Discorder CITR-FM (Radio station : Vancouver, B.C.) 2007-05-01

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 &%k* *§*£?*
May 2007
That trouble makin magazine from CiTR 101.9 FM
SlCtl BUlUM"0
DON'T THE*    .
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HiOEST r_    P€>   ft'-^Pl
______   Jam, a  ■ ■ ■— TromAusiraiia
...    UaUillff        TICKETSMSOATSCRATCH       _
TICKETS FOR ALL EVENTS ONSALE NOW AT tkketmaster.ca 604-280-4444 AND ZULU RECORDS W@cotf©<£9t
Mike "Spike" Chilton
Art Director
Cole Johnston
Production Manager
Laura Henderson
Copy Editor
Mike Chilton
RLA Editor
Danny McCash
Datebook Editor
Mike Chilton
Review Manager
Cheyanne Turions
Layout & Design
Cole Johnston &
Mike Chilton
Meg Bourne
Mono Brown
Julianne Claire
Julie Colero
Pyra Draculea
Henry Faber
Patrick Finlay
Morgan Hobart
Cole Johnston
Bitsy Knox
Arthur Krumins
Quinn Omori
Aleks Pichlak
Keith Shillabeer
Brock Thiessen
Juliann Wilding
Photo & Illustration
Abko Films
Meg Bourne
Cole Johnston
Matthew McGale
Luke Simcoe
Dave Thurburn
Trevor Weeks
Juliann Wilding
Program Guide
Bryce Dunn
Luke Meat
Frank Rumbletone
- US Distribution
Catherine Rana
CITR Station Manager
Lydia Masemola
The Gentle Art of Editing
Riff Raff
Bryce Dunn
Cinema Aspirant
Allan Maclnnis
Robin McConnell
Textually Active
Adverbs, Inkstuds
Dave Fernig
Picture me this, gig me that
Real Live Action
Under Review
CiTR Charts
The Dopest Hits of April 2007
Program Guide
The Highlight
CiTR Spring Bash
ste- ■ "     '
SEX 8SiM|!
IP"*'     it! it. ** IP
Another angry New Yorker takes it out on his
listeners. Mr 8
Arthur Magazine, RIP?
The bizarre story of how America's favourite
outsider music and arts magazine almost got
the axe — and the even more bizarre fact that
nobody seemed to care.
The Emergency Room
COVER — How three local noise musicians
took an empty parkade and turnedlt into a
dynamic and offbeat venue.
An epic nine-day cross-Canada travelogue
chock full of art, music, booze, bands and
breaking the law!
Cover Pics by Dave Thurburn
© DiSCORDER 2007 by the Student Radio Society of the University of British Columbia. All rights
reserved. Circulation 8,000. Subscriptions, payable in advance, to Canadian residents are $15 for
one year, to residents of the USA are $15 US; $24 CDN elsewhere. Single copies are $2 (to cover
postage). Please make cheques or money orders payable to DiSCORDER Magazine. DEADLINES:
Copy deadline for the June issue issue is May 20th. Ad space is available until May 21 st and can be.
booked by calling 604.822.3017 ext 3 or emailing discorder.advertising@gmail.com. Our rates
are available upon request. DiSCORDER is not responsible for loss, damage, or any other injury to
unsolicited manuscripts, unsolicited artwork (including but not limited to drawings, photographs,
and transparencies), or any other unsolicited material. Material can be submitted on disc or in
type or via email. As always, English is preferred, but we will accept French. Actually, we won't.
Send words to discordered@gmail.com and art to discorderart@gmaiI.com. From UBC to Langley
and Squamish to Bellingham, CiTR can be heard at 101.9 FM as well as through all major cable
systems in the Lower Mainland, except Shaw in White Rock. Call the CiTR DJ line at 822.2487, our
office at 822.3017, or our news and sports lines at 822.3017 ext. 2. Fax us at 822.9364, e-mail us
at: citrmgr@mail.ams.ubc.ca, visit our web site at www.citr.ca or just pick up a goddamn pen and
write #233-6138 SUB Blvd., Vancouver, BC, V6T 1Z1, CANADA.
the (Jentle j4rt of Sditing
Before I get down to business, I would
like to take this opportunity to introduce myself: my name is Spike, and I will be your new
Editor for the duration of this flight. I would
like to take this opportunity to thank all the
Discordians who have welcomed me aboard
with open arms and given me helpful words
of advice. I hope to be on this crazy ride for
a while and also hope to get my fill of much
knowledge and many good memories during
this challenging journey.
' I would also like to thank our outgoing
Editor, David Ravensbergen, for all the wonderful work he has done for Discorder, and
for helping to choose me as his replacement
— I have big shoes to fill, literally: his feet are
huge! Good luck treeplanting, Dave! You will
need it.
All kidding aside. Campus-community,
radio and print journalism are two of my
biggest passions. I have been involved in"
both since 1994: here at CiTR since 1998,
and before that, at CFUV, the UVic station. I
have also been a regular contributor for both
Discorder, and the late CFUV program guide,
OffBeat (RIP), and was also Editorial Assistant
on the latter for an entire summer. I currently
host The Canadian Way on Friday evenings on
CiTR (see the program guide for deets), and
have always been a proud supporter of local
and Canadian independent music.
Having been involved in media for a
while now — I recently began doing behind-
the-scenes work in local television, too — I
am always pondering media communication,
its implications on the world, and the convergence which much of media is rapidly being
coerced into by market forces. Online print
stories and streaming audio and video are the
most obvious instances. In fact, the interweb
is the driving force tying together most of the
media world — no place else does print, radio
and television all marry into, one information
There are a handful of computer masterminds in the world who have written all the
source code which helps make our ingestion
of such media information that much easier.
CiTR has boasted a few of its own programming wizards in its time, who have helped
drag CiTR into the 21st century mediascape,
and armed us with the right tools. Sadly, CiTR
lost one particularly invaluable member of its
IT fraternity in late March of this year. Stefan
Ellis passed away after a brief illness. He was 38.
Stefan was a member of the CiTR family
since he began volunteering while attending
classes at UJ3C in the 80s and 90s. Stefan was
so important to CiTR in recent years, in large
part due to his other life, as President and
founder of locally-based radio server software
giant, Burli Software Inc. His company built
its reputation on selling and maintaining the
Burli news radio software, which now drives
much of the radio world's newsrooms. When
Stefan was not writing or selling his award-
winning and revolutionary server program,
he was still volunteering with CiTR, helping
us to grow our internet presence.
In recent years, Stefan got Burli up and
running in the station, so we could record
and run promos, spots and IDs from a computer in the on-air studio, as well as organize
show-specific content for broadcast. No more
messing around with minidiscs or carts which
never worked properly anyway!
continued on page 4
'TM    m    VHTASTAR
Well folks, we got a small batch for ya this month, but sometime$ quality Is better than
quantity. However, Ladies Night may beg to differ. Quality may not be the best way to
describe their balls-out approach to music, but I bet you can not ignore the beautiful
mess that is their recent single. Recorded in 2005 (!?),the folks at Perpetrator Records
were sleeping a little too long on this one — 'quality' may not the best way to describe
their distribution methods, either. As a result,"Hell On The Phone" has been a mainstay
in the Ladies' setlist for some time now. Maybe because yours truly actually helped
write this one (as I moonlighted in this combo for a brief spell), and they want to
make sure I get every penny of royalties that is forthcoming ... haha! An Oblivians-style
pounder is the result, and I am damn proud to have played my part in it "Staring At The
Wall" is what will result from the dizzying crash-boom-bang of the rockabilly feel this
tune possesses. Ladies Night also give an abrasive cleansing to the Devo classic, "Gut
Feeling/Slap Your Mammy". More reasons to spend some of your hard-earned dough.
(Perpetrator Records, P.O. Box 68-984, Newton Auckland New Zealand).
Local label honcho Jeff Greenback has finally released the second installment in the
Sweet Rot Records stable of artists, this one by the band Cheap Time, out of Nashville,
Tennessee. Whereas most associate the Music City with 'a little bit country,' Cheap Time
is most definitely a lot more rock and roll.This fierce threesome features Jeff — of the
Jeffrey Novak One Man Band — on guitar, and Jemina and Nathan — of the Thurston
Moore-certified punk rock combo Be Your Own Pet — on bass and drums respectively.
The tunes "Spoiled Brat," "Jet Set," and "KillingTime" are speedy blasts of lo-fi fuck-yous,
and garage punk-bred trashiness, which perfectly contrasts the band from the gloss and
glamour of a city obsessed with discovering the next big thing. For Cheap Time, they
are here for a good time and will probably outlive the majority of Music City wannabes,
anyway.     ,*£;«$£, rS0SS%
(Sweet Rot Records, P.O. Box 78025 Vancouver BC Canada V5N 5WI).
Finally a band that recently paid Vancouver a visit was Portland, Oregon's political punks,
The Red Dons. Formed from the ashes of The Observers, this band took its new moniker
from a group of English professors who doubled as Russian spies during WWII. Singer
Doug Burns created the new band with the intention of continuing where his former left
off.The Red Dons now have their debut EP Escaping Amman, under their belts to show
for their early efforts. This extended-player boasts four songs which musically remind
me of mid-80s Naked Raygun, or early TSOL, but contains lyrical sentiments which are
both personal, as on "Incomplete Action," and on the poignant "West Bank'VThe band
is currently on the road with their comrades,The Clorox Girls (of which two members
are also Red Dons), so catch them if you can, dear readers. ^..sff
(Deranged Records, www.derangedrecords.com).
continued from page 3
Last year, CiTR joined the rest of the broadcast world,
as it began recording and podcasting its live content. Stefan
had everything to do with that, as he developed our podcast
engine software and showed us how to use that, too. The
Canadian Way began podcasting earlier this year, and has
greatly increased its listenership because of it — not to
mention the extra dimension of online exposure it grants.
Podcasting and live streaming (which Stefan also had a
hand in fine-tuning) account for at least half of my show's
listeners, as it does for many shows on CiTRs program grid.
A good deal of broadcasters who now podcast around the
world, do so using Burli's features to drive their RSS feeds.
Having worked briefly in news radio a couple of years
ago, I can attest to the impact Stefan's Burli software has
had on the industry — it has changed the very face of
it. They even teach how to use Burli at BCIT, where I got
my Radio Broadcasting diploma in 2005 — it is now that
much of an industry standard.
Stefan was tireless. He spent most of his time on the
road, personally selling his software to stations the world
over. On a sales visit to Taipei, he met his wife, ChiChi, with
whom he had a daughter in 2004.
Despite all the success Stefan had in his professional
life, he never forgot CiTR, the place that originally inspired
his love for radio. Even though he could have abandoned
CiTR for the high life which his other baby, Burli Software,
offered, he always came back to us, to help us climb to
the next level. So it is, with great sadness, that CiTR says
goodbye to one of its own, Stefan Ellis.
Our condolences go out to ChiChi, Stefan's daughter,
his family and friends (which many at CiTR considered
him), and his 'close team of colleagues' at Burli Software
for their loss.
It is the media world's loss, too.
Stefan Ellis' obit (from Burli Software site): ft
http://www.burli.com/about/stefan_obit.html This year is shaping up to be a great one,
in terms of DVD releases. I thought I would wax
enthusiastic about a few essential films coming
out in the next few months.
Kelly Reichardt's beautiful and sad Old Joy
(which I praised in this column during the film
"festival, and have seen four times since) is due in
ay. This is the only new film on my list, and
for good reason: it is quiet, understated, subtle,
and has moments of great beauty. Two friends go
on a camping trip to a fabled Oregon hot spring;
the pairing features an aging, lost pothead (played
by musician Will Oldham, aka Bonnie "Prince"
Billy), and an old friend now struggling to lead a
straight life. Not much action takes place — we
watch out the car window with the dog, as the
landscape passes by, as a mournful Yo La Tengo
score accompanies — but the film richly rewards
contemplation. As such, I actually found myself
weeping during the fourth viewing. Old Joy
becomes celluloid elegy to a way of life rapidly
being wiped out in these aU-too-Darwinistic
times. Some online enthusiasts have likened the
film to a religious experience — which, for me, is
stretching it; but it is, nevertheless, my favourite
film of 2006.
1971 film, The Panic in Needle Park, is due out
on April 2 3. Long unavailable in any format, this
film belongs to a brief period when Hollywood
- unsettled by its complacency toward the evils of
Vietnam, and, one suspects, inspired by the raw
energy of films like Cassavetes' 1968 masterpiece,
Faces - produced some uncharacteristically
honest, gritty, and challenging,films. Schatzberg
made two such movies. Scarecrow, released
in 1973, is already available on DVD. It is a
moving variation on the 'buddy' film, starring
Gene Hackman and Al Pacino as down-and-
out bums traveling cross-country together. It
is warm and funny — a hateful phrase — but,
nonetheless, has a degree of emotional honesty
which would be highly unlikely from a present-
day big studio release. The Panic in Needle Park
is Schatzberg's other groundbreaking film, from
a screenplay written by novelists Joan Didion and
John Gregory Dunne. The film is entirely without
music, making it an even grittier film watching
experience. Starring Pacino- and the very
talented, and almost completely forgotten Kitty
Winn, as a young couple whose relationship is
steadily consumed by heroin addiction. Graphic
and painful, it was Pacinp's first feature, and it is
said Coppola showed the film to convince studio
execs to hire Pacino for The Godfather.
Another gem long unavailable, being given
their usual expert treatment by the folks at
Criterion, is Lindsay Anderson's darkly-humored
If... , from 1968 (due in early June). Anderson
uses life at a British boy's school to dig a long,
crooked finger into various open sores caused
by class hierarchy. Loosely based on the French
film, Zero for Conduct, it features one of the finest
performances of Malcolm McDowell — back
when he had great promise (pre-Caligula, which
photos courtesy of
seems to have ruined his career). I hope 0 Lucky Man!
will soon follow li... onto the shelves, but nothing is
planned as yet.
Later in June, Criterion will be releasing two of
the most transgressive, subversive and unforgettable
cult movies of the 1970's, both by Yugoslavian director
Dusan Makavejev — whose later output included
the lukewarm Coca-Cola Kid and rather likeable
Montenegro. WR: Mysteries of the Organism, from
19 71, is an occasionally irreverent consideration of the
life of a psychoanalytic heretic named Wilhelm Reich,
whose alternative cure for cancer and ideas about sexual
liberation and orgasm were considered so threatening
in the 1950s, he was imprisoned — Reich's books were
tKten burned by order of the FDA. To further the film's
exploration of sexology versus repression, the viewer
is also treated to footage of some guy getting a plaster
cast made from his dick and Tuli Kupferberg of The Fugs
running around New York in military gear, singing
such hits as; "I'm Gonna Kill Myself Over Your Dead
Body If You Fuck Anybody But Me." Some folks find
Makavejev's "filmed idea" approach a little amateurish;
personally, T think the film is great fun. Not as much,
though, as Makavejev's 19 74 release, Sweet Movie.
I can not even begin to do the outlandish Sweet
Movie any sweet justice. The director is said to have
been very curious about which countries would censor
what content — after all, the movie takes place on an
infantilist commune, where members vomit, piss, and
shit on each other. Consider a beauty contest entirely
focused on the 'female part'; a scantily-clad woman stirring up the
libido of some rather young boys — there is lots to be offended by
in this one. The film is daring enough that Criterion's site describes
it as, "a full-throated shriek in the face of bourgeois complacency."
Makavejev's real target is communism, whose failures mightily
disappointed him. For example, the footage of corpses in mass
graves, being disinterred by Nazis, may confuse those unfamiliar
with the history of the Katyn Forest massacre — in which Polish
officers and civilians were murdered by the Soviets. For years, the
Allies blamed the Nazis for the atrocity. Makavejev mstead pins guilt
where he feels it truly belongs—fifteen years before the facts would
be revealed under Gorbachev. Required viewing for all you young
wannabe Stalinists.
Then there is Jodorowsky. I trust all my readers are familiar
with his work, and already know that EI Topo and The Holy
Mountain will be released in May. There will also be a box set, which
will include Fando y Lis, which is said, to have caused a riot at its
premiere screening.
EI Topo is my favorite, mostly because I identify with the desire
to bring out the symbolic freaks from the ■ mountain. Honestly,
what I would really Uke to see is a new Jodorowsky film. He is said
to be working on King Shot, featuring Marilyn Manson as an aging
vampiric pope - but I will believe it when I see it. You know how these
■ Jod rumours are. Speaking of Jodorowsky, I am told there will be a
special theatrical screening of El Topo at the Pacific Cinematheque
(1131 Howe) on May 8th at 7:30 p.m.! I highly recommended
you go! ffj^fpfei
Now if only someone would reissue Cassavetes' Husbands and
Antonioni's Zabriskie Point... 0 by
or the most part, classic comic strip reprints leave me a little cold. They
are usually quite gorgeous, but really lack what I look for in the storytelling
department. For standards in artistic merit, I do not believe the comic world
**as come anywhere close to the heady times of Little Nemo and Krazy Kat.
There seems to be a lack of cohesive narrative in a great majority of reissues.
One strip does stand out on its own, though. With Gasoline Alley, Frank King created
an influential comic strip — one which made its first appearance in 1918, and still
appears in newspapers to this day. The importance in King's work lies not only in his
lush art style, but also in his ability to encapsulate a moment in time and question
it. The strip modestly began documenting the lives a bunch of friends who hang out
in an alley, and chat mainly about cars: about how this new luxury item is quickly
replacing the traditional horse-and-buggy combination at an uncomfortable rate.
The thinly-veiled critique of our rapidly-changing society soon became an endearing
and enduring snapshot of American family life.
Rescued from the depths of obscurity by the tenacious compiling efforts of
two of today's finest cartoonists, Joe Matt and Chris Ware, Frank King's work has
been resurrected for a new generation to be amazed by it. Published by Drawn and
Quarterly, Walt and Skeezix — a series of reprint volumes joining the Gasoline Alley
story from that key moment in 1921, when baby Skeezix is introduced to the strip
— is one of the finest reissue series worthy of your hard-earned dollar. The collected
volumes are named after the principal characters — father, Walt, and adopted son,
Skeezex (slang for a motherless calf) — due to the copyright still held by the ongoing
Gasoline Alley strip.
The Gasoline Alley narrative originally followed the life of confirmed bachelor,
Walt, who was once devoid of responsibilities or commitments, and instead fills
his care-free days with cars, cars and more cars. In 1921, King's editor convinced
him to introduce a baby into the storyline to attract female readers. As a result,
King sidestepped the tried-and-true narrative by introducing the new character
and following his life in a way that no other comic strip had been able, or willing, to
do before: real-time story telling. Walt was left with a little bundle of joy, given the
moniker of Skeezix, which the reader got to see grow up before their eyes. The addition
of the child added a new depth to Walt's character. The unique part of such real-time
story telling is the way in which King was able to follow Skeezix's development so
intimately and accurately. People who read the original strip were able to enjoy the
unprecedented experience of literally growing up with Skeezix, while following his
trials and tribulations.
continued on page 7
:ast«r m&t continued from page 6
Reading the strips in a present day context is incredibly
enlightening. Gasoline Alley still captures a time in the American
psyche which no film or book could equal. King takes time to explore
the simplicity of life, infusing his stories with the dialogue and
imagery of small-town life in the American Midwest of days long
gone. Because the strip is a cultural time capsule of sorts means it
also includes stereotypes which many would find offensive today
— in this manner, the strip proves 1921 was a vastly different time.
It is the minute details of daily life that Frank King is such and expert
at exploring. Because the comic was originally published in a time of
high morals, it is quite interesting to see the social role which alcohol
played in daily life; from making bathtub gin, to tagging along on a
boy's night out, Frank King still excelled at making the reader feel
like a member of-a close-knit community — not part of a gang of
drunken louts.
The greatest strength of King's work is his art. One look at a
Gasoline Alley page, and you can see the influence that King has had
on the drawing style of Chris Ware, and other modern cartooning
luminaries. King's style lends an incredible roundness to his
characters, which makes them pop to life on the page. Joe Matt has
been a long time devotee to the ways of Frank King, and was crucial
force behind compiling this series.
During Matt's years of hard work, painstakingly collecting all
of these strips, he spread his love for this incredible testament to
cartooning. Interestingly, the actual strips are not dated; the only
way to get the correct chronological order, in some cases, is to follow
the narrative and the careful aging of the characters, aided by King's
knack for meticulous storytelling.
So far, two Walt and Skeezix volumes have been collected
by Drawn and Quarterly (book three is set to be released in June),
which collectively reprint the strip from 1921 to 1924 — the first
four years of young Skeezix's childhood. This summer, expect to also
see a collection of Gasoline Alley Sunday strips — which, with their
added dimension of colour, still exude such an artistic brilliance,
that looking forward to a weekly installment beyond the daily strips
would have been a welcome delight to readers of the day.
Included in these Drawn and Quarterly collections are historical
andcontextualnotesbytopcomicbookacademicand tireless archivist,
Jeet Heer, who has an incredible knack for thorough research, and
knows his subject well. By telling the painstakingly-researched story
of the Gasoline Alley creator's life, and interspersing it with his
own personal story, Heer pulls the reader into the wonderful world
of Frank King. Heer also brings together a collection of photos and
early King art, to explain how King's own life influenced his creation
of the groundbreaking comic strip. Walt and Skeezix is an excellent
series of reissues of one of the most important artifacts in comics
history. From Jeet Heer's studious research, to the tender design of
Chris Ware's book packaging, (avoiding and trademark Chris Ware
imagery), to Drawn and Quarterly's tasteful promotion of the book,
based purely on its own lush perfection, these compilations are
immensely enjoyable. Q
If you want to check out more awesome comic books,
check out your local comic store. Just remember to
stay away from mutants or anyone who wears a cape..
You can also listen to Inkstuds - Thursdays at 2 pm on
CiTR and online atwww.mkstuds.com.
■"..' -"' "o^-^''"'~F~^o-o:;;
Let's Just Be
In Concert May 3
at the Plaza Club i
tel 604-738-3232 • www.zulurecords.com
Discorder   7 1       •   r *«* ^
by c. turions
Presenting one hell of a dystopian take
on the future, the sophomore release by
iconoclast hip-hop producer El-P (AKA, El
Producto, born Jaime Meline), I'll Sleep
When You're Dead, gives one the impression
of a cacophonous last will and testament.
But for an individual who so fetishizes the
apocalypse by unloading his pent-up rage
and committing it to disc, the preposterous
has happened: the world goes on. At least
for today, the predicted end only looms,
and El-P must not rest easy, or at all, because
of this — if we are to accept his latest album
as either autobiography or gospel. Maybe
this long-awaited epic is simply abstract
story-art, or it could merely be a result of EL-
P's motives: "Money, power, ego."
Four years in the making, I'll Sleep When
You're Dead arrives as the proper follow-
up to El-P's solo debut. Fantastic Damage,
were both released on his own seminal hiphop label. Definitive Jux. His response to the
lack of accountability El-P had encountered
while with other labels — which he feels
also applies to the music business as a
whole — Definitive Jux was created with
the intention of being able to address
such problems between artist and label
on the spot. Accountability is regarded at
Definitive Jux as axiomatic, an attempt to
subvert the ugliness that is a manifestation
of our modern human condition.
As the label approaches eight years of
releasing music, it must be asked: where
are the women of Definitive Jux? This one
burning question is a tough one, considering
that El-P's own press release
champions him as, "blazing trails,"
and, "introducing some of the most
cutting-edge and important hiphop music of this era." What about
the radical notion that women can
rhyme with the same level of skill and
innovation as men? What should be
done about the fact that there is a
lack of female representation in the
boys club of hip-hop, despite the
possibility that their voices can be
as revolutionary and as trailblazing
as the independent hip-hop scene
once was to the unwieldy, expired
ideas of major label bullshit? With no
identifiable women on the Definitive
Jux roster, where is one likely to find
El-P guides us. He says the women
of Definitive Jux are, "behind the
scenes, making the whole thing
Great, just where they have
always been.
I'll Sleep When You're Dead takes
the listener on an excursion into
the inside of man, to ruminate on
the effects of the external. It is not
meant to be the final comment on
such matters, but more an exorcism
of the sickness that seeps in from the
outside. Considering the rat race,
the ruckus and the rumble, is is a
reflection of the times we live in, and
the struggle to make sense of it.
This album is more vulnerable
than the cluttered noise of it would
lead one to believe. Bearing little
aural   semblance  to   either   El-P's
debut record, or the. stop-gap'b-
sides, instrumentais, and rarities of
Collecting the Kid, this new album is
an experiment directed at the artist
El-P wants to become. He feels his
latest exploit could possibly help him
accomplish that.
"It would be nice to make music
that meant something to people 50
years from now," he says.
Speculating on the impact
of such music on the future is an
appropriate game to play in El-P's
case, considering the battleground
his newest release creates with a
messy blitz of grotesque lyrics and
endemic noise. The violence of this
release is intensified by the fact that
so many of the beats and rhymes
hint at what happens in the future
— in this case, the violence of 9-11.
A New Yorker by birth, El-P's
inspiration draws heavily from the
Zeitgeist of his surroundings. He paints
a picture of the human condition as
desperately in need of mercy, as
both the exception and the rule.
"Can't run from your life," he
His work bears witness to this.
In these times of war, music is El-
P's weapon, his tool, and his law.
A thousand years from now — that
foreshadowed end perhaps realized
— what does he feel music will be
like? "Illegal," says El-P. Then, from
the formlessness, society and culture
will invariably start all over again.
This might be good news for the
state of music, though, when one considers the hypothesis that tension is the birthplace
of meaning. This is a tenet which El-P admits to be
plausible in his own case. His own sounds seem
implausible without the presence of some sort of
inexorably uncomfortable push and pull, which he
admits lights fires inside him.
I'll Sleep When You're Dead offers some pretty
obvious examples of these reactions to the horrors
of the world. Such tracks as "Dear Sirs" and "The
Overly Dramatic Truth" are potent as art because
of the fact that they document the experiences
of an individual — avoiding the typical pandering
that goes on when 'statements' are being made.
Although these songs have endings, they certainly
do not admit resolution.
By leaving matters up in the air on many of his
songs, El-P feels he is not merely avoiding sorting out
matters at hand; rather, he makes no excuses for the
fact that, "resolution is never boring, just rare."
But something leads El-P in those moments when
art is at its most pure: "The decision to expose the
things about myself that are most difficult to expose."
It comes as no surprise, then, that El-P describes
the solitude of his creative process as, "pervasive."
Recognizing the state of one's own operative
psychology, in response to the harsh matters of the
world, takes a lot of space and time. It also takes
long distances — a critical eye gazing back to find
the answers to the question of what really matters.
El-P uses the metaphor of a man, "festering in his own
cocoon," which invokes feelings of claustrophobia.
The pertinent detail, it would seem, is that he is away
from the world — the city — and locked in a staring
game with himself, as he creates his music. For El-P,
reflection is in cahoots with deep learning, translating
experiences, and acknowledging all the beautiful
things we have lost language for.
I call bullshit on that. h
- V  *    l     * r t
;0 w- 86*s& 90's Alternative Classics - British > r'
* New Rock - Dance - Rock    "0
J_W__V$ ^_W Thursday, May 3rd
I $u nday, Mfcy 20'
Thursday, May 17th
* Thursday, May 24th
04.24.V7     ^
*     "Vk *<TTYLUS«NA
Get on the VIP/Guest list + Event/Party/Fundraiser bookings
Discorder   9 A RTF U ?
How It Could Happen
to Your Favourite
Magazine ...or Not.
In late February of this year, Arthur Magazine,
the hip (if not exactly monthly) L.A. based
alternative music and arts chronicle
posted an ominous note on its web site
- it would no longer be published. Arthur's
publication halted, for the first time since it
hit the streets of North America in autumn
2002, due to strife between Arthur's parent
company, Lime Publishing, and another
anonymous publisher.
In late April, it was announced, on the same web site (www.arthurniag.coni), that the magazine is to soon return, this time as:
The fact that I was asked to write up a bit of
a eulogy to Arthur Magazine (2002-2007, sort
of) is a bit odd for a couple of reasons. For
one, I would not count myself amongst the
magazine's core readership. I picked up every
third or fourth issue, but it was not something I
devoured on a regular basis. If I saw it, I read
it. But in the age of endless information, I never
felt compelled to actively seek out each
new issue.
About a week ago, it was revealed that
our dear friend is not so much dead, as he
is hibernating. In fact, depending on how
fast they can ready a new issue, Arthur's
resurrection could come during the same
month this issue of Discorder hits newsstands.
But perhaps the strangest part of the request is
the fact that nobody else was more qualified
than I to do it. That last aside speaks volumes
about the publication.
Discorder's staff pool is brimming with
contributors - myself included - that should
fit right into Arthur's niche readership
demographic. Most of us are fairly literate
- at leWOast we like to think that we are
high-minded - and we get off on seeking out
obscure artists, making strange explorations
into sound. Yet, for some odd reason, even
though everyone seemed to be sure that
Arthur's passing was important, no one was
willing or able to express exactly why.
In that way, Arthur is kind of like the
literary equivalent of Faust, or Neu!, or the
Sugarcubes, or maybe Acid Mother's Temple.
Every music geek worth his or her salt seems
to insist that those artists are "seminal," but
you probably only know of two people, tops,
who actually own one of their records. In this
case, I speak about physical record albums,
not some mp3s you grabbed off of Soulseelc-
which you have never listened to. It is not
necessarily a slight against those bands. I
have heard them all from time to time, and
they are all pretty great. I have just never felt
like my life was missing anything when a track
from "Stick Around for Joy" has not graced
my ears in several months. Same with Arthur
- you love it, but you do not miss it: you take
it for granted.
There were approximately two dozen
hardcore Krautrock fans, out of the roughly
eightthousand regular Discorder readers, who
were offended by the preceding paragraph.
A handful of those folks might also make up
some of Arthur's core readership. To those
people, I say: relax and rejoice - your favourite
magazine will be back in circulation again
soon enough. Arthur, a neglected friend to
the rest of us music geeks, will be back, quite
literally, before we know it. b
Story by
Quinn Omori
some oaa reason, even though   \A_/\A_/\A_/
everyone seemed to be sure that Arthur's  \f\f   Vw    ww
passing was  important,  no  one was ARTHURMAG*
willing or able to express exactly why.    1 \A^s_a |, "T £"T" i&%
%g$P      uiedne/doy i
juednerday may 23
lake park, burnaby
Genre defying SAGE FRANCIS casts Ms provocative eye
towards relationships 00 HUMAN THE HEATH DANCE ,
Ms must personal record to dais...
■••••■ HJi
Featuring collaborations wtth:       ilSll
Includes 32 page booklet & new songs written for upcoming film:
iftnnh fill III C^eerurijg,
b^CDdDe^rug,   I ]f    I T
Bill Evans
MF Doo.m
y Re (Scxspeaslon. zQr'idqis a£ Ogxiruju, (-galls
Charles Mingus
£%irc£ (Sails
Beach Boys
Philip Glass
qJI LetamorpnosLs ^Loe
living my entire life in what is, undoubtedly, one of the most
geographically stunning cities on the planet, it is all too easy for
me to forget how phenomenal the natural world is. These bouts
of forgetfulness are infrequent, but their impact upon me is
generally tremendous. My most recent one, involving an entire
month without wandering through the woods even once, came to
an end just last week. All it took to purge me of my ungratefulness
. was my Dad's three sentence depiction of Pittsburgh - where he
had been for the past week. The first sentence praised the city's
interesting architecture, but the other two lamented the city's
total lack of environmental wonders.
My most recent adventure along the creek behind my house was
a calming experience. My month of urban imprisonment had left me
stressed, and I was plagued by both personal and political worries. The
comfort of mossy rocks and ancient trees was a far more soothing therapy
than any self-help book or beer could provide. My problems quickly fell
into perspective; most of them were far smaller than any of the trees.
I have put together an instrumental soundtrack to a walk through
the mountains, woods, or park to - or wherever else you go to enjoy the
gorgeous Northwest landscapes. These songs evoke both the authoritative
and fragile sides of the natural world, and remind us that, when you get
down to it, nature is really all there is.
"There's a huge talent
at work here P
\jgT   A]\    Vs*  www.Hemisheye.com
(SJ¥ distributed by Outside Music
May 15 Victoria Royal Theatre
May 16 Vancouver Orpheum Theatre
May 18 Edmonton WindSpear Centre
May 19 Calgary Jubilee Auditorium
May 22 Regina Conexus Arts Centre
May 23 Winnipeg Burton Cummings Theatre
f.May 31 Ottawa Bronson Centre
I? June 1 Montreal Olympia Theatre
June 2 Quebec City Imperial Theatre Dirty concrete, spray insulation, dim suspended lights, and       ^^M
a dj working between sets out of the back of a stationwagon may not      ^
be the ideal venue for everyone. Nonetheless, The Emergency Room has
become somewhat of a haven for musicians looking to play open sets, and
spectators looking for progressive live shows. Located on the lowest level of the
parkade attached to the Emily Carr Institute - not to be confused with the second
location in Stathcona, The Emergency Room Strathcona (The ERS) - The ER is proving
to be a remonstration of performances and venues throughout Vancouver.
.    This concrete 'hall' has been housing free events for over a year - hosting local and international performers such as Richard Ramirez, Annie Rossi, Mattress, Tunnels (with members of
Jackie-0 Motherfucker), They Shoot Horses Don't They?, Shearing Pinx, The Leviathans, and countless
other noise bands from around the city. The three organizers of the space, Brody McKnight, Keith Wecker
and Justin Gradin have pooled their dissident tendencies to demonstrate how, when you want to see something
happen, you can do it yourself.
Sitting down with them at their Hastings Street art studio, while Justin busily draws a flyer for The ERS - depicting
an Indian riding a 60's version of Casper the Friendly Ghost -1 was able to examine what fuels their initiative.
As members of the conceptual noise band, The Sex Negatives, the trio has gained notoriety for being
kicked out of an ever-growing number of venues for their big (others would say "offensive") sound
and performance. To them, it seemed increasingly appropriate to develop a space that operates with
the same repute as their music. The Emergency Room - in showcasing noise as, perhaps, the most
contemporaneous movement to piss people off since punk rock 20 to 30 years ago - is as much about
the deconstruction of space as it is about the deconstruction of sound. The correlation between sound
and location, which The ER presents, is a multifaceted and impressively tight package - though modestly
unmentioned in conversation with Brody, Justin and Keith. When asked how they would classify what they are doing, their
answers are straight up;   ^lp|?3^ll|
D! Ultra-punk.
■ 1! Yeah. Super, super punk.
Justin mentions the subversive and unusual nature of taking over a
parkade for live shows. This challenge to the space's intended function is
also reflected in the unconventional use of equipment and other materials
often found in performances at The ER. There is no need to preach about
the group's intentions for entering a space built for cars and stealing power
to make a bunch of noise may signify - the venue's founders do not push
this point, either. But what is fascinating, in addition to The ER's relative
longevity, is how its notably reiterate sound and space pairing provides a
unique, total sensory experience.
i\I The acoustics specific to the architecture kind of dictates what happens. The Shearing Pinx - who are probably one of the more structured
bands that have played there - decided to do an improv noise set, which
they have done in other cases. But the space does lend itself more to experimental practice. If you're going to set-up as a band to play a bunch of songs,
it would probably be really hard to hear what's going on down there.
Despite running a venue that does not allow for a standard band performance and makes no profit (in fact, it costs money), any political standpoint the venue's founders have is claimed as unintentional and, if anything, simply intrinsic to their work. Though Brody, Justin and Keith are
not indifferent to the cultural stranglehold the municipal governance has
on Vancouver, their initiative is a direct result of their experience and participation in the broader music scene in Vancouver.
v! The whole idea of it was just a guerrilla space. It's just all open, free,
improv, jam and noise music. If people don't want to hear it, or think that
noise music is pretentious, they can just leave. People don't have to listen to
it, or pay. If you want to be there, then you're putting your self there.
■11 And when venues shut down a lot, like they have so much in the last
two years (in Vancouver), you really don't need to adhere to a bar or the
context of a venue - you can make one. It was important to have something
that was free, and something that's not really dependent upon booze sales
and security. I mean, maybe we've just been extremely lucky, but there have
been no ramifications of any sort for that.
Di No cops.
Ill We had one security incident, where a security guard was over-stepping his boundaries. It was Emily Carr security, but they have no jurisdiction in that space; they were just being dicks. There was a lot of alcohol at
that one show when they showed up, and they were trying to pin it on us.
But it's like, "I don't know, these people just showed up. We didn't tell them
to bring alcohol, we're not selling alcohol, I'm recording this for school.
People show up and do what they do." I'm sure people go down there and
drink on a regular basis... (laughs). I would. It's hidden.
Are there any hopes to run a venue that you can make a profit on?
vl Well, (The ER) kind of crossed over to The Emergency Room Strathcona, and that's on its way. We're starting to book all our shows there.
fi I The main idea with that one is to just pay for the space.
D! It's never a goal to put on shows so you can make tonnes of money. It's
nice to not have to pay for things when they're broken, you can just take it
out of the space money. Whatever needs to be painted or fixed, it's nice to
have that extra money.
Were there any shows or venues you saw that inspired this approach?
v! It was more of a lack of that.
it I Definitely a reaction against what we've been seeing.
B: I remember seeing Sick Buildings getting shut down at the Pic at Mu-H
sic Waste last year. They said they blew the power to the bar and the lights!
went out, but I don't think that was true. They just didn't want noise music '
in there. So it's like, "Well, where can do this?" And then Keith found some
outlets, and we were like, "There. We can just do it there." So it's like that.
We were just frustrated that our friends' shows were getting taken over. It
started tohappen a lot at Pat's Pub, too.
ni Yeah, I played there in this band with Jeremy Van Wyck, from the
Shearing Pinx, and Adam Flood, who plays in the Dullmoofs, and we played
the set, got off the stage, and they were like, "So, what's your name?" We
responded, "Oh, we're Language Is Okay," and they say, 'Awesome, you can
never play here again!" It's funny, too, because six months later, Wolf Eyes
is playing at Pat's Pub, and that's okay. It was a really weird contradiction.
So, unless you're going to bring in a bunch of money, they don't want to
be annoyed.
What do you do when your expressions are about as welcomed as a
convict in a school zone? According to these three men, you take your
expression down as many receptive avenues as possible. The prerogatives
feeding their drive left me feeling nothing short of inspired. Rather than
compromising, and allowing this city's cultural gap to continue - The ER
serves as a physical manifestation of the same motives and modes as the
music they support.
How do you choose what bands play your venues? Is it based on who
you think could adhere to a similar type of subversion, or is there some
other criteria?
w! I'd say there's no criteria at all. People just ask, "Can we play?" And we
just say'yeah,'or'no.'
t$! I think everyone that's asked to play has played, and some people have
totally changed their sets, like the Shearing Pinx and So Did They Shoot
Horses? -That was a really awesome show. People tend to think more about
creating some type of installation.
v! A lot of people are excited, because it's a place where they can go and
do something different.
li I Especially for bands that have really structured sets.
Di Yeah, they can experiment a bit more because they're not wasting people's money, (laughs)
v! People go there expecting things to sound a certain way, or weird bands
to be a certain way. That's why there are no rules on who can play, because
we don't really give a fuck what you play down there. It's open for everyone.
Creating a space without limiting how people interact with it - as if the
space were itself an instrument - has reawakened in the venue's founders
an empassioned pursuit of ownership. The ambivalence of social politics
surrounding the occupation and adaptation of the space still raises questions of proprietorship. With The ER on federally-owned land, it is a prime
^example of art can wrest power away from money, and place emphasis on
itilization, sacrifice, and in this case, exposure for music from the fringes. Though The Emergency Room has the potential to be shut down, the
topic of propriety is a delicate subject to decipher - but not if you ask
l» I Oh, it belongs to me!
What was the worst injury incurred by the trio, as a result of
1 playing?
It! That would definitely be our second-ever show, when we played
the grad night at Emily Carr last year. We just set up a bunch of metal
and a drum kit, and Sick Buildings played with us, doing some pedal
work. I was hitting a drum and screaming, and I ended up cutting myself on one of the pieces of metal we had. The blood is still on (Justin's)
drums, and the door of the stairwell there! It stayed there for a year.
That's probably the worsr injury.
vl And people's hearing.
n I Yeah, that's the more permanent one...
So what was the most memorable show at The ER?
vl For me, there are two. Richard Ramirez, in Keith's mom's mini-
van. Ramirez played inside the minivan, making a bunch of noise
while everyone stared at the van, it was crazy. And then there was one
show where Brody was away, and Keith and I performed, just the two
of us. Keith played his van. He hooked up things to his engine, played
his horn and sat in the van while I played drums that were set up next
to it. That was a really great show.
li I And that was the only one we didn't record. It sounded so good.
Those two were probably the most memorable. That and the first one,
of course - when we went down there, we thought we would get, like,
five minutes.
v J Yeah, and we ended up getting a whole year. '
If you are able to make it one of these lightly-publicized shows,
bring ear-plugs, and your bike or skateboard. The ride from the top
down to the louder sound is well worth the trip up the stairs. After
celebrating The ER's one year anniversary show, Brody, Justin and,
Keith are now focusing their efforts on the Emergency Room Strathcona. They plan to put together similar shows marrying visual art
and music at The ERS, and plan to save The ER for special events. The
Sex Negatives' are completing their debut 7-inch, a split release which
will be on two record labels: Broadway to Boundary, and Grotesque
Modern. If you are interested in seeing some shows from the last year,
The ERS will soon hold a release party for a video compilation coming
out on both VHS and DVD. ft m
JL. _____m&
CANADA, APRIL 02 -11, 2007
Henry knew before he came to stay with me in January that he would ask me, as his wife,
to go back to Toronto with him. He had written it in a letter, which took several weeks longer
than he did to arrive in Edmonton.
I agreed immediately to the plan he proposed: to spend the first two weeks of March
visiting friends and family in B.C., to then fly back to Edmonton to pack all of my stuff, into
my van, to throw a kick-ass going-away party, and then to drive together across the country
to Toronto. Excitedly, we spent the following three months chasing our leaping hearts and
half-formed ideas, making love and art as intermittently as our spastic attention spans would
My friend, Ted Wright, is a mechanic. He also plays music in the bands Les Tabernacles,
James T. Kirk, and The Get Down. Over the years, he has become the unofficial "band van"
mechanic in Edmonton, for locals and touring bands alike. He drove a brown van for years,
which was held together with coat hangers and duct tape.
He told me that my van was a piece of shit and would not make it across the country. "I
wouldn't lie to you kfd, it's garbage. It's not even a good parts vehicle. I wouldn't take this thing
to Ontario." We decided to-«lo it anyways.
It is impossible to fill the moment of saying goodbye with the details of why you actually
care. But the people on the other end just have to know. And I trust that they do. Michal,
Chris, and Jana were on the fire escape waving goodbye. On one hand, it seemed a shame
to leave the building, as it is a huge studio space with amazing architectural deformations - a
complete anomaly in the city of Edmonton. On the other hand, for the millionth time, I had
always imagined the building collapsing, falling into itself like a card castle.
The van was packed tight with my stuff, and the spaces between stuff were packed with
stuff. We could not see out the back. We removed the back seats to fit in more stuff. We piled
stuff at our feet and around us. My worldly possessions had been painstakingly reduced to
what we could fit in the vehicle with us. This consisted of only the best of my vintage clothing
and shoe collection, books and records, roller skates, a giant stuffed horse, and my immense
collection of Letraset. Letraset is an obsolete typeface system, used heavily in print media,
before digital font work was readily available. It is very useful for screenprinting and other
graphic art, and is extremely coveted by visual art nerds and font enthusiasts.
The weight of our cargo, and the poor condition of the shocks, gave us the feeling of
driving a sliding sofa, or a slippery marshmallow.
We pulled away, and began to leave Edmonton. Oh, Edmonton, where I had spent the
most formative of my early adult years. There are things I want to tell that awesome little self-
deprecating city. DAY 1 - MONDAY, APRIL 2
The first leg of the drive, was a six-hour jaunt to Saskatoon. By the time we left the city,
it was almost 6 p.m. Once we were on the highway, I started to wonder if I would still be in
Edmonton in my dreams at night.
After you leave the city limits, there is nothing. Stretches and stretches of nothing on
either side. Everything is off-white, the ground and the sky divided only by a vague line. It
finally hit me that our plan was happening, here we were: my lover and I in a piece-of-shit van
on the open highway. It seemed like the most normal thing we could possibly be doing.
There is a wildness that comes out at night, when stretches of road loom ahead, poorly
lit, poorly traveled. Henry sat at the wheel, so focused and yet so calm. Manning the machine
while my fingers traced patterns on his arm. Long periods of silence were flanked by bursts
of hyper energy and goofy outpourings. We made up silly voices and rhymes. We gossiped
about everybody we know. We sang along to terrible songs. We talked about sex until we
could not stand it anymore - but we could not pull over so, I gave us both hand jobs at the
same time.
We had stolen a crate of tape cassettes, which we chose at random to listen to. We
chatted excitedly about the people we were parting ways with and those we were headed
We got to Saskatoon without a problem, at around 1 a.m. We were staying with our
friend, Ryan Drabble, who runs International Group of Pals (IGOP), the most prolific indie-
band booking team in Saskatoon. He is a hardworking, ambitious kid, and when we got into
his living room, the evidence of his ubiquitousness was all over the walls: posters from all the
shows he and his then-business partner, Lysh (now in Montreal), had booked in Saskatoon.
It was amazing to look at the hand-made posters, and to think about all the work that goes
into each show. We saw at least a year's worth of bands' tour stops through Saskatoon on
those walls. -s-'t^f-^
Ryan was asleep when we got there. We passed out on his couches, pleased at the
success of our first day, bubbling with plans for the next.
In the morning, Ryan had to go to work. Before we left, we made squash soup from
scratch and left a jar of it in his fridge. We wrote him thank-you notes, and decided to leave
Saskatoon as soon as we could, in order to get to Winnipeg in time for a gig our friends were
playing that night - Ladyhawk, John Rae and The River, and The Constantines. But we could
not leave Saskatoon before going to Value Village.
Somewhere on the way to Value Village, Henry and I decided it would be hilarious if we
could get to Winnipeg in time to busk outside of the show. Henry knows the John Rae gang,
Ladyhawk had played my Halloween party, and The Constantines had partied at my place at
least three times. The idea of showing, up outside their show, and busking a surprise set, was
pretty awesome - and we could use all the extra gas money we could get.
There is a long stretch somewhere in Manitoba where there are no gas stations for ages.
We ran on empty for a terribly long time, in real danger of being stranded in the middle of
nowhere. I fantasized a handful of scenarios in which Henry and I jogged along the highway
for miles with our gas container. 1 think it was in North Battleford where we finally found a
service station. We were still three hours away, and we had just lost an hour.eo.it seemed we
might not get there in time to busk. Hopefully we could still catch the bands, at least.
We were almost there, within the city limits, and had just pulled off of the highway, when
- fuck. Sii'skii.
"There's a cop behind us," Henry said. "Can you see? Is he flashing his lights? I can't
We were only going 80.1 looked in the rearview. The cop was flashing his lights. "Yeah, he's
pulling us over," I said. Henry pulled over and we waited for the 'tap, tap' on the window.
It was at this point when I took a good look around the van, remembing that every square
inch of available space in it was filled with something, and some of it was overflowing into the
front seats. Even between Henry and I was a cooler, the acoustic guitar, pillows, and a plastic
chicken. We also had the dash littered with plastic animals, silk scarves, and a huge sign,
which read "NOWHERE FAST". We looked completely insane.
"Do you know how fast you were going?" The cop had on a fur hat.
'Yeah, I do," Henry sounded like he wanted to laugh, "I was going 80." I tried to decide
who looked like more of a dirt bag right then, Henry or myself.
'Yes sir, you were going 80. This is a 70 zone. May I see your license and registration?"
Suddenly all those days of running around to get the van's temporary insurance and an 'in
transit' registration seemed worth it. We actually had legitimate papers to hand over.
The cop disappeared with our IDs and papers. I decided that Henry looked like more of a
dirt bag. No wait - me. Or, I was definitely greasier, but perhaps he was more unkempt.
The cop returned. "Well, all of your papers check out okay. But I have to ask, do you
have an open container of gasoline in the vehicle?"
"No, we don't," Henry said, "Why do you ask?"
"I can smell gas quite strongly, can you guys not smell it?"
Suddenly, I could smell it. Suddenly, I realized the vehicle absolutely reeked of gasoline.
Suddenly, I remembered the three - no wait, four - things that Ted had told me were wrong
with the van: a fuel leak, a busted radiator, basically no tailpipe, and blown shocks.
"We have a small fuel leak, but we didn't realize it was that bad," Henry explained. He
then also claimed to be a mechanic and said that he knew of the problem. Henry is really
good at sounding earnest without any hesitation.
The cop decided that he and his partner had better look under the van. They took
forever. I sat there growing more and more paranoid. We must have bottomed out on the
highway a couple of times and made the fuel leak worse. How bad was it? Could we go on? I
was itching to get away. The cop talked to Henry again. I could not hear what he.was saying.
I just stared at his fur hat and yellow highway patrol jacket.
"If someone flicked a cigarette anywhere near your vehicle, you could explode." Great, I
tuned back in from my space-out just as the cop was describing our demise to my husband.
I imagined Henry and I flying through the air from a blast, van parts and boxes of Letraset
and clothing flying around us - me, desperate to just grab his hand in the middle of the fiery
explosion. Would our love be able to save us? Why did I feel as if we would not die, even if the
van did explode? As long as our hands could reach each other through the blast -
'You can't go on. You'll have to have the vehicle fixed as soon as possible, in Winnipeg.
It's too dangerous to drive."
Henry assured him that we would do just that, and the officer was so frightened for us
he forgot about theepeeding ticket.
I suppose he was a blessing in disguise. I had to take it as an omen - now two people
had said, "your vehicle is unsafe to drive." We would be idiots to keep going.
The drive into the heart of Winnipeg was terrifying. Gasoline fumes were emanating
from our van. We were driving a volatile bomb. I gripped the seat and stared at cars around
us to make sure nobody was smoking, or about to throw a cigarette butt out of the window.
I assured myself repeatedly that it was going to be okay, while I imagined the worst. I ate a
fistful of gummy bears at an alarming pace.
We found the venue. We stepped out of the van and walked away from it, into the fresh
air, hand in hand. It was amazing. We would think about the van later.
We swung the doors open to find Doug, the drummer for The Constantines, and Duffy,
the singer for Ladyhawk. Hugs and high-fives all around! After we got over our shock of
seeing each other out of context, they got us into the gig and we went to watch John Rae
and The River, whom I had never seen before. They were straight up 'indie' country, and kind
of boring to watch. The female singer has a twangy 'nu-country' sound to her voice that I
am really not into. So, instead of giving them my undivided attention, I talked with Ryan, the
drummer for Ladyhawk.
Having a couple of drinks and conversation with our cross-Canada indie rock buddies
could only take our minds off the van for so long. It was not long before Henry and I were
imparting our tale of woe. Bands always have elaborate stories about vans breaking and
exploding and dying, and I secretly hope for some amazing against-allodds success stories.
Since we did not even know the extent of the damage, we thought we would see if any of
them happened to be mechanics as well as musicians. They were not.
"Go to Canadian Tire, there is some kind of Epoxy you can get," Ryan suggested,
Then, just get under there tomorrow, and fix the holes."
Um .,.. fix the holes?
"Make sure you drain the gas tank first, though," he continued.
Henry and I looked at each other uncertainly. "Let's take it somewhere tomorrow and
have it looked at," That settled, it was time to watch The Constantines.
The sound at the venue was shit. Even so, The Constantines played a rollicking, high-
energy set which sounded awesome. I prefer seeing The Constantines live to hearing their
records. There is something intangible that happens when those boys are all onstage together,
which cannot be captured on any CD. They came on for an encore to reward the screaming
crowd, and played "Thunderstruck", which was both awesome and hilarious.
By the time everyone was hanging out and chatting, we had managed to locate Mike
B, our host; incidentally, he was also the promoter for the show we had just seen. He also
booked Henry's show when he toured there in the fall. He is our friend Nevine's online crush,
so we basically knew him.
It was a relief to hit his couch. Mike B's apartment was spotless, and his tiny kitty was a
sight for sore eyes. Henry and I slept wrapped around each other on one couch, even though
there were two.
The next morning, we brought the van to Tony's Auto Body Shop. Tony's was
recommended because it is an honest little independent place where they will tell you the
minimum you need to have done in order to get your vehicle back on theroad.
When they called us back later that day, the news was grim. Our entire fuel line was
completely rotten, from the gas tank right to the engine. Apparently someone had tried to fix
some smaller leaks in it before, and had done a weird job of it, using clamps or something,
ultimately making it worse. Now it could not be patched, and the whole line was going to
have to be replaced. It would be a time-consuming job, because a new fuel line had to be
fitted. The estimate was $500. That was the rest of our gas money. We were stranded in
We discussed alternatives to getting the van fixed, but nothing would be any less
expensive. We decided right away that the Greyhound was out; there was no fun or glory in
showing up in Toronto after taking the Greyhound. Were we 15-year-old girls? Hell no, we
are resourceful adults. There had to be a way for us to make $500 in less than a week in a
strange city where we only knew one person. There just had to be. We could play shows and
make crafts to sell, but something had to happen.
It was Wednesday. The van could be fixed the following day, but because the day after
that was Good Friday, we could pick it up on Monday. After we confirmed with Mike B that
he was okay with us taking over his living room for the rest of the week, we went to the Auto
Shop to get our art supplies, my sewing machine, and the guitar out of the van.
We got back to Mike B's and collapsed in his IMng room, ready to make some crafts. ;
Mike B DJs a night every Thursday, called Good Form, at the Collective Cabaret. He asked us
if we wanted to play it, before the dance party. The bar would pay us $100, plus drink tickets,
and we could set up our merch and sell it. We were so excited. I got to work, making felt owl
badges and yarn octopus badges. Henry found a military toy catalogue, laying in a parking
lot puddle, which he made into fridge magnets with funny slogans applied with Letraset. We
worked all day, and then hung out with Mike B, and his friend Loren, that evening. So far,
being stuck in Winnipeg was not that bad.
Discorder   19 DAY 4 - THURSDAY, APRIL 5
We wanted to busk during the day, as well, to try to make some money, but it was so damn
cold the next day there were no people out. We went on a walk, to find super glue, and found
that Winnipeg has kept a lot of its older, beautiful buildings. There are plenty of brick walk-ups
with amazing old signage and little aesthetic design quirks. There is a small bridge over the
Assiniboine River, leading to Osboume Village, with a little walking park below. The river had
risen quite a bit, and then frozen, so that trees and lamp posts were partially submerged and
encased in an icy trap. It looked so damn cool that we decided to come back the next day to
film a short scene there for the horror movie we have been working on.
We went back to Mike B's to finish our crafts, and have a short practice, before we had to
go to the venue for sound check. The venue was the same one which Henri Faberge and the
Adorables had played when they were on tour in November with The Bicycles. It was cold and
empty when we got there. We did a quick sound check and set up our little merch table. Mike
B had told us that the band would be on at 10 p.m., and that not many people would be there,
because the crowd shows up later on for the dance party. Because the show was spur-of-the-
moment, and not advertised, we were more than happy to play for the ten to fifteen people who
were in the room. And, though it was just Henry, me, and two microphones, it was great. It was
also really special, because it was our first time performing together, ever. This made me really
nervous, but I just wept for it. It was difficult to play without a drummer, but the small audience
was sitting, listening and responding. We finished the set with The Goddamn Light". By then,
people were starting to come in for the dance party.
We set up a larger table with all of our wares on the stage, determined to sell our crafts
to people as they got more and more drunk. Mike B was DJing, and the place got seriously
packed. It was the day before Good Friday, and Mike had said that it is one of the busiest
drinking nights of the year in Winnipeg, because on the holiday Friday, a lot of places are
When we got home at 3 a.m., we counted our earnings for the night. Including what we
got paid to play, we had made $223. Not bad. Exhausted, we fell asleep on the couch.
Somewhere in the course of getting drunk, Mike B's business partner, Ashley, asked us if
we could play that Sunday at The Elephant and Castle. They have live music every Sunday, and
there would be a Winnipeg band called Boats playing that night, but we could open for them.
So, we already had our next gig lined up.
The next day was Good Friday. Mike B sheepishly asked If we wanted to accompany him
to his family gathering in Altona, Manitoba - a Mennonite community about an hour away from
Winnipeg. We agreed, and spent the day in the banquet room of a curling and hockey rink
in Altona, where we ate salads and cold cuts, drank Dr. Pepper, and played Uno with Mike's
lovely, and very welcoming, cousins. We stayed the night at the family house in Altona and
watched A Time to Kill on TBS and ate popcorn.
On Saturday, we drove back to Winnipeg. Henry and I-got out the camera and my curly
wig, and headed back to the bridge over Assiniboine* River to film that short segment for the
horror movie. The trees were trapped in a thin layer of ice, which crackled like paper under our
feet, but did not break. We went on a long walk, and bought some scotch for my birthday, and
then went back to Mike B's to make more merch for the show on Sunday.
We were running out of food and wanted to get some bread to make sandwiches. Mike
told us about a cafe-bakery a couple of blocks away called Common Ground, but explained
that it might be weird because it was run by a cult. A cult?
"They all live together in this mansion. There are around 30 of them," he told us.
Intrigued, we went out to find it. W^i_W$
From the outside, Common Ground looked like an earthy, hippie sort of establishment,
which featured a mural of a king sharing coffee with a pauper on its side. The doors were open,
so we went inside. We were greeted by an earthy woman wearing a lumpy turtleneck, and her
androgynous child, as we entered the otherwise empty cafe. We explained that we had come
looking for bread.
"Oh, we're not open for business, because it's the Sabbath," she told us. "So we don't sell
anything today. But we offer our friends and neighbours a cup of tea."
While it was a nice offer, we explained that we really did not need tea, just bread. The
woman told us her name was Hava, and after hearing our tale of exploding fuel lines and being
stranded in Winnipeg, she offered to just give us two loaves of bread, because they can not
sell anything on the Sabbath. She then asked us to sit down, while she prepared us a drink
that she and her 'community' were really into -- a Brazilian tea called yerba mate. She told us
that members of her commune ran the cafe, and that they were starting 'communities' all over
the world.
"We're like bee hives," she explained. "We live and work together. We're springing up all
over the place. We've got a community in Victoria, and Nelson, and one in Brazil - they send
us the yerba mate! A new one will soon be appearing in Vancouver."
Hava's vocal mannerisms were very strange, but she was very kind, so we listened intently
while she made us our Mate. "We worship Yoshua. That's the Hebrew word for 'Jesus'. Here
is something we wrote." She handed us a paper magazine, called Man's Fatal Flaw: Why Can't
Man Just Get Along? It was written by the Twelve Tribes, the name of their cult.
Just then, a bearded young man with very focused eyes came in.
"Ah, this is Lev, with my son," Hava told us.
We realized we had passed Lev and the child on the street on our way in. The boy looked
exactly like the other child, which I presumed to be a girl. They all sat and stared at us.
"I saw you on the street," Lev said very slowly, "and I almost gave you a mate card. I
thought, 'I've got to talk to that guy'." There was a momentary silence.
Hava was almost finished making our mate by then. She even made one for Mike B, after
we told her we were staying with a friend. The daughter whispered something to Hava, and she
told us the child would like to offer us dessert. They sent us off with three peanut butter balls,
the two loaves of bread, three yerba mates, and the Twelve Tribes magazine. They seemed sad
to see us go. We promised to come back to have lunch on Monday, and then we left.
That night we hung out with Mike, drank some scotch, and made some more stickers and
badges to sell at the show the following night. Later on, we lit off some expired fireworks we
had with us - to celebrate my birthday. It was called The Jeweled Fountain and, considering it
was over ten years old, it blew up pretty good.
^C/9\ sJTZT._-sfjf\. O/.oO-i. DAY 7 - SUNDAY, APRIL 8
Sunday, we walked around Winnipeg, trying to find a kazoo to accompany our guitar and
vocals, but everything was closed.
The Elephant and Castle Pub in Winnipeg is attached to a hotel. As well as being paid for
the gig, we were also being given a meal each and a bar tab. We set up our merch and started
selling some of the custom stickers Henry had made before we even played. The bar was
about half-full and the sound was terrible, but we had a really fun time. I borrowed a tambourine
from the kids in Boats, and Henry and I played about six songs. I think our best one was "O!
Ella". We filled the time between songs with silly improv banter, which Henry is really good at. I
felt there was nowhere I would rather be on my birthday than in this little pub attached to a hotel
in Winnipeg, playing a haphazard show with my husband for a tiny crowd.
Boats were also really great; the singer has an unusual but very pleasing voice. They were
really kind to let us open for them. After the show, we all hung out, and Ashley made sure the
drinks kept coming. Soon, Mike B looked wasted and Henry was lying down on the booth seat
smiling. It was probably time to go.
I think we made about $150 that night. Although we still did not have quite enough money
for the van repair, we were determined to leave the next day, and to just deal with it the best
we could.
We called Tony's in the morning, to find out that the van was fixed. The repair cost $485,
and we were ready to go. Tony warned us that the brake lines were also in rough shape, and
that we should take it easy. He then assured us that we would probably be okay. 'Probably' was
enough for us; we were ready to hit the road.
After packing up our stuff, which was strewn all over Mike B's living room, and saying our
goodbyes, we were finally on the road to Thunder Bay - five days late. It was around an eight
hour drive there, but we were also going to lose another hour by traveling east. We left in the
middle of the afternoon, so we decided not to stop, even though we both really wanted to hit
some more thrift stores.
In Thunder Bay, we were to stay at The Apollo, a bar and concert venue with an apartment
above, where bands often stay. Henry and his Adorables had stayed there while on tour, so
he arranged with Sheila, the woman who runs the place, for the two of us to sleep there that
It was a long drive, but we were in good spirits. We arrived in Thunder Bay at about
midnight. The Apollo was not open that night, but Sheila's brother let us into the enormous
upstairs apartment. The impressive building had nine bedrooms and fifteen beds, two
bathrooms, and a kitchen. We were starving, so we decided to wander around Thunder Bay
to see what was open.
We went down a couple of streets, and in the distance I could see a few people smoking
outside of what looked like a bar. As we got closer, I realized - holy shit -1 know those people!
It was my friends Derek, Devon, and Krista from You Say Party! We Say Die!! They had stayed
at my house in Edmonton, just 10 days earlier. We had no idea they were going to be in town
that night.
We shrieked with the excitement of seeing each other - more hugs and high fives. The bar
they stood outside of was closing, but we found another place that was still open. The five of
us happily walked there, chatting and laughing.
The YSPIWSD! gang were on their way back across the country after their Exclaim! tour
with Malajube and Champion. They had one show left: the next night, at a house party in
Winnipeg. We sat around and gossiped, drank beer and ate free popcorn and shitty quesadHlas
at some crummy bar filled with rowdy locals. It was awesome.
At one point, we were accosted by an extremely excitable drunk, who had seen YSPIWSD!
on MTV Canada. He was so drunk, he thought Henry and I were members of the band; he
really, really wanted to "hang out with us". He and his girlfriend, and their buddies, sat with us
- until Henry accidentally insulted the wasted girlfriend by calling her, "the whitest Asian he
had ever seen" (she was wearing Burberry). She started whining to her boyfriend that she, in
her words, sucked at life, and he loudly worried back that he might not get laid that night. A
stocky guy named Tyson told us terrible sexist jokes and talked about meth, before leaving to
drunkenly drive his friend's truck home.
The five of us left to go back to The Apollo. When we got to the van, we decided it was
an appropriate occasion to light off more of the expiredtireworks, which Henry and I had
brought with us from Alberta. This round was Basket of Cherries, and it was impressive; it shot
bouncing balls of red sparks down the street.
We went upstairs, and Henry and I showed the gang what was left of our merch, while
Derek rolled a joint. We gave them a few of our custom stickers, and I gave Krista an owl
badge. We showed them all the footage for the horror movie we had filmed to that point, and
then we gossiped some more until they were all sleepy and decided to leave. It had been such
a lovely surprise to run into them.
As soon as they left, Henry and I began to peel each other's clothes off and make out.
We showered and then chased each other around the huge apartment, kissing and fondling
and horsing about. We ended up fucking in every single bed in the place I top bunks, bottom
bunks, single beds - even the Lazy Boy - until we settled on the biggest bed we could find to
sleep in for the night. It was the coziest sleep we had on our entire journey.
We woke up really early and decided to get on the road as soon as we could. We were
going,,to drive straight back to Toronto that day. At least 16 hours.
The daytime hours were easiest. We still had chocolate and it was sunny. We listened to
tapes and chatted excitedly. We were really excited to get back to Toronto.
We stopped in Marathon, Ontario for lunch. The restaurant we stopped at was really close
to a little community thrift store - one of those tiny little thrift stores, run by cozy old ladies who
have just cleaned out their rumpus room for the first time in ten years. Everything was dirt-
cheap. We got a Super 8 camera and an 8mm projector, hardly used, for $10; I got a wicked
vintage grey leather purse for $1, and several lovely silk scarves for 25 cents each. We found
a Star Trek VHS board game, a wood burning kit, a handful of plastic animals, and about ten
cassette tapes - Anthrax, Ozzy, Megadeth, and Cinderella. Yes!
I do not know how - because the van was already completely full - but we somehow
managed to fit all this stuff in around us once we were both sitting. Impressed with our bounty,
we were ready to continue.
Somewhere outside of White River, we were pulled over and issued two tickets. The
first was for speeding, 118 in a 90 zone. The cop who pulled us over revealed to us that our
'in transit' registration had expired. Shit! The permits are only issued for a week, and ours,
had expired while we were stuck in Winnipeg. So we were driving a vehicle that was not
legally registered - ticket number two, for a total of $200.
'You know, you should really head back to White River and get another 'in transit'
permit," the cop told us. Henry and I were silently horrified..
"Will the registry be open at this time?" Henry asked. It was past 4:30 p.m.
"Probably not. Why don't I drive back with you and you can spend the night in White
River?" This offended Henry and I even more. How was that possibly an option, getting
stranded, again? The cop went back to his car to call the registry. Henry and I looked at
each other.
"Is he going to escort us back to White River?" I asked, disgusted. This did not fit in
with our plans.
The cop returned to tell us the registry in White River was closed. He recommended
that we drive on to Wawa, the next small town, to stay the night there, and wait for the
registry to open in the morning. "You can't drive on in an unregistered vehicle," he told us.
"Let's get the fuck out of here," Henry said. We had absolutely no intention of stopping
in Wawa.
"Yeah," I said, "Yeah, let's just get to Toronto."
Since we were now renegades, we had to drive the speed limit the entire way to ensure
we were not pulled over.again. As it got dark it got, it became more and more stressful.
We stopped in Saulte Saint Marie to buy some groceries, for dinner, and went to Value
Village, which was conveniently in the same plaza. We added to our treasures another 8mm
projector, a button maker, several pairs of tights and a little dress and matching jacket with
anchor buttons. More stuff to pile around us!
We had heard that there is a long stretch between Saulte Saint Marie and Sudbury
where there are no gas stations, so we filled up before leaving town. Not only are there no
gas stations, there is nothing. Ribbon after ribbon of empty black road spread out before
us - sometimes a divided highway, sometimes the dreadful skinny roads that scare the shit
out of me. «J5??w£§ii
Canada has a lot of empty space. There are vast chunks of empty land all over the
country. It is really underdeveloped, which I find fascinating - it reeks of potential, but is also
frightening, because it impresses upon you just how easily Canada could be taken over. I
had just read an interview with Iggy Pop, who described Canada as 'the sleeping giant'; his
statement rang true as we drove through hour upon hour of emptiness.
I fed Henry chunks of a baguette with slices of provolone and forkfuls of Greek salad to
keep him alive. The drive loomed on.
We finally, reached Sudbury and decided to get gas. This meant finding a gas station
that was open that early in the morning. It also meant driving around and around the small
'town, trying not to get pulled over by the cops - and there were cop cars everywhere! Every
time we turned a corner, or pulled up to a stoplight, there was a cop car. We were paranoid
that the other cop might have put the word out about our license plate number, and that we
would get in trouble for not going to Wawa. Every time we saw a cop, we would creep down
to about 40. At one point, we were stopped at a traffic light, right next to the fuzz. When the
light turned green, Henry still pretended to read the map book, but the police had not pulled
ahead. So we drove right in front of them, our '06 license stickers flashing at them. They
turned off at the next street.
We finally found a gas station that was open. Henry called his roommates to tell them
we would be home in about four hours. We were so fucking excited - the last leg!
The hardest leg. I tried so hard to stay awake, so I could make sure Henry stayed
awake. Four hours felt like ten. I fell asleep for about 45 minutes -1 could not help it, but I felt
terrible. I woke up, and the same Bell Biv Devoe tape was playing for the fourth time. Henry
looked intense and a bit frazzled.   -
The last two hours were the longest. Watching the kilometres diminish every time we
passed a highway sign. The last two hours. We just had to get through two more hours.
The stars looked amazing. The sky was starting to change colour; purple was seeping into
the endless black. Henry said he had never been so excited to know he was in Barrie. We
neared city limits. Suddenly it was easy to stay awake.
We pulled up to 1059 Bathurst at 6 a.m. Toronto! We made it: without exploding,
without getting arrested, and without running out of gas. We made it without hitting a deer
or a moose, without driving off the road, and without getting smacked by a semi. The relief of.
the end of the long journey enveloped us as the stars disappeared from the sky. We tumbled
out of the van, and onto the street. Home. Now to get some sleep, find storage for ail my
stuff, find jobs, pay our rent, and get rid of our useless van ... the next morning. We would
do it all the next morning. J) ART+GEEK=
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In this workshop we will learn how to link visual, sonic and physical
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A course to "make your art move", intended for those interested in
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Learn how to take advantage of your DSLR- camera to make the
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1965 Main Street, Vancouver BC
VIDEO OUT cnui—f
ii ii_-u__j i n i
±U_D     KIR
"Good. Gone. Dead."
That was the tag line for Rheostatics' farewell show, which the
played to a sold out house of fans gathered from across the continent.
Because of the careful wording of the press release, indicating that this.,
show would be the last outing of the current line-up, the utter feeling
of finality was inescapable. Onstage, as they trotted out the drummers
of yore (Dave Clark and Don Kerr), told morbid jokes about chopping
off hands, and discussed the possibility of soloing through the casino
circuit, it really felt like the end of something.
The show was a testament to the accomplishments made during
band's quarter-century career: beautiful guitar sounds carryied
the listener from coast to coast, finally submerging into an ocean of
nostalgia. Rheostatics spent half of their three-and-a-half hour set on
songs from Melville and Whale Music, their classic second and third
albums, giving one the sense that it was just as much a reminiscence
for the band, as for their fans.
Poor Martin Tielli was ill, his voice unable to hit the signature
falsetto notes of so many of his songs. But every time the energy of
the show ebbed, one of the other Rheostatics jumped in to steer the
ship back on course. Whether it was an adlib from Dave Bidini, or
Tim Vesley reaching a microphone over so Kerr could chime in on a
lyric, the years on stage together wore well on the band that night; the
boys supported each other creatively and, on this night in particular,
emotionally. Tielli seemed to have the toughest time, commenting that
he kept adjusting his cap to keep his 'mind off of things.'
But it was not all as tragic as it seemed. Rheostatics took the
opportunity to demonstrate their longevity that night - they engaged
the fans, and more particularly in between songs, joked they probably
knew the names of most audience members. Highlights also included
a theatrical reenactment of a Bidini experience at a Joe Jackson show,
goalie pads played as percussion, and an audience sing-a-Iong finale.
As they walked off stage for the final time, Tielli called out to the
audience, 'See ya soon!" Drummer JVlichael Phililp-Wojewoda'then
looked at him questioningly. Maybe it was an uncanny prediction,
maybe just a joke, or maybe denial that a great Canadian band is
Keith Shillabeer
It seems to me that Air is, in many ways, a seasonal band, J
meant for languorously rolling around onhottle-green lawns and f
brushing back flops of hair to place a daisy behind the ear of your I
amour to. Perhaps this is why the show venue, Richards, reminded I
me a bit of that time when your older sister informed you that your '
sand-castle looked "kind-of-crappy".
The   opener,   Kate   Havnevik's   set   was   agreeably   short.
Outstretching her arms like a character in Phantom of the Opera,
Havnevik's Bjork-inspired voice sounded a little too radio-ready over her
pre-recorded tracks — it gave away her classically trained background.
Havnevik has received much hype lately, perhaps due to the inclusion of
one her songs on Grey's Anatomy, which made it difficult to gage the integrity
of her music—especially with painfully-contrived lyrics like, "Timeless / Love is
a cure / A promise/ Still so pure". Still, her optimistic euro-styled electronic pop will
certainly appeal to certain masses — I even told my Mum about her — especially the
album itself, which proves slightly more compelling than her well-intentioned, yet ultimately
underwhelming, live set. %*&_&&
Then there was Air. All the sexy cliches we associate with their particular brand of lofty French electronic
soundtrack pop were animatedly played upon live. Ftom the beginning of the set, a bright white strobe light shone
from behind Nicholas Godin and Jean-Benoit Dunckel, silhouetting them in blue halos and casting a vast brightness
over the crowd, blinding some and forcing others to look away from the stage and back into the crowd until the
tempo, and invariably the lights, changed. Only between numbers was the lightshow momentarily switched-off to
reveal the two musicians in their immaculate little white pants — all business.
The song lineup was rather nostalgically-weighted in Air's older material from their last three albums. Perhaps
this was because they felt they had some catching up to do, given the rarity of live Air performances in Vancouver.
Hearing the songs they did play from their newest album, Pocket Symphony, it seemed clear this album shifts to a
more spectral and quieter sound. The new material is an honest and well balanced progression from their earlier work.
The show, then, read hke a retrospective,
capitalizing on a well-known aesthetic,
rather than attempting to re-invent
themselves album by album, live show by
live show, as so many bands do.
Air are a confident band, able to
guage their audience and keep them in
anticipation of long-awaited build-ups,
or an even longer-awaited encore of
everyone's favorite numbers. Predictable,
but you got the feeling the joke was not on
them. All that, and sexy French "Sank-
you, sank-you vezy much." accents?
Come back anytime, guys! But only in
the summer.
Bitsy Knox
c /   u  i /   t r it ...CONTINUED
There has been a lot to talk about Modest Mouse lately.
From the line-up change which brought former Smiths guitarist
Johnny Marr into the fold, to the monumental amount of airplay
for the first single, "Dashboard," to constant discussions of the
ramifications of the band's so-called popularity, there has been
no shortage of discussion topics. Yet, as this show approached,
the. preponderance of chit chat about it seemed to revolve
around the venue they would play at. The show, moved to the
PJ^E Forum from neighboring Pacific Coliseum, brought about
a general consensus that neither venue was ideal for Modest
Mouse. Even the band's,kingpin, Isaac Brock called the venue a
"big brick shoebox" during banter in between songs.
Grand Archives and Love As Laughter were both of little
consequence. Both bands had qualities which seemed to give .
them Ucense to open for Modest Mouse, yet both were sadly not
up to the task. Grand Archives showed a little potential, with
a few songs of fever-stricken rock, and a sound reminiscent of
Neil Young's harder material. However, they sustained no real
vigor or interest from the crowd.
Modest Mouse's set began with much more promise, as the
band immediately treated everyone to some older favorites. Both
the band and crowd gained energy on the heels of new album's
standout, "Fire It Up," and just when the show seemed poised to
boil-over—half way through a rousing rendition of "Tiny Cities
Made Of Ashes" — the group devolved into a jam band. Johnny
Marr did more interesting things that night than he did in his
time between the Smiths break-up and joining Modest Mouse.
Brock maintained his tortured genius persona, but the show
was blemished by constant feedback. In retrospect, the band did
not put on a bad show, as they managed rock the notoriously
finicky venue much better than anticipated.
On one of those late-March nights, so obviously orchestrated
to mock those of us who believed spring was duly sprung, a gathering
of artistically-minded stylish young Vancouverites took place just behind
Pat's Pub, at a place called The Chapel.
Edo Van Breemen, lead singer and keyboardist for The Clips, spearheaded the
musical plan for the night, and 3rd year Emily Carr student Sally Hutcheon looked after corralling the young
artistic talents, filling the many rooms with well-hung eye candy — she called the whole shebang her "Vague
Undertaking". To find works that featured images as diverse as tree trunks painted on human flesh by an artist
named Chloe, and nautically-themed re-workings by Ed Speiice, Hutcheon called upon friends and classmates to
exhibit recent works — drawing heavily on those who, according to Van Breemen, are "tentatively named.'The
Chair Factory Collective.'" This same group of kids is responsible for the steady movement, and nausea-inducing
enthusiasm, to be found on the dancefloor at any given Clips show.
The frequency of Clips appearances around town, of late, and the omnipresence of the band's spray-painted
paper clip logo up and down streets are of high repute. One could be forgiven for thinking the band has an album
to push, but such is not yet the case. 'Music's in the can,' according to the band, and can be expected soon,hut the
live shows have garnered fans based on their own merit. Van Breemen chose two of his favourite Vancouver bands
to share the Chapel bill, but decided it was only fair to give his own band the opening slot.
That opening slot meant the band played to a less-than-frdl room, and experienced a few sound glitches
(well, those problems ended up plaguing all three bands - since when do bass speakers go on top?). However, the
difficulties were transcended, and a solid set came together. The Clips managed to get a room frill of awkward, not-
yet-drunk bodies moving by feeding the crowd a series of keyboard-fueled meandering pop gems.
Following the crowd favorites may have been tough for Bend Sinister, but you would never have known
it from watching the band play. Lead singer Dan Moxon, who I have never seen behind a keyboard before, is a
powerhouse. Cliche as it may be, Bend Sinister made me feel, for those 45 minutes, as though I was at a stadium
rock show. I have mocked Dan's record collection in the past, but seeing the band live shed new light on how
influences like Supertramp and Billy Joel shape the music of now. IfRSsii!
By the time Panurge took the stage, peoplejji^e drunk enough to take on Dancy Party, Round Three.
Guitarist/vocalist John Schubert joked with me at the beginning of the night that they would be lucky if 12 people
were still there by the night's end. John's worries were put to bed by those not yet ready to visit their own.
Most people managed to take in Bend Sinister and Panurge's performances, and the art-show which inspired
the get-together in the first place. I left the building with a solid understanding of why people are so crazy about
up-and-comers like The Clips, and how cool it is when young artists get together in an effort to support their own.
Well done, youthful hopefuls!
Padraig Watson
As I walked into Richards last night, an eerie silence fell
over me — not exactly of the pin-drop variety, but a silence,
nonetheless. I was there to see Deerhunter, and it seems only a
handful of fellow concertgoers had similar intentions. Perhaps
the big hockey game on that night was to blame for the lack of
bodies, or maybe it was Deerhunter being billed as The Ponys's
opening act which dissuaded some. Whatever the reason, the
emptiness cast a strange glow over the bar.
Nontheless, I had been itching to see Deerhunter in the
flesh ever since I read a scathing testimonial on their MySpace
page. In it, the author writes, "I've seen over 100 shows in my
life, and I've seen bad, believe me. But you guys take the cake
... If I see your flyer in my town, I will take it down. If you are
booked anywhere within a State of me, I will publicly speak and
tell people not to go. You are a pile of shit in this 'thing' we call
the music business. Go get a job. Fuckin' wannabes."
Needless to say, my curiosity was piqued, and I needed
to see for myself if there was any truth in this vicious band-
bashing. As I expected, there was not. When Deerhunter
ripped into a mind-crushing set of experimental strangeness, it
became brutally clear this was going to be a show to remember
— a show to file in my rolodex of great rock-n-roll memories.
Live, the young Southerners amped-up their darker, more
sinister side, throwing a cloak of reverb and red light oyer
ricocheting vocal loops and droning six-strings. The result was
a moTe hypnotic sound than on Deerhunter's recordings, and
the small, appreciative crowd soaked up a set consisting mostly
of songs from their brilliant Cryptograms.
Regardless of the aural pleasure, it Was the
sight of singer Bradford Cox which will forever be burned
into my memory. Beginning the show in a green hooded
jumper and khakis, his attire soon gave way to what
appeared to be an elderly woman's nightgown,
complete with lace, frills and a rather high hem.
His skeletal frame then proceeded to creep among
various instruments and bandmates, towering
above the crowd as he mixed low, guttural sounds
into pop-like melodies. The effect was a surreal, to
say the least, and it came off like some Lynchian
scene that makes you nervous to sleep alone.
When the group dismounted the stage, I
was left feeling somewhat shaken, but entirely
satisfied. Perhaps someday, I will tell my grandkids
about this one, and perhaps my wife will be clothed
in evening wear similar to Cox's when I do.
Technically, Chicago rockers The Ponys were
the headliners at this show, but, judging by crowd
reaction,- the bands could have easily been switched (
the bill. Nothing was wrong with The Ponys, per se, but their
anticlimactic set was nothing all that remarkable, either.
Brock Thiessen
In an age of over-produced Avril Lavigne wannabees, one
magical lady stands out—or at least that was the notion I got
when I saw Regina Spektor play. She sat alone at her piano for
most of the night, with no backing vocals or supporting band,
proving that her voice is a force to be reckoned with.
Leading the crowd in sing-alongs and covering John
Lennon's "Real Love" were just a few things which showcased
her effortless voice and a genuine love for her fans. She thanked
the audience at least over ten times during 90-minute long set,
giggling and smiling after every compliment thrown her way.
I have always been a fan of Regina's, and if anything, I am
more of a fan now having seen her Uve. Her setlist was quite
impressive, with some unreleased songs included in addition
to, of course, her hits. As she played songs Uke "Baby Jesus"
and "Music Box," the audience became divided, with only the
hardcore fans singing along. "Samson" and "FideUty" brought
the crowd back together again. During "Real Love," which
brought all The Beatles fans to tears, she hit the wrong piano
key, giggled and looked up, mumbling, "Sorry John."
This was Regina's first time in Vancouver, and considering
the show sold out almost immediately, I am sure she will be
back soon — at least I hope so.
An audience member summed up the evening nicely:
"Vancouver loves Regina!"
Ian Wyatt is sitting in front of me, and he is interested
in doing away with the binding sense of having to sit still, my
stillness, the stillness of the entire room. I can tell this because
of the way he speaks, as if the show really is a conversation
— but does it have to be one? I want to yell back at him.
Surely, I have something to do with this subtle tearing apart of
convention. And yet, as I sit here with my right hand wound
tightly around another's left, I am grinning, but silent. But that
boy! He carries on as if I had spoken to him, Uke the others have,
the brave ones, and he rocks back and forth like an animal.
The songs Wyatt plays reach for midnight, reach for the
space that runs between the days, seeping from darkness on
forth into Ught. I can not help but wonder why it takes so long
to hear the audience chime in with a chorus of support. He
sits there, only him and his guitar, and in the silence I think I
hear an invisible multitude answering him back — knowing
aU the words — and I am one of them. Although this display is
a destruction of the things etched upon us, it is also a physical
manifestation of what lays beneath.
And then there is Kellarissa. She is small and sits behind
what looks like a large set of keys. Her words I do not know,
but I cannot know them — they are of a different tongue, an
unfamfliar one. Perhaps she is from a different world. I could
almost convince myseU of her otherness, were it not for the
music — reminiscent of a god, and punctuated by slight
profanity directed at malfunctioning foot pedals. However, the
magnification of her voice seems to border on the unholy—as
if there truly is chorus, a choir, a floor fuU of women possessed,
looping round her in collapsing circles. The woman concocts
a sound that calls for frankincense and myrrh. Nearing the
abrupt end of her ceremony, a final lashing out at electricity
and faulty communication wires offers a small hint of her
vulnerabiUty, despite the presence she has filled the room
with. I find the myseU filled with that presence, even still. I am
compelled to admit that her songs have become a part of me
— the way my hand stfll weaves tightly around that of the boy
near me.
c. turions j)
Discorder   25 The 69 Eyes
(Caroline Records/EMI Finland)
Much like their Finnish compatriots, H.I.M., The 69 Eyes
have a great pop-rock sound that gets you grooving. A
problem can sometimes arise when you dwell on the lyrics
you find stuck in your head. Not that anyone buys pop-rock
" looking for in-depth, or even particularly clever, lyrics. But
lines like "Never say die / Leave me alone in the night / Keep
me away from the light" make 80s Sunset Strip bands like
L.A. Guns sound like Leonard Cohen. Even after hearing a couple of their albums, I still don't know whether to
dismiss The 69 Eyes as cheesy, or to laud them as geniuses
who can walk that tongue-in-cheek line, just shy of self-
parody. It all depends on the song.
I did enjoy most of this latest The 69 Eyes disc. It's a
little crunchier than their previous work, boasting many
great riffs and lush melodies - including a cameo by
Apocalyptica on the track "Ghosts." I think they must
have been listening to some Rob Zombie shortly prior to
writing "Frankenhooker," though the influence is more
lyrical than sonic in this amusing little track. Maybe the
song a smart-assed back-handed comment on a large segment of the Goth scene. It's open for whichever interpretation you find the most amusing, with its lines like, "I woke
up into my own scream / A thousand zombie girls running
after me... I ain't looking for no head / From some fucking
Uving dead... You Suck!"
Fans of other current Finnish rock bands, as well as
those similar in attitude, if not sound - Wednesday 13,
Murderdolis, and Rob Zombie - will find much to enjoy
Pyra Draculea
Ora Cogan
: Hatter::
A few months back, an Ora Cogan show caused a slight
rift between good friends of mine - one of whom hushed
the other during her performance of what could have been
any of the soft whirring songs that appear on her independently released album, ::Tatter:: (assembled with the help
of a few of her own good friends). At that ALF House show,
Ora gave one of my friends a copy of her debut - its cardboard sleeve hand-hewn from an old country rock LP given
a new lease on life - which, soon after, I swiped from the
table while my friend sold sangria to all the kids crammed
in to see Ora appear between the Greenbelt Collective and
their friends, Collapsing Opposites.
Even though, earlier this year, CBC Radio 3 featured
the slow folk "Daisy" as its New Music Canada Song of the
Day, I dove into that copy of ::Tatter:: for a shorter, more
sorrowful favorite, called "Take Me Home," which, since
that show, has graced more than a handful of mixtapes for
friends and strangers alike. Admittedly, very Uttle is surprising about ::Tatter::, on which Ora shortly, simply, and dutifully plays much of what we would expect a folk-singing
soloist with a pretty voice might play.»What she manages
to do on many of these tracks, though, is make every carefully-assembled copy of ::Tatter:: worthy of a hushing. "My
Sweetie Went Away" and "Worry" respectfully riff off ragtime, with only a touch of the theatrical, and "Black Coats"
displays the darker dynamic of Ora's willowy vocals, with
wails which haunt the swan song, on what I think many
will see as a soulfully generous folk album. And those
luckier to score the professional repressing of the LP will
have the pleasure of two live tracks, "Road in the Dark,"
and the traditional "Motherless Child," both frighteningly
mature for such an early release. Find a copy of ::Tatter::
from Ora herself, as she roams the States, or catch her at
the Vancouver Folk Festival in July.
Mono Brown      - !&$§!i$$.
Collapsing Opposites     Datarock
Fight Against Darkness
(Aaargh! Records)
When I first put Fight Against Darkness in my CD player, I
had very little idea what to expect. Up until then, I had only
heard the Chet song "Film School Makes You Worthless
and Lazy" on a mix, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I listened
to several songs from the new album and then abruptly
turned it off; not because it negatively affected me, but because I wasn't quite prepared for the emotional response it
conjured in me. Standing there, alone in my room, I was
simultaneously compelled to jump out my window, curl
up in my bed, and put on my panda vest and start drawing with pastels on the walls. I opted for none, and instead
went downstairs to make tea.
An album that can evoke such an immediately powerful response is worth repeated exploration in my book. I
gratefully returned to its swells of beer and reverb-soaked
vocals. M. Ward, and My Morning Jacket came to mind,
but only a small semblance, as Chefs sound is nicely autonomous on a whole. The album is awash in ride-cymbal
crescendos and brooding bursts of bubbling, melancholic
happiness. Listen to this album on a rainy day, and it might
not so much crush you as smother you in a warm blanket
of happy/sad crooning, comfortably seated in a melodic
phalanx of instrumentation.
Morgan Hobart
It is easy to be charmed into lethargy by Inside
Chance's smooth rhymes, but don't be fooled and Usten
closely. Intermixed with the deceptively simplistic chords
and beats are messages of anti-conformity, tragi-com-
edy, and the impossibility of love in modernity's capitalist monolith. This is the album's clear and demanding
theme: art must mirror the message. For instance, on the
first track, "Outside Problems," what appears as banal
repetition of guitar chords, is actuaUy a reflection of the
absurdity and senselessness of a capitalist machine, which
depends on marketing the same old as new again, in order
to drive consumption. As McCormick writes: "Outside's in
and inside's out / Little rich kids can't live without / How
can I be out? / When I'm clearly so in? /1 was out till that
was in, / soon I'll be out again."
If there is a criticism of this album, it is that many
of the tracks (all written by McCormick) sacrifice musical symmetry for lyrical pastiche, often coming across as
esoteric. There is a Uttle bit here for everybody, though.
Traditional fans of Collapsing Opposites will be pleased to
hear the same playful romps of philosophy, in tunes such as
"Fight!" and "What's That Sound?" Listeners will feel displaced by the raw poUtical messages, inherent in "BulUes"
and the ominous real-life experiences in "Teachers and
Students." The most dark, self-depracating, and downright
trippy songs on the album, "Other Song" and "Duckling,"
are nicely balanced with the melancholy of "AU Around
It" and-"Song for Two." The best and most forceful song,
"Land of Opportunity," is a very cool attack on individu-
alism over community, which exposes the dangerous intentions of capitalism (and is interestingly represented as
stratification by captivating CD inset art). Inside Chance
is an album worth listening to, sharing with your friends,
and starting a post-modern revolution over.
Inside Chance
(Local Kids Make Good Records)
CoUapsing Opposites' much-awaited fifth album, Inside
Chance, is an auditory and emotional feast of mainstream
deconstruction. It is a capricious coUection of playful
urban clips mixed by Pietro Sammarco (Pippo Sound),
overcast by dark, witty lyrics by post-modern tragedian
Ryan McCormick. Rounded out by the tuba dynamism of
Carrie Chapman, and the soUd rhythm section consisting
of Laura Hatfield on beats and Julia Feyrer on drums, these
catchy tunes are sure to cement CoUapsing Opposites' position as the playful cultural doomsayer of the West Coast
indie scene.
Datarock Datarock
(Nettwerk Records)
I can begin by telling you that Datarock is not a gUb,
tongue-in-cheek nod to Krautrock. I can teU you, also, that
Datarock is a tongue-in-cheek nod to the nerdier side of
cool - a synthesis of the sounds and persona of the likes of
Devo and Talking Heads. When they feel the need to output
rock, they do so in a restrained, shimmering fashion that
brings to mind Sea and Cake jams. What computes is that
these Norwegians play what feels good, and that fun need
be the only common denominator. I can teU you these computers definitely wear tennis shoes.
undeL What I can't exactly teU you is whether Datarock's
Mentos-commercial-styled humour is aimed to tickle
your funny bone, or is just a pretense to move your feet.
The grooves the duo throw down to support these stories
of seemingly thrown together words end up pulling at odd
emotional centers. Take a listen to "Computer Camp Love,"
with its low-tech chords and even lower-down groove.
WhUe certainly not everyone has been to computer camp
for a summer of Commodore 64s, BASIC programming
and GEOS, many an advancing-age hipster will find a pang
of longing for their closest analog hobby (be it mix-tape
making, high school poetry slamming or sketching girls in
By contrast, "I Used to Dance With My Daddy" is very
suave. Suave in the way of getting dressed to go nowhere
special(Uke the bus stop), while mouthing the words to a
favourite song in the mirror. The handclaps and reverbed
chorus are a show stopper. "Fa-Fa-Fa" is funky with nary
a trace of soul; funky enough to be booty-shaking without
resorting to mechanical repetition. "Sex Me Up" foUows
similar roots, but reUes heavily on easy-to-sing lyrics to
snap you to attention. Fredrik Saroea's sexy crooning about
the lashes of a "MaybelUne" girl is a memorable journey
through an overly-dramatic cosmetics commercial scene,
guaranteed to get a chuckle from anyone in earshot.
By the first third of the album, most of the above
mentioned tracks have gone by - it's clear you have heard
Datarock's flashiest tracks, and have become acquainted
with their approach. However, the tunes become a little less
colourful, and a bit more reliant on a single hook or joke.
That being said, they are performed so well and come off so
confidently, that it is easy to hang out and dance with the
band for the full running time. Statistically speaking, with
the odds of success stacked against Datarock's particular
mix of styles, humor, and geek chic, it beats the odds to
become a soUd recommendation. -•' §§1|&|
Henry Faber
To describe this as a mid-life crisis record also assumes that making music beyond the age of 40 cannot be
done with the same exuberance for a new project which
any younger musician would presumably have. It is just a
different time in Cave's Ufe, and to assume that his preoccupations must now centre on hah loss and aging, is to
wrongly assume that he is simple, an uncomplicated person without an interesting thing on his mind.
To focus on the absence of woman on this record is
also folly. The so-called lack of female presence only makes
'her' a more necessary component within the intention
of the songs - no matter how impalpable her physical
company. Also, at least six of the song titles reference sex,
'pussy,' a woman, or love.
This record is a group of accomplished musicians who
collectively know how to make good fucking rock songs.
From the humorous "No Pussy Blues," to the subtle "Man
in the Moon," Nick Cave's unquenchable penchant for the
dramatic still makes for awesome lyrics, and the soupy
guitar, thick bass, and thundering drums are the stuff
which classic rock jacks off on. This is good rock music,
and that is all.
Juliann WUding
(Mute Records)
I have read much discourse about this album, comparing
it to Nick Cave's other projects, describing it as a "mid-life
crisis record," or even harping on and on about "the complete absence of woman" as a character.
None of these discussions are valid. To compare a newly-assembled group of musicians' output to everything else
any of them has ever done is not fairly assessing its current
work. Furthermore, to do so presupposes the group should
be meeting everyone else's sonic assumptions, rather than
making music for themselves.
Drums and Guns
(Sub Pop)
Dear Sir/Madame/Drums/Guns:
Oh, I should restart this letter-if I am about to confess
my love, it must be honest andpure: I must confess the true
name of 'the one' Hove.
Dear L-pumm. ..pumm.. .pumm-ts-O-pumm.. .pumm...
pumm-ts-W-.. .pumm.
1994.1 never believed it was possible, but with you -
only you - it was love at first Usten. You slow-danced in my
ears, and into my heart. Dressed in a stylish coat of minimalism - guitar, bass, and drums - your slowcore revealed.
My core desired at once to run with yours to the nearest
cathedral. To hear you possess it. Your enchantment of
sounds, possessing its seductive atmosphere. Mesmerizing,
with the weightlessness of your voices. Floating in harmony. Always, in harmony. Such that lullabies are...
Conventional lullabies soothe souls into the darkness
of sleep. Your lullabies are different: they hold darkness.
Embrace darkness. Creating beauty with an intensity
which chases sleep to distant places. So lightly you hold
your darkness. So much noise you invite, to dance in the
silence between each note you sing.
And again, 7 albums later, here you are. Now dancing
to the sounds of drums and guns. Guns? Your dance holds
as much fragility as ever! Beautifully delicate. I want you
to faU into me, but your grace will not allow it. You remain
floating. Above any comparisons. Above genres and generations. Your IuUaby marches to the endless minimalism
of gun triggers, clapping sounds, organs, and vocal loops;
it marches through war-themed backgrounds, and makes
us feel as though we are standing on landscapes made of
porcelain, which crumble under our feet. As we stomp over
the pieces to the pulsating 'pum ... pum ... pum' of your
drums - the porcelain breaking with no end, no compassion - our souls, possessed by your divine voices, prevent
even fear from making us stop.
"Breaker" shivers to the sounds of crying organs.
"Dust on the Window" coUects, as Mimi Parker's voice
fractures all conventions of the world outside. And the
cruel tone masking Sparhawk's defeated lyrics - oh, I can't
do this ... I have to end. I'm not strong enough. You are.
Low. Unchanged. Unbroken. But 1.1 love so much. I break
- 'pum, pum.'
Aleks Pichlak
An attempt to write a song about the bad times gets caught
up in the weight of the massive history of those songs. Then,
this motivation mutates and it is a song about those songs,
and the voice can not help but now drawl in the tongue of
joy. As soon as we admit our soUtude, our loneliness, we are
caught admitting the vast range of things from which we
lack connection, so we are not so alone after aH.
The simpUcity of these sounds are not making an
argument against the incommensurabUity of minds, because, at their core, the controlled ruckus has an honest
intention; we can never really reach one another. No matter the strength of our desire to know one another (and it
is strong, Uke a putrid rot suffocating your breath), we will
not. Never wiH. See, it is not so surprising that we would
want to stare back into the bad times. Yet, you know, I
know, Rex Marshall knows: if we could, we would breech
the distance between you and I. And somewhere, this is the
same thing as being able to bridge that gap.
This record, then, is a painfuUy joyful sound. The cover is hand-coloured with pencil crayons. Simple electronic
music, and the deeply singsong voice of a man. It makes
me think that if this were of the flesh, I would want to wrap
mine around his, and give him a hug.
c. turions Organ Trail
Nagon Trail
The Rain and
the Sidewalk
What on earth is one ought to make
of this 2005 recording, Wagon
TraH? It was released courtesy of
Poor QuaUty Recordings in 2006 by
improv-oriented theme band, Organ
Trail. I remain uncertain, and expect, perhaps, to take a crack at the
mantra behind its vanguard spirit.
Enterprising seems an apt adjective for Organ TraU, comprised of
adventurous locals Jess Hill, Jeska
. Slater, Alissa Raye, and Darren
Susin - this was the band a few years
back, but two years later, who can
say for sure? The ordinary avenues
along which one might unearth
OT-related intelligence, websites
. and label pages, often conspicuously
lead to dead links. Neither does the
type-written and hand-cut Wagon
TraH cover firmly establish some
sense of the ensemble behind it, nor
does it help that review copies of this
CD would vanish mysteriously from
DiSCORDER office, without a trace.
A 2004 interview I dug up earmarks
this elusiveness as habitual to the
roaming members of the band.
Reports of Organ TraH sightings have risen recently, though,
along with its distinct fanbase - established through the synergism of
its second-place finish at Shindig!,
a spate of MySpace friends, and a
stream of YouTube cUps of live performances. On some level or other,
no matter how obliquely, Organ
TraHs always exists, whether it be
onstage or online, and sometimes
only in local imaginations.
Their mysteriousness makes
it easy to sidestep a real review of
Wagon Trail, five fly-by-night departures from straightforward songwriting. Samples, synths, and strings
flicker in and out of consciousness
on an album which opens with
"Apple on Every Branch," and offers
of the image of a trafl as its guiding
ideal. The album's echoing midpoint,
"Moonshine," "drags along a landscape the likes of Modest Mouse's
The Moon and Antarctica.
Many new musical discoveries populate the rest of this lingering release, which reaches its apex
as it leads into "The Faithful," a
moving accompUshment of staying power. With a spUt EP due out
with California's VxPxC, Vancouver
ought hope that Organ TraH sticks
around a little whUe longer, this
Mono Brown
I just entered a time warp.
The cover art of Inanimate reeks
of early-nineties, low-budget debut
albums. But the first track on this
debut is good: it wraps you up only
to spit you out on one heU of a noisy
tangent; the music comes forth as
nostalgic for late-70s/early-80s UK
New Wave, yet still maintains its sincerity. However, this track is totaUy
different from the rest of the album,
which mostly uses female vocals. At
this point, the album loses its grainy
edge and becomes a Uttle more predictable. This is too bad, because the
music is more accomplished, and
the album itself has more potential,
than its cover suggests. However, as I
tried to get into it more, I found myself unable to get past the female vo-
caUst* Her voice does not fit with the
music, and where it seems to wish to
take you. The music has a darkness
which the vocals ultimately lack. I
believe that if the male vocals from
the opening track had remained, the
album would have worked much better.
Patrick Finlay
Shapes & Sizes
Split LipSj Ninning Hips.,
A Shiner
(Asthmatic Kitty)
This is beautiful and crazy music.
Experiencing Shapes and Sizes Uve,
and on record, conveniently paraUel
one another. All the dizzy energy of
their Uve act translates to the album.
Some reviewers fault this CD for frequent daunting timing and dynamic
changes, but really, it is a lot like the
typical Shapes and Sizes sound — totally great if you Uke it. If you're not a
fan of the Shapes and Sizes' show, or
disjike later-era Danielson, this probably wiU not win you over because it
is very simflar.
Recalling the bouncier side of
Joan of Arc, Shapes and Sizes tame
wHd blitzes of rock, bust out handclaps at key junctures which cause
dramatic pauses between outbursts
of noisy joy, and frolic in caterwauls
of synthesizer and guitar.
The artwork on this release, the
second for Shapes and Sizes on Sufjan
Stevens' Asthmatic Kitty records, is
an odd assortment of photographs,
not immediately thematicaUy linked
to the last record's colourful drawing — even though the music
flows in a similar direction to their
earlier seff-titled release. On both
recordings, the vocals trade between the two leads, one male and
one female, and in the end, this
is pop music in Une with Stevens'
Greetings from Michigan, right
down to the sombre trumpets.
A continuous playUst of both
SpUt Lips, Winning Hips, A Shiner
and their debut, ends up a good
thing, neither eclipsing the other.
One song I have only heard in concert, "Highlife," makes it on to this
album—yes! A bit closer to playing
like a rave-up than its eponymous
predecessor, SpUt Lips, Winning
Hips, A Shiner comes out a winner in comparison to the previous
release — but also on its own-It is
trashy punk orchestrated enthusi-
asticaUy with excited incoherence
— or paradise, in other words.
Arthur Krumins
Skeletons and
the Kings of All
(Ghostly International)
In our lifetimes, certain names
develop certain connotations. The
name Jim, for example, could come
to signify an egoist. Maybe all the
Cathys become prudes, and the.
Berts, soUd drinking partners. For
me, the name Lucas has always
been associated with odd, rather
maladjusted characters—the type
likely to show up on the 6 o'clock
news,, accused of some grisly
crime, with neighbours saying,
"He was such a quiet boy, such a
polite boy." Well, Brooklyn-based
outfit, Skeletons, must share that
eerie notion on their album LUCAS,
which follows an ambiguous, but
unnerving, narrative concerning a
boy and a town of the same name.
However, . the appeal of
Skeletons has never rested on their
lyrical threads, as imaginative as
they may be. Since the band's beginnings as a solo project of Matt
Mehlan (co-founder of Shinkoyo
Records), and now as eight-plus
collective, it is the inventive instrumentation that has caught fans'
attention and ears. The organic
flavor of the self-produced LUCAS
marks a departure from Skeletons'
previous reUance on electronic gad-
getry. Accompanying this is also a
name change from Skeltons and
the Girl-Faced Boys to Skeletons
and the Kings of aU Cities.
Their new percussion-heavy
sound incorporates cycUcal guitar patterns, fuU-on horn sections
and tropical rhythms, leaving Uttle
trace of the electro-styled Prince
work-out of their previous effort,
Git. The shift makes for a more
expansive and, ultimately, dense
recording. In fact, LUCAS emulates the chaotic dynamics of their
recent Uve show, bringing a loose,
improvisational vibe to the affair.
But throughout the album,
Skeletons filter this turbulent demeanor through a melodic lens.
On the ten-minute "Don't Worry,"
for example, the band seamlessly
mixes free-jazz horn squeals into
a sun-drenched island vibe. Or,
"Sickness" puts Mehlan's high
falsetto over a rhythmic organ
groove, slowly turning the track's
competing layers into some eccentric disco tune, similar to those of
Arthur RusseU.
The result is a psychedeUc
album that strikes the perfect balance between improvisation and
pop, making it ideal for hazy, drug-
fueled haUucinations during the
upcoming summer season.
Brock Thiessen
Amon Tobin
Foley Room
(Ninja Tune)
Amon Tobin's last two albums
— a soundtrack for a Tom Clancy
SpUnter Cell game and Out From
Out Where — have been disappointing. They were solid in" then-
own rights, but failed to deliver on
the impressive talent Tobin demonstrated on his earUer albums.
Foley Room turns the clock back
a decade, whUe leaving one foot
firmly in the post-rave, dubstep
world of 2007. This latest album
merges the best of electronics and
sampling — of late-90s trip-hop
and beat experimentation, with
the malevolence of dubstep.
Foley Room makes one massive departure from Tobin's earner
work. His first few albums sampled
heavUy from film soundtracks and
old songs. This time around, Tobin
used field recordings to completely
generate everything himself. From
tigers to plumbing, from motorcycles to angry wasps, every sound
and arrangement on the album is
his own work — leading to s
thing that, whUe distinctly
Tobin, is completely new.
"Big Furry Head"
emerged as my favorite track
on the album very early on.
Droning strings and electron-.
ics, and clanging, metalUc
percussion let you know that
"Big Furry Head" is a world
gone wrong. If this is not
menacing enough, the growl
and snarl of something very
big and very angry threatens to tear you apart at any
moment. "Horsefish," on
the other hand, is beautiful,
floating, and somehow primordial. Harps, eerie humming, and swampy drips and
splashes make you feel that a
strange, unsettling world is
coming into existence inside
your headphones.    isgUjf Jj» ~,
Foley Room includes impressive coUaborators—The
Kronos Quartet performs
some string arrangements,
whUe Stefan Schneider, percussionist for Belle Orchestre,
also joins the mix. In the end,
though, it is Tobin's dysfunctional, disjointed arrange-1
ments which truly shine.
Foley Room is every bit as
dark, moody, engaging, and
simply beautiful as any of his
earlier albums, and it forces
the new kids on the block to
take notice — Amon Tobin is
back. m\____\
CiTR's charts reflect what has been spun on the air for the previous month. Rekkids with stars (*)
mean they come from this great land o' ours. Most of these platters can be found at finer (read:
independent) music stores acorss Vancouver. If you can't find 'em there give the Muzak Coordinator
a shout at 604-822-8733. His name is Luke. If you ask nicely, he'll tell you how to git 'em. To find
other great campus/community radio charts check out www.earshot-online.conh
Strictly the
dopest hits of
March 2007
The Arcade Fire*
Neon Bible
Secret Mommy*
The Pack*
Besnard Lakes*
Are The Dark Horse
Trans Am    mjj&_%_
Sex Change
Thrill Jockey
The Queers
Munki Brain
Pop Levi
The Return To Form Black Magick
Aaargh Annual f 2
Aaargh Records
Snowed In: A Tribute To Hank Snow
Do Make Say Think*
You. You're A History In Rust
The Red Album
Organ Trail*
Wagon Train
The Black Lips
Cos Valientes DelMundo Nuevo
rhythm of the river
Marnie Stern
Ih Advance Of The Broken Arm
Kill Rock Stars
Amy Winehouse
Back To Black
The Peel Session Vancouver, BC
Fat Cat
Julie Doiron*
Woke Myself Up
The Dolly Rocker Movement
Hydra Head
The High Llamas
Can Cladders
1     Drag City
Friend Opportunity
Kill Rock Stars
Psychic Ills
Early Violence
Social Registry
There's No 666 In Outerspace
Dead Meadow
Dead Meadow.
Wendy Atkinson*
Pink Noise
Smarten Up And To
The Point
MV&EE With The
Bummer Road
Green Blues Ecstatic
Killed By Canada
Fans Of Bad
B A Johnston*
Call Me When Old And Fat Is The
Just Friends
Myths Of The Near Future
Because Music
Apostle Of Hustle*
National Anthem Of Nowhere
Arts & Crafts
Fun 100*
Hockey Dad
Elvis Perkins
Ash Wednesday
Panda Bear
Person Pitch Paw Tracks
Peter Bjorn & John
Writer's Block
Days To Come (Bonus)
Ninja Tune
Bobby Conn
King For A Day
Thrill Jockey
Kristen Hersh
learn To Sing Like A Star
Yep Roc
In Stormy Nights
Drag City
III Ease
All Systems A-Go-Go
Alkaline Trio
Bonnie "Prince" Billy
Lay and Love
Drag City
Die Mannequin*
How To Kill
How To Kill
Neil Young
Live at Massey Hall-.
Lee Hazlewood
Cake Or Death
Gruff Rhys
Candy Lion
Team Love
Stars of the Lid
And Their Refinement of the Decline
The View
Hats off to the Buskers
1965      %$$&
Anti-Social Skate Shop        The Bike Kitchen
Hitz Boutique
Scratch Records
and Gallery                       UBC, AMS, 6138 Student Union
316 W.Cordova
228 Broadway E.
726 Richards St.
2425 Main St.                          Blvd.
604-708-5678                          604-822-BIKE
The Kiss Store
Red Cat Records
Slickity Jim's Chat and
Audiopile                           Burcu's Angels
2512 Watson St.
4307 Main St.
2016 Commercial Dr.                   2535 Main St.
2513 Main St.
604-253-7453                          604-874-9773
Lucky's Comics
The Regional Assembly
Beat Street Records           The Eatery
3972 Main St.
of Text
Spartacus Books
439 W.Hastings St.                    3431 W. Broadway
3934 Main St.
319 W.Hastings
604-683-3344                          604-738-5298
Magpie Magazine
1319 Commercial Dr.
R/X Comics
Vinyl Records
r    era,    l
2418 Main St.
319 Hastings St. West
People's Co-op
jHBH| IHTHHi ■■Mpa^
MM    O               ■
1391 Commercial Dr.
m. a trimdQf dir!    H
TP   CnrA   cmpac
vaii   cMfAAt   A_*nU
at   Vancouver's   finest   small   merchants   and
supports CiTR 101.9 fM. Show it when you shop!
Discorder   29 HJsaJFL.
You can listen to CiTR online at www.citr.ca or on ihe air at 101.9 FM
the Rockers
Mondo Tkasho
Parts Unknown
Let's Get Baked
Native Solidarity News
; is Mine
Pacific Pickin'
Third Time's
Mormnc; Ajt}s Show
Give 'em ihe Boot
Career Fact Track
Ex Avant 1, a Mustour.
Flex Your Head
Caught in the Red
Aural Tentacles
SubdrbAn Jungle
I Rumbletone |
Radio A Go
End of the World News
Necessary Voices
Duncan's Dontts
We All Fai l Down
Crimes & Treasons
MV SfilKNCifj      Pkual *■'
Pkojkct   1 Ry WH?nuN
Live from
Thunderbird Radio
Lunar Tracks
Cute Band Alert!
Ska-T's Scenic
Nardwuar Presents
TANA RADIO (World) 9-1 Oam
11 am-12pm
Beautiful arresting beats and
voices emanating from all continents, corners, and voids. Seldom-rattled pocketfuls of roots
and gems, recalling other times,
and other places, to vast crossroads en route to the unknown
and the unclaimable. East Asia.
South Asia. Africa. The Middle
East. Europe. Latin America.
Gypsy. Fusion. Always rhythmic,
always captivating. Always crossing borders.Always transporting.
(Reggae) 12-2pm
Reggae inna all styles and fashion.
(Roots) 2-4:30pm
Real cowshit-caught-in-yer-boots
(Pop) 4:30-6pm
British pop music from all decades. International pop (Japanese, French, Swedish, British,
US, etc.), 60s soundtracks and
lounge. Book your jet-set holiday
Alternates with:
SAINTTROPEZ (Pop) 4:30-6pm
QUEER FM (Talk) 6-8pm
Dedicated to the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transexual com-muni-
ties of Vancouver. Lots of human
interest features, background on
current issues, and great music.
8-1 Opm
Rhythmsindia features a wide
range of music from India, including popular mus^c from the
1930s to the present, classical
music, semi-classical music such
as Ghazals and Bhajans, and also
Qawwalis, pop, and regional language numbers.
10-1 lpm
I Opm-12am    ;'ju&H:?%!r
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 mystical.
(Talk)  l2-2am An odyssey into
time and space in audio.
______________ MONDAY
BROWNS (Eclectic) 8-1 lam
Your    favourite     Brown-sters,
James and Peter, offer a savoury
blend of the familiar and exotic
in a blend of aural delights!
BEARS...(Eclectic) 11-12pm
A mix of indie pop, indie rock,
and pseudo underground hip hop,
with your host, Jordie Sparkle.
Hosted by David Barsamian.
Underground pop for the minuses with the occasional interview
with your host, Chris.
LET'S GET BAKED w/matt &
dave (Eclectic) 3-4pm
Vegan baking with "rock stars"
like Laura Peek, The Food Jammers, Knock Knock Ginger, The
Superfantastics and more.
(Talk) 4-5pm
A national radio service and part
of an international network of information and action in support
of indigenous peoples' survival
and dignity.We are all volunteers
committed to promoting Native self-determination, "culturally, economically, spiritually and
otherwise. The show is self-sufficient, without government or
corporate funding.
(Eclectic) 6-7:30pm
Alternates with:
(Classical) 6-7:30pm (alt.)
All the classical music you don't
hear on  mainstream  radio! A
variety of innovative and interesting works from the 20th and
21 st centuries, with an occasional neglected masterpiece from
earlier eras.
KARUSU (World) 7:30-8:30pm
9pm* 12am
May 7:Tonight, one of the unsung
greats . was pianist/composer
Irving Sidney "Duke" Jordan.
"Flight to Jordan" was his only
album for Blue Note, but a boss
recording with a hand-picked
quintet, with Jamaican-born
trumpeter Dizzy Reece and
tenor giant Stanley Turrentine,
and original tunes by Jordan.
May /4:"The Cat Walk" was the
best album by this short-lived
working band led by trumpeter
Donald Byrd and baritone saxophone master Pepper Adams.
Great tunes and solos sparked
by the incredible drumming of
'Philly Joe' Jones! A true classic
just re-released on Blue Note.
May 21: "Soft Light and Hot
Music" is by the big band led
by drum master Mel Lewis and
recorded in person at the Village
Vanguard in New York. The band
is full of current jazz stars, like
pianist Kenny Werner and tenor
master Joe Lovano. Great tunes,
great arrangements and totally
inspired playing. Don't miss this
May 28: Recorded live before the
hippest audience in the world at
the famed Baltimore Institution:
The Left Bank Jazz Society in
1965 an incredible quintet co-led
by tenor saxophone pioneer Jimmy Heath and, in Jimmy's words,
"One of the greatest trumpeters
ever," Freddie Hubbard. Be there
All the best the world of punk
has to offer, in the wee hours of
the morn.
Bluegrass, old-time music, and its
derivatives with Arthur and the
lovely Andrea Berman.
(Rebroadcast from previous
Wednesday, 5-6:30pm) Currently airing Necessary Voices
lecture series.
(Rock) 9:30-11:30am
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!
(Eclectic) 11:30am-lpm
Sample the various flavours of
Italian folk music from north to
south, traditional and ipodern.
Un programma bilingue che es-
plora il 'mondo della musica folk
Syndicated   programming  from
Okanagan's CIRO.
(Replaces Besneric Rhyme)
REEL TO REAL (Talk) 2:30-3pm
Movie reviews and criticism.
(French) 3:30-4:30pm
En Avant La Musique! se   concentre   sur   le   metissage   des
genres musicaux au.sein d'une
francophonie ouverte a tous les
courants. This program focuses
on cross-cultural music and its
influence   on   mostly   Franco-
4:30-6pm Join the sports department for
their coverage of theT-Birds.
Up the punx, down the emo!
Keepin' it real since  1989, yo.
8-1 Opm
Salario Minimo, the best rock in
Spanish show in Canada.
I Opm-12am
Trawling the trash heap of over
50 years' worth of rock n' roll
debris. Dig it!
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.
(Electronic) 10-11:30am
With host Robert Robot. One
part   classic   electronics.   One
part    plunderphonicmixnmatch.
Two parts new and experimental techno. One part progressive
hip-hop. Mix and add informative
banter and news for taste. Let
stand. Serve, and enjoy.
ANOIZE (Noise) 11:30am-lpm
Luke Meat irritates and educates
through musical deconstruction.
Recommended for the strong.
(Eclectic) I-2pm
Independent   news   hosted   by
award-winning   jounalists   Amy
Goodman and Juan Gonzalez.
Primitive, fuzzed-out garage may-
Socio-political.enviromental   activist news and  spoken word
with some music too.
(Pop/Eclectic) 6-7:30pm
Alternates with:
(Eclectic) 6-7:30pm
JUICEBOX (Talk) 8-9pm
Developing your relational and
individual sexual health, expressing diversity, celebrating queer-
ness, and encouraging pleasure
at all stages. Sexuality educators
Julia and Alix will quench your
search for responsible, progressive sexuality over your life span!
FOLK OASIS (Roots) 9-1 lpm
Two hours of eclectic roots music. Don't own any Birkenstocks?
Allergic  to   patchouli?   C'mon
in! A kumbaya-free zone since
(Hans Kloss) I lpm-1 am
This is pretty much    the best
thing on radio.
(Eclectic) 8-1 Oam
(Eclectic) 12-lpm
Hosted by Duncan, sponsored
by donuts.
(Eclectic) I-2pm
Punk rock, indie pop, and whatever else I deem worthy. Hosted
by a closet nerd.
(Hip Hop) 3-5pm
Zoom a little zoom on the My
Science Project rocket ship,
piloted by your host, Julia, as
we navigate eccentric, underexposed, always relevant and
plainly cool scientific research,
technology, and poetry (submissions welcome), myscienceproje
Alternates with:
(Rock) 6-7i30pm
Psychadelic, Garage,   Freakbeat
and Progressive music from 1965
to  today:  underground,  above
ground and homeground. i
(Experimental) 7:30-9pm
Experimental,  radio-art,  sound
collage, field recordings, etc.
Recommended for the insane.
RADIO HELL (Live Music)
9-1 lpm
Live From Thunderbird Radio
Hell showcases local talent...
LIVE! Honestly, don't even ask
about the technical side of this.
I Oam-12pm
Email requests to:
(HipHop) l2-2pm
Top notch crate digger DJ Avi
Shack  mixes   underground  hip
hop, old school classics, and original breaks.
the best new and old jazz, soul,
Latin, samba, bossa and African
music from around the world.
SWEET'N'HOT (|azz)
Sweet dance music and hot jazz
from the 1920s, 30s and 40s.
(Soul/R'n'B) 10:30pm-12am
(Eclectic) l2-2am
Beats mixed with audio from old
films and clips from the internet.
\0% discount for callers who
are certified insane. Hosted by
Chris D.
. Studio guests, new releases, British comedy sketches, folk music
calendar, and ticket giveaways.
A fine mix of streetpunk and old
school hardcore backed by band
interviews, guest speakers, and
social commentary.
POWERCHORD (Metal) I-3pm
Vancouver's   only   true   metal
show; local demo tapes, imports,
and other rarities. Gerald Rattle-
head, Geoff the Metal Pimp and
guests do the damage.
CODE BLUE (Roots) 3-5pm
From-  backwoods   delta   low-
down slide to urban harp honks,
blues, and blues roots with your
hosts Jim, Andy and Paul.
(World) 5-6pm
The best of music, news, sports,
and commentary from around
the local and international Latin
American communities.
OUR WAVE (World) 6-7pm
News, arts, entertainment and
music for the Russian community, local and abroad.
An exciting chow of Drum n'
Bass with DJs Jimungle & Bias on
the ones and twos, plus guests.
Listen for give-aways every week.
Keep feelin da beatz.
9-1 lpm
(Hip Hop) 11 pm-1 am
(Nardwuar) 3:30-5pm
(Eclectic) 6-7:30pm
Canadian    independent   music,
from any given genre, from all
across our massive and talented
country, with your host, Spike.
David "Love" Jones brings you
CITR 101.9 FM
Conference  Alert!
It's fun to stay at the N-C-R-C!"
Things get pretty chill around CiTR each sping. Most UBC students are off until
September, and CiTR programmers, volunteers and Discorder writers bring the unmistakable ease of summer with them to the station.
This May will be different, though, because fronf June 11-16, hundreds of community radio volunteers will descend on Vancouver for the 2007 National Campus
and Community Radio Conference (NCRC).
The NCRC is one of the principal projects of the National Campus and Community
Radio Association (NCRA) — a national umbrella organization representing the interests of small, volunteer and community-driven stations such as CiTR. You might
not have heard of the NCRA, but you have definitely heard the results of its work if
you listen to CiTR.
The NCRA lobbies the CRTC to make the Canadian media landscape more amiable
to indie stations and musicians. It helps new stations startup, like CiTR's new sister
station, CIRO, at UBC Okanagan. Every year, an NCRA member station hosts the
NCRC, the association's national conference. It is a nation-wide convergence on the
host station, where people of all stripes from the campus-community radio sector
gather to share skills, to network, and to develop as broadcasters.
CiTR last hosted a national conference back in 1992. With the best programming
you can find on the FM dial in Vancouver, a great podcasting service, and, of course,
our own venerable monthly magazine, Discorder, CiTR is bound to raise eyebrows
at this year's conference.
We will host advertising, podcasting, technical, music and spoken-word workshops, taught by sector alumni, CBC personalities, and even internationally-renowned producers. We will hold six nights of cutting-edge entertainment—featuring bands like Stinkmitt, Great Aunt Ida, The Evaporaters, the No Luck Club, and
the Tranzmitors — to give delegates something they will not soon forget. And we
will do it all with the help of volunteers and CiTR listeners like you!
Volunteering with the conference gets you in on the action for free. By hosting a
billet, helping out at a concert, serving lunch, or running a workshop, you will find
many opportunities to meet with, and learn from, some of the most innovative people in the Canadian indie radio sphere.
Check out the NCRC website at www.citr.ca/conference to find out how you can
get involved. Email ncrc_coordinator@citr.ca for more info on how to volunteer or
attend as a delegate.
We hope to see you in June!
Alison Benjamin
National Campus and Community Radio Conference Coordinator SET THE WATffi CANNONS TO ROCK! MW s buzing new releases at zulu
Favourite Worst
Nightmare CD
God Save Tlie
Clientele CD
Having sold out tl
Commodore Ballroom in no
time flat, England's sensational.
lad-rockers seem to have our fair
city already deep in their ass pocket. Certainly, It was nearly
impossible to go into any local alcohol-serving establishment without hearing the glorious choruses of "I bet you
look good on the dance floor" and witnessing the accompanying ballet that is modern courtship. Many good people
will attest music brings people together, unites us in celebration, and often soothes our weary minds - and certainly
these people have heard the opening riffs of Arctic
Monkey's "When the Sub Gms tern'. Well, now as we are
on the eve of their remarkable sophomore full length, we at
Zulu boldly predict that this platter is going to once more
change the neighbourhood and bring the party souls out on
the street This is as ejood as it gets!
Dumb Luck 05
-1 n|tty dreams I make a cameo
I appearance in a diner where
Jimmy Tamborello a.k.a. DNTEL
a.k.a. half of The Postal Service
is meeting with the various rock
star pals that will collaborate
vocally on his next record. The diner is very chic - everyone who worts there wears animal suits. Dressed as an
Aardvark, I bring Jimmy a burger platter and the cheque. I
eavesdrop and overhear him giving Conor Oberst (Bright
Eyes) and Jenny lewis (Rilo Kiley) their instructions.
Meanwhile, Valerie Trebeljahr and Markus Acher of Lali
Puna order up somegrub in harmony and in doing so,
smile beautifully having found the perfect voice for Dumb
Luck's saturated electronic bliss-out tones. Turning, I
bump directly into Edward Droste of Grizzly Bear (man,
he's here tool!) and spillboiling fat onto his Apple 17"
Macbook Pro which absorbs it just as an animated jpeg of
a frog catching a fly appears on the screen. Everything is
perfect, the dream is prefect, the record is perfect, my
Dumb Luck is perfect!
CD 16.98
Beyond CD
came out, but it's been damn
near 20 years since their last
album with the classic lineup
heard on albums like You're
Living All over Me and Bug. But now, after a couple of
reissues and tentative gigs, Lou Barlow, Murph, and J
Mascis are back for real! At its best, the trio's music was
like a version of the Stooges that didn't have Iggy - just
one of the Ashetons mumbling vocals while they all
slugged the crap out of their instruments. Dino Jr's sound
was a roiling sea of emotion and rage and a sense of aggro
that had been forged into a bizarre metal-punk-pop-whatsis
by obsessive listening to Sabbath. The Birthday Party, The
Cure, Blitz and Hell Young. Not much has changed, and
Beyond is a monster of form. From the staggeringly guitar
spew that opens "Almost Ready* to classic soft/throb
dynamism of "What If I Knew," Beyond is an exquisite slab
of pure Dinosaur Jr. Some groups can change line-ups
without anyone noticing. But that was never really the case
with Dinosaur Jr. The pieces that fell away over the years
were missed. But now they have all been collected together
in one place. For how long no one can say. So just dig it
while it is, because Beyond is beautiful.
CD 14.98
and all who sail with
them!) On Sod Save The
Clientele, the band's third full-
length album, Alasdair Maclean
and company are setting free their ii
lovely blend of Big Star-style twisted power-pop, Byrdsian
country achin', and flashes of the Beatles at their most joyful and upbeat. The ghosts, half-light and uncertainties
remain, but included in this music is a new found optimism.
With the recent addition to the band of Mel Draisey on piano
and violin, The Clientele are painting from a broader palette
here, adding splashes of pedal steel and slide guitar to their k
already lush pop songs. Recorded in Nashville with Mark
Nevers (Lambchop, Bonnie Prince Billy, Calexico, Silver
Jews), God Save the Clientele is clearly the band's most ■
accomplished and triumphant record, AVAILABLE MAY 8m
CD 16.98
Woke On A
The Smog has cleared to reveal
the soul! Perennial Zulu fave
Bill Callahan a.k.a. Smog, a.k.a.
one of our generation's best
singer-songwriters in the indie tradition, a.k.a, thefinejbari-
tone that opened for Joanna Newsom recently, ak.a. Jhe
bard who got it all started in the bedroom ofla|kra|k 18"
years ago, a.k.a. the closest thing to being a bizarro world
Jonathan Richman, a.k.a. Drag City's real dark-wizard, a.k.a.
the only non-hollywood actor capable of playing Harry Dean
Stanton in his bio-pic, a.k.a. the evil twin of Will Oldham.
a.k.a. a guy not afraid to use a chorus of catss a.ki. sope- j
one who would eat Niteson and Cat Stevens for breakfast, I
a.k.a. author of "Red Apple Falls" or quite possibly thefbest f
audio track to accompany Harold and Maude, a.k.a. tlie onJw
living boy in Austin Texas, aka. Julius Caesar in fhe
Burning Kingdom, a.k.a. the tall grass" a.tea. this years best
new music discovery, a.k.a. amazing as usual, Bill.
CD 16.98
New Moon CD
Arguably the most gifted songwriter of his generation, Elliott
Smith produced a large body of
work that includes five solo
albums, as well as From a
Basement on the Hill (2004), a
collection of songs completed before his death in 2003. On
May 8,2007, Kill Rock Stars will release afouble C®f     j
music by Elliott Smith entitled New Moon. The album contains 24 songs recorded between 1994-1997, a prolific time
in Smith's career, when he recorded his selfctttled album and
Either/Or (both also released by Kill Rock Stars). Co^fet-   j
wise, New Moon is seven songs from the self-titled second
album's sessions, 11 songs from the Either/Or sessk^B,    i
three from Rob Jones' radio show sessions (before Mic City
Sons and Either/Or came out) and three from Jackpot! in   j
1997. Three of the tracks have seen previous release,
although mostly limited. This collection is not some patched-
together product of the studio in 2006 - it is a collection of
songs, many of which could have easi|y been included on
his second andlftirdjlbums, some wph made it out on
compilations, three tracks that showcase his stripped down
and engaging live performances of material, and several
songs illustrating where he was heading in 1997. Despite the
. breadth and the quality of the songwriting here, most tracks
have remained only the province of lo-fi file trading Elliott
Smith fans, who've been obviously fascinated by the fact
that Elliott Smith's "leftovers" presented a catalog rivaling
many songwriters' life's work. AVAILABLE MAY 8™
Everybody CD
The Sea and Cake are back   I
with Everybody, the band's j
first full length in just over four
years (though some fnenj^H^
have had several successful solo releases!). The record
finds the band continuing to perfect their singular brand
of dreamlike, hot-buttered pop music that sounds delicately handcrafted, yet effortless all the same. Sheets of
glowing guitar tones skip along propulsive percussion
underscored by gently funky, introspective bass lines, all
adorned by breathlessly delivered lines of lyrical poetry.
As always, the band is made up of ton Prekop (guitar
and vocals), Archer Prewitt (guitar), John McEntire
(drums), and Erik Giaridge (bass). Available on limited
edition gatefold vinyl with a large 16pg booklet insert,
and on CD In a deluxe digipak with three photo cards
and 16pg booklet insert. AVAILABLE MAY 8m
CD 16.98
No Shouts No
Calls CD
rock poweJnou|e returns
with their fotijji Lff^usMB time
to occupy thajipening slot on
The Arcade Fire's US tour, an opportunity that will
hopefully rectify the underdog status of this supremely
talented band. No Shouts No Calls has all the streamlined krautrock rhythm and Stereolab euro-chic that
charaoierized-iftelr earlier efforts, but this time we get to
savoujfthe frutoflhe band's progression from abstract
beat improvisation to infectious, edgy, and cinematic pop
mastery. In a more upbeat mood than usual, Electrelane
pours their positJvity into tauntingly beautiful songs
whicj blend hypnotic intensity with a near-jaunty pop.
ieslttitic to perfection. From the arty riffs of 'After The
Call' to the gentle organ melody and serenely tender
vocajs of 'At Sea', through to the metallic guitar-and-
drum duel of 'Between The Wolf And The Dog' and the
sultry modern love ditty that is 'Cut And Run', followed
by the spiralling piano beauty of The Lighthouse', each
track stands in isolation, both exciting and powerful,
pite collectively they fit and flow together as
Electrelane s most diverse and accessible album to
Imagine Our Love
Having recently sung the
praises of LA's finest act
not to come off as a Laurel
Canyon send up, Lavender Diamond, it gives us great
pleasure to once again in perfect pitch announce the
arrival of this, their eagerly anticipated full leng'th debut!
Easily one of the most intriguing releases of 2007,
Imagine Our Love again features the incredible lead
vocal of Becky Stark and her folky spiritualist narrative.
Capturing less bouncy, yet still breezy, west coast pop
melodies, Lavender Diamond offer an immediacy that is
extremely elusive in today's over-produced indie land-
I scape. Infused with a strong folk traditionalism, their
* songs have an efficiency that allows them to come alive
and perhaps even enchant and woo the listener with
Stark's siren call whispering on about Love, Lave, Love!
Here it is folks -12 amazing songs to restore'your faith
in modem music! AVAILABLE MAY 8™
Person Pitch CD
CD 16.98
CD 16.98
folks have been beating
down the door for it, and
here it is! The second full-length |
solo album from Animal
Collective's Panda Bear (aka
Noah Lennox) -though considering the vast leap forward from the spare and hazy
chanting of Young Prayer, it might as well be his debut
Panda Bear lives in Lisbon now, with his wife and daughter, and this albur^iia^Mtarlhating in sunny
Portuguese vibes. Person Pitch is a watery, blissful trip,
patched together from oodles of looped samples that reference everything from King Sunny Ada's ecstatic jup**^,,,
music to Ricardo Villalobos Brazil-via-Berlin minimal
techno. Most of all, though, Lennox's layered, summery
vocal harmonies recall Smile-era Brian Wilson, submerged in a coral reef. This is a rare and beautiful work of
genius, my friends: generous in spirit and revolutionary in
form. Take heed!
CD 16.98
Ah Shucks, here's
the other stuff we
really really love!
JOY DIVISION-Martin Hannett's
Personal Mixes CD 1
DEERHUNTER - Flourescent Grey
STARS OF THE LID - Stars of the Lid
and Their Refinement of the Decline
SHEARWATER - Palo Santo: Expanded
Edition CD/LP
Different CD
BROTHER ALI - Undisputed Truth
Form of Life 127CDEP
ARCADE FIRE - Keep The Car Running
SAGE FRANCIS - Human The Death
Dance CD
MAVIS STAPLES - We'll Never Turn
Back CD
Music In The Afternoon with
Arts and Crafts recording artists
Zulu Records
1972-1976 W 4th Ave
Vancouver, BC
tel 604.738.3232


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