...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.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
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.)
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.)
Thursday, December 16, 2010
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'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:
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.)
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
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.
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.
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