Shragadelic

Yes, yes, I know it's been ages since we've gotten together. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Now look, I can fritter my time away explaining how I was held prisoner by Morlocks in the wastelands of Mississauga, then besieged by small people and forced to work in the salt mines, or I can get on with what I came here to do, namely draw your attention to some fine music. The choice is yours.

What's that? You're going for the music?

You sure??

You have chosen wisely...

Dearest Friends, I suppose it was almost three years ago that I came across Shrag's debut single, "Pregnancy Scene," while frolicking through the meadows of the interwebbynet. The dang thing stuck to me like a burr, what with its eerily parping synthline, stalking guitar, and SHOUTY vocals. Rather than pick the thing off my woolly jumper, I left it there, hoping it would grow into more tunes. Alas, though this Brighton-based quintet have released a total of five singles over the past two-plus years, all of them have been on lovely, yet postally inconvenient vinyl. And thus I have had to make do with what I had. So imagine my joy when I discovered the other week (only four months late, I'm sooo cutting edge) that Shrag had finally bundled their singles together, thrown in a couple of extra tracks, and released the whole scrummy, squirming mess on an eponymous album available both as a see-dee AND in newfangled digitalese. Hooray!!

So what will you find when you dig down? Rich, crystalline veins of angular post-punk riffage, dense deposits of bolshy pop attitude, and a mother lode of sardonic savvy. Gems include "Talk To The Left," which sets us all straight on matters of ardour (Did he really say "baby, now I'm heading south"? / Funny, I was almost there / And then he opened his mouth) and "Mark E Smith," which makes a helluva brain-churning racket. But go beyond the upper crust of sarcasm and shoutiness, and you'll find caves full of emotion and feeling as well; "Hopelessly Wasted" is an aching break-up song, while the marvellous "Forty Five 45s" drips with melancholy memories of a relationship entwined with a singles collection. Le sigh.

Then there's their name itself - how deliciously succulent! Go on, say it: "Shrag." Can't you just taste the juiciness? And its very sound brings to mind cheesy 70s carpets, immensely satisfying copulation, shrubbery, goofy sea birds, corrupt elections, and soulful dancing. Oh yes, what a combo! Just forget the prosaic fact that it's actually an acronym for Sussex Heights Roving Artists Group - an in joke, apparently.

In June they'll be playing several UK dates supporting The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart, and I'd give vital parts of my anatomy to see one of those shows. But alas, anatomy is no substitute for time and money...

Right, enough verbiage, here's some tuneage:

Shrag - Forty Five 45s (buy here or e-here)

Oh, and while we're at it you might as well also have the ooer, fnarr fnarr video of "Talk To The Left:"

Bad Experience

Origami cleverness from here

When I first saw it, I didn't believe it. I thought it was a joke, something crafted by a latteklatsch of ultra-cool, web-savvy, hyper-ironic hipsters with designer haircuts.

But it's not.

It's real.

And it made me nauseous.

Step right up folks, you too can have the ultimate Rock & Roll Experience. Yes, for a mere $7,999 you'll get to play in a rock band with "world-famous musicians!" Jam with "iconic rockers!" Attend private workshops with "platinum rock stars!!!" What's more, the price of this 5-day package includes luxury hotel accommodation at the four-star Hotel Renew in Honolulu!!!! You will be "treated like a celebrity and catered to accordingly!!!!!" Confirmed rock gods participating are Glen Matlock (he was always the weediest Pistol anyway), Gerard V. Casale (Devolution, indeed) and Wayne Kramer (say it ain't so!!).

Dearest Friends, this is a travesty. This is not rock 'n' roll. This is balding, fiftysomething, system analysts with their remaining strands of hair scraped behind their heads into dork handles. This is Euro trustafarian brats decked out in Bench and Von Dutch. This is the annoying, botox-injected fucker who cut me off today in his Porsche Boxter. This is whore meets john.

Oh my, I think I need a cocktail of proper music on the rocks to clear the taste of sick from my throat...

Chuck Berry - Johnny B. Goode (buy here or e-here)
Subway Sect - Different Story (buy here or e-here)
Dead Kennedys - Pull My Strings (buy here or e-here)
Sex Pistols - The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (buy here or e-here)

In The Mood For Ska

Rudettes and dansette penned by the mahvellous Bishakh Som © 2009

It's been a lovely Friday, what with it being the end of the week and a glorious, late afternoon burst of sunshine apologizing for the rest of the day's rain & gloom. When it's lovely outside, I feel lovely inside - call me shallow, and I will plead guilty. And so it is I find myself in the mood for some old time ska. Come along, Dearest Friends, the rude girls have cranked up the dansette and as the glorious sunset fades into starry evening, it's time to skank the night away.

Lord Tanamo - I'm In The Mood For Ska (buy here )

The Ethiopians - Train To Skaville (buy here or e-here)

Shenley Duffus - Rukumbine (buy here)

Dandy Livingstone - Rudy, A Message To You (buy here)

The Bleechers - Check Him Out (buy here)

Derrick & Patsy - Housewife's Choice (buy here or e-here)

Resolution Revisited

Dearest Friends, you may recall that back in January I was rash enough to put into cyber-print my resolutions for the year. Ignore for the moment items two through five, which are still in various stages of completion (er, like between 0% and 20%), and let's focus on the first resolution, namely getting in shape for the 2009 Vancouver Sun Run.

Well, roger me sideways with a sweaty ferret, but the run is this coming Sunday and methinks I'm going to be set for it.

Hear that slapping? That's the sound of my gob being smacked.

You see, I've tried many times over the years to get into this running lark, but I've always ended up hating, loathing, DESPISING it. I never understood why; it's something you can do alone or with company, it involves no real prep or planning, and I love walking round in The Great Outdoors (urb or rural). But no, no, no, a thousand times no.

This year I was helped along by the lovely Miss J, a work colleague who kindly offered up her running expertise twice a week to lead a training clinic for the Sun Run, which has become something of an institution in Vancouver. I also had an attack of bloody mindedness; dammit, this is something I CAN and WILL do. Finally, I was heartened by the dashing exploits of JaG, who overcame her own inertia to run like the wind (and will do so again, once she sorts out her iron will)!!

So, some ten weeks ago I strapped on my running shoes and set off on my first training run: three minutes running, two minutes walking. I just about died and dissolved into a heap of cramp, asthmatic croaking, and sweat. Fast forward to today, when I finished my second 10K run in a series of 10 minute intervals separated by one minute of walking. We're not talking Chariots of Fire timing here, folks, but I did it and actually felt (gasp!) rather good at the end. Inbetween then and now it's been a mixed bag of bloody fucking pain and flashes of pride.

Now, please excuse me, but I'm going to break out the can opener and open up a tin of corn. You see, Dearest Friends, I've actually learned a shedload from this whole exercise. I'll spare you most of the zen insights, but allow me to relate two:

First off, the pain is manageable. Almost every outing something went wonky: my hips ached, I got a stitch in my side, my calves cramped up, my right knee got all wobbly. At first I focused on what was going wrong, which was, well, wrong. But over time I developed my own sort of R2-D2 in my brain. You know; R2 would sit in the back of Luke's X-Wing fighter and deal with all the bits falling off ("I'm hit, but not bad. R2, see what you can do with it." "R2, try and increase the power."). Well, my R2 tends to all the shit that goes wrong with me so I can stay focused on the run. If my shins cramp, R2 tells them to relax. If I accelerate up a hill, R2 shortens my stride to maintain my pace. So now the discomfort is secondary. Moral of the story: get yourself your own R2 unit.

Second, I'm my own worst enemy. For years I talked myself out of running coz simply because I believed I couldn't do it. And, since we've already strayed into Star Wars territory, let me quote Yoda: "That, is why you fail." I can't afford to forget this lesson.

So now the Sun Run is but four days away, and I'm confident that I can do it. But y'know, even if I don't, I've already won on this resolution.

Right, you'll be wanting some music after all that. So here you go, a clutch of fine running tunes:

Messiah - Temple of Dreams (buy here )
They weren't the messiah, they were two very naughty techno boys named Ali and Mark.

Tones On Tail - Go! (buy here or get the club mix e-here)
Post & pre-Bauhaus goodness. Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-yaya-ya. You get the picture.

GBH - Race Against Time (buy here )
Kinda hard to run in your 18-hole Doc Martens and levver jacket, but the punks don't care.

The Vivian Girls - Where Do You Run To (buy here or e-here)
Righteous grrl noise straight outta Brooklyn. Eruditely named after a mammoth 15,000-page magnum opus by outsider artist Henry Darger

Markus James & The Wassonrai - Far As I Can Run / Majirica Samba (buy here or e-here)
Think Tom Waits playing those old time blues in Timbuktu. Yes, it's that good. Another one of my favourite discoveries at the 2008 Vancouver Folk Music Festival.

No Star Wars music, you'll be happy to hear, but have a look at this and larf until the banthas come home:

A Walk

Walking man courtesy of mag3737

Dearest Friends, Saturday afternoon I wasn't so fine in either mind or spirit or body. In fact, I was feeling rather crap. I was still emerging, thanks to some heap powerful antibiotics, from a bacterial infection that for two days had drained me of all energy and replaced it with a foul cocktail of chills, aches, and fevered dreams. That day I had also received some rather nasty e-correspondence from a Usual Suspect; it matters not what the content (which was legitimate), but rather the evenomed barbs in which it was wrapped. And finally, we were all absorbing the Friday news of the apparently random murder in broad daylight of a woman out jogging in the forest but a few blocks from where we live. Dearest Wife was rattled; not only does she often walk/jog past the scene of the crime, most recently earlier that day, but also she was followed down that path a few months back and had been sufficiently concerned to file a report with the local Mounties.

And so I moped. "Why don't you take Little Man for a walk?" suggested Dearest Wife as the clock dragged towards 5:00 PM. And so I did.

I was surprised to see that since my last foray outside early on Friday spring seemed to have definitivey sprung; the sun was out and warm, buds were budding, and the grass needed mowing. We wandered for a few blocks talking nonsense and giggling. Passing a front yard, we met a waggy old black lab named Ruby, whose owner invited a happy Little Man to throw a ball for her. We stopped at the supermarket and bought a plump cantaloupe for dessert, then we picked up a yummy, steaming hot pizza and delivered it home for us all to sup on.

That evening, even though I was still too delicate to go see The Beat as I had been planning for months, I felt a whole lot better.

Go for a walk, Dearest Friends. You'll be surprised what a power of good it can do.

Right, some nice 'n' happy music:

The Lovekevins - Happy Happy (buy some of their stuff here)
Jane - It's A Fine Day (buy here or e-here)
Pizzicato 5 - Happy Sad (buy e-here or here)

And this one is for having missed the show... :(

The Beat - Ranking Full Stop (buy here or e-here)

P.S. More joy - Contrast Podcast is serving up eggs this week!! If you can't wait to scramble on over, go ahead and crack it open here.

Let's Face The Music And Dance

This is for a Dearest Friend, actually more of a Dearest Brother. The trouble ahead may be trouble now, and there may seem to be no moon. Indeed, there may even be teardrops to shed. But still you must face the music and dance, always dance.

And I'll be pogoing away like mad, right next to you.

Ella Fitzgerald - Let's Face The Music And Dance (buy here)

Τὸ χόβερκράφτ μου εἶναι γεμᾶτο χέλια

OMD during their rebetiko phase

OK, lemme just say that I don't care what you think, Dearest Friends. Well, actually, let me qualify that: I hope this will give you as much headbanging, horn-throwing, arse-shaking, eighties-worshiping, improbably covertastic pleasure as it gave me when it came, unbidded, on my FiLPod TWICE in two weeks at times just when I needed it most. But if it doesn't, then mock all you want, I don't give a damn. Coz it doesn't get any more ridiculously sublime, any more chalk-n-cheesy delish, than a Greek power metal band doing a motoring version of the fantastic Enola Gay by 80s synth-gods Orchestral Manoevers in the Dark.

Wolfcry - Enola Gay (buy here or e-here)

Reasons to be Cheerful

Cos nothing says "cheerful" more than an otter...

Dearest Friends, if you're feeling less-than-perky, then listen up: I've got a bagful of goodies guaranteed to lift the most flaccid of spirits. No, it's true, hold your cynicism at bay!!

First up, there's Contrast Podcast! Always a cause for yay!! This week our intrepid guide, Young Tim, takes us on a dizzying alpine trek through songs about mountains. Lofty heights are scaled, thanks to our brave contributors, and I'd urge you to get yourself and your crampons, pitons, and carabiners over here to get some mountainous goodness. If you can't wait, download the podcast directly from here.

Now, as I mentioned a few posts back, I ain't gonna tell you what I submitted, though I will let on that it was both the first and the obvious choice for me. Truth be told, I never really considered any other tunes, though had I been more flexible of brain I might have given you this ditty from Vancouver's own poppily whimsical and melodic Cinderpop:

Cinderpop - Vesuvius (buy e-here)
The album cover has a Victorian octopus on the cover. How ace is that???

The second cause for cheer is my serendipitous discovery of the lovely Hooded Fang. You see, I was noodling about the web trying to find something about Herald Nix and clicked through to his page on the CBC Radio 3 website. So I'm reading the blurb, but the music playing doesn't really sound anything like Herald Nix. That's when I realize the page is streaming a playlist of indie-schmindie stuff and WOW, whatever this non-Nixian track is, it's lovely!!

So, long story short, it turns out that what grabbed me by the ears was none other than Hooded Fang, six boys & girls from Toronto with a fetish for Mordecai Richler's off-kilter children's books, jangly guitars, tinkly xylophones, sweet vocals, and fluffy dollop of twee. A perfectly serendipitous find for springtime, dontcha think??

Hooded Fang - Land Of Giants (buy here or e-here)

And finally, the most important reason to be cheerful: Merz is back. HOORAY!! Those of you who've been around for a while and already know him don't need me to tell you why this is such a joyful event. For those Dearest Friends who've not had the pleasure, Merz runs the excellent blog Mars Needs Guitars, which was one of the first ones that I ran across while taking my first, tentative steps into the interwebbybloggynet. If you're looking for fine music, delivered straight up with lots of honesty and not a trace of bullshit or ironic, hip pretense, then you need to get yourself over there right now. And he is a brave fighter; he's been dealing with some very heavy issues for some time now, issues which led him to take an 18 month hiatus from blogging. But Merz has returned - go show him some love.

Merz would be the first to admit that he has a serious shoegaze fetish, so in honour of his return let's have a bit of that stuff; from the poppier end of that genre, here's Berkshire's finest, Chapterhouse, with a wee gem from 1991:

Chapterhouse - Pearl (buy here or e-here)

And sorry, no Ian Dury this time. Don't want to overdo it now, do we??

FiLPod

Yes, well, it's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry, dog ate my homework. Leaves on the tracks. I couldn't on account of my asthma. I didn't have the exact change. I thought it was every third Friday. All circuits were busy.

Er, whatever.

So let's get this party (re)started, right? No heavy-heavy the first night back. Keep it light and airy. And I have just the thing.

The other week I finally broke down and got myself an iPod Nano. My old empeefree playah, a 512K Samsung mini-Mars bar YP-MT6, had been giving me grief ("Oh no, I'm not playing that song again! No siree, I'm just going to keep resetting my wee self.") and I actually became rather infatuated with the Nano after fondling a co-worker's. So thin! Yet so vast!! Hook. Line. Sinker. Done.

I've wrangled iTunes onto my PC, populated it with my muzak (do I really have over 28 days of the stuff??), and have started constructing playlists. Now, one of the first lists I composed was a part-tay one, to reside on the FiLPod just in case. In case what? Well, in case I find myself asked to DJ a wedding at a moment's notice. Or perhaps at a a morning-after-a-white-night breakfast in Sweden (happened once). Or maybe in the Fish Bar in the wee hours. Who knows, you need to be prepared.

Anyway, the list is full of random stuff, though there seems to be an overrepresentation of eighties cheese. Ah, well. But it does work! Driving to & from work today I had a party in my car! Just me and FiLPod!! We danced!! And here's some of what made us boogie:

Intaferon - Get Out Of London (buy here)
For a while in the early 1980s I was infatuated with this, one of the three electro-clattery singles released by flash-in-the-pansters Intaferon. Oh, the lyrics! "My mother was the queen of tarts my baby was a sex slave / Pa's selling weapons to the Red Army Faction / I burn myself in public just to get a reaction." What does it mean?? I still don't know!! But does it matter??

Shinehead - Chain Gang Rap (buy here)
A bit of "gee willikers" reggae here that manages to make me feel nostalgic about riding the NYC subway. And that, Dearest Friends, is pretty hard to do.

Jim Carroll - People Who Died (buy here)
A deathlist you can dance to, all rollicking punky-punk and anthemic and poignant and celebratory and hilaarious at the same time.

Quando Quango - Love Tempo (buy here or e-here)
Um, some of that 80s cheese wot I told you about. But it'll get you a-boogie, or my name isn't "Body Motion."

Brilliant Corners - Meet Me On Tuesdays (buy here if you're loaded) OMG! Bags and bags of lovely HORNS!! And angsty lyrics!! Le C86 swoooon! It's become particularly poignant of late for reasons I cannae go into.

Time is Out Of Joint

Non-linear

Sod it, the time has come. Blow off the cobwebs, crank up the loudspeaker, cos an announcement is in order here at pogo a go-go:

FiL is hereby abandoning linear time.

What? You thought I was packing it in? Not a chance, Dearest Friend. Yes, yes, I know postings have been rather thin around here as of late, but it's a trickle, not a drought.

I still have stories to tell, it's just that I can't get them out in a timely manner. So if time is the problem, then time must be removed. Abolished. Spurned. So the stories will come when they come, in the order they choose.

There, I feel better.

Speaking of time, this week's Contrast Podcast urges us to go back to when we were 21 and share what music we hear back then (See? I'm messing with the tenses. Woot! Fuck you, time!!). The theme was actually suggested by my Dearest Friend Brad, who was one of my roommates at college. I'm actually going back to Washington, DC for a long weekend of catching up with him and other close friends. Ostensibly it's a late 40th birthday celebration. Well, I'm happy for that to be the excuse; it's been waaaay too long since I spent proper time with Brad et al, and I am looking forward to it something fierce. I just hope I'll be able to remember it all after all the alcohol...

Drop by here to download the CP Nation's collective reminiscence, and stop here to leave your comments.

As I mentioned in my intro, the song I chose (not gonna tell you what it is - new policy chez FiL: go have a look/listen on the CP website) nailed a particular transition point as I navigated into my 22nd year. During those 12 months I finished up my undergraduate studies, spent a couple of months backpacking around Europe, then started graduate studies in England, where I didn't quite reckon I'd spend the next 15 years. But there were a lot of musical currents swirling around, and so my choice could just have well been one of these:

The Pixies - Wave Of Mutilation (buy here)
I lived & breathed this album...

De La Soul - Jenifa Taught Me (buy here)
Awww, bay-beh!!

Mudhoney - This Gift (buy here)
They dumped me headlong into grunge. Been there, done that, still got the flannel shirt...

Pop Will Eat Itself - Wise Up! Sucker (buy here)
I forget too often how good the PWEI's brand of screeching pop fusion often was.

The Soup Dragons - I'm Free (buy here)
There's always been a baggy dance element to FiL..

Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine - Sheriff Fatman (buy here)
Jimbob & Fruitbat - what a duo! A cleverly anthemic, socially scathing piece of pop goodness, this is. And did you know that CP compere Tim once boasted a stringy, Jimbob rattail hairdo? It's true!

Ned's Atomic Dustbin - Kill Your Television (buy here)
Noisy boys with a thing for multiple t-shirts and loose shorts. I've had tinnitus in my left ear ever since going to a 1992 Ned's gig. Fact!

Lush - Sweetness & Light (buy here or e-here)
I've been gazing rapturously at my shoes for hours. Can't stop.


So I'm off to DC tomorrow evening for the weekend, then I jet to Toronto for a couple days of work. No idea when I'll be back around here, but, well, it'll be sometime. Until then, Dearest Friends, stay excellent.

Indigestion

I ate for them...

So last week I found myself of an evening in a Vancouver hotel ballroom breaking bread amongst a swarm of financial types. The occasion was an annual dinner put on by an august association that bestows a TLA on those hopeful youngsters who've crunched numbers, sweated blood, and scribbled under time pressure to the requisite standard. I am not among the blessed ones, but I was invited to attend anyway. Not sure why, but there you go.

Now apparently every year over dessert and coffee a panel of financial experts what knows about how this money thang all works gives its predictions for the year ahead. But before that, last year's predictions are reviewed. The whole production is supposed to be wrapped in humour, presumably to demonstrate that, hey, bean counters can be wacky, off-kilter types. This year the humour was distinctly of the gallows variety. Hoots of laughter applauded the TLA in the audience who won a chunk of lucite for "Best Stock Pick:" XYZ Industries, down 43 percent year-on-year. Yes, I said down. Hoots of laughter.

Yet something sat not quite right about all of this. It was probably around coffee that it struck me; despite the frightful whipsawing of the markets, the credit crunch, and bleeding investment portfolios, all of us folks in that ballroom had jobs and were relatively alright, Jack, if a tad nervous. We dined on seared tuna (a bit peppery that crust, but still nice) and steak (obviously nuked prior to a finishing grill, but quite a tasty bit of flesh), quaffed red, red wine (only one glass for me as I'm driving, but the fellow over there seems to have passed out in his chair), and laughed at it all rather than shed crocodile tears. Elsewhere, a record 4.78 million Americans are receiving unemployment benefits, and are struggling to make ends meet. Some are sinking deep into despair, and taking their loved ones with them. Home foreclosures are gutting communities. Canada, largely spared to date, is starting to feel the hot breeze of the firestorm to the south. People will be hurt here as well.

And that's what it's all about: real, live people. Not numbers, not graphs, but people.

As I left, I felt angry. And part of that anger was directed at myself; I ate at that table, I'm alright, Jack. So I asked myself: whatcha gonna do about it?

Well FiL? I'm waiting...

The Neurotics - This Fragile Life (buy here or e-here)
Public Image Limited - This Is Not A Love Song (buy here)
Wild Billy Childish and the Musicians of the British Empire - Thatcher's Children (buy here or e-here)

Kicking It around

It's the fourth down on the ten-yard line...Rick flicks it to John Q, who heads it to Steve...oh, and the Vinyl Villain dribbles it down the left and passes it to Tricia...who throws it to Tim...Tim lines up on the goal...he shoots...the goalie dives the wrong way AND ITS A GOOOOOOOAAAALLL FOR TEAM CONTRAST PODCAST!!!

Yes, this week it's a mix of pigskin and pitch as the CP nation explores football in all its musical permutations. Come listen to the match over here. The team roster:

(00:00) The Rosebuds - Push it
Rick from Are you embarrassed easily

(05:03) The Hitchers - Strachan
John Q.

(11:00) Colourbox - The official colourbox world cup theme
Steve from Domino Rally

(16:32) Fountains of Wayne - All kinds of time
Thomas from Better in the Dark

(22:00) ¡All-Time Quarterback! - Cleveland
Marcy from Lost in your inbox

(25:02) Cock SParrer - Trouble on the Terraces
FiL from Pogoagogo

(31:48) Outkast - Morris Brown
James from Appetite For Distraction

(36:36) Billy Bragg - The boy done good
Charles from Heartache with Hard Work

(40:28) The 1982 Scottish World Cup Team with B.A. Robertson and John Gordon Sinclair - We have a dream
JC aka The Vinyl Villian

(46:20) Shawn Lee - The big game
Eiron from The S+7 Method

(52:37) Chixdiggit - I should have played football in highschool
Chris from Culture Bully

(55:24) The Housemartins - We’re not deep
Tricia

(58:41) Jiskefet - Mijn club
Rhiannah

(01:05:25) Mel and Tim - Backfield in motion
Adam from Pretending life is like a song

(01:08:21) The Meat Puppets - Touchdown king
Natalie from Mini-Obs

(01:13:37) Ballboy - Sunday league (acoustic)
Dirk from Sexy Loser

(01:16:59) Alex Constantino, Danny Baker and Danny Kelly - Bohemian Rhapsody
Stuart from The Accies Blog

Now I must admit that I am not a fan of any of the various species of football. Indeed, I'm not much of spectator sports aficionado at all. Growing up in the US, I had plenty of opportunity to watch the American variety, but it just bored, bored, BORED me to tears, especially when the final five minutes of a game would telescope into an hour, what with all the time-outs and ad breaks.

Despite my looong stint in the UK, I am similarly lukewarm towards The Beautiful Game. In the office I was regularly teased for not having a team, so much so that I finally told my colleagues that they could pick a team for me to follow if it would make them happy. Alas (thankfully?), they could not decide who I should support; I think it had come down to Charlton Athletic, QPR, and Liverpool (the last because I am rather fond of the late John Peel, who was a keen Liverpool supporter), but the lengthy debates never reached resolution.

I suppose what really turns me off team spectator sports is the tribalism; the "us-versus-them" mentality, the trash-talking, the jeering. Yes, yes, I know it's usually all in the good, healthy spirit of friendly competition, but even then I just can't see the point of investing emotional capital in it. And then you have the occasions when the tribalism gets ugly. It would be facile of me to tar all sports with the brush of hooliganism, but that distasteful element does rear its head far too often for my liking.

Perhaps what cemented my dislike of football (soccer) in particular was my Leeds experience. In the late nineties Dearest Wife was living and working in Leeds while I did likewise in London. Every Friday I'd endure the Great North Eastern Railway service from Kings Cross to Leeds, and every Sunday afternoon I'd endure it again in reverse. However, the journey back was most often rendered much more of an ordeal by the drunken football fans returning home to their ratholes after the fixture of the day. The puke, the chants, the verbal - it was awful. It got so bad that eventually I started taking the Monday dawn train back to London instead. It meant getting up at around 4:30 AM, but at least I could sleep for a couple of hours (sometimes more, if there were leaves on the tracks) without being bothered by bovver boys...

Despite all my kvetching, I must admit to going to the odd Canadian football game as of late. Why? Well, the Canuck version of the American game is faster paced, as it isn't quite so commercialized and it boasts one fewer down. The fans are better behaved in general , although I have seen police intervene in the stands on occasion. But the real reason I go? My Fantastic Father-in-Law quite likes the game, and I quite like spending time with him.

What's that? Oh yes, the music. Here are the two other tracks that I almost submitted:

Tribe Called Quest - Can I Kick It? (buy here)
Football? Kick? Geddit??

The Adicts - You'll Never Walk Alone (buy here or e-here)
Everybody's favourite clockwork punks do their version of Liverpool FC's anthem.

Next week, it's all about Sizes. Pop over here to find out how to contribute.

They Say The Tardy Fruit's A Fuller Wine

Abigail Washburn with Bela Fleck
Vancouver Folk Music Festival, July 2008

Dearest Friends, we are experiencing a rare moment of calm and downtime round Chateau FiL. Darling Daughter is somewhere up the Sunshine Coast enjoying (we hope) her weekend at Girl Guides District Camp. Dearest Wife is upstairs preparing her lectures on Celtic gods & goddesses for the upcoming week. Ginadawg is curled up in front of the fire. And Little Man & I are ensconced on the sofa watching The Wizard of Oz. There's no place like home... there's no place like home... there's no place like home...

Things have been a bit quiet round pogo a go-go way of late. You know, the whole offline life thing. But I won't whinge about it, cos it's just how it is that's not what you've dropped by for. Here, why don't you join us on the sofa for a mug of hot milk & honey and a bit of a catch-up??

I've been meaning to tell you for some time now about Abigail Washburn. How long is "some time?" Well, um, since this past summer, actually. I know, pretty crap of me, but better now than never, because she sounds as wonderful today as she did six months ago when I saw her play the Vancouver Folk Music Festival with The Sparrow Quartet. While I was perusing the Fest's programme she caught my eye for three reasons. First, she plays the banjo. Ever since I saw Old Man Luedecke play the thing at the previous year's Festival I've been a fan, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Played well, it can be by turns marvellously evocative and pogoliciously rambunctious. Oh, and she plays the clawhammer banjo; dunno exactly what species that is, but it sounds hardcore. Second, Abigail narrowly escaped being a lawyer. She was on the verge of treading down the path of international corporate law when a fortuitous encounter with an agent at a bluegrass convention resulted in a demo and ultimately a decision to follow the music rather than Mammon. Third, she fuses her love of old-time pluckin' with her love of China. Yes, you heard right. While a student, she developed a deep respect and passion for Chinese culture during a trip to that country, and went so far as to learn Mandarin. She now composes and sings in both idioms.

If the programme whetted my appetite, seeing her left me hungry for more. I was spellbound, and the shivers danced up and down my spine, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Dearest Friends, whenever that happens I KNOW what I'm hearing is magnificent. I was watching her and the Quartet with Dearest Father-in-Law, who commented that her banjo-playing, while good, wasn't particularly complex. Maybe that was true, particularly when compared to quartetite Bela Fleck, who is widely regarded as the finest banjo meister alive. But there was something so pure and clear and gorgeous and evocative about her plucking and singing that relative technical prowess seemed irrelevant. She flitted from old skool Appalachian tunes to Chinese folk songs with wondrous ease, her seamless weaving supported magnificently by fiddle and cello, as well as Bela's second banjo. On top of all this she is lovely, both on stage and off. I chatted briefly with her on the second day of the Festival and she was most gracious. Afterwards I thought that maybe I had been bewitched by the setting; in the past certain artists who I enjoyed at the Festival seemed slightly less fabulous upon subsequent listenings. Not so Abigal; I saw her and the Sparrow Quartet perform brilliantly a few months later at the more intimate Rogue Folk Club and I realized that I had been bewitched, not by the Festival, but by Abigail and her music (but you should have guessed that, since I only tell you about those artists who truly ARE fabulous). As she sang and picked, the shivers returned; they were particularly electrifying on this sublime song:

Abigail Washburn & the Sparrow Quartet - A Fuller Wine (buy this splendid album here or e-here)

Abigail Washburn and the Sparrow Quartet are currently on the tail-end of a long spate of touring that has taken them all over the US, Europe, and China (see Abigail's Myspace page for a brilliant set of thoughtful, erudite, and eloquent blogposts about that visit). If you're in Kentucky, Colorado, Washington DC, or New York, do go prepared to be spellbound:

4 Feb: The Oriental Theater, Denver, CO
5 Feb: Colorado College, Clorado Springs, CO
6 Feb: Fox Theater, Boulder, CO
7 Feb: Wheeler Opera House, Aspen, CO
10 Feb: National Geographic, Washington DC
11 Feb: Joe's Pub, New York, NY (N.B. two shows on one night)
15 Feb: Comstock Hall (University of Louisville), Louisville KY

It was lovely chatting with you, Dearest Friends. Stop by again for a hot mug of something.

Gitarre Verboten

No guitars, no dogs. I don't want to go here, but Jan did.

By order of The Vinyl Villain, Dearest Tim has banned all guitars from this week's Contrast Podcast. Other than banishment from the episode, I'm not sure what the penalty would have been for not respecting the Guitar-Free Zone. But I wasn't going to find out. Download the 'cast here to find out how good music can be without axes of any sort.

Guitarless goodness:

(00:00) Neil Young - Like a hurricane (unplugged)
JC aka The Vinyl Villian

(07:35) Mark Kozelek - Around and around
Linda from Speed of Dark

(09:49) Geoff Berner - Drunk all day
Ross from Hummin’ Cummins

(12:35) Hermine - Blue angel
Dirk from Sexy Loser

(15:43) Ella Fitzgerald - Sunshine of your love
Chris from Phosphorous.net

(19:33) Rory Mcleod - Love is like a rock (in a stormy sea)
Adam from Pretending life is like a song

(23:43) Cat Power - Wild is the wind
Natalie from Mini-Obs

(28:03) Tobacco - Gross Magik
Diana from Lipsynchsuck

(32:33) Deretraum - Zikabender
Eiron from The S+7 Method

(34:50) Jamie Lidell - Multiply (Gonzales remix)
Marcy from Lost in your inbox

(38:50) Laura Barrett - Robot ponies
Jim from Quick Before it Melts

(43:30) Ben Folds - One down (live)
James from Appetite For Distraction

(48:04) Regina Spektor - Samson
Agnes from It all started with carbon monoxide

(52:50) Mr Hopkinson’s Computer - Fake plastic trees
John Q.

(57:43) Tiger Lillies - Banging in the nails
FiL from Pogoagogo

(01:02:38) Markéta Irglová - The hill
Rhiannah

(01:07:40) Laurie Anderson - From the air
Tricia

(01:12:53) Dead man’s bones - In the room where you sleep
Chris from Culture Bully

(01:17:46) Interbellum - 6EQUJ5
ZB from So the wind won’t blow it all away

(01:23:15) The Roy Hargrove Quintet - Strasbourg / St Denis
Greer from A Sweet Unrest

I decided fairly swiftly that I wanted to submit a Tiger Lillies track, primarily because they are ace and secondly because they operate off of accordion, upright bass, and drums. I then reckoned that in order to get the full effect across, I needed to offer up one of their more shocking songs. You see, seamy, sordid, saucy, and sacrilegious is what these Brechtian cabareters do best. Finally, I wanted to go for something punchy and punky, despite the guitar prohibition. So you got what's probably their most outrageous number, but I also considered this one:

Tiger Lillies - Hell (buy here or e-here)

Now I did briefly consider going with a spot of electronica, so you might have gotten this dose of 80s minimalist Eurokitsch, only I was afraid you'd all hunt me down after it had been stuck in your head for a month after the podcast:

TRIO - Da Da Da (buy here)

And had I not been in such a rammy mood, you might have been treated to this lovely piece, which always fills me with an odd sense of yearning...

Orbital - Belfast/Wasted (this version is from the excellent third edition of Volume magazine, which I think is now best found on eBay)

Next week, the CP celebrates Football. Pick your side, pick a song, then learn how to submit it here.

Feet First

Ask Nick where he gets his shoes

Right, this week Dearest Tim's really put his feet in it. Well, his feet and those of others. And the "it" he's put them in is this week's Contrast Podcast. Yes, Dearest Friends, the current episode is given over entirely to matters podiatric: tootsies, boots, shoes, walking, and the like. So move your feet over here to download it, and don't forget to comment here.

What's afoot:

(00:00) Mud - Tiger feet
Tim from The face of today

(04:32) Kirsty MacColl - In these shoes?
Natalie from Mini-Obs

(09:29) Starlet - When the sun falls on my feet
JC aka The Vinyl Villian

(14:10) Hello Saferide - Get sick soon
Agnes from It all started with carbon monoxide

(17:32) Cinerama - Heels
John Q.

(21:29) Bernard Bresslaw - You need feet
The In Crowd from I’m Learning to Share!

(24:58) Moonbabies - Walking on my feet
Marcy from Lost in your inbox

(29:51) Quincy Jones & Bill Cosby - Toe jam
Chris from Culture Bully

(34:52) Patrick Macnee & Honor Blackman - Kinky boots
FiL from Pogoagogo

(39:33) Jean-Paul Sartre Experience - Own two feet
Dirk from Sexy Loser

(44:05) Nobody & Mystic Chords of Memory - Feet upon the sand
Rachel from Untitled Records

(49:07) Bleep - Dipping toes
Eiron from The S+7 Method

(54:50) Good shoes - Small town girl
Adam from Pretending life is like a song

(59:44) Clinic - Second foot stomp
Jim from Quick Before it Melts

(01:03:07) Catch-22 - As the footsteps die out forever
James from Appetite For Distraction

(01:07:33) Oh Susanna - Forever at your feet
Rhiannah

(01:11:38) Billy Connolly - If it was’nae for your wellies
Tricia

This particular body part seems to provoke a strong reaction; folks seem either to really, really like them or to find them utterly revolting. So where do I stand? Somewhere in the middle, I suppose. I find a well groomed, well proportioned female foot can be most aesthetically pleasing. Conversely, when the weather warms up I'm always amazed at how many folks insouciantly bare their yellow-nailed, dragon-skinned, taloned paws. And why is it that whenever one talks about feet in a non-clinical/medical manner it seems rather pervy??

As an aside, methinks Dearest Wife isn't too fond of my tootsies; for Christmas I got a gift certificate for a pedicure. Actually, I'm rather looking forward to the experience. D'oh! Here comes that pervy feeling again. Quick, onto the other songs I very nearly submitted:

Adam Ant - Goody Two Shoes (buy here)
Nowt to do with feet, really, but a bloody good slab of 80s pop. Fill yer boots, as they say here in Canada...

Helen Love - Put Your Foot On The Fuzzbox (buy here or e-here)
More to do with the fuzzbox than the foot. Fast, loud, and mad!!

Clifton Chenier - Long Toes (buy here or e-here)
You can't beat a good dose of Zydeco. No way, no how.

And then there was "Footloose." No, not the Kenny Loggins film ditty, but this tight bit of hip hop from Toronto's own Wio-K. It's dope, da shizz, & all that. It may well have made it, but for timing. You see, I caught the tail end of it on the telly late on Monday, by which time my choice & intro had already been put to bed. But I was snaffled by That Bassline and that sharp ragga hook by Tasha Rozez, Mizz GunznRozez. Omigod. So I offer it up to you here, Dearest Friends. But before I do, I want to dedicate it to Greer. You see, on last week's CP she told us about her late brother, his love of hip hop, and her consequent appreciation of the genre. And it really touched me. Folks, it's what music and people's love of it is all about.

So here you go, Dearest Greer. This one is for you and your bro.

Wio-K feat. Tasha Rozez - Footloose (buy on iTunes or Napster)

And that video...

Stories

gordonr

I omitted a very important resplution from my list below:

Tell more stories...

Little Man and I have just seen my Mother off at the airport. We exchange hugs and promises of next visits while around us others spin out their own tales of departure and separation with tears and smiles and laughter. I tell her I was glad she had come; she replies with a smile and thanks, followed by a sudden, sharp mugging with the memory of a perceived slight. We then stand and wave our last goodbyes as she slips through the opaque sliding doors that separate the secure from the unsecure. My mind stings like a slapped cheek. Why does each chapter always have to end this way?

I turn away, planning to head for the car and home to our own home story. In front of us a jade canoe heaves into view, frozen in bronze yet seeming to glide forward, towards the unknown. The Spirit of Haida Gwaii is one of my favourite sculptures. I ask Little Man if we should go have a look, and with an impish grin he speeds off towards the massive craft, crowded with a fantastic, mythical crew. I catch up with him and he begins asking questions. Who's that? Is that an eagle? What are they doing? Where are they going? I reply that the sculpture tells a story, and ask if he would like to help me tell it.

I take him to a plaque off to the side and begin to read to him about the Spirit of Haida Gwaii. As I describe the craft and its crew, he races off eagerly to find each creature. Sitting in the bow is Bear, staring resolutely backwards at a past he refuses to abandon. Next to him is his human wife, Bear Mother, who clutches her cubs while looking for the future. Trusty Beaver paddles steadily ahead, as does the Reluctant Conscript, the everyman who is both taken for granted and the reason for it all. Then there is the alluring Dogfish Woman, who exudes a mystical desire as deep and dark as the ocean, despite her hooked nose, gill slits and wild piercings. The sharp-featured Mouse Woman huddles in the stern, hiding under Raven's tail; she is the guide between worlds. Wolf digs his claws into Beaver's back, while chewing on Eagle's wing. In turn, the noble Eagle's pride compells him to bite Bear's paw. Frog sits partly in the boat, bridging the land and sea. The cunning, charming Raven sits in the stern, steering the canoe wherever his trickster fancy takes him. Finally we come to the Shaman, who sits stoically in the middle of this tumultuous vessel, clutching the intricately carved staff that represents the world view of the Haida. A story within a story.

Having met all the creatures, Little Man's attention turns towards a promised hot chocolate. We sit in comfy chairs as travellers pass by, sipping our drinks. I tell Little Man that stories are important, so very important. They help us understand ourselves and others. They record what must be remembered. And they help us make sense of what we don't understand.

He looks at me for a moment, then busies himself with exctracting the dregs of chocolate foam. My mind stings a little less.

Pothole Skinny - Stories Locked In Time (buy here or e-here)

The Clock Work Army - Read Me A Story (buy here or e-here)

Resolved

KayVee.INC

Alright, time to dig out. Chrimbo has come & gone, and I'm trying to figure out why I had such the allergic reaction to it this year. There must be something to learn from it. In good time...

So, it's New Year's Eve. There must be something in the air --odd vapours, peculiar plasms-- because I'm feeling the inclination to make resolutions.

Seriously.

You see, ordinarily I don't hold with That Type Of Thing; you know, gin-fuelled, ill-considered attachment to unreasonable goals, followed by disappointment and self-criticism when they're not met. But of late I've been bouncing a few ideas off of mental walls. Weighing them up. Poking them. Prodding them. Nothing life-transforming, you understand, but I suppose this is as good a time as any to stop molesting them and adopt them. So, without any further ado, I resolve to:

1. Get in shape for the 2009 Vancouver Sun Run
   
   
2. Start taking gee-tarr lessons
   
   
3. Listen to more music
   
   
4. Volunteer, cos talking about change isn't enough
   
   
5. Sort out that thing that I should have sorted out ages ago

I would be grateful if you could see your way to helping me stick to them... A very happy, compassionate, and rockin' 2009 to you all, Dearest Friends!

Camera Obscura - Happy New Year (buy here or e-here)
The Bodines - Decide (only available on the original 1989 12-inch, methinks. Try here.)
Asobi Seksu - New Years (buy here or e-here)

Piss Off

It's over, so just go away. That's right, push off, and take your commercialism and unrealistic expectations and forced bonhomie with you. Oh, and don't forget all that bloody snow - you can stick it in your sleigh as well. I'm sick of shoveling it.

Jack White - Christmas Time is Nearly Over (buy here)
The Stuck-Ups - Piss Off (buy here or e-here)
Blackavar - Heart of Winter (buy here)

Christmas Conspiracy

Well, according to NORAD, Father Christmas is currently over Brian Head, Utah and is heading north. You see, I finally figured it out: Old St Nick is in cahoots with the military-industrial complex and is using alien spacecraft technology adapted by the US Air Force to travel the globe at high hypersonic speeds (see the photo above for PROOF!), distributing gifts in support of the reification of Christmas and general commodity fetishism, which in turn compels people to spend spend SPEND, thereby propping up the Capitalist system.

Shockingly fiendish, isn't it?? But now you know the truth.

Anyway, here are a final few seasonal tunes without which for me Chrimbo would be zilcho. Happy hols, Dearest Friends.

The Kinks - Father Christmas (buy here)
The Waitresses - Christmas Wrapping (buy here)
Holly Golightly - Christmas Tree on Fire (buy here)
Shonen Knife - Space Christmas (buy here)
St Etienne - I Was Born On Christmas Day (buy here)
Jacob Miller - All I Want for Ismas (buy e-here)
Bullette - Blue Christmas (buy her stuff here)

Silent Night, My Arse!

Dearest Friends, I find the holiday season is SO much more enjoyable when it's noizeee in a punk rock stylee. Don't you agree?


Easy Roy & The Flux Capacitors - Little Drummer Boy (I know nothing about the band or this song!)
The Vandals - Oi To The World (buy here or e-here)
New Bomb Turks - Christmas [Baby, Please Come Home] (buy here or e-here)
Celibate Rifles - Merry Xmas Blues (buy here or e-here)
Crucial Youth - X-Mas For The Skins (buy here or e-here)
Didjits - Under The Christmas Fish (buy here or e-here)
Exhumed - No Presents For Christmas (buy here or e-here)
S Punk 7 - White Trash Christmas (buy here or download more e-here)
Mistreaters - Santa Stole My Baby (buy the Flying Bomb Surprise Package here)
Devil Dogs - I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day (buy here or e-here)