Fuck. Fight. Fail.

laisse-moi nous détruire avant de disparaître

2009-12-06T01:20:00.002-05:00

I suppose I've exhausted all the reserves of purpose this blog ever had. My apologies for the perpetual lack of resolution. For now though:

www.borrowedeyes.net - a work in progress

Stop.

Plumbing the depths of Tanis

2009-07-27T22:36:00.004-04:00

I watched Raiders of the Lost Ark on Saturday and I was immediately reminded of how intimately that movie is linked to my childhood. I remember being a kid and watching Harrison Ford evading poison darts, outrunning gigantic boulders and swinging over bottomless chasms with his whip, and just thinking "wow, I really want to be an archeologist." And so, from ages five to eight, archeology was to be my chosen path in life. I would one day have a sweet day job teaching Old World History to a class filled with swooning female college students, and I'd spend my week-ends pillaging and plundering forgotten tombs/temples/what-have-you, squaring off against scimitar wielding fiends and occult-obsessed Nazis (I guess it never occurred to me that I could potentially be an adventurer if I really wanted to, but certainly not an adventurer that existed in the '30s.)

When I was nine that focus inevitably shifted to the field of paleontology (this is invariably true for any other impressionable youth that happened to catch a certain movie in the summer of '93.) Yes, I was to be a paleontologist. But not the boring kind that sits on a patch of dirt all day dusting sand off of rocks with a tiny brush. No, I'd be the kind of paleontologist that would inevitably get called to an island paradise theme park, because the particularities of said theme park happened to be in sync with my field of expertise. I'm sure you can fill in what happens after.

So I guess the point I'm getting at, and the reason why watching Raiders of the Lost Ark on a Saturday evening wound up bumming the fuck out of me, is that children tend to idealize, romanticize and glorify concepts that they become enthralled with for whatever reason. While the media that planted those seeds was already presenting an overblown hyper-contextualized version of the initial idea, it is us as wildly imaginative kids filled with awe and wonder that run with that idea and make it truly all-encompassing. Now this presents a few problems. The two main ones being that a) you eventually realize that becoming that thing you so desperately want to become requires inordinate amounts of work, chance and time (you may subtract the element of chance if you're one of those 'you can do anything if you really want it' people) or b)that the actual idea (job or field of work in this case..) really isn't as great as the glorified conception of it you had in your head at some point. Now I'm certainly not elucidating any new theory on the child mind or anything of the sort, but here's the thing: I've been worrying a lot lately that I, a 25 year old guy, still hold certain vestiges of that mentality.

Ugh. It's getting late and I'm rambling again. I'll continue with this thought tomorrow or sometime soon. Right now I should get some rest. I start a new café job tomorrow morning that certainly won't be as exciting as I had initially made café jobs out to be in my head. Again, ugh.

listening : sonny rollins - saxophone colossus
reading : miles - miles davis' autobiography

(borrowed eyes, borrowed time)

2009-03-19T17:05:00.003-04:00

ours: a sweet and vulgar torch song,
drawn out and in relief,
like the string of bones that line your back.

huddled together, bathed in ash and salt,
you:

held out my eyes so i could see
a raven's nest between the sheets.

covered my ears so i could hear
a siren blaring in the rail-yard.

cut out my tongue so i could speak
the words to sing your praise.

when old men claim that 'rust never sleeps,'
we march them down to the Calvary.

"pre-pay for gas? 'the fuck am I, a fortune teller?"

2009-03-05T14:28:00.004-05:00

Yesterday was a rather uneventful Wedneday and I can appreciate that. My week-end was intense, to say the least, and I suppose I’m still feeling mildly exhausted from it.

As I mentioned last week, myself and a few friends drove to Atlanta over the week-end to attend the Scion Rock Fest. Atlanta is about 21 hours away if you factor in brief food/gas stops, so all in all we spent about 42 hours in my Honda Civic between Friday and Sunday. Needless to say, 4 dudes barrelling down the highway in a Civic doesn’t make for the most physically comfortable situation, so sleep was almost nil over those three days. Lack of sleep is a strange thing, as its effects can be wide-ranging and wildly incongruous. Having left Friday at lunch time, we drove straight to Georgia and got there at around 10:30 Saturday morning. We first felt the effects of the sleep deprivation at 6am on Saturday morning when we stopped at a Waffle House somewhere in North (South?) Carolina. Vince had been at the wheel since 2:30am or so, and he’d been looking forward to handing the torch over for some time. There was a consensus amongst the four of us that food was to be had, and Max and I were adamant that we go to an IHOP. So we pressured Vince to keep driving until he found said IHOP from 5am to 6am, at which point he lost patience and told us to shove it, because we were settling for Waffle House. This was a big mistake. The food at Waffle house was sub-par, to say the least. By the time we were done with our meals, all had been afflicted with horrible stomach aches and Vince had attained a near translucent pallor. The first signs of madness were settling in as well, with the four of us giggling non-stop at the sight of this grungy middle-aged lady in a trucker’s cap, bathrobe and crocs, that we had nicknamed ‘the skeleton witch.’ ‘She IS the skeleton witch,’ is the phrase that somehow sent our mind’s off the deep-end.

Somehow, we reached the venue intact (mentally + physically) and we managed to stand and watch nearly twelve hours of ridiculously delicious metal music. The highlights for me were Neurosis (who were so heavy it made your ribcage rattle inside your chest) and Baroness (who were just awesome to watch and are simply one of my favourite bands, period.)

At around midnight, we left the venue and boosted from Atlanta with thinned ranks (Brandon was getting on a flight back to Ottawa the next morning, as he had prior engagements on Sunday.) The rest of us soldiered on despite the emergent lunacy and we reached Ottawa at around 11pm on Sunday night. Again, we barely slept, despite the added comfort of an empty seat. By Sunday morning, our minds were totally gone. Our conversations mostly revolved around how Vince was an ‘archiver’ of things (as I berated him for buying a Jarritos grapefruit juice and not drinking it immediately), or about how hungry Vince was.

Sample dialogue:

JM: Yo Max, on va arrêter manger là, Vince a faim.
Max : Ah, c’est nice. Moi aussi j’ai faim.
JM : Ouin, moi aussi j’ai faim, mais est-ce qu’on peut s’entendre que Vince a faim?
Vince : Hey, fuck you d’essayer de faire passer ça sur mon dos, toi aussi t’as faim.
JM : Vince, calme-toi là. C’est pas parce que t’as faim que t’es obligé d’être impatient avec moi.

Other highlights :

- Vince corralling sea-gulls with the car in a Wal-Mart parking lot
- A terribly ambiguous ‘spirit canyon’ metaphor
- The ridiculous selection of junk food at U.S. corner stores
- The eventual IHOP meal, which was fantastic
- A gas station attendant in Virginia muttering the phrase ‘I seen possum three feet wide and two feet tall. What you hit was a possum.’
- In-car sing-alongs to Jimmy Eat World, Taking Back Sunday and assorted others

I know I’m forgetting/leaving out a bunch of things. Really, we just had a fantastic week-end, despite the lack of sleep and retarded amounts of driving. Good music and good times spent with the best of friends. I couldn’t really ask for anything better.

In other news, I start a new job on Monday. It’s still a government job, it’s in the same building I work in now and it’s part of the same ministry, but still, a new job is a new job. The new gig will probably keep me on my toes a lot more, and that’s a good thing.

Anyhow, I’m out for now. Here’s some music to consider:

- Buried Inside – Spoils of Failure
- Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion
- Grizzly Bear – Veckatimest (get the leak, it’s insanely wonderful)
- Baroness – Red Album
- The Pains of Being Pure at Heart – Self-titled
- Malajube - Labyrinthes
- N.A.S.A. - The Spirit of Apollo
- Mastodon - Crack the Skye

now i'm lost in oblivion

2009-02-26T14:04:00.001-05:00

I witnessed the most peculiar thing yesterday afternoon walking home from work. Nearing my apartment in Saint-Henri, I began to notice a lot of crows flying around. This was at about 5:00pm, maybe an hour before dusk. When I reached the corner of Saint-Antoine and du Collège, which is pretty much right where I live, the sky had become nearly blackened by circling crows, their collective calls almost deafening. They sat on every inch of tree branch, every roof top, and every lamp post in a five block radius. There must’ve been at least a few thousand of them. The whole scene was slightly unnerving, partly because of the mythology associated with the animal: I mean, crows are generally creepy. It was a strange sight to see a variety of the neighbourhood’s residents gawking at the skies and rooftops, everyone looking up at the curiosity unfolding before them. It’s also funny that in a situation like this, people seem to lose their inhibitions about talking to other people they cross on the streets. People were gathering to discuss what they were seeing and trading theories as to what it could all mean. The stoner clerk from the seedy corner store seemed convinced that the flock (murder?) of crows was an ill-omen. ‘Les animaux le savent quand quelque chose de fucké s’en vient.’ Sure. There was this one woman who preferred to try and attach some religious connotation to the slew of swirling birds, it being Ash Wednesday and all. While I’m a sucker for a good supernatural story, my sceptical side usually trumps whatever impulse I might have to let my imagination run wild. A bit of research has revealed that crows have been known to flock to communal roosts at dusk in the fall and winter. What I (and the other residents of my ‘hood) witnessed last night was the gathering of crows at (what the article I read referred to as) ‘staging areas.’ These are usually located near the roost, and allow the birds to gather en masse before dusk. This pre-gathering appears to have some sort of socializing function among the birds, yet there exists no particular behavioural explanation for it, nor is it known how the social population dynamics function within the event. That’s all well and good, but the timeframe from the explanation doesn’t quite line up with late February (if the winter theory were to be believed, I would’ve seen this happen more frequently over the last few months, yet this has been an isolated occurrence.) I’m curious to see whether or not similar avian shenanigans will be afoot tonight.

Speaking of public gatherings and strange Wednesdays, I encountered a similar situation last week at pretty much the exact same spot. It was lightly snowing that evening and as I was coming home a bit after sundown, I could see that a crowd had gathered on the corner of Saint-Antoine. A fire was raging a few blocks down the street and the sight of it affected me in a rather strange way. Maybe it was an odd combination of the residual dusk light, the slight snowfall, my emotionally fragile state of mind (last Wednesday was a bad day) and the particularly potent blaze, but the whole scene was particularly surreal in quality. It’ rare that something will make me stop in my tracks (and I was in quite the rush to get home) and just affect me on that alien emotional level. To be honest, I don’t think I’d ever seen a fire like that right in front of me. I’d seen smoky buildings before and so on, but here there was an entire structure completely consumed by fire, flames licking wildly at the sky. It just looked downright dangerous, yet also carried this air of untamed elemental beauty (cheesy, but fuck, it was impressive.) Again, it’s odd that it’s been two weeks in a row that particularly odd phenomena have occurred right in the same spot, on the same day and at the same time. Whatever, there’s no need to read too much into this.

I’m pretty excited for tomorrow. I’m taking the day off from work to drive down to Atlanta, Georgia. A couple of friends and I are going to be attending the Scion Rock Fest on Saturday, which has pretty much the greatest line-up ever if you’re into the groovier, stonier end of the Metal spectrum. The full line-up includes about 30 acts, but I’m particularly excited to see Mastodon, Neurosis, High on Fire, Boris, Converge, Torche and Baroness. I don’t listen to that much ‘metal’ anymore, but all of those bands are near the top of my favourite lists for any genre. I mean, fucking Neurosis! Come on! Needless to say, I am beyond stoked. I’d been itching for a good road trip for a while, so to be sharing a car with my band mates for nearly 40 hours over three days should be more than satisfactory. It’ll be like touring, minus the playing shows bit.

Oh and on a semi-related note, for those who might be interested, City of a Hundred Spires will be playing with Malajube in Ottawa at Babylon on March 13th. The show is 15$. Malajube’s new album is pretty good, so we’re pretty excited to be sharing the stage with them.

Ok that’s quite enough. I need to get a bit of work done. Hugs.

the space between words

2009-02-18T15:55:00.003-05:00

I think this might be the longest I’ve ever gone without writing a blog post, and we all know that I am certainly not a beacon of regularity when it comes to such things… or anything for that matter.

My exile from the internet world has been paralleled by a general exile from most other things in my life. Back in October, having recently graduated from University, I quit my then government job and tried my hand at aimless wandering/traveling. I quickly came to realize that I wasn’t in the right mindset to undertake something like that by myself and I shortly found refuge back home. I spent a few disillusioned/depressed weeks on the couch playing my new playstation (the result of a depression-fuelled compulsive purchasing spree), eventually (partly) coming to my senses and getting a new apartment in Montreal’s St-Henri neighbourhood. Things since then have been neither good nor bad, though I can’t say I’ve been working on removing myself from whatever quarter-life crisis hole I dug myself into. I’d very much like to pull myself together, yet I’m quite aware that there exists no miracle cure for such things, just small steps. This is a small step.

Over the last few months I’ve isolated myself from a great deal of people and burnt an inordinate number of bridges. I’ve lost touch with many good friends and strained many of my most important relationships. I am difficult, inconsistent and often impenetrable. This is an admittedly limited attempt at opening up (as well as a chance to write more, and I certainly need to write more.)

I am still working a (semi-)miserable civil servant job, but I suppose the lax work environment will allow me to write on a more regular basis. I’m doing this until I come across something more suitable to my tastes and aspirations, as a journalism degree definitely DOES NOT guarantee a journalism job.

I’ll also try to update this page with a weekly picture, seeing as writing isn’t the only one of my hobbies that I’ve been neglecting on my path to mediocrity. I just picked up Tom Ang’s newish book Fundamentals of Photography last week, and I’ve been enjoying it quite a bit. I would recommend it to anyone with a passing interest in photography. The book’s approach is particularly interesting in that it attempts to reconcile film and digital photography. It examines methods of blending both mediums for the most effective and artistic practice. The book’s layout is also particularly lovely.

I came across this Adbusters article today that I found fairly interesting. It expressed a lot of the observations I've come to make over the years about so-called 'hipster' culture, yet goes further to posit that "The hipster represents the end of Western civilization – a culture so detached and disconnected that it has stopped giving birth to anything new. " The writer's primary argument centers around the assertion that 'hipster' is a counterculture stripped of its subversive element, devoid of radical agenda and therefore wholly unoriginal, self-indulgent and self-perpetuating. I'd argue that 'hipster' was never intended to be a counterculture, and that since its inception it has been merely one of the many subcultures jutting out from the mainstream consumer infrastructure. It operates and thrives on product. It is a peculiar permutation of the same consumerism that drives the upper middle-class; and what's more, it is wholly conscious of this reality. 'Hipster' is not borne from a reactionary spark, it does not operate against an established structure, it is merely a hyper-modern, youth targetting stem of mass-market culture that is actualized by its own sense of self-awareness. To label it a counterculture is to give it too much credit. 'Hipster' culture is not subversive and it never claimed to be. Really, I suppose a similar point is made in that article, but the writer's rhetoric is just jumbled and pointless. Its melodrama and overimportant rambling are actually characteristic of the subculture it attempts to lampoon. But I suppose that might be exactly the type of pretentious post-modern statement the writers at Adbusters are attempting to make. Whatever.

I guess I'm done here for now. Evenin'.

congratulations on the mess you made of things

2008-10-21T05:54:00.002-04:00

It's nearly 6am and I am in Boston. I spent the day here yesterday, though it was an odd one. Walked around the Harvard and MIT campuses, saw a movie, chased train tracks. I barely slept. It was warm enough for me to forego the sleeping bag, but I never could find a comfortable position. This is something I must somehow remedy, and sooner rather than later. I think I'm a bit hungry.

People here make me feel dumb for using the Courier font and for knowing very little about AIDS in sub-saharan African. At least I don't wear purple dress shirts with navy blue ties. Fucker.

I'm debating whether to recline it out until the sun rises or simply hit the road right now. Boston is nice but I feel like I should keep going. Why is that? What is it that's dragging me along? What am I chasing? What do I expect/hope to find?

I did find a cheap pair of checkered Airwalk slip-ons at Payless here yesterday, but I didn't get them. Maybe I should wait til the store opens and go buy them. These Eras are falling apart. I should also invest in some wool socks.

Things I learnt today/yesterday:

- F1 grade car wax makes my car look shiny again

- everybody in this city is smarter than I am

- everybody in this city has more ambition, drive and potential than i will ever have

- rachel getting married is a really good movie

- in my memories, cities are sparsely populated, the roads are devoid of cars/traffic and every street is a narrow one

- i have very little will to purchase things when i can't immediately use them

word of the day:

ah fuck it, my battery is nearly dead.. no time for word of the day.

peace.

she drinks her salty dog, talking about the sound of the waves.

2008-10-19T21:42:00.002-04:00

It's 10pm or so and I'm typing up a blog entry from a rest area parking lot somewhere in Vermont. The last few days (and more specifically, the last few hours) have been interesting, emotional, horrifying, exciting and most certainly complex. Byzantine even. Whatever.

So I guess I left home yesterday afternoon at some point, but that's only a half-truth. The first leg of my adventure (one that will hopefully be millipede-esque) took me to Montreal, so in all fairness I didn't really leave 'home' until this evening. I saw a few friends that I hadn't seen in a while (which was very nice) and tried to hang on for dear life to any sort of familiarity I could get my hands on. The disconnect happened the moment I parted ways with a really good friend of mine some time this afternoon. It was the oddest thing to be fully aware that that was the last direct contact with familiarity I would have for (at the very least) the next month.

Argh. My mind is a scramble. There are so many ideas buzzing in my head right now that I can't make sense of any of them. One thing is certain, I haven't felt this way in a while. Maybe ever.

It's funny that the border guard chose to criticize my lack of any tangible assets. Apparently, given my story, the dude was suspicious that I might be simply fleeing Canada and heading South, never to return. So he tried to have me list items/things/relationships that I might have back home that would, you know, tie me to the place and therefore prove that I was planning on heading back..

"So do you own or rent housing?"

"Well, my permanent address is at home with my parents.. and right now, I live in my grandparents' basement."

"Where do you work?"

"Umm. I don't have a job right now, I quit a few days ago."

"Are you in school?"

"Well not right now, I graduated over the summer."

"Girlfriend or significant other back home?"

"Nah."

"Is this car yours?"

"Well, technically it is.. but my mom has the ownership."

"I see. You know 'guy', you really need to get some assets."

Shucks, thanks buddy. As if I didn't already feel inadequate 90% of the time.

Bed time? Bed time.

Word of the Day: Byzantine

Notes:

- bridges freeze before roads apparently. duh.

- cars and roman candles

- my mind is like a sieve. let's work on that.

Golgotha - The Place of the Skull

2008-07-23T10:20:00.003-04:00

I find my misfortune to be highly amusing sometimes. For example, who would have thought that something as innocent as going to Chapters to buy children's books would result in Vince and I getting sprayed with piss? I certainly didn't. So get this. We were walking down George Street heading towards the Chapters on the corner of Rideau and Sussex, when all of a sudden this abhorrent smell found its way into my nasal passages. It was a vile smell, the kind you would imagine attached to something being dredged up from the recesses of hell. With hand over mouth, I scanned the area to determine the source of the foul. I read 'City of Ottawa Sewage Waste' on the side of a truck, and then it hit me, quite literally. I felt moist misty speckles of something hit my skin and the smell got worse. A rather large exhaust fan on the back of the 'Sewage Waste' truck was spraying the environs with a rank fog that was no doubt a mixture of piss, excrement, toilet paper bits, vomit and beer. Awesome. Vince and I ran out of the thick as quickly as we could, but we hadn't been spared. We smelled our clothing and our skin and came to grips with the abomination we'd just been faced with. The City of Ottawa had just doused us with piss and shit. Needless to say, buying children's books for my co-worker's teaching trip to India was an unpleasant and embarassing affair: unpleasant for the clerks dealing with me and for the other customers in Chapters, embarassing for Vince and myself, who smelled like we'd just crawled out of a toilet bowl. The only positive thing I learnt from the entire situation was that Febreeze gets the smell of piss out rather nicely.

Fuck you, City of Ottawa. You win this round, but I won't be around long enough for you to piss on me again.

Campfire Kansas

2008-07-15T14:07:00.004-04:00

I like the Get Up Kids. I really do. Yesterday, I was droning away in my office (yes, I have an office.. more on that in a bit) and Campfire Kansas came on my iPod's shuffle play. I was reminded that not only is that a wonderful song, but that right now, in the (hopefully not that linear) vector that is my life, this is not where I want to be.

So I graduated. For real. Well actually, not quite for real. I still need to go through the whole convocation ceremony process, but as far as requirements, classes and procedures are concerned, I'm good to go. I will soon be holder of a B.A. in Journalism, for whatever that's worth.

I also moved.I’m now living in the Outaouais region in a nice little apartment by the river, conveniently located in my grandparents’ basement. The rent is cheap (read: free) and the location is fairly convenient, allowing me easy access to anything of note in the National Capital region, all while giving me the opportunity to bike to work every day. This brings us to the aforementioned office. Through a combination of luck and the benevolence of certain family members, I got offered a casual position working for Service Canada. Yes, I’ve become a government worker. I partake in the 8 to 4 grind here and in the evenings I rule with an iron fist at the Freshmart, my father’s grocery store in lovely Chelsea Quebec. Needless to say, this keeps me rather busy.

And all of this for what? Have I grown to dislike Montreal? Am I willing to stand up on my desk, gazing down at all on the other side of my cubicle walls and proclaim “to hell with journalism, I am a public servant!”? I’m happy to say that both of the above hypotheses are complete folly.

No, the reality of it is that I need money. Living the student life has left me with some considerable debt that I need to take care of a.s.a.p. I’ve been fortunate enough to be presented with a situation that allows me to work extensively (for very decent pay) and absolves me of virtually any cost of living. Not to take of advantage of it would be downright stupid.

Yet despite the practicality of it all, I’m horribly dissatisfied. I now find myself living for my week-ends, anxiously awaiting the next two day respite before it all starts over again. I feel like I’ve gone off the rails and have gradually lost sight of what I was working towards. In the last few days, I’ve been questioning my motives for moving back here, for taking this monetarily fruitful, yet spiritually, emotionally and intellectually bankrupt detour. As much as I try to remind myself of the reason for it all, I’m just not convinced anymore. I feel cheated out of what should be a really exciting time in my life.

The only positive aspect I’ve been able to wrangle out of all of this has been a definition of ‘home’. Since I first moved to Montreal three years ago, I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to define that term. But now that I’ve moved back to the Outaouais region, a new kind of perspective has emerged. I’m here to debunk the theory of ‘home is where the heart is,’ at least in my own narrowly biased view of things. I’m living in a place where a great deal of the people I love most reside, yet I can’t help but feel alien and displaced. ‘Home’ is a feeling, this much is certain, but I believe it to be one that implies synergy and communion between a person and his surroundings rather than between a person and those he interacts with. On Sunday morning, I walked the streets of Montreal under the beating of heavy rain fall and I felt peaceful. The city spoke to me, offered me comfort, consoled my loneliness and granted me my very own tract of significance and purpose amidst its rumblings and shakings. Leaving the city in the afternoon, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d return and take the place that is offered to me. I miss 'home.'

I'm also having some trouble coming to grips with certain elements of change. It is obvious that very few things can be qualified as constant, even though we often have the audacity of labeling them as such. I'm finding myself being estranged from things I held to dearly, and the process has been a difficult one. Change breeds distance it seems. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it to breed proximity.

So back to Campfire Kansas. I've always had this little ideal of the perfect Summer and the Get Up Kids just totally nailed that state/feeling with this song. I wish all my summer evenings were spent lying down by a river with a good book, my head propped up against some rough tree bark, the whole scene tinted a sepia orange, everything drowned in the warm evening light. Every year, I cross my fingers and hope that this will be the one where I manage to approximate my ideal. Needless to say, I'm always let down. I need to learn to make the most of anything, I guess that's what the song's about.

That's quite enough for now. Once I figure things out, you'll hear from me again. But really, I'd like to hear from you.

So Many People

2008-06-12T16:16:00.004-04:00

We interrupt your regularly programmed bitching about girls for a slight change of pace. I want to talk about music. You know 'music' ? Yep that's right, those marvelous vibrations and oscillations occurring at varying frequencies and sequenced in such a way as to evoke all kinds of reactions in those hearing/perceiving them. I love music. You few that know me know that I love music. Why then do I write about dour shit all of time and not about the things that bring me great joy (hint: music) ? Oh, who knows. What I do know is that this post is entirely dedicated to music, no compromise.

Where do I start? So I've been privy to hearing a pair of as yet unreleased and highly anticipated records over the last week. The albums in question are Sigur Ros'(I'm aware of the accents, I just don't care to replicate them) Með Suð í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust and Coldplay's Viva La Vida (or Death and All his Friends). I've been listening to both of these all week and have been enjoying them quite a bit. The Sigur Ros album, at least with it's first few songs, presents itself as a considerably warmer and more organic affair than what their back catalogue would suggest. Earthy, playful melodies pour out of songs showcasing surprisingly (for the band) concise and restrained composition. The band is back to its old tricks by the half-way point however, with 'Festival' 's lengthy dirge steering the album's second half into much darker territory. It should be noted that the set's closer, 'All Alright', is sung in what appears to be english. What's more is that the track might very well be one of the most stirring and heartbreaking tunes the band has put together. The hushed, barely mumbled vocals and the shy, almost hesitant piano chords create a mood of desolation, shame and despair. I remember a part in Radiohead's Meeting People is Easy where a journalist describes Ok Computer's 'Lucky' as "music to slit your wrists to." If any song was ever worthy of such a statement, 'All Alright' would be it. Anyhow, good record.

And what about the new Coldplay? I feel sort of silly writing about something that will be written about ad nauseam for the coming years, but here goes anyway. Simply, it's good, polite, inoffensive, fun and slightly experimental rock music. It showcases the most interesting song writing of Coldplay's career, not to mention some of Christ Martin's better lyrics. The band isn't breaking any new ground or even making genuinely great music, but really it's just so damn easy to enjoy. My biggest complaints with the album lie with a few failed attempts at 'adventurous' song writing (i.e. the poorly executed transitions that segue the jarringly incompatible sections of '42') and a few ideas that just come off as blatantly derivative (i.e. the My Bloody Valentine/Slowdive aping of hidden track 'Chinese Sleep Chant', the textured post-rock of opener 'Life in Technicolor', the post-punk rhythms that close off 'Death and All his Friends', the middle-eastern folk strings of 'Yes') But you know, here I am complaining like a critic, yet I've been listening constantly since Monday. All I'm trying to get at is that if Coldplay manages to work on their song writing and arranging skills, all while finding ways of incorporating their influences into their own sound, they'd become a great band instead of a really good one.

What else? I just heard the new Beck single a few minutes ago and upon first listen it struck me as tremendous. Really tremendous. Chemtrails is a blisteringly concise psych/baroque pop number with drums and bass that absolutely lay everything to waste. I'm now excited for Modern Guilt.

Finally, Mogwai is putting out a new album in September called The Hawk is Howling. The album will be preceded by the Batcat EP, Batcat being the title of the album's first single. Below is a video of the mighty scots performing said song live. If this is any indication of what the album will be like, I think we should all be looking forward to it.

And I guess that's it. I'll update this with more personal details soon I guess. Yay, music.

5- 90% Of My Mind Is With You

2008-03-20T12:32:00.005-04:00

For the past few days I've been struggling with my unhealthy habit of over-analyzing the fabric of my everyday. I've been dissecting things to pieces, restructuring those pieces over and over, and trying to find some semblance of sense or purpose to events/occurrences that most would find rather mundane. I've been building and destroying hypotheses at an astronomical rate. Every time it seems I've settled on an interpretation or perception of a certain situation, something (often times the most seemingly insignificant of details) comes and shakes the very foundation of my resolve. And then it crumbles and I'm thrust back into doubt.

I tried to run with the idea above but then realized that I can't/shouldn't/won't. I can't take such thoughts to any logical conclusion and those first few lines make it painfully obvious.

I watched Into the Wild last night, which is Sean Penn's film adaptation of the book by Krakauer. The movie left me with the strangest of feelings. There you have a story which essentially embodies themes that I've been thinking (and dreaming) a whole lot about for the last while, yet I couldn't help but be consumed by a feeling of intense melancholy while watching it. I was overcome by this implacable sense of loneliness and this feeling was only exacerbated by my walk home after the movie. Even today, I still feel strangely blank about it. I thought I'd be able to properly articulate my thoughts, but it seems that I've failed. Oh well.

The story ends on a cautionary note. It speaks of the necessity of sharing love and experiences with others; that happiness is bred by offering that which most keep in themselves to those they love most. I think that such a simple and obvious sentiment is what touched me most, yet for some reason it's something I feel distanced from.

Again, oh well.

Little Engines

2008-03-03T21:25:00.002-05:00

We made claims to proximity. Borne from stubborn ideals and our reactive natures, we're reminded of them every time familiarity strays; every moment we struggle to hear each other's voice over the mumblings of a crowd, over the roar of every engine that has ever taken us between two points (sometimes and back.) Silhouettes left on the stubborn plastic of subway seats and cast by hands gripping the frayed ends of metal fences tell a different story; one where the cracks grow wider the longer they're left untended and where cuts on dry skin take weeks to heal. Backlit by the glow of drifting headlights, you'll look away and I'll struggle to make out your features reflected in the passenger side window. The inheritance you left me with, I'll divide up between my failures. And through it all, I'll still blame you when my extremities get cold; when my coughing awakens lovers in the next room; when difficult friendships are far beyond mending.

Everything under the sun rests between our shoulders, this I now know.

I Lost My Lights

2008-03-02T10:18:00.000-05:00

It was shortly after 8pm on an early September Sunday when I arrived at Coney Island. The sun had begun to set and all the buildings lining Ocean Avenue were bathed in that warm orange glow that would soon give way to twilight. I’d spent a weekend visiting New York City, taking in its sights and sounds, its energy, and a visit to this iconic Brooklyn neighborhood was to be the culmination of my trip.

Earlier in the evening I’d left Manhattan, crossing the Williamsburgh Bridge into Brooklyn with the Beach Boy’s Pet Sounds blaring on my car stereo. All of the bridge’s lanes were tied up in traffic and commuters were getting tense. Brian Wilson’s brilliantly gentle pop arrangements stood in sharp contrast to the cursing, angry snarls, angrier hand gestures and deafening car horns erupting just outside the window.

With the bridge behind me, I found myself on the northern-most part of the Brooklyn peninsula, with Coney Island lying at its southern tip. Southbound, I drove through Adelphi, South Brooklyn, Flatbush, Kensington. I passed Prospect Park, Greenwood Cemetery, various Laundromats, pizza parlors, used electronics stores and broken down pawn shops. All of them were distinct, colorful and alive; the city brimming with kinetic energy on this late summer evening.

I scanned the FM airwaves on my car’s radio in order to find some music for my southbound drive. A few flicks of the dial later, loud reggae tunes emerged from the speakers. The syncopated guitar clicks, bursts of Caribbean-inflected organ tones and a dub-style bass and drum groove provided a suitably sunny soundtrack. The radio DJ would intermittently cut through the mix with loud chants of “All islands under one nation!” The passion in his voice was enough to single-handedly ignite a Caribbean revolution. The mix of chilled tunes and the host’s fiery reclamations were an odd mix, yet I found myself strangely enthralled.

Shortly before arriving in Coney Island, I drove through Brighton beach, a neighborhood just east of my destination. Brighton Beach is particularly distinct because of its considerable Russian community. A bustling Russian marketplace lay below elevated subway lines. Hot pink, baby blue, electric green and mellow yellow neon signs, all of them sporting an unfamiliar alphabet, evoked an eerily dreamlike yet noticeably fading version of the glory found in Soviet propaganda movies from the 80s.

I stopped for a moment to ask for directions away from this bright, buzzing chaos and towards my destination. A balding middle-aged man with a thick Russian accent gladly provided me with the information I needed. I was mere minutes away.

I turned the radio dial again, settling on a station airing a retrospective tribute to Sly and the Family Stone. Sly’s smooth funk and soul was to accompany me on the last leg of my trek. The titular chorus to “You Can Make It If You Try” echoed through my speakers and given the unfamiliarity of the surroundings, those words were reassuring.

I rolled into Coney Island to the bombastic fanfare of the Family Stone’s brass section. The neighborhood’s architecture, its landmarks, its streets, they all bear the mark of faded glory. Much of the infrastructure, not to mention the iconic amusement park that many associate it with, was built during the 1920s as a symbol of the Jazz Age and its economic and cultural prosperity. What remains now is something of a derelict husk of that era. ‘For sale’ signs hang over the rusty metal shutters of various disaffected buildings, the streets are littered with beer cans and empty buckets of paint, the streetlights and electric shop signs are dying out, and through it all, Deno’s Wonderwheel spins on in the distance.

All of the subway lines leading to Coney Island converge at Stillwell avenue station. I had parked my car about a block away and walking by, I looked up to see a shiny metal train car arriving on the elevated tracks. Lit by the late evening sun and given a bright orange tint, the station and the arriving transport had an air of displaced modernity, like something you’d find in 1950s accounts of what the future would look like. Up ahead lied Coney Island’s iconic boardwalk: the neighborhood’s prime attraction and the main object of my curiosity.

The boardwalk along the beach was lined with a series of abandoned old buildings. I couldn’t help but think of the one-street shantytowns found in old Sergio Leone western movies. The windows were boarded up, the wooden sidings were stained, chipped and rotting and it seemed that no one had set food inside the shacks in decades. Overlooking the ghost town lay a few gigantic red sky-reaching towers, casting their elongated shadows on the miniscule houses below. The towers evoked gigantic antennas that had once been used to send important transmissions to far off places, but that now found themselves abandoned and useless: a testament to ideals long forgotten.

I reached the beach just as the sun was setting. Its brilliant orange light was ablaze at the exact point where the sky meets the sea. Filaments of yellow, red and orange streamed from that point, stretching across the blue-grey sky. The tide rolled-in violently with pitch-black waves collapsing onto the beach, alternately covering and then revealing the littered sandbank.

That night, even the beach seemed abandoned. A child’s yellow plastic bucket lay turned over in the sand. The air was nearly silent except for the variety of faint cartoonish noises emerging from the nearby amusement park. I stood in the surf for a moment, snapping pictures and taking in the scenery. As the light got too dim for my camera film’s speed to accommodate, I made my way back.

I left Coney Island to the tune of John Coltrane and Thelonious Monk’s collaboration recorded at Carnegie Hall. The tapes of that performance had been lost for nearly 50 years before they were unearthed and published. Much like that forgotten jazz energy was finally revealing itself through my speakers, Coney Island’s age-old wonders had been manifest that night.

4- You've Got To Remember Every Little Thing

2008-03-02T08:35:00.004-05:00

I always forget how much I love early mornings. A good night's sleep allowed me to wake and part the curtains at 8am today, letting in a wash of early morning sunlight. Delightful. Last night was Montréal's infamous "nuit blanche," where the city doesn't sleep and instead offers up a variety of cultural events. So, of course, I chose such a night to wind up alone at home with nothing much to do. Oh well, I needed the sleep I suppose.

I feel like I owe this blog my apologies. It seems that I've been mistreating it; using it as some vain exercise in finding increasingly fancy ways of saying I feel like shit. There's very little to be gained in doing such a thing, so I should try to reign in those sentiments. My apologies.

A few weeks ago, I read Ryszard Kapuscinski's Shah of Shahs and was deeply enthralled. The book is a journalistic account of the fall of the last Shah of Iran, but it's the humanity and insight in Kapuscinski's writing that gives it its colours. The writer was in Tehran during the events depicted, making for highly personal and focused storytelling. It touches on themes of fear, power relationships, revolution, the disillusionment that often follows revolutions and, most importantly, it examines human nature at a macroscopic level. There's a passage where Kapuscinski examines the precise moment when a revolution is sparked, detailing the intimate changes in composition that occur between the oppressive and the oppressed. I got chills while reading that bit, so I'm going to reproduce a part of it here.

"Now the most important moment, the moment that will determine the fate of the country, the Shah, and the revolution, is the moment when one policeman walks from his post toward one man on the edge of the crowd, raises his voice, and orders the man to go home. The policeman and the man on the edge of the crowd are ordinary, anonymous people, but their meeting has historic significance. They are both adults, they have both lived through certain events, they have both had their individual experiences. The policeman's experience: If I shout at someone and raise my truncheon, he will first go numb with terror and then take to his heels. The experience of the man at the edge of the crowd: At the sight of an approaching policeman I am seized by fear and start running. On the basis of these experiences we can elaborate a scenario: The policeman shouts, the man runs, others take flight, the square empties. But this time everything turns out differently. The policeman shouts, but the man doesn't run. He just stands there, looking at the policeman. It's a cautious look, still tinged with fear, but at the same time tough and insolent. So that's the way it is! The man on the edge of the crowd is looking insolently at uniformed authority. He doesn't budge. He glances around and sees the same look on other faces. Like his, their faces are watchful, still a bit fearful, but already firm and unrelenting. Nobody runs though the policeman has gone on shouting; at last he stops. There is a moment of silence. We don't know whether the policeman and the man on the edge of the crowd already realize what has happened. The man has stopped being afraid- and this is precisely the beginning of the revolution. Here it starts. Until now, whenever these two men approached each other, a third figure instantly intervened between them. That third figure was fear. Fear was the policeman's ally and the man in the crowd's foe. Fear interposed its rules and decided everything. Now the two men find themselves alone, facing each other, and fear has disappeared into thin air. Until now their relationship was charged with emotion, a mixture of aggression, scorn, rage, terror. But now that fear has retreated, this perverse, hateful union has suddenly broken up; something has been extinguished. The two men have now grown mutually indifferent, useless to each other; they can go their own ways. Accordingly, the policeman turns around and begins to walk heavily back toward his post, while the man on the edge of the crowd stands there looking at his vanishing enemy."

(from KAPUSCINSKI, Shah of Shahs)

Writing like this is precisely why I found myself interested in good journalism in the first place and it's also something I very much aspire to.

I believe it's somewhat fitting that I'm posting and talking about someone else's art today, as my own creative output has been seemingly cut down in its tracks. My band City of a Hundred Spires has been one of, if not the, most important thing in my life for the past five years and now I can't help but be a bit disillusioned about it. Things aren't quite going marvelously in the COAHS camp for a variety of reasons, both internal and external, and I find it all rather discouraging. Maybe things will mend themselves but it is indeed crushing to realize that I now feel as though we're back to square one in a few senses. There's ultimately no point in writing about this here as I obviously don't feel up to discussing the minute details of the problems, so I'll just drop it.

I managed to swoop by the cinemas on Friday night to catch Be Kind Rewind. I really can't understand why it's been receiving such negative press. Sure, thematically and in terms of emotional depth, it has nothing in common with Gondry's previous films, but in terms of the director's wide-eyed wonder with the medium of filmmaking, not to mention his truly unique and endearing sense of imagination, Be Kind Rewind is a success. Simply, it's a kids story for adults. You'd have to be truly cold-hearted not to smile or feel warmed up by the movie's end. But then again, who am I to make judgment calls on you. Go see it for yourself.

Also, here are a fews points regarding last week's Oscars ceremony:

- Generally, boring as all hell (how did this expression come into being? Hell should be anything but boring.)

- Daniel Day-Lewis' win was well deserved. This made me happy.

- Those Once kids winning for Best Song was kinda cute.

- Paul Thomas Anderson got robbed. He should've won both Best Picture (There Will Be Blood) and Best Director (for said movie.)

- Jon Stewart was generally funny. Of particular note was his shout out to Dennis Hopper. "Just letting him know where he is." Hilarious.

- Roger Deakins should have won the Best Cinematography Oscar for The Assassination of Jessie James by the Coward Robert Ford. That is the most strikingly beautiful photography I've seen in movies in a long time.

- In a similar vein, Nick Cave and Warren Ellis' score for the above-mentioned movie should have been nominated for Best Score. Shame.

Wonderful, it's only 10am and I have a beautiful day ahead of me. Let's make the best of it. Cheers.

Music:

- J. Tillman - Cancer & Delirium

- Frodus - ...And We Washed Our Weapons in the Sea

- Blonde Redhead - 23

3- Here We Go, Hold On Tight and Don't Let Go

2008-02-27T17:07:00.003-05:00

It stopped snowing minutes ago and I'm thankful. I don't know how much more of the snowy onslaught I could've endured. Today is one of those days where just about nothing makes sense. I feel like I'm barely a person lately: stripped of my self-esteem, my focus, my wit; devoid of stories to tell, of things to love and of small victories. Sure, I still have the broad strokes in front of me. I still know what I want to achieve and I still have the ambition necessary to get there. But the lines I'd drawn in the sand to lead me to that goal have been erased. The fall is coming so quickly and I'm not sure how I'll manage to have all of my shit together by then. I'm a terrible mess. I want to leave and cut myself off from all that is familiar. I hate to be buying into that age-old 'finding yourself' cliché, but I certainly have trouble locating myself in any semblance of a coherent way lately. There's no purpose or mystery to anything I do and this discourse is redundant. Oh, shush already.

2- Some Hearts Are True

2008-02-16T17:54:00.002-05:00

I walked home this morning just as the sun was rising. Montreal was still asleep and the air was cold and dry. For the first time this winter, I felt my beard crisp up because of the cold. I was listening to the new A Silver Mount Zion record at deafening volumes and was just overwhelmed by its beauty. As the chants at the end of BlindBlindBlind (the album's closer) receded, I had to stop and compose myself. I hadn't felt as emotionally tempered by a piece of music in quite a long time. "Some hearts are true" indeed.

1 - What honest words can't you afford to say?

2008-02-11T19:32:00.000-05:00

Oh, sweet focus where have you gone? I think I have completely lost my ability to get any work done without being distracted by an infinite number of things. It's not that I don't want to get things done, but I'm starting to feel that I don't know how! Frightening. I have a week off coming up, so consequently this week promises to be pure hell, with a variety of hurdles that will necessitate overcoming. I suppose I will resort to the tried (and maybe not so true) method of making a list of things that I need to accomplish before the week is out. I need to put things into perspective (how many times have I typed that into this box before?) and figure out ways of motivating myself.

SO.. LIST!

Things to do:

1) Finishing considerably late paper for Globalization class. Due: ASAP
2) Studying for History exam... i.e. catching up on all the readings I haven't done. Due: Tuesday night at 6pm
3) Finishing John Hersey's Hiroshima (3 chapters left.) Due: Wednesday morning
4) Practicing for Music for Dummies exam. Due: Thursday morning
5) Writing final draft of my Coney Island piece for Literary Non-Fiction class. Due: Friday (read: Thursday before 6pm)
6) Shoveling the snow in the alleyway and getting my car out of there. Due: Thursday before 6pm
7) Eating. Due: Every day
8) Staying sane. Due: Every other day

Things to look forward to:

1) Graveyard of Ships mixes by week's end
2) City of a Hundred Spires band practice on Thursday (fuck you Valentine's day)
3) Thrice show on Saturday
4) Hang outs
5) Movie watching
6) Photo adventures
7) Reading
8) Lost
9) Autumn

Okay. We have perspective. We have an outline clearly laid out in front of us. Bloodshot eyes, cold feet and colder hands are not an excuse. By the end of tonight I have to scratch at least one element off of the top list. Here we go.

There Will Be Blood

2008-01-19T19:48:00.000-05:00

As the lights slowly dimmed and then died out, she slouched in her red velvet seat, arms tightly crossed, her gaze straight ahead. Her inappropriate posture betrayed her considerable height; she was a fairly tall girl, standing at around five feet, eight inches.

The brightly lit barren desert mountains that appeared before her made her squint, her pupils contracting, adjusting to the dramatic increase in light. The wash of ivory made her already pale complexion even fainter, her appearance now bordering on ghostly. An uncomfortable grin drew itself across her face as violins, violas and cellos struck discordant sixteenth notes at an unrelenting pace, establishing an eerily contrasting soundtrack to the static yet serene scenery before her.

As time went on, she sunk deeper into her seat, her shoulders eventually resting well below mine. A blaze raged before us in the nighttime desert sky, the reds, oranges and yellows tinting her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes drifted away from the spectacle, momentarily meeting mine. Her shy smile acknowledged my inquisitive glance. I could do nothing but smile back.

Loud yelling erupted and she sprung up, her back hunched and leaning forward, teetering precariously on the edge of her seat. Two men clashed in an old two-lane bowling alley. They stomped about the room, one of them angrily shouting as the other recoiled in horror. Her lips curled up, forming a slight grin on her face. The expression was hesitant; she knew full well that the event unfolding before her was one of violence and depravity, and that smiles were inappropriate. As the violence reached its peak, there was blood. She sat silent, wide-eyed.

“I’m finished,” cried out the survivor. A Brahms-penned classical piece was heard as the credits rolled.

*this was an exercise in description for a literary non-fiction class

Orange, Green, Yellow, Blue

2007-12-29T14:37:00.000-05:00

I won’t give you a call when I get back into town. I will cover up the tracks that lead to my doorstep, pull blinds across the apartment windows, make myself naïvely unobvious and certainly inaccessible. The phone will ring until its final chime, a stiff sounding lady will interject and you’ll hang up. You might try your hand at it again later or in a few days, but I will win and you will give up. The hours will slip, the days will slide, and the weeks will fade. Locks will freeze up, snow will fill in the stairwell and ice will blanket and stain glass panes. In the glow of sunlight filtered through shattered patterns and irregular shapes I will wait, wait for you to break your word and call again.

Shipping Station

2007-08-15T20:04:00.000-04:00

I laughed an uneasy laugh as humorous anecdotes got thrown around the room. My ignorance, no, my indifference to the topic of conversation making itself quite obvious. I find it puzzling that through supposed nonchalance to a situation, I still found myself feeling minuscule; a fly on the wall, the kid hiding beneath the table listening in on his parents, a ghost at the party. All eyes on you, your eyes on all but me. We broke the tension through colored blocks. The obviously limitless possibilities afforded by such materials offset by the alarmingly constricted set of choices I'm now left with. A blooming flower, a lit fuse; to walk away or to listen?

A ride down the Main, picking up speed, the cool night wind pinching my cheeks. Grateful for this sweater over my shoulders, annoyed at the drunks yelling at a passing taxi, anxious for the empty streets ahead. Passed through cobblestone roads, beneath highway overpasses, by dwellings either new or old. Trucks at the brewery loading up for their late night deliveries, the smell of fermenting yeast, of barley malt meshing with hops. A sprawling bridge to the South Shore, a decaying piece of heritage at its foot, a mangled coat hanger on the way out. My heart beating faster, my tonsils pulsing, the blood rushing to my head. By docked boats, by converging rails, the way out is up the Main.

It's a shame you'll never know what I told those silent walkways, those inviting dockyards, that unfortunately abandoned shipping station.

Cartoons + Hockey + Civic Pride = Looting

2007-06-02T22:20:00.000-04:00

I grew up on television. The tube was an ever present entity in our household and without it I firmly believe that I would not have the ease with the English language that I now possess. I guess I have Big Bird, Count Duckula and Mr. Dress-Up to thank for my bilinguilism. What a strange thing.

I recall loving morning cartoons. I'd get up as bright and early as I could, which usually meant a short while before 6 am, and I'd watch my favorite shows all the way til noon hour if I could. Would it stop there? Of course not! I'd record that colossal 6 hours of goodness to VHS tape and give it another watch come evening, skipping over the not so good parts. Those were the days.

Since moving out of my parents' house, television has been filtered out of my daily routine. On the one hand, my interest in the thing had waned over the years as nothing managed to capture my attention like the cartoons of old, and on the other, a modest studetn's salary makes it rather difficult to afford cable. Lack of cable makes for lack of quality programming, but that goes without saying. As of now, I can tune into Radio Canada with a minmal amount of static, and the CBC with a considerably large amout of weird shadows, fuzz and wobbly lines. Nothing more.

So this brings us to this evening. I imagine you're all wondering what purpose this abnormally long diatribe about television has. It's Saturday night in Montreal and I find myself considerably bored, the result of being a jerk who alienates any new friends I make all too easily. I recalled that it was NHL playoff time, so I decided I'd try to see if I could tune in to the game on one of my two channels. Luckily, the CBC provided and I now find myself strangely enthralled.

Along with my interest in television, I somehow lost my interest in hockey over as I grew up. As any good Quebec boy, I played hockey for a brief while as a kid. My dad really wanted it, he even went as far as being assistant coach for a while. Unfortuntaely, my laziness (remember my obsession with cartoons?), my flat feet and my fate as a chubby kid all contributed to make me a pretty shoddy hockey player. I eventually quit the whole thing, telling myself that if I couldn't be the best at something, I might as well not do it at all (a way of thinking that still sticks with me to this day.)

My current interest in the hockey game has nothing to do with faded childhood dreams however. No, you see, it has everything to do with latent civic pride. I can't explain it. I haven't felt a thing such as attachment to a city in the longest of times, yet there's something strangely comforting about the sense of complicity with a large group that something like a home team participating in the Stanley Cup Finals can illicit. As the fuzzy, shadowy players glide across the glitchy, speckled ice, dodging oscillating lines and shifting between monochrome and colorful, I'm filled with a weird sense of excitement. Every goal offers edge of your seat excitement. The Ottawa Senators are leading 5 to 3 as I type this and I couldn't be happier about it.

Of course this is all ephemeral. Hollow, fleeting and base excitement in my otherwise tepid life. Though I can't help but think on a larger scale. What if the Ottawa Senators win the Cup? Will the result be similar to what happened in 1993 in Montreal? Will a large number of angry mobs take to the streets? Will there be rioting, looting, pillaging, plundering, senseless violence, piracy of all kinds, etc... ? If so I'd like to take this moment and volounteer as angry mob leader. I believe that my superior intellect and lukewarm charisma would allow me to rule over groups of senseless yet vindictive fools with an iron fist. No? I've always wanted to lead an angry mob. It's been a dream of mine for almost as long as I've loved cartoons, and that's saying a lot. This story isn't going anywhere. Cartoons suck now. Good night.

Tour Recap Part 1

2007-06-01T23:13:00.000-04:00

It's the dream of every single kid who's ever picked up a guitar with the intention of rocking and rolling: to hop in a tiny over-packed van with 4 other dudes, to live in abject poverty for an extended period of time and to play loud deafening music to crowds of no one night after night. Wait, that doesn't sound that appealing all of a sudden. In any event, I'm getting ahead of myself.

So the tour. I went on tour. City of a Hundred Spires went on tour. I've been asked questions ad nauseum about our little trek since we returned and I believe I usually offer the same answer to most: that it was a great experience with great highs and terrible lows. I usually add some half-hearted sentiment about how I imagine that such an outcome is pretty much par for first touring experiences. Yeah.

The first show of the tour is pretty much the perfect synthesis of the great highs/terrible lows dichotomy. On May 5th 2007, we were set to play at le Troquet in Hull with our tourmates in Tunturia. Hull is our (my) hometown and this was meant to be the show to send us off with warm hugs and considerable applause (the memories of which we'd have to nibble on for the coming weeks as hugs and applause would come sparingly from then on.) The show proceedings started off in our traditional ricketty manner. We got to the venue, loaded our gear in and then proceeded to scramble to try and finish burning off our CD-EPs. Being the fiends of last-minute that we are, we'd managed to finish assembling the packaging for our records, but we'd yet to burn the actual music to disc yet. Sitting at the bar with our laptops, we managed to finish up the EPs by early evening. People started filing in and the night was about to begin.

As a small à côté, I'd like to talk about the Jagaton for an instant. The Jagaton was our drink of choice throughout the entire tour, yet it's a drink that is known only to a select few. Equal parts Jagermeister and Tonic Water, the Jagaton gets its name from an amalgamation of the words Jagermeister and tonic, with some slight Carribean flavor added for fun. It's to be pronounced with a slight Jamaican accent. More on the Jagaton later in this story.

I took care of door duties that evening, sipping on many a Jagaton (ha! also: it should be noted that Simon Guibord, friend and Troquet waiter, makes a fine Jagaton) and greeting the overwhelming amount of people that came to see us that night. We somehow managed to fill up le Troquet, there was barely any standing room left. This was a high point without a doubt. It was great to see all these people who'd supported us over the years, all of them gathered there to send us off. Friends, acquaintances, family (my whole family came, great aunt included!) stood/sat around waiting for the music to begin.

Tunturia took the stage before us and played a great set. To say I was impressed with them, especially as they were only on their second live performance, would be an understatement. They played great tunes and turned out to be great dudes. This was a positive omen for that aspect of the rest of the tour.

Our set was decent I believe. We played loud and proud, even getting demands for an encore. Once again, the performance aspect of the show turned out to be a success.

We even managed to sell nearly forty copies of our CD-EP as well as about ten t-shirts. More victories than you can shake a stick at, I tell ya. But unfortunately, the positive stops there (isn't that far enough, I hear some of you asking?)

If there's one thing that rock n' roll is vulnerable to, it's certainly the emotions of the very flawed people performing it. Without going into detail, the ensuing evening resulted in a string of events that damaged not only the emotions of individuals in the band, but some of the relationships between band members. Shit? Shit.

After a great deal more drinks and great tunes (Wilco, D'Angelo.. to name a few) courtesy of Simon, we all parted ways and went home to be greeted by the arms of the last bit decent sleep we'd get for a while. Things seemed uncertain, I was pretty fucking worried. Don't you love how I'm writing this like some kind of thrilling serial? More to come soon.

So many doors but only one key

2007-05-24T20:32:00.000-04:00

Fall. Tumble. Roll. Spin around. Look up dizzied. Get up on your feet. Find sure footing. Compose yourself. Let your stomach settle. Sigh.

I'm having trouble even approximating these last few months through thoughts, so it'll be a miracle if I can make any sense of them with words. Where to start? No event served as a catalyst for the mess that is my last little while, so I really would not know where to start.

I went on tour with my rock n' roll band. That's interesting enough. I managed to accomplish one of my dreams. To drop everything that may or may not have mattered and just head out in a van with some of my friends and play music in far away places. It was a nice experience that wasn't without it's low points, but that goes without saying. It was an elating experience and one that I'd like to repeat, making sure to put to good use the many lessons that I (we) learned over the course of the trip.

I'll probably put together something of a tour recap in the coming days when I get the chance. It'll most likely be a diary short story type of thing detailing some of the potentially humorous or dramatic events that we encountered.

The tour itself really came at the most ideal of moments. My emotional life had been one of great tumult over the last year and I finally managed to put an end to something that occupied my mind quite abit over someone who meant(means) a great deal to me. Of course, on par with most of my other romantic stories it ends in rejection. Though it should be noted that it's always that much harder when the way in which someone rejects you reminds you of why you liked that person so much in the first place. Anyhow, what I meant to say was that the tour managed to distract me from bruised emotions, and that is no small feat.

Since returning however, I've been quite rudderless. I'm unemployed, my lease is up in a month's time and I have no immediate ambitions or goals to look forward to. I've been filling my days watching the Harry Potter movies, playing basketball (and subsequently getting my court stolen by unruly children) and going on unnecessarily dangerous bike rides through the Gatineau park. So where to? Hopefully the next few days will give me a clue.

On the scholarly front, I can't complain too much. After leading a frightfully ricketty winter semester, filled with extravagant moments of procrastination, tremendous loss of motivation and low expectations, I managed to finish up with some of the best marks I've had over my university years. I'm puzzled yet pleased. Next up, my final year of journalism school. How strange; I'm conscious that I've learnt tons, but I have no idea how to apply this know-how. Maybe that's what the third year is for. Maybe the third year is intended to mould this shapeless form you have before you and make something worthwhile out of it. Maybe? You'll hear from me soon.

p.s. thank you to max for the title

So long goodnight, forfeit any fight...

2007-02-14T00:15:00.000-05:00

Strange how a simple color can lead to nostalgia. How a shade or hue can have some faintly recognizable link to events, to a feeling, to a state of mind. How yellows, oranges, dark reds and the like will remind you of being younger, comfortable, care-free. Of bad pop music performed by dudes with horrible haircuts, of tacky terra-cota cups bought at roadside artisan shops on the way back from the country, of yellow sweaters, airports and kids that aren't you. And what of patio screened doors, gigantic (or what seemed like gigantic to your tiny self) in-ground swimming pools complete with diving boards and buoys? What of renting b-grade japanese Godzilla movies at a video store bearing a huge crown-wearing elephant as its effigy? Do you remember buying those Dick Tracy collectible cards that came with a stick of bubble gum? They were sold at the corner store that seemed worlds away to your tiny legs. Outside the corner store was a small fruit and vegetable market were people gathered to buy rutabagas or whatever strange turnip you wouldn't dare eat, convinced it tasted terrible. The people also talked about the weather and exchanged stories, but you were too concerned with running back home to beg for another shiny dollar to buy another pack of trading cards to pay attention to them. And why does yellow have anything to do with any of this, you ask? I wouldn't know. The same goes for orange or dark red, but that link is invariably there, you cannot deny it. How could you deny such a perfectly obvious connection? Is that connection leading you to other thoughts now? Of how lovely a certain someone looked to you after not having seen them in a month, the first time you saw that someone wearing her lovely new winter coat that she insists isn't that great because "everyone" has one just like it? Maybe, just maybe, in your ridiculous little head this is associated to christmas lights and to Dio's Holy Diver. You know very well how that association was made don't you? Then please, don't fret over how a few colors came to be associated with a flood of ideas; you're just too old and far removed from it all to remember. This is just like how pretty girls, christmas lights and metal classics will be pretty thinly linked at some point down the line, though you may not want them to be. Colors are a peculiar thing.

There's no big bang and there's no big mess

2006-11-14T01:49:00.000-05:00

I've been known to do stupid things or undertake gambles that I should not dare contemplate. Last night, as me and Max parted ways with Vince at Mexicali Rosa's, I exclaimed 'Oh yeah, I've got at least enough gas left in my car to take us to Casselman. We'll gas up there." As it turns out, my claim was correct. As we approached Casselman, I was beaming with pride, happy to see that my barely-considered presumption was turning to fact. What I did not bank on however, was that a mess of cones and construction work would confuse the hell out of me and make me drive right past the much-sought-after exit. As the reality of what had just happened settled in, I thought to myself: 'alright, this is a minor setback. If I made it this far, I can surely make it to the next exit." This is where things go slightly awry and my idiotic assumptions turn to... well, idiocy.

My car runs out of gas, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Fun. So me and Max do the only thing we can do: we start walking to the next town with our arms extended and our thumbs shooting up to the sky. A few minutes go by and a moderately large transport truck stops on the side of the road abit up ahead of us. As we hastened our pace and set out towards the red glare of the truck's rear lights, we contemplated the scenarios that could potentially unfold as we'd open that cabin hatch and greet the faceless person inside. We arrived at the conclusion that friends should never ever hitch-hike together, because you never know when some sicko will pull a gun on you and force you to give your friend a blowjob as payment for the 'ride.' This would, without a doubt, ruin a pretty good friendship, but I digress. As we climbed into the truck, we weren't greeted by a depraved sex-fiend, nor by a machete-wielding maniac or any of the other uninspired stereotypes that we'd pitched on our brief trek to salvation. Nah, it was just a terribly nice, mild-mannered old man delivering newspapers to Montreal. He gladly gave us a lift to the next town over, which happened to be Maxville. We talked about the weather and gas prices. It was classic.

We were deposited at a gas station; an Esso if I am not mistaken. Now we needed fuel, this much was certain. We walked into the store area, identified the clerk and asked him if we could buy a gas container. He told us they didn't have any more, which was definitely a problem seeing as we weren't going to run back to the car with mouthfuls of fuel, nor were we going to do the old hand-cup trick. So we did what any self-respecting young men would do: we rummaged through garbage bins in search of makeshift containers. My fuck up and fate had reduced us to the level of raccoons. After a bit of fruitless foraging, we struck gold by finding a cage filled with empty windshield washer containers. Me and Max each grabbed one and pumped a few litres of our coveted substance into them. After paying, we walked back to the highway, plastic jug filled with gas in one hand, Kinder Bueno in the other. As we got to the highway on-ramps, Max picthed a brilliant idea. He suggested we run all the way across the highway, and then attempt to hitch-hike back to the car. And run we did, only to find ourselves in a pinch when we realized that both sides of the highway were separated by a treacherous swamp... a dark, treacherous and murky swamp. After much struggling, we emerged on the other side clutching our precious liquid, feet and pants drenched in gross highway swamp water. We resumed our walking and signaling. It wasn't long before a small firefly-esque car pulled up to the side. The usual debate about what exhuberantly gruesome method of murder would be employed against us by the car's driver was had.

As we sat down in the tiny automobile, the man in the driver's seat greeted us: 'Hi guys, I'm G but you can call me Che... As in Che Guevarra, he's my idol. You guys really smell like gas.' As it turns out, the man's name was actually Girison. He was a Guatemalan-born naturalized Canadian. He'd escaped Guatemala when he was young, after a stint in the Guatemalan Army. The high levels of repression and unmeasured violence he saw made him crave for better living conditions. He was a contractor who mainly did landscape work, but he'd had a career as a chef before. He also recounted the tale of how he became a homeless man living on the streets of Ottawa after his wife and four children had left him. He picked himself up and out of a life of poverty and hard drugs, started his own landscaping company and became the man he is now. He offered us Cuban cigars, but we declined because our gas covered hands were something of a liabiity, not to mention the fact that neither of us smoke. As we barelled down the highway towards my derelict automobile, our man Girison treated us to ultra-loud Eminem, 50 Cent and Kanye West.

We got to the car and we emptied the contents of the windshield washer containers into the gas tank, spilling quite abit on the ground in the process. Girison waved around a pair of bright orange construction pants at oncoming traffic in the meantime. He was trying to make us visible to oncoming cars so that no one would accidentally run us over while we fumbled around with makeshift gas containers. With the deed done, my car sparked to life and we were ready to resume our return to Montreal. We whole-heartedly thanked Girison for his help and kindness, to which he replied with a wink : 'Don't thank me, thank the big guy up top!' We quietly drove off with a business card for a landscaping company in our hands and a pretty neat story to tell in our heads.

we are the matched and numbered ones who live in constant disrepair

2006-08-28T17:29:00.000-04:00

I've been dealing with my recent state of being in the most unsavory of fashions. I'll admit that I've always had a certain penchant for self-destruction with a (not so) healthy dose of deep introspection thrown in, but lately things have gotten out of hand. For the past two weeks I've been seeking out solace at the bottom of a bottle every night and this has become a more than obvious problem for me. Out the door with such nonsense, I say. I need to put myself back together, to glue back the pieces that fell off during this tumble to where I am now. In the face of all that I've been through lately, of what still gnaws at my mind every other minute and of what I stand to go up against with my impending return to Montreal, I need all of my strength, a clear head and a direct perspective on my ambitions. To attain these ambitions certains objectives must however be set. Objectives are a lovely thing. How about we list some of mine right this instant and see if they can be met. I'll stick to strictly short term things for now, because I need to work in the now in order to make things work out later.

1) I need to find a a new job in Montreal as soon as I humanly can. I've been out of work these past two weeks and while I made a fair amount of money working such a ridiculously displeasing job, the above phrases should offer a hint as to where quite abit of that money went. I would like to find something close to home and at least somewhat fulfilling. There's a delightful looking tea house that just opened up the street from me and I think I might just be the Tea house kindof guy. We'll see, but the search gets underway as soon as I am back home.

2) I need to write more. I aim to be a writer and I greatly enjoy writing, therefore it should be natural that I write in a more consistent fashion. I want to get back into writing for the student paper, to try my hand at doing more freelance pieces, to write more about music and even to dabble in expanding my abilities at fiction writing.

3) I need to work on making friends and contacts in my milieu. I realized that I haven't kept contact with any of the people that I attended classes with last semester and I think that this is a shame. For one, I don't know a great deal of people in Montreal and it would be nice to have friends or acquaitances to go have a pint with every once in awhile. Also, in a field such as journalism it helps to have a network of associates with whom you can work in tandem with. Solidarity can go a long way. I need to shed some light on my sympathetic side.

4) I need to try and get back into some form of physical shape. Basketball outings with friends, excursions to the gym and a decent amount of jogging need to be of the order.

5) I'll end with something moderately cliché. I need to take care of matters of the heart. There's something I've been mulling over and debating for too long and it needs to be dealt with. I deeply care for this person and through the absolute mess that has been my life this summer, that is one of the single recurring and stable thoughts I've had. My timing is abit off on this matter considering the changes that are coming in barely a week, but it's never too late for such things.

I'm sure this list will grow as time goes on, but this is a stepping stone or a starting point I guess. I would be ecstatic if I could do things the right way for once.

love.jm

I'm damaged bad at best

2006-08-07T21:17:00.000-04:00

This is it. This is absolute dejection. I don't think I've ever felt this bad, though I'm sure I've been in worse situations in the past. Somehow though, I am devoid of any defense mechanism. I feel utterly hopeless, helpless and without direction. This post is simply to catalogue this feeling. I honestly hope there's nowhere to go but up.

Outside, the unbearable grows

2006-08-03T20:36:00.000-04:00

What an absurd being I am. I am an unending cycle, a series of patterns continuously colliding into themselves. But despite having resigned myself to accept this fact, I continue to live through the events that are dropped into my lap with quivering intensity and passion. I am unable to simply be indifferent, to just shrug anything off and carry on with my self-fulfilling existence. I often wonder whether or not I'm at all grateful for this trait of character.

Right now, right this instant as I'm typing this, I hurt. This might be temporary, this might be a reaction to a variety of circumstances or a brief plunge into the more fatalistic parts of my mind, but I'm filled with sadness and regret. I feel like I've wasted another rather extended period of time pursuing something that I could simply not have. I have this strange tendency of falling into these situations and being utterly incapable of dealing with them in an adequate and resolute fashion. I despise my insecurities and my inability to get over what I can only describe as 'ever-looming self-doubt.' May the echo of these words cease before morning.

We salute you, oh half-inflated devil lord!

2006-04-30T16:39:00.000-04:00

School is done and I am now 22 years of age. Interesting. I really have nothing more to add right now, though I shall leave you with the musings of someone who is infinitely wiser than me and who's words mean a great deal to me.

Will you come and what will I say
Oh I have been so distant and unhappy
Like I could disappear

When I was a boy I saw things
That no one else could see
So why am I so blind at twenty-two
To the hope that is all around me
Filling up this room

On the road on my own
Waiting for the words to fall from your tongue
Into my ears

When I was a boy I could hear
Symphonies in seashells
So why am I so deaf at twenty-two
To the sound of the driving snow
That drives me home to you

Cheers y'all.

Sappy derivative nonsense

2006-04-09T02:26:00.000-04:00

I've felt really hollow these past few days. My existence has been reduced to nothing more than sitting in my apartment and writing papers. Now that's all fine and dandy, I'm a student and that's what students do I suppose. I simply feel uninteresting; I have no great stories to tell, no charming or quirky anecdotes to relate... even the one about how I got this scar above my eye is getting really fucking boring to reiterate. Am I just exhausted? That doesn't seem quite right somehow. I would think a large part of it might be related to my activities as of late. Sure, there's school and that takes up a whole heap load of my time. And then there's... well, nothing much. I'm trying really hard to love Montreal, to belong here, to feel like I've actually created something for myself here. But truth is, I haven't really. I haven't contributed to this city in any substantive way and that irks me considerably. Also, it should be of note that what I wrote back in December is still true today: by and large, I am alone in this city. I barely have any friends and, moreso than before, I believe it's starting to get to me. What might anger me even more is the idea that I won't even get the chance to rectify that problem right away. I'm moving back to Ottawa in less than a month to work some government drone position that'll result in me making mad cash. But I'll just be delaying this painfully long adaptation process even more, and such a thing is frustrating to me. Fuck, I feel dried out. A prof commented on one of my papers a few weeks ago that my writing isn't as fresh or dynamic as it was before Christmas. That actually really got to me. I think he's right, but I definitely lack the means to fix the problem. I want too though. It seems so imperative to me that I get back whatever it is that I lost. I also strongly doubt that, as some people have suggested, time off and a bit of sunshine are all that I need to set things right. I don't know, it seems kindof wrong to attribute such messianic qualities to a time of year. Oh and fuck off, I'm not going anywhere with this. Il pense trop et ne dort jamais assez.

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder...

2006-04-03T00:37:00.000-04:00

He just hopes he was able to make even the slightest impression. He sinks in his seat. His hands typing at the keyboard seem paler and bonier than usual. He wonders how long this entry will be, a few lines or a few paragraphs? He rolls his eyes reading the previous phrase, knowing full well that his eyes are twitching shut because of fatigue and that he has to get up early in order to type up an article. He gets annoyed when the same word is used twice in a phrase. He misses pale shadows cast by dried up roses in juice glasses. He also misses something else, but he has too much pride to write about it. It's a shame he's completely see-through.

The beat that my heart skipped..

2006-03-25T02:46:00.000-05:00

The key word today is numb. I've been feeling and dealing with some form of that concept since about noon hour and I'm very much lost on how to deal with it. Seemingly it's even over-arching to my writing, as I've apparently been staring at this blank box for about five minutes, knowing full well that I want to say something, but being entirely incapable of going through with it. That you're reading these words right now can be attributed to my decision of simply writing what's coming out (with some minor tweaking and editing.. as any student of a form of the written word would indulge in). So what is it that's wrong with me? I honestly can't quite put my finger on it, but I'm starting to wonder if the question I should be asking isn't 'What isn't wrong with me?'. Without a doubt, I feel empty. I just came to realize today that I haven't felt a polarizing emotion in such a long time. I've been wading through these questions of self, trying to define what 'home' is to me and desperately trying to figure out where I belong, but through it all I've lost perspective of myself, I forgot to touch base somewhere and now all I've got is this sense of emptiness. But emptiness on what level? I'm thinking emotional and creative expression. In a sense, it's like I've been trying so desperately to figure myself out from the inside that I forgot to let things in. I'm just realizing this now and it seems really tragic to me. I'm also realizing that I keep talking about 'realizing things' and 'realizations' and other nonsense of the like, and it's getting me self-conscious about my writing. Fuck.

So how do we cure this? How do we turn a cyclical and self-fulfilling concept like this on its head? I imagine there is no concrete way. But maybe not feeling so lonely for the first time in what seems like forever could help. I really miss having someone to share with and that really seems to be a recurring theme in these posts. If only I wasn't so awkward at pursuing relationships, if only I wasn't so afraid of getting hurt yet again, if only I didn't feel so horribly uninteresting and 'not myself' when I do happen to meet someone nice and lovely, maybe I'd stand a chance. Then again, maybe I'm creating an existential vortex out of a one night case of feeling numb.

Who am I kidding? I'm obviously insane. Good night.

Sweep the dirty stairs, the ones I waited on...

2006-02-07T00:29:00.000-05:00

So I've decided to put to pasture those two blogs that never got any use. To say that my initial project of maintaining four blogs, with varying subjects and interests, was ambitious would be quite the understatement. Now that's not to say that I have no opinion or interest in the matters of music or political/philosophical rambling (those who know me well are aware that it's quite the contrary but simply, I sometimes lack motivation to put all my thoughts to paper, or some form of binary/hexadecimal code, as the case may be. Against all odds, the monstrosity known as Francis Bacon Stole my Shoes has emerged from the wreck that is my blogging career and has trampled through the countryside, swatting down helicopters, toppling buildings and terrifying hapless bespectacled asian businessmen. Oh, the wrath, the inhumanity, the shitty low-res pictures. Whatever. I've discovered a fondness for photography, and I'll keep nurturing it as long as I feel that I'm passionate about it.

So what's new in Camp Cynical Jerk, you ask? Nothing much to be honest. My second semester of journalism school is underway, and while I'm still fascinated with the subject matter, a few of the classes I'm currently taking are leaving an acrimonious taste in my mouth. My radio class is of little interest to me, my interest in broadcast journalism having sunk long ago alongside the Empress, the Laconia, the Innesfallen and other similarly doomed vessels. Also, quite a few of the assignments that I have to turn in for my Writing and Reporting 1 class are focused on community going-ons, a subject that I have a fairly limited fascination with. But aside from these minor blemishes, my school semester is fruitful enough.

I've also been going through frequent bouts of introspective contemplation and mild depression. Something about this place bothers me. I have no clue what 'something' represents, nor am I certain which 'place' I'm referring to. This apartment? This town? The state of 'me' at this moment. It could be any one of those things, but I lack comfort, I lack warmth. On certain days it feels like these walls are miles-thick. On certain days it feels like these four and a half rooms are the furthest place from any source of light. Consequently, it often feels like I'm navigating a series of dimly lit hallways with blinders on. Every step uncertain. The end cloudy and obscured, the means terrifying and fragile. If only someone could come and show me where that light-switch is. I'd be forever grateful.

In band news, we're still rehearsing and writing, with no shows planned for now. We've created a blog specifically for band announcements, so I'd suggest for anyone with an interest in overwrought instrumental music to direct themselves over to http//cityofahundredspires.blogspot.com . We'll be updating it fairly often with nonsensical ramblings from all four of the band members.

Finally, I'm going to end this rare update with a little something special:

A bit over a month late, here it is, JM's top 20 records of 2005!

(keep in mind this list is limited to full records, i've left out eps, splits, singles and the like)

20 -- Jamie Lidell - Multiply

An amazing throwback album, perfect 70s soul mixed with cutting edge electronic flourishes. An absolutely fun listen from start to finish. Great to get your groove on to.

19 -- Sam Prekop - Who's Your New Professor?

Great laidback record. Everytime I listen to it I can't help but be taken back to summer days and good times. Sam's breathy voice is just enchanting on this. He sounds better than on any Sea and Cake record on here.

18 -- A Silver Mount Zion - Horses in the Sky

Beautiful, emotional, epic and moving. It's all about the vocals; fantastic melodies and harmonies. If the triple-canon at the end of 'God Bless our Dead Marines' doesn't put a lump in your throat, nothing will.

17 -- Sufjan Stevens - Illinois

Amazingly eclectic record filled with a variety of instruments and moods. Some of the most inventive arrangements to be found on an indie rock record. Sufjan proves that his being prolific does not come at the cost of quality song-writing.

16 -- The Clientele - Strange Geometry

Lovely dreamy indie pop. Think Paul Simon backed by sweet delay and reverb drenched guitars. An absolutely splendid listen.

15 -- Prefuse 73 - Surrounded by Silence

Fantastic glitchy hip-hop record. Features more vocal appearances than his previous work, but still enthralling. Appearances of note: The Books (gorgeous track with chopped up banjo), El-P, Ghostface, the GZA and Aesop Rock!

14 -- Sigur Ros - Takk

Ridiculously pretty. Most definitely their most accessible material, characterized by warm, heartbreaking melodies and the occasional deafening crescendo. Loverly indeed.

13 -- Kepler - Attic Salt

Ottawa's indie veterans released a real gem this year. Beautiful, perfectly written indie rock. Samir's voice sounds fantastic on this release and his melodies and lyrics follow suit. Check this out.

12 -- Mogwai - Government Commissions

Live set of songs from Scotland's post-rock tyrants. This is worth the price of admission simply for the earth-shattering 18 minute rendition of Like Herod, and for it's chill-inducing version of New Paths to Helicon 1. Oh, and the rest is great too.

11 -- Jaga Jazzist - What We Must

Lush instrumental compositions incorporating a huge variety of instruments and sounds. Really evocative music, it instantly summons up colorful images in the heads of anyone smart enough to listen. Just amazing.

10 -- The American Analog Set - Set Free

Slow, dreamy, lovely and, dare I say it, sexy. Really gorgeous minimal indie rock, complete with vibraphone. 'She's Half' is one of the most beautiful tracks I've ever heard. Check it out. Similar in mood to My Bloody Valentine, if anyone cares.

9 -- Explosions in the Sky - Travel In Constants: The Rescue

Okay, I'm cheating just abit on this one. This is not quite an ep and not quite an lp, more of a miny album. However, it's just too good to leave off this list. At this point, it seems this band can do no wrong. They expanded the instrumentation on this release, but cut back on song lengths. The result is mesmerizing. Stuff to listen to loud and with the lights off, while doing nothing else.

8 -- Kanye West - Late Registration

Ridiculous production, genuinely fun songs and a great cast of guest appearances (Common, Lupe Fiasco, Jay-Z, Adam Levine(!?), Gil Scott-Heron). The first half of this record is near flawless, while the second lags abit. Still an amazing mainstream hip-hop record. Word.

7 -- Pelican - The Fire in our Throats will Beckon the Thaw

Jaw-dropping instrumental rock-outs. More atmospheric than their first record and considerably more accomplished. Loud, rocking music for just about anyone.

6 -- Maritime - We, the Vehicles

Another semi-cheat, this isn't released here yet, but it was released in Japan and in the UK back in the fall. This is Davey from the Promise Ring's new band. Honestly, this record pretty much achieves the perfect balance between that dark indie sound and gorgeous pop. Great lyrics, melodies, instrumentation and song-writing. 'Tearing Up the Oxygen' is a ridiculous song.

5 -- Four Tet - Everything Ecstatic

Less accessible and pretty than his earlier stuff, this record is still a must own. These electro-acoustic compositions are much more expansive, dense and complex. Lots of jazzy beats and interesting melodies. Stuff to shake 'yo ass to. 'Smile Around the Face' is the ultimate cheer-up song.

4 -- Thrice - Vheissu

Say what you will about this band, they've released one of the best records this year, and one of the best rock records of the past five years. Amazing songwriting, production, playing and innovation, this is one of the most remarkable cases of a band maturing and honing their craft. The songs come off sounding as a mix of Quicksand, meets Cave-In, meets Radiohead, with a small dash of Isis. Seriously, great. Oh, and I can't move on without mentionning the quality of the lyrics and writing: really inspired, eloquent and inventive.

3 -- Propagandhi - Potemkin City Limits

Simply a jaw-dropping record. Intense, perfectly-written and played, uncompromising and most importantly just plain rockin'. The boys have released the best record of their career and a watershed record for rock n' roll, period. Once again, all of this is without mentionning the lyrics. Amazingly complex, insightful, witty and pertinent. Seriously, this gets my highest recommendation.

2 -- Minus the Bear - Menos El Oso

Easily toppling Highly Refined Pirates, this record has absolutely amazing compositions. Every song has its own distinct mood and everyone of them is a joy to listen to. Just fun, complex, dancy indie rock. Definitely, the record that's received the most spins in my cd player this year.

1 -- Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane - Live at Carnegie Hall

What can be said about this? Two of the most influential players ever (and coincidentally my two favorite) caught at the pinnacle of their collaboration, Coltrane viciously feeding off of Monk's compositions, the results are just electric and ridiculously exciting. The sound quality is top notch too. It's a miracle that this was unearthed. Too cool.

Wow, that was exhaustive. Okay I'm out for tonight, I need the rest. Cheers and take care all.

Ghosts in the photograph never lied to me

2005-12-18T22:19:00.000-05:00

I could do the whole 'wow, I haven't posted on this thing in a solid three months' thing and then try to explain and legitimize my absence from the blogging world, but I won't because that would be expected and boring. But woah, let's not get ahead of ourselves, that's not to imply that anything of what I'm going to post on here today will be of any interest to anyone.

I'm one exam away from being done with my first semester of Journalism at Concordia University and while I'm very happy at the prospect of being able to relax and not think of anything for a period of two weeks, I'm also very satisfied with how things went and with the overall direction my life is heading in. I'm loving Journalism school so far and I feel I'm doing well. I think I've learnt quite a few new things that I've managed to assimilate into my writing style and I definitely think I've grown as a writer as a result of that. There are however a few things that I'd like to rectify for my next semester; mainly my penchant for procrastination when ugly work rears its head. But I think such prospects are entirely in the realm of the 'doable'. I'd attribute allot of my negative work ethic to the considerable adjustment period with the shift to Montreal. Which brings me to my next point: Montreal.

I had a rough time adapting to life in this city. I won't lie to anyone, there were a few days that I honestly wondered if my being here had any purpose. There were days that I drove back from Gatineau to Montreal with a rather large lump in my throat. There were days when I felt like I had no one here, and to a rather large degree I don't, but more on that in a bit. There were days spent lying on my back staring at the ceiling. Days were spent sleeping in, they bled together and it often seemed that I was not going to get better. Thankfully, I did. I started really liking school, I finally got a job and I managed to take up enough hobbies to keep myself busy and ultimately sane. This also meant accepting that by and large, I'm alone here. I lost touch with quite a few people by moving here, and that's something that doesn't really sit well with me. I'll be working on trying to rectify those situations over the coming weeks.

Which brings me to this someone. This someone whom I also lost touch with because of the move here. I'm not sure how it happened. We were really close for a bit and I liked that allot. I really cared for this someone and I think I still do. I think I would've liked to tell that someone just how much I cared for her, but circumstances kept me from doing such a thing. Now we barely talk, which really bothers me. I think what we had for abit, whatever that might have been, was quite nice. It was good to feel like I mattered to someone again, to really get someone and to feel like maybe they actually even got me. I don't know where I'm going with this though, it's probably simply over, which is made harder by the lack of resolution.

In brighter, better and more current events, City of a Hundred Spires convened at my apartment last night for some intense partying. We simply got absolutely smashed and just had an all around great time. I love those guys and really, they are my brothers. I had one of the best times I've had in awhile and I'm really greatful to still be able to share moments like that with them, despite us living in different towns. Cheers to them.

Finally, speaking of the band, we will be having our reunion show at Mavericks in Ottawa on January 4th. The show will be 7$ at the door and is all-ages for you non 19 year olds. This will be Robot Kill City's last show. They were a really great band and you should definitely come down and help them exit with a bang and a bow. Also playing are the Curviture, Matthew Johnston and Bangkok Noodle House. Fun times, I expect to see allot of you there. I'll do a little feature on my music blog about this show next week, with links to music from all the bands and so on.

Okay that's it, I'm out. I have to go study for International Relations and then I bust it back to Ottawa/Gatineau for a few weeks. It's going to be lovely. Oh how I miss Ottawa's little big town charm. I'll update when I'll be home sometime. Till then, to quote the legendary Ed Murrow, good night and good luck.

Fuck not lest ye be fucked

2005-09-20T13:34:00.000-04:00

Greetings bold and ever-dwindling audience! After what must surely be a multiple month absence, I'm back to the blogging world. Granted that's not something to write home about, but I must say that allot has changed in my tiny microcosm over the last while and I'm excited to have something to write about again, as well as a bunch of new prospects. Okay, I'll make a really long story short for now, I've become a citizen of Montreal, I study at Concordia University in Journalism and I'm just trying to keep my head up, keep myself busy and ultimately stay sane in this brand new environment.

For now though, I'd just like to draw your attention to these few things:

On the Cusp : This is a movie/music review blog/zine thing that I'm going to be working on from now on. Expect fairly regular updates with contributing writers everyonce in awhile. Sweet deal.

"One,two,three, is it snowing there Mr. Thiessen?" : What's this? Simply a place where I'll be writing about whatever goes through my mind in the areas of politics, socio-politics and philosophy. Again, expect a gaggle of my friends to occasionally chip in.

Francis Bacon stole my shoes : I have no idea how that title came to mind, but unfortunately the site deals with neither Francis Bacon the philosopher, Francis Bacon the artist or the pilfering of shoes... or any combination thereof. Rather, it's going to be a spot for me to put up some pictures I've snapped for all to see. I'm just getting into this, so please lend me some of your patience.

Well, that was exhausting. So where does this leave good ol' Too much thought, too little sleep ? I'll still write in it on occasion to go into the slightly more personal stuff and of course to do some thinly veiled rambling about girls when it's needed. I mean, what self-respecting blogger doesn't?

So that's it for now... I'll try and update all four of these beasts by tommorow, hopefully my word will be kept. Cheers.

A toast to you, your whisper, your smile...

2005-06-30T03:03:00.000-04:00

I keep amazing myself at how little resolve I seem to have to keep this blog up to date. It's not like it's a particularly taxing exercise, I sit down, reflect on the going-ons that have occured since the last time I decided to burden this page with my thoughts, think of witty ways of putting them to said page (all in a vain attempt at making me seem that small bit more interesting... to whom? I wouldn't know really...) and finally hit that little 'publish' button and hope that someone takes something from it. Kindof pathetic really, but oh well.. here we go again.

So here I am sitting in my backyard by the pool, it's about 1:30am, it's a cool night with a cool breeze, I got back from watching War of the Worlds not too long ago (go see it if Tripods wrecking shit, Tim Robbin's being creepy, insane and awesome all at the same time, and horrendous endings that nearly ruin movies are your thing..) and I'm sitting here at the computer trying to adequately sum up the last two or so months of my meager existence. Where to begin? Well, you all should know that I am done, finished and ultimately rid of CEGEP. I managed to barely crawl out of the fiery crimson wreckage that was my stint in Computer Sciences, and it seems like I'm going to make a full recovery. The marks are in, they are by no means stellar, but they guarantee me my DEC and honestly, I could not ask for more. Concordia University and a potential new career in journalism are the next things on my 'you're doing it, you're fucking doing it' list and I actually feel quite compelled to get through them. Oh, who am I kidding, I'm fucking giddy with excitement about it.

The big move to Montreal is happening relatively soon, I should be settling in around early August, with preparations for said operation beginning as early as this week-end (which is to say cleaning my filthy appartment.. ie: hermetically sealing off the room, pumping CLR into it, letting it rest for a few days.. wow that'd be ideal) Now honestly, this whole 'new city' thing has me quite intrigued. I'm looking forward to discovering new hang-out spots, new restaurants, meeting new people and also getting involved in a whole new music scene (and by that I don't mean rubbing elbows and knocking back pints with Win Butler and Efrim Menuck every night.. although I can dream).

Speaking of music, I guess I should bring up on here that City of a Hundred Spires is no more. To a certain degree, this was my decision and it wasn't an easy one to make, although I did see it coming. It just felt to me like the time had come to move on to something different, the dynamic and drive that I used to feel within the band was gone, and I wasn't having fun practicing and playing shows anymore. I figured it was best to end it there, and not let it drag on, especially with my moving to a different town. It would've killed us even more to invest more time, money, effort and heart into something that would've fallen appart at a later date. There will be farewell shows sometime in August, I'll keep you all posted on when and where. I guess I've been half-assedly working on some solo stuff that I might post on here if ever I get comfortable with my 'bedroom-pop' persona, but don't expect anything too soon.

On a side note, has anyone ever noticed that hip-hop is virtually the only genre to feature explicit name-dropping and a detailed explanation of the intricacies of the genre itself, you know, shit like 'Yeah, this is the real hip-hop, dropping the sickest rhymes at ya from the west coast!' ? I'd have trouble imagining something like 'Yo, this is the OG post-rock crew, we be pimpin' the illest octave chords and craziest build-ups this side of the Mason-Dixon line..' Ok, maybe I'm just an idiot.

Is this getting long-winded? Bah, who cares if it is, I haven't written on here in ages, it's still really nice out, I'm not that tired and I still have some stuff to say.. I've noticed over the last while that my self-confidence is basically shot to shit, which is somewhat strange since I sincerely haven't devalued myself in any way, and I still have the same basic outlook on who I am that I've had for as long as I can remember (that stability is something I am very grateful for). But it just seems that I find myself wondering 'what exactly, if anything, do I have to offer?' lately, and it wouldn't be entirely out of left field to assume that it's at the root of this 'lonely' feeling I've been getting farely often these days. Maybe I'm just jaded, possibly a smidge bitter and somewhat dissillusioned? Maybe my past experiences are taking their toll on my self-confidence. Maybe it's a little from column A and a little from column B. Maybe I'm full of it and that if I'd only lighten up abit I'd realize that I might be missing out on quite a few goods things (not that my life isn't filled with those already) ? I guess I'll just give it some time, it's not like I'd actually contemplate changing how I am to fit some undetermined criteria, I'm way too stubborn for such nonsense.

I guess I'll end all of this with a plea to everyone to just go out and enjoy the little things. Go for a late night walk and gawk at the stars, go explore some place you've never dared and make an excursion out of it, go out and have a great conversation about anything or nothing with someone, visit new restaurants and try new food, go on smallish roadtrips to whocareswhere, go out to shows that have bands on the bill that you've never heard of, read books and watch movies. Hell, just do something. So many of us go about our days taking for granted all these things that lie right underneath our noses, it'd be a shame to not take notice, even if it is only once in awhile. This is making allot of sense to me right now, hopefully it'll be as coherent when I wake up, and maybe just a tad interesting to whomever reads it. It's 3:00am now and I have to get up abit too soon, so I'm gonna head out. I hope everybody has a nice one, whatever that might be.

music that fueled this blabbering:
The Appleseed Cast - Low Level Owl Volumes 1 and 2
The Arcade Fire - Funeral (why the fuck am I not tiring of this record?)

It's rare to feel this expensive, but next to a girl like her...

2005-04-24T23:56:00.000-04:00

Greetings to the few who read this, how've you all been? Myself, I've been doing good and I'd like to offer my apologies for that uncontrolled outburst of melancholy last week. Shit happens, I was feeling pretty sideways and that's what came out. Bah.

So what's new, I hear you half-heartedly asking? Well, let's see.. Things at school have been going moderately well, I've been doing some quality work and I think I'll be able to have a coherent and at least satisfyingly functional program to hand-in to our client by semester's end. Honestly, I'd like to have most of it done sooner than later, so that I can then tackle with aplomb the other two remaining projects I'll have to drop by May's end. So much work to be done in such a rapidly dwindling time period. But I'm satisfied, I've realized that these things must be accomplished for me to move on to prospects fresh and exciting. Montreal awaits, with it's new apartments, new schools, new jobs, new people and yes, of course, new challenges. And I can't fucking wait.

Next saturday will see me and Daph heading out to Montreal with the bright glimmering hope of finding an absolutely lovely apartment that somehow manages to be cozy, beautiful, well-situated and of course, fairly affordable. I'm really looking forward to it, but not quite as much as I am to spending my first night there, crashing on my couch/futon/beanbag chair/whatever and watching movies or listening to some records. Sweet.

Speaking of records, I got an early birthday present, a brand new record player! Fantastic. Now I'll be able to enjoy these LPs and 7"s that I took from my parents this week-end, including but not limited to: Stevie Wonder (older stuff), Lionel Ritchie, the Commodores, Shanana (oh hell yes), Huey Lewis & The News, Bad + Thriller era Michael Jackson, Barry White, Dean Martin... oh and the Ghostbusters Theme Song 7" single. Ah, plastic gold. I also managed to find a few nice newer LPs last week-end, namely the Sunny Day Real Estate Live record, which is amazingly powerful, Texas is the Reason's Do You Know Who You Are? and The Sea and Cake's Oui. Great, great finds.

Last friday, City of a Hundred Spires played a very brief set (10 fucking minutes) at the Heritage College Awards Banquet. Highlights were: 10,000$ worth of sound/lighting equipment, the temperature on stage being akin to that of a blast furnace, me unplugging my gear multiple times as a result of my running around the enormous stage, great response from everyone and lastly, COAHS winning a nifty 100$ prize for "creativity/originality"... nifty.

In band matters, things are alright enough, but I'm feeling a certain unease about it all lately. I believe a nice band discussion is in order to put a few things into proper light, namely upcoming shows, summer plans, long-term goals and musical direction, of which I feel we've unjustly pigeon-holed ourselves. Last week, I was listening to our Straight, No Chaser and I concluded that I absolutely love that record, that I'm amazingly proud of it. And for what reason? Because it dared to be absolutely everything it wanted to be. It was everything and anything we felt like doing at that point in time, and there was no need to think twice about it. It's what made us who we were. I'll always remember when some kid on a message-board referred to us as "all-over-the-place instrumental stuff".. fuck yeah. We've lost that drive and perspective. If we're to find it and mesh it with our newfound abilities for song-craftsmanship and melodicism, then I'll be damned if anything can stop us. No shit.

Alright, time for me to retire for the night. Oh and first thing tommorow, go, run the fuck out and buy the new Jaga Jazzist record entitled What We Must. It's stupendously fantastic. The song Stardust Hotel will make you dream of wandering strangely exotic, yet enticingly beautiful locales, all while taking in the cool night air and being absolutely intrigued at what you might encounter next. Seriously.

Good night and cheers.. oh and leave a fucking comment if you read this, I'm bloody lonely.

Oh, and for those of you wondering, there is no titular "girl like her".. The song Let's Play Clowns by Minus the Bear is amazing though.

Towing the weary down river like rudderless wrecks...

2005-04-19T00:12:00.000-04:00

So it's been what, a bit over a month since I last jotted down some of my thoughts in this thing? It seems that as per par, I failed to deliver the goods... I can't quite grasp why I have such a hard time finding the incentive and motivation to write down a few simple words in here, but here goes nothing yet again.

I am a wreck. At this point it seems like the only phrase I can come up with that adequately sums up how I feel. I'm sitting here trying my hand at writing these witty or clever lines to properly explain myself, and honestly I keep falling flat. I am a mess. Yeah, that one works as well. And now my attention is diverted by this absolutely beautiful distorted riff in Mineral's Unfinished, and no matter how hopeful and inspiring it is, there's simply no hipster indie way for me to word any of this.. And I am disappointed. Disappointed that my resolution to put enormous effort into my school projects hasn't fully worked out. Disappointed that I'm still working the same job, even after resolving that I was going to obtain a new one, in an effort to change at least part of what has made me so jaded. Disappointed that I gave up on a few situations that could've led to something genuinely nice, new and positive. Disappointed that I've become so boisterously emotional. Disappointed that I have no one to share with. Disappointed that I am now such a reclusive loner, ultimately distancing myself from some of my best friends, from some people that I truly care about. Disappointed that I misspelled "disappointed" so many times in the first version of this entry. Disappointed that I can't write guitar parts as good as that fucking Mineral riff.

Now is that to say that I'm disappointed in myself? Honestly, I am not. I am proud of who I am and of the few things that I've accomplished. I am a flawed individual for sure, but I'm very grateful to be aware of these blemishes; it affords me opportunities for bettering myself.

What's this I hear? "Great, fucker decides to write a new post just to whine about how he hates himself!?" No, that wasn't quite the point. This post is a reminder of where I was, and ultimately of where I'm heading; so that I can look back on all of this in a few months and be proud of where I'll be. And I mean that in the most positive way. Time to get to work. Cheers...

Fuck your slow dead scene, we want a riot for romance!

2005-03-06T03:27:00.000-05:00

The days bled into weeks and my resolution of maintaining a steady stream of quality content on this thing became but a vapid, insincere pipe-dream. Shit. As much as I try to condition myself otherwise, it seems I have to be in a very specific frame of mind to apply myself to writing in this thing, especially given the rather leisurely nature of it's specifics. So what's a quasi-compulsive procrastinator to do about such an impedance to productivity? That's dead simple. Convince his impressionable self to believe that writing a few paragraphs on some webpage read by a handful of people and three genetically engineered, hyper-intelligent porpoises located in New Zealand, can actually lead to him being less disenchanted and ambivalent towards all the other, possibly... no wait, assuredly more important things in his life. You know, sortof like a translation of interest and motivation? That makes sense right? I'm not completely loony am I? Either way.. onto some ramblings.

As most of you know, The Perfect Dystopia is dead.. it's funeral having taken place on February 25th 2005, at Club SAW, where a gaggle of people participated in a drunken barn dance to honor it's memory. Good times, my sincerest thanks to all who attended. But as you're all also aware of, City of a Hundred Spires has just sprung from the womb, alive and very much kicking. So you all know the deal by now, same line-up, same songs minus most of Straight, No Chaser, a slightly prettier, more atmospheric melodic slant and, brace yourselves kids, the inclusion of vocal parts! We'll be playing our first show as CoaHS in the coming weeks so keep an eye out on the old TPD site for news and show dates. The new songs we've been working on are sounding delightful, wrought with beautiful melodies, interesting dynamics and epic goodness. Seriously, I'm very proud of our progression as songwriters. I'll have more information on all of this very soon.

So it's around 3am right now, signifying that we're well into sunday and a few hours away from having dried out my vacation time. My last semester of studies in computer sciences shall be resumed tommorow, and serious... no... fucking downright biblical measures will be taken to insure my use of the word "last" in this sentence isn't straight fallacious. Sure, I despise computer sciences and I have a certain lack of interest for my end of session project, but I enjoy studying, I enjoy learning, reading, writing, critiquing, discussing, informing.. all positive things I have to look forward to once I'm through with this, and as stated before: that should be more than enough motivation to cleave through it with vigor and passion. Let this be my manifesto.

Finally, there's this other situation that's been looming over me for a certain period and for reasons of integrity and tact, I will not go into the immaculate details here. Blogs have a tendency of becoming the breeding ground for vile speculation and petty over-dramatizing when it's writers indulge in the all-too personal. I've mostly stayed clear of that and I shall continue. I feel there are more creative and fulfilling methods of confronting a subject than outright open-book ranting. Anyways, all I wish to iterate is that after what seemed like a snarling, vicious, obscenity-laden knife fight between my ego, id and super-ego, I've come to grips and have become comfortable with that which has been bothering me. All that is left is to make this clear to the parties involved, and see what results that ultimately brings. Someone wiser than me said it best: "... either way, we're here..." . Forgive my being so ambiguous, but I don't think I'd have it any other way. However, I am curious as to how many people will read this paragraph and wholly misinterpret it.

Okay... it's late and all these halos around the bright objects in my room are starting to annoy the hell out of me. I hope everyone has a nice and pleasant March 6th and I will be back with something on Wednesday, no shit. In the meantime go listen to the Album Leaf, Lou Barlow, the new live Mogwai record, Bloc Party and Mono. Oh and go watch I (heart) Huckabees, it'll cheer you up. Cheers.

Review: Buried Inside - Chronoclast

2005-02-08T14:51:00.000-05:00

A few posts ago, I promised I'd write up a review for Buried Inside's newest, Chronoclast. Here it is. I hope it winds up being more coherent and informative than your average obscure Pitchfork-esque indie-rock name drop exercise. Long? Yes, very. Sincere? Most definitely.

Chronoclast: Selected Essays on Time Reckoning and Auto-Canibalism
Buried Inside
Relapse Records
released: November 9th 2004 (Canada), February 1st (Everywhere else)

The use of the word "objectivity" as something factual and tangible is something that has a tendency to irk me quite abit. The very existence of that word and concept baffles me to no end since there is no such thing, it's quite simply a glaring fallacy. Subjectivity on the other hand is something very real, something real life decisions consistenly hang on. The fact that Buried Inside are from what I more or less consider my home town (Ottawa), that they're some of the nicest chaps I've ever met and that one of their guitar players (Andrew Tweedy) is responsible for doing an amazing job on the mixing and mastering of my own band's record, are all factors that would serve to make this review lean considerably on the subjective side. So it's with quite a bit of regret and disdain that I'll assure you that I tried to make this piece as 'objective' as possible. Ouch, that hurt.

So how does Chronoclast, the band's Relapse Records debut, fare? Well I honestly believe it to be one of the most epic, moving and uniformly coherent 'heavy music' records in quite some time. The album is basically built as one gigantic 40 minute song, divided into 10 defined tracks, with consistently recurring themes on both the lyrical and musical fronts throughout. Lyrically, Chronoclast is a study and analysis of time as an imperial construct for the regulation of capitalist economy and of time as the primary societal control. In the hand's (or voice) of a lesser vocalist, the lyrical content, while brilliant and masterfully written, might've come off as slightly pretentious or even self-indulgent, but Nick Shaw's impassioned vocal delivery manages to give his socio-political rhetoric great heft, weight and relevance. He simply sounds genuinely fucking pissed-off. There's even a logical flow to the ideas that are conveyed, each song illustrating a different facet of time's hegemony on modern culture (i.e. religion and imperialism). Ultimately, the band's message strives for a certain emancipation of conscience among individuals, for people to simply question and potentially critique this man-made paradigm, something that isn't anchored in fact, but merely taken for granted.

Thankfully, the band's music comes off just as incendiary as it's politics. Buried Inside manages to mesh both blistering and conceptually epic heaviness on Chronoclast, downplaying the agression at times for passages of brooding, uncertain calm. The sound is ultimately their own, but comparisons to a sped-up Isis or an insanely dark and violent Explosions in the Sky could be made for the sake of bland categorization. The first thing to leap out of the soundscape is Mike Godbout's absolutely spectacular and truly deft drumming, setting the stage with frenetic energy and creativity rarely seen among bands in the hardcore/metal genre. Andrew Tweedy and Matias Palacios Hardy build intricately woven harmonized melodies and monolithic walls of sound with their guitars, opting for texturing, coloring and amplifying the compositions over your standard rock riffing. Holding all of this together is Steve Martin's nimble bass playing. He is the main driving force behind these songs, his riffs tugging the guitars along through every structural twist and turn, every peak and valley and ultimately adding a rythmic complexity that is rarely seen in rock music, let alone hardcore. Finally, Matt Bayles' (Botch, Isis, Minus The Bear) production on this record leaves very little to be desired, everything generally sounding crisp, clear and thick, even amidst the intense chaos that the band tends to stir up at times. It might not be his best work this year (for that, check out Isis' Panopticon), but it's still more than respectable.

Honestly, I have very few gripes with this record. The lyrics are powerful, the music is devastatingly epic and the package is lovely (brilliant artwork, lyrics and litterary quotes accompanying all songs, all in a beautiful quality booklet). My one complaint lies with the lack of variety of technique used in the guitar playing, mainly it seems the band relied too much on the fast strumming of octave chords to set up their melodies. Although admittedly, the repeat use of a single technique gives Chronoclast the cohesion Buried Inside was striving for, it's something I view as a minor lacking simply because I have a musician's perspective on it (regardless, I could never write such memorable music, even given the widest breadth of skill). Chronoclast is a true achievement, a brilliantly heavy, melodic and intelligent piece that even the most jaded of indie-music snobs would appreciate (this reviewer most definitely included) and it is entirely deserving of your time. Go pick it up. Now.

- Jean-Michel

2005-01-24T01:56:00.000-05:00

Us again.. this one vaguely homo-erotic..

2005-01-24T01:55:00.000-05:00

Well, well if it ain't us...

A brief update before I return...

2005-01-21T14:31:00.000-05:00

Well woah... I haven't been around these parts in quite awhile. I figured I'd just specify that I am still amongst the living (albeit barely) and that I'll be doing a nice lengthy update of this in the coming days. One of my many New Year's resolutions is to practice writing more, so I'll be updating this entirely more often, with constructive, informative and immensely thrilling content on a semi-regular basis, rejoice! So yeah, cheers to everyone and I do sincerely hope everyone is doing good. Oh yeah, although I'm very conscious that I am very much behind on this, everyone should go listen to Mineral's The Power of Failing right this instant. Yes that's right, close this window, fire up soulseek and download away, you can all thank me later.

You’re a long ways away from the place we thought you’d be by now

2004-12-26T16:21:00.000-05:00

The Buried Inside review is still coming, I just haven't been in the right mood to write it as of late.

I would like to extend a very warm wish of happy holidays to absolutely everyone. Please be safe and drink moderately (that doesn't mean be moderately safe while drinking).

I'm not going to go on with this entry, I'm in really terrible spirits for reasons that are partly uncertain. I've been lifted of virtually every aspect of my life that could lead to melodrama or negativity, and yet here I am, a day after Christmas, feeling terribly unfulfilled. Something's amiss, and obviously I have a vague idea of what that might be. Maybe I'm simply not willing to admit it to myself, or maybe I'm not rationally judging the situation and that acting on it would be folly and ultimately destructive. Shit, I just don't know. It's entirely too frustrating to be put into this situation, knowing full well that I have no reason to be bitter, yet being in a position where I find myself not really living and not feeling things to the fullest. This is something that must be fixed, sooner rather than later.

So it's on these vague musings that I'll end this entry. I hope it doesn't come off as some bullshit emo cry for help, because it isn't. Writing things out tends to put them into perspective just abit more, if not simply for a better understanding of the situation (or situations) at hand. But honestly, cheers to everyone.

I want the blindingly cute to confide in me

2004-12-09T10:47:00.000-05:00

Well it's been almost a month since I'd last updated this, so given the fact that I was slightly bored in class, I figured I'd drop another post of hopefully not-too self-indulgent rambling. Things have been incessantly hectic around these parts, my time being utterly divided, with no remainder, between end of term school projects and studies, work and of course TPD.

Quite a few things have been brewing in the band camp as of late. First and foremost, we managed to finally release our often delayed record Straight, No Chaser to a non-chalant public. Yes indeed, I'm told these shiny discs actually contain music of some kind, around 30 or so minutes, all for the meager sum of 7$. Hell you even get a really nice package with it, if black and white photography, pretentious writing, spots of ink and record players are your thing. But in all seriousness, I am quite proud of our efforts, I think it looks and sounds great, and I'd be more than happy to arrange for you to get a copy if you'd be interested, just drop me an e-mail.

Also of note is the fact that we're playing a show tommorow (friday the 10th..holy short notice Batman!) at Le Café Contraste, which is located within the walls of the Gabrielle-Roy campus of the CEGEP de l'Outaouais. The show is at 7 pm, it's 5$ at the door and we're going on second. I highly encourage you all to come down and see us, we'll be playing some chart topping hits from our new record, along with some brand new jams, complete with bitingly witty and clever titles like "Sardanapale, a Paradigm for Catharsis" and "Shit, I didn't know Hector was packing Greek Fire". Oh and we just might play our cover of Explosion in the Sky's Greet Death, it'll depend on our set length.

Finally, kids, are you looking for that perfect compliment to your tight girl's jeans, Converse All-Stars, tight zip-up hoodie and pink studded belt? Then look no further! Yes we now have shirt designs, and consequently we'll have shirts soon enough. Buy one, we guarantee you better luck with the opposite sex if you do.

I'm fairly happy to say that for reasons unbeknownst to me I've been in reasonably good spirits these last few days. I was on a considerable down note, thanks in no small part to the rather large quantity of school projects I have to hand in by term's end and by my complete lack of motivation to accomplish any of them, given my absolute disinterest for what I study in. Thankfully, I managed to get past that and I'm simply looking forward to all the good things that await me once I'm through with it.. namely my potential trip to Europe this summer and studying in political journalism at Concordia in Montreal. On a shorter timeline, I'm simply looking forward to unwinding abit, reading up on the pile of books I have gathering dust in my room, catching up on all the movies I've missed lately, hanging out with good friends who I haven't seen in awhile, devote abit more energy to the band and songwriting and finally maybe meeting some new people, that'd be nice. Impressive, my life isn't that empty or devoid of purpose. I encourage anyone who has the holiday/end of term blues to simply elaborate a little list of hopeful prospects (long and short term).. you'll find it to be much more comforting than you expect.

Well woah, this wound up being abit longer than expected. A doubtless consequence of my mind wandering just abit too much after so little sleep. I'll be back soon (honestly this time) with my review of Chronoclast.. and maybe something else if I find anything worthy of mentionning.

Cheers...

Playlist as of late:

Owls - Great band.. basically Cap'n' Jazz v. 2.0 awesome if you like a nice helping of jazz and wacky time signatures with your indie rock..

Owen - Mike Kinsella of Owls/Cap'n Jazz's solo project... beautiful stuff, great lyrics, instrumentation, everything... get I Do Perceive

American Football - Another Mike Kinsella band (see the link here?).. not as stripped down as Owen, abit mathier.. awesome

Sufjan Stevens - Brilliant singer/songwriter.. acoustic guitars, banjos, hushed vocals.. very pretty.. very nice.. thank you Rachel ;)

Shotmaker, One Eyed God Prophecy and Union of Uranus - Yay mid-nineties Ottawa hardcore + post-hardcore.. so good, too bad all these bands broke up..

Oh instincts are misleading.. You shouldn't think what you're feeling...

2004-11-14T01:52:00.000-05:00

Innumerable school projects, a college program I absolutely do not care for, a strange predisposition towards procrastination, a ridiculous amount of time spent listening to everything from the softest indie pop to the most brutal hardcore, Hunter S. Thompson's insane chemical-fueled ramblings, my growing dependency towards coffee, evenings spent with nothing but my guitar, vainly stabbing at the idea of writing that one song/riff that would somehow manage to convey the entire gamut of moods/emotions I've been going through lately, all while being totally fuckin' rockin' , visits to Montreal where nights are spent spooning with 2 of my bandmates (see pictures below) on the most inhumanely uncomfortable sofabed in existence, my (now resolved) unkemptness (again please consult pictures) and last but certainly not least, the elaboration of a ridiculously long sentence, mainly consisting of an overblown enumeration, are just a tiny sample of the things I've been up to lately. Honestly, I'd write more (yes, I do care that much about all three of you who read this) but I must be getting up in a matter of hours to go to work. I'll be back shortly, possibly with more of the pseudo-enigmatic existential babbling I brought up in that last post, potentially with a review the brand new Buried Inside record Chronoclast, because you simply need to experience it's majesty, but most assuredly with more pictures of me and the guys spooning.. oh yes, so sexy. No wait, forget that.

Cheers...

2004-11-14T01:39:00.000-05:00

My then unshaven mug. The situation has since been rectified.

2004-11-14T01:38:00.000-05:00

Le spooning.

2004-11-14T01:37:00.000-05:00

Us again. We were just getting settled.

2004-11-14T01:36:00.000-05:00

The usual suspects: Carl, Max & JM (that's me for those of you not paying attention)

And I write this for the loveless and for the risks we take...

2004-10-29T02:36:00.000-04:00

For those of you reading this, I ask you, do you ever experience those moments of deep reflection where you can't help but think back at specific time spent with someone in particular? Of times that are devoid of complication and uncertainty, where nothing else exists but the one you're with, the conversation (or moment) at hand and the bright intrigue of the unexpected, the excitement of not knowing where this could lead, but the intangible hope that it could be truly amazing. Of evenings spent with someone who'se company is simply and beautifully fulfilling, where you couldn't possibly care less about what you're both doing, where the most seemingly uninteresting event becomes truly memorable, wether it be simply driving around and chatting it up, or laughing over coffee about anything and everything. Those situations when you meet someone who'se mere presence in your life seems to brighten all the things that were drab and monotone, that can make even the most dire situation seem perfectly easy to overcome. Yes indeed, I'm referring to those moments. But what of the realization that you probably won't get the chance to experience those things with that person again? That those moments are lost, ultimately vain and that they now exist only as slow fading memories? Truly such a realization will hit you like a ton of bricks, a sack of doorknobs, a sock full of quarters or a bag of sweet valencia oranges (whatever your poison happens to be).

Now to be fully honest, I began writing that last paragraph with little to no direction, but with the faint utopian propsect of having a revelation of sorts, a means to explain and rationalize these bittersweet reminders. It seems I came up short. That's probably not much of a surprise to anyone, including myself. What I can offer as conclusion however, are these few simplistic thoughts. Despite the bleak outlook that these moments might be meaningless now, there's a definite chance that when they occured they had a world of purpose and that this design was reciprocal.. that reality in itself should be more than enough to comfort ourselves, and we should consider ourselves lucky to have experienced these things and to have the faculties to remember them. The only absolute we possess is what we can perceive in the moment. Okay.. I'm done now, thank you infinitely for tolerating my incoherent ramblings. Now onto more tangible things!

The Perfect Dystopia's Straight, No Chaser album is finally complete in both it's visual and auditory aspects. We are ridiculously proud of how everything turned out, including the artwork and layout, which we wound up designing ourselves. We're sending the package out to Healey Disc Manufacturing either today (friday) or on monday. So expect the record to be sold at HMVs and Music Worlds across the continent in about 15 days.. I don't think I need to specify the extent of my sarcasm in that last phrase.

The .Moneen. show last week turned out to be really enjoyable. I initially went alone, but I wound up meeting a bunch of lovely people I hadn't seen in quite some time. The evening was filled with great sets, particularly the ones by Moneen, Despistado (whom I mentionned in an earlier post.. they get better everytime) and The Junction, the last of which I spent my last 20$ on in order to get a sweet t-shirt and a copy of their EP, which is amazing.

Finally, I'd like to extend a rather large thank you to those of you that came out to support us at the UQO show last friday. We all had an awesome time both on and off stage. I'm of the opinion that it was arguably our best live performance, we'd never given ourselves to a show in such an emotional and physical way as we did at that one, hopefully that energy will be kept up at further shows. Also, we miraculously managed to play the new song almost without mistake, and it seems the reaction to it was quite favorable. Despite the glorious titles pitched last week, it wound up being called Sardanapale, a Paradigm for Catharsis.. go figure!?

So I must be going now, I think I've bled my mind onto this figurative page for long enough today. This week-end is halloween week-end, so I'll leave with a list of stuff you should be doing on such an occasion.

- Going to the movies to catch SAW and NOT The Grudge, which is a horrible movie
- Getting together with buddies to watch Jacob's Ladder, arguably the scariest movie ever made
- Checking out Halloween Hardcore at Babylon on sunday evening.. Buried Inside are playing, they are the greatest.. you owe it to yourself and to them to be at this show
- Driving by kids trick-or-treating and yelling stuff at them.. fun times
- Listening to the new Isis and Jimmy Eat World records because they are amazing..

That is all..

Cheers to everyone.. see you soon!

With this song I will destroy myself..

2004-10-19T10:43:00.000-04:00

Well hey there people. It would seem that I've yet to prove that I am a man of my word seeing as it's been, once again, more than a full week since I last updated this thing. My apologies to those of you who care. I had a pretty uneventful week, so no lyrical tales of grandiose road trips or music induced epiphanies this time. However I have something of an announcement to make for those of you that might have the unexplainable urge to read this site rather than my band's homepage. We, The Perfect Dystopia, have a show coming up this friday, at the Bosco Campus of the Université du Québec en Outaouais, located at 101 St. Jean Bosco in Hull. The show is at 8:00 pm, we're opening and tickets at the door are 6$. I would strongly suggest that if you have even the vaguest interest in TPD, that you come out to this. As of late, jam's have been fruitful, new songs have been written, we've become tighter and better performers than we ever were.. in essence, we have ascended to the level of musical behemoths, capable of unleashing untold aural destruction upon unsuspecting scenesters and hipster kids.. oh yes. That and we're damn sexy to boot. So yeah, come to the show, hang out with us before or after the onslaught.. and we promise to put on a damn good performance, complete with a new song and maybe even a cover.

Alright well, I have a radio show to do in a few minutes, so I'll once again leave you with a few musical recommendations.

- Moneen show at Babylon on wednesday evening (great band.. chances are I'll be there)
- Jimmy Eat World - Futures (Amazing cd.. Kill and 23 are already some of my favorite songs)
- Isis - Panopticon (Brilliant stuff.. more accessible than the older stuff, but it still rules)
- Breather Resist - Charmer (Amazing math-core.. possibly the second coming of Botch)

Cheers, take care and all that jazz..

P.S. Tentative titles for the new song include, but aren't limited to: I am now an alcoholic because I loved you, I am now a crack fiend because you never returned my calls, Pythagoras' Theorem is Bullshit and last but certainly not least, I write complicated math-rock songs to forget the time we spent together... ok no, I kid, we're not actually considering any of those titles.. they were just pitched around the jam space as a joke ;)

The earth is not a cold dead place.. because you are listening.. because you are breathing

2004-10-11T17:18:00.000-04:00

Last post, when I said I'd be writing something "tommorow", I really meant next week it seems. But to be honest, I tried putting something together for the blog on the next day, but I was faced with something of a dilemma: how am I to go updating this regularly without actually short-changing any of the people who are reading it? I mean obviously, I could post about how my day at work/school sucked or something equally disenchanting, but what good is that to anyone reading this, and now that I think about it, what good does it do me? The answer is not much. So that little realisation, along with the absolutely high expectations illicited by the amazingly sweet Jen's comment on my first post, made be abstain from writing something so quick.. Not that I thought anyone would actually care, but I did it mostly for myself; I felt like I should find something actually pertinent to write about. So I actually managed to do quite a few interesting things over the course of this week, most of them involving shows in some way or another, so that'll be the focus of this entry.

So tuesday evening, me and Max went over to Club SAW to check out the Despistado/Robot Kill City/The Grey/Federal show and I thoroughly enjoyed myself! The bill kicked off with Federal, who in simplest terms is the French Parisian equivalent of Christopher Carraba from Dashboard Confessional. One man, one guitar and one girl who broke his heart. But in all seriousness, the guy did have quite abit of talent, but he didn't seem to fit the bill very well and his voice wasn't exactly my cup o' tea. Up next was the Grey who never fail to impress. It's intense heavy rock with a slightly experimental twist. This was their last show with bassist Steve Martin (also of the brilliant Buried Inside) and it was a sad thing to see him leave the band, he's an absolutely phenomenal bassist and one of the nicest people I've ever met. Robot Kill City followed and somewhat surprised me. I'd heard two of their recorded songs and they came off as a much heavier unit live. But they were still greatly enjoyable with their somewhat mathy & catchy indie-rock post-punk stuff (argh.. I hate categorization). Finally Despistado took the stage and went on to play a really great set of dancy indie-rock, reminding me of a toned down At The Drive-In. Honestly I wasn't expecting all that much, as I hadn't enjoyed the mp3 they have up for download, but it was a really great performance. So all in all, an awesome show.. I recommend you check out all the bands in question, including Federal, if pure emo is your thing.

The next item on my list of stuff to prattle on about is the smallish road-trip I did on saturday. Myself, TPD Max, as well as Dan and Daph drove to Montreal to go check out Explosions in the Sky, who were playing at La Salla Rosa. I had a really great time the entire trip, despite me reprising my position as driver for the billionth time. The coolness started on the drive down, where the gradually setting sun and gorgeous autumn colors painted some absolutely amazing vistas to entertain me while the others slept or read. Once we got there in the late evening, we hit up this way cool and trendy asian restaurant called Zyng! on St. Denis. You basically choose what noodles, meat(or tofu), sauce and vegetables you feel like having, and then they stir-fry that stuff into a majestic meal of goodness.. anyways it's awesome. Finally after that we went over to the show and through some strange occurence of karmic intervention, we managed to be the very last people admitted into the venue without tickets. Now I'm not one to openly tear into a band, but the Frequency put on one of the worst opening sets I've ever seen. Their vocalist had a style that could basically be summed up as a really strange amalgamation of David Bowie and William Shatner, the guitar player saw it fit to strum a D power chord for 98% of the set and the absolutely cheesy synth lines made me cringe throughout. Things got considerably better with the second opener Adem, a bunch of dudes from the UK who played a really beautiful set of stripped down emotive folkish indie-rock. They were made unique by their exclusion of drums in favor of a variety of off-kelter instruments like an electric-harp, bells, a xylophone and a variety of percussions. Last but certainly not least, EITS took the stage. Now I know full well that the next few sentences I will write will seem like ridiculous hyperbole and over-the-top praise.. but I assure you, I do not feel like I'm exagerating one bit. Explosions in the Sky put on the greatest set I've ever witnessed. These boys, consisting of two guitar players, a bassist/guitar player and a drummer, managed to display a range of beauty and emotion that is simply and literally beyond words. They played absolutely flawlessly, with a ridiculously loud yet well defined sound, and it was obvious that they pour every bit of themselves into their performances. This is type of music where you can basically close your eyes, listen and for that brief moment nothing else matters; the fact that by the time you'll get home after the show, you'll only get 2 hours of sleep before heading off to work becomes inconsequential.. those things that have been bothering you for the longest time seem absolutely miles away.. and the ones that you've been fighting for and working hard towards suddenly seem that much closer.. The feeling is really that great, you MUST see this band live. Yes, saturday was brilliant indeed.

For those interested, the EITS setlist was something along these lines:
- Your Hand in Mine
- Greet Death
- Yasmin the Light
- Memorial
- (new song maybe)
- The Only Moment We Were Alone

Okay the end of this entry is in sight, one last little article and I'm out for another week or two.. haha. Something popped into my head at the show we played at 4 Jeudis on monday, and I felt the need to share it with a few people. It occured to me that I have the pleasure of having some ridiculously amazing friends in my life. I would just like to thank all of you who keep on coming out to every show we do, who stick around till 12:30 am on a monday night to watch us play a meager 3 song set, who cheer us on when we feel we played our most horrible, who support us in every way conceivable and who are simply put the best friends and amazing people. My sincerest thanks to all of you, you mean the world to me and you can make even the most horrid day seem amazing.

Cheers to everyone who read through all of that.. that's really quite a feat. I promise I'll make an effort to update more often, albeit with shorter more concise entries than this one.

I am the alpha and the omega (ok.. maybe not so much the omega)

2004-10-04T01:55:00.000-04:00

Well hello, seems this is my first entry in this journal or any for that matter, so I guess I should bid you all welcome or something equally inconsequential (seeing as chances are no one is going to read this).

Now I know what you're all wondering, and I'm sure it goes a little something like this : "Why exactly would I want to read about some random dude's uphill battle with the opposite sex, or about what complexity devoid meal he woefully managed to cook for dinner or better yet about the pointless activities that surround his so-far unsuccessful band?" Well to be honest I don't have said answer, I merely write this as a vain attempt at exteriorizing some of the stuff that stresses me out and keeps me up at night. However what I can say, is that I'll try my best to make these posts as insightful and witty as I can, all while staying clear of "Oh my god! I totally, like, saw this girl at, like, school today who I think is so hot.. but, like, she totally ignored me! That sucked!" type entries. So yeah, I think I've spent enough time combing over these two paragraphs to make sure they're semantically sound.. I'll leave you all with these few musical recommendations and I'll be back maybe tommorow with some hopefully interesting stuff to say:

- Say Anything : Is A Real Boy (brilliant brilliant stuff)
- Garden State soundtrack (gorgeous movie, gorgeous soundtrack.. especially that Frou Frou song)
- The Weakerthans Live (Saw these boys on saturday.. amazing stuff, check it out if you can)