By my watch it's 11:10 PM here in Vancouver, which means I'm still in time to add my voice to the second annual Paul Haig Day. The event was born out of a DMCA takedown notice received by the marvelous JC, aka The Vinyl Villain. Rather than retell the story, pop on over here to get the full meal deal. Indeed, I'm not sure I can really add much to what has already been said in the blogosphere to commemorate the event - heck, even the song I've posted I'm sure has already been tacked up by someone more prolific these days than I am.
So then, why do I care enough to take part, and why should you? OK, to distill it down to the key points:
Haig produced some of Scotland's finest indie pop, and continues to do so - sign up to his label's mailing list at Rhythm Of Life
Unlike many of his fellow musicians, Haig is a keen supporter of the blogging community and has been very gracious in allowing bloggers to post his oeuvre
His first band, Josef K, is named after the protagonist in Franz Kafka'sThe Trial, a masterpiece whose nightmarishly absurd story has similarities to the music industry's campaign against bloggers.
If you want more reasons (and it's in your interest to), then drop by The Vinyl Villain, read up, and visit the many fine blogfolk who've participated in Paul Haig Day II.
Josef K - Sorry For Laughing (buy here) Paul has become quite disenchanted with his first band's output, but apparently he makes an exception for this track. Which is good, coz it's one of my favourites of his. And if you want to viddy the vid in all its jelly-belly goodness:
Oh my! I've been roused out of my torpor not only because Dearest Marcy and Dearest Tricia --two of the finest examples of female pulchritude and luminosity in the podcast/blogosphere firmament-- provided the ever titillating Contrast Podcast's most recent theme, but also because that theme happens to be: Naked!! I mean, if you can't get excited by the prospect of wodges of excellent choonz coupled with the heady, free rush of nudity, then your soul must be a dry, withered thing, indeed.
Speaking of dry, withered things, this CP reminded me of a little beach walk I took with my then-five-year-old Darling Daughter soon after we arrived in Vancouver. We happened to be up by the University of British Columbia and I vaguely recalled that there was a beach nearby. Sure enough, I soon found the steep, looooong flight of stairs that wound down the steep, wooded path to Wreck Beach. It wasn't until we had nearly completed the tiring descent that I ran into the sign posted at the top of this post. Ah, I had forgotten that this point at the westernmost tip of the university peninsula was bastion of naturism...
For a moment I considered retracing our steps, wondering if it would be awkward to continue on down with a child. But I swiftly thought better of it; meh, if she asks, I'll tell. So we continued on down. Sure enough, we were pretty much the only ones who'd exercised our option to stay clothed. But Darling Daughter was oblivious to both the drumming, fire-juggling hippies and the dry, withered, and wrinkly senior citizens out for their constitutionals. Instead, she was all about the shells and seaweed and sand - y'know, the beachy stuff. And I felt stupid for having considered, even for just a second, turning around...
Anyway, head over here if you want to catch last week's first installment of nudity, and over here if you want to bare yourself to this week's naturist offerings, a teaser of which I offer you below:
My offering is a bit of New Wave synth naughtiness from Hilary that got me quite excited when I was a spotty teenager. But I also considered stripping off to these:
Class - We Don't Have To Take Our Clothes Off (off of the Double Agent 1980 compilation, which I've no idea where to find) Peter Green and Leigh Tsai take a wistful, tender, indie-as-fuck take on Jermaine Stewart's R&B , erm, classic.
Velocette - Strip Polka (buy here or e-here) Aww, these lasses delivered some lovely, bright, shimmery pop straight outta Camden in the late 1990s, when the rest of their Wiija labelmates were noisily lurching about.
And finally, as mentioned during my intro, while I was off skiing in the Swiss Alps this January, I lost my iPhone on one of the runs. Thankfully I found it a few hours later, but I quickly realized that someone had used it to record a video. I offer it up to you below for your consideration. Be warned, it deals with nudity and nakedness...
Well, quite frankly I'm surprised it hasn't happened before. After all, it's been nearly four years that I've been peddling my musical wares for your titillation, and up until now I've been pretty much left alone. But today I was whacked by one of those digital drone attacks that have become all-too-common in the blogosphere, a DMCA C&D, fully known as a Digital Millennium Copyright Act Cease & Desist order.
It seems I was wounded (hence the self-awarded Purple Heart) in the latest spring offensive launched by The Man in His attempt to crush the rag-tag band of music bloggers that he sees as a threat to his way of life. Now, it seems I got off lightly; Blogger merely took the offending post from 9 February offline and flipped it back into Edit mode, while informing me that I was welcome to republish it once the objectionable material was removed. Trouble is, while I was invited to visit Chilling Effect to see the details of the C&D, upon visiting I couldn't find it. Moreover, after perusing the other C&Ds listed, I'm not sure I'd be able to figure out which of the three songs I had offered up was to blame. Two came from PR sources with what I thought was pretty explicit permission to post, but there are Kafkaesque stories galore about bloggers getting blessing from the artist or PR to post, only to find themselves enmeshed in nightmarish battles with rekkid companies who have other ideas. So, having little time or inclination, I just removed all three tracks.
It is actually getting very serious out there; along with a squadron of others, Dearest Coxon of To Die By Your Side recently had his blog shut down. You can read about it all in this Guardian article. Now, I don't intend to add to the steamy indignation out there, largely because my energy is needed elsewhere - like Sunday's demonstration against the evisceration of public education by the BC Government. But let me go on record as stating that I abhor the persecution of bloggers --who by and large are music lovers dedicated to spreading the Gospel of Good Music and putting $$$ into artists' pockets-- by the big record labels and their lackeys. Moreover, the Holy Bible of Copyright that they allege to defend was originally crafted to promote innovation and the flourishing of ideas, not to lock intellectual property up in crates and milk them for decades. I would encourage you to listen to the podcast Who Owns Ideas?, a fantastic Canadian Broadcasting Corporation programme about this very subject. It's a war folks, a war for culture.
Anyway, I'm going to go lick my flesh wound, but in the meantime here are a few tracks to get you stoked: Sex Pistols - Who was It [aka EMI] (buy here) Taken from the Spunk bootleg, reissued by Castle, which is now a subsidiary of Universal Music Group. Say, is that the buzz of a drone I hear??
Ninja High School - It's Gonna Be Us (buy here) Yep, that's right, we who love tha choonz shall prevail! Ninja High School was a Toronto noisenik outfit that sadly disbanded in 2007. Choose now, Babylon or Zion. IG-88 take the stand!!
If you've been round here before on or about February 14, you may recall I'm not a big fan of the whole Valentine's Day schtick. It's not that I'm not all about The Lurve and romance - indeed, I'd like more of both, pretty please. It's just that I do not like our economic system dictating to us when and how we get and give it. And this year , thanks to all of the commercialism swilling round town due to the the Olympics, I was even more crotchety than usual.
That's not to say Dearest Wife and I didn't use the occasion to attempt to carve out for ourselves a quiet night in with a tasty, simple, home-cooked dinner and a mutually acceptable DVD. Try we did, but as those of you with offspring can attest to, nothing can kill romance dead like bickering, squalling children. By the time the dust had settled, we barely had time to eat dinner and get halfway through the film before bedtime beckoned. Bah and humbug - it's not just for Xmas, you know.
But despite my spite, I still do love you all, so here are a few apposite tunes for us to frug to in a cool-ass-funk, post-punk-with-extra-added goth stylee. Mwah, mwah!!
Gang of Four - Is It Love? [Extended Dance Mix] (buy here or get the album versh here) Put on constant rotation at the mighty WLIR back in the days when it would "Dare To Be Different," this is one of those tracks that covertly shaped and sculpted my musical sensibilities as a wee lad.
Killing Joke - Love Like Blood (buy here) When I was in 8th grade, I had a secret crush on Angela, the punky goth senior who would slip Killing Joke references into her submissions to the school literary magazine. Le sigh.
Gene Loves Jezebel - Desire (buy here or e-here) I think the singer manages to stay on the correct side of sounding like a cat in heat. But only just.
NOTE: On account of me receiving a C&D order under the DCMA for something unspecified in this post, out come the song linky-linx and in go the YouTube feeds instead.
It's true, Dearest Friends, the good ship SS FiL has embarked on a brand new journey, leaving behind my musical doldrums of 2009 and sailing into a shining new sea of tuneful goodness. And speaking of goodness, well... GOODNESS! If you're still sticking around after that forced metaphor, then you deserve a reward.
So far the start of the year seems to be shaping up all fine and poppy. After the idylls of The Idyllists last week, I've got three bouncy bits for you. First up are The Sleepless Nights, four rather hirsute young fellows from Halifax who produce some fine, slackey pop that motors on by, stopping only to pick you up for a laid back, fuzzy, smiley ride. The band appears to have been driving around for several years now, and are currently touring the East Coast (of Canada, you Yankees! Yes, we have one as well.) in support of their latest EP, The Phone Booth Outside The Video Store. This is in fact the second of a planned three EPs which the band are GIVING AWAY!! Are you dancing right now? No?? Well get with the programme, coz everybody is!!
Oh well, no vid for this. I doubt this was the track wot did it, but since it's all getting very perverse out there, you'd best just go follow the link to where you can download tha shizz directly.
Next up are (shhhhh!!!) The Secret History. Y'know, every once in awhile a group comes by that manages to pull together all the really good bits of things that have gone before. So you look at them (one NYC indie cult god, a luuurvely lady singer whose dad is a glam-rock icon, and A.N. Other cute gal) and listen to them (think vocals by a Dusty Springfield/Kirsty MacColl/Morrissey genetic experiment wrapped in hooky, twee, glamness and underpinned by parping farsifa and jangly guitars) and you expect to be disgusted by how contrived it all is. But you aren't, because it's so lovely that you want to snuggle down into it and hug it and kiss it and call it your own.
The Secret History - Johnny Anorak (album comes out 22 March, but in the interim you smug Brooklynites can see them perform various gigs in your very own borough)
And finally, those superb Swedes, The Shout Out Louds are about to release their third album of shimmering, heart-plucking, pop beauties. They're supporting it with what seems to be a grueling tour schedule that puts them in Vancouver on 25 May. Yay!! Yay again!!
Were I a betting man, I'd say I think this was the offending track. But who knows...
And speaking of live shows, I'm excited to say that there seems to be a whole queue of excellent folks signed up to play this fair city from now into the spring, starting with the Vivian Girls on 12 Feb at The Biltmore. This particular Olympic Scrooge may well find himself there instead of watching the opening ceremonies...
P.S. Aren't you glad that, despite my opening paragraph, I played neither Christopher Cross, nor Rod Stewart??
What did you say, Dearest Friends?It's almost February??Gadzooks!How did that happen??Oh well, I suppose it's not yet too late to extend you my heartfelt wishes for a faaabulous 2010, one full of everything that your wonderful hearts desire and that your beautiful souls need.
Truth be told, most of my January was spent confusing my internal clock by slinging myself from timezone to timezone.Indeed, as I type these words I'm going fast, 500 miles per hour, some 38,000 feet in the air over deepest, darkest Saskatchewan.Dearest Mentok, can you see me waving?No??Oh well, I'd best shut the door before the stewardess gets mad.Only more two hours till glorious Vancouver...
Anyway, back to the New Year.Last year, contrary to my longstanding practice, I made some resolutions, and it would therefore only be right and proper for me to have a look see how I did vis-a-vis my intentions.So, let's have a reckoning, shall we??And then I might even set some for 2010...
GET IN SHAPE FOR THE 2009 VANCOUVER SUN RUN
Actually, this one I met spectacularly well, if you will allow me to crow, Dearest Friends.I started training with trepidation early in the year, and in the space of four months I went from a wheezing sack of lard unable to run more than two minutes without respiratory, cardiac, and muscular arrest to a somewhat less lardy sack that ran the ten-kilometre Vancouver Sun Run in about 1 hour and 11 minutes.On top of that, I have developed a fairly hardcore addiction to running.Mind you, it has been enabled by the fact that I can run gorgeous routes along Vancouver’s stunning shorelines.That said, I have even set out on the gritty, grotty, grim streets of Toronto, so I suppose I am truly infected with the sickness.
At the same time I was getting hooked, I was following the trials of my aforementioned Dearest Friend, Mentok of Saskatchewan.He had embarked on the South Beach Diet and appeared to be meeting with remarkable success in shedding pounds.While the running was getting me fitter and had resulted in some de-larding, I still felt I could do better.Now I have always been a diet sceptic, but I was particularly intrigued since Mentok is an eminently reasonable chap, not given to flibbertigibbety flights of faddy fancy.So after consulting with him, I embarked on the same path.I shan’t go into the mechanics, Dearest Friends, but it worked.I stand before yousome 55 lbs, three trouser sizes, and 1.5 collar inches less of a man than I was a year ago.My whole eating software has been rewritten and I feel great.Never better, in fact.At least physically…
START TAKING GEE-TARR LESSONS
Oh my, total fail on this one.The gee-tarr is still sitting in the corner, untouched, silently gathering dust.But this Christmas Dearest Father-In-Law gave me an amp and a wah-wah pedal to go with it.So this may very well be the year that I do it.In fact, why don’t I make it my first resolution of 2010??
LISTEN TO MORE MUSIC
Erm, another fail, methinks. Somehow 2009 seemed to largely pass me by.Yes, I realize that dabbling in music bloggery can make one unhealthily worried about keeping up with the musical internet Joneses, but I do feel I missed out on shedloads of good stuff.This year I’ll pay more attention. Promise. Another one back on the list...
VOLUNTEER, COS TALKING ABOUT CHANGE ISN'T ENOUGH
Oh dear, didn’t do too well on this one either.Yes, I did volunteer for the Vancouver Folk Music Festival again, and I did work my patootie off during the fest weekend.However, it was in exchange for the major perks of seeing loads ofgrand music and chatting with the sweet Basia Bulat.Hardly world-saving, is it?? Sigh, must try harder.
SORT OUT THAT THING I SHOULD HAVE SORTED OUT AGES AGO
Ah yes, this was the tough one.Facing a demon that, quite literally, for years caused my knees to go weak, my sweat to flow, and my guts to turn to water.For a while it looked like I wouldn’t be able to do it.I was too scared of my own failings.Then something happened that brought me right to the door of Room 101, so I seized the doorknob, twisted it, and went in.It was a stressful couple of weeks in there.Migrane-inducing stressful.Dearest Wife, Darling Daughter, and Little Man endured a crabby, cranky FiL.But I did it.
And it was OK.Yay.
On balance, then, two abso-fucking-lute successes, one miserable fail, and two not-quite-so-abject failiures. So the list for 2010 is gonna look pretty familiar:
Learn how to play the electric guitar.In a punk rawk stylee.Nuff said.
Volunteer.For something other than the Folk Festival.Also ‘nuff said.
Tell more stories.This blog was started in large part as an outlet for me to tell my stories, to write them up on a virtual bathroom wall for y’all to see.Last year, despite some very obvious highs, life unfolded such that my stories got all bottled up inside.And they’re sitting there uncomfortably, needing to come out…
More music.
Let me stop there, Dearest Friends.Oh, I could list more: be a good father/spouse/son, become authentic, etcetera.But in keeping with true corporate management indoctrination, let’s keep those goals SMART: Specific, Measurable, Achievable,Realistic, and Timely.
Right, let me get cracking on resolution #4:
Buzzcocks - Promises (buy here) I hereby promise to keep my resolutions. If I don't, you can roger me sideways with a dead ferret.
The Idyllists - Let's Fly Away (buy the new album here or e-here) I discovered these lads in my e-mail inbox, all thirsty and hungry as they'd been sitting there for several weeks. The least I thought I could do was give them a listen, and I'm glad I did, as they are a warm & bright pop tonic for the winter months. California goodness mixed with solid Brit sensibilities, with a dash of retro nostalgia for good (great?) measure.
Nothing People - Enemy With An Invitation (buy here) Oh wow, this is grand - all stark and sweeping and relentless and loud with a burst of the old feedy-backy right at the end. Like an army of those wind-up Japanese tin robots. Only speaking English.
Waitaminit, that St Nick looks vaguely familiar...
Dearest Friends, here's wishing you a very Happy Christmas and Season's Greetings (as appropriate). I can think of no better way to tell you how wonderful I think you all are than to share with you five of my all-time favourite Chrimbo choonz. If you were here in past years you'll know they're reposts, but enjoy them anyway.
May you get exactly what you want in your stocking. See you after the hols.
A Roswell reindeer. I barely escaped with my life.
Whoa, so, like, what is it about Chrimbo that makes folks do alien things? Like, drink appalling concoctions such as Baileys, eggnog, and gingerbread lattes. Or spend mind-numbing hours packed into sickening malls along with thousands of others? Or think that a Chia Obama makes the perfect gift??
It must be them space reindeer. Once they lull us into a holiday stupor, they'll laser us with their shiny noses and use us as fodder for their young.
But it doesn't have to be that way; the resistance can start right here:
So this is Christmas. No no, please don't scurry away, I promise you: no more John Lennon!! OK? Are we friends again? Have you stopped screaming?? Good.
I was looking back at my Chrimbo posts from last year and I was struck by how Grinchian and grumpy they were! My goodness, pre-visitation Scrooge had NOTHING on FiL circa December 2008. Much of that was due to circumstances; I shan't go into details, but it was one of those burdensome Yuletides where I knew no matter what happened it was likely to end in stress and tears. Paint that over my inherent dislike of the frenetic consumerism of the season and the overpowering imperative to get into the CHRISTMAS SPIRIT, and I think that just about explains my attitude.
This year it ain't so bad. Our plans are very simple and revolve around our nuclear family. Moreover, I've decided that if the spirit moves me, great. If not, that's fine too. What I'm trying to focus on instead is finding opportunities amongst the Xmas hubbub to share time and enjoy being with thems that matter to me. And so far it's been so good; last weekend I went shopping with Darling Daughter on one of my favourite drags, Main Street. We shopped here and here and here, then we went to the Rhizome Cafe where we had an excellent brunch and I told her about community activism and the power of art. Right on. Then tomorrow morning the whole family is ascending Grouse Mountain for a party thrown by my workplace. There will be lashings of pancakes and eggs and sausages and bacon, and Santa will appear and give out presents. And tomorrow evening Dearest Wife & I are off to a kids-free Chrimbo knees-up. Shit, this year is looking OK...
Since I'm of such good humour at the moment, Dearest Friends, may I invite you to share some noisy good cheer in the garage? I always like to venture in there at least once during the season.
Little Man has been having a few issues at school as of late. An incompetent teacher with the organizational skills of a headless chicken. Work that's frankly waaay too advanced for 75% of the class. And classmates who've taken to taunting him so as to provoke a reaction that usually gets him into trouble.
Sigh. It's tough being seven.
At a meeting between Dearest Wife, myself, Mrs Headless Chicken and The School Principal (who is an awesome steel fist in a velvet glove), it came out that Little Man really enjoys playing with the class supply of Lego. So that got me thinking...
Back at home, I stood on my tippy-tip-toes and pulled down a large, dusty plastic bag from our bedroom closet. I called out to Little Man that he should shut his eyes tight, then I went to the playroom where he was desperately trying not to peek. I gave him the bag, and let him look. His eyes grew wide...
Inside was my entire childhood collection of Lego, a multicoloured jumble of plastic bricks 'n' bits with which I used to construct entire universes. I had brought the whole lot over to Vancouver from New York after years of nagging from Mother to "deal with my stuff in the basement." I had been long intending to pass it on to Little Man, but the right moment had never presented itself. Until now.
We immediately embarked on building a police station, complete with windows, swingy doors, and Lego homunculi. As I rummaged through the bag, looking for THAT precise piece, I began to find bits of unexpected flotsam from my childhood.
A quiver from a Playmobil Indian.
A wooden Tinkertoy connector.
A skipole from a GI Joe arctic warfare set.
A rocket from a James Bond "The Spy Who Loved Me" Lotus Esprit Sportscar Submarine.
Tokens from a London Underground boardgame.
Each unexpected artefact brought with it a concentrated shot of memories, nostalgia, and vivid feelings. It was all actually a bit disconcerting. Thank goodness I had Little Man and a half-built police station to keep me anchored.
Oh, for fuck's sake. I know I've been preoccupied with this 'n' that as of late (children - can't you put them on autopilot or something??), but I wasn't expecting this quite so soon. No, not at all. You see, I was starting to come to grips with the falling leaves and the falling temperatures and the early falling of darkness. I was falling into Fall. But just as I thought I had the fall under control, I was mugged. Most brutally and painfully.
Little Man & I had popped into our local Shoppers Drug Mart (yes folks, it's true, here in laid-back Vancouver we have retail stores selling weed, shrooms, and skag on open shelves) to pick up some codeine tabs for Dearest Wife and her irrepressible bronchitis cough. As we wended our way through aisles of pomade, unguent, powders and carbolic soap, my gaze was wrenched by a display of Toffifee boxes with smiling, rosy-cheeked fat men in red suits.
As I reeled in amazement, I was sucker-punched in the ears by a mawkishly mewled version of that bane of Yuletide music: Last Christmas. To make it worse, it was some dreadful cover version - The Cheetah Girls, I think. It were 'orrible, it were.
Sigh. It all seems so desperate, so tawdry: c'mon folks, get into the Chrimbo spirit! Do your bit to prop up global capitalism! Spend spend SPEND your way outta recession! Here, start with this delicious Toffifee...
And THAT song!! Argh!! Truth be told, there are some fine versions of it out there, which I suppose means that the tune itself has some merit. Shame Messrs Ridgeway and Michaels butchered it from the get go. Here, have a listen to these (if you've not been round here for Xmas before), whack one or two on your Xmas partee playlist, and watch Aunt Edna whizz it up:
Xmas Massacre - Last Christmas (buy e-here) A pretty ripping take by a mysterious Norwegian ska-punk outfit
The Revolvers - Last Christmas (dunno where you can get it, but it looks like this) Best. Version. Ever. Even if it's by some superannuated German punks.
So the past two weeks have been one blurry stream of numbers and anxiety and cortisol pump pump pumping through my screaming veins, sweeping all else aside. A bitter soup that fed deep, not wholly rational fears. A contrast medium that highlighted my shortcomings.
Heh. And just when I thought I was getting back on track round here.
But yesterday a high water mark was reached and the flow has subsided. For now. And I shall use the clarity afforded to consider those shortcomings...
But this morning, driving to work through a phosphene image of street light traffic light tail light against the a dark, rainy predawn of a dawn that ended up never really breaking, I could still feel the slightly sickening buzz at the back of my head. Twin Crystals provided a focus. Of sorts.
I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way. I'd like it if you'd come along, at least for a while. We'll have some fun, maybe sing a few songs together. Sound OK?
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