Pandemonium In Massey Hall

Lowest of the Low (with Mick Thomas and Squeezebox Wally)
MASSEY HALL!
May 7, 2011


And so the long-awaited night finally arrived: the Low, concluding their 20th-anniversary-of-Shakespeare-My-Butt tour in the finest, most storied concert venue Toronto has to offer. Playing Massey is something pretty phenomenal , seeing the name of a long-suffering local indie band up there on the big signs, just after Paul Simon and before Neil Young. At the ‘Blue Moon’ show back in December, Stephen Stanley had mentioned that this was a possibility, and that he had worked at Massey Hall as an usher as a teenager – and when the official ‘fanclub presale’ announcement went up, I was (by sheer dumb luck) online pretty much right when it got posted, and thus managed to score myself a front row ticket, rather to my own disbelief.

A little after I’d bought my ticket, there came another announcement, of a ticketed after-party in the Massey Hall basement bar, and I admit, I dithered over that one a fair bit longer. I’ve been fortunate enough to meet Ron and Stephen a number of times, after all, and without having to obtain an extra ticket to do so. Not to mention the fact that the ‘Centuries’ bar has a capacity of something like 200 or so: not exactly a super-intimate affair. But eventually, I came to my senses and realized that (a) for the amount of joy this band has brought to my life over the past two decades, I certainly do not begrudge them an extra $20-plus-tax of my hard-earned money, and more importantly, (b) I wanted to be a part of as much of this glorious night as I possibly could. I locked down my after-party ticket and wondered why I’d debated so long.

While waiting for the Massey Hall show, I did of course also manage to take in the band’s stop in Hamilton in April, but I have already written that up in (excruciating) detail, so suffice to say it only heightened my anticipation for May 7.

When the time finally came to head downtown for the show, it seemed fitting that it was the most perfect, golden, slanting-sun-washed early evening that May can sometimes provide. It was a fitting visual to kick off what I knew would be a night to remember. I had a flashback, making the lane change from Eastern Avenue onto the Richmond Street off-ramp, of riding that off-ramp in a school bus, enroute to see the Toronto Symphony at Massey Hall for field trips in grade 5 and 6, back when the symphony still played there. I remember as a kid, how vertiginous it seemed to emerge into the balcony – or were we in the gallery? – and look down steeply into the hall. It’s a building that creates a sense of occasion all by itself.

Parked the car and ambled around a bit, realizing that I had a fair bit more time to kill than I’d planned, but by about ten to seven, anticipation got the better of me and I just had to go and stand there on the street and look at the big sign and the big red doors, even though they were still closed, and to see LOWEST OF THE LOW on the schedule with my own eyes. It got real, very suddenly, and I stood there trying to wrap my head around just how this must all feel from the band’s perspective. (Deep thoughts notwithstanding, I was aware that I was just standing there on Shuter St. by myself like a doofus, so I did what every person in that position does these days: fiddled around with my phone to look busy.) While I was just absorbing all of this, in my peripheral vision I noted someone slipping out one of the aforementioned red doors; thinking that this meant the building was opening, I turned to see that in fact, it was Stephen coming out to greet some friends. I think I stood there like a deer in headlights for a good minute or so, debating forty years of parental instruction on not interrupting people more important than myself (ie, almost everyone) versus twenty years of being a fan of the Low. In the end, fandom won out (sorry, Mom and Dad…) and I did go over to say hello before he had to head back inside.

A couple of minutes later, an usher came out and said that although the hall wasn’t open yet, the bar downstairs was now open and we could feel free to head in via the box office if we liked. The first thing I noticed upon making my way down was that the price list at the merch table included Ron’s newest CD, ‘Straitjacket Love’, which he had said might possibly be ready in time for Massey. I snapped that up, as well as the ‘other’ Low t-shirt design (I had already bought one of the two designs at the Hamilton show), and gazed upon the limited-edition vinyl copies of Shakespeare. Alas, I’ve not had a turntable since they went with an ex in an early-90s breakup, so I couldn’t quite justify buying the record – but it was certainly a fun flashback to see lots of people walking around with them as the night wore on.

The bar was fascinating. On the way in, there were a series of panels with photos and ephemera from each of the decades of Massey Hall’s history, 1894 onwards. Being a museum person, I of course found this an excellent way to pass the time until the main hall opened, and even felt compelled to take a photo of my favourite headline. A fitting sentiment for the evening?



When the main hall opened, I headed upstairs and was shown to my seat by an usher, which only heightened my ‘we’re not in Kansas anymore’ feeling. My first thought was how enormous the stage looked, a fact that was accentuated by the Lowest of the Low banner that looked ever so much bigger at the Lee’s Palace and Hamilton shows. And I couldn’t resist taking this photo – I came for the band, I stayed for the legroom!



It wasn’t long at all before a fellow came out and introduced Mick Thomas and Squeezebox Wally (of Weddings Parties Anything, from Australia), and then the proceedings were well and truly under way. Mick and Wally did a couple of songs on their own, but before I knew it, they were bringing out Ron, Stephen and David of the Low to join them for the majority of their set, beginning with a memorable rendition of WPA’s ‘She Works’, which Mick described as having been the initial catalyst for the longstanding friendship between the two bands. They played about five songs together, then after the Low boys left the stage, Mick and Wally closed out their set with a brand-new song that I would guess might be called ‘On the Streets of Toronto’ – an amazing tribute to their feelings about Canada, and about the Low. I hope the song is released, and that Mick and Wally come back for a return visit soon.

The house lights went up, the crowd continued to pour in (really, I was quite scandalized by how many people missed the opening set; I suppose it was their loss, but still, I’m baffled), and it seemed like no time flat before Dave Bookman was coming out to introduce the Low. A riff of energy went through the place, and everyone was on their feet. Initially those of us down front were standing at our seats, since the professional photographers were moving back and forth at the lip of the stage, but there was no way in hell I could have sat down! And by about four songs in, Ron insisted that he wanted everyone to come up to the stage, dance in the aisles, and generally have a good time, which was certainly all the encouragement needed. I was stepping forward to the stage before he’d finished the sentence, which also meant that I could opt to rest an elbow on the stage while snapping photos – thus, out of the 90+ pictures I took, there are at least a few this time that aren’t blurry. This is rare for me!

Mick and Wally.


The crowd welcoming the Low.






The smile says it all…
















As with the prior shows, the main set consisted of the entire ‘Shakespeare My Butt’ album, with Mick and Wally returning to add their contributions to a few songs as well. The electricity in the room was high throughout, but particularly once we were encouraged to come right to the stage; Ron had mentioned dancing and I certainly was, along with a liberal amount of just plain I’m-so-excited-I-must-jump-up-and-down. I did look over my shoulder a few times to catch the sight of the whole of Massey Hall sharing the mood, and I can only imagine how it must have looked from the stage itself. I had said before the show that this was the first concert I’d ever been to where I was as excited for the band as I was to see the band, and if the looks on their faces were anything to go by, my sentiment wasn’t misplaced. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bunch of rock stars look so much like kids on Christmas morning before. Wiser, worldlier than most kids – a little wickeder, too, probably – but that excitement was definitely palpable. Not that I’ve ever seen them play a concert that ever felt to me like ‘just another show’, but this night was DEFINITELY not any old show.

Ron mentioned early on that the show was being recorded for future broadcast on CBC Radio 2 and that we were all to cheer for the radio – I look forward to hearing the recording, although of course audio alone could never quite capture the full experience of being there. He also joked later that some of the banter between songs won’t make any sense on the radio, but I’m glad he didn’t let that stand in his way. He changed up a few lyrics to fit the occasion: ‘who’s your favourite WPA member’ in place of ‘who’s your favourite Pogue’ being perhaps the favourite.

After the close of the set, they left the stage for the briefest of breaks, while the crowd demanded their return. The encore began with just Ron and Wally for ‘Black Monday’ before bringing everyone else out, and they ended out the night with WPA’s ‘Knockbacks in Halifax’ and Billy Bragg’s ‘Help Save the Youth of America’… but what was really the icing on the cake for me was the inclusion in the middle of the encore of Stephen’s (as yet unreleased) song ‘Things I Wish I’d Never Seen’. I may have had a bit of a flailure when I recognized it starting; all I remember is thinking “is it…? Is it…? IT IS!” in pure glee. It’s a brilliant song, and sounded absolutely phenomenal with the full band and the incredible acoustics of the venue.

I would have happily stayed there for hours, just drinking it all in, but presumably the venue had a time limit, because the house lights came back up promptly after the one encore, and I thanked my lucky stars that I’d secured the after-party ticket; I would have been seriously bummed to leave at that point. Instead, I headed back down the stairs and joined the crush of people slowly making their way into the bar.

And it felt like a madhouse at first, a ton of people in that relatively small basement space and a din of excited voices everywhere with my ears still ringing from the speakers. One of the great things about being a fan of these guys, though, is the other fans – I’ve met so many people at shows over the years, that these days I know I can go to a show alone and pretty much always run into a number of friends and acquaintances. I stayed till just about the bitter end, till the bartender had done last call and the security guards started circling to sweep the last stragglers out, and somewhere in there I did get a chance to talk to all the guests of honour – and yes, to bring out my nerdy little laundry marker and get my shirt signed.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime sort of a night: brilliant to have been a part of it, a little bittersweet to see these months of the Shakespeare anniversary come to an end, but looking forward to what comes next!

Worth the long, foggy (possibly zombie-filled) drive.

Or, A Rambling and Verbose Concert Review:

Lowest of the Low

This Ain’t Hollywood – Hamilton, On

Thursday April 7, 2011

This show was part of a tour (mostly southern Ontario, plus a stop in Buffalo and a trip out to Halifax) for the 20^th anniversary of the Low’s first album, Shakespeare My Butt.    The whole thing is winding up on May 7 with a big show at the magnificent, acoustically-renowned, historic Massey Hall in Toronto, and initially I had thought that the Massey Hall show (for which I have a front row ticket) was going to be the only one of the tour that I’d be able to make it to.   About three weeks ago, I realized that (one silver lining to being somewhat under-employed right now) I had April 7 and 8 off work, which suddenly made the idea of a jaunt to Hamilton – which is really only an hour away if there’s no traffic – very plausible.    And, besides the fact that I would generally be happy to see the Low (or its members, solo) play pretty much every damn week, I also really, really wanted to catch at least one of the “tiny bar” shows as a contrast to the big posh Victorian hall next month.   So, one online transaction and some looking up of directions later, I was set.

The trip to Hamilton was an experience in itself, because it was WEIRD.  Directions were easy, no issues there: it was the weather.   Wild, epic, bizarre fog was generating off Lake Ontario in a way I’ve never seen before; I’ve been in the Alps and experienced the way a cloud can generate and blow in and out when you’re up a mountain, and this was something like that, but compounded in strangeness by seeing it happening around the downtown core of Toronto, and by the setting sun’s light which meant that there would be moments of hazy sunset, moments of near-darkness and often a liminal sort of golden fog that was the oddest thing ever.    Initially, I thought that perhaps there had been a huge fire somewhere, because it was just that dramatic an onset: sunny at my house, but as I got within a couple of blocks of the lake, there was this horrible-looking bank of grey, blotting out the lake and the whole of downtown – and I only live about 2km from the lake, as the crow flies.  Slightly unsettling.  I really, really wished that I’d been the passenger, or that I’d had a passenger – someone to try and capture the conditions in photos.    As the QEW (highway) veered further away from the lake, the conditions cleared right up and I made very good time, only to encounter even thicker fog on the way into Hamilton.

Now, I’ve passed through Hamilton on the highway many times, but have only rarely had occasion to go into the city and find my way around, but thankfully the venue was very easy to find.   It’s in Hamilton’s ‘North End’ neighbourhood, which looks like a formerly down-at-heel, working-class sort of area that’s in the process of becoming a funky, small-art-gallery type of ‘hood.   I spotted the venue with no trouble, but I must admit I drove around the block four times before parking – not because of lack of spots, but because I’m so used to the difficulty of parking in downtown Toronto that I kept expecting to see ‘no parking’ or ‘permit only after midnight’ signs.  

Finally, though, I secured a spot just down the block from the bar and went to get the lay of the land.  Since the traffic had been lighter and the parking situation easier than expected, I found myself a little over an hour early, considering that the venue had advertised ‘doors open at 9’.   I expected that I’d have to kill an hour walking around, maybe go get a cup of tea or something and come back to possibly queue up a little before nine.   First, though, I walked around the building to try and figure out where the entrance actually was (which wasn’t as immediately obvious as one would expect), and to indulge a little in the fact that I could hear them wrapping up their soundcheck.   As I was standing there, a friendly woman (one of the bartenders, as it turned out) wandered out, asked if she could help me with anything, and whether I was there for Lowest of the Low.   When I said apologetically that I knew I was really early, she scoffed and basically said no worries, come on in; the ticket girl wasn’t there yet, but to just show her my ticket once she got set up.

Obviously, this was a much better prospect than wandering around a strange neighbourhood in the cold, damp fog for an hour (also, an odd sidenote  - the area was crawling with police, including mounted officers, because of a political event across the street), so I wasted no time taking her up on it, and took the opportunity to check out the room a bit.   I hadn’t known what to expect, but I give This Ain’t Hollywood 10/10 for atmosphere and super-friendly staff.    It’s small, a typical ‘black-box’ kind of concert area at one end, a bar down the middle of one long wall, and a kind of basic loungey area at the far end, with a fun assortment of art (punk band posters, some original paintings, and a big Frankenstein/zombie type of portrait over the mantel of a non-functional fireplace).     I’m rubbish at estimating the capacity of venues, but I’d be really surprised if its capacity (the club, that is, not the fireplace) is over 200.

The opener was Mick Thomas and ‘Squeezebox Wally’, of the Australian band Weddings Parties Anything, who have a long-standing friendship with the Low and actually covered the Low’s ‘Rosy and Grey’ and made it a very well-loved song among their own fans.   I saw Mick play with Ron and Stephen at one of the ‘Blue Moon’ shows in Kensington Market a few years back, and knew I was in for a treat. I admit, I’ve been remiss in checking out more of his music in the interim (which I will definitely have to remedy now), but he’s a real troubadour, a bard – his have great stories to tell, for example one inspired by seeing a single, super-Goth teenager in a tiny Outback town.    So I was quite pleased to be down front and give them my full attention.   And let me tell you, I was even more pleased to be down front when, from his third song on, he brought out three-quarters of the Low to join him – with Ron playing bass, which I’ve never seen before.   It was absolutely phenomenal, and it’s obvious that all these guys do have a great bond and they were all just having a hell of a lot of fun playing together.     The highlight of the opener (actually, one of the highlights of the whole night) was their all-hands-on-deck rendition of Weddings Parties Anything’s ‘Knockbacks in Halifax’, which had so much energy I swear it could have powered the city of Hamilton for the rest of the night.     I found the song (a WPA performance from about 1990, obviously sans the Low) on Youtube, for those who haven't heard it. – imagine this performed a little faster tempo and with ten times the electricity.    What I would not give to see this again next Saturday night, when they will be IN HALIFAX.   Seriously, you guys.    That in itself was easily worth the drive to Hamilton in the fog.

So, at the close of Mick’s set, the crowd starts to close in on the stage, and those of us already at the front had to be a titch territorial about our spots, but the general tenor of the crowd was pretty good, and thankfully the sorts of people who didn’t want to give their attention to the opening act (although why on earth not, especially in this case?  Who knows!) had mostly congregated in the lounge end of the bar until the break.   One woman who I’d chatted to a bit way before the show (she’d asked if I knew who Mick was, I told her about seeing him at Blue Moon and that he was great) tapped me on the shoulder to tell me she agreed with my assessment and she’d loved the opening set, which was nice. 

At last, around 11:30, the Low took the stage.  They were welcomed loudly by the crowd, including some dude shouting “THIS IS HAMILTON!  YOU’RE IN HAMILTON!” and making a few cracks about Ron’s mother, which was comedic to a point, but by about four songs in, Ron did have to say something to the effect that “This will get a lot less funny if I have to bring you up on stage and kick the shit out of you”, although it really was all in good spirits (I think…).   As with the December show at Lee’s Palace, they played Shakespeare in its entirety, all 17 songs, as the main set, with an assortment of later Low and solo material as the encores. 

It was a thing of beauty, with so much energy and motion and such a wall of sound packed into such a small stage and incredibly overwhelming being front and centre, to the point where it was almost like sitting slightly too close at an IMAX movie – you actually can’t take the whole view in in one glance, you have to look all around and decide where to focus in any given moment.    And since a good deal of the stage lighting was actually from behind the band (which is part of the reason I didn’t even attempt many photos), I was well aware that they had a full view of the audience and that this was definitely a two-way interaction.    Which is what I love, love, LOVE about small venues, but when you’re in front and it’s the band that’s narrated your life for close to 20 years and whose music has sparked laughter, tears, and just about everything else in between … it can mess with your head a little.   You have to make a really solid decision to not let yourself get too self-conscious, or you can quickly lose the moment .    (It’s also times like these that I am super-glad I don’t drink any more, or I could easily see making a compete ass of myself.)  I do know that I had a ridiculous perma-grin through the whole thing, but damn, when you’re forty years old and most of life is forcing you to be entirely too grown up, any occasion for perma-grin is a fucking much-needed thing.     And in my life, perma-grin and the Low are almost entirely synonymous.

Getting back to the concert report and not the grinning-idiot-in-the-audience report: after the main set, they did two encores (Devil Went Down/Gamble/Last Recidivist and Black Monday/City Full of Cowards/Out of the Black) which were the icing on the cake – except for the fact that the setlist had THREE encores but… apparently some of the crowd were turning into pumpkins?  Granted, it was a Thursday night, but I kind of think, once you’ve committed to going out to a late-night show on a school night anyhow, is another three songs going to really break you the next day?   Those of us down front yelled till we were hoarse (literally, in my case), but we knew there weren’t enough of us to make that third one happen.   Sadface. 

After the show, I stuck around for a little while, (sadly didn’t have enough spare cash left for one of the limited-edition posters that materialized), had a chance to tell Mick and Wally how much I’d enjoyed their set, and to have a quick chat with Stephen, who left me with the admonition to drive carefully, since Hamilton was still shrouded with fog at 2am.

The postscript is that yes, I obviously did make it home safely – although I have to say that on the way out of town, all alone on the road in the greyness,  I was cognizant that I was also passing a huge cemetery and was really glad to get out of town before the zombies came.    It was a perfectly surreal bookend to a perfectly glorious night.  My only regret is that I couldn’t run away with the circus and follow along to the rest of the band’s shows over the weekend – but hey, Massey Hall is less than a month away!

Guilty (dis)pleasures.

With music (with pop culture in general, really), people sometimes talk about 'guilty pleasures'.  I get the concept, but I'm not altogether comfortable with the implications of it.

Let me lay it out for you:  Music, as incredibly diverse as it is, is a universal thing (assuming one can hear).   Sometimes it's profound, sometimes it's profane, and sometimes it's just something to dance to or to calm you at the end of a long day.   Everyone's taste is shaped - and continually reshaped - by a complicated matrix of peers, personality, memory, marketing (yes, it's true), and a whole lot of je ne sais quoi.   Pieces of music, if they're pleasing to you, find their place somewhere along a continuum that ranges from fleeting fancies to, as the Smiths put it, the songs that saved your life.  It's all very personal and absolutely subjective.

So, having said that: why feel guilty about any music you genuinely like?


Now, granted, I am only human, so I'll admit there are some points on my personal musical map that I don't necessarily trot out when I'm trying to pretend that I'm really cool.   But life is way, WAY too short to feel shame or guilt over the shit you like, folks.    I was going to add some 'true confessions' here, but then decided that even that kind of justifies the idea that there's music you have to 'confess' to liking.

And this wasn't even the main point of this point.

My point was, that although I don't believe in feeling bad about stuff I like, I do sometimes feel something like guilt over things that I don't like, or things that I like well enough but get the impression that I'm supposed to really love and revere.

Like the Beatles.   There, I said it.  Now, I've got no problem with the Beatles.  Their music is pleasant and enjoyable.  I like a little Yellow Submarine as much as the next guy (although not nearly as much as my 3-year-old son).    And I do get their importance in the general scheme of music history, I really do.  But I know so many people - many of whom were not even born when the Beatles parted ways - who are absolutely passionate about them, that I feel like I've missed a memo somewhere.

That's my biggest one, but there are others.  Plenty of acclaimed, accomplished, literate and interesting musicians that I feel I kind of want to like, but don't.  Rather in the same way that I wish I liked melon because it looks so refreshing.  They are the melons of my musical world.    Then there are the ones that well-meaning acquaintances have tried to stuff down my throat like medicine: supposedly good for me on some level, but fundamentally unpalatable.  (Sorry about that, Tori Amos.)

I'm hereby declaring a moratorium on all music related guilt.  Let's just own our tastes (and distastes) and get on with our lives, shall we?

(Unless you like Justin Bieber.  Feel free to keep your guilt about that.)

The ubiquitous, vaguely timely, list.

I’ve been challenged to list up some of my top songs of 2010.   Here’s a quick rundown, in no particular order – and admittedly, only some of these are actual ‘2010 releases’:

Frightened Rabbit – Swim Until You Can’t See Land

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SzjERZU3wbY

I’ve been a big fan of theirs since I first heard ‘The Twist’ on an NPR podcast in mid-2008.  Their lyrics are honest and always manage to hit interesting turns of phrase that are so apt and yet nothing I would have thought of (this in itself will usually take me 85% of the way to liking a band).  The Scottish accent is just a nice plus.

Stars – Dead Hearts

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nfYK8wvvU90

Another band I’ve liked for a while, but I have to admit I hadn’t given their new album a fair listen yet, before they used this song on an episode of ‘Chuck’ and it stopped me in my tracks.  (Incidentally, I would like to tip my hat to whoever makes the music selections for that show; it’s worlds ahead of most tv-show music programming). 

Arcade Fire – Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rH_7_XRfTMs

Granted, Arcade Fire are going to be a predictable presence on a lot of music lists this year, but this song is my favourite from the album.  It’s unexpectedly Heart-of-Glass-esque.

Mumford & Sons – Winter Winds

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KCg_QEHtkY

Squeaking under the wire for 2010, at least for me.  I had heard of these guys here and there, but an enthusiastic recommendation from Stephen Stanley prompted me to finally get around to picking up their album three weeks ago.  

The XX – Intro

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L73OLaG4_kA

I don’t really look back that fondly on my club-going, Cure-listening days in a lot of respects, but this song takes me back to all the bits that were good about those years.

Stephen Stanley – Things I Wish I’d Never Seen

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_vENICYsss

Not actually released yet, so I had to go looking for a live performance video (which has a lot of audience chatter in it, sadly).  Maybe  it’ll come out in time for the recorded version to make it onto my list again in 2011…?    

Cuff the Duke – Another Day in Purgatory

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iN1Hm6yMMjY

Another one where I could only find a live video to link to (although the song itself is available in recorded format in this case).   The album version is only a hair over two minutes long, and I find myself setting it to repeat several times in a row.   I suspect some people may get scared by the 'alt.country' tag and miss the glory of this band; their loss.

Julian Plenti – Unwind

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-JNg-eCe7c

With a big, bright, Beatles-y trumpet riff contrasting with the buzzy drone of the rest of the instruments, and lyrics that (while repetitive) read like something from the ‘stuff girls want to hear’ manual, this one became my default good-mood song of the year.   And yes, Paul Banks, we know it’s you.

Crystal Castles (featuring Robert Smith) – Not in Love

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqJAulxnG7A&feature=fvst

 I was browsing in Kensington Market this fall and heard this come on.  No problem placing the voice, but the song sounded ever so familiar in that I-can’t-quite-place-it way; it wasn’t till the end that it hit me, and I had to announce to the entire shop that ‘Holy shit, this is Robert Smith doing Platinum Blonde!’ (Oh hi, grade 10, I see what you did there.)

Dan Mangan – Tina’s Glorious Comeback

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wO-PoNayWYE

This was a fortuitous one; I’d opted to take a chance on his album on the strength of one track (not this one) that I’d heard once or twice, and found a few standout songs that I liked better than the original one.   This is just at the edge of almost being *too* earnestly twee for me, but not quite.

That’s ten, isn’t it?   I’m sure I’ve missed something that I’m going to kick myself for, once this is posted, but the nature of lists is that they’re always incomplete and slightly BS.   Let’s say it’s top-of-head stream-of-consciousness and call it good.

The best thing about Boxing Day...

...is the cessation of the infernal Christmas music.

Now, don't get me wrong; I'm not lacking in holiday spirit.   Actually, wait... If I'm being honest, I have to admit that, while I'm certainly not in league with Scrooge and the Grinch, I'm not the most festive of folks when it comes to holiday music, particularly of the sort they play on the radio.  Next Christmas may be three-hundred-sixty-four days away, but that's still too soon to have to contemplate those dreadful how-many-extra-notes-can-we-stuff-into-this pop renditions of seasonal classics - and don't even get me started on the recent original compositions.  (I haven't quite recovered from hearing something in the drugstore that had I'm gonna e-mail Santa as its key lyric.) 

With that said, there are a few bits of holiday music that I do enjoy.  The live steel band that was playing carols in the grocery store last week was positively delightful  - upbeat, bright and shiny (literally!), just as the holidays are supposed to unfold - and there have been some pop/rock holiday songs that don't make me retch.  I love '2000 Miles' by the Pretenders, for example, and of course I do enjoy the Pogues' 'Fairytale of New York' year-round.   I'm also only slightly ashamed to admit that I have an enduring soft spot for the Chipmunks and their hula hoop.

But really... that's about it.

What I wonder, though, is why there's so little music written about other holidays.  New Year's Eve/Day, for example.   Off the top of my head, I can think of Death Cab for Cutie's 'The New Year' and U2's 'New Year's Day', and some execrable ABBA number that I vaguely remember from childhood.   Any others? 

Which reminds me: the other best thing about this week of the year?  The annual parade of 'best of' and 'the year in music' lists.  This year, I'm bookmarking several of those to go back and pick up on the things I missed or skimmed over... perhaps I'll make some new discoveries to brighten up January.   Meanwhile, expect me back this week with my own musical summary of 2010.   Cheers, all.

Sugar Five Hundred.

Mistaken lyrics.  Everyone has a story, and of course there are those famously frequent confusions, like 'Scuse me while I kiss this guy or There's a bathroom on the right.   And let's not forget 'Blinded By the Light'. (Racked up like a douche?  Actually, these days no one would bat an eye if that was the real lyric.)

There was the ex of mine that was convinced Bono was singing about playing Jesus to the leopards in your head, and that year in the 1970s when my mum wondered why Neil Diamond had written a song about the Reverend (actually Forever In) Blue Jeans.   I know I wasn't the only one in the 80s to hear a crock of dog shit when Terence Trent D'Arby was singing about crocodile tears (I knew that was wrong, but it was the only redeeming amusement to be had from that song when it was in heavy radio rotation), but I do think I might have been the only one to hear laugh like birds until I was informed that the Killing Joke song was actually Love Like Blood. (I admit, even now that I know better, my brain still tries to misinterpret that one.  Still like the song, either way.)

It even happens with band names on rare occasions; a friend of mine back in the very early 90s told me about how she'd gotten excited about a song she heard in a club, went to ask the DJ who it was, and told all her friends about this great new band she'd discovered:  Mr. Ed.  In her defense, 'Nitzer Ebb' is not something my ears would have heard correctly in a loud bar, either.

But my all-time, best-ever, most favourite mistaken lyrics can be boiled down to two examples: one that cracks me up, and one that's purely for sentimental value.   The first was pointed out to me perhaps fifteen years ago, by a coworker at the time, in the Eurythmics' 'Would I Lie To You'.   Now, personally, I had never found any of those lyrics confusing or ambiguous, but this acquaintance of mine confessed that her first several times hearing it, she had been sure that Annie Lennox was singing, "I packed my bags, I peed the floor, watch me walking, walking out that door".  

And you know?  Now I hear that Every.Single.Time. - and I guess it appeals to my inner five-year-old, because it is just as hilarious Every.Single.Time.  I almost had tears streaming down my face just typing this post, for pete's sake.   I defy you to ever hear that song the same way again.

The other one?  My dad.   My dad is a singing guy, but not a remember-the-lyrics guy - which means he does a lot of humming and chiming in on the last word of a line.  (Everyone knows at least one of those guys.)  And the lyrics he does know, he doesn't always know with the greatest of accuracy.  But still, when there's a song that's been one of his favourites longer than I've been alive, you'd think he'd at least know the opening line, the line that's reflected in the song's title?    That song happens to be the Four Tops' 'I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch)'.   And, you guessed it, my dad's version:  "Sugar five hundred..."   For as long as I can remember.  Sugar Five Hundred.

Now, I don't want anyone to think that I'm mocking the man.  (Well, maybe a little, but gently and with love.)   It's just weird enough to be charming, which perhaps is not a bad way to be summed up, after all.  Hell, I think 'Sugar Five Hundred' would be a great name for a song, or a band.  (Or a candy store.  If anyone sees it on a shop window, tell 'em they owe my dad some royalties.)

The beautiful mess.

You may recall my last post, in which I waxed lyrical (well, so it seemed in my head at the time) about the joys of liking local music.    And what, you may ask, could possibly top seeing one's favourite band in a 500-ish-capacity venue?

I'll tell you what.   Seeing two members of one's favourite band in a 40-ish-capacity venue.   Complete with shortbread. (What?  I'll get to that.)  

Yes, that's a four and just one zero that I typed there, on purpose.  Actually, I believe the posted capacity of Graffiti's, in Kensington Market, is 45, but is that meant to include the musicians and the proprietor?    Either way... 45 people is a seriously small room.   And it does feel like a 'room' in the most hanging-out-in-someone's-family-room (albeit a well-worn and very rock-and-roll one) sense.

And so, the Blue Moon series - an annual string of shows that Ron Hawkins and Stephen Stanley have been putting on at Graffiti's since 2006 - truly does take on the aura of a friendly party, as much as a concert.  The timing helps, being right on the cusp of the December holiday whirlwind.   This year's edition - Blue Moon 5 - spanned three nights, December 9-11; I attended Friday night, Dec 10.    Pre-parenthood, I would have made sure to have taken in all three shows, but one is infinitely better than none.   (Not hyperbole!  My math is solid on this point.)

"Egad," you're probably saying by now, "get on with the review!"

I will, I will - but first, just a tiny bit more backstory.   Thanks to the diligence of my fellow fans (you know who you are!) and the wonders of the interwebs, I was able to catch up Friday morning on the setlist from Thursday night's show.   And, well... I got to about maybe the third or fourth line down and saw that Stephen had done a cover of Frightened Rabbit's 'Modern Leper', and my reaction was something like this:

(Well, except that my hand was clapped over my mouth in shock, but you try drawing a hand using MS Paint and a laptop touchpad.  No, I mean it... I'm sure you could do a far better job than I could.  I'm ashamed to say how long I spent on this as it is.)
You see, the thing is, I've been really excited about Frightened Rabbit since I came across them in mid-2008, but the freaky thing is, pretty much any time I've listened to them (certain songs in particular, Modern Leper being one), I have always had this idle daydream of how well-suited the songs would be to Stephen Stanley's voice and style, and especially in the context of the Blue Moon shows, that have this kind of relaxed, anything-goes, kind of feel.   

But I have lots of daydreams about lots of things (million dollars and superpowers, anyone?) that I do not necessarily think will actually happen in any version of real reality.   And ergo, there I was at my computer screen with an absurdly shocked face as my brain temporarily fried itself over this unlikely turn of events.  The next reaction, of course, was to realize that bugger it, this had happened when I was not there to see it, but still, it left me a bit jittery and all the more excited for Friday night.

I was going to the show alone, but with the expectation of seeing a number of friends there - and, since I am pathologically over-punctual and like to sit at the front (and also intended to save seats for said friends), I arrived early.  So early, in fact, that I walked into Graffiti's to find the room set up in a completely different configuration and two dudes playing classic rock covers to a handful of people.  (I admit, I did have just a moment of thinking, "have I gotten the wrong day??").  I sat where there was room, put some money in their jar when they were done, and then pounced on the table I actually wanted the moment the patrons from that show had gotten up to go.  Shortly afterwards, the familiar faces started arriving, and with them, the treats: After Eights! Ferrero Rochers!  Multiple trays of homemade shortbread!   Truly, this is not your average evening of music in a bar.

Things kicked off a little after 9pm (more or less on time: punctuality may not be very rock'n'roll, but the owner of Graffiti's has apparently been on the receiving end of more than his share of late-night noise complaints) with a solo set from Stephen, then one from Ron, then a third set with the two of them together, followed by an encore.   Thirty-six songs, altogether, by my count, and after the wonderful revisit of 'Shakespeare My Butt' the previous weekend at Lee's, it was a welcome treat at Graffiti's to hear a large proportion of newer material, including a number of songs that were brand-new to me (although not necessarily to some of my acquaintances who have attended more shows than I have in the past few months).   

To pick out some highlights... Well, first of all, after I've gone to the trouble to explain that whole Frightened Rabbit anecdote in detail, complete with my ludicrous attempt at a self-portrait, you may have already guessed this, but yes, Stephen did play 'Modern Leper' again, at which all the electrical circuits in my brain simultaneously shorted out and I just grinned like an idiot for five minutes.   (And yes, because I really am just that awkward, I was compelled to tell him this whole story after the show, including a demonstration of the shocked face at the computer screen.  Cool.)   

Other standout songs, some familiar, some not: By Her Side, Fremont Street Cowboy, Diamonds in the Water, Skyscrapers, Kill the Lights, Things I Wish I'd Never Seen, Peace and Quiet, Out of the Black.   Given that several of those are songs not yet available in recorded form, you can well imagine my anticipation for Ron's new album (expected early in the new year).  No word yet on when a new CD might materialize from Stephen, but from the reactions Friday night, there'll be an eager audience for it when the time comes.  

And it seems unfair to even try to pick out highlights, because there really wasn't a 'low-light' in the bunch.  Okay, admittedly, there were a few (five? six?) false starts to Dogs of February, but they were handled in good humour, and who doesn't love a bit of a blooper reel?

The true joy of the Blue Moon shows is in the alchemy that happens when Ron Hawkins and Stephen Stanley are on stage together.  (There is no actual stage at Graffiti's, just for the record.)   It's a strange hybrid of transcendent musical experience and in-between moments of complete hilarity.  On the latter score, there were too many anecdotes to possibly recount them all, but Ron's account of his time in Hong Kong navigating between crowds of rugby thugs and knife-wielding prostitutes was... you know, you really had to be there.  (It looks so grim in print!  It was funny, I swear!)    And on the former... I may be a fan of the twenty-dollar words, but 'transcendent' is one that I don't toss around lightly.   So much talent in those two brains and voices and guitars, and a tiny bar and an audience that gets it; it really does not get any better than that. 

(Until next year.)

I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

Well, maybe that's not entirely accurate.  I'm sure the actual luckiest girl in the world has a million dollars, and superpowers, a perfect singing voice, 20/10 vision and a special room for her vast collection of boots.  But I feel like I'm pretty close - for any number of reasons, but there's a big one that's all about music.

You see, some people never get to see their favourite musicians play live.  Maybe those people live in remote places, maybe their favourite bands just don't go on the road, or maybe - most tragically of all - their most-loved artists are no longer with us.   And then, there's another large segment of the music-loving population who have to wait years in between tours and then pay hundreds of dollars to sit in the nosebleed section of a stadium and look at the Jumbotron and the light show.

And that's where I do think I'm the luckiest girl in the world.  My favourite artists are local.  And not just local in a happenstance sort of way, but in a 'they play venues where the audience is numbered in hundreds - or sometimes even tens - rather than thousands' way.   In an 'I feel sorry for anyone who doesn't get to experience something like this' (I admit, I almost went down the 'I pity the fool...' road there, but thought it detracted from the tone I was going for) sort of way.

So, on that note, let me tell you about Lowest of the Low.   More specifically - at Lee's Palace, Saturday December 4, 2010.   There's a whole other long post that could be - and almost certainly will be, if I know myself - written about the band in general and how they've been a constant in the soundtrack of my adult life, but for the moment, a concert review.

Now, the Low have flitted in and out of existence (the band as an entity, that is; its individual members have not, to my knowledge, become intangible at any point) over the years.  This latest reunion is in support of the remastered, special-edition-with-extra-bells-and-whistles, 20th (!) anniversary re-release of their first album, 'Shakespeare My Butt', and last Saturday's show was the second of a two-night stand at Lee's.   And given that just a few short months ago I would have been skeptical of my chances at ever seeing them in the full LOTL configuration again, this was something worth getting pretty effing excited about.  

I was clearly not alone in this viewpoint, since both shows sold out fast - well in advance of the wave of articles and interviews that surrounded the actual album re-release date - and tickets were apparently going for 4x their face value on Craigslist in the final days prior.   Indeed, I arrived at Lee's (an hour before doors opened; I'm nothing if not overly punctual) to find a gauntlet of scalpers, and thought for a moment that I had stepped back in time to my high school days of going to shows at Maple Leaf Gardens.  "Tickets, tickets..."  That only lasted a moment before I remembered that it's not 1987 any more, which is a good thing since my musical taste (not to mention my hair and wardrobe) has improved exponentially in the interim.

Speaking of good musical taste, the openers for the show were Jim Bryson and John K. Samson.  They put on a great set, which I thoroughly enjoyed despite not knowing all of the songs (I'm familiar with the Weakerthans, but hadn't yet caught up on the album they've done with Bryson) and despite the thicket of loud talkers directly behind me.   Why do people feel compelled to do that?   That's another post for another day.

And then, after not too long a break, out came a real character - a Tough Guy (some things do require capitalization) with a bristly beard and a dapper suit, complete with hat, who ramped up the sense of occasion by introducing the band in a fine boxing-ring-announcer sort of bellow.  I've forgotten Tough Guy's name, but apparently he used to tour with the band back in the day.   And then...

Wow.  Did someone set off a massive electric charge?  No, that was Lowest of the Low taking the stage, but the effect was much the same: the crowd came alive and the room was suddenly reverberating with energy.  The main set was the 17 songs of Shakespeare My Butt, played in the same order as on the CD, and every single one sounded as fresh and compelling as I've ever heard them.  Perhaps due to the time away to work on other projects, or perhaps it was the anticipation of the re-release (or perhaps there was some magic in those cool black suits?), but whatever it was, they were entirely ON.  Maybe my eyes were deceived by the fog of awesomeness, but I swear even the normally reserved-seeming Dylan Parker was busting some moves.

The SMB set was followed by two encores, six and five songs respectively (although, dammit, I saw a photo of the setlist that suggested there were even more encores prepared... a pox on the bunch of people who set off a chain reaction of departures after the second one!), which included a wonderful Stephen Stanley/John K. Samson take on the Weakerthans' 'One Great City!', and then John and Jim both joined the full band for a rendition of a song I later learned was Jim's 'Impaler', complete with microphone-swinging theatrics, and Samson going for (the world's most tentative) crowd surfing.

I'm doing a completely inadequate job of conveying just how incredible this show was.  There was no one specific thing I can single out - it's hard to even identify highlights as far as particular songs - because it was just ALL. SO. GREAT.    You know that feeling in your chest you get (and if you don't know, just picture that scene where the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day) when you're witnessing something so phenomenal that it defies description?   Yeah... That set in around the opening notes of Just About 'The Only' Blues, and lasted till I got home that night.  After the show concluded, a friend asked what I thought of it, and all I could summon up to say (no doubt with some kind of ridiculously beatific expression on my face) was "....I'm so happy..."   

Trust me (and the length of this entry probably gives you the general idea), I'm not often lost for words.  That night, I was.

A voice in the crowd.

Well.  Here it is.  Where do I get off, blogging about music?  There are certainly enough other people doing it, and on the surface I don't have any particular credentials to back me up.   I'm not in a band, I'm not a journalist, and I've never had any pretensions to being a tastemaker.  (Actually, I feel like a pretentious tool just using the word 'tastemaker'.  It sounds like it should be the name of some kind of 1970s kitchen appliance.)  I've got a day job and a family and a couple of those scary-for-some milestone birthdays under my belt.  But... I do love music. 

Lots of people love music, of course.  (And then, some people say they love it, but really it's more that they kind of like it as a pleasant noise in the background.)   So there's nothing special I can lay claim to there, either.   I also (as some of my friends who've been on the receiving end of my overly wordy post-concert emails can attest) really, really like to write about music.  So, why not me, really?  (While we're at it, why not you?  I also really, really like to read about music.)

We'll see how this little experiment shapes up.