Sebastian Bolesch at the Goethe Institut. Afghani Lives

Photojournalist Sebastian Bolesch elevates photojournalism to higher levels with his pictures of everyday people in extreme environments. Whether capturing children or adults, Bolesch captures the humanity and personal concerns of his subject matter. The viewer's ability to identify with the subject's simple gestures of friendship, intimacy, pain, joy, or passion give each photo photo a transcendent sense of man's ultimate concerns.

The exhibit at the Goethe institute of Bolesch's work, running until June 30, is a moving study of a country that is largely known for its lawlessness and troubles. It reminds us how easy it is to forget the ordinariness of the individuals who live there.

Motor Sport?: Clint Neufeld and Jason Gringler at the Parisian Laundry

Kissing Sisyphus by Jason Gringler, 2009, 72 by 84 inches, acrylic, collage, broken mirror, spray enamel, plexiglass

The Parisian Laundry continues to provide Montreal with avant garde installation exhibitions. Clint Neufeld and Jason Gringler's joint show celebrates the beauty of the mechanical and re-examine the concept of what is traditionally conceived of as masculine.

Neufeld's ceramic pieces are porcelain depictions of motors and car transmissions, decorated with dainty floral motifs commonly found on dish ware. Organized around the room on hip level cabinets, each engine component is turned into an artwork demanding contemplating. Initially, the viewer is amused by the juxtaposition of the traditionally masculine car part presented in such a feminine medium as porcelain. However, the cool white porcelain also beckons the viewer to appreciate the beauty of the motor, its unintended beauty and disguised symmetries. It is not so much as a jarring blend of masculine and feminine elements, but rather, a celebration of an ordinary object, elevated to the status of the Beautiful.

In the Bunker, four large paintings by Grigler also celebrate every day existence and mundanity as well. Constructed out of everyday architectural components -- enamel, glass, plexiglass, mirror, metal pieces, and spray paint -- these abstract pieces ask the viewer to consider their materials as objects of contemplation. The pieces resemble angular puzzles, with their components cut into long sharp triangles and rectangles, fitted together in an organic composition. Although rather masculine in their media and size, the paintings also utilize arrangement in a less aggressive and more familiar style. The blend of the two leaves the viewer rather satisfied with a tension brought to balance.

Shout out out out out and the Casecos at La Sala Rossa

Free tickets? I am never one to say no to free tickets! And where exactly did these free tickets lead me? To see two CBC favorite bands from the indie scene. There was a third band, but I managed to skip out on them because I had to talk to my +1 guest. I might have kept on talking to my +1 guest and missed Shout out out out out if he hadn't bothered to point out that the main act might be starting. Some conversations are completely engrossing.

Anyway, let's start with the Casecos. Toronto based band, from what I understand. As the openers, they played to a mostly shy crowd dispersed at the edges of the room. People were head shaking and shifting in place to their groovy disco beats, but no one was brave enough to dance until the last song. Which is a shame, because they were a fine act. The band seemed slightly disappointed by this fact -- I suppose they don't know the whimsical nature of Montrealers, nor might they know that during exam week at the Universities, the usual audience is library bound. I can't say too much about them, in part because I've only ever heard them from one song played on CBC's music podcast about a year ago (???), so this was my first foray into their live act.

As mentioned, I didn't even catch the smalltown DJs. Too bad.

But, Shout out out out out (I'll just refer to them as SOOOO), was in fine style. This electronic act is in the vein of LCD soundsystem and Mouse on Mars... highly electronic. Though, they add my favorite component... a live drummer. Make that two live drummers! Yehaw! If only I did acid or heroin, the experience would be straight out of the rave scene of the 80s. Fortunately, that absentee audience appeared and was ready to boogie down to the electronic aural feast. With Korgs a flying (can Korgs fly?), they got me moving and the whole room shaking down, big and small alike. This is a big act that far exceeds anything pre-recorded on a CD. They have to be seen live to be appreciated, and I dare say that their old jams and new jams are lovable booty shakers alike.

Igloo Fest

Montreal seems to have a never-ending supply of weird things to do that I have never quite gotten around to checking out. Case in point: Piknic Electronik. While Anglos and people who like to beat each other up while wearing Renaissance Faire gear go to the Tams, Francos and Raver Kids go to Piknic Electronik every Sunday to dance to beats from some of the hottest DJs worldwide. Having never been to a Piknic Electronik event in person prior to last night, I can't confirm if the linguistic split is true for the Sunday parties. Last nights event was sort of Franco-UN, with French dominating and every other language of the world flying off the tongues of those present. Ah, we can all unite under 150 bpm.

So, Igloofest is Picnik Electronik's winter slamdown. Every weekend for a three week period from 6 p.m.-midnight, the Jacques Cartier Pier is transformed into an igloo park on one side and a large party hall on the other. Almost the entire venue is outdoors, including the DJs who wear huge jackets to keep warm or look cool, or a bit of both. The igloo part includes an igloo bar for energy drinks and a lounge igloo. SInce staying warm is very important at Igloofest, people do not spend a good deal of time around the igloos, except to gawk.

The dance hall is true Canadiana. The walls are lit up with screens and lightboards. Speakers make sure the sound is heard throughout the hall at a not uncomfortable but loud volume. The snow is packed down from the feet of those dancing. And I tell you, people are dancing. You have to or else you will freeze. People come out in their snowboarding and winter gear, big down jackets, ski masks, snow pants, boots. A few get a little funky with care bear outfits or crazy hats. Somehow, even in all that clothing, people manage to move. You can't see every shimmy and shake, but you can see arms and legs in all directions as bodies go with the beats. Also striking... the smokers. For all those people deprived of the right to smoke at their favorite venue, they smoke freely and incessantly as they dance, which is intolerable for someone like me who doesn't smoke. Also in the dance hall is a bar with a variety of drinks that include the Caribou... a whiskey-maple combination.

The atmosphere is fun, jovial, but perhaps not conducive to making chit chat since you have to keep on moving to stay warm. I wasn't too impressed with the DJs, but Skratch Bastid has a set next weekend and if I knew a thing or two about the international techno scene, I'd probably have a better sense of who was worth checking out. As for Igloofest, it was worth the gander, but as soon as my sweat started to cool in the -19 temperatures, I left the party for other activities.

The Dears at the Apple Store on St. Catherine

These are the new Dears. Murray Lightburn and his partner, Natalia Yanchak, have recruited a new band of not-so-merry men and women. Although this was not their first performance in Montreal in their new incarnation, it was the first time for me to see the newest version of these masters of mope.

I’m not entirely sure what to make of the experience. I think I expected something more transcendent. The venue of the Apple store is small. The crowd was small (!) It was a perfect set up for an intimate, soul gripping performance. I’d seen Lighburn do as much when he played solo at a Christmas show in the Ukranian Federation in Mile End and talked about being in the Gaz-ette. He can be personable, funny, charming, endearing. But this short set was very remote, very cool, and very introverted. It was as if they were concentrating on each other, more than on performing. Granted, the Dears are an introverted band, but they’ve managed to bring togetherness to aloneness. At this show, I didn’t feel part of the collective journey.

There are a few problems inherent in these Apple Store performance. First of all, I think bands and audiences have a sell-out phobia and are probably uneasy to play for the Man or attend concerts thrown by the Man respectively. The Apple Store is a pretty slick place that clearly has corporate vibes. But, COME ON, it’s Apple! It’s the high priced underdog of the computer world. Most people in the art and music professions use Apple computers (or want to use Apple computers) to make all that great stuff they do. So, it isn’t like Apple is helping kill whales, coral reefs, and baby seals. Anyway, the whole corporate phobia is a bit silly since once a band graduates from the bar and college cafeteria circuit, they’re helping someone make money off something.

Second of all, the Apple store has not yet figured out the meaning of good sound. I am no expert on acoustics, but the speakers are turned up so loud, my ears hurt if I stand within 20 feet of them – and the room is probably only a little bit larger than that. The people at the Apple store have to create a sound appropriate for the audience and the room size. Once this sound issue is settled, I think that concerts at the Apple Store will live up to the bands that play there.

So, I’m not entirely sure why I didn’t connect with the Dears on this one. It could be the new band/new sound thing. It could be the shortness of the set. It could be the ambiance and environment of the Apple Store. Or, it could just be my own expectations. Ultimately, I’ve had better Dears experiences, but I suspect that this one had nothing to do with them.

Stinger Editions Master Printers at the FOFA (Concordia University)

Betty Goodwin A Burst of Bloody Air 2003 printed by Christopher Armijo


Concordia University's various galleries are always a treat to visit. They feature thought-provoking artists, both cutting edge famous and unknown students. The fofa, in particular, run by the faculty of the Concordia's Fine Art program, curates worthy exhibits. In conjunction with Stinger Editions, the print center of Concordia, curators Judy Garfin and Cheryl Kolak Dudek, are featuring the work of master printers Christopher Armijo, Matthew Letzelter, and Cheryl Kolak Dudek printing works for David Elliott, Janet Werner, Naomi London, Robert Racine, Pierre Doiron, Francois Morelli, Ed Pein, Betty Goodwin, Roland Poulin, Barbara Steinman, and even Anne Carson. Tying together these works is the theme Concerning Sisyphus.

Sisyphus is an interesting choice, since he was a bit of a wild man prior to his afterlife. The gods punished him with eternally pushing a rock up a hill, at which point it rolls back down and he must start again. The boredom and monotony of Sisyphus' life became the subject of an existential essay by Camus (The Myth of Sisyphus) that celebrates the mundane of life. The final words are, "One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

While I do not easily connect the works on display to the theme, I can certainly relate to the joy found in the tedium of printmaking. For the same result (or at least, the possibility of approximating the same result), one must repeat the process of re-inking each time. And printmakers, though no less talented or creative than artists in any other media, are often forgotten or treated as hick second cousins to oil painters and bronze sculptors. Hmmm... I find this curious since Andy Warhol, Picasso, and Rembrandt all produced prints, just to name a few. Perhaps this is because print work is a collaboration between the artist who creates the work and its design and the master printer who gives that work physical body through the press. Nonetheless, these less familiar artists of the print world produce works of great beauty and timelessness.

In terms of a collection, the works are extremely diverse and represent a range of printing techniques (monoprint, lithograph, screenprint). I am more drawn to the figurative work of Betty Goodwin and recognizable objects of Pierre Doiron, in contrast with the abstractions of Roland Poulin and the erotic playfulness of Ed Pien. But this is a matter of taste, rather than quality. Hopefully this show will put this art form with its wide range of applications more readily in the public eye.

Sadies and Bloodshot Bill at Sala Rossa

The Sadies are a band that changed my life.

Many years ago, while collecting boxes for packing from Kinkos for my upcoming move to New Brunswick, I overheard a girl on the phone telling her friend that she "had sex with the singer from the Sadies" and "he was in her bed now." I'd seen the Sadies several times in Toronto at that point and I had friends who swooned over Dallas Good and practically pinned me to a table at the Horseshoe when I said I'd introduce them to him (not that I knew him, but I was drunk and life was good so why not...). Keep in mind that there are two singers in the Sadies and seriously, the girl could have been BSing. But that doesn't matter. What does matter is this: upon overhearing this important phonecall, I turned around, expecting to see some kind of supermodel. In my mind, only the hottest of the hot hooked up with people in bands. Instead, I saw a girl who couldn't have been taller than me (I'm short), who looked a little unkempt but kind of cool at the same time, and just... well... regular... like me. My entire worldview shifted. I realized that I could change my life at that moment and I was going to become the kind of person who could hook up with the boys in the band (not the Sadies, of course, but any band). Perhaps not a lofty high minded goal, but a goal that fit my mental state at the time, which was... very, very, very low following a very, very, very sad separation from my husband. It was the first goal I had in a very long time and for that reason, monumental.

And so, my life changed. I went to New Brunswick and did things I never thought I would do. I extended myself. I became friendly with bands and artists, had a radio show (which this very blog is named for), and found my way back to true self.

For this, I thank the Sadies.

The reason for this lengthy, and quite personal, preamble is this. A Sadies show is a religious experience for me. I get to worship at the temple of music. The Sadies can do no wrong in my eyes. So, all I can do is gush. The audience was electric. The dancing was aces up. The Sadies play long, kick ass sets and never seem to miss a favorite. They even threw in a few by the Unintended. What else can I say? These guys are the cat's ass and every time I see them, the magic of possibility is renewed. 30 songs of main set, 10 in an encore, and then three more in a second encore. Greg Keillor (I was asked by the boy next to me who he was. It made me want to cry. I am that old that people who dance around me no longer know Greg Keillor) played a few. Now, with smashed toes, sore muscles, and sweat on very part of my body, I think I can say, this was (as expected) an excellent show.

A few words about Bloodshot Bill... I love that guy. He's so... weird. He'll never get mistaken for a Canadian Idol contestant with his yodels, moans, shrieks, and piercing holler. But, he's got so much heart that I swear he's got some piece of the Elvis spirit in his pocket. He warmed things up nicely at the start of the set, with a one man performance with energy that could only be matched by a Freshman on his fourth Redbull.

Sink, Swim, and Kick. Crépuscule des Océans at Agora de la Danse

This is the second time I have seen this piece performed at the Agora de la Danse in Montreal. For those of you who don’t know French, it means, “Twilight in the Ocean.” In every way imaginable, the seven performers who make up this piece capture the movements and struggle of sea creatures as they either awaken, settle, mate, and die.
To begin, the piece combines both nude and clothed dancers. The erotic effect of this quickly wears off and instead, the bodies of the dancers become the costumes. Watching every muscle tighten and release, and every breath gulped into their rib cages causes their bodies to become animalistic. The effect is captivating, and the lighting of the entire piece causes the surface lines of the body to look sculptural.

Set the Beethoven, each “movement” involves pairs or trios of dancers that repeat the same, or similar movements, sometimes synchronosly, and sometimes in a more rhythmic pattern. This mimics ocean waves, as well as the way animals tend to mirror one another. Periodically, the choreographer throws in something humorous that prevents these movements from becoming too stiff an distant from the audience. Inbetween are narrative type duet-dances that show the creatures interacting with one another, generally in a way that implies a mating ritual. The nudity of the dancers during these movements further suggests this. One small mall asks another to spin him around. A female tries to grab the ankle of a swimmer, only to find that she is left behind. These moments turn the dancers into characters, and each character is endearing and unique. When one of them goes belly up, it is a sad moment.

Most striking of all is the difficulty of this dance. Daniel Léveillé does this intentionally, stressing not gracefulness but impossible challenges. The moves are taken from a variety of styles, though yoga poses and a kind of kick boxing is evident. The dancers hurl themselves from one pose into the next, with beautiful wildness and violence. Their bodies slam against the stage with incredible toe-breaking force. It is impossible to maintain accuracy and this is part of the beauty of the whole piece. Life is a struggle in the wild. Only the strongest survive. Yet, even the strongest do not always finish in the same state in which they began. That is evidenced here, where the dance wears down each dancer. Imperfection is made beautiful here. The choreography is designed to be impossible and to push the limits of stamina.

Not Much Compassion for Sympathy for the Devil at the Musee d'Art contemporain

Slater Bradley
The Year of the Doppelganger, 2004
Courtesy of the artist and Team Gallery

In conjunction with the Warhol exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts, the Montreal Contemporary Art Museum is running an exhibit on the relationship between art and rock music today. With mixed media presentations, including a working recording studio, the exhibit takes the visitor on a tour through various countries that dominated the music scene since the 1967.

I’ll begin with the recording studio, since it is a somewhat of a treat to see a performance art piece that sustains for such a long period of time. Rirkrit Tiravanija created a “silent” recording studio, where the instruments are fed into a recording consul rather than an amp. This keeps the room quiet, though it is possible to listen with headphones that surround the studio. Musicians are allowed to book one hour of time during the museum opening hours, so visitors see whoever happens to have booked the time slot. This is, in many ways, a taste of not just the experience of seeing an aquarium-like perspective of how a recording studio works, but also, what the studio itself experiences as different groups of musicians work within its confines.

The rest of the exhibit is hit or miss. Most pieces are concept pieces, and without an explanation remain mysterious and somewhat uninspired. The hits include three gigantic pieces by Robert Longo who depicted dancers of the 1980s club scene in New York in graphite (pencil) and charcoal. These iconic writhing bodies are a dynamic study of the experience of movement and its contrast with one’s profession (he depicts “the suits”). Richard Prince’s portrait photos of an assemblage of artists such as David Byrne, Tina Weymouth, Laurie Anderson, and Dee Dee Ramone seem less impressive in the day of the cell phone camera, where candid shots of celebrities are commonplace. Andy Warhol’s screen tests of Lou Reed, John Cale, and Maureen Tucker, though, are a good compliment to the exhibit down the street at the Museum of Fine Arts.

Moving through pieces from artists of continental Europe and the UK, the art is less interesting and the musicians less familiar. From World works, Yoshimoto Nara’s drawings are quick splash of the familiar amidst a largely unaccessablem, if not just boring, exhibit.

Warhol Live Music and Dance in Andy Warhol’s Work at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts

I remember Andy Warhol’s white hair first and foremost. He had a show in 1986 on MTV back when cable was young and MTV played music. It’s too bad that my sense of history was so brief since I could not appreciate the long relationship Warhol had with music. It is no surprise that towards the end of his life, he got involved with music’s latest incarnation: the music video. And, as the song goes, video killed the radio star. Well, not exactly, but Warhol managed to keep up with every shift in music’s sharp edge through his entire life.

The MFA exhibition examines the relationship between Warhol and music, starting with his earliest love of movie musicals with Shirley Temple and opera, progressing through his Stuido 54 days (to quote Warhol, “It was a dictatorship at the door, a democracy on the floor.”) While most people know Warhol produced the Velvet Underground, which practiced in his studio, I was surprised to learn that Warhol was even part of a band, in which Jasper Johns sang lead.

The 640 works on view for this exhibit include some Warhol pieces that don’t relate to music – but these are far and few between. On the whole, Warhol’s record covers, Interview magazine, and portraits of singers and musicians dominate. The major pieces, Elvis, Marilyn, Liza Minnelli, Grace Jones, Mick Jagger, and Debbie Harry are well known and presented in a way that they seem part of Warhol’s interest of the moment. Interestingly enough, his record covers are as symbolic of his greatest desire – to mass produce art – and in some ways are even more representative than what one thinks of as Warhol’s emblematic pieces.

The exhibit draws on the collection of one of the four Carnegie Museums of Pittsburgh, the Andy Warhol Museum, which supplements the holdings of the MMFA and private collectors. On the whole, the amount of material is simply overwhelming. Warhol touched every single medium imaginable, from screen printing to video to cinematic shorts to sketches and it seems he was interested in every single variant of music as well: dance, opera (he was an opera fiend), disco, rock, vocalists, punk, and experimental.

http://www.mmfa.qc.ca/micro_sites/warhol/expo_en.html

Montreal's Museums: the CCA (Centre for Canadian Architecture)

In terms of your straight up art museum with works by the Old Masters, Impressionists, and ancient cultures, Canada clocks in pretty weak for the Western world. Canada’s history museums that focus on Canada, as well as Canada-focused art, are more the local specialization. As a former New Yorker and Bostonian, a short time resident of London(England) and Athens (Greece), having just one or two major exhibits pass by the Musee des Beaux Arts is kind of a cultural disappointment.

However, one museum in particular in Montreal deserves far more credit than it usually gets. The Centre for Canadian Architecture, otherwise known as the CCA. This cute little museum made out of a former mansion tucked away on a quiet street of downtown (unless one approaches from the Rene Levesque side) is a worthy visit for the serious architecture connoisseur and those who are interested in cutting edge art. There are no Picassos or famous art pieces to be found here that would appeal to the mass. Instead, the museum tends to demand a more thoughtful visit.

The museum usually features two major exhibits that stick around for around 6 months at a time. The exhibits are always thought provoking and interesting. However, they are only of moderate interest to someone who is looking for the typical museum browse. Instead, take the time to read the walls, which feature detailed explanations of most of the things on display. Leaf through the beautiful books and watch the videos. This is a museum where one must stop and spend time with the displays. Even better, take a tour led by one of the informative guides. With their guidance, the text heavy exhibits are suddenly a mind expanding experience.

Ultimately, the CCA is more academic than user friendly. The museum experience here is that the visitor feels educated by the visit, rather than simply “in the presence” of a masterpiece. The exhibits manage to present history, theory, and practice all at the same time, and this does require some effort of involvement. Of course, any expenditure of time or energy is worth it here. These are very intelligent exhibits. Every time I visit this museum, I come away with new eyes and feeling as though my worldview has expanded.

The CCA also features an archive and a library, as well as a collection of prints, drawings, and photographs. Items from the collection are usually integrated into the exhibits when appropriate. Frequent lectures, mainly on the free Thursday night, are a bonus. The bookstore is a delight for those who love art books.

Current Exhibitions: Toplight Room Transparencies from 1760-1960 until Feb 15, 2009 and Actions: What You Can Do With the City opening November 26th.

Address: 1920 Rue Baile (south of st. Catherine, north of Rene Levesque, off Rue Du Fort); Montreal, QC

Hours: Wednesday to Sunday 10 – 17; Thursday 10 – 21

Admission: Adults $10; Seniors $7; Children 6-12 $3; Children under 5 free

Free admission Thursday nights after 17:30h

http://www.cca.qc.ca/table.asp?lang=eng

Punkz not dead! It just dilutes: Vancougar, Chocolat, Jay Reatard at the Cabaret

I'll start with Vancougar, since these ladies played first to those who dared come early enough to see the opening act. These four talented ladies put the Ps in Pop and Punk, which is the best way. I don't mean Dead Kennedys punk. Think 80's punk-pop sort of new wave and that's exactly their sound. They were a solid four-piece, standard bass-guitar-keys-drums, with some sweet harmonies, and catchy tunes. A group of women musicians always risk being a little on the saccharine side with too much technique and not enough bone chewin'. Their cute name (I rather like it, but these are not cougars by any stretch of the imagination) and matching "rocker" suits didn't do much to give them depth. I was worried that these girls had no chops, but about halfway through their set, they seemed to grind and rock out a little more. Montreal can be a tough town, though, and Vancouver is a long way away. Every song was well done, and the dynamic between them is enjoyable to watch. I liken them to the GoGos, back when the GoGos were cool.



Next up was Montreal's much beloved Jimmy Hunt in one of his newer incarnations: Chocolat. Jimi Hunt has been around the scene for a long time, a champion of that mod-electro 60's style that gets the kids dancing here. This band brings together members of Hunt's band the Demon's Claws with some members of the CPC Gangbangs. WIth fuzz, reverb, and a certain amount of psychedellia (I don't think they pull it off quite as well as the artists of the 60s, but drugs these days aren't what the drugs of yesterday were), they put on a ballsy show. And the audience? The audience practically threw themselves on the stage in adoration. Hunt crooned, wailed, caterwalled, and folked while the rest of the piece band provided effective backup as well as outstanding solos by second guitarist Dale MacDonald who even flung himself at the feet of Hunt in a rock spin of solo madness. Make no mistake, if Vancougar worked the black denim Canadian leisure suit, Chocolat worked the bargain bin at the Salvation Army. Obviously, the Montreal one, since tight pants ruled the day. Hunt is iconic, emblematic: a scarecrow come to life, with his checkered plaid shirt, fedora, and harmonica strap. The Dylan comparisons are more than appropriate.

Finally, hair rockers Jay Reatard. Reatard harkens back to the 80s and 90s, when men wore tiger print spandex and eyeliner and played guitars that were shaped like lightning bolts (in this case, a flying V). Reatard, fortunately, forewent the spandex, but the sound was unmistakable. If only he'd brought the fog machine and a better light show. This is hair metal. That glam rock meets hard rock sort of thing. It isn't hard to imagine these three dudes sitting in their basement, taking bong hits, and head banging along with Motley Crue, ACDC, and um... Meatloaf? Loud, crunchy, riffy, power-chordy. Which is not to say un-talented -- this is real music, but it isn't serious. Songs clock in under 2 minutes apiece and the entire set might have been a half hour long. Who cares? It's awesome! Reatard is fun. Big fun. Indie rock kind of fun. Indie rock? You read that right. Seems that as the music of my youth becomes retro to today's 20-somethings, the genre switches. What once would have been metal has become the mainstay of today's fans of the alt independent scene. Not that I'm complaining. I liked some of those MTV bands and know all the words to the Final Countdown.

Land of Talk at La Sala Rossa

It’s been far too long since I’ve made it out to a show and huzzah for the one I pick to restart the September season of Dreadlocks. Friday night found me at the D’Urbervilles and Land of Talk show at the improved(???) Sala Rossa. I’d never noticed the sound panels on the ceiling before. Are they relatively new? No matter. They are there and the acoustics sounded better in Sala than I remember in a long time.

I’d not seen or heard of d’Urbervilles before, but I’m glad I’m now in the know. This band of 20 somethings burns up edgy energy and the dance-ability simultaneously. In their set, they tore through song after song, with a few modest remarks by lead singer John O’Regan that we could buy their album or any of the other excellent albums for sale by other bands. While the spazzy dance moves, complete with fist pumping action, and some retro bass are memorable, that hardly characterizes the performance. This is solid Canadian indie music, a la the Constantines, with a mélange of subtle influences from across the garage rock genre in other songs. Good things will come from these guys, so keep an eye out.




Land of Talk delivered a riveting show that picked up momentum as it went along, Elizabeth Powell is one of my favorite performers in Canada. Her dreamy, smoky vocals go perfectly over her academic guitar playing. At the same time, she can cut deep through the skin and pull out rich, emotional feelings, transforming what seems almost too precise into a warm frenzy of creativity. She is a force.

The performance, as mentioned, started a bit subdued. Well, the first song was subdued. Powell, for one thing, was on crutches. She remained seated (from my vantage, behind tall viewers) the entire show, which perhaps stopped her from the physicality that often accompanies her playing. But, she seemed to give herself over to the jubilant and appreciative mood and soon it was the chapel of the Land of Talk. Every song was a peony coming into bloom and flashing its magnificence.
I did note that this is the third, perhaps fourth, drummer I’ve seen play with this band. Years ago, Powell picked up a Montreal friend (Bucky) to fill in on drums at the Parc D’Amerique show. I’d seen others play with her since. Tonight was Lowell Campbell of Wintersleep filling in with his talents. I describe Mr. Campbell as the best drummer in Canada, so… lucky Powell for snagging him for this show.

Tony O'Neill and the EveryAddict's Tale

I seem to have crossed paths with a goodly number of addicts in my life, which sometimes make me wonder if there are more of them than I realize or if I simply attract addicts. I don’t know the statistics of what percentage of people in society are addicts… but in a crowd, I can find the alcoholic, pothead, acid fiend, meth maniac, and their like in any number of recreational pharmaceuticals. Maybe it has to do with all that Buddha compassion stuff – I empathize with their suffering, rather than sneer in disgust.

So, it is with my supra-layman’s knowledge of addiction that I came to hear punk poet, musician, and heroin junkie Tony O’Neill’s afternoon reading at Marianopolis college. O’Neill drew upon an assorted collection of poems and short stories, including an unpublished work. I might be mistaken when I call them autobiographical, and I fear falling into that trap of confusing the man with the writing, but the stories show close familiarity of the life of a junkie and a junkie’s obsession with drugs. With what little I know of O’Neill, these are works about his life, or at least, about some of his experiences with drugs. His writings are intimate and visceral, recounting an endless series of days living below the surface in which getting high and hopefully higher is the alpha and omega of existence.

Reading poems in print is very different from reading them aloud. The poems are wonderful heard aloud. However, as the reading marched on past the hour mark, I found it tedious that every poem focused on alcohol and drugs, save for one or two that mentioned alcoholism and drugs. Every poem. After awhile, it was as though he were telling the same story but with an anagram of drugs and characters. Then, perhaps, I did what no critic should really do – I began to contemplate how the man and art were the same, and drew the conclusion that his addiction to drugs was now an addiction to writing about drugs. Truly, he was still an addict of sorts, and this left me feeling like an uncomfortable voyeur, looking into the life of a person with malfunctional machinery. At this point, whatever amused me about his writing ceased and I was unable to focus on the man as artist, but instead saw him as a man telling his own Addict’s Tale. And, quite simply, I am never entertained by the reality of the junkie’s existence and am not comfortable laughing at the absurdity and dehumanized pathos of junkie situations.

He is a fine writer – an excellent writer. He is able to convey his frailty and his monstrosity with immediacy. He hits notes of incredible beauty and poignancy in his writing. His melanged accent and slightly nervous demeanor help endear him to the audience. Yet, my opinion remains quite staunch; his junkie story was simply a more literate version of the EveryAddict’s tale, the same assemblage of miseries I have heard from others: the pawning of everything in the house for drugs, the cradle of the cement sidewalk, meaningless sexual experiences and marriages while high. In fact, I was waiting for my favourite EveryAddict Tale motif – the way the first white light of day breaking the sky is a time of great grief and fear, the end of the cover of darkness.

What O’Neill does is not new. As a voracious reader of addict tales, I thought of his similarities with the Jay MacInerneys and Bret Easton Ellises, the Hunter S. Thompsons and Irvine Welshes, and even more recent Ellen Hopkinses. Addict tales are nothing new and every generation has its share of bards who wax poetic about the ugliness and wildness of the raw life. But, with his talent, O’Neill would do far more to distinguish himself by launching himself into territory beyond the gutter and the crack hotel.

Montreal Music Week of March 27

March is all in like a lion, out like a lamb. I think for the music scene, its just the opposite. March starts off sleepy and then roars to life as people start dropping in on our fair city from places afar and near.

I suppose I should begin with a plug for a friend – only once I say that, there’s an assumption that I’m simply praising the band because of our friendship. That’s a bad assumption. This is a crazy, mad, insane, guitar smashing band and the spectacle created will be take second fiddle to the wild music. Devil Eyes will be playing at the Black Dot with Swamp Sex Robots and Soki Soki at the Wrong Wave festival tonight. HELL YEAH! Okay, so if you’re into something a little more mellow, well, Luc Doucet and Angela Desveaux are at Sala Rossa. Rob Lutes and Scott MacLeod are at the Centre St. Ambroise. And, I suppose this definitely merits a nod – Crystal Castles and Heath are at the Juste Pour Rire theatre. Crystal Castles is sort of like thinned out disco electronica, so expect a dance party.

Friday, March 28, is like the day of funk and swing. At La Tulipe, the best swingy jazzy dance party, C’est Extra is totally and completely free (seriously?) I’ve been to C’est Extra and its fun – also weird – but fun. But, the nu-funk is at the Jello Bar with God Made Me Funky on their CD Release tour. The Montreal funk is at the House of Reggae with one of my favourite local rasta bands, Inword. So if funk and dance aren’t your thing, well, Die Die Die is at Zoobizzare. I have no idea what that is, but I don’t suspect that dancing is part of it.

On March 30, there’s something kind of cool to do at OFF Interarts. Get ready to suck sugar at Indyish.com’s Sugar Shack Mess featuring a host of cool folks performing. Lil’ Andy, Brie Neilson, Bad Uncle, No Barbers Required and Deep River Decoy.

Finally, on April 2, I’ll just name a few of the fun things going down: Kathleen Edwards, Justine Rutledge at the Juste Pour Rire. Mahogany Frog and Wax Mannequin at the Casa del Popolo. Pas Chic Chic at the Lion d'or. And last but not least, Wolf Eyes and Ghost Limbs Divan Orange

Caribou Concert Review La Tulipe

I have two favourite bands. One is the Jimmy Swift Band of Halifax Nova Scotia, a band that has defined a new genre called rocktronica. Well, actually, Pink Floyd is rocktronica too – a melding of good old solid rock and electronica. To me, the sound is transcendent.

The same can be said of my second favourite band, Caribou, fronted by David Snaith of Dundas, Ontario. Formerly, the band was called Manitoba (even the term “band” is a bit of a misnomer, since it seems to have been simply Snaith). Snaith’s music is electronic psychedellia – a little kraut rock added, perhaps. His soft pitched voice is simply one more instrument among the others he combines to create music that is both intricate and addictive. However, backed with a full band, Caribou sounds heavier, funkier, a little bit earthier than Snaith alone. Which is not to say that any of the psychedelic dreaminess is lost by the inclusions of others. This band is an acid trip, a chance to connect with the divinity of all men, a oneness in the universe. In other words, this band is my other favourite band.

Carbiou’s show at La Tulipe was riveting. How could it not be? Any time you put two drummers head to head and have them play complicated rhythms in sync, it’s going to be impressive. The bigness of the drum sound together and its execution is just… special. Worthy of praise beyond praise. Snaith and his band switch off to pull in a melodica, a recorder, a xylophone, and a few ambient noises like dog barks to add complexity. Songs played came from across most of the records released, each delivered with flawless awe. Personal favourites are Bees, Melody Day, and well… all of them really. The rapport among the band members is evident and their joy is visible.

The band was bathed in a changing pattern of geometrics and colors flashed behind them on a screen. This light show, which I believe is a computer projection off the balcony, compensates for the one thing the band doesn’t have – audience rapport. While playing, the band is completely engrossed in the music (with good reason – this is complicated stuff). One song quickly switches to the next, with no introduction or context. Snaith mumbles a word of thanks and waves his appreciation; one senses his gratitude, but also his timidity. Caribou’s performance is a spectacle of light and sound and the excellence of these two things it what causes the transcendent feeling. It is not an active seduction the audience. I do not feel enticed or personally connected with the performers. I am rather just meant to absorb their excellence. Not that I am complaining.

Best touring to you, Caribou, my second favourite band. May you return quickly.

Montreal Music Week of March 21, 2008

Ah, I thought this week was going to suck. I was proven so wrong. Seems like our local booking agents are bringing in stuff well worth hauling one's butt out to see. There was no particular theme, and the good stuff seems to fall in all genres. Starting with today, Friday, the 21. There is, believe it or not, a Festival of the Accordian, taking place at the Tehatre de la Ville. I mean, how cool is that? An accordian festival? Alright, if that sounds like something your grandfather or weird cousin would like better than you, People for Audio and the Unsettlers are at the Bread Factory. I think this must be a new venue, as I've never heard of it before.

Saturday is a matter of being pulled in many directions at once. First off, Cuff the Duke, Montreal's oh-so-cool United Steel Workers of Montreal, and Vincent are the Juste Pour Rire (Cabaret du Musee). That's a great line up. But wait, the heaviest of the heavies, metals own IRON GIANT and electik bones are at Les Katacombes. I used to hang out with the guys from Iron Giant and I swear they get as naked as often as possible. Alright, indie hipsters will no doubt be at Les Saints to see The Raveonettes. Finally, MSTRKRFT will be fulfilling the dreams of all electronica folk at the Metropolis. Man, Saturday is just overwhelming.

And then, the crowning glory of all, one of my absolute favourite artists is performing: Caribou. This PhD transplant from Canada to England and who knows where he lives now has blown me away with his CDs and with his live performances that make me cry with joy. That's taking place at La Tulipe. Oh, I'm so glad I'm off Monday.

Now usually Monday is the end of all things interesting, but this week, Monday continues to sizzle with BC's Wassabi Collective, noted stars of the Evolve Festival out east in some little town in Nova Scotia. These guys don't come through often, so don't miss them at Divan Orange.

Tuesday brings old timers LIfehouse (zzz) at Club Soda and more interestingly, Kalumnity at Sablo Kafe.

Wednesday. WHOA. Back to too many choices. First off, there's some Bach fugue thing going on with the OSM. I completely am enamoured of the OSM and think Kent Nagano is very sexy to boot. But that is beside the point. Bach's fugues? Is that like manna from heaven or what? Alright, alright, maybe it's all sold out or something. OK Giraffe (a duo I believe I've mentioned here before) along with Millie Croche and Cahrlotte Cornfield are at rickety little shack Cafe Chaos. And, ah, the icing of the week, Why? -- Ohio's own weirdest, nerdiest, and coolest export that combines confessional and dark lyrics with sparse electronic melodies. Why? is playing with Cryptacize and SisterSuvi at Sala Rossa.

It's a good week, hey?

Art Opening at the SBC Gallery of Contemporary Art OIkos/Habitacles

These scenes are typical of Couturier's work on San Diego (these are not the ones in the exhibit). These are from the lawrence miller gallery.

SBC Gallery of Contemporary Art in the Bellgo building is hosting the first of a two part show entitled OIKOS/Habitacles curated by Sylvain Campeau. This outstanding exhibit focuses on the subject of landscape. Traditionally, the landscape is treated as a subject of contemplation, where the artist is separate and removed. The landscape does not change by the artist’s presence, and his (or her) presence is transient. The artwork is a transient view of an eternal object.

OIKOS/Habitcules is interested in the intrusion of the artist on landscape, as well as the melding of nature with manmade constructions. These photographs, some digitally altered, present three different approaches to the subject of landscape and do so with challenging and exciting results.

Isabelle Hayeur’s (Canada) three pieces are digital photographs, enlarged and altered to create “new and improbable” landscapes. Jour/Nuit seems a subtle nod to Magritte’s L’Empire des Lumieres, a surreal image of a house at night, with a blue sky beyond. In Hayeur’s image, a winter stand of trees, just at the end of fall, obscures the view of a row of houses still lit from the previous night along a lake. The colorless, bright sky, is touched with the reddish colors of the sun’s arrival (or perhaps departure). Cathedrale and Complicite are equally fascinating. In Cathedrale, a forest grove of trees on an irregular landscape is melded with metal poles that are camouflaged by the tree trunks. Complicite contrasts a spiral, metal stairway with a tall young tree. The juxtaposition of the natural and the manmade allows the viewer to contemplate the timelessness of the living wood and metal. Both rot and decay eventually, yet both seem to exist beyond our own lives.

Stephane Coutourier’s (France) Diptych on San Diego resemble photos of gigantic dioramas, though in fact the viewer is looking at photographs of new suburban developments with the lifeless, but ever changing, desert in the background. The imposition of man on his landscape, his need to live at a frontier and ever extend it, is implicit in the photos. Coutourier captures how the suburban structures force a generic, American life upon the barrenness and pristine vigor of the desert as well. These exciting photos demand one contemplate how man dominates and changes his landscape.

Finally, the more subtle series of untitled bunkers by Mark Ruwedel (US) brings together a series of black and white photos of cement structures set into various landscapes around the world. Much like Coutourier, Ruwedel captures the interplay between the manmade and the natural. Though, unlike Coutourier, the vigor and dominance of man is decreased. The crumbling, empty bunkers that seem defined as much by their empty interiors as by their long lasting cement are hardly an example of man’s triumph. Rather, the impression is of long, gradual decay in a landscape that changes seasonally, but lasts eternally. Furthermore, the wide varieties of locations where the bunkers come form imply that the desire of man to build himself into nature, as well as his inability to sustain his creations, is universal. Among the photos, the bunkers of the Mojave Desert, Devil’s Side, and Halifax stand out.for their unique shapes and particular solitude.

I eagerly await the second part of this exhibit, which brings together the work of three more artists who address landscape in innovative ways as well.

Jose Gonzalez Concert Review Juste pour Rire Theatre

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW.
Alright, I am going to tangent about concert T-shirts before I say a few words about Jose's panty removing performance at the Just for Laughs Theatre last night.
I admit that I lately have a thing where I want to buy concert T-shirts lately. Why? I have this obsession with wearing concert T-shirts to the gym. Other people sweat away in their spandex and sport specific apparel, ATHLETE stuff. I suppose it is some kind of psychological boost, since I question the necessity of $150 spandex shorts for bench pressing for 2 minutes followed by a very strenusous sittitng around for 15 minutes while watching everyone else. I suppose owning $150 spandex shorts means that you need to get your butt to the gym so you can use them or else the guilt alone will kill you. Notably, some of the most serious athletes at the gym wear the same dingy but comfortable outfit each time. So, I wanted to meld the two --a psychological boost with something I like wearing. What could be more perfect than my Do Make Say Think T-shirt? However, it's starting to smell and I need some other concert T-shirts so I can throw it in the wash. Fortunately, Jose Gonzalez offered me the perfect opportunity to pick up a fresh T-shirt to add to my rotating cast of gym clothes.

Back to the concert. Jose Gonzalez. Wow. I mean, what else can I say but wow? The guy oozed on the sensuality through his vulnerability and his talent. This is the kind of music that makes women peel off their panties. Like John Mayer or Elliot Smith. I suppose I can make endless references to the limited cannon of guitair playing soloists I know... he makes me think of early Martin Sexon... but that sounds sort of pretentious and makes it sound as though I have a huge repetoire to draw upon. But, I see the same use of picking out a bass line with one's thumb, something that Marty made into his trademark.

Gonzalez started with a series of solo songs, just him on a chair and his guitair. The theatre was so packed that it was impossible to see him, except for the top of his afro. I found a perch on the steps at the back of the theatre, which I held faithfully through the entire show. After his solo act, he was joined by two band members, who gave body and range to the mournful sensitivity. I would never call it "lush." This was stripped down music, left at its most basic -- angelic vocals, talented guitair playing, simple instrumental backing (not even a full drum kit!). From alpha to omega, and probably beyond, I could stay the course with this cat.

Any complaints? Well, after the show he didn't come up to me and say, "Hey, baby, nice boots. I've got this great bus, if you want to check it out."

For his website:
http://www.jose-gonzalez.com/

FIFA -- Festival of International Films on Art

Every year, Montreal's horrible winter is broken up by a film festival that is certain to awaken and delight the senses. The FIFA, the Festival of International Films on Art, showcases films about... well... ART. The films cover topics such as the lives of artists and famous works, as well as museums and nearly anything else you could possibly think of, so long as it relates to art.

The FIFA is particularly cool because its the only festival of its kind in the world. This year, the festival, running from March 6-16 showcases 290 films from 30 countries on 27 different disciplines including architecture, theatre, video art, dance, art history, painting, and photography.

Tickets are just $12 a film ($10 if you count as a youth). For more info, including the programming, check out the website at: http://www.artfifa.com/