Mockingbird Bible

Dearest Friends, you will recall that last year I was captivated by the songsmithery of local country-western-folk-blues singer/songwriter Rodney DeCroo. Well, he has a new album out, Mockingbird Bible, and I got religion.

As a quick recap for those of you who weren't listening the first time around, he's been variously compared to Steve Earle, Bob Dylan, Kris Kristofferson, Neil Young, John Prine, and even Bruce Springsteen. But don't let yourself get lazy and think that with that you've got him pegged; he's kinda sorta like the best bits of them all stitched together, with more on top.

At the core is a man with a superb talent for crafting poetic stories out of words and experience. Stories of people carrying burdens of regret, shame, fear, trauma, and self-doubt; of loves and relationships gone askew; of difficult memories and difficult questions; and also of beauty. They are sung in Rodney's supremely evocative voice; it's neither a polished nor a perfect voice, but its gritty and gravelly imperfections convey an honesty and authority based on hard experience and emotion. The songs are carried forward by Rodney's acoustic guitar, which he plays with an an elegant economy, and are embellished on the album by contributions from some fine Vancouver musicians; sweet backing singing by Sam Parton of the Be Good Tanyas, Ida Nilsen's tender vocals and piano, and the rich pluckings of stringmeister John Wood.

Mockingbird Bible is shot through with an introspective sadness and bitterness. The album's quasi-title track, 'Mockingbird,' is downright harrowing; Rodney picks at the strings as if they're his nerves as he sings an tense, high-pitched blues story of rejection and betrayal that leaves me exhausted each time I hear it. 'Loneliness Has The Heart Of A Spider,' which is just a fantastic metaphor, is mellower, mournful tale redolent of self entrapment. 'Shooting Stars' seems to lament the loneliness of a life on the road, with Rodney singing of "lonely girls in heartbreak bars / they love the way you play your guitar."

But it's not all gloom and doom and bleakness; if you want that, just stick to your Joy Division, you miserable gits. For in amongst all the angst are islands of spirituality. Now rest assured, I'm not talking about old-time, tub-thumping evangelism or kumbayah hippy-drippiness. It's a less-focused faith in grace and redemption, one that brings a sense of hope, however grubby. Nowhere is this more in evidence than on 'Spinning Wheel,' which sits roughly in the middle of the album's sadness: "I stand at the razor's edge / as these lights burn through my head / and despite every word I said / I praise this spinning wheel."

Probably what I find most powerful about Rodney's music is how it often it will sneak up and suddenly stab straight through my outer hide and pierce some damned, dammed up pool of emotion that I didn't even realize was there. Heck, that happened the first time I ever set eyes or ears on him, and it happened again while listening to the album. Twice, in fact. And though sometimes I can figure out why it does ("Oh my mother / Oh my father / Will we ever be reconciled? / Though I went out and I wandered / I am still your only child"), often I'm not really sure. "Deep waters, they don't run dry" - why does that bit from 'Black Earth, Green Fields' twist my heart in a knot??

I've been trying to figure out why the album is called Mockingbird Bible, which is odd because usually I'm fairly accepting of whatever an album is dubbed. Life's A Riot With Spy Vs. Spy? Yeah, sure Billy, cheers. Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? Um, right, WHAT-everr. I even asked Rodney, who gently encouraged me with a twinkle in his eye (well, there probably was one while he typed the e-mail) to decide that for myself.

So what did I come up with? Well, I was reminded of Miss Maudie's declaration in To Kill A Mockingbird: "Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy ... , they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us." In the book the bird becomes a symbol of innocence, and of innocence tarnished. I think Rodney just wants -perhaps needs- to sing his scarred heart out for us. And this album is his Bible, chapter and verse.

To top it all off, folks, Rodney is an excellent live performer. To mark the release of Mockingbird Bible he played a packed Railway Club with the robust backing of his three-piece Convictions. Interestingly, the band punched up the songs to a rockier-n-rollier pace, which traded in some of album's sadness for a greater sense of urgency. All of which was grand; after all, if a band just plays their repertoire note-for-note on stage, why bloody bother going out & staying up late??

Bottom line, Dearest Friends: buy the album, and go see him live. If you're in western Canada, you may well have the chance to catch one of the shown on his current tour of BC, Alberta, and Saskatchewan. If you do, take it. Pop over here to check out dates.

Rodney DeCroo - Shooting Stars (buy here)

Torn Covers

Quilt by Lisa Visser, photo borrowed from here

Yes, yes, I know I'm late again. My excuse this time is that I'm nursing a cold. Forget rats or mosquitoes, kids are without a doubt THE most efficient disease vectors...

Anyway, I'd still like to draw your attention to the Contrast Podcast, which this week dove back under the covers to bring you a slew of cover versions that are very different from the original. In fact there was so much coverage that Dearest Young Tim only managed to bring us half this week; the rest will be forthcoming this coming Tuesday. Download it here, vent yourself here.

What's lurking beneath the covers:

(00:00) Polysics - My Sharona
Tim from The face of today

(03:41) Hands on Heads - School
Ross from Just gimme indie rock

(05:02) Erroll Garner - (They want to be) close to you
Chris from Phosphorous.net

(10:45) Rats with wings - Hungry like the wolf
Matthew from Song by Toad

(16:34) Cake - I will survive
JC aka The Vinyl Villian

(26:13) Jill Sobule - Hot in herre
Agnes from It all started with carbon monoxide

(29:56) La Perversita - (I can’t get no) satisfaction
ZB from So the wind won’t blow it all away

(32:57) The Cardigans - Iron man
Greer from A Sweet Unrest

(37:41) The Postal Service - Against all odds
Andy from Circles of Concrete

(42:28) Giant Bear - Head like a hole
Natalie from Mini-Obs

(47:05) TV on the Radio - Mr Grieves
Bob from Gimme Tinnitus

(51:33) The Secret Machines - Money (that’s what I want)
The In Crowd from I’m Learning to Share!

My contribution is coming up next week, so I'll wait until then to share with you what almost made the cut. But while perusing my covers collection I remarked how many versions of Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart" I seem to have amassed. Indeed, if "Yesterday" by The Beatles is the most covered song in history (as the Guinness Book of World Records tells us), then I think "LWTUA" must be hot on its mawkish heels. Now plenty of others in the blogosphere have remarked upon this, so this ain't no big revelation. But truth be told, I think the original meets John Peel's definition of the perfect song: "There's nothing you could add to it or subtract from it that would improve it." And that, Dearest Friends, is why I didn't consider submitting any covers of it for the CP.

But that won't stop me sharing a wodge of them with you tonight...

Vitamin String Quartet - Love Will Tear Us Apart (buy here or e-here)
A stringy version performed by Vitamin Records' anonymous house quartet. From The Gothic Wedding Collection, but I recxkon that if you're playing this at your nuptials then you're pretty much doomed from the start...

Rebecca Hancock & The Prison Wives - Love Will Tear Us Apart (buy e-here)
A sorta acoustic, C&W, folky take by Aussie singer-songwriter Hancock. Wouldn't be out of place on your local honky tonk's jukebox.

P.J. Proby - Love Will Tear Us Apart (buy e-here)
Oh my, here the vintage Texas crooner/friend of Elvis/JD-swiller/ex-shepherd takes stab at it. Surely it should have been Love Will Tear My Trousers Apart Again?? No, please, hold your applause till the end of the show, folks...

Paul Young - Love Will Tear Us Apart (buy here)
A fairly characteristic version by the eighties white soul boy. I always thought he sounded a bit like a strangled bullfrog.

Bis - Love Will Tear Us Apart (buy here)
The now-separated Scottish DIY rascals give it the electro-indie treatment.

Tiger Baby - Love Will Tear Us Apart (buy here)
Less bleep, more ambient electronica and breathiness from these dishy Danes.

Boy Division - Love Will Tear Us Apart (from the Zick Zack Records sampler "Bis Auf Weiteres eine Demonstration - Geräusche Für Den Tag Danach" which I have no idea where to find)
No, this isn't queercore. Boy Division are a shouty trash-pop-spielart cover band from Hamburg, Germany whose singer is given to broadcasting his vocals via megaphone.

The Cure - Love Will Tear Us Apart (don't think there's a versh to buy, but correct me if I'm wrong...)
Does exactly what it says on the tin.

The Shanes - Love Will Tear Us Apart (buy here or e-here)
Ye gods, another German cover version, this time in a Poguesian, Eastern European, squeezbox stylee. Recorded live in Serbia, apparently.

Calexico - Love Will Tear Us Apart (buy here)
A fine, motoring interpretation from Arizona's finest alt.country collective.

Albert Kuvezin & Yat Kha - Love Will Tear Us Apart (buy here or e-here)
Oh yeah, a Tuvan throat-singing version. This sort of mix-n-match gets my juices flowing...

Swans - Love Will Tear Us Apart (buy here or e-here)
Seminal NYC noiseniks have a go, with The Living Jarboe on vocals.

Oh, there are more, but that's all you get right now...

I'm gonna try. And I mean what I say.

Dearest Friends, once again I find myself in a horribly vexed position. I've got scads to write about, but no time in which to write it. My hyperactivitied offspring have conspired with AIG and Lehman Brothers to suck up all free time. Curses, foiled again!!!

But let me try to start the clawback...

Recently I fell in love with Havana Guns. "But FiL," you cry, "they're old news! So passe! So oh-five-oh-six!" Yeah, well, I'm a couple of years late, so fucking what. The fact is that their single She Always Goes Down made its way onto my computer and I've been utterly smitten by its aching, yearning, uber-catchy pop. "But still we danced all through the night / the DJ could not save our lives / the record stops then starts again." Gaaaah! I'm not sure why, but those lyrics cut me right through to the heart.

So, first I rushed over here to buy the only available vinyl single. Then I did a bit of snooping around on the interwebby to see what I could find about The sound comparisons are sound: The Strokes meet Blondie having a ciggy with the Jesus and Mary Chain while The Long Blondes play a set up on the pub stage. They call it "motorcycle pop." The band formed in 2004 in London, had some indie success with She Always Goes Down, and released NYCS in 2007. Most of the Guns seem to have recently coalesced into Rock City Sixteen, which seems to have added a big smear of post-punk into the mix and amped up the shoegazy guitar fuzz. I bought that single as well - told you it was love...

Havana Guns - She Always Goes Down (buy here)

Rock City Sixteen - Antarctica (buy here)

And here's a wee video of the brilliant NYCS for you:

Cheese, Glorious Cheese

A platter of pure loveliness: (clockwise from top) Stinking Bishop, Epoisses,
Chabichou de Poitou, Beenleigh Blue, 5-year gouda

Last week the craving returned. I tried to resist, for the sake of both my wallet and my body. I tried manfully, but ultimately to no avail. By Friday morning I was desperate.

I had to have ... CHEESE.

And so round lunchtime I hopped, skipped, and jumped the few blocks from workplace to my main local dealer, Les Amis du Fromage, and dropped an embarrassing amount of money on some fine dairy product.

At home that evening, I realized with much disappointment that I had left my swag in the fridge at work. I managed to sweat through the night, and the next morning Little Man and I made a Hail Mary run to the office for salvation. After discharging some ancillary errands, we returned to the house for lunch. And we ate our cheese.

I was uncertain whether Little Man would share my enthusiasm for any of the ponging, pungent pieces that huddled on the cheese tray, but I needn't have worried; his favourite was the butterscotchy five-year-old gouda ("Almost as old as me!" he declared), followed by the wrinkly, goaty splendour of the Chabichou du Poitou (or "Chubby-chew," as he dubbed it). The sweet mouldiness of the Beenleigh Blue he found pleasant, but he was less keen on the the in-yer-face strength of the Epoisses and my favourite, the delightfully fetid Stinking Bishop. Give him time...

Dearest Friends, I nearly wept for joy. Joy at the sight, smell, taste, and texture of my beloved cheeses, and joy at the fact that Little Man loved them too

Les Trois Fromages - La Tartiflette (buy e-here)
French pop-punk whippersnappers sing the praises of cheese. Straight up.

P.S. Since 'tis once again the season to automotively schlep the kids from activity to activity, I burned a CD for inflight enjoyment. So here are three of the tracks that Daddy FiL and the bairns currently bop to en route:

Althea & Donna - Uptown Top Ranking (buy here)
Thee Headcoatees - Teenage Kicks (buy here or e-here)
The Real Tuesday Weld - Bathtime In Clerkenwell (buy here)

And if you've never seen the Bathtime In Clerkenwell video, you need to do so right now.

TGIF

Dearest Friends, it's been an odd little week full of niggly little things and bereft of both motivation and energy. To be quite honest, I was rather fed up with it all by this afternoon.

So thank goodness this came on the empeefree playah in the car on the drive home. I kept it on ear-splitting repeat all the way, my head bobbing like an electric chicken.

I love this song with every fibre of my quivering, dirty, lo-fi heart.

The King Khan & BBQ Show - Fish Fight (buy here or e-here)

Poetic License

Crow stolen from here

Soft! What dulcet verse
From yonder 'puter gush?
'Tis a wondrous podcast
Of contrast rare...

Yep, this week Contrast Podcast gets all poetic on yo' collective arses, Dearest Friends. The focus is on the words, the images, the cadences, the syntax, as each contributor offers up a poem of their choice for your delectation. But of course there's always music, and each plate of verse comes with a side order of song, carefully selected to complement the main dish. You can download it all here, and pen your own poetic responses here.

Of contrast rare
And wordsmiths fair:

(00:00) Dorothy Parker - I shall come back
Hungry Lucy - Love vigilantes

Adam from Pretending life is like a song

(06:19) Richard Brautigan - Map shower
Johnny Powers with the band of Stan Getz and Tom Cats - Long blond hair, rose red lips

ZB from So the wind won’t blow it all away

(08:37) Shel Silverstein - Hug O War
Holly Golightly and the Brokeoffs - Hug you, kiss you, squeeze you

Natalie from Mini-Obs

(12:02) John Cooper Clarke - I wrote the songs
Jodi Jett - Greasy

Tim from The face of today

(16:05) John Anderson - Blair Bush news conference on Iraq
Barenaked Ladies - Fun and games

James from Appetite For Distraction

(20:21) Janet Paisley - Glen Village
Passenger - Night vision binoculars

Greer from A Sweet Unrest

(24:31) Carl Sandburg - Stars, Songs, Faces
Shearwater - The hunter’s star

Linda from Speed of dark

(28:19) Mountain - Nantucket sleighride

Lyle from Mentok the Mind-taker

(35:05) Ted Hughes - Lovesong
The Fugitives - Haunted

FiL from Pogoagogo

(41:05) Joyce Maxtone Graham - Evening
Counting Crows - Colorblind

Marcy from Lost in your inbox

(45:14) Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - The Erl King
Hannah Fury - Beware the touch

Victoria from Muruch

(50:20) C.P.Cavafy - Despair
Japan - Despair

Conrad from White Car Records

(55:14) John Betjeman - Loneliness
Joy Division - The Eternal

John Q.

(01:01:35) Attila The Stockbroker - Nigel wants to go and see Depeche Mode
Depeche Mode - Leave in Silence

Tricia

(01:06:32) Robert Burns - Despondency: An Ode
The Smiths - I know it’s over

JC aka The Vinyl Villian

(01:13:35) The Undertones - Teenage kicks

Dirk from Sexy Loser

(01:17:10) Edgar Allan Poe - The Lake
Antony and the Johnsons - The Lake

Agnes from It all started with carbon monoxide

(01:23:12) E. E. Cummings - Love is more thicker than forget
Elbow - Newborn

Mark from Cinema du Lyon

I chose a Ted Hughes poem because, although the man was a cad and a bounder, I find his words electrifying, uncomfortable, mythical, and revelatory. And he wrote about crows, wot are one of my favourite birds. The piece I went with, Lovesong, brilliantly captures the anguish and horror of all-consuming lust/love. But there were other contenders:

Billy Childish - The Huddie Poem (buy here or e-here)
Childish is not only a garage guitar hero, but also a painter, author, and poet. But he's no posey art-school fop, Dearest Friends; for starters, he's entirely self-taught and his work --in whatever medium-- is pure and authentic and uncontrived. This piece, relating the birth of his son Huddie, squeezes my soul until tears of love seep out.

Ivor Cutler - I Believe In Bugs (buy here)
I wasn't really in the mood for Dadaist whimsy this week, or else you might well have gotten a delightful dose of Scotland's finest.

As for the music, well, The Fugitives fairly leapt up to be chosen. I've mentioned them in passing before, and I thought the slam-poetry-peppered music purveyed by these shining Canadian youngsters would be most complimentary to Teddy Boy's verse. Here's another track of theirs, one that's abit more upbeat about this whole love thing:

The Fugitives - French Tattoo (buy here)

And here's the video for Haunted, so you can see what they look like. Well, sort of.

Dancing with Dictators

Dearest Friends, I'm convinced that evil dictators are stalking me. No, don't laugh, it's true, honest. Remember when Kim Jong Il followed me in his Honda Accord? Well, I had another narrow escape...

It happened yesterday at the Granville Island Public Market. I had popped over from work at lunchtime to buy a bit of fish for supper. Having settled on a half-dozen succulent Digby scallops (which I pan-fried that evening to joyful perfection), I was making my way out when who should walk right past me but Zimbabwean despot Robert Mugabe. He was dressed in a yellow polo shirt and chinos, but I recognized him in spite of his disguise. Unfortunately, he slipped away into the crowd before I could react. In hindsight I should have incapacitated him by flinging scallops at his head, but the shock of seeing one of Africa's most nefarious tyrants in the throbbing epicurean heart of Vancouver cost me precious moments.

I am now fretting about my inevitable next encounter with a dictator. Will I bump into Burmese generalissimo Than Shwe at Zulu Records? Or will I'll espy Uzbekistani President Islam "I'm prepared to rip off the heads of 200 people" Karimov buying a pungent Epoisses at Benton Brothers? Whoever I encounter next time, I pray I have the presence of mind to do the right thing...

The Cortinas - Fascist Dictator (buy here if you've got $40 to drop on vinyl)
Scientist - Zimbabwe Dub (buy here or e-here)
Okapi Guitars - Radio Free Zimbabwe (buy here or e-here)
This fantastic track has a thumb piano in it. God, how I love thumb pianos...

Go here to read what Amnesty International has to say about Zimbabwe and here to read HRW's take.

Memory of A Future Foretold

I remember it was at the annual school fête. I would have been eight years old. A hand-lettered sign promised fortunes told, and so I went into the tent. I sat down at the table, across from my bluff Class 2 teacher, Mrs Feitosa. She wore a turban and a purple cape, while I was Julius Caesar, draped in a sheet. Everyone dressed up for the fête, and I had been deeply impressed by our lessons that year about the Romans. I recall it being a hot, Brazilian day.

Mrs Feitosa carefully laid out the cards on the table; they were unlike those with which I had seen my Mother playing solitaire. Most of what she said I can no longer recall, nor do I remember what suits were spread out. But I clearly see her tutting at one of the tarot, and hear her informing me, in her stern and matronly voice, it foretold of a lifelong opposition, of someone who would always be an obstacle, a barrier. Someone, not something. I was rather scared.

Throughout my childhood the memory would surface occasionally and I would ponder upon it, unable to fathom who might be my opponent. This continued even after childish credulity gave way to skepticism in all things divinatory. Then a few years ago, I thought I had figured it out; in a flash of revelation, I realized who had been and was still my obstacle. Someone very close to me.

More recently I was reflecting once --idly, I thought-- on the mystic Mrs Feitosa. And I was suddenly mugged by the realization that I had been wrong. In fact I had been, was, and could continue to be, my own lifelong nemesis.

Dead Can Dance - Song of the Sibyl (buy here or e-here)
Shriekback - Nemesis (buy here)

The Wrath of FiL

With a buddha as my co-pilot

The Contrast Podcast radiates vengeful anger this week as it concludes its tour of the seven deadly sins with an exploration of wrath. Come hear the CP Nation get angry, very angry indeed. You can download the 'cast here, and vent your own spleen here. Oh, and a word to the wise: better let those Happy Flowers watch cartoons. Trust me.

All that wrath in full:

(00:00) Intro from Mr G. Letch & Mr A. Thrub

(03:25) The Anti-Nowhere League - I hate people
Tim from The face of today

(05:46) Queen - Death on two legs
Natalie from Mini-Obs

(09:54) The Reverend Horton Heat - 400 bucks
Chris from Phosphorous.net

(14:01) Bob Dylan - Only a pawn in their game
James from Appetite For Distraction

(18:17) The Cure - Us or them
Adam from Pretending life is like a song

(23:05) Björk - Army of me
Anna from Desert Island Jukebox

(27:22) Léo Ferré - Abel et Cain (translation)
ZB from So the wind won’t blow it all away

(29:36) The Buff Medways - You piss me off
FiL from Pogoagogo

(32:50) PiL - Rise
JC aka The Vinyl Villian

(39:37) The Go! Team - The wrath of Marcie
Marcy from Lost in your inbox

(43:16) John Vanderslice - Bill Gates must die
Lyle from Mentok the Mind-taker

(48:00) Dinosaur Jr. - Little fury things
Eiron from The S+7 Method

(51:16) The Jet Black Berries - Sweet revenge
Tricia

(54:58) Pernice Brothers - Number two
Greer from A Sweet Unrest

(59:59) Dream City Film Club - The curse
John Q.

(01:04:45) Happy Flowers - I said I wanna watch cartoons
The In Crowd from I’m Learning to Share!

As I'm of the firm belief that the world needs more Billy Childish, my wrathful pick was an easy one to select. That said, as the red haze descended across my eyes, I did also consider the following tunes:

The Buffets - You Piss Me Off (buy here)
Yes, the Buffs song covered by a trio of women associated to varying degrees with Billy C. Bassist Nurse Julie is Billy's wife and also plays bass for his current band, The Musicians of the British Empire. Singer Sister Tiffany Lee met Billy when he came to Seattle to marry Julie, who sang in Tiffany's band The Stuck-Ups. Drum Matron Debbie Bongo sang for Thee Headcoatees, a past Billy C affiliate band, and also drummed for the A-Lines, alongside Julie on guitar. Got all that? Good. The Buffets came together for their first rehearsal on 2 April, 2005. The next day they recorded their debut album, and it was mixed on 4 April. On 8 April they played their first and only gig in support of the Buff Medways at the Dirty Water Club. Your FiL was there to see it, and I can testify that it was an evening of authentic garage punk heart, soul, and sweat. I also got rather tipsy and chatted dorkily with the lovely Sister Tiffany at the bar after the proceedings. Oh, and I tried to cadge a lift off of Billy and his crew in their ancient ambulance. Shame they were going to Chatham, while we were going to Clapham.

Armitage Shanks with Billy Childish - Shirts Off (buy here or e-here)
Another stalwart of the Chatham set, Armitage Shanks also played at that 8 April 2005 Dirty Water Club show. It was the first time I'd seen these hardworking blokes, and they served up a proper hearty meal of 1977 punk with lashings of integrity. That show was also the last UK gig I went to, but The Shanks were also the first band I saw after emigrating to Vancouver. Well, I was impressed by the serendipity of it all.

The Exploited - I Hate You (buy here or e-here)
Ah, Wattie and the tartan lads shout it loud and proud. Does exactly what it says on the tin.

OK, I'm sure you're all wondering what the buddha photo has to do with wrath. Well, lots, actually. You see, as I say in my intro this week (and as I've said before), I do subscribe to the buddhist view that anger is a destructive emotion. I don't share John Lydon's opinion, as articulated in JC's submission this week, that "anger is an energy." To be precise, it is not useful energy. Anger gets you and others a whole mess of suffering. And I should know, because I --just like you and you and you-- get angry. Not homicidal-maniac angry, but angry nonetheless. But whenever I do, I regret the collateral damage it causes. Always. When I yell at the kids, when I argue with my Mother, when I pranged my car while driving under the influence of seething fury.

So, the wee buddha pictured above now sits on the dashboard of my recently restored vehicle (which I've dubbed "Nose Job" in commemoration) to help me focus on dissolving anger when it arises and transforming it into compassion and loving kindness. You probably all think I've turned into some sort of soft-boiled hippy with granola in his loincloth. Fret not, no patchouli or kaftans round here, missus. But I am trying to make myself a wrath-free zone.

I'm sure I'll fuck it up, but I'm equally certain that I'll keep on trying.

P.S. I've found this book helpful, as well as this one. Just saying.

It's All Gone a Bit Bollywood

Hare Rama Hare Krishna (1971)

Look, just don't ask why, coz I haven't a sag aloo. But if you were to drop by my place tonight, you'd see me dancing (badly) to this:

Asha Bhosle and Usha Iyer - I Love You (buy here)

Oh cobblers, I think I've torn my sari. And where did all those stinking hippies come from??

Pothead

And so, I'm back. Actually, I've been back for about a week, apart from this weekend when I was once again forth. But yesterday I was back again, but will go forth and back and forth and back in the coming weeks.

Oh dear, I think I've muddled it all up. Let me try again...

Last week I returned to town after two lovely weeks on Mayne Island. Lovely, but only partly restful; those of you with spawn of your own will know that children of single-digit ages are particularly adept at staving off peace & quiet. We also had the pleasure of dogsitting Dearest Father-in-Law's hound, a chocolate lab whose irrepressible happiness is largely offset by her incorrigible compulsion to alternately roll in or eat the foulest substance she can find. Which on Mayne means otter poo. Fret not, I shan't go any further into detail.

Dearest Wife, Little Man, and Darling Daughter are staying on on Mayne until Labour Day, which will give them a full six weeks of island time. For the kids, I'm hoping it'll be the stuff childhood memories are made of. Beach forts. Shells. Seaweed. Ice cream treats. For Dearest Wife, well, I hope she finds some soul-refresh time. I shall be joining them on weekends, temporarily locking the absurdities of finance in the boot of the car every Friday evening before stepping onto the ferry.

You might think that with both bride and bairns on the island I would be leading the life of a carefree, bachelor libertine. You know, leaving the toilet seat up because I can, going down the boozer every evening, frequenting discotheques, etcetera. Well, it's not like that at all. And why?

Because of flora.

No, no, no, not some floozy named big-eff Flora, but flora as in vegetation, greenery, things botanical. Goodness, where DO you get these ideas?

You see, Dearest Friends, Darling Wife is a keen gardener and I have been requested to ensure her plant empire remains watered and alive. Well, I say "requested," but the request came accompanied by a three-pages of instructions and the implication that should I neglect the plants I'd be better off buried beneath them.

To be fair, Darling Wife did set up a soaker hose on a timer for the back garden flowerbeds. And her instructions are written to cater for my horticultural illiteracy. But it's the pots that are killing me. You want to know how many she has? Guess.

Nope, more.

Give up? Just over one hundred of the buggers. Yes, a century of the things, ranging from tiddly seedling receptacles to a whacking huge ones in which you could hide a wombat, if there wasn't already a Japanese maple in it. There are some in the back garden, some in the front, some inside the house, some on the shower deck, and some on the top deck. And I spend ninety minutes each day checking and soaking them. Yes, an hour and a half.

Now bitching aside, I know both that Dearest Wife derives great pleasure and satisfaction from her horticulture, and that she's damn good at it. I also appreciate the results of her efforts and am pleasantly aware of the garden in general, but I really have little interest in the specifics. Which leads to many conversations like this:

Dearest Wife: "I'm really pleased with my Scrofula Scabulosa. Don't you think it looks marvellous?

FiL: (Engrossed in Betty Swallocks: The Memoirs of Lemmy Kilmister's Jockstrap) Mmm, yes.

DW: You're just saying that. You don't know which one I'm talking about.

F: Um, yes I do. It's the, er, red one. With the leaves.

DW: Oh, honestly (stalks out of room).

F: Sigh. (Returns to Betty, but enjoys it slightly less)

And so, Dearest Readers, that's why this little patch of blog garden is looking a bit limp and peaky as of late. I'll try to tend to it a bit better, most likely at night.

Love & Rockets - Yin & Yang (The Flowerpot Man) (buy here or e-here)
PiL - Flowers of Romance (buy here)
The Clientele - The Garden at Night (buy here or e-here)

Island Rain

View from Crane Point, Mayne Island
29 July, 8:30 PM

It rained today, the first time it has done so since we arrived on the island over a week ago. I awoke late to the sounds of raindrops pittering and pattering on the metal roof, and turned over to see a film of downy grey mist shrouding the Trincomali Channel. A lone, ghost-like fishing boat sculled across its waters.

I got up and decided to shave for the first time since we arrived. Why? No good reason. My scraggle was well within the realms of acceptable island tonsorial fashion, and the itching had stopped days ago. But shave I did.

After a long breakfast (granola, natch) and ablutions, to the "village" for errands with Little Man. At the Post Office we found out that the mail comes in and goes out at six A.M. on a special Canada Post boat that weaves its way around the islands. It's still raining softly as we walk to the Trading Post for local free-range eggs and then to the Gas Station to pick up a litre of engine oil. Dearest Father-in-Law's 1992 Toyota Camry station wagon (a.k.a. The Green Whale) seems to be guzzling through the stuff (oil, not eggs). We have to wait to pay, as the girl tending the station had to run down to the gas dock to fuel up a passing boat.

We stroll to the True Value to stock up on groceries --blueberries, freshly picked salad greens, and a side of salmon to be barbecued tonight-- and finish with a stop at the Bakery next door for fresh bread. Oh, and a Nanaimo Bar, that Little Man and I share at a damp picnic table outside, watching the world go by. It is still raining.

We drive back to the house, and the afternoon unfolds into puzzles, mugs of tea, story reading, games of checkers, and the occasional squabble of siblings who, if asked, would really rather be out beachcombing, bouldering, and being pulled through the water by Daddy in their kayak, Gumdrop. But they did like the stories, checkers, and puzzles.

Evening approaches, and the salmon is grilled, then enjoyed in the company of a visiting hummingbird and squirrel. And the rain finally stops.

And the sun comes out, just for a brief spell, before it starts to set, gloriously.

Rodney DeCroo - Rain Rain (with Sam Parton of the Be Good Tanyas)
Rodney has a new album out in September, but in the meantime buy his stuff here.

We Should Be Slowing Down About Now...

Phew! It's all been going soooooooo faaaaaaast! And have I had time to tell you half the stories I want to? Of course not...

But today we're off to Mayne Island for a fortnight --that's TWO WHOLE WEEKS-- of downtime. I cannot wait until we board the ferry. It's like some sort of cosmic temporal transmogrfier; you can actually feel the time slow right down the minute you step on board. Glorious...

I will have my laptop with me, and plan to catch up with you all. In the meantime:

The Epoxies - I Need More Time (buy here or e-here)

Promise You'll Listen, Or Else...

Alright, head on over to the Contrast Podcast RIGHT NOW or else I promise you the kitty will get it...

Aw, shucks, you didn't think I'd really hurt the wee moggie, do you? Admittedly I am both a dog person and very allergic to felines, but never in a million years would I --could I-- harm Tiddles, let alone any beastie. Oh, and for the record, I think strong gun control is essential for a civilized society.

Right, were was I? Oh yes, this week the CP offers up both threats and promises, thanks to our current Thememistress, Dearest Greer. It's a lovely cast, well-balanced between the two options and full of excellent tuneage from contributors old and new. For a change, I've actually started to listen to the podcast before the weekend (the silver lining of having a longer bus commute while the car is in the shop) and the intro is a fantastically atmospheric, hiiilarious, noirish exchange between Greer and CP compere extraordinaire, Young Tim. You must listen, I promise you'll enjoy it!! Download it here, and leave your comments here. And the threats/promises made this week are:

(00:00) DAG - Ruin you
Greer from A Sweet Unrest

(04:31) Eric Clapton - Promises
Anna from Desert Island Jukebox

(07:57) Minor Threat - Minor threat
James from Appetite For Distraction

(09:42) Good Friend - It’s a deal
Eiron from The S+7 Method

(11:23) The Buzzcocks - Promises
Dirk from Sexy Loser

(15:49) Nellie McKay - Won’t U please B nice?
Matt from Perceptions Delusions

(18:35) Big Stick - A threat
Tim from The face of today

(22:01) Queen Esther - Promise me
Victoria from Muruch

(26:10) The Black Heart Procession - Not just words
Tricia

(30:40) Jeremy Warmsley - I promise
Adam from Pretending life is like a song

(34:45) The Tiger Lillies - Kill you
FiL from Pogoagogo

(39:52) SoKo - I’ll kill her
DC from The Waiting Room

(44:03) The Proclaimers - I’m gonna be (500 miles)
JC aka The Vinyl Villian

(48:24) Current 93 - A sadness song
ZB from So the wind won’t blow it all away

The Tiger Lillies it was by a mile, but I was tempted to make a few other threats and promises, to wit:

Volumizer - I Promise You Thomas (buy here or e-here)
Dishrag Jade Blade, Pointed Stick Bill Hemy, and J3RK5 Rodney Graham formed this little but loud Vancouver project back in 2002. The song apparently is dedicated to Jade's godson.

Gore Gore Girls - I'm Gonna Get You Yet (buy here)
Oh, what I wouldn't give for these gorgeous garage gals to aim that threat at me. almost makes me want to go to Detroit.

L7- Shove (buy here)
I know of no finer getthafukkouddahereorelse song. None.

CocoRosie - Promise (buy here or e-here)
I keep drifting back to CocoRosie's odd little reverie of an album, The Adventures of Ghosthorse and Stillborne. So rich and lush...

Next week Contrast Podcast goes through the Days of the Week, thanks to Dearest Marcy. Find out how to contribute here.

Monkeying About

Please, Dearest Friends, grab a vine and swing on over to the Contrast Podcast jungle post haste, and get ready for more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Yes, this week the CP goes all apeshit on us with an entire episode dedicated to humanity's simian cousins. The apesolutely fantastic selection of tunes is enough to make a monkey out of anyone, and Dearest Tim is, as usual, the masterful organ grinder. So get ready to do the funky gibbon and come join in all the baboonery by downloading the podcast directly here, then gibber and hoot about it over here (Stop it right now, the cliche police have been called - Ed). And here's all the monkey business (I said stop it!! - Ed):

(00:00) Hoagy Carmichael - The monkey song
Tim from The face of today

(03:37) Comsat Angels - Monkey pilot
Adam from Pretending life is like a song

(08:09) Free Kitten - Bananas
Ross from Just gimme indie rock

(11:10) The Pixies - Monkey gone to heaven (BBC version)
JC aka The Vinyl Villian

(14:18) The Kinks - Apeman
Anna from Desert Island Jukebox

(18:50) The Mummies - (You must fight to live) on the planet of the apes
FiL from Pogoagogo

(23:31) The Bottle Rockets - Coffee monkey
Linda from Speed of dark

(26:01) The Specials - Monkey man
Dirk from Sexy Loser

(29:39) The Traveling Wilburys - Tweeter and the monkey man
James from Appetite For Distraction

(35:21) The Monkees - What am I doing hangin’ around
Natalie from Mini-obs

(38:26) The Intruders - Me Tarzan, you Jane
Greer from A Sweet Unrest

(41:46) John Hadfield - Robot monkey head
Rick from Are you embarassed easily?

(45:28) The Apparitions - God monkey robot
Andy from Circles of Concrete

(50:15) Bachelors of Science - Jungle monkey
Eiron from The S+7 Method

(58:13) The Czars - Killjoy

Tricia

There seem to be a lot of apes and monkeys inhabiting my music collection, and though The Mummies were my choice this week (since I was feeling a bit garagey), a few other tracks screamed for my attention:

Add N To X - Sir Ape (buy here)
I love these guys and the jarring electronic noises that they make. And yet I've never been able to listen to a whole album of theirs from start to finish, coz usually by track three or four my nerves are shredded and the low frequencies have caused my internal organs to collapse.

The Maytals - Monkey Man (buy here)
Dearest Dirk posted the storming Specials cover of this skankeriffic song, so here's the 1969 original from ska kings The Maytals. The Specials version has actually become a fast favourite of Darling Daughter and Little Man - they sing along perfectly to the line "beeg, beeg, monkey man" before dissolving into fits of laughter.

Don Ho - Shock The Monkey (buy here)
Yes, you read right. That's the late Hawaiian kitschmeister himself doing a luau-lounge version of the Peter Gabriel standard. If that isn't enough to make your grass skirt flip, you MUST visit his website...

The Wynona Ryders - Bang Bang Orangutan (buy here or e-here)
The only punk song I know that namechecks this splendid beast.

This podcast got me musing: what is my favourite primate, not counting man? I decided that while I am rather partial to howler monkeys and do have a very soft spot for the pygmy marmoset, it's the aye-aye that I hold most dear. Yes, there is a certain depth of character to this nocturnal beast, considered unjustly as a harbinger of death by the humans who inhabit its home of Madagascar, that other monkeys and apes cannot match. So, what's your favourite ape, lemur, or monkey??

And then there are the fictional primates. The clear winner for me there is Magilla Gorilla, the TV cartoon ape with whom I spent many a childhood hour. To this day I'm prone to singing the theme song at random. Here, let me introduce / reacquaint you:




OK, I think I'm rapidly losing the plot here and I'd better stop; I was about to tell you a story about proboscis monkeys and mistaken subtitling in Dutch films. Next week's CP theme is "Threats & Promises," so get thinking of a submission and submit. Or else...

Back into Summer

And so, Dearest Friends, I'm back. Still rather wobbly on my feet, but back nonetheless...

My trip to New York went acceptably well. There was much dark matter; accusations, bitterness, spite. But there were also brief flashes of light; gratitude, shared enjoyment. I also found myself spending an inordinate amount of emotional time reconciling the present summer with summers past. As mentioned previously, Mother has moved to a part of Long Island where I spent much time as a child. Several times during this last visit memories would scream around the corner, doing twenty-years-plus per second, and smack right into me. Nothing traumatic, but rather discomfiting. But the trip wasn't about me; it was about Mother, and I am thankful that I managed to stay (largely) centred and do what I set out to. However, the visit, bookended by disrupted redeye flights, left me drained. I'm still trying to refill...

I'm also still having difficulty shaking out the causes of and working through the implications of my car prang. Truth be told, it's still dragging me low. It's as if the incident suddenly turned on a bright light, revealing a host of less-than-comfortable thoughts and emotions that need to be caught before being they scurry away back into the darkness.

But soft! There have also been moments of great fun, most prominent of which was a visit by Mentok the Mindtaker and his family. He and I have been blog buddies for over 18 months now, and this year the trajectory of his summer holiday took him through our neck of the woods. We spent the evening hanging out on one of our local beaches, dining on pizzas and chatting while our kids did all that normal kids do in sand and surf. Then back to chez nous, where they spent the night before striking out the following morning to their ultimate destination. It was a wonderful transition from the virtual to the real - Mentok, his wife Library Mama, and their three boys are all absolutely lovely. And completely housebroken. So I can unreservedly recommend that you all welcome Clan Mentok into your homes, should the occasion arise.

Oh, and it seems summer has finally arrived. I know many in the blogosphere have already welcomed it with song, but given my equivocal state, I think it'd be a good, optimistic tonic for me to follow suit...

The Style Council - Long Hot Summer (buy here)

The Divine Comedy - The Summerhouse (buy here)

The Sea Urchins - Summershine (buy e-here)

Oh, and here's the video for "Long Hot Summer." Why, you ask, when it's sooo posey? Well, cos it shows Mick punting Paul down the River Cam, something that your FiL spent much summer time doing many years ago. And yes, it was just like that. Well, minus the bongos. And espadrilles. Oh, that bridge you can see between 1:19 and 1:43? That's the Bridge of Sighs, and it holds a most special, bittersweet place in my heart...

Trying To Tell Me Something

The universe is trying to tell me something.

It's been hectic around here.

First there is the general underlay of family life. Little Man, Darling Daughter, and all of their demands, both the delightful and drudgeful.

Then the flow of work. Eminently swimmable, but nevertheless requiring a constant stroke.

Then mother. I'm off this evening again to New York for five days to help her out. And though I'm trying to stay calm, I'm tight and tense about what barbs might be flung my way.

Then Dearest Wife, with whom, thanks to the aforementioned underlay and her own workflow, it has been ages since I've had a proper talk. I mean, a real howyadoin', howmidoin', heart-to-heart, ebb-and-floww conversation.

Then my tendency to squeeze out sleep to squeeze in the fun stuff, such as preparing Contrast Podcast episodes for this week and (as I'll be away) next week.

Then this morning. Scrambling to leave the house. A testy quip from Dearest Wife about priorities, formed of words that I imagined (unfairly? fairly?) might have flowed from Mother's mouth. A quip that prompted a surge of anger that I suppressed. It festered quickly.

Into the car. A totally ill-judged left turn on my part (I thought she was stopping), one that take away the stress and the anger I would never have made. A collision - thankfully no-one hurt, apart from my detached front bumper, the front of my unfortunate crash-mate's CRV, her nerves, my ego. Details exchanged, cars drive away, insurance company informed, premium rises.

Yes, the universe is trying to tell me something.

Slow down. Anger is not an energy (apologies to Mr John Lydon). It is a destructive emotion. Refocus. On yourself. On those around you. Show them all --yes, yourself too-- compassion. Sort it out.

Yes, Universe, I'm listening. And trying to learn.

See you all sometime next week, Dearest Friends.

Buzzcocks - Wake Up Call (buy here or e-here)
The Equators - Learn My Lesson (buy e-here)

Questions, Questions...

Good advice courtesy of dullhunk

What? Is it that time of the week already? Goodness, what was I thinking? Where's my head at? Is this thing on? Is anybody out there?

Yes, the latest episode of Contrast Podcast is out and this week Dearest JC aka The Vinyl Villain has got it asking questions. So if you fancy finding out what musical queries the awesome CP Nation has posed, head on over here or download the 'cast from here. Want to know what's up? Have a look:

(00:00) Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Do you love me?
JC aka The Vinyl Villian

(06:57) The Donnas - Do you wanna hit it?
Greer from A Sweet Unrest

(10:36) Cheese on Bread - Where the fuck are they?
Shaun from Cold Citrus

(13:52) The Pointed Sticks - What do you want me to do?
FiL from Pogoagogo

(17:59) The Magicians - Why do I do these foolish things?
ZB from So the wind won’t blow it all away

(21:35) Jody Wildgoose - What can I do?
Marcy from Lost in your inbox

(26:49) The Shirelles - Will you still love me tomorrow?
James from Appetite For Distraction

(30:15) Gashead - Why do you treat me like a tramp?
Michael from The Yank Sizzler

(33:43) The Feelies - What goes on?
Dirk from Sexy Loser

(37:49) Billy Bragg - When will I see you again?
Sir Timmy Saville from The face of today

(41:16) Love of Diagrams - What was I supposed to do?
Bob from Gimme Tinnitus

(44:27) The Dears - Who are you, defenders of the universe?
Linda from Speed of dark

(48:30) Camper Van Beethoven - Where the hell is Bill?
Natalie from Mini-obs

(51:30) Trout Fishing in America - Who are these people?
Anna from Desert Island Jukebox

I had long been waiting for an opportunity to submit a track by the mighty Pointed Sticks, so "What Do You Want Me To Do?" was unquestionably (no, please, no applause) the shoo-in for my contribution. A while back I mentioned the band in a post on Buzzcocks, since both bands shared a similarly bright, frantic, pop-punk sound. The Pointed Sticks formed in Vancouver in 1978 when singer Nick Jones returned from a stint in England, all hopped up and ready to go on account of all that Clash/Pistols stuff that he absorbed while working in a record store. Jones teamed up with his mate Bill Hemy on guitar, enlisted a drummer and bassist, and together named themselves after a Monty Python sketch. No joke.

There followed victory at a local battle of the bands and persistent touring on the West Coast (including a support slot with Buzzcocks), which built up an enthusiastic fanbase. They had both the thrill of being the first Canadian band signed to Stiff Records and the disappointment of the label failing to crystallize their debut album. Eventually it was re-recorded and released by a Vancouver label, but hassles continued to dog the band and eventually they split up in 1981.

It was a brief, white-hot run, but it left lasting scorch marks; some material was re-released in 1995, and in 2005 their debut and sole album, Perfect Youth, was reissued along with a compilation of singles and b-sides. The band somehow became Very Big in Japan and reformed in 2006 for a tour of that country. There followed a well-received re-enactment (they refused to call it a reunion) back in Canada, and the 'Sticks continue to gig - there's even talk of new material.

And y'know, I must declare a personal connection. I had become acquainted with The Pointed Sticks and their legacy in the late 1990s during my visits to Vancouver. Then, one hot summer's day in 2005, shortly after we moved to Vancouver, my kids ended up buying lemonade from guitarist Bill Hemy's kids, though I didn't realise they were Bill Hemy's kids until after the fact. Now my Little Man is in the same kindergarten class as Bill's youngest. And to top it off, Dearest Wife recently ran into Bill's wife, who herself fronted seminal Vancouver punk band The Dishrags, at a medieval studies conference in town. How these weird and wonderful webs are woven...

Oh, I can't resist - here's a short Pointed Sticks track for you. But promise you'll go listen to the podcast, then buy the record, OK? OK.

The Pointed Sticks - Somebody's Mom (buy here or e-here)

Anyway, did I consider any other tracks? Well, only in passing. And they were:

Gracie Fields - Will You Love Me When I'm Mutton? (buy here)
Aww, Our Gracie - the pride of Rochdale. What a warble!! Gorbless'er.

Sultans of Ping FC - Where's Me Jumper? (Gosh, hard to find now! buy here)
Actually, this was a submission on one of the very earliest episodes of the Contrast Podcast. I tell you, these lot were as mad as bag of ferrets. I still do an odd, whippy sort of dance when this vintage 1992 single comes on the gramophone. But I rather think they lost the plot after this moment of brilliance; I saw them support The Ramones in 1995 and was most disappointed by the experience. But they are touring again...

Next week CP goes all broody with the theme of "Babies." Please do contribute!