Chester Brown on Paying For It at Drawn and Quarterly

It's been awhile since I've posted, and the reality is... I haven't been going out quite so much these days. My time has been dedicated to my own creative projects, rather than consuming that of others.

That said, Chester Brown's launch for his newest work, Paying For It, was irresistible. Mr. Brown is a long time hero of the Canadian alt-comic scene. His life's cannon includes a number of autobiographical works, including this latest examination of his foray into john-prostitute relationships as a way of life. Drawn and Quarterly consistently publishes comics (do I call them graphic novels? comics? so much debate over semantics!) of high calibre. I attended and was glad to have done so.

Packed with new media glasses, beards, and asymmetrical hair cuts, the launch attracted a cache of Montrealers that normally haunts Drawn and Quarterly's storefront. Given the subject matter, I was conscious of the male-female ratio in the room. It was a 50-50 split. Perhaps an interesting comment on the universal appeal of the graphic novel or Brown himself?

Brown showed slides of his comic, presumably the opening chapter in which he breaks up with his girlfriend and begins soliciting escorts, and filled in the dialogue. He then graciously answered questions, many of which were personal or made an assumption that Brown was a scholar on the legalities of prostitution.

The audience was extremely favorable and receptive to Brown's work. It goes without saying that the illustrations are top notch and the work extremely humorous. The biggest laugh came from a scene in which Brown seeks out a street prostitute on his bicycle -- oh those eco-conscious Montrealers. But many of the panels or vignettes were equally amusing, even the ones where no one laughed out loud. The comic is steeped in Brown's signature style. He uses panels of no dialogue to allow the reader time to advance the story at his or her own speed (and build or fill in the lapses as one wishes). He addresses questions about morality as well as his own thought processes through dialogue with the other characters. The backgrounds are living, but anonymous city scenes. The most interesting artistic choice was to hide the faces of the prostitutes -- a conscious choice on his part to give them their anonymity, but perceived as dehumanizing by others, especially since you see their bodies. If he'd invented faces, I am sure there would be an equal critique that he removed their personality and imbued them with his own. I suppose there is no easy solution that satisfies everyone.

What was most striking though is the questions and what they revealed about the audience that Brown attracts. I was surprised, first of all, that no one spoke from the perspective of prostitution as exploitation or asked if he encountered anything in which the woman's situation seemed dubious. The prostitutes he seemed to be involved with were not the drug addled nor abused nor prisoners of the illegal sex trade (listening to the podcast The Red Umbrella Diaries provides a more balanced look into the experiences of sex workers from their own POV). His experience with prostitution seem almost wholesome. Then again, his book is autobiographical, not a definitive political tract. Instead, the audience asked what sorts of hostility he encountered or expected to encounter. I was struck by the fascination for the audience with the mechanics of paying for and affording his lifestyle. The questions that interested me most were asked about his attitude towards monogamous relationships, as I think that this is the driving question behind the book. A heterosexual (I'm assuming) man has chosen to actively reject conventional male-female relationships and uses prostitutes to address his biological needs. Lots of people use prostitutes, even those in relationships do, but very few people choose to abandon the search for emotional and intimate connection with at least one other person BY CHOICE. But here, again, the audience was deferentially polite. How does one ask such personal questions in a public forum, anyway? Some tried, but no one was willing to plummet the depths of awkwardness.

I'm looking forward to reading the work. Perhaps I will report here when it falls into my hands.

Hot Hot Heat and eeeee Hey Rosetta at the Belmont

What is up with the Belmont these days? The place went from ho-hum frat bar to kick ass little venue in about six(???) months time. Montreal could always use a new place for kids to see music, of course. The loss of the Mile End Cultural Centre still leaves a gaping wound in my heart. I'm still waiting for my own little hood (le St. Henri) to step up and cater to the local yup crowd. We're starting to get restaurants, but the best venue we have around here is the weird DJ night at Blackjacks next to the strip club.

So, this show. Wow. Holy mother f'ing wow. It was sort of like a CBC programmer's wet dream, I think. East coast to west coast. Something like that. Not to mention, I got to relive an old identity when a semi drunk sweet engineer asked me if I was with the band. As in, band groupie. Aaahhh. I've gotta love it when someone thinks I'm more than just another sexy babe in thigh high boots.

I'd seen Hey Rosetta before. In fact, I think I saw them open for an act in Montreal about 3-4 years ago... at Barfly? Has it been that long? Perhaps I wrote an entry here about them before. I am sure I liked them, but I think they were openers, not headliners at the time. Times have changed. This band now brings down the house with its east coast vibe. It's somewhat hard to explain just what is so distinct about east coast bands -- a tendency to marry periods of noise with hooky melodies and moments of folk/blues/funk. I guess that's it. The crowd was crazy enamored, as was I. I only know a few songs from the one single Hey Rosetta album I have, but they were played with gusto and passion. Oh, and talent. Let's not forget that they seem to have that innate east coast ability to make things danceable and beautiful at the same time.

Following on their heels were punkier outfit Hot Hot Heat. I'd gone to this show largely to see HHH, a band I've often liked and never seen -- uncertain what to expect in a live show. I certainly didn't expect all that hair, that's for sure. And I didn't expect them to look so young. Looks can be deceiving -- but they just seemed so young... They launched into a series of famliar tunes, played with punch and though I initially found lead singer Steve Bays a bit trilly, I soon found him more than charming. I didn't last their full set (boo hoo, I am old), but what I did see plastered a grin across my face.

From east coast to west coast, Canadian music is kick ass.

Matt Stern

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.