April 8, 2012
Evaporators LP review
Various Artists, Nardwuar the Human Serviette and the Evaporators Present: Busy Doing Nothing! LP (Mint Records/Nardwuar Records)
Nardwuar and his gang have been around for more than twenty years, compiling both wonderful collections of others’ material and original material. This record basically cuts it down the middle, with 8 new selections by The Evaporators, 4 cover tunes of classic early Canadian punk-pop and an interview with Frank Ferdinand (the Scottish band, not the scapegoat/excuse for World War I), all in a hair under half-an-hour (which makes this a little on the short side for a compilation, but about average for an Evaporators LP).
The covers would be: England’s The Cribs covering early Canadian girl band The Dishrags’ “Death In The Family” (a record which allegedly came out on the British arm of RCA, though there are some doubts about this), in a short energetic burst fairly similar to the original, if not quite as hooky; Kate Nash doing cub’s “My Chinchilla” with quirky preciousness, except for the final minute or so when she rocks it; Franz Ferdinand xeroxing The Pointed Sticks’ “The Real Thing”; and Fuad and the Feztones’ perpetrating frat-rock wonderfulness on The Evaporators’ “Welcome To My Castle”, complete with saxophone and growly vocals.
On the subject of vocals that are most assuredly NOT growly, we have now arrived at the geeky garage-pop-rock of The Evaporators. Nardwuar can be an acquired taste, as both singer and personality; a friend tells me that he deliberately chose NOT to volunteer at a Vancouver radio station when he learned that Nardwuar worked there. Ooooh, burn…
Let’s start with the material where they are augmented by special guests. Andrew WK whips out his organ and plays with his ivory on “I Hate Being Late When I’m Early” and “Bring It On Home”, the latter also featuring the sultry contributions of Jill Barber. He also sings on the former, though only occasionally – it has a sort of boogie-metal-punk feel to me, though still nerdy (which makes sense, because I remember what the FANS of metal I knew in high school looked like… :) ). “Bring It On Home” is a cover of a song by a largely forgotten songwriter named Doug Rutledge from British Columbia, and is vaguely rootsy/country/50s rock and roll. Nardwuar manages to shed some of the acquired-taste squeak and adenoidal delivery he typically provides, though he is sort of speak-singing through most of it, until the silly ad lib outro – though at least Nardwuar rightfully thanks Andrew for his awesome keys-pounding. “Hot Dog High” which features Megan Barnes’ enthusiastic vocalizing, as well as Xaul Xan and Sage Francis rapping (I’m reasonably sure that’s a first on an Evaporators disc), is a chugging Ramonesy song whose title pretty well describes the subject, and to which I can only say that I hope it is possible to take some extra credits at Cod Collegiate or Salad Secondary.
“Milkshake Murder” is a surprisingly catchy, speedy number with a guest saxophone cameo by someone named Corinne Mundell, which is based on a real case in Canada from 1965, in which someone from Vancouver killed his wife with arsenic milkshakes and tried to use as his alibi the fact that he was up on a billboard to promote a car dealership at the time. The title track is sort of average garage-punk-pop, though still pleasant. “Bunk” has a theme much like “Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio” or “We Want The Airwaves”, though in this case more kvetching about the ‘news’ and how it’s generally telling the ruling class side of things. It has a great bass solo and super-bubblegum-fun organ, though I wanted it to be so much longer! “Pig War” is also based on an obscure Canadian-related event, but it’s over so quickly that I don’t feel like sharing the story (really, neither does the song), except that it involved a border dispute arising from a pig being shot. “All The Bad Girls” sounds sort of like The Cars covering Rockpile, if you can imagine that; in short, somewhat twangy/basic rock with a deadpan vocal style; at least until the shout-it-out last few seconds.
Nardwuar has mellowed a bit in his interview style, or perhaps it’s because the rise of so many GENUINELY hostile and VICIOUSLY sarcastic radio personalities has made him seem kinder in comparison. In any case, he wraps up this disc with a fun and informative interview with Franz Ferdinand. Though I haven’t really followed them since “Take Me Out” and don’t feel compelled to after this little taster, they do seem like nice enough folks and play along engagingly with the wacky host.
Oh, I almost forgot – this record comes with, in addition to the download card (in the past, Nardwuar comps came with the actual CD inside the LP – when Skookum Chief came out, you actually HAD to buy the LP to get the CD…), a Nardwuar vs. Bev Davies calendar that has photos and stories about various rock stars the latter photographed, in the form of a 2013 calendar (there’s a single page with just calendar grids for May 2012 to December 2012). This goes a long way towards augmenting the semi-skimpy length of the record, though the record is pretty fun as well while it lasts.
April 5, 2012
Grass Widow/Raincoats gig review
AT THE ROCK SHOW
GRASS WIDOW/RAINCOATS, Wrongbar, Toronto, Ontario, 9/23/11
Initially, there was confusion about this gig, both my fault and, to some extent, due to how the event was initially advertised on-line. To make a long story short (it is almost always too late to invoke that by the time you’ve said it), it developed that there were two shows that same evening (which was not clear when I bought my tickets), and it was originally billed as (that act) and The Raincoats, so I bought the tickets for (that act), thinking it was her and then The Raincoats, only to discover when things were updated that I had purchased for the wrong programme. After some frantic negotiations and communications with both Shirley (The Raincoats’ manager) and the event organizer, the boyfriend and I were on the guest list, so we got in cheaper than would normally have been the case, as the tickets for the other act were a smidgen less pricey. (By the way, the other act was Marnie Stern, an excellent guitarist – I would go see her on some other occasion, and would have loved to have seen her if she had been on the bill with The Raincoats, but I wanted to see the band, as there could not be that many more opportunities and, as it develops, they revealed during the intro that they had NEVER played in Canada before).
There was a very small group of people waiting at the door when we arrived at the designated time (it may not be very rock ‘n’ roll of me, but I foolishly still think the stated kickoff is when things will start), and the door was locked, which caused us some concern. A couple of employees who were going in were unclear when it was starting, though one thought the door would open in about twenty minutes. When that time arrived, we timidly knocked, and a woman came to the door and said she also was not sure when it was going to commence. That woman was, in fact, Ana Da Silva from the band! (It was both a thrill to speak to her, however briefly, and somewhat ominous, given that the GROUP was not sure when it was going to launch).
When we entered, I sincerely wish I’d had my video camera at the ready, as the band were all gathered over in a corner and Ana and Gina were doing dance moves to the Motown blasting from the jukebox. Candid YouTube moments, foiled again…
I’m afraid I hit the merch table in advance of the show, while I could still hear (which is when I had my second conversation with Ana, albeit in terms of her asking me to move my big bearish butt (no, not in those words) so she could get a snapshot of the stuff). I got a t-shirt of The Raincoats (I was glad to see that they actually had one in my size, though the band that recorded ‘Odyshape’, with its critical remarks about size discrimination, would have been ill-served had they NOT), as well as a 45 and a cassette (yes, a cassette) by the opening band, Grass Widow.
On the subject of Grass Widow – they are a San Francisco female trio, consisting of Hannah (bass/vocals), Raven (guitar/vocals) and Lillian (drums/vocals), who perform very intricate and rhythmically tricky/elastic songs, in a mode somewhere between Erase Errata (yes, I know it’s lazy to compare a female band from San Francisco to ANOTHER female troupe from the same place), Throwing Muses and, well, The Raincoats, which made them an ideal opening act.
Because of the interwoven nature of their vocals and arrangements, they were a bit ill-served by a murky mix, but it got better (because it gets better) as time went on, and they were an original and intriguing ensemble whose albums I feel obliged to acquire over time (their 45 and their cassette were both excellent, arty affairs, full of interesting lyrics, chorale voices and sharp angles).
And The Raincoats? Oh, my goddess, where do I begin? Ana (guitar/bass/not functioning sampler/vocals), Gina (bass/guitar/vocals), Anne (violin/guitar/bass/vocals) and either Vice Cooler or Jean-Marc Butty on drums (they didn’t introduce him and my research has not found pictures identifying who he is/was) took to the stage with ferocity and none of the alleged shambling and uncertainty I have heard of their shows. Gina, who had swept into the bar looking rather damp and wind-blown (yes, it was pouring the day they played…imagine the aptness), was looking ferocious and fabulous now, and Ana had the energy and inventiveness often attributed to women half her age, while Anne and the drummer were perky and on top of their game. They played the hell out of a wide swath of their material, even including b-sides such as “I Keep Walking” (more baleful and Velvets-touched than the studio take), as-yet-unrecorded gems like “The Feminist Song” and my personal faves “Don’t Be Mean” and “Babydog”, along with absolutely required numbers such as “Fairytale In The Supermarket” and “No Side”. My only quibble is that they didn’t do “Lola”, but one can’t do EVERYTHING.
And before we knew it, it was over. The boyfriend and I walked back to the hotel, on a now clear and not overly cool night, though I rather suspect I floated on a wave of satisfaction and glee. :)
GRASS WIDOW/RAINCOATS, Wrongbar, Toronto, Ontario, 9/23/11
Initially, there was confusion about this gig, both my fault and, to some extent, due to how the event was initially advertised on-line. To make a long story short (it is almost always too late to invoke that by the time you’ve said it), it developed that there were two shows that same evening (which was not clear when I bought my tickets), and it was originally billed as (that act) and The Raincoats, so I bought the tickets for (that act), thinking it was her and then The Raincoats, only to discover when things were updated that I had purchased for the wrong programme. After some frantic negotiations and communications with both Shirley (The Raincoats’ manager) and the event organizer, the boyfriend and I were on the guest list, so we got in cheaper than would normally have been the case, as the tickets for the other act were a smidgen less pricey. (By the way, the other act was Marnie Stern, an excellent guitarist – I would go see her on some other occasion, and would have loved to have seen her if she had been on the bill with The Raincoats, but I wanted to see the band, as there could not be that many more opportunities and, as it develops, they revealed during the intro that they had NEVER played in Canada before).
There was a very small group of people waiting at the door when we arrived at the designated time (it may not be very rock ‘n’ roll of me, but I foolishly still think the stated kickoff is when things will start), and the door was locked, which caused us some concern. A couple of employees who were going in were unclear when it was starting, though one thought the door would open in about twenty minutes. When that time arrived, we timidly knocked, and a woman came to the door and said she also was not sure when it was going to commence. That woman was, in fact, Ana Da Silva from the band! (It was both a thrill to speak to her, however briefly, and somewhat ominous, given that the GROUP was not sure when it was going to launch).
When we entered, I sincerely wish I’d had my video camera at the ready, as the band were all gathered over in a corner and Ana and Gina were doing dance moves to the Motown blasting from the jukebox. Candid YouTube moments, foiled again…
I’m afraid I hit the merch table in advance of the show, while I could still hear (which is when I had my second conversation with Ana, albeit in terms of her asking me to move my big bearish butt (no, not in those words) so she could get a snapshot of the stuff). I got a t-shirt of The Raincoats (I was glad to see that they actually had one in my size, though the band that recorded ‘Odyshape’, with its critical remarks about size discrimination, would have been ill-served had they NOT), as well as a 45 and a cassette (yes, a cassette) by the opening band, Grass Widow.
On the subject of Grass Widow – they are a San Francisco female trio, consisting of Hannah (bass/vocals), Raven (guitar/vocals) and Lillian (drums/vocals), who perform very intricate and rhythmically tricky/elastic songs, in a mode somewhere between Erase Errata (yes, I know it’s lazy to compare a female band from San Francisco to ANOTHER female troupe from the same place), Throwing Muses and, well, The Raincoats, which made them an ideal opening act.
Because of the interwoven nature of their vocals and arrangements, they were a bit ill-served by a murky mix, but it got better (because it gets better) as time went on, and they were an original and intriguing ensemble whose albums I feel obliged to acquire over time (their 45 and their cassette were both excellent, arty affairs, full of interesting lyrics, chorale voices and sharp angles).
And The Raincoats? Oh, my goddess, where do I begin? Ana (guitar/bass/not functioning sampler/vocals), Gina (bass/guitar/vocals), Anne (violin/guitar/bass/vocals) and either Vice Cooler or Jean-Marc Butty on drums (they didn’t introduce him and my research has not found pictures identifying who he is/was) took to the stage with ferocity and none of the alleged shambling and uncertainty I have heard of their shows. Gina, who had swept into the bar looking rather damp and wind-blown (yes, it was pouring the day they played…imagine the aptness), was looking ferocious and fabulous now, and Ana had the energy and inventiveness often attributed to women half her age, while Anne and the drummer were perky and on top of their game. They played the hell out of a wide swath of their material, even including b-sides such as “I Keep Walking” (more baleful and Velvets-touched than the studio take), as-yet-unrecorded gems like “The Feminist Song” and my personal faves “Don’t Be Mean” and “Babydog”, along with absolutely required numbers such as “Fairytale In The Supermarket” and “No Side”. My only quibble is that they didn’t do “Lola”, but one can’t do EVERYTHING.
And before we knew it, it was over. The boyfriend and I walked back to the hotel, on a now clear and not overly cool night, though I rather suspect I floated on a wave of satisfaction and glee. :)
December 14, 2011
December 5, 2011
THE YOUNG WIDOWER
The young widower arises
From the nearly flat
Oceanic expanse of blue and white sheets
And wishes for roiling, as they had been before.
The young widower arises
Cold feet to cold kitchen
And takes down a cup, one of many
Matched by color, in one of two names.
The young widower arises
To claim the daily paper
Marking another passage of the moon through night
And the haughty arrival of another day.
The young widower peruses
The deaths and the courts
And also births and weddings, faint smile
At the easy procession of unquestioned routine.
The young widower reflects
On their meeting in college
In knowledge that, had they known the brevity,
They still would have artfully managed to live.
The young widower recalls
The seeking of blessing
From God and humanity, constructed in stone,
A simple marker in a weeded field.
The young widower sighs
At the mad whirl of faces,
Dancing in a space paid for dearly
And held dearly in memory ‘gainst the cold grip of earth.
The young widower glances
At the gleaming container
Hard fought for the right to have, burn and cherish
So many broken bones now brought to ash.
The young widower turns
To go forth in the world
that anonymously killed one thought anonymously loved…
But he proclaims their names in love.
December 5, 2011
September 12, 2011
new poem
IN A BETTER WORLD
Kurt Cobain married Calvin Johnson
And raised baby kittens on a cartoon spaceship,
While Courtney Love stayed with Falling James…
And if they ever fought, it was over him stretching her dresses.
And Amy Winehouse lived to a saucy old age,
Singing ‘Cupid’ down at her local pub
And the worse thing she ever put in her veins
Was the slimy grease from pork ‘n’ beans. Oy vey!
And Dusty Springfield looked in the mirror
That hung inside her walk-in-closet door
And saw Mary O’Brien as she truly was…
The beautiful girl who could be Dusty as well, and lived.
If Jeff Buckley ever swam, he disrobed, lovely boy.
He could wait to meet the father that he never knew…
And while he never made another ‘Grace’,
His muse took him elsewhere, lovers met but no journey’s end.
Scott Wannberg became the cranky old man
That Kerouac did not, and Burroughs should not have
And hung with Henry, Exene…and Viggo. Why not?
And spun surreal poems on looms of paper and pen.
Sylvia Plath used her oven to cook
As an independent woman with seventeen cats,
For she told her fascist Daddy that they were through
And he became an Iron Giant, a male artist all on his own.
Akhmatova saved her son from Stalin
And became the poet of slumber and summer.
Some would argue they were lesser verse,
But they can have winter and open red eyes and mass graves.
Virginia Woolf put practice to theory
And left Leonard for Vita in 1928
And summered in Paris with Gertrude and Alice
And if she ever swam, had no rocks clutched close to her heart.
Matthew Shepard left Wyoming in haste,
Or perhaps he stayed and married a Phelps.
Life is crammed and packed with twists,
And if God has the answer, the vector brings more than one.
Tipton and Teena share a trailer together,
Grandparent and grandchild in a quiet life.
I have seen their ID, and whatever it says,
Your ID is yours, to share or to clutch to bound chest.
Carlos may have regretted her candour,
Thinking curious playboys wanted to know…
But what they wanted was to feel
They could check off a box – and check one out as well.
I am not a puzzle for you to solve.
I am no riddle to parse in the dark.
I am no joke for you to wheeze, laughing.
I’m a story in progress, and the ending is mine, so just wait.
September 7, 2011
Kurt Cobain married Calvin Johnson
And raised baby kittens on a cartoon spaceship,
While Courtney Love stayed with Falling James…
And if they ever fought, it was over him stretching her dresses.
And Amy Winehouse lived to a saucy old age,
Singing ‘Cupid’ down at her local pub
And the worse thing she ever put in her veins
Was the slimy grease from pork ‘n’ beans. Oy vey!
And Dusty Springfield looked in the mirror
That hung inside her walk-in-closet door
And saw Mary O’Brien as she truly was…
The beautiful girl who could be Dusty as well, and lived.
If Jeff Buckley ever swam, he disrobed, lovely boy.
He could wait to meet the father that he never knew…
And while he never made another ‘Grace’,
His muse took him elsewhere, lovers met but no journey’s end.
Scott Wannberg became the cranky old man
That Kerouac did not, and Burroughs should not have
And hung with Henry, Exene…and Viggo. Why not?
And spun surreal poems on looms of paper and pen.
Sylvia Plath used her oven to cook
As an independent woman with seventeen cats,
For she told her fascist Daddy that they were through
And he became an Iron Giant, a male artist all on his own.
Akhmatova saved her son from Stalin
And became the poet of slumber and summer.
Some would argue they were lesser verse,
But they can have winter and open red eyes and mass graves.
Virginia Woolf put practice to theory
And left Leonard for Vita in 1928
And summered in Paris with Gertrude and Alice
And if she ever swam, had no rocks clutched close to her heart.
Matthew Shepard left Wyoming in haste,
Or perhaps he stayed and married a Phelps.
Life is crammed and packed with twists,
And if God has the answer, the vector brings more than one.
Tipton and Teena share a trailer together,
Grandparent and grandchild in a quiet life.
I have seen their ID, and whatever it says,
Your ID is yours, to share or to clutch to bound chest.
Carlos may have regretted her candour,
Thinking curious playboys wanted to know…
But what they wanted was to feel
They could check off a box – and check one out as well.
I am not a puzzle for you to solve.
I am no riddle to parse in the dark.
I am no joke for you to wheeze, laughing.
I’m a story in progress, and the ending is mine, so just wait.
September 7, 2011
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