It's been ages, yes I know, AGES, since I posted on here. Have I been completely out of Montreal's cultural loop? Not really. I've mostly seen shows of bands I've written about before -- Braids, Caribou, the Winter Gloves, etc. So, it seemed redundant to reiterate how much I enjoy these bands yet again. All I can say is that you, dear reader, should check them out if you haven't already. Other than that, it is true... I haven't been out and about as much as in the old days, which means I have less to write about. So, if I'm a bit less frequent in my postings, you'll have to forgive me and enjoy what I do manage to share.
Luckily, today is a good one.
I've always loved male singer-songwriters, starting with Martin Sexton. John Mayer's first album (I haven't heard anything else by him since)? Yes, please. I'll pass on Jack Johnson though. I find him boring beyond the beyond. And I haven't the foggiest who James Blunt is, though my British boyfriend assures me he is horrid.
It was with great delight that I discovered Matt Stern, a local singer songwriter at La Sala Rossa. I knew nothing, except that this was a CD release and I'd get a free CD along with the the ticket purchase. Sala was not the usual Sala -- tables and chairs filled the room, and a shy but enthusiastic crowd sat on the ground about 10 feet from the stage. Did they know this guy? I'd never heard of him before and was surprised that so many people obviously had.
First up, the stage filled with a large entourage of backing musicians -- 3 female vocalists, a drummer, a bassist, a bongo player, and a computer operator. I was even more intrigued. They all had an air of professionality about them, something I hadn't seen in quite some time. I like indie music, and indie musicians don't exactly smell like coordinated, professional efforts. Most curious! Then, Stern came to the stage. Dashingly handsome with puppy eyes, crazy hair and a smile like a constellation, he is a tonic for sagging womens' libidos before he even opens his mouth. "A cute boy," I thought, "But can he sing?"
What do you think?
Oh could he sing. He had a beautiful voice, such perfect delivery. He couldn't have been more delightful. Every song had a some element that made it distinct, that made it likable... whether it was the lyrics or a melody. Although certainly in the singer-songwriter category, Stern certainly benefits from a world smorgasbord of influences: rhumba beats, reggae rhythms, a pinch of this, a splash of that. And even better, the music was gracefully contained. Songs never stretched on into egotistical lengths. The band shared in the spotlight. As if the performance were not enough, Stern had modern dance performances accompany two songs (and dare I say it, THEY were extremely gifted dancers as well). All in all, this was a bit of an extravaganza, one I never expected. And the level of professionalism... Yes, I would not be surprised if this is only the infancy of Mr. Matt Stern's music career. Keep your ear out for him.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The Do and Braids at Sala Rossa
It's been ages since I've posted, but seems that the art scene of Montreal is in full swing and I've made it out to a few shows and whatnot lately. I'm always keen to promote a band I enjoy, in particular one that seems to be finding its feet. This time, I'm again giving a proper hoot to the band Braids, one of the best bands on the MOntreal scene as of late and one that I expect will have a brilliant future. This four piecer came to my attention at the last pop montreal and I've tried to catch every performance since. They tend to seam their songs together, so that the entire production is more an experience or an art form than a straight up concert. Somewhat difficult to describe, they are somewhere in the realm of electronica and indie psychedellica. Strong on vocals, innovative, seemingly passionate -- yes Braids delivers a most enjoyable concert experience.
As for headliners, the Do, I found them insipid and a bit silly. Fun, yes, but kind of not my thing. HIgh production values, of course, and helped along by their very engaging performance. Yes, they were cute to the point of twee, as one might expect from a French-Finlandish duo. But cute only carries me so far when I like things a little more layered and a bit less cloying. However, they seemed to please the audience beyond giddiness with their pop melange.
As for headliners, the Do, I found them insipid and a bit silly. Fun, yes, but kind of not my thing. HIgh production values, of course, and helped along by their very engaging performance. Yes, they were cute to the point of twee, as one might expect from a French-Finlandish duo. But cute only carries me so far when I like things a little more layered and a bit less cloying. However, they seemed to please the audience beyond giddiness with their pop melange.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Ahmad Jamal at the Jazz Fest
Okay, it's been ages since I've posted. I haven't been as diligent in my concert going or my arts consumption as I usually am, and then took off for India for a month.
I come back to find the Montreal Jazz Fest at my doorstep, a nonstop carnival of fantastic delights, ranging from mindblowing to head scratching. I saw quite a few wonderful things, but the toast of the festival is Ahmad Jamal. This free jazz legend, keyboard player extrodinaire, has ruined jazz music for me. I kid you not. I have see the mountain and nothing will be good ever after. To put it simply, on his 80th birthday, Mr. Jamal delivered what is the best jazz quartet I can ever expect to spend an evening with. There isn't much else to say. He was modest in speech but warm and delighted in his own band. The drummer had the fastest, smoothest hands that awed us all (two drummers were with me).
I can't comment much further than that. If you have the opportunity to see Mr. Jamal, by all means, do not pass go without paying $50 and see his show.
I come back to find the Montreal Jazz Fest at my doorstep, a nonstop carnival of fantastic delights, ranging from mindblowing to head scratching. I saw quite a few wonderful things, but the toast of the festival is Ahmad Jamal. This free jazz legend, keyboard player extrodinaire, has ruined jazz music for me. I kid you not. I have see the mountain and nothing will be good ever after. To put it simply, on his 80th birthday, Mr. Jamal delivered what is the best jazz quartet I can ever expect to spend an evening with. There isn't much else to say. He was modest in speech but warm and delighted in his own band. The drummer had the fastest, smoothest hands that awed us all (two drummers were with me).
I can't comment much further than that. If you have the opportunity to see Mr. Jamal, by all means, do not pass go without paying $50 and see his show.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Commodification of the "Criminal" Genius: Exit Through the Gift Shop
Banksy, the internationally celebrated Bristol U.K. street artist, made a name for himself dismissing crass commercialism and the shallowness of Western corporate culture. Symbolically using the rat for his nemeses, Banksy teased his targets as self interested vermin. Even peacefully sipping his coffee, a business man on the Chiltern Lines riding his way into London with the Guardian in hand is just a rodent in a nice suit.
The street art movement proved fertile ground for artists and social commentators to voice and display their visions. Rooted in the urban ghetto graffiti scene of the 70's and 80's, street artists seem to embrace that their creations share in the alienated, criminal ethos. Men who were powerless in society plastered tags along bus lines and subway lines to mark territory and immortalize themselves. The appeal of alienation and the seething anger spoke to suburban white boys who took on graffiti art, tagging in old styles and new. It is in this atmosphere that the street artist, a graffiti artist par extrodinaire, works. Using the same techniques as his predecessors, but with the creativity of the artist, graffiti goes beyond vandalism to social commentary, to beautification or uglification, to medium-as-message advertising. What all versions share is a sense of being immortalized, not so much by being everywhere (though that is part of it), but by doing something so monumental that it is spoken of ever after. But while the suburban white boy and the street artist can enjoy the vigilante nature of their vanadalism, the graffiti roots are in lawlessness or arbitrary law that allowed taggers to post indiscriminately, guided only by the law of the street.
Exit through the Giftshop is seen by many as yet another act of street art, in this case presented on the screens of the nation. No one cares all that much if that was its intent. The charming story of a French camcorderist who shoots thousands of hours of graffiti artists before jumping feet first into his own commercial success as one of them plays well without irony. He begins by selling low value T-shirts that become valued only as their price tag is set to ludicrous levels, so too with his art. Derivative pieces fill a warehouse and sell to a public starved to own art work they can relate to and value, without an ability to assess its quality.
Banksy is hardly the first artist to comment on the presumed emptiness of the wealthier classes and by no means the first man to use public space as his venue. He is not the first artist to be celebrated by those he seems to satirize and chastize, nor is he the first to be commodified in spite of his anti-commerical stance. Whether his intent is genuine or his protagonist a fiction, it matters not. HIs points are valid and the street art movement deserves no less than a feature length work of art to celebrate its birth and florit. Banksy can no more escape the contradictions of fame than any other person of visible talent. Even if all he is is his own "brand" without a face or identity.
The street art movement proved fertile ground for artists and social commentators to voice and display their visions. Rooted in the urban ghetto graffiti scene of the 70's and 80's, street artists seem to embrace that their creations share in the alienated, criminal ethos. Men who were powerless in society plastered tags along bus lines and subway lines to mark territory and immortalize themselves. The appeal of alienation and the seething anger spoke to suburban white boys who took on graffiti art, tagging in old styles and new. It is in this atmosphere that the street artist, a graffiti artist par extrodinaire, works. Using the same techniques as his predecessors, but with the creativity of the artist, graffiti goes beyond vandalism to social commentary, to beautification or uglification, to medium-as-message advertising. What all versions share is a sense of being immortalized, not so much by being everywhere (though that is part of it), but by doing something so monumental that it is spoken of ever after. But while the suburban white boy and the street artist can enjoy the vigilante nature of their vanadalism, the graffiti roots are in lawlessness or arbitrary law that allowed taggers to post indiscriminately, guided only by the law of the street.
Exit through the Giftshop is seen by many as yet another act of street art, in this case presented on the screens of the nation. No one cares all that much if that was its intent. The charming story of a French camcorderist who shoots thousands of hours of graffiti artists before jumping feet first into his own commercial success as one of them plays well without irony. He begins by selling low value T-shirts that become valued only as their price tag is set to ludicrous levels, so too with his art. Derivative pieces fill a warehouse and sell to a public starved to own art work they can relate to and value, without an ability to assess its quality.
Banksy is hardly the first artist to comment on the presumed emptiness of the wealthier classes and by no means the first man to use public space as his venue. He is not the first artist to be celebrated by those he seems to satirize and chastize, nor is he the first to be commodified in spite of his anti-commerical stance. Whether his intent is genuine or his protagonist a fiction, it matters not. HIs points are valid and the street art movement deserves no less than a feature length work of art to celebrate its birth and florit. Banksy can no more escape the contradictions of fame than any other person of visible talent. Even if all he is is his own "brand" without a face or identity.
Monday, May 3, 2010
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.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, January 15, 2010
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