its no different, we just came for the show.
We just came to feel the music make us strange all over
again'' -Bobby Nowhere (1968- )
Zulu Records
1972-1976 W 4th Ave
Vancouver. BC
tel 604.738.3232
www.zulurecords.com
STORE HOURS
Mon to Wed 10:30-7:00
Thurs and Fri 10:30-9:00
Sat 9:30-6:30
Sun 12:00-6:00
Discorder
Discorder CITR-FM (Radio station : Vancouver, B.C.) Jun 1, 2003
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