The Genealogy of Taste

I always thought the cop was the gay one...

2008-05-28T14:46:00.000-07:00

Looking back, we can't help but wonder how many times we ethusiastically danced the Y.M.C.A. in an innocent haze and how ridiculously in retrospect that may have been. Although we were in a crowded elementary school gym and everyone else was doing it. Stop. Must stop making excuses for ourselves. It's all in the past.

ANYWAYS there is a great article on the history of "Y.M.C.A." over at spin. Read it!

What We Really Think About The Stone Angel

2008-05-15T05:37:00.001-07:00

Do not, under any circumstances not involving extreme duress, go and see the new Stone Angel movie. It is a honest-to-goodness, top-to-bottom, adjective-preposition-adjective, stinkbomb.

First a short preface: in one of my classes we are studying Margaret Laurence's book and we thought it'd be neat-o to drag the kids downtown and see the movie. The odd thing was, the first time we read the book (in third year...maybe...memory fading...) we detested it, a pure loathe usually reserved for guys who wear scarves indoors with no jacket. We honestly couldn't relate to any of the characters, the narrative seemed really self indulgent and honestly, one of the most boring reads ever. Needless to say we weren't thrilled about having to teach the book. Yet, after rereading it this month we actually enjoyed it. The writing is really compelling and funny and it turned out to be a much more tragic book then I remember. There is probably a point to be made about maturing tastes in there but we're too busy thinking about boobs to fully pursue it.

Well, while the expectations for the movie were not high (based on the trailer alone, we had sneaky suspicions that the movie would be atrocious...watch and judge for yourself) but we had hopes that it would at least be enjoyed, esp considering the actresses involved.

HOWEVER this was not even the case. Not since we suffered our way through a bootlegged copy of The Day After Tomorrow have we endured such a drawn out piece of garbage. While the actual acting is OK the script drips with an over dramatic element that borders on kitsch. The book itself is quite wide in scope, spanning Hagar's whole life, and so the movie tries to mirror that; the only problem - you get a 2 minute scene for one that took 20 pages in the book. The movie is way too rushed - really just a Coles' Notes version of the book, leaving all the interesting elements unexplored (such as aging and the torments of a body breaking down, the death of going to a nursing home, the pure stubbornness of Hagar and her unrelenting fight against her own mortality...you know, the central themes of the book). More than this, they took giant liberties with the book, cutting out scenes that were fairly central to explaining the characters(like Hagar's brother dying and her refusing to comfort him in his dying delirium. In fact, there is no second brother in the movie). The part that really pissed us off, the movie ends not with an affirmation of Hagar's fight but with her closing her eyes, perhaps dying perhaps not. The Hagar of the movie is so much more passive and uninvolved in her own life that in the book and really that was the main thing that interested us in the book. We actual sympathize way more with the movie Hagar than we should and we think that's a complete failure of the movie's and the original character's purpose. Plus, the movie leverages Ellen Page (of Juno fame) and her 10 minutes on screen into a top billing position on the movie poster. Shameless.

It was not all bad; there were glimmers of tolerance in the scenes involving a young Hagar and Bram; there was a surprising amount of sex in the movie which we guess is cool if we have to suffer through the rest. But overall, this movie was hideous a 2 out of 10 on the Taste scale.

Purple Rain, Puurrrrrple Rain

2008-05-13T06:07:00.000-07:00

A late night showing of Purple Rain revealed many new things to me. But first, we take a lot of weird looks for trumpeting the wonders of Prince. To be fair he's an odd guy, all blouse and high heels and pouty eyed looks. We're firm believers that he would be just as maligned as Michael Jackson if he wasn't such a overtly sexual creature (Jackson's problem even as early as Thriller was that he seemed almost a-sexual, despite the fact that every girl wanted him, lending itself to suspicions of a) homosexuality b) pedophilia or c) culkinilia ). But Jackson could never rip a guitar like Prince and that is ultimately his saving grace. As Zappa proved, you can be as weird as you want, hell name a kid or two Moon Unit or Diva Muffin, so long as you can play guitar really well.

ANYWAYS Purple Rain has a lot going for it - awesome performances, bare breasts, Prince riding a motorcycle twice the size of him etc. There's also extended shots of Prince's basement apartment (where his parents live upstairs) - the basements scenes are always delightful because it's impossible to view them as an actual place and instead we were left convinced that basement is what the inside of Prince's mind looks like - there's all these weird drawings on the walls of seductive half faces, a bunch of French clown figurines (???!!!), lots of candles and inscence and plenty of windows so everyone can see you having dirty sex. The acting itself is pretty B-rate but man the music is awesome - the surprise favourite was "Beautiful Ones" a song that we always thought was way too slow and boring but in the movie Prince just starts yelling and squealing and rolling around on stage, putting on a giant stink over some girl and it gets turned into wickedness.

That's not to say there weren't problems, the most glaring one seems to be that Prince is sort of a misogynist dick: he treats Appolonia like shit, leaving her bare breasted and freezing on the side of a lake and hitting (or almost hitting) her twice. Now the abuse thing is supposed to be OK because his Dad is abusive towards his Mom and somehow that makes it more understandable. He's actually a relatively unlikable character yet, again, because he plays ridiculous guitar and composes sweet pop songs, who can resist?

And not to ruin the ending but the last set, to save his career, he finally breaks down and plays "Purple Rain" (a song partly composed by his father, who shot himself in the scene before, and the two female band members he's been bagging on the whole movie). Everyone in the club ends up in tears. Literally, everyone is crying. It's a sad yet hopeful ending and then it fades to black. ONLY IT DOESN'T. He actually opens his set with "Purple Rain" then plays two more songs after. What the fuck? No wonder he's stuck playing in a shitty club, competing with other shitty bands (The Time, the other villain band, is atrocious but kind of funny in a over-the-top 80s dance moves way). He doesn't even know to save his best song for last. Instead it ends on "I would Die 4 U" and then "Baby I'm a Star" - decent songs but no "Purple Rain". Then the last shot is this. Totally cheese!

As an end note, the most succinct criticism we ever heard of 8 Mile was: "I liked it better the first time I saw Purple Rain." We can't really argue.
Also, in case you're one of the six people who haven't seen it, here's the Chappelle Prince sketch:

It's like we never left.

Video of the Month!!!!!!!!!!!!!one

2008-01-21T16:43:00.000-08:00

We at The Taste have been taking a lot of shit lately because of one innocent, heartfelt, though drunken, comment about the above video. It's true, we sincerely love "Night Moves", enough to put it very close to the top of our favorites. It's a nostalgic, winding, piano driven rock-country song and, aside from guitar solos, that's really our main weakness. Basically the song dominates and all those who dismiss it because it's Bob "Like a Rock" Seger can go straight to the special part of hell reserved for people who like Celine Dion.

It's true the song is awesome, however the video is basically an incoherent pervy mess. First, there's Bob, looking like a rejected extra from Full House, wandering around peeking at people from the projector booth of the drive-in playing his "guitar" (phallus alert!). Also, there's more soft porn here than most Showcase shows, including one highlight at 1:40 of the video where there's a girl with her face down in a guy's lap behind the movie screen. (Note: Upon further review, the girl is only straddling the guy in a dress. Only.)

Like "This Ain't a Love Song" this seems like a video that tried to pull through some story line, then gave up about 35 seconds in; there are reoccurring characters here but hot damn if they're doing anything but showing up twice and looking all googley eyed at each other. We almost lost our shit when none other than Matt LeBlanc shows up for a meaningful stare with a girl that also looks vaguely 80's familiar. Again, the viewer gets a sense that these two are main characters, but they only show up again when the girl briefly looks in and catches Matt making out in the backseat with some other floozy.

Which brings us to the last troubling part of the video: this song was originally released in '77 (earning Rolling Stone's coveted and well respected Single of The Year, beating out "Come Sail Away" and Frampton's XXX throwdown "I'm in You (So Deep It's Coming out Your Mouth)"). YET this video looks like it was filmed early 90's, maybe late 80's. In fact, as we were internet sleuthing we found out Matt LeBlanc was born in '67 which would have made him ten at the time of it's original release. we would put him at at least 20 years old in the video. So why the devil did Bob Seger re-release this song 10 plus years later?

We think the short answer is firmly rooted in the pure dominatory nature of the song. The long answer probably involves a lost bet to Matt LeBlanc's mother over who could pee the furtherest or something.

A Special Saturday at Work Post

2008-01-19T12:04:00.000-08:00

Beware: This post contains elements of psuedo-intellectualism and life admissions. Proceed with caution.

As we rolled around the TTC this morning and the ungodly Saturday hour of 8 o clock we decided to let the i-pod random about. This is not generally the practice before work, mostly because we MUST have excellent music to motivate us to even get in the door of TAIE, but today we were resigned ourselves to the fates.

Buried on our beloved i pod is some Lynyrd Skynyrd. Mostly we can tolerate the band because "Freebird" is exactly the guitar wank we here at The Taste are constantly in need of. Yet, we am completely and utterly passive towards the band as a whole and really they haven't written many other redeemable songs except "Simple Man" and perhaps "Sweet Home Alabama". In fact it was the latter that spurned this post after so long a hiatus.

"Southern Man" is a pretty damn fine condemning song of the institutionalized racism that raged (rages) through the southern United States. The images of the bull whips are shocking and as the central image of the song represent the various vicious instruments of extreme hegemony that South has been so imbued in. It is jarring and effective in portraying the real violence and brute ignorance of southern bigotry.

"Sweet Home Alabama" then is written as a response to "Southern Man" and "Alabama", going so far as to directly call Young out saying that their consciences are clear and that "they (the South?) don't need him anyhow". Really? That's your rebuttal? Skynyrd's response to the visceral and social argument Young makes is to ignore the history and points Young raises and instead create a dismissive pop song blinded by regional pride and a catchy chorus.

Depressing yes, but is also still the pervading logic of the current administration in the States. Over the last six years there have been many rational and effective arguments against what the US is doing overseas and almost every one of them was dismissed with the same "Well if you're questioning America, you must not love America" sort of patriotism. In this light, "Sweet Home Alabama" is the equivalent of changing French to Freedom Fries: it completely misses the point of the original argument and instead muddies that argument beyond comprehension with narrow visioned patriotism.

But enough of this bad talk friends. This post deserves a few more paragraphs but alas, the bell tolls for home. We hope to have more posts up here soon but again, maybe?!!

Lost and Why We're Talking About It

2007-12-15T09:48:00.000-08:00

We're sure there are people out there that are going to be like "What? You're talking about Lost now? That was so 2004" or whatever but we've been sucked into watching the first season due mostly to a lack of interest in our long running ambition to watch all the X-Files episodes. Make no mistake: we here at the Taste are not movie people. We enjoy TV much more (probably due mostly to our extreme attention deficit and our inability to convince ourselves doing something for two and a half hours is productive-ish). There is nothing finer than a sitcom. Really we believe this. On that same note, we love the 45 minute mini-drama things that splice in pseudo-science and a healthy dose of superstition (past winners in this category include The Adventure of Lois and Clark (represent!) 21 Jump Street, Buffy and, lamely, Smallville).

So forgive us if we're a touch behind the times but hot damn is the first season a treat. Initially we stayed away from the show, despite our smart friends like Stirlbot and Professor Pharmacon insistences on its goodness, because it seemed TOO popular. Now this is the life of a semi-hipster: you are always suspicious of something that everyone likes. Eventually of course you break down, like we have, and consume at full tilt for 3 months until you know everything about it (as we are in the throes of doing). We have not enjoyed a season of TV this much since we plowed through Freaks and Geeks in a week. First the characters are compelling beyond all get out: it's hard to pull off this large an ensemble cast but the show works very well, mostly because it can hide the badish actors for long periods of time (looking at you Kate and Boone). Second, The backdrop is gorgeous, and the filming itself is a real treat for the eyes.

More than this though, the show is reflexive and dare we say metaphoric. TV like Lost show that audiences will respond when you take them beyond the literal world of reality TV and game shows. If there is a stronger argument for the Writer's strike than Lost, a show which thrives on its ability to be smart in its storytelling and wide visioned in plot arc, than we can't think of it.

As for our theory, we think it's purgatory. We will not go through our long list of details and examples supporting this claim, just know that we are probably correct.

Suddenly My Teenage Fantasies Are Slightly more Obtainable

2007-12-13T19:15:00.001-08:00

So we were minding our own business the other day, wandering the interweb and looking for ways to make our mark in society when we stumbled upon one of the finds of the century.

When we were young we used to have this clone thing. Some might call it a fetish but we prefer to call it a bankable masturbatory scenario (BMS for short. Tell your friends). ANYWAYS a lot involved a number of identical girls ravaging us in unspeakable ways often involving poinsettias and baby oil. Because Shania Twain was the hotness our BMS often centered around her.

And now, ho ho, we've found a real life way in which this could happen. Shania Twin! She's a tribute act that tours Canada and small towns raising hormone levels and destroying morals. We were naturally curious so we began checking out other tubes in the interweb and also found Shania's Twin!".

We're hard pressed to figure out which one is better. Shania's Twin has a video and is obviously willing to look the part and her voice sounds pretty similar but she is lacking a certain something, perhaps a willingness to contribute to the Twister soundtrack. However, Shania Twin lacks an apostrophe and somehow that lends her a bit more legitimacy.

However, we will not split hairs. Since Shania Twin is coming to Toronto (!!!) we plan on approaching her with some sort of indecent offer. Assuming she's not allergic to holiday flowers we think we got a safe chance of getting this ball rolling.

As a bonus here is our favorite Shania Twain video:

She gets increasingly attractive as the video progresses, if that's even possible. Plus any reference to the immortal Robert Palmer is alright in our books.

Movies I Haven't Seen!

2007-12-03T18:17:00.000-08:00

Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium

The movie opens with a long familial history about Magorium's last name, tracing it from its roots in ancient Sweden, then detailing the hard boat ride to England, then oddly enough down to Morocco where the seventh generation of Magoriums survived through a surprisingly successful hunting knife business. After one hour of flashbacks and Dustin Hoffman voice overs we arrive at the present day where Mr. Magorium, in a bid to diversify from his knife and machete business, buys a candy factory from a down on his luck eccentric ex-billionaire (a man shamed by a point shaving scandal involving a local high school basketball team).

Mr. Magorium's first task is to hire an assistant adminstrator. After a few failed classified ads he finds a quirky, yet cute, vegetarian girl named Indie Cred (played by Natalie Portman). She does a lot of cute things like smile and laugh and act kinda neurotic but over all cries a little too often and Magorium is visibly uncomfortable. Instead of manufacturing candy, the two decide to churn out high quality LSD then create special "safe rooms" full of animal cut outs and large screen TVs playing the monolith scene from Space Odyssey 2001.

Sadly, they break one of the ten crack commandments ("Never get high on your own supply") and ultimately kill each other, thinking that their blood was strawberry syrup and Magorium's head was a bowl of ice cream. The movie ends as the search for a new owner begins by shamelessly offering the factory to the first child who finds a golden ticket in one of the lucky Magorium's Kill-Matic Xtreme Hunting Knife Sets.

We're pretty positive this movie should not be rated G.

Why the Toronto Sun Continues to Hold Shit Down

2007-12-02T09:37:00.001-08:00

As we wandered around the blustery streets yesterday, a front page picture and headline from the esteemed jounralistic forum, The Toronto Sun, caught our eye:

The Night Wasaga Died

Somewhere, the member of Paper Lace are high-fiving in the parking lot of a 7-11.

VIDEO OF THE WEAK!!!11

2007-11-19T18:57:00.000-08:00

Reach back, waaaaaaaaaay back, into your CD collections. Ignore your terrible choices. You were foolish to buy the Space Jam Soundtrack. You were a total sucker to pick up that Montel Jordan CD willingly. Hell, just because Deborah Cox was popular for a minute didn't mean you needed to buy heres AND Monica's AND Brandy's CDs.

What we mean to say here is that you've had digressions. Gaps of taste. Lord knows and Lord forgives.

But you do not have to be ashamed for buying the Batman Forever Soundtrack.

You do however have to be ashamed if you've watched the movie within the last ten years. It is a completely unwatchable, over-slick pile of garbage and frankly we've bought every copy we've been able to get our hands on and had lit them all on fire, ridding the earth of their scourge.

The soundtrack! It's actually pretty darn good. It's got a pretty OK U2 song, a really good PJ Harvey tune and a freaking awesome song by Michael Hutchence called "The Passenger". We even remember it having a completely listenable Offspring song (though our memory may be clouded and now somewhat twisted by the fact that we now realize they are watered down frat-punk).

And this shining gem of a mid nineties make out tune. A lot of 14 year old boys owe Seal a debt of gratitude for giving them a song to grope breasts to (over the shirt of course. The 90s were a prudish time). The song is pretty insidious now though, perhaps because because of its complete oversaturation on radio and TV. We can't get through a full listen, but if we turn the sound off it's like a Coles Notes version of Batman Forever, and frankly that's enough.

(As a final note, we are slightly perturbed that Seal can't afford buttons for his shirts. Even in recent interviews he's still walking around like he's homeless, shirt tails flapping in the wind, stomach open to the elements. Poor poor Seal.)

(Other end note: FF to 2.28 of the video to see Chris O'Donnel's "OHHHH" face. Seriously, who is he cumming on?)

Romeo is Running & Possibly the Worst Choice to Represent Men Ever

2007-11-17T06:30:00.000-08:00

There are some things that signal the apocalypse include:

1) 10 Million New Jersey Voters Can't be Wrong: Yes the formidable political mind of Jon Bon Jovi is being said to set his sights on governor.
Now, we're all for celebrities running for places of political office when they have little to no experience in the political realm. In fact we were the press coordinator behind Joe Walsh's run for president. And Bon Jovi wrote fucking "Always" which is way better than some psuedo-guitar wank like "Hotel California"!

So, despite the fact that we are not a U.S. or even a New Jersey resident, we are voting for the teased hair, small pored Bon Jovi of 1991. Bon Jovi circa 2007 doesn't interest me: he's on American Idol and releasing half-country albums and basically being seen without being good. But big hair, and the concurrent political platform of re-releasing the soundtrack to Young Guns II every six months, is sure to blow all comers out of the water.

2) Maaaatt Daaaamon: Are you kidding People Magazine? This guy? On the one hand, it gives hope to all the men of the world. Matt Damon is nice enough we guess, but we have never really considered him anywhere near the realm of sexy.

Is this because we are not ladies? Has Damon's charm been completely lost on us despite our multiple watchings of Rounders and Team America? We don't really think so. After all we readily admit to thinking some men are sexy. In fact, the list of men that we have man crushes on include:
- Tom Brady
- Milan Kundera
- 1950s Elvis
- Johnny Depp
See theses are men we will trumpet as sexy gods. We may even kiss them on the mouth given half a chance. But Matt Damon? Him?

Can anyone help us out?

3) The Writers' Strike Back: The writers' strike in the U.S. has really cut to the heart of corporate greed. We firmly believe in our heart of hearts that there should be residuals on the online content that companies like Viacom are making a boatload of money off of. It is only fair that the people who wrote, put together and constructed these shows are compensated fairly and we really don't blame people for walking out (despite the fact that The Office and Scrubs is soon to go away while the Colbert Report and The Daily Show are already gone).

Yet, we do understand how hard it must be to keep track and fairly compensate for the online content. How exactly would you track and pay things? It doesn't help that almost everyone in the public agrees with the writers and we are therefor really only getting media reports from their side of the story. However, we do think the following clip sums things up nicely (complete with John Oliver cameo!):

R.I.P. Norman Mailer

2007-11-11T20:14:00.000-08:00

And so it is, as another one of the more formidable, muscular prose writers we've ever read dies off. There's really only Tom Wolfe left.

For anyone that hasn't, pick up Armies of the Night, it is probably one of the clearest views on the late 60's writing and protest scene and a hilarious and depressing book. Along these lines The Executioner's Song is probably the finest piece of journalism (yes we'll consider it journalism) we've read: it's like Capote only with twice the stones. We can remember devouring those books (Armies we try and re-read once a year) and being stunned at the flowering, dense description, the prose that crippled in long page long paragraphs.

So yes, Mailer as a person was pretty deplorable, a blatant misogynists, a ridiculous self-promoter but he was as cutting and brilliant as anyone who came out of 20th century American writing. He was rougher and funnier than Wolfe, more clinical and sharper than Thompson, more level-headed and focused than Father Kurt. All these writers, the people I built my initial foundation of writing on are slowly going away...

Because You Asked For It!

2007-11-08T15:18:00.000-08:00

Possible the best cartoon about dancing musical shoes and a washed up pop icon/crime fighter in giant parachute pants EVER. Note the minute + intro music and complete lack of flow.

Oddly enough, we couldn't get enough of this when we were younger. By that same thought, if there had been a cartoon that showed Kris Kross fighting bad guys while shitting out their flies I would have taped every episode.

I'm still reeling from that fact that this guy went bankrupt.

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!

2007-11-05T17:45:00.000-08:00

There was a brief window of time where Donna Lewis was the shit. She had it all: blond hair, eyes, arms, two legs, a voice and a number one single. Life was great for Donna Lewis and her hoards of adoring fans.

Then it all fell apart.

She was hit with a large class action suit, citing roughly 50,000 people who had all gotten sea sick from her video to "I'll Love You Always and Forever". The video, the suit stated, caused a "gigantic amount of queasiness" due to its "inability to find a steady camera position". One shaken witness testified that she had puked three times during one showing of the video.

Undaunted by these allegations, Lewis acted as her own council and fought each and every witness on whether it was in fact the camera work causing the sickness. She would berate witnesses, telling them they must have morning sickness, or were drunk while watching, even telling one 18 year old boy "That sickness you felt was God's way of punishing you for masturbating to my sultry voice".

Donna Lewis lost the case and subsequently faded into oblivion. The last known siting of her was at an Ace of Base concert, begging to be let backstage for an autograph.

The Majesty of Pre-Coked Whitney Houston

2007-11-04T08:21:00.000-08:00

We had a discussion a few nights ago centering vaguely around women vocalists and power. Obstensively, we were talking about American/Canadian/Norwegian Idol and what being a singer entails in the modern realm of pop music. Right now, vocal prowess is not so much staying on key but a weird blend of being able to sing really loud, skip from note to note obnoxiously and quiver your chords in some sort of quasi-vibrato when you want to indicate you're feeling "emotive". Now there are some people that do this well: Christina Aguilera is a fantastic singer (though her live stuff can get pretty unnecessarily showing in terms of jumping from note to note); Mariah Carey is an obvious-ish sort of example too (she's got that famed 8 octave range or whatever). But for the most part, as it has almost always been with pop music, it's not the actual talent as much as it is the machine behind it.

But Whitney Houston! Ho ho! She was a perfect singer, a blend of power, grace and emotional tone. She could squeeze a note until it dripped sadness (the only comparable singer we can think of in this respect is Sinatra). She could power through a song (like her cover of "I Will Always Love You") and grab a listener, choke that listener with a giant, soul-grabbing voice. She could also go out and sing some dancey type shit, get hips grooving and shaking with some mean sorts of beats. Even something that is as ridiculously excessive as the aforementioned "I Will Always Love You" is gorgeous in her hands (even if Costner is involved in some way).

(Small aside: at my Dad's work then used to play some extended version of that song (extended!!!) on the cable radio station. There used to be a pool as to how long my Dad could last before switching the speakers off and drenching the store in an eerie silence. The over-under was usually 1.5 minutes.)

Whitney Houston was the prototype. Need further proof? Go listen to her version of The Star Spangled Banner that she sang at the Super Bowl a few years back.Go find a copy of "I Want to Dance with Somebody".

But now, we can't even consider the poor soul. She was doing the Britney thing back when Britney was pretend singing as a fake cheerleader. I mean Spears was always as good as she was, not because she was the most talented singer, but because she was in shape and could dance crazy and had a giant stable of song writers that knew how to write pop music. But Houston, she was way more talented, had a much higher roof in terms of long term potential impact. We didn't mean to turn this post into an extended lament (in the beginning we pictured more of a crochety rant) but, on this lovely and cooling Sunday morning, we're sad for Whitney Houston.

Links!

2007-10-31T19:07:00.001-07:00

There s a hot new spot for literature cross pollinating with music and the such. Check out the launch of The Southernmost Review. Editor Mike Murphy has an editorial on THE upcoming beauty pageant (Gillers). Our favorite part is "Bands That Read" a section devoted to interviewing music artists about their reading habits.

Now, in the interest of self promotion we have a chunk of our ill fated novely project published there (artfully titled "HOW JON BON JOVI SAVED THE WORLD FROM AN INTERSTELLAR INVASION: A GUIDE TO WATCHING POPULAR MUSIC VIDEOS", a chunk of which has shown up here once upon a time). Also, our review of Clint Burnham's excellent book Rental Van is up over at The Danforth.

In other news, the Raptors own the best record in the league at 1-0. We doubt they will lose again the rest of the year.

Video of The Week!!!

2007-10-30T18:07:00.000-07:00

I generally shy away from posting these types of videos. This blog could go on forever recycling jokes about Backstreet Boys and their chair dancing magic or The Spice Girls in the vein of 7th wave feminism but honestly, we made a pack to ourselves and really it's the only rule we follow: no easy jokes.

However, this little job is a perfect example of why pop music in the late 90s sucked more ass than at any point in history before. This is not something we come out and state so bluntly very often. To be truthful there is a lot of queer nostalgia there that we'd rather not admit. We can defend "Mmmm Bop": if nothing else it was a catchy song with a unique hook and melody (though doomed by the latent creepiness of 2/3rds of the band); We can even defend "My Heart Will Go On" (it was after all, a part of a soundtrack, a tiny part of a much larger film, and we have therefor rationalized it only as a tiny, unlistenable working cog of the movie. We don't begrudge Celine for pulling a poor (sober) man's Whitney Houston. Honestly).

But this song/video is actually pure garbage. For one the video is some weird mish- mash of past and present on par with the train wreck "This Ain't a Love Song". Honestly, as much as we love synchronized pointing as a group dance move, the idea of dressing N'Sync up like the angel from the Philadelphia cream cheese commercials is really stupid (we just spent a half hour trolling the interweb looking for video/image proof that the woman who used to be in the commercials was a dead ringer for Justin Timberlake but alas came up with nothing).

In the end there is nothing more overtly American than a video about playing baseball WAR!!! and singing about God. How wonderfully Bible-belt. Boy are we glad JT dumped these four dead weights.

End Note: There's a country version of this song somewhere...we're not even going to try to get into. We don't have a good track record with country covers after we lost 30 dollars to Lucy McNabb on a bet about "I Swear".

Raptors and Canucks

2007-10-28T15:29:00.000-07:00

As the Canucks host the Red Wings tonight, we're eerily reminded of last season when Luongo started in almost the exact same fashion (slow laterally, slow reaction time, slow in the car pool lane) and eventually played himself into the best goalie in the league. While the Canucks could not really afford to lose the valuable points they did in such a tough division at the start of the year watching Luongo get his skates back underneath him. But goaltender, especially in the new NHL, has to be one of the hardest jobs in sports to simply jump back into. Granted they do play preseason games, but the influx on the level of skill and speed, a goalie must have a hard time adjusting to the game. So, while the Canucks have come out on a slow start (refusing to lose their terrible habit of turning EVERY game into a one goal contest) we are confident that the Fetus twins and the Willie Mitchell can turn things around. Right? Please?
Truth is, we're somewhat desperate to remain positive on the season. The Canucks look much weaker than last season and we have a nasty feeling we're deluding ourselves. We do think they will grab a playoff spot, but out of the first round? Not unless they snooker someone into giving up a scorer who can create 5-on-5 (they can't trade Bertuzzi twice...can they?).
As for the Raptors, we have much more faith in that crew. While Bosh's knees and ankles are a tad creaky (maybe more than a tad creaky) if he can play 70 games the Raptors will repeat as Division Champions. Really it all hinges on Bosh: he's the only person who demands double teams and is the only consistent rebounder who doesn't take something away on the offensive end (we're looking at you Garbage, you lovable scraggly bearded mofo). More than this, the team lacks depth at the forward/center position (or maybe just a center period) as well as any basic interior toughness (highlighted by last year's first round lose to Mikey Fucking Moore).
However, at the wings, the team will be well set up: Parker is a solid defender and very good 3 point shooter, especially in transition. Delfino will help also but we're not completely sold on Kapono. Again, his success will depend on Bosh's health and the double teams he draws. Kapano, while sporting a impressive permanent tan, can not create his own shot.
But the 2008 team will fast. T.J. Ford and Caulderon will run the team from end to end with blazing speed (hopefully the extra year of playing together will lead to a few less turnovers...). We're very excited about this team. So excited in fact, we're going to try and get tickets for the Golden State game in mid November. That won't be so much a game as a track meet.

*END NOTE* We've been reading almost too many books on our subway ride so we're not going to even bother going through each one. The new Kundera book is really interesting and the Barbara Gowdy collection was completely awe inspiring. There will be new reviews coming at the Danforth and the Canadian Poetry Review to link to as well so keep coming back.
*SECOND END NOTE* Bill has convinced me to listen to a few of the lesser known Springsteen albums (Nebraska most notably) so we'll respond to that very soon.

VIDEO OF THE WEEK(S GONE BY)!!!111

2007-10-26T13:10:00.000-07:00

Yes it has been a long time. But that's no cause for concern really. While the Taste has been hard at work (in fact click here to see proof we have a job and/or face) the world has been turning. Of should I say dancing.

Somehow, Bruce Springsteen is relevant again. Don't ask us how. It seems like every two years or so, the man releases an album that is always hailed as "gritty" and "human" and "music" then fades away for two years until he releases the next album. We realize he has a weird sort of everyman grip on the U.S. but seriously, his music isn't really that good.

(On a side note, we do approve of his politics. He was one of the first people to go out on campaign with Kerry and sang pretty good versions of "Masters of War" and things. On the flip side of the coin, Bush was touring with a cross-bow pointing Ted Nugent ("Cat Scratch Fever"!) and the corpses of Brooks and Dunn. What a war of attrition.)

(Another side note: The Rising when it came out got all this critical acclaim, mostly because it dealt with 9-11 and Bruce Springsteen sang it. Not every piece of art that is attached to 9-11 is worth saving just because it deals with the subject. Take Alan Jackson slop "Where were you". While I applaud the honest emotion and sentiment behind it (as Americanly solipsistic as it might be), it's a damn terrible song. Uggg.)

ANYWAYS this is the one tolerable Bruce Springsteen song, mostly because of the video. He 's dancing really badly in a tight, rolled up T-shirt; he's got a really terrible sax player doing a crazy dance with him. Basically, this is the video that convinced scientists white guys can not dance at all. However, the song is saved nicely by a surprise appearance from Courtney Cox. So at least it ends well.

Keep checking back to this space of the interweb. Hopefully we have more time and patience for this here Taste in the coming days.

Leafs!Win!

2007-10-12T17:35:00.000-07:00

Well we ventured into the ACC last night to catch the Leafs-Islanders game and what we ended up watching was a slaughtering complete with blood and pageantry. It was the first game we've seen live and what a game to catch: the Leafs dominated from start to finish and, to top it all off, got to see Mats Sundin celebrate his goal and moving past Sitler. 8-1. Christ yes. It almost made us forget that 8-2 drubbing by the Flyers laid on the Canucks a few nigihts back.

We were shocked though at home small the ice was. This may have been because the players are fucking huge (way bigger in person)and the game moves really, really fast. The star of the night (beside the Sundin rah rah bit) was Simone Gamache. He was on the puck, chasing and fore-checking and basically get himself involved. He's fast and works hard and will easily become a fan favorite (plus he got a goal and assist last night).

We'll leave you now with a story. During the TV timeouts, the ACC people always get things going on the Jumbotron trying to get the crowd involved. There's the usual bits about big hit count downs and things, but the best was when they sorted through the crowd, settling on people and putting thought bubbles out of their heads. So there was the usual bit about guys thinking about beer and girls thinking about guys not their boyfriends etc. Then it moves to this guy with his wife or girlfriend and they put the picture of Ugly Betty up beside his head. Instead of acting all disgusted he makes the universal sign for cunnilingus. There's nothing finer than a chubbier guy pretending to go down on a girl while his mortified partner watches on the giant TV screen. That's high comedy.

St. Roberto and His Merry Band of People Who Rarely Score

2007-10-07T21:25:00.000-07:00

Got a chance to watch the Canucks for the first time this season and we have to say, our frustrations from the previous playoff run still hold pretty consistent (though the man crush for Willie Mitchell has grown to alarming proportions).

To regurgitate my last discussion of the Canucks, they don't have anyone who can generate scoring 5-on-5 (though the powerplay looked great last night) and still have the tendency to turn everything into a one goal game (evidenced by the 3-1 lead efficiently blown in the third period). That said, there are some really scrappy new editions to the team: I really like Ryan Shannon the speedy forward they stuck with Morrison and Nasland's corpses. I was also impressed with how the Fetus twins were cycling the puck, though dislike how cute they have to get.

As for St. Roberto, last season he started a bit shaky and played himself into rhythm and I think I see similar signs through the first two games. He'll get adjusted to the speed and strength of the game soon and won't be giving up 3 goals too often (especially that garbage goal from Sarrich). He did however come up with some GIANT saves, especially on the two-on-one where he stopped Tanguay and the numerous 5-0n 3 PP in the second period.

Ending note of a more personal nature: I've reached a point in our life where I am honest to god scared I'm a hipster of some sort (I know, as if the blog isn't proof enough). For some reason this is terrifying, mostly because I really dislike those I imagine in my head as fitting the hipster mold. This brief but intense scare came after celebrating a friend's birthday at The Embassy. One of my favorite things to do in bathrooms is to read graffiti; this is not nearly as weird or obsessive as it sounds, more just something to do to pass the time while I urinate. At any rate, I get into the bathroom downstairs and there was some of the most inside, pseudo-hip graffiti I've ever seen, referencing everything from David Lynch and Herzog to Tobias Funke. As I stood there, reading it all in, I realized that I, somehow, understood almost every reference on the wall, no matter the slanted, hurried handwriting. I'm not entirely sure what this means but it kind of scared me.

The Atwood Machine has Knowledge Software

2007-10-04T19:53:00.000-07:00

There's been a lot of Atwood lately, in the sneakiest places no less. We had just gotten over the infamous Atwood machine at last year's Word on the Street (as we all remembered it was a device that allowed Margaret Atwood to measure the dilated cervix of a pregnant woman from Scotland or something to that effect). Now, we don't have anything in particular against the Atwood, but we do think she gets trotted out a bit too often to stand for Canadian Literature. She has done a great deal in that regard (especially for female writers) but we're not entirely sure of her relevancy anymore (despite her Bob-Ross like machine arm thing).

In the span of two weeks I've seen her randomly pop up five times, most notably in a new foreword to Brave New World (Really?! What on earth makes her a good candidate to speak about the book? Because she also writes books? She did copious amounts of acid? I don't get it...) and this hilarious article in today's Metro. Apparently the Atwood is a world leader on democracy, terrorism and global warming. To be fair, whoever made up the questions for this feature needs to go back to journalism school to learn the fine art of "subtlety". At any rate, we found the article wonderfully reductive and completely ridiculous.

On a last note, doing the Sudoku puzzle at the back of the Metro has become a true highlight of the day, right along side learning the last buzz on Nicole Ritchie's pregnancy with the most emo baby ever (he is actually crying in the womb because no one understands what it's really like to be a fetus) and alerting me to when Dalton McGuinty saves an orphanage from child-eating NDP candidates.

VIDEOS AND NOTES OF THE WEEK!!!

2007-10-01T17:19:00.000-07:00

There was a time when the Tucker family used to roam the B.C. countryside in a beat up 11 seater station wagon (!!!) and a beat up cassette deck. This station wagon was roughly 3.7 miles long, a blazing red family camper without the camp; no fucking joke, the back seats folded out into more seats! It was bloody surreal. Anyways, the pride and joy of said deck was an odd compilation tape which included the original "Last Kiss" "Rubber ball" and the Monkee's "Last Train to Clarksville" and, this song "Come a Little Bit Closer" by Jay and the Americans.

(We may be wrong on this. My Mom and Dad had many compilation tapes and I could be jumbling a bunch of them together. We're getting old, dear reader, and the memory fades like the need for a sugar sweet pop music.)

We do love this song though, perhaps to a fault. It's s goofy thing, especially this obvious lip-syncing, air-guitar version. If nothing else, it's gender confusing as the chorus is supposed to be a girl but the rest is sung by a man; if you came in halfway through the song, mid narrative, you'd swear this was a confused tranny slipping between personal pronouns. It brings us back to a time in our life where nothing could possibly be better than "There's a Kind of Hush" playing through the car speakers roughly 2.5 kilometers away. (We actually found a copy of that single by the Herman's Hermits and simply couldn't resist picking it up...kind of ashamed).

Also, I'm going to be linking regularly to texting, a new review website I'm contributing to with the incomparable Katherine Parrish. It's going to be a sort of dialog set-up website and I'm really excited to get into this with her.

Still Not a Review of Hospital Music

2007-09-25T17:57:00.000-07:00

Yes we know, the review of Hospital Music is long overdue but believe it or not we here at the Taste need a little more time to digest the album. As you very well know, loyal reader, the site is anything but hurried, instead brought to you with the most care one can possibly put into a rough draft before hitting publish. Just know this though: like the Rapture, the review is coming.

We did want to take a bit of time and run through a few of the books we've read in the last little bit. As you may or may not know, it's book launch season around these parts and that means review copies! We've had three come in the mail in the last two weeks, none of which was really that good with the exception of A Finely Tuned Apathy Machine but only in small parts (though most likely, all will get reviewed by us somewhere). One book we did enjoy was a bargain-bin find: High 61 Revisited The Tangled Roots of American Jazz, Blues, Rock and Country Music. The book is a pretty thorough historical take on the bedrock of American music, divided neatly into chronological chapters based around specific artists. While the book focuses A LOT on jazz it does a really excellent job at weaving the genres of rock and country in close to jazz, overlapping Dylan with Max Roach with Springsteen and Willie Nelson. As a rawk junkie, the best parts were obviously the chapters on Buffalo Springfield and The Band but what was really impressive (and engaging) about the book was the way Santoro strung performers in mediums other than music in with the musicians; there are chapters here on Ken Burns' Jazz documentary and a great 12 page burst on the genius of Lenny Bruce. We do have to caution though that this book is kinda a "one chapter at a time" sort of deal. The writing is actually quite good, descriptive and poignant, but often becomes a little too dense with biographical information. Where the book really takes off is linking the music with its social setting and explaining the connections between genres through that. All and all a pretty enjoyable, though not spectacular read.

We also finished DeLillo's new book, Falling Man. We are going to reserve judgment here so that we can turn it into a full review but a few brief points:
1) It's really sensual and, as always with Donny D (as we affectionately call him) his images are striking, powerful and really resonate. The language here, though heavily based in dialog, is really entrancing.
2) The subject matter, 9-11, is obviously quite heavy and he dances around it quite skillfully, except in the parts where he attempts to relay the attackers' side. Our main problem is that the terrorists don't really sound any different, in thought or dialog, than the rest of the characters in the book. Maybe this was intentional, but it comes off as sort of ignorant and clumsy, like a rationalization of the actions seated still very deeply within the white middle class experience.
3) It is emotional. There are crippling parts, parts to be re-read and then read to your grandchildren. Especially towards the end, where the book falls into a hypnotic repetition, a lulling of phrases that gain strength with each reiteration.
4) If nothing else it is a GORGEOUS book. The cover and interior design is beautiful and the paper and type is perfect. A wonderful artifact.

As a parting shot I'd like to leave you with a quote, taken from The Trials of Lenny Bruce, where ST. Lenny is dodging censors and trail judges who assumed "cocksucker" was automatically associated with homosexuality:

That's funny...because I don't know if they're hip to it, that's not only a homosexual practice but the practice of every good wife who is contemporary...

"Sucker": one who is a pawn, an unaware person, who can be taken advantage of. And since "cock" is the male, the feathers, I assume {the compound word means} many transvestites who are pawns for baubles, beads and feathers...So then, we must go to the American Dictionary of Slang. Dig what it says, this is beautiful..."One who plays the female role in a homosexual relationship"

VIDEOS AND WEEK!!!1

2007-09-19T18:06:00.000-07:00

The top video is the very footage that probably impregnated your mothers, some Jagger pulling some sexy motherfucker shiat. He looks like a young Bowie with more swing in the hips, some bright blue eyed sexy beast. Beware: if you have daughters or girlfriends you wish to keep around the house (and not running off with the first fella that can swing a note or rock a guitar) then I suggest you move them out of the room.

The second video is The Hives and front man aping almost exactly the Jagger act. The video and song are pretty damn fine, a good mix of fun and clean rock pop. The Hives have always been a good act, bursting with enough self referential fun and white suits to keep us entertained for years. Such a blatant rip off of Jagger, one of the great stage presence rawk has seen, is less obnoxious and more an endearing homage. In fact we giggled through the whole Hives video and came out on the other end completely satisfied.

On an extended note, what happened to bands that strut and preen and put on a bloody show. I guessing this kind of died when boy bands died (all they really did was strut and preen), but goddam if bands shouldn't put on a show. We saw one band not too long ago, the Jen Militia, that came close, but most people we've seen lately were kick ass musically but pretty standard in terms of stage performance (see: Bright Eyes). We recognize most people might think this somewhat shallow but we're nothing if not vapid.

VIDEOOFTHEWEEK!!!111!

2007-09-12T15:22:00.000-07:00

To be truthful, I've never really gotten into Primus. Sure, I bet they're fun and fine enough, but for some reason they've never really tickled my pickle. But this video is definetly one I dig. It's a surreal, plastic faced thinly vieled jaunt through mild perversion land. The best thing about this video has little to do with the actual video and more to do with the fact it took my roughly two years after seeing it to figure out exactly what it was talking about. I was not a sexually enlightened child. Watching it now however, it's pretty funny, from the robotic cowboys to the taco bell eating beaver. Following the bouncing ball to more hilarious lyrics!

But we here at the Taste are not just about jokes. In fact there's been a nagging sea change in the War in Iraq that seems troubling and pretty indicative of the continous loop of empty rhetoric that's gotten the US into the fucking mess. There is news now of "lowering troop levels" - in fact, in the last two days, since Patraeus's report, Bush himself has agreed to lower the troop levels because a satisfactory level of secuirty has been achieved. Make no mistake: the US failed 11 out of 18 benchmarks in their recent self assessment of progress in Iraq (actaully 11 fully failed and another 4 half objectives were "half-failed") so I'm not entirely sure where this security is being achieved.

Yet, their is overwhleming public disgust at the war, and so Bush must act as the voters want. Yes, Bush, the man who swore that withdrawing troops would be a giant and irreversible Threat to EVERYONE (we here at the Taste do in fact think any withdrawal will not be pretty. When the US does pull out Iraq will be in constant violence for a very long time). So the difference between "lowering troop levels" and withdrawal? Withdrawal is what those cut and runners want to do. Lowering troop levels is something that is done once a victory of security has been achieved. It's a gangfuck of semantic tapdancing. But, call it what you want, at least there seems to be some concession/responsibilty to the giant mess the administration has made of the Middle East.

Because I Felt I Should Post Soemthing New Here

2007-09-09T06:47:00.000-07:00

We're all about honesty and transparency here at the Taste and thus this vapid, sloppy and quickly thought out post we're creating by the seat of our pants here. We've been swamped with class prep and marking for our lovely ESL kids and thus the neglected space that is the Taste. But fear not! There is commentary here. It is worthwhile and probably non-cancerous.

That's not entirely true. The only thing I feel fit to comment on is an up-coming review of Asterisks from Exile Press. While the book is not all that bad, we've found ourselves thinking that it's really not at all that good either. This will sound pretentious but we're getting sort of tired of books that kind of ramble through a theme without doing anything particularly engaging or consequential. Sure, there are a few nice images and some cute meta-textual hand waving, but I feel like I've read those types of books a hundred times over in the last year of reviewing. Please, if you have a book that will excite the fine Tastes we've established here, pass it our way. We're dangerously close to picking up a giant book like Underworld and hauling THAT around on the subway. If you want to save our back and shoulders the heavy lifting, give us some suggestions.

We have been watching some TV lately, well downloaded TV and mostly X-Files (hence the picture). This developing obsession with vaguely overwrought science-fiction has lead me to a great appreciation of the lovely Gillian Anderson. When I was young I watched the show because she was hot and I liked hot girls I could masturbate to. Now I realize she's actually a really good actress; half the scenes in the X-Files would crumple into some inane silliness if it wasn't for her. She's got an amazing control over her emotional tone and, above that, wonderful comedic timing when she needs it. She also has incredibly nice skin, a constant talking point as we've watched all the way to the end of season 3.

Finally, we watched Being John Malkovich last night for the first time in at least five years. Normally I would bristle at John Cusak and Cameron Diaz but they were really unobtrusive in the movie, as well as pretty deadpan funny. The flick is a wonderful example of absurdest (stoner) philosophy and was really entertaining (more so than I remember the first time watching it). I think in ten years John Malkovich has a real chance to become the Christopher Walken of the generation, a man who wanders from quirky role to quirky role, exciting audiences with his mere presence (Rounders anyone?).

Also, Video of the Week will return this week. I know there are those that hanker for the type of irony-dipped jerkishness that forms the roots of this here blog, so yes it shall return in burning glory.

John Feinstein & Red Auerbach - Let Me Tell You a Story

2007-08-26T16:52:00.000-07:00

Fresh on the heels of the supremely awesome On Snooker, we here at the Taste wanted to give some more sports book a chance. We accidentally stumbled on this book and picked it up, breezing it through it in a handful of days.
Unlike Richler's offering, this book lacked that writing flair that helped to illuminate the finer details of the game and the personalities involved. There is no attempts at metaphor or larger themes here. There's not even a break from the straight forward linear nature of traditional biographies. Instead, the book is a flat read, a A to B road map through Red Auerbach legendary basketball career.
That's not to say the subject matter isn't interesting. The stories that are bundled and re-told as casual oral passings are often hilarious and always do well the broaden the understanding of the man and the culture of professional sports. But too often Feinstein intrudes on the text to reminds us, yet again, what a great man Auerbach was, often dictating adjectives onto him when the stories Auerbach tells do a much better job.
The best parts of the book are where Auerbach actually talks nuts and bolts of coaching. It is wildly interesting to us to know his thoughts on practice frequency, personnel relationships, even timeouts (when to call them, when not to). As a basketball head, we enjoyed the tiny details we don't often get to see.
Overall, a middling book that was interesting only because we enjoy basketball so much.

C-

A Multitude of Thoughts on Numerous Things

2007-08-22T09:21:00.000-07:00

There has been a lot culture experienced recently at the Taste, events and works of art that transcend even "Hero". Given a little free time before the job starts, we've had the pleasure to sit down, think about how much we like the royal we (so regal!), and read some books.

First, while in B.C. I finished The Time Traveller's Wife. We know this is a Oprah Book Club type thing but we had it on a recommendation and, frankly, there's been too much serious poetry lately. We will say this though: the book was a surprisingly enchanting read. In fact, it made us happy that a book with a relatively complicated logic, sci-fi and structure was able to be so popular. The chapters are each divided into spaces of time, defined only by how old the two main characters (Henry, the time traveller, and Clare) are; so Clare ages as a normal person would but Henry jumps around from his future life into the past of Clare (and sometimes himself). The story is well told enough to suck most readers in (though the writing is pretty standard fair). It was impressive how clearly the author was able to define "what is possible" in the story, explain it, and make it plausible enough that it didn't get sucked into the silliness that time travel usually descends into (for examples see: Leap, Quantum). Plus, we're romantics and this story is, after all, a love story. A very sad one, even when you know the ending the whole time.

Secondly, we're making our way through the tiny On Snooker by the incomparable Mordecai Richler. We'll be honest: we think snooker is pretty stupid, mostly because we're not that good at any types of billiards. But this book is an example of sports writing at it's best. There's is a wide authorial knowledge base and Richler is not scared of quoting other sources where there's gap in his own knowing. There's lots of biographical information, told in the standard Richler dark humour, that progresses the dry parts of rules and mechanics very quickly. More than this though, the book and the game of snooker, is not presented linearly as Richler jumps from rules to players, to personal experience, giving great pace to the work and make it very very readable.

Lastly, J and I (J and we?) wandered down to the Yorkdale theatre and saw Superbad. Before we begin we do have to say don't ever trust Google Maps with your life. The map totally fucked us up and we almost ended up on Lansdowne. Lansdowne! Where there's only skeezy Coffee Times and rat eating children-spawns. Luckily we found it and avoided all hell-on-earth showdowns. ANYWAYS the movie is really really funny. You can read about a hundred reviews telling you the general plot and that characters are the center, the fun is in getting there, etc etc so I'm not going to go back over that. Jonah Hill has some of the best comedic timing we've seen in a long while (just listen to him rant at the Home EC teacher) and placed beside Michael Cera, who stutters and jumbles his jokes, he comes off as a blazing, arrogant likable jerk. Mainly, I'm just happy that comedy is starting to move away from its standard set pieces (there's a slutty girl, a good looking guy, a horny guy etc) and into humour that is *gasp* unexpected in its delivery and execution. That's not say this movie is random in the same way that Family Guy is, but that it is hard to see the jokes before you're in the middle of them. There was maybe three easy jokes made throughout the movie and the rest were quick jabs from the sides, burst of funny that rattled you while you were looking elsewhere. Really wonderfully funny.

In closing, The Simpson's Movie might have been the least funny thing I've seen in a long time. To clear the mouth of its bad taste I watched Mr. Tarkanian a few times.

VIDEOS OF THE WEEKS!!!!111ONE

2007-08-17T07:37:00.000-07:00

Fans of The Taste will recognize this video before the third note is done. It is a natural fit to VotW because a) it's a pretty sappy/terrible song (right down to the breathy, desperate ending) strung along a convoluted story line b) it has a marginal celebrity with large breasts trying to act (someone needs to remind actors/actresses that acting within music videos only makes you look stupid. Stick to dancing and mouthing lyrics) c) Enrique Iglesias getting the shit kicked out of him, an action nearly every guy, girl and tranny I've ever met has wanted to do.
So yes, this may be the prototype but let's not ignore the finer points of "Hero". I'm always tickled that Iglesias must insist that he makes out with a girl way out of his league in every video (see also: Anna K., the chick from The OC). Enrique DEMANDS that gorgeous women make out with him and he WILL pay them accordingly.
Second, he's wearing a fucking toque in the desert because he thinks it makes him look badass when really he only looks like a weeny. Pay close attention to the part with piano then refer to above point about acting (He's so overwhelmed by sadness...or is it heat exhaustion?! In fact carry that question throughout as Iglesias moans and pouts his way along).
The best part is the menacing gang lead by some Gary Busey look-alike. He has just the right blend of mafia and badass ugly. Which brings us to our final lesson: Enrique Iglesias is a lover not a fighter. You can kick the crap out of him and he'll just tell you he wants to hold you. He just wants to hold you. Let him be your hero.

Clarification

2007-08-05T05:59:00.000-07:00

So I posted a lengthy recap of my Hillside experience over at the Torontoist and am getting a bit of feedback, most surprisingly from one of the band members (Natalia Yanchak) of the Dears. In the review I say that The Dears were "audience passive," adding I didn't really think they cared for audiences.

I should introduce these remarks by saying I like The Dears a good deal (and also included "Pinned Together, Falling Apart" on one of my podcasts). They make exactly the kind of music I like: long, jammy, instrumental-heavy songs that go through wonderful waves of change and pace. In fact, I re-read my comment on the Torontoist and probably should have expanded a bit on their set as I come off as dismissive and kind of a dick.

What I meant by the comment was that, despite their solid set, the group never really played to the specific crowd at all. That's not to say that they have to be a "merch machine" just that a band shouldn't play the same set to a bar in Windsor (the last place I saw them) as you do headlining a festival with tens of thousands of people watching. It wasn't so much that I was looking for banter, just some acknowledgment of the venue and the crowd gathered. Even a nod towards the other performers or something that said they understood what kind of show they were putting on. The same thing happened at the Windsor show, where despite the more intimate setting, the band blazed through their set way too fast (after going on late) and left the audience kinda disappointed. It's sad because I do think The Dears are one of the strongest and coolest rock ROCK bands in Canada and I just wanted a bit more.

(WARNING: the following paragraph contains "feelings" and will resemble a blog briefly. Feel free to skip over it. ) But this is the problem I'm learning with reviewing (on top of the others I'm struggling with). You're going to upset the people you admire. I'm doing books at a fairly regular rate now for a number of different places. Not only am I meeting the authors (and hanging out in a social setting) but also meeting the publishers and the promoters. This lends itself to a certain amount of awkwardness as I want to be critical and state what I mean (otherwise there is no point to reviewing), but at the same time, I can't go too far for fear I'll offend the person I know. Torontoist is a wierd site in this way because they want the detachment that comes with "serious" journalism (because they want to be part of the media) but also thrive on the subjectivity of constant cultural interaction. The personal opinion of pieces there have little to do with the "I" (which I got burned for in the Hillside piece) and moe to do with the "collective I" (which sounds oxy-moronic but I mean how each individual person experiences roughly the same popular culture and how we as individuals interact with these collective cultural touchpoints (i.e. advertising, music, TV) knowing that everyone else is also interacting with them on their own terms). In the end, no one writing emerges from the site with a distinctive opinion and the individual writers run the risk of getting thrown under the bus for having one. But so it goes.

So yes, interesting morning. Leaving for B.C. tonight and by this time tomorrow I'll hopefully be catching up with all the landscape, family and friends I've missed.

Hillside and the Aftermath

2007-07-31T09:28:00.000-07:00

Let's just say it was a long road back to the comfy non-hippy confines of the palace on Delaware, a strange road with much eco-friendly and solar/child turbine powered goodness. The festival, even after skipping Friday, was intense, an overwhelming amount of people and sun and music, delicious instances, completely draining in others. Many thanks to Bill for actually getting me there, despite the rickety Smart Car rented to us. Yes, a Smart Car. On the 401. There is nothing as ridiculous as two men in a Smart Car. The mere sight of the thing would send me into fits of giggles.
But enough of that. Without Bill's backstage goodness (he was invited to read from apostrophe) I might have died. I can't explain how lovely it was to go around everyone waiting in beer and water lines, go backstage and sit in the shade unfettered by elbows and (most) body odour.

Highlights of the trip include (but are not limited to):
- The whole Smart Car debacle, including the blasting of any kind of metal off the ipod. I tell you, I've never felt more silly/liberated (Also, Bill bought a raffle ticket to win a Smart Car shortly after we arrived. I would lose my shit if that someone worked out).
- The music was fantastic. The workshops were probably better than most of the shows. They would get a bunch of people from different bands, shove them under a tent and let them jam out. The Dya Singh - Bebop Cowboys tent was one of the most surreal, yet supremely awesome, experiences I've had with live music. Picture bluesy Indian music. Toss those in with The Band workshop/singalong and the Gospel Hour and a Half on Sunday. Really great to see some many really good musicians relaxing and having fun.
- The top two shows were Rock Plaza Central's set (who played the Scream gala and are slowly becoming THE Indie darlings) on Saturday and The D-Ubbervilles on Sunday. Most of the performances on the mainstage were swallowed up by the size of the venue (include Do Make Say Think and The Dears. Aside the drummer in The Deers, I wasn't even sure any of that band knew it) but on the side tents the crowds were more intimate and more involved in the show. Check out this link to see my new favourite song.
-The sheer madness of trying to catch the last shuttle bus home Saturday night. We missed the two heading out, the last while one unnamed band member chased the bus begging to at least leave the hash if we had to wait an hour for the next. This was followed up by Colin (of the Cloak and Dagger) sneaking us into the lighting guy's party, grabbing us some beers and hanging around with The Dears (who I was never actually ballsy enough to introduce myself to). Bonus points because, despite leaving after us, The Dears found a wormhole and beat us to the Hotel (were in fact smoking and waiting when we pulled up).
- The countless bandanna wearing skinny hippy kids who feel that clothes oppress them. Seriously fellas, The Man doesn't care.
- The food was great. I got these delicious dumplings with some sort of garlic and coriander sauce I'm still dreaming about. Also, BBQ corn on the cob! Yeah!

Overall, unfathomably good times. The music was great, the people and bands were great and, Smart Car removed, it was cool beyond belief.

For info and repeated jokes, have a lookie at the article I wrote at the Torontoist.

VIDEO OF THE WEEK

2007-07-16T16:06:00.000-07:00

This week's selection was a toss up between a multitude of Salt and Peppa songs, but like all the hard decisions in my life, the tie breaker came down to the inclusion of VotW alumni En Vogue. The song is of course "Whatta Man," a video which set the template for every group/party dance video: there's a lot of rowdy dancing and roof raising and mostly everything has the gleam of overt lavishness. More than anything, particularly the girl who starts rapping at the beginning of the son, kind of makes me yearn for Lisa "Left Eye" Lopez, the super cute gal from TLC and that pseudo rap she throws down in "Waterfalls".
I will say this though: Salt and Peppa, oddly enough, were a god send to white boys with minimal dance skills. Their songs (especially including "Shoop") are so basic and awesomely simplistic in their baselines that any half wit can bounce along in rhythm to them. Many high school dances were passed this way, pretending I could dance and blessing S&P with all of my little heart.
But enough bad nostalgia. There are a few poems over at j's otherclutter by myself. In addition, my first article on the Torontoist has been posted. Take a look!
In the near future I'll also be writing on Katherine Parrish's lovely texting blog. Keep a look out: most likely there will be a review, somewhat belated, of Lisa Robertson's The Men (though I've been tempted lately to review her Soft Architecture book)

Scream: C'est Fine aka The Hypothesis Post

2007-07-10T15:09:00.000-07:00

The Taste was derailed for a long week of hellaciously awesome literary-ness but we are back! Garbled french aside, we have to say that the Scream was absolutely dominatory. The panels, the criticism and science-poetry nights, were both excellent; it really excites me to no end to have hyper intelligent discussion of poetry and the panelists did nothing but rock the shit. Last night's Scream in High Park was decidedly sweet, anchored by Roy Miki killing people with 5 minute hilarious preambles to his poems and Rachel Zolf delivering a bullet quick and deliciously overwhelming reading. The highlight of the Festival had to have been the Booklength Reading. Set against the dipping sun outside at the Brickworks, Chris Dewdney blended perfectly into the landscape with the gorgeous and sensual language of The Natural History. I will never see anything like that reading again. It was awe-inspiring.
But today we crashed back to earth, fueled by four hours of half drunk sleep. Riding the bus an interesting hypothesis came to mind:
Hypothesis:Spoken word poetry is the literary equivalent of country music

Proof:Watching Shane Koyczan put on a show last night it struck me that spoken word has the same sneaky draws of modern country music.

1)Both rely on a weird and blatant sort of sentimentality to power the work (a sentimentality you don't see anyone even trying in any other forms of decent poetry). In fact, almost everything about spoken word is oddly transparent, right down to the humour and constant self-deprication.
2)Both are pushed to the fringes of the mainstream media. Granted poetry itself is pushed to the far edges of media coverage, but spoken word is pushed to the fringes of poetry circles; similarly, country music barely gets any recognition from mainstream music mags or radio stations.
3) Both are decidedly un-cool. I mean no offense here because I actually enjoy a good chunk of country music, but liking slam poetry or country music does not get you into any good parties.
4) It's fucking freaky how many people actually like it once it all boils away. Middle America swallows millions of middling country albums, forcing Wal Mart to carry it on a special stand-alone section. And Koyczan got the biggest cheers last night, even before he read a single word. It was obvious he drew a giant contingency to the show.

Conclusion:While Slam poetry is not really my bag (I have seen WAY too many terrible slam poets to give it any sturdy cred within my head) I can more or less understand the draw of it. I mean Koyczan was damn entertaining. But give me a Dwight Yokam record any day of the week.

As one last note, I'll be posting to the torontoist once a week or so, so keep checking over there for more Taste-y goodies.

VIDEO OF THE WEEKS!!!!11

2007-07-02T19:46:00.000-07:00

Yes it's been a while Dear Reader, but not through any lost love on my behalf. I do insist that i value you, Dear Reader, in biblical sorts of ways. The Scream Literary Festival kicks off tomorrow, and as such, I've been up to my tits in work.
So, because I will not be able to touch this site until at least July 10th, I leave you with probably THE prototypical Video of the Week. Nothing embodies the spirit of this magical beast called The Taste quite like a droning, madly depressing song, that was famous for exactly ten minutes (a CD I was, not surprisingly, tricked into buying). The video is oddly arty/surreal though the song is oddly mesmerizing. Perfection indeed.
So, Dear Readers, I bid farewell till a few 'morrows. Let's meet back here in a week.

MOVIES I HAVEN'T SEEN!!!!

2007-06-22T10:34:00.000-07:00

1408 staring John Cusak and Sam L. Jackson

The movies begins with a long establishing shot of a hotel looking over a creepy and foreboding river. John Cusak, playing the character of Jimmy Tingles, scoffs at said hotel and struts inside, casually carrying a ghetto blaster and the hearts of every woman over 40 under his arm. Inside he meets Sam Jackson, playing Lenny McFlylord, who runs the hotel and proceeds to give up exactly five minutes of acting before he realizes that's enough to get his name on the movie poster. Lenny starts laughing uncontrollably and the camera does lots of close ups of odd objects like chandeliers and candle holders.
So Jimmy settles into room 1408 and immediately the TV starts going crazy, the radio goes wonky and so on. There's also an old woman who wants him to write him a book and a rabid dog chasing each other around the room, both of which Tingles calmly handles by recommending The Beta Band then making a snide remark about Peter Frampton.
As more ghosts, oddly enough all women, begin to show up Cusak runs the gambit of "aw shucks" charm, seducing one woman who claims to start fires with her mind by telling her he's a hit man then inviting her to his high school reunion. Strangely enough, the only ghost that escapes his trickery is Jane Horsey (played by Joan Cusak); Tingles, in a bold attempt to subdue her, makes out with her for an uncomfortably long period of time. Eventually she fades back into obscurity.
The movie ends with a new ghost showing up, luring Tingles in with the script to Music and Lyrics II. When Tingles reaches out to grab the script the ghost grabs his arm and drags him down into hell where Tingles and Hugh Grant share some transvestites and form a production company dealing solely in romantic comedies and snuff films.

VIDEOS OF THE WEEK!!!!11

2007-06-18T18:28:00.000-07:00

A lot of people give Nickelback flack for writing the same song over and over. And they should; Nickelback is not very good and all their songs sound vaguely similar (i.e. like Creed crossed with prairie farmer only without an ounce of irony). But 50 cent, that rapscallion, is guilty of the same sin.
Exhibit A: "Magic Stick" a song about giving head and stuff. Pretty standard bravado club strut song. Listen to the chorus. Keep that chorus and beat in your head.
Exhibit B: "Candy Shop". Fast forward past the posing with the expensive car I can't spell and listen to the hook. It's the fucking same! The same beat, the same cadence, the same delivery. It even has the same breathy girl alternating with the vocals in the background.
Not only this, but "Candy Shop" is the reason why more 16 year old girls listen to popular rap music now than anyone else. J-Kwon and 50 Cent and all these other commercial rappers took a clever and intense genre and turned it into baby food. This is nonsensical drivel, the kind of arrogant strutting that does nothing but establish bad clothing trends (bulletproof vests what!)
Anyways, take notes and leave your observations in the comments.

Ralph Steadman - Joke's Over

2007-06-17T12:01:00.001-07:00

The reading schedule has been kinda packed here at The Taste, as I'm having to string together a few reviews for the Danforth while dancing the Screaming dance. But I have found time to squeeze in a book that I've been eyeballing for a long time.
Joke's Over is Steadman's (not Oprah's) pseudo memoir of the artist's encounters with Hunter S Thompson. To be honest, when I first saw the book, I was more interested in Steadman's vicious and perverse drawings but hot damn if this isn't well written, a ball of momentum and chaos that rolls larger and larger the longer the two's relationship lasts.
What I really enjoy so far about the book is the other side of the story the artist tells. Everyone knows the Thompson side, the rambling drug fueled madness he depicts, the Duke persona he shrouds himself in. Yet, reading this book, Thompson often comes off as the sane one, the one keeping his head, all the while inducing mild mischief. It is Steadman instead who is out of control, drawing his hideous drawings of people, scarring them to the point of offending them. It is Thompson in fact who pulls the two out of dangerous situations time and time again, Hunter the hero.

And as far as the writing goes, this is Steadman taking the Gonzo style and tweaking it for his own cause. He quotes Faulkner's statement that "the best fiction is far truer than journalism" and applies this throughout. The book turns into a really entertaining exercise in myth building and story telling. The sentences pile into each other at great speeds, the descriptions as sharp as any of the lines in Steadman's sketches. With this speed comes an overwhelming of the reader and whether the events that took place happened the way they are told becomes less important as getting the story out, quickly before anyone arrests him.
The best part: I'm only a hundred pages in. I can't wait to read the rest.

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!111!!!

2007-06-12T16:48:00.001-07:00

When I started this feature there was only one real rule: no easy videos. That meant no Hanson, no Backstreet Boys etc. But I just got so excited when I heard that the Spice Girls finally were digging the old platform shoes and union jack dresses out of the closet and reuniting I couldn't resist.
The hardest part about this was choosing one of their videos. honestly, I came through with this one because it's slow and stupid and sappy. I have no clue why some sped up city is the backdrop or what studio filter they had to put these gals' voices through but this is a glorious trainwreck. Green screen WHAT!
But really the discussion you, dear reader, and I should be having is what kind of "Spice Girl" are you? There's something for everyone: the kinda trampy former nude posing redhead. There's the sporty gal that looks a touch too manly. There's the too old girl they are desperately pushing as blond jailbait. There's the icy brunette that would look right at home stomping a hamster in highheels as part of a snuff film. And like any good phone commercial trying to show diversity, they have a black girl who looks ready to destroy shit.
Feel free to leave your comments below yo.

Emily Schultz - Joyland

2007-06-11T11:11:00.000-07:00

The business end first: there is a new review of Emily Schultz wonderful Joyland over at inknoire. Further, the Scream now has tickets for the Christopher Dewndey book-length reading and dinner avaliable at our store. I tell you, it's going to be one heck of a good time. Also, while you're there check out the event listings for the other scream events. Gala! Launch! Poetry Panels! Readings! Ya!
But in terms of more grave business, the Cleveland Cavs are playing like my high school badmiton team and getting absolutely throttled by the Spurs. Don't let the two end of game spurts fool you: neither game one or two were that close and the Spurs are by far and away the superior team. It's actually pretty gross watching the coaching mismatch as Brown stubbornly sticks to his starting line-up despite Hughes moving slower than a walking zombie being followed by Big Z. Duncan is killing peoples and Lebron is missing lay-ups and getting frustrated. I don't know. I still think Cleveland gets game 3 but only because it's homecourt. Then again I could see them getting their throats stepped on and losing by twenty. I am in the process of waving goodbye to the Cavs, a team not really good enough to make the Finals and proving they're definetely not good enough to stick around long.
As a final note, Knocked Up review is coming...maybe. I went to Pacific mall and got a 4 dollar bootleg DVD of it to watch again, so mayhaps, once I settle down with that, further thoughts will come. But don't let that stop you from seeing the thing. Do it!

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!!11

2007-06-05T06:20:00.000-07:00

Normally this space goes to the dregs of the video world, the Jimmy Rays who proudly sing their own name into the pool of narcissism, the Madonnas who love to get in their controversy machine and drive recklessly, the Lionel Richies who molest blind students and force them to make busts of their jheri curled heads. But this week is different my friend.
"Hot for Teacher" is cheeky and entertaining and just self referential enough to make this infinitely re-watchable. Some may argue this was Van Halen's swan song and while I may not disagree I definitely don't disagree.
I mean listen to that opening drum line! Where have you gone Eddie, crawling all over tables and playing your crazy guitar. David Lee, come back you manic pervert!
So sit down Waldo and enjoy the video.

Cavs - Spurs Peview

2007-06-03T13:48:00.000-07:00

For anyone who enjoys basketball, these playoffs have been up and down. Nothing could top that first Dallas-Golden State series in terms of energy and incredible atmosphere; the best basketball I've seen all season was that PHX-SAS series. At the same time, there has been some extreme garbage, namely the Nets-Cavs series and of course the Raptors bowing out in round 1.
The postseason has been uneven at best, but it would have been terrible if Detroit managed to get past Cleveland. A Spurs-Pistons final rematch would have been an ugly affair, the sort of bad shooting, high defensive struggle that scares all but the most loyal fans away (see the Rockets-Knicks final from a decade ago for a glimpse). Not only that, but it would have been my two least favorite teams playing (again!) for the championship. But alas, Detroit, like the factories the city survives on, were exposed as dinosaurs, beasts of incredible agility and savagery, but lacking the intelligence to survive. Now Cleveland and Lebron will draw in the casual viewer (at least for games 1 and 3) and the NBA will not have to suffer the indignity of having their WNBA games draw better ratings.
As for the series, I don't think it will be all that close. SAS in five. The cold fact of things is that Mike Brown in a shitty, shitty coach and Popovich will pull his pants down on every occasion. I have never seen someone mismanage a Finals team like Brown, between odd substitution patters, horrendous timeouts and bad offensive design. More than this, the Spurs match up very well: Parker negates Gibson (the one guy in my previous post on the Raps-Cavs game I saw that I was impressed with); a wobbly Hughes, who hasn't hit two shots in a row in a year, is a non factor; Ginobli and Bowen can harass LeBron, Z moves way too slow to be a factor outside six fouls and a few rebounds. The Cavs are much more athletic but the Spurs are savvy enough to slow them down into a halfcourt offense (where the only play they run is clear out for Lebron while he launches bad jumpers) and make each of them work double hard on the defensive side of things. And Lebron will be hit. And if Lebron isn't scoring it'll take a small miracle, like Gibson's 31 last night, to even stay close. The Spurs have shown now that they can be chippy, that they will batter people around.
The bottom line though: the Spurs are older (not old like Detroit or Miami) and smarter. I see Lebron stealing one game, most likely game 3 in Cleveland and then the Spurs walking all over them the rest of the time. It hurts but it's true.

* As a final note, I've downloaded Game 5 of that series and it fantastic. God bless the NBA downlaod store. Also saw Knocked Up and can't recomend it highly enough. It was a lot of fun. Most likely there will be more on the movie later...

Axl Rose is Leaky

2007-06-01T13:38:00.001-07:00

Now we here at the Taste are not ones to make fun of a band for hyping an album for a decade then not delivering. There is no comedic elements in that dead horse my friends so let's let it be.
However, someone in the G&R camp is semi smart: almost on a calender "new" versions of songs (songs they have been playing live for years now) show up on the internet. Now the ones I was listening to are pulled down now so i can't link but let me tell you a few things about what I heard:
1) They are not very good. With the exception of the slower stuff ("The Blues") this is noise without a hook. What made the orginal running of G&R so good was the songwriting. Though not flashy, it was catchy and loud and more often than not obnoxious. The songs here, especially "Madagasar" are just kinda clangy and without any sort of hooking rhythm.
2)Axl Rose is not very good. The vocals on these tracks are, at best, sub par. now granted these are rough releases but goddam there is some bad screeching on here. Be warned.
3)Slash is missed dearly. Not only is he a strong guitar player but the riffs and tone are solely missing here. The solos feel shoehorned in, like they thought it wouldn't be a G&R song without a solo so they slapped one in there. Again, with the exception of "The Blues" the songs are mishmashed, uneven and more than disappointing.
I'm sure all this will be fixed by the next month when a new round is leaked followed by a round of blog headlines reading "Where's Chinese Democracy LOL OMG ROFL". I'm bubbling with excitement.

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!!!1111!

2007-05-28T06:20:00.001-07:00

This comes to you from a time and place where people thought it was necessary to put every ridiculous effect into songs just because they could. Here we are treated especially to the "sand in the wind over exposure effect" a stream of color that follows the Jackson 5 everywhere like dogged rumours of pedophilia.
But the real reason I chose this was not because of the video. Truthfully it's bad, but ultimately forgivable as it doesn't try to do anything fancy and just sticks to the moneymaking moves of a young Michael (look at him spin and dance!) The dancing white shoes MIGHT be a bit much, but honestly at least they weren't trying to shoehorn this song through the filter of an epic WWII love story or a blind student making sculptures. It's a boogie song and they are getting down in boogie town.
I chose this because it's a terrible and completely laughable song. He can't control himself, the boogie has him! In a super trance! You can't blame it on gravity or shoeshine, it's the boogie!
This defense was of course tried at James Bedrek's murder trail shortly after the song was released. Though the courtroom broke out into a delicious dance number, he was still given the electric chair.

Bright Eyes w/ Gillian Welch & Oakley Hall - May 22, Massey Hall

2007-05-26T07:04:00.000-07:00

It’s weird how you find places in Toronto that are obviously famous but you had no real clue. I’m constantly showing up for shows at places where some of my favorite artists have done live albums: Neko Case did hers at Lee Palace, Stevie Ray Vaughn at the El Macambo, Neil Young at Massey Hall.
I can see now the appeal of Massey Hall: it’s an old time theatre, a gorgeous and high ceiling acoustic wet dream that sucks vocals and instrumentals in and nestles them to listener’s ears. If you can ignore the obvious difference in seating (i.e. the top rows get hard ass wooden seats while the bottom two levels get cushions of luxury) Massey Hall is as fine a place to hear rock music as anywhere.
We showed up late only to find Oakley Hall rocking out in a 7 person country jam. This trend of having massive amount of band members is starting to get really annoying. Don’t get me wrong, I love the layered sounds and the intricate noodlings the different instruments can provide in the studio (for instance, electric fiddles, lap guitar and piano) but it’s extremely hard to pull off the rich textured sound live. Oakley Hall, though the choruses bounced (enough to tempt me into downloading their music for further listening), were just way too cluttered. There’s no real need to have three guitars on a song that has two fiddles a drummer, vocals and a bass player; the results, except for the intro to the last song of their set, were a distracting mishmash of noise that occasionally broke out into recognizable instrumental lines.
This was in direct contrast to Gillian Welch, who came out with her acoustic guitar (and sometimes banjo) and her husband David Rawlings and played wonderfully sparse and intimate songs. Welch shrunk the venue down, dragged the audience towards her delicate finger pickings and amazing voice. She played a lot of old favorites off The Revelator album, all underlined by the foot-stomping rhyme and Rawlings stunning guitar work. The obvious highlight was “Time (The Revelator)” which the duo turned into a patient and winding 10 plus minute jam, with Rawlings playing a truly ridiculous solo. My favorite was their rendition of “Elvis Presley Blues” a song that has an odd magical quality for me. There is something in the lyrics and the subdued vocals, the image of Elvis shaking it like a chorus girl, that draws me in, transport me instantly to a time of early rock and roll.
Bright Eyes received the largest cheers of the night, playing loud and smart songs with completely unconventional song writing. Much has been made of Conor Oberst’s musical resemblance to Bob Dylan (a parallel which, no offense, is probably more hopefully thinking than anything) but it is easy to see the connection: Bright Eyes is an intelligent band, one that relies instead of lyrical power and lack of a catchy song structure. Almost every single song (with the exception of “Lua” which Welch and Oberst played in an awesome encore) strays far away from a chorus and instead demands a musical trajectory that doesn’t loop back into refrain constantly but instead winds crookedly forward until its climax.

I’ve always enjoyed Oberst’s off center voice (especially in the white suit get up he talked around the stage in) and he didn’t disappoint, yelling and cracking through songs, crooning through others. But the band suffered from the same thing Oakley Hall did: there was just too much going on. The symphony section was often drowned out, as was the lead guitar and when all the instruments got going it was just too solid a wall of sound to break through. On top of that there was a guy playing around with a projection screen behind the stage that, while pretty cool, was also kind of distracting.
But it was only after I was out walking the streets and began humming the stray notes caught in my head that I realized how much I enjoyed the show as a whole. Though it was impressively long (almost 4 hours) the music, especially Welch, was wonderfully original and compelling, the kind of music that resonates in every song you hear for weeks on end after.

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!1

2007-05-22T09:55:00.000-07:00

There is nothing like shameless self promotion like including your own name in the title, verse and chorus of your own song. It's so wonderfully narcissistic I'm going to call my first book "Aaron Tucker's book about Aaron Tucker and other things that have to do with Aaron Tucker". It's a long title but workable.
But ignoring the philosophy of the song, how exactly does this stand up? Well, after watching this video again (it's been a solid gap of maybe ten years now) I forgot how slimy Jimmy looks. He looks like a cross between a greased up cowboy and an oil slick . Still double dutch is cool, giant belt buckles are cool, dancing girls in football jerseys are cool, walking on every surface in tight pants is cool. Sometimes. But not so much here in combination.
If anything, this gives us a valuable glimpse into an alternate future where the Nazis won and we were bombarded with souped up honky tonk as pop music.

Wilco – Sky Blue Sky

2007-05-20T11:51:00.000-07:00

There are two camps when it comes to liking Wilco. There is the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot people, those who enjoyed the jaunty pop tunes and exceptional arrangement and instrumentals of that album. In turn, these same people tended to hate A Ghost is Born, mostly because all the catchy hooks were “ruined” by miles of guitary distortion. The other camp generally think the Yankee group is a bunch of no taste hooligans and was happy, nay thrilled, to have A Ghost is Born deliver jammy and wonderfully excessive tunes*.
Well thankfully the fine diplomats that created Sky Blue Sky have released an album that falls almost perfectly in between. Anchored by Jeff Tweedy’s muffled guitar and throaty vocals, Sky is a delicious blend of rock-pop and jam out goodness. The most obvious example is “Impossible Germany” which combines hushed vocals with a quick chorus, all followed by a surprisingly contained (and stunning) Neil Young style solo towards the end. If there was any complaint to be had about Ghost, it was that it was a bit indulgent in some the songs, allowing the instrumentals to overpower the songs that loses listener interest in parts. Unlike “Spiders (Kidsmoke),” “Impossible Germany” balances the instrumental with the vocal, creating a well rounded song that refuses to drag on in any parts (despite being 6 minutes long).
The other standout tracks on the record are licked with steel guitar, piano and spectacular songwriting: “You Are My Face” is similarly outstanding, the sort of tune that demands a loud live sing-along. “What Light” and “Side with the Seeds” are slower, more moody tunes, tinged with country stylings, the kind you find yourself involuntarily swaying to. The best parts of these songs are the inevitable build and pay off, the progression of the songs. This is an element of song writing that is lost in so much of contemporary rock, where too often songs are contained by the verse-chorus-verse repetitive structure. The songs here are not static songs, but ones that rollick forward, pulling notes, chords and phrases in unpredictable fashions.
I can’t really repeat enough how enjoyable this album is. I’ve listened to it a half dozen times through already (in three days) and will be a definite staple in the musical rotation.

A-

*I am in the Ghost camp. There are others I know that like Foxtrot more, but to be fair, his favorite song is "Fast Car".

Vote for Machina

2007-05-19T09:42:00.000-07:00

Forever Friends for Life of the GoT, Machina, have just been nominated for the Vancouver Seeds contest but on by CFOX in Vancouver. Winners get all sorts of attention and press support and gosh darn it Machina deserves it. So go vote here and listen to further songs here.

Shameless Self Promotion

2007-05-18T13:38:00.001-07:00

Before I get into the new Wilco album (which, in many parts, is dominating) I wanted to point those intrigued to The Danforth Review, where I have just published an essay. Trust me, it's the finest 15 minutes (or less!) that you'll spend not thinking about chewing/breathing.
Also wanted to recommend Emily Shultz's Joyland. It's a great read accentuated by the gorgeous black and white drawings that separate each chapter. Most likely there will be a more hefty review of the book, but for now just know I enjoyed it so.
Before I go, I also have to laud the tremendous download store over at NBA.com. Well potentially tremendous. You can now download this year's playoff games (and last year's finals) for a scant $3 a game. Eventually, the NBA's plan is to digitize all the games (or meaningful ones) they have on tape and offer them all for sale but for now this is quite the commercial-free teaser. I spent the last few days walking Golden State come back against the Mavericks in an absolutely insane Oracle Arena in Oakland; I've watched the Nets-Suns shootout from earlier this year and still have three more games on tap (the least of which in a chunk of the Spurs-Suns series, including game 4).Goddam I'm excited to get old games! My first requests will probably be a lot of those old Penny Hardaway magic games, maybe their run to the finals when Anderson bricked four straight free throws and Horry tore my heart out. Hot damn!

Video of the Week !!!!!11

2007-05-16T15:38:00.000-07:00

Now, I know you're probably going to hate having this song in your head for the next day, but honestly is there another video that fits the criteria of VotW? This is a stupid song that is only marginally catchy by a near unpronounceable band who faded as quick as they came. I used to call this song "the perfect storm" but then everyone thought I was referring to that boating movie.
The things I love about this video: one, it's obvious that these guys are middle age, have been toiling for decade(s) without really getting an exposure and are shocked just to get a video. So excited in fact, that they invited their entire families to pose as band members here. Seriously, what kind of band expects musical efficiency with this many members? Is the megaphone an actual instrument? So, I cant really blame Chumbawumba for grabbing hold of this song and pushing the hell out of it. It bought them 3 minutes of un-obscure existence and I bet they were damn happy for it.
But cheers to "tubthumping", a drinking song that somehow got popular. The next time I'm playing the jukebox game I'ma look for this.

Inknoire - Nerve Squall Review

2007-05-16T08:07:00.000-07:00

There's a fair bit of news concerning inknoire but none bigger than my review of Legris's really wonderful book (Griffin award winning no less) Nerve Squall. It's a very playful and knotted text and I quite enjoyed it so check out the review here. In related news, I'm taking some time off from the site because I'm a tad burnt out. I'll return to inknoire, probably with less frequent book reviews, in a few weeks (though there is rumblings of a longer hiatus).
Some of you may be asking "But Aaron, why hasn't this place been updated?" FRankly that line of questioning is disrespectful and you should be ashamed. Truthfully, I've been gearing myself back up towards this little space here and I think the focus is going to shift in the next few weeks. The first order of business is to get a review of the new Wilco album up and get at least a weekly music review feature back up (along with the long standing tradition of Video of the Week!!!!1).
The Scream festival is tightening into place, so make sure to keep an eye on the website for schedule (soon to be released!) and upcoming events. This year's festival looks to be completely awesome and I'm really looking forward to it. If you want to get on the mailing list email me here.
So stop asking such stupid questions and keep coming back and hopefully there will be more content on the site, more regularly.

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!!11

2007-05-07T13:42:00.000-07:00

This one goes out to Bill, who is the biggest little Madonna fan I know. Usually I try and stay away from 80s videos, but in this case I'll make an exception.
I don't even really know where to start with this video. I'm a sucker for music videos that try and tell a narrative along with the song. It's like kryptonite to me. So naturally I'm drawn to this video about a black christ figure rolling around with Madonna under the guise of exposing racial inequality. I mean, I'm sure she made this video thinking that it could bring people of all colors together, but in execution the video is way too jumbled and jammed with too many controversial topics and images. I mean if you're going to do a video about a black christ, then having sexual relations with said black christ all the while showcasing the inherent badness of rednecks, the burning field of crosses at the end might be a bit too subtle. And what was with the stigmata? Does Madonna really think she's Jesus? or Jesus-like? It's confusing.
The video reeks of the manufactured publicity that comes with shock value entertainment. The final nail: the gigantic bailout at the end having it all be a play. A play?! You are trying to make this gritty and metaphorical video on race relations then at the end back away from it by saying, "Hey, it's not reality, or even clsoe to real. It's metafiction." Come on!

MOVIES I HAVEN'T SEEN!

2007-05-06T08:11:00.000-07:00

Back by popular demand (and Canuck playoff exit). Always this section is reserved for movies I've never actually seen.

Next - Staring Nicholas Cage, Julianne Moore, Jessica Biel

The movie opens with a long voice-over monologue from Cage, playing the character of Steve Future, detailing the different events he's seen before they've happened (because he can see the future!), culminating in his saving a lover from a giant falling chandelier in the lobby of a Las Vegas Casino. The movie then proceeds to spend the next half an hour slowly introducing the character, a regular, down on his luck guy who is more cursed by his powers than blessed. Eventually the viewers are treated to a flashback where Future is shown using his powers for evil, trying to win at cards to pay off medical bills for the headaches he has from his "future visions" and getting beat mercilessly for it.
After the audience is treated to a few gratuitous shots of Beil's cleavage (who is playing Alica Breasts, a top level fast food clerk) who may or may not be Future's daughter, we learn that Gretchen Hardass (Juilanne Moore, a poor man's Gillian Anderson, in a Scully type role) has a top super secret double mission for Future where terrorists from some Russian province are teaming with a Middle Eastern Islamic group to blow up all the good and faithful people of America. Future's mission: to see into the future and stop their plans!
This is of course complicated by the fact that Cage is unable to act with his mouth closed (a condition he has had since Raising Arizona). The movie stops constantly for Future to spit out bugs and other debris from his mouth and for him to utter "Whoa" and openly wish the movie had John Travolta in it. In between shots of Cage's gaping mouth, he dodges large objects like trucks and exploding clowns, stopping to kiss Beil and Hardass every once and while. Eventually the two ladies, very cold to each other at first, become begrudgingly tolerant of each other. Hardass learns to appreciate Beil's fire and passion, her street smarts; Beil likes the fact that Hardass wears suits and talks weird.
The movie ends as Future disables a nuclear bomb meant to blow up the good and patriotic people of America. The closing scene is the saddest of all and Future gasps appropriately: it's a vision of an empty theatre playing Next accompanied by numerous pandering reviews. Tragic.

The Autopsy

2007-05-04T07:15:00.000-07:00

After some sleep I've come back to fully dissect the game and mumble and bitch a bit. After watching about a hundred replays of the Ducks' goal I have no clue how that counted...I didn't realize treating a goalie like a stack of harvest hay was allowed. But still, the Canucks should have been down three or four goals by that point if not for a superhuman performance from Luongo. All I've ever wanted for the Canucks was a goalie that could steal a game (not Cloutier who gave them away) and Luongo is just that. That was one of the better displays of goaltending I think I've ever watched.
As for the rest of the team, they crapped the bed big time. I have no clue how you manage to play so terrible in an elimination game, get a complete bailout from your goalie, then continue to stink. They were atrocious in their own zone, flocking to pucks and throwing out weak clearing attempts. Everyone in the Canuck zone was completely reactionary: not once did I see a defenseman be aggressive and attack the puckcarrier; more often than not the Ducks would skate in clean or dump the puck and the defense would sit and wait until a skater approached them to pass the puck up. There is an exception to be made for the fetus twins, who I didn't actually see in their own end all game, though they did look like they were having a lovely tea party at center ice.
I will say there was a certain magic with Luongo coming out late for that first overtime and I honestly thought "There's no way they lose this now. It's too good a story. This seems like the type of thing that spurs a team." But my optimism was completely unfounded (as per usual).
So what does this mean? It means I've stopped caring about hockey until the next season (couldn't care less about the Senators). I'm also wishing and hoping every night that the Canucks go out and get a top line playmaker from free agency or trading or something. They need someone who can skate and puckhandle and create offense on 5-5 and the bloody powerplay. I don't care if they overspend for him either; they desperately need a playmaker next season. I can't handle this team refusing to step on teams' necks and make everything a one goal game.
In truth, it was a decent, if not terribly disappointing run, and I'll miss exactly one third of this team (further cursing the rest). Goodbye sweet sweet Canucks. See you next year.
In further good news, with a Raptors' lose tonight I can stop caring about basketball for a little bit too (though, in truth I'm much more partial to the sport and my bitterness towards that will last maybe a few days).

r.i.p. canucks 07

2007-05-03T21:43:00.000-07:00

Through no fault of luongo's the canucks are done. perhaps this warrents a bit more coverage being that I've devoted more effort and writing to the subject than anything else lately but I'm tired and am content, sad but content, to write the obit now. They had no business being in overtime, only through a truely sublime preformance from Luongo were they even close. It's frustrating and it's stupid but they are done.

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!11

2007-04-30T17:09:00.000-07:00

In lue of a trash video last week (I plum forgot) I posted one of the better videos I know. No other comments really. Commented out.
That goes double for those rotten bastard Canucks and Raptors. Nothing. They get nothing.

Wow...Wow (In a good way)

2007-04-28T07:33:00.000-07:00

So after feeling completely bummed out after game 1 I settled in with a new heart to watch the game last night. Was that the same team that played Dallas? It must have been because they gave up a ton of chances, but, golly miss molly, I think I saw some offense (despite not being able to convert, especially PP). The Canucks moved the puck, skated well and attacked. A lot of effort and energy and a real pleasure to watch. Willie Mitchell is throwing down in Aaron Man-Love town (in a steady embrace with Luongo) and finally Cowan is rewarded for all the hitting and skating and general good work he's been doing all playoffs. As for the OT goal, pretty garbage, but you have to be good to be lucky as the cliche goes.
The problems still persist. I'm unsure whether Nasland, with one foot in the grave, can have back to back good games. That skate to stick trick was dynamite but I worry he might have blown his wad for the series with that move. Markus, stick around, take off your jacket, drink some punch, play the whole series, you might enjoy yourself. And someone needs to teach the Sedins how to back check (and play in their own zone). They are big kids/fetuses and have no trouble banging people around doing their crazy cycle trick in the offensive zone, but come on, hit someone in your own end. And after Luongo sells his soul in order to make a ridiculous save on Selanne (fast reaching shit-my-pants-scared-everytime-he's-on-the-ice level in this series. I may take out a contract on his head) you bust your ass to tie up the trailer.
A much much much better effort defensively. I think the power play needs a forward on the point. I'm going to say it. It worked really well for Dallas last series with Modano. Why not stick Nasland on the point with Ohland and have them create. Take a chance Vinneualt!
I'm also getting a bit tired/stressed out by this mindset of bend don't break the Canucks seem to be relying on. This is fine if the game is close but if they get into a two goal hole, I'm not sure they have the guns to pull themselves out. They do not play well from behind, get too antsy and nervous, get too easily deflated. That Perry post, had it gone in, would have crippled them. Hopefully this will change a bit with Beiksa and Salo coming back (knock on wood).
As a final note, I've been getting lazy and just stealing pictures from TSN. I'll try to do better.

Nathalie Stephens - Touch to Affliction

2007-04-27T10:38:00.000-07:00

There's a review of Touch to Affliction over at inknoire. It is one of those books that gets in your bones and resonates. I'll be having it close by as I keep on my writing.
In other news, going to Maxex the Ryerson film students screening which should present some good times. Yeah!
Don't forget to cheer for the Canucks tonight. My life may depend on it.

Wow...Wow.

2007-04-26T07:13:00.000-07:00

I know they were without Salo and Beiksa but really. 5-1? The only minor consolation was the early goal (scored first!) by Cowan, but goddam that was a beating. You hate to throw around the word overmatched but...yeah.
But that said it's only game one. I think those two defense men come back and start hammering those stupid little forwards into the boards and the Sedins start attacking the ducks defense men, keep the game close, they might steal home ice advantage. Did I say I wasn't scared of Selanne? I'm a idiot. How old is this guy now? Was he cyrogenically frozen during the strike years? Fuck.
Anyways, what a thing to deal with this early in the morning. I still have hope and will throw out a mean prediction (the most sure fire way to jinx a team) by saying Canucks in 7. Oh gawd.

Canucks- Ducks Preview

2007-04-25T13:00:00.001-07:00

I’m not going to lie to you. I don’t feel entirely comfortable/confident in the Canucks. They pulled themselves out of the nice plot I had dug for them in the Aaron Tucker cemetery (where Robert Horry and Mike Richter lay nicely nestled together) with a wonderfully satisfying win in Game 7 (though I’m still perplexed as to why it took so long to find the fucking ON switch. Did Vinniuet just look at them after the first period and clap, thus activating the Canuck’s collective sensors? Did the room go dark afterwards?). Lordy lordy, they decided to skate the puck into the zone, looked to make easier passes, stopped running Secret Play X (aka dump the puck on net from 40 feet, skate back to your own zone) and (GOSH) drew penalties. I heard the Stars’ coach bitching about the reffing but they got just as many dubious calls for them as the Canucks did (Linden diving?) and just looked completely overwhelmed from the second period to the middle of the third. The Canucks finally showed some stomach so now it’s goodbye Turco, goodbye Modano, goodbye you unforgivable shut down center Stu Barnes. Goodbye good riddance.
Now the Ducks ho ho! I’m petrified of them. They are a carbon copy of Dallas, only they have a much better offense and two absolutely dominating defensemen. However, I think the overall combined strength of the Canuck defense core (minus that bed shitter Bieksa) provides as close to a push in terms of defense the Ducks are likely to see this playoffs (on a side note Willie Mitchell alone is fast approaching Lumme/Hedican on the level of my adoration).
But BUT the Duck’s offense is far far superior to the Canucks. I’ll say it. I’ll be honest. Selanne is looking deadly. But I’m not worried about that guy; I remember watching a first round series where the Canucks played the Jets back when that guy was really hot shit (and Bob Essensa was starting. Represent!) and the Canucks bullied and batted him around until he was rendered completely ineffective. I’m not worried about that guy. I am worried about nearly everyone else on that damn team, especially their speedy, puck handling forwards who are extremely adept at taking those Pronger-Neidermyer point shots and tipping them in. Yet, Luongo is playing at his best (knock on wood) and the Ducks will be hard pressed to crack that nut I hope. Basically all my faith is in the Canuck goalie to steal this series because I just don’t see the Canucks scoring. At all. It may take another three games for them to get their first those rotten bastards.
Therefore the major hinge point of this series will be penalties: who can draw them, can you convert on them? Will you fetus twins? What about you baby-face-time-to-finally-earn-your-money Morrison? Do we need to check Nasland’s back to make sure he’s not skating around with a fork stuck in him? I just don’t know, I just don’t know.

Game 7. I feel Fantastic

2007-04-24T08:05:00.000-07:00

I feel relieved. Very. Further update and talk of the next round to come. I will say kudos to the Canucks for actually skating and playing well. Hazah! Just try not to get killed in the next round please.

The No Frills Post (which has nothing to do with the grocery store)

2007-04-22T09:30:00.000-07:00

I'm angry and bitter at the world in general as both the Canucks and Raptors lost very winnable games yesterday. I am going to keep this very brief so as not to work myself into a fit of rage but some basic notes:
Raptors (gathered from actual phrases yelled at the TV):
1) Grab a fucking defensive rebound. There was four seperate times in the fourth quarter alone where they gave one up and somebody on the Nets ended up drawing a foul from it. GRAB A FUCKING REBOUND. This means you Kris Humpheries. Stop tapping that shit to your gaurds and grab it with two fucking hands.
2) Push the fucking tempo: the only time I thought the Raptors might win was when Caulderon was in, rushing the ball up and creating fast break. Jason Kidd cannot gaurd Ford or Jose, especially in the open court. Run run run.
3) Chris Bosh, go to the fucking hoop! You're faster and better than anyone New Jersey can throw at you. Go quickly or skip the ball across the court. Do not do your jerky fadeaway ugly jumpshot thing you love to do in the post. Fuck!
Canucks (gathered from phrases screamed at the TV, usually accompanied by a projectile)
1) Score a fucking goal. Self explanitory. The only guy skating and hitting last night was Jeff Cowan. Nasland reverted back to his bummy ways and the fetus twins, bless their conjoined hearts, are impotent against that Barnes checking line. Skate the puck, don't try to get too cute and shoot it at the net.
2) Show some fucking balls. This started to happen towards the end of the game. Get scrappy, push people around. Hit someone! This will lead to turnovers and penalties which eventually will lead to goals.
3) Get guys away from the front of the fucking net. Luongo, despite that second goal (which was Ohland's fault for a horendous pass up the middle), is almost positively going to stop the shot. Clear the rebounds, get people out from in front of the net. From there, go back to Pee Wee hockey and learn how to break out of your own fucking zone. Enough of this skate and dump garbage.
In short: a tremdously disapointing day. If the Canucks lose this series they are dead to me. Stone dead.

A Brief Update

2007-04-18T07:56:00.000-07:00

The plight of a displaced West coast boy is a hard one. Despite our best efforts, we couldn't find a bar that had RDS or some backwoods connection to CBC-West that would give us Game 4. Instead we parted ways on Bloor, and I headed home. I stopped in at the crappy bar on the way home, hoping that CBC would show the Canuck game once the Ottawa game was done. No dice. Stupid overlap with the Flames game. So instead I watched the Ducks-Wild under the guise of learning the next round's opponents (knock on wood), hoping that they would break in with Canuck highlights.
Not that there was many: the best play of the game was a Willie Mitchell sweep the puck off the goal-line slide that saved the game from going into overtime again. But again, the canucks got scoring from their other lines (and blue line. Ohland yeah!) and managed to gut out a stingy win. Will anyone score more than three goals again in this series? At any rate, close intense hockey and the Canucks are one game away from the next round.
So I got to see the Wild/Ducks as I said, and for people looking at the Ott-Pits match-up as "good" hockey (fast, skilled, entertaining end to end hockey), you're probably not going to find it in the next round either. The Wild and Ducks, though more offensively potent, are still defensive beasts and still play slow and kinda boring hockey. That said, I think the Canucks will match up well with either: if i had my choice I would rather play the Wild. Backstrum is shaky and they are not a good road team; the Ducks, while having issues with their own goaltending, have the best defensive pairing in the league (though they lack the speed and awesomeness of Gaborik). My point here though, is that the Canucks could take either, especially if Luongo gets some rest from finishing the series early and the Wild-Ducks go 7 (the best case scenario obviously). Now, if only the Sedins start producing on the scoresheet again...

VIDEO OF THE WEAK!!!111

2007-04-17T12:12:00.000-07:00

For those of you patient enough to wait a day, boy have I got a trouble making ball of awesomeness for you. It's Avril! Queen of Mall Punks! Before this song, I could see why people enjoyed her music. Hey, I liked a few of her tunes: they had a melody guided by simple progressions that are easy to get behind, creating an un-complicated pop that is sometimes exactly necessary. In other words, passable but not disgusting. This song and video is disgusting.
I'm not sure why it's suddenly become trendy for all girls to hate girls, but goddamn it it makes for shitty music. Why does every song need to pit some girl angry about some other girl having the boy she wants (see: A. Simpson, JoJo among others)? Has pop degraded into cat fights? Is the right to fight over boys the new mall-feminist mantra?
Along with the tiring and troublesome philosophical backings of this tune, the actual song is shit. Maybe the worst song I've heard all year. And I purposely listen to terrible music for this very feature. The hand clapping is obnoxious, the chorus is herky-jerky, the song is terribly produced as an annoying rip-off of Gwen Steffani.
But for those of you looking for the staples of Canadian pop culture, they are here: the set with a giant pink skull and cross as its background; public bathrooms; shitty haircuts; nerdy girls that are unfairly ostracized to the point where I actually felt bad for the character; of, and of course, Avril pretending she can play guitar by strumming one chord violently.
So what happened Avril? Did you break the part of your brain that recognizes what's tolerable to anyone over the age of 14? This song feels like a maturity regression of roughly ten years. Wow.
Man, this review turned out as catty as this song. Hypocrite city and I'm the mayor!

Odds and Ends (the Canucks and other important thangs)

2007-04-16T09:24:00.000-07:00

After a hard couple of days that included a lot of drinking I decided it would be wise to take a night half off and only listen to the game on the radio from the comfort of my futon. I forgot how much I enjoy listening to hockey on the radio: there was a time when I owned a car and I would drive, windows down (doesn't matter what time of year)and listen to the Canuck broadcast as I zipped down the two lane highway into town. Last night I found myself listening to those same old voices, the high pitched excitement of the announcers fighting with the crowd noise. I found myself much more excited listening to the game: my eyes were useless and I had to imagine the action. I suppose this has been the ago old argument for radio, that it requires a further stretch of imagination and is not nurtured by the benefit of video. It just took me a while to remember that.
At any rate, the Canucks played some of the better hockey I've been privy to them playing in a long while (if you discount the first half of the game). The team was actually skating and *gasp* putting shots on net, finally out shooting the Stars (though Luongo still had to bail them out time after time in the first half). They were aggressive and sleek and finally got some production and regular good shifts out of their second and third lines. As the series wears on and the games get more physical and chippy I can see the Canucks taking a big advantage (lead by that first line) in terms of speed and scoring combined with toughness. And Nasland. Thanks for finding the ON switch in time. His wrist shot has some pop, he's skating and seeing the ice better. Pyatt, bless you and your marvelous shot (with kudos to Smolinski for a nice looking pass).
But since this site need not degrade into me slurping at the genitals of Canucks all the time and since I started this space more as a review site than anything else, let's do that (although briefly). First, I reviewed "Viva Caledonia" over at inknoire last week and I forgot to link to it (there's also a great interview Maranda did over there that is worth more time than my review. Check that out for serious). I've been re-reading books lately. For obvious reasons, I plowed through Slaughterhouse 5. The opening chapter will stand up better than any other chunk of writing Vonnegut did. It's accessible at the same time as being smart and reflexive, forcing the reader to confront the realities of war outside its romantic battles. I love this books for its echos, the "feet like ivory and blue," it's looping structure, the way it could have easily been written yesterday and not lose an ounce of relevancy.
I also just finished re-reading Anne Carson's Autobiography of Red a book wonderfully stunning in its dissection of the novel-poem structure. The odd line breaks, the strict narrative voice, the overarching myth that is conflated so uniquely into a modern retelling- all of these add up to an endlessly fascinating book. I was particularly drawn this time by her use of simple metaphor, the stark comparisons she uses in her actual writing (example: "thuds like melons hitting the ground") against the much larger images she uses to unite the text, yet never really draws full attention to (like the volcano, the myth itself, red, wings). The big themes, the important objects are always there in the background and she resists the temptation to point them out constantly, instead letting the reader let the shadows of those images grow longer and more intertwined.
In the weeks to come there will be a burst on Di Brandt's new book along with a discussion of Ontological Necessities (a review of which is going into the Women's Post). Keep your eyes open!
And for those of you looking for the video of the week, be patient. Be so patient.

Of Canucks and Raptors

2007-04-14T07:28:00.000-07:00

Ahh spring, when the young man's fancy turns to playoffs. Yesterday had the potential to be the Almighty sporting day of the year for me as we managed to sneak tickets on the cheap to the Raptors-Pistons game, from which we would rush to catch the end of the Canucks-Stars.
The Raptors' game was pretty damn fine. For a hockey city, Toronto has really good basketball fans, knowledgeable and fun. More than this, they are willing to boo anyone who plays for the other team for any reason. And when they get excited, the ACC jumps. And nothing gets a crowd rilled up like a come from behind win. Granted it came as the Pistons, who have clinched home court through the Conference playoffs, rested their starters for almost all the fourth quarter. But the Raptors knew this and stepped on the throats of the young Pistons, teaching them a lesson in scrambling basketball and momentum.
But, enough. If I was going to get anything out of the game, I would have to focus on the time when the starters actually played. I've heard Sam Mitchell being lauded around the league as main part of the improvement of the team. That is dead wrong. Mitchell has gone from a terrible coach to an almost passable one at best. This becomes obvious when he goes up against a good coach: Detroit's offensive sets were a show of brilliance, of cuts and back screens and easy familiar shots; the key is familiar shots, ones that aren't necessarily easy but that players used to hitting. Saunders knew when to call time outs (when the Raps opened 8-0) and knew that the simplest ploys are often the best (read:a garbage 3-2 zone). This is where Mitchell's relative ineptitude really shone. Your team can't break a freaking zone? This is the first thing they teach you in grade seven basketball - overload a side and swing the ball constantly. The pistons looked a 100 times more well prepared, making the easy shots (while the Raptors missed free throws and lay-ups galore) and executing amazingly. I have to say, if these two teams run into each other in the Conference finals, I don't like the Raptor's chances; the only way I see Detroit getting beaten is if Toronto can steal a game in Detroit and the Pistons get a tired from a few tough series before.
Highlight of the Game: When they showed Garbage on the big screen and the whole arena erupted. This why Collangelo deserves about 80% of the credit for turning this team around. He understands how to build A TEAM. Not a collection of players but veterans and picks-rebounds guys, role players, that will subvert their egos and play as a unit (Garbage being the perfect example).

So we get out of the Rap's game, make some calls and miss the first period of the Canucks game, only to just catch fucking Lunquvist (sp? I'm too angry to look him up) score off of a gorgeous defensive breakdown/backhand saucer pass to start the second. While the Canucks played better in their own zone and Luongo was stellar (neither of those goals were at all his fault), they still lack any sort of killer instinct. They were down to one line - the fetus brothers and Nasland- who were able to generate anything (they had a few really nice shifts, cycling the puck and drawing penalties. In fact this was the most spunk I've seen Nasland play with all year. Maybe the line will stay together); Morrison is morphing into a pile of shit before my eyes and Smolinski couldn't stop complaining about the ref's face-off procedures. A completely disheartening game.
But BUT! They will bounce back. What they need to do is put the puck on the net. Turco is the definition of shaky and all you need to do is stop try to slap pass everything across the crease and shoot it in his general direction. They need to stay away from stupid penalties (which is obvious, but I only point it out because of Sedin's garbage interference call in the third when the Canucks had just drawn a penalty. Actually, let's not blame Sedin for that. It was a weak call at best and whomever called it should have awoken this morning ashamed of himself). More than anything they need to show some life, some desperation. This is the best Canucks team I've seen in a while and goddam it would be nice if they showed it.

Father Kurt and the Cauncks

2007-04-12T07:24:00.000-07:00

Today is in fact the definition of bitter sweet. Kurt Vonnegut was the first author I picked up who moved outside the standard prose style taught in school (the a-b-c plot) and demanded that, as a reader, I make descisions within the text that resonate outside it in my own life. He was absurd but almost always accurate, a charming writer who was more of a story teller and a critic. If I can ever write anything half as good as the end scene of Bluebeard, with Rabo (Oh happy Rabo!) unvieling his painting with pride and anxiety, then I will have considered myself a success. R.I.P. Father Kurt. So it goes.
And who is left now? Norman Mailer? All the male writers who shaped the post world war two fiction, who actually served in the war, are dead. Who is going to emerge from this war I wonder, who will be our critics and writers that stick with the same passion and flavour and appropriate humour as Vonnegut and Heller. A very sad day indeed.
This of course is a giant damper on the marathon Canuck win last night, a win I actually missed the winning goal because we got kicked out of two different bars, the game ran so late. The fetus twins, bless their hearts, were the finest players on the ice and I'm glad they were rewarded with the winning goal.
This is not to say I'm completely happy about the game. The Canucks got very very lucky. The first Sedin goal was a garbage goal, as was Smolinski's; they blew a 2 goal lead in the last ten minutes with the most dominating goalie in the league; Bieksa looked like a rookie, flat footed, taking penalties and getting caught out of position constantly. The team played like a bag of ass in their own end, flocking and bunching to the puck like pigeons to scraps of bread.
That said, they played like utter poo and still won, a fact that must bouy their heart. When this team's offense kicks into gear (if it kicks into gear...) they will be deadly, nay unstoppable.
And as a final rant, thank god for Luongo. Wow. This makes me hate myself for even considering cheering for that douche Cloutier. The thing you need in the playoffs is a goalie that can steal games for you, that will make the impossible save (think McLean in game 7 against Calgary in 94 on Reichel) and I finally think the Canucks have one. If Luongo gets hot (despite all the saves last night, he looked a tad shaky towards the end of the third) this team will roll. Oh, for the first time in a very long time, I have faith in this team which means I will inevitably have my heart torn out and stomped on.

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!!1

2007-04-09T15:54:00.001-07:00

I'm always wary of making fun of the Eighties mostly because it's an easy joke. I despise easy jokes. In fact I hung a sign above my computer when I was writing my thesis that said that magical phrase.
That said, this video is beyond priceless. Now "Physical" is a pretty alright song, a nice bit of sexually flavoured fluff but this "live" version is one bad mofo of a lip synced spandex aerobic workout. I used to say I was a collector of rare Olivia Newton John paraphernalia, going from person to person at parties asking if they had any left over Grease memorabilia they could steal from their parents. If only someone had pointed me to this video I would have dropped the act.
First, she looks like she's wearing a diaper. Not hawt. Second, there is probably the most hilarious choreography known; the funny thing is that I think the dancers were supposed to be all up on her but end up gazing into each other's eyes while they do the splits. This is topped only by her blatant mouthing of the words and her steadfast refusal to do any sort of dance move that does not involve some obvious connection to exercise (there's a lot of lunges and things here, some leg lifts etc). I laughed at this for a good 4 minutes.
In other news, the Canucks are playing Dallas Wednesday night in their inevitable quest to the Stanley cup, a game I will be watching while yelling at all Stars players, reminding them of Bure's elbow on Shane Chura. Shane Chura was a dick. Shane Chura deserved it.
Also, the Raptors clinched their division. I'm looking for them to hold the third seed so they play Washington in the first round (instead of Chicago/Cleveland which would happen if they drop to fourth). The Wizards, minus Butler and Areneas would be a very beatable team. Very beatable indeed ho ho.
Now that I've jinxed the teams I care the most for, a final link to a website doing excellent reviews and thinking and hopefully for a while, Katherine Parrish's Texting.

Riff Raff – The Trane Studio

2007-04-07T14:11:00.000-07:00

On April 5th 2007
The Trane Studio, fittingly enough, is a jazz club, a space grounded in the necessity of improv. And as each performer stopped to filter each others’ work through their own eyes and vocal chords, latching onto each other’s bodily sounds and individually twisting each further, the venue seemed a fitting place to hold the event. But to latch onto the most obvious aspect of the performance and run with it would cheapen the extremely unique experience that Riff provided. Each performer, admittedly very good readers on their own, came together to provide an auditory texture, full of humor and anxiety, that can’t be duplicated.
You could sense the nervousness from each performance, as each reader struggled with how to express their own reaction to the pieces before him/her while still working in collaboration. There was a definite struggle between what each writer prepared before hand in reaction to the texts and what the other two performers were doing on stage but this quickly dissipated. As the night progressed I was impressed with every person’s ability to take the whole night, not just the preceding performer’s reading, and build off that, creating a new and larger web on inter-texts to riff off of. While the beginning performances where reacting to the semantics on the previous poems (i.e. what the words were and what they meant, which lead to a lot of repetition of phrases and call response) the later half evolved to include all of the individual pieces as a whole.
I will admit though, the riff portions of the reading often dipped dangerously close to chaos, strutting the line between commanding and inaccessible, it allowed the readings of the “experimental” texts to surface with more coherence. The prepared pieces were clearer and more deliberate than I think they would have been without the riff portion of the show. This was especially clear when the performers took the stage before the piece they were riffing off was read: the pieces rose through the cacophony of voices and noise and materialized complete and stunning.
Highlights:
-The first performance with Jenny Sampirisi, a rawlings and Margaret Christakos sexing the stage with some serious panting, getting the crowd all hot and bothered then neutering them with the shift to hard harsh tones at the end of the piece.
-Seeing Gerry Shikitani read and perform (who was amazing all the way through). I struggle with the idea of meeting the authors I’ve admired and studied through my seminal years of writing. This was again a weird colliding of worlds that seemed more dreamlike than anything. Gerry was absolutely fearless on stage, yet more than willing to work within the frame of every other performer.
-Jordan Scott “omitting” himself and Sonnet yelling at him to get back to the stage. Also Jordan riffing off Sonnet’s piece and reading a piece about a fifteen ton Caterpillar (a chunk included on youtube posted below).
-Rachael Zolf picking her saxophone apart and transitioning between pieces, yanking performers up on stage and running point guard in the second set. I also really enjoyed her solo piece (from her new book Human Resources).
Note: I took this video down at the request of Jordan and Angela (beef wit dem!) but you can hunt it down yourself on youtube.

Tracks of Time humming along nicely

2007-04-05T12:22:00.000-07:00

Our movie is coming along nicely as our artistic director (formerly the artistic coordinator of TOAST) has added some rare sketch poster material for our promotional needs.

Tracks of Time is sure to be the hit of the summer! Don't miss it!
In other news, I've been listening to the new Amy Winehouse CD not because it's outstandingly good but because I can't seem to wrap my head around it. Sonically it sounds like mid 60's Motown but Winehouse pours this rich diva voice into fantastically crass phrases like "fuckery" and curses all over the place. By far the best track on the record is the first, "Rehab" which combines the do-wop sound and catchy chorus with some first rate junk talking which is well past infectious. The album is worth a listen if only for the constant juxtaposition of sound and expectation - the music is really rich and popish. And her voice is ridiculously good to the point where I wish she'd drop the bad girl shtick and she'd sing a few nice and sweet songs.
One last point: there's a new review of Michael Knox's new book of poetry Play out the Match over at inknoire if you're inclined.
Hope to see everyone who is cool at Riff tonight!

The Morisette Races Back into Relevancy (sorta)!

2007-04-04T14:33:00.000-07:00

So hypnotizing. As J pointed out this is a really pretty song made perfectly ridiculous. Plus, has anyone decided definitively if Alanis is attractive? Should we hold a Canada wide vote?
(Yes, I know, two videos in a row as posts is weak sauce Deal.)

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!

2007-04-02T14:53:00.000-07:00

Goddam this video is hawt. Nothing like some girl on girl action to really clinch a video into the pantheon of Video of the Week. I bet Aerosmith loved this video. I can see them being like, "yeah kiss her" and "yeah grab her tits" and "yeah!" Wait. That's Steven Tyler's daughter. Awwwwwwwwkward.
Anywho, if I wasn't going to go see Di Brandt read tonight I would totally be masterbating to this video. But alas.
On the level of housecleaning business, I am doing web cooridination for the Scream Lit Festival, the annual experimental poetry celebration that goes on here in toronto in July (3-9 to be exact). If anyone wants further info, or even regular updates on Scream, email me at aaron[at]thescream[dot]ca. You can also visit the website here. I promise it will be updated soon.
Further, I'm on facebook now, rocking it like it's 2004 but there's a Scream group there, here and a myspace group here!

Rick Crilly - The Tablecloth Trick

2007-03-28T19:47:00.001-07:00

I've just had the pleasure of finishing/reviewing The Tablecloth Trick a book I really enjoyed for its challenge towards meaning making and knowledge aquisition. A very dense and engaging book. At any rate the review is over at inknoire as per usual.
Nothing else.
Nothing!

VIDEO OF THE WEEK1111!!

2007-03-26T17:18:00.000-07:00

Video of the Week falls into two general categories: songs I think are laughably ridiculous (see: OMC) and songs I like but most of the public has dismissed as garabage or only usefull in strictly ironic senses like a Dr. Pepper commercial (see: this Posion song and "I Would Do Anything for Love").
But I will stand by this song. You will be 45 years old and still remember at least 50% percent of the lyrics to this song. You will hear this song in a grocery store in Maine in 2027 and it will make you smile. This is the quintessential make out tune, a sort of slow burn through feel-up land.
The video that goes along with this is, like most videos in the Eighties, frought with humour. The guy hitch hiking with his guitar, unable to pinned down by just one girl is classic..though the launch into concert footage is a bit confusing.
I do have a major beef though: slow motion. What the shit? It ruined the last twenty minutes of the third Lord of the Rings, it ruined every sports movie every made and it damn near murderilized this video. Do we need 32 shots of someone smoking in slooooow mo? Head banging with gallons of sweat pouring off?
Still, this song dominates. I will fight you about it.

(note: it occurs to me a third type of video exists: the extremely goofy video to a pretty terrible song that somehow almost redeems it. This type of video must be a perfect storm, combining nostalgic charm, ridiculousness and some inherently funny punch line of an artist. The only video who has fallen into this category thus far is "Hello" by Lionel Richie).

The Morning Stars and others @ El Macambo

2007-03-25T18:13:00.000-07:00

The Morning Stars, Jen Militia and The Buck Brothers @ El Macambo
March 22nd
Anyone who has ever been in El Macambo knows that the large open floor that leads up to the stage innately lends itself to thrashing and dancing. It is the perfect space for flailing and slamming into other, dangerously close to the bands.
Initially, the crowd gathered was looking for any excuse to slam into each other, inching towards the stage with every pressing moment, waiting for the heavy thump of bass and riff. They were not disappointed as the Jen Militia lead off with a spirited and constantly kinetic set, combining the hard sludge of metal with front man Michael Dainjah’s sharp and quick vocals. The band swaggered around the stage, lead by Dainjah’s half-Jagger half-Brown preening and strutting.
Yet, for all the charismatic stage presence the songs were muddled together, lacking a solid guitar or drum line for the listener to grasp onto; the guitarist, J-Double, found his solos and any attempt at creating a recognizable riff drowned by the other elements of the band. It was only while the band covered “Sleep Now in the Fire” that they were clear and mean in their music, otherwise overpowering each other into a indistinct sound.
Next the Buck Brothers from the UK struck the stage only after adorning their mics with feather boas and putting up a large banner behind them proclaiming their name. Fresh off their world record breaking 28 shows in 12 hours, they bantered with the crowd in between bursts of 2 minute pop-punk songs. Again the crows hopped and slammed around as the band’s playful nature glossed the stage over: guitarist Pete Sellers jumped onto any surface that he could find and Andy Duke sweated and strutted up and down, baiting the crowd into call and responses eventually coaxing a sing along of their new single “Girls, Skirts, Boots Bikes”. The music was fast and catchy and almost always simple, lending itself to repeated hooks and the lyrically ridiculous. When they finally did give up the stage they did so only after inviting everyone up on stage as a half dozen fans jumped onto the stage and danced around and in between the band as they played their closing number “Red Headed Girl”.
The Morning Stars took the stage in front of an obviously thinned crowd. The people left seemed zapped of energy, preferring to stand or sit back from the stage while one lonely blond danced crazily by herself up front. The morning Stars were a workman traditional rock band, more in the mode of mid 90’s rock, anchored by catchy hooks and solid musicianship. The band was the most musically talented of the three bands, displaying layered song writing and virtuosity: their drummer, Donn Dixon was amazingly good, pinning each song to a steady rhythm and lighting each chorus with the sharp slap and bang pacing the band ran on.
Yet, after the first two band’s frantic stage shows, the Morning Stars lacked the same sort of care in their own show: they were business like, alternating between vocalists and melodies, barely smiling. The only overt flash the band showed was in the instrumental break downs, where the messy and barely controlled chaos burst forth and the audience managed to gain a crack into the performers’ personality. The band and the music were quite good though and probably they are worth a closer listen on their new album.
Ultimately, all three bands failed to leave anything that stuck onto an audience: there was no hooking single implanted on minds or even stand out moment of buffoonery that resonated. We left the El Macambo thankful for the lack of terribleness but wanting for anything spectacular.

A sonnet???! - New poetry project explained and exampled

2007-03-23T13:17:00.000-07:00

So I've been working on a new project that has spun out of my suite of apartment poems concerned with space both in a city and in a sentence. This is a very vague statement I know because I am trying to work my head around it myself, doing lots of reading on architecture and urban planning (reading a great book on cubism are modern architecture that has more to do with poetry than anything else). I'm continually shocked at how little space there is here in Toronto how every inch is contested (whether that be physical space and the constant dividing of houses into smaller dwellings or the stream of ads that cover this city and clutter my head space); I want to write some poetry examining this in conjunction with how people live, tiny fragmented little scenes-turned sorta list poems and see where this goes.
It so happens that I attended the lecture for the CW class I'm teaching and the kids did a long lecture on the sonnet. So, with the themes in mind, I tried to write one too. A first draft. i like the back half, the front needs more work and thinking of scrambling the pattern in the sextet but please let me know what you think!

the gap that gives is empty and the bites
are turning colours in details, break free
but still guard and empty, biting sight
a toothless gap in mouth like branchless tree
while an empty gap mouths coloured light
towards a branch in tree that grows by three
and gaps the night in dark and door and kite
or colors bites or sores like details we
know there is an empty coat by door and
we know the letters are unopened but
we the words like gap and tree and empty ors
grip this mouth in hush or stop, stamp
commas marks on page like lips deeply cut
and leave us frail like bare apartment floors

Emily Schultz - songs for the dancing chicken

2007-03-21T19:03:00.000-07:00

Yes. Yes you. Head to inknoire to read all about Emily Schultz's new book of poetry songs for the dancing chicken.
Also, J bought the new Explosions in the Sky album the other day at soundscapes (a great music story which everyone we knew had been talking about and we finally made our way there. It is wonderfully specific to the indie crowd though they carry almost no vinyl). ANYWAYS the album is pretty fantastic and probably deserves a full review (which will come later). Also, be prepared for a slew of live reviews as I've been assigned to the morning stars for Thursday night and some band trr and I are going to ramble out for on Sunday.
Speaking of J (which I did. Read back if you missed it) she just posted one of my creative writing student's work, Chris Postill, on otherclutter. He's doing some really great things with white space and text direction, esp. the poem about autobiography and the family tree. Go click on the link and check him out!

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!11

2007-03-19T13:33:00.000-07:00

*By request by our sister blog trr.
Despite being one of the most cheese ball songs ever released Lady In Red possesses one of the most badass videos I've possibly ever seen. Set in 17th century Japan, Chris De Burgh travels back in time to fight samurais and rescue a delicate Japanese boy from slavery.
The best part is where De Burgh slices a guy in half and all the blood soaks this innocent woman standing next to him. I think that's where he got the tittle for the song. Yes, that must be it.
So, in summary, this video kicks a lot of ass and reminds me of my own childhood where I spent my time fighting grizzly bears and curing polio with my mind. Good times.
In closing, Chris De Burgh looks like a cross between Pete Townsend and the stereotypical gay uncle. You need a meaner look Chris!

Hey Rube – Hunter S. Thompson

2007-03-18T16:16:00.000-07:00

Sports writing is a dying art: while the genre is flooded with increasingly passionate talk, the level of intelligent engagement with the mechanics of sports has almost disappeared. Instead, the major sports media outlets focus more on entertaining; sports writing has evolved into a mixture of pop culture references and outrageous claims for the sake of grabbing attention (for examples, see almost all of the page 2 staff at ESPN.com). This is the internet’s fault: the pressure to create new content at an alarmingly steady rate (3-4 times a week) lends itself to crappy writing. Even Sports Illustrated is diving away from their usual standards; every one of their issues now has some fuzzy underdog story from Middle America. For me, the good sports writing that is done focuses on the game first, the players second; I could care less what kind of person Kobe Bryant is: tell me how he plays basketball.
Hey Rube is a collection of articles that the Good Doctor wrote as a columnist for ESPN spanning the first 3 years of the new millennium. I’m honestly shocked that Thompson got a lot of this up through the censors: there is little sports talk here (where there is sports it deals almost exclusively with his gambling exploits) and is supremely heavy on the political discussion.
Thompson states right away that politics is the only Real Sport left in America and follows this game through the bungled election, 9-11 and the Iraq War. This is more a journal of reaction to the environment created by the Bush administration. Each entry spirals out of the sports thoughts into his anger towards the poverty and “spiral of dumbness” engulfing American culture. In truth this book is closer to a blog than a sports column Thompson takes the entries away from its prescribed genre and creates a space where the sports are always secondary. The sports are trivialized here and an important lesson emerges: as much as any can and does love sports, there are almost always more important things people should be worrying about.
Sports are important because they are ultimately another form of escapism – sports writing that is worth its mettle appreciates this and engulfs itself within the tiny crevices of details. This book is important because it gives the same sort of grinding specifics within a larger frame, an intrusive voice that reminds constantly that no matter how beautiful a game of basketball may get, it is still only a game. It’s a courageous thing to do on a sports website and I admire Thompson for it.
That’s not to say that the book is completely without sports merit. Thompson is very intelligent, a bold (and more often accurate) predictor and translates the larger scope of teams and events expertly: a column about the Raiders or 49ers is part history lesson, part ill-tempered rant, part football junkie crack, addictive and always informative. More than anything is so original, especially in a genre of writing that is exceptionally formulaic, these columns are short sharp bursts of wit and deeply rooted understanding in sports as a game and as a social necessity.

Test Reading - March 16th

2007-03-17T07:05:00.000-07:00

There’s nothing like a Friday night reading to figure out who the cool kids really are. I’m cool so I was at Mercer Union to see Stuart Ross and Rod Smith read. Invariably, the worst weather of the week always falls on the night we trek to Test and yesterday was no different: snow, lots of fluffy white snow.
But once the reading got going, there was no time to remember the winter outside. Stuart Ross, a very well known Toronto poet, began with his relentless quick reading style: he often blew through his prosaic poems and short stories, bombarding the listener with detail upon detail. The results were almost overwhelming: the pure speed of his set didn’t necessarily distract, but it did make it uncomfortable. I found myself waiting for line breaks which never came, or punch lines or powerful endings that he simply sped right past. But, with this quick style, Ross also created a sort of wave system, where each detail or sentence, when repeated would gain more and more momentum, until finally at the end became the large wave that broke and pulled back into an abrupt ending. Anyone interested further (and I do recommend) check out his hunkamooga column and pick out a book.
Often the biggest pitfall the Test Reading series falls into is pairing up the two readers: there have been a few instances where the two readers were very disconnected, whether it be in content or style, and that really distracted the reading. However, last night’s readers complimented each other very well (even in the Q and A session they played off each other quite well). Rod Smith anchored the show with one of the smartest, most engaging and deadpan readings I’ve ever had the pleasure of, all the while playing to very similar sensibilities of absurdity and narrative that Ross had. Smith was much more preformative, highlighting his pauses with facial gestures, multiple voices (almost personas) and vocal tics, giving the audience time to snicker or gasp at any of his lines. More than anything, his work was extremely clever: a lot of his content relied on phralf (google it for more info), a disjunctive set of images and phrases tied together by language and sound. Smith’s work was extremely impressive in terms of progression of alliteration and utterance. He playfully mixed his sound-poetry in with narrative arches, lined them with well-timed jokes, all the while half-grinning underneath his graying moustache. For more info, check out ghost brain!
A very enlightening and entertaining evening. The next reading showcases Jordan Scott in late April so don’t miss it!

Lawrence Hill at inknoire

2007-03-14T19:41:00.000-07:00

There's a review of the epic new Lawrence Hill work The Book of Negroes over at inknoire.com. Wander that way!

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!!!11ONE1!

2007-03-12T14:48:00.000-07:00

I can't take full credit for this awesomeness: I was actually reminded of this song by a passing car. It always kills me to see songs taken out of their contrived MTV/MuchMusic existence and placed in the real world. Who plays this song? Where? Well, apparently it's a 22 year old white guy, backwards baseball cap in a 1993 Tempo.
Not to insult Tempos I suppose. Still the satisfaction of this video can not be denied. This is what the world would look like EVERYWHERE if Limp Bizkit had gotten anymore popular. This rock-rap garbage is the reason why no one listens to the radio anymore and why my brother is so constantly angry.
But for the life of me, I can't figure out why, if you're trying to be so hardcore, you would make your video in a field with flowers and butterflies. Come on! Although I am impressed with the guy's flying star tattoos (though if you look hard, I think you can see the drummer trying to hang himself from one of the branches. When your drummer is embarrassed to be in your band, you've got issues).
But sadly, this band is gone now. Goodbye Crazytown: I hope your moment of fleeting fame gave you enough money to buy some shirts. There's no sense in being topless AND poor.

The Eagles: Live

2007-03-11T17:15:00.000-07:00

“Hotel California” is the first guitar solo I remember. My dad had a tape of the Eagles Greatest Hits that he would play on the long trips into town or fishing and eventually that solo, the dueling mesh of strings and notes, came to blend into the blurred corn fields and cattle. It was with this fond memory that I recently downloaded a live concert of the Eagles and came away oddly disappointed.
I suppose to define my feeling about the Eagles is to say I enjoy them sometimes and not so other times. This profoundly vague and somewhat cock-ish sentiment can be justified by the band’s pretty sweet guitar work (think of the rift for “Life in the Fast Lane”) and borderline-country sound, which is off set by their tendency to harmonize (which wasn’t actually bad, but a lot worse than CSN&Y) and also the fact that Don Henley had the most successful solo career of the members and I’ve been unable to figure out how exactly (though I will say if more people supported Joe Walsh we could be swimming in free gas by now. You blind dumb fools who voted against him ought to know you’re the reason we’re in Iraq right now).
I enjoy the Eagles and I recognize their place in the pantheon of Really Good Bands but their live work leaves me feeling less than satisfied. The reason: the Eagles were just too good of musicians. This is an odd thing to criticize a band for but the band’s slick virtuosity stripped almost every ounce of human engagement out of the songs. The set could have been made by robots and not sounded any different. Not only this but there was so little banter with the crowd that I began to wonder if someone had switched the concert setting for the studio sessions and dubbed in the crowd noise (ala Kiss).

I’ve said it before: what I want in live music is the sloppiness and the personality of the artists coming through; give me a drunken yelp or a messy chord change. Give me some small avenue into the unique experience of being in a place and time and listening to a band go crazy. I listened to the album again just to be sure: there were no rough spots, so place where the sheen wore thin. The Eagles were all business, rawking arenas just like suited record execs rawked the board room. Is this why mid-70’s rock gets such a bad rap, because everything was done with the passion of a photocopy (see: Company, Bad)? The band’s ability to play the songs in perfect replication of their own work smacks of the type of overt efficiency best left to conveyor belts.
So now I only listen to the Eagles’ studio albums, content in the precise production and glossy path they made for many other bands. Only now the music seems better suited to my subway rides than to the windows down, highway songs I used to watch my dad mouth.

This post was done in memory of Brad Delp. Despite my extreme dislike for “More Than a Feeling” (a song that came on every Monday at our local bar, always when I was just drunk enough to yell at the DJ who ran Mullet Mondays), as much as I may want to I will be not be making any more “poor man’s Eagles” jokes at Boston’s expense for at least a week.

Movies I Haven't Seen Before!!!1

2007-03-09T06:42:00.000-08:00

Freedom Writers
Exactly like Dangerous Minds. Only with a borderline tranny instead of Catwoman.

Jacqueline Turner - Seven into Even

2007-03-07T17:31:00.000-08:00

We here at the Taste would like to direct you to inknoire for a review of Seven into Even, a collection of poetry recently published through ECW press.
I also wanted to bring to people's attention the most secretive society known to the internet, the PBS webpage. J and I just finished watching this 3 hour (with one more hour coming up) psuedo-documentary on the news, media and the American government (under the program called Frontline). Now, I know PBS was the channel (along with the Knowledge Network) that we all avoided as kids because it was *gasp* educational (which is a sort of lie, being that I watched at least a half hour of PBS every day to catch Where in The World is Carmen Sandiego?) but their website and content is pretty great.
ANYWAYS the piece is hosted on the website, so, if inclined and without TV you could watch all three hours on your computer. It's freaking fantastic! The doc looks at The Daily Show and its effects on the news and media world, as well as the internet and a really in depth look at the different tactics and views the Bush government takes when dealing with the media (including very close commentary on the Scooter Libby case and the events leading up to it). Go here to check it out!

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!!!!!!!!

2007-03-05T16:04:00.000-08:00

Oh yeah I went there. I wish there were plenty more where that came from but I think Lou Bega was beaten to death by punk kids who were tired of hearing this song while on vacation in Mexico. Things were never this good again for any girl name monica or Erica. R.I.P.

The Deserter's Tale @ inknoire

2007-03-01T12:11:00.000-08:00

There is a review of the Joshua Keys' The Deserter's Tale (helped along by the ubiqitous Lawerence Hill) over at inknoire. This book is interesting because it is written from the perspective of an AWOL solider while the War is still going on (Keys' is applying for refugee status here in Canada). Check it out!

Rhoda Morgan – From Brixton to Brooklyn

2007-02-27T08:41:00.000-08:00

The move across the ocean has been a popular one for British artists lately. The increased popularity of Lady Sovereign has opened the charts for the young ladies moving, like the title implies, from the UK to the Big Apple.
But unlike Lady, Rhoda Morgan takes her cues from the increasingly slick pool of dance-pop that is emerging onto the radios. The album is a collection of surprisingly subtle beats combined with Morgan's feathery vocals. While her voice isn’t overpoweringly good, it definitely doesn’t take away from the album. Her words are breathy and quiet, a sort of whispering that blends well into the tracks. Likewise, the lyrics are not anything other than the standard fair of brash sexuality. But, what a listener will get instead is a set of composite songs, each element leaning equally on the next, a slick, un-obtrusive set of pop tracks that fit better through headphones on a subway than in a club.
The production mirrors obviously the Timberland style, with the sleek multi- layering of beats and the stop-start bursts of drums. The tracks are left uncrowded and almost dreamlike in their softness. The opening song (and lead single) “He Said She said” epitomizes this, melding layers perfectly into each other’s underlined by a chiming bell. Coincidental, this is also the only track where the featured guest-rapper actually works well; the other two (“Don’t Stop” and “Too Late” and “Run Away”) cut in with chunky MCs that only distract the listener away from the track with uneven flows and inconsistent lyrics.
And, try as it might, this isn’t a club record: it’s not loud or sweaty or public enough. From Brooklyn to Brixton is not overtly sexy, instead grinds with a grooving slowness that underlines each song (I’m thinking here of “Rescue Me”). I personally appreciated this, not being attacked by cluttered, cartoony bass lines and instead allowed to melt into the album. While the album does this, it laced the necessary hook to keep me coming back. The problem is then that the tracks all sound vaguely similar, all glossed over with the same polish, pacing, and similar sound. The result of this is that there is no stand-out track: the songs pool together and become relatively indiscriminate.
While lacking in any real distinction from the increasingly saturated pool of peers this genre resides in, as a debut, this album smoothly transitions onto the scene with a shiney sound and tight production. If nothing else, it bodes well for her next album.
Check out her music at her myspace account.

B-

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!1

2007-02-26T06:35:00.000-08:00

What can I possibly say about this song? I bought this CD based on this bomb-ass song, then proceeded to ignore every other scrap of music on the disc. i don't even think I tried to like the rest of the album; I knew going in that the rest of it would be poo and that if I was to justify (somehow) owning Montel Jordan I would have to stick to my guns (i.e. loving a party-tune lead single).
Besides, it's not like I couldn't relate to the song: I was, after all, in Grade 7 at the time, drinking 40s and spreading my fan base through the use of illegitimate children. I used to dream about me and Montel, rolling, macking the girls like we were a cool version of Kris Kross (clothes on straight) and ruling the party world. I wanna ride in his big black truck! I can be cool too.
But alas no.
So I'm going to pour one out here for my lost house parties, tip up my cup and throw my hands up!

Note: Get me drunk enough, I'll sing this song front to back, without pause. Some people call me an idiot savant; some people just call me an idiot.

Movies I Haven't Seen!

2007-02-25T10:24:00.000-08:00

Wild Hogs

*as requested by the lovely Miss Julie

Every had a crappy job doing something you really hated? Ever feel like everything you've ever done is a waste of your ever-important time? This is a movie about evers: mostly for-evers. Friends forevers that is.
Four buddies, tired of their white collar, low physicality jobs, decide that in a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of sanity (and manliness) they need to go on a road trip. The character played by John Travolta (Jimmy Squiggles) used to ride Harley's back when he was famous (a tiny bit of exposition reveals he used to be a movie actor whose best known/loved work was Wednesday Evening Sickness, a teen movie about Bingo); he gets it in his head that he and his friends should do this road trip on motorcycles! Yeah!
The only problem is that the nerdy one, who runs a giant computer company/wears glasses/must have a pocket protector Steven Jewishname (played by William H. Gacey), obviously can't do anything but write code and make Star Trek jokes (as well as seem vaguely homosexual). Comedy ensues as he learns to ride a bike, hitting numerous obstacles and crashing many times along the way.
Tim Allen's performance is distracting as he keeps trying to grunt his lines and mumbling about someone named Johnathan (never quite explained in the movie), but he more than redeems himself by becoming the guy-who-yells-the-loudest. There are numerous arguments here and Allen shows his lung power by being the loudest, then calms every one down so that they can progress forward. An integral part of the story indeed!
Martin Lawrence plays the token black guy. He makes black jokes.
The best scene in the movie is the obvious fish-out-of-water scene, where the four men walk into a real biker bar. The real bikerrs talk trash and seem tough and these four men, cower. Then Jewishname drinks a really crazy drink, made of 7 parts animal entrails and 6 parts moonshine, which earns the respect of the group. To be fully intitiated however, the four must curb stomp a man; after much debate they decide this would be the best choice, find the skinniest man and pummel him.
Finally, the trip moves on. The men begin to understand each other more and more, causing a few scenes of awkward sexual tension that ultimately culminates in John Travolta having to role play as a small boy for Allen. Gacey's character finds a girl who is obviously out of his league, but, because he's a good human being, she falls in love with him.
Eventually the movie ends with the four men hugging, close to tears, and telling each other they'll never forget "this crazy ride" and that they'll remain friends forever. Forever!

uTOpia and other things

2007-02-21T12:49:00.000-08:00

inknoire has a discussion about the ongoing series of books uTOpia that can be checked out with a singluar click of the mouse (feel free!). Also, my review of Compensation is up over at The Danforth Review . Apparently I'm also going to be writing more music reviews for a site here in Toronto; stay posted for details.
Since I have no other news, let's (you and me) have a little talk. I spyed the new Rolling Stone today at my friendly neighborhood Mac's and I must, say, I giggled a bit. I used to have a subscription to Rolling Stone; for a while they were all US Weekly type garbage, but in the last few years they've righted the ship and now they published at least two or three things as issue I read front to back. Some great writing in there (and in fact their website, updated daily, has gotten a lot better in a trashy sort of hipster entertainment sort of way). That said, there greatest occomplishment might be christening John Mayer the new Eric Clapton, dubbing him "Slowhand Jr". I wish I had thought of that. It's perfect. Now, when I go into rambling diatribes about guitarists I don't like, I can just lump them together. More on this later...

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!11!!!

2007-02-19T18:56:00.000-08:00

There's a touching story behind this song that fits nicely with "How Bizarre." Vernon radio stations have got to be the most garbage I've even conceived of. In fact I couldn't even imagine, high on peyote and Fido-Dido gum (it squirts Sprite!), anything worse than Vernon radio. But I didn't always think this way. In fact, I was relatively in different. Until I hit the breaking point:
I was driving somewhere, god knows where, my CD player broken, and listening to the radio. This song, "Breakfast at Tiffany's" comes on and I sing a long for a bit, then concede it's a pretty crap song that went passed its short stage of popularity almost a decade before and changed the tuner to the other radio station in town.
This same song was on.
The video is just as class: there's a guy riding a horse down a city street, which I guess is OK if this were a Western. I like that they couldn't afford a set for the video, so they dragged their equipment to the local park and jammed out - if you look very closely you can see a sandbox and monkey bars and, closer still, hordes of small children laughing and pointing. But bonus points for acting like its a hardcore song by jump kicking. I can just picture these guys in a bar:

Guy in Band (GiB): Hey pretty lady. Did you ever see that movie with Audrey Hepburn?
Girl Well out of His League (G): Breakfast at Tiffany's? I guess it was OK.
GiB: Well you're in luck. Cause I sang a whole song about it! Well not really about it, but about how me and this girl, because we are vapid and have nothing in common, force our relationship to stay together based on a similar tolerance for a movie that was made at least 3 decades before. What a cultural touchstone! I mean, pop culture it can really save a love right?
G: Hold on. You got some suck on your cheek. You better wipe that off. Well. See you later.

On a last note, I wonder if this band every thought about how shitty their name was. Deep Blue Something? Was Golden Asscrabs taken? Come on!

The Four Horsemen Project

2007-02-18T12:01:00.000-08:00

I strongly recommend going to go see this if you're anywhere near or around Toronto. Held at the Factory Theatre, the four performers adapted a loose narrative arc onto the sound and visual poetry of the famed Four Horsemen. It was a performance everyone can take something different out of: the interpretative dance and stage movements (though out of my realm of knowledge) added much depth to the rhythm that the Horsemen's pieces are built on: the repeated actions mirroring the repeated phrases, melding the body to the sound, the body to the poem. The show also made excellent use of its multimedia potential, utilizing projectors and spotlights, archived video footage and a blank white stage, into the same tricky corridors the language of the works attack. What I found particularly excellent was the use of old performance footage of the Four Horsemen preforming the pieces, then to see the actors reinterpret those; though the loose framework stays the same, there was the added movement and fluidity of bodies colliding and pairing that resonated within each set. The main theme, again and again, was underlined (through the refrain on "Pome" poem by bpNichol), that the poem is the body, there is no separation between the words created and the body that created them. This is what makes the best sound poetry so good: that it is unrestrained from any direct story or vocabulary and focuses instead on the sounds a body can create, does create, the natural rhythms it falls into, the instinctual noise that comes from moving lips and tongue and teeth.
It is a really playful (funny, filled with body puns) and engaging show. Check it out!

Barney’s Version – Mordecai Richler

2007-02-17T10:16:00.000-08:00

I just finished re-reading this book and almost broke down. Even knowing how Barney’s Version would end, the process of growing old, having the body and mind fail without cause, terrifies me and this novel strikes that chord perfectly. There is the cloud of growing old here, lined darkly with past events (suicides, failed marriages, split friendships and a possible murder) and a deteriorating self. That’s not to say this is all doom and gloom: there are parts in here that are beyond funny (mostly Barney’s letters that he writes to various enemies), all tinged with the caustic wit and burning bitterness of topline Richler. But, like any good satire, the funny only serves to let the sad cut deeper.
I don’t want to spend much time on plot, but basically this is Barney Panofsky’s memoirs, as he looks back on his life from his 67 year old perch. There is the undercutting Hemingway-in-Spain cliché artist life; there is the TV mongering and the rise to an extreme fortune; and there is the final descent to the present, a lonely man who pushed his one redemptive, moral editor, Miriam, stupidly away. All this swirls around the question of whether he in fact killed his best friend, Boogie. But the novel is always clear eyed and very self aware, always observant and biting, despite Barney’s own failing memory.
Like so much of Can-Lit, this book is concerned mostly with identity. This is Barney’s attempts, as an aging Jewish patriarch, to re-establish his life story, his understanding and memory. Richler does not make this easy: the book is footnoted by Mike, Barney’s son, who corrects the manuscript when it falls into the blackholes of Barney’s memory (he also provides the Afterword, a crippling display of emotional story-telling). Memory and identity then are constantly questioned and re-questioned throughout – even the events Barney tells are re-told through his rival McIver’s journals, then further re-told through recounts with Barney’s children. Yet all these layers remain pierced by the voice of Barney, always the confessing curmudgeon.
This book is a series of gut punches though. There are times where the reader wants to yell at this book, to heave it across the room, before being undercut by a heart belly laugh or reassuring twinge of regret. All this makes the end delivery that much more potent, an actual honest sentimentality that will break even the most sturdy reader. This remains one of my favorite books and a complete recommendation to anyone.
A further, really wonderful review, is available over at the indispensable Quill & Quire.
In other news, I saw two readers at the Live Poets Reading Series at Ryerson yesterday. The first reader, Michael DeBeyer, wasn’t bad, a little bit too overt and narrative for my tastes, but still a very solid writer and I enjoyed hearing him speak about his own work. The second, Molly. Peacock, was really, really bad. She used phrases like “moraine of pain” without irony and her big closing image was “rag of love” (presumably to wipe up her moraine of pain)- it was an overly dramatic reading that was more a cross between slam poetry and fridge magnets than anything else.
Now, this wouldn’t have been a problem but my students from the creative writing at Ryerson were required to attend. I could see the hard work we’ve been putting in to rid them of abstractions and clichés draining away. More than this, she assumed they were dumb, encouraging “stupid questions” because she knew she could answer them; her poetry was talking down to people, telling them that the poem was in fact (gasp) a metaphor in the middle of it, or oversetting up every poem so there was no doubt as to the perscripted meaning. In contrast, I found my student well advanced past anything I ever undertook in undergrad and wonderfully critically and articulate. Any reader deserves miles and miles of credit on gratis, not the kind of patronizing drivel she was offereing, and I felt there was very little respect for the audience as critical, engaged listeners.
But enough ill-tempered ranting. That never does anyone anything. Go read Barney’s Version.

Movies I Haven't Seen!

2007-02-14T07:12:00.000-08:00

* this is a new, hopefuly re-occuring feature where I review movies I haven't seen based on the movie poster, previews and my own ignorant bias/hatred of things.
Music and Lyrics
It is a wonder the world hasn't exploded yet, but I supposed it was only a matter of time. This might be the powerhouse romantic comedy to end all romantic commedies. Both Drew Barrymore and Hugh Grant in one movie? What have we mere mortals done to be blessed with such extravagence? All this and a Valentine's Day release. This may be THE perfect date movies. Fellas grab your favourite gal(s) and go find a theatre before this gem sells out.
As for the movie, Hugh's character, Dullard Bingsy, is the anal retentive, overly protective, semantic driven man who reviews CDs for a living but ultimately hates all music. He is more concerned with the lyrical content and thinks the best stuff died with the last of the British invasion (he's the "lyrics" of the title); Barrymore's character, Annie Lowfi, is the wild, free spirited love interest who loves music in all its forms but doesn't understand a word longer than three syllables (she's the "music" here). But together, ho ho! They are both sides of the coin, together they are complete, together they make, wait for it, harmony.
In the beginning the two don't really get along. Then something happens where they both love the same old albums and they start to see each other in a different light. Then they start to fall in love but Lowfi's old fling comes back and drives a wedge between the two. Bingsy gets properly British angry and storms off to listen to some obscure Gandolf recordings, revelling in his superior knowledge of acid rock until Lowfi meets him outside his window in the rain. He comes down, they aren't angry anymore, they kiss. The movie ends with Bingsy, happily married to Lowfi, being stopped by a cop with a hooker in the front seat.

Overall, this movie was most likely everything you thought it would be.

Shack - Kenneh J. Harvey

2007-02-14T07:02:00.000-08:00

A heads up that there is a new review of Shack over at inknoire. Also, j has work featured over at minimalist concrete poetry which is worth having a gander at. In other news, apparently coachHouse has been using my review of Wide Slumber on their website here, which is both good and good. Time is running out on the podcast!

Ken Tizzard - Quiet Storey house

2007-02-12T16:49:00.000-08:00

I’ve been living out of my email lately. It’s just how it works when the only communication you have with editors and things is there. Ken Tizzard sent me a personal and well directed email, asking, since he was releasing his first solo album (after previous work with the Watchmen and Thornley), if I would be interested in doing an interview or an article or a review. He left his home phone number at the bottom. When the CD arrived in the mail there was a handwritten note and a signature in blue ink. These small scraps of human communication were not lost on me. I wanted to like this album.
But, sadly, this kind of earnest and personal care didn’t translate to the actual album. Most of the tracks, littered with potential hooks and intriguing lyrics, are weighed down largely by overproduction. The opening track, “If You Were Wrong,” slams every trick in it can, most noticeably echo vocals and whispery synth (not to mention an alarmingly choppy bridge), which ultimately take away from the strong base built by the bullet-quick drum line. Similarly, “Sorry” is overcrowded: the multiple vocal tracks and the rushed riff bunch lead to a chorus predictably rooted in overdone ‘90’s rock and cliché.
That’s not to say there aren’t decent tracks here: “All Because Of You” is anchored by a plunky piano and desperately smoothing vocals; “take a chance” too is infectious in its chorus and quick pace. To Tizzard’s credit, he does include another “naked” version of “If You Were Wrong” that is acoustic and bare, but by this point in the album the listener has been bombarded with too many vocal echoes and production-flourishes. The engaging tracks are put against songs like “thirteen,” a transparent commentary on the war in Iraq that suffers again, from too much going on: the refrain of “bombs over Baghdad” is tired; the vocal filters and layers again distract the listener away from any message within the track.
The struggling dichotomy of this album can be found in its covers: the strongest track here is “Fly,” a Nick Drake song, that Tizzard squeezes wonderfully with a thick voice and sparse instrumentals. But this song is overshadowed by an ill advised cover of “Mad World”; it’s not that the track is that bad, just that there have been many other covers of the song that do a lot more with the original (the Gary Jules’ version comes to mind). Where “Fly” comes across as a man picking through his favorite records and singing a homage, “Mad World” is a easily reproduced track forced upon the record.
The album surfaces then as an uneven, patchy work. Where the record is the best is in its instances of the personal where a musical honesty and emotional rawness peak, only too occasionally, through. In an attempt to modernize the sound from his origins of 90s rock bands, he falls back on the crutch of the studio. In the end the gloss of production and retread musical themes and structures on Quiet Storey House would be better if they were scrubbed away by the uneven scrawl of a ballpoint pen.

C

VIDEO OF THE WEEK!!!111one

2007-02-12T13:45:00.000-08:00

The unoffical anthem of Vernon, OMC still reigns supreme over the airwaves of the Okanagan valley, lighting the faces of youngsters with life-lifting lyrics and sensual tales of seduction and strangeness.
There was a time when the previous statement wasn't completely ludacrous. I beleive this song climbed the hallowed rungs of the MuchMusic countdown to the top perch once upon a time. Yes friends, OMC was top of the heap. Real cool cats.
Alas, that's gone now. But still, every fucking time I go home to Vernon for Christmas I hear this song at least once. I have the suspicion someone, somewhere lost a bet. Or perhaps, there's a child, growing older by the year, that OMC has taken for ransom and refused to return until this song is played, once a week, for a decade. For now, let's just enjoy the red Impala and open necked shirts and maybe one day, if the wind blows exactly right, OMC will once again be crowned relevant.

Prince-y Greatness

2007-02-11T19:37:00.000-08:00

Because I really didn't say much about the Halftime preformance (which has won him a lot of converts from the anti-Purple One crowd), I'll let this picture speak for itself. Further, I'd recomend you hide your first born daughters if you value their virginity; Prince will deflower them in a second. To the rest of you, find "Sign of the Times."

In non-related news, podcast is still up for downloading. Go git it!

2007-02-09T17:25:00.000-08:00

After a gap of what seemed like years, even centuries, the GoT podcast has returned in full triumphant glory. There is some Midlake (thanks Stirling!), some Islands, some Arcade Fire from Neon Bible, some "Mr. Tough" and one more song that just might be a mystery. A mystery! Download to find out at:

http://www.archive.org/details/AaronTuckerPodcast3

Leave your praise/un-praise in the comments section yo!