Man Descending

Moving Day

2010-03-07T15:30:00.000-08:00

Hi all,

Well I did it! I've set myself up on WordPress. Unfortunately, migrating my old posts from here to the new page didn't go so well. So I'll just be not updating here anymore, keeping my back posts as a kind of archive, and then updating regularly at WordPress. Take a visit!

Man Descending on WordPress.

See you soon!

Post-Games Post-Mort Post

2010-03-06T10:53:00.000-08:00

Well, they came and went. Here in Vancouver, the 2010 Winter Olympic Games have come to a close after seven long years of planning, hype, advertising, funding announcements, funding concealments, scandals, missteps, successes, and goofy mascots. The city seems to have settled into a collective state of hangover. Just ten minutes ago I walked down Granville Street to find myself a comfy chair, coffee, and Wi-Fi. Not even a week ago, Granville was essentially a massive frat party- air horns, silly costumes, (occasionally) unwarranted cheering and hooting, all set to the soundtrack of pseudo-comprehensible, multi-lingual renditions of “O Canada” (which is now apparently under review…wtf?). By contrast, this morning Granville was virtually deserted, decorated only by stylish downtowners calmly walking to work, and the scraps of celebrations gone by: half-hung “Go Canada Go” banners, the odd patch of confetti stomped into the pavement, and maple leaves scattered along the storefronts.

Mostly I’m grateful for this moment of reprieve, as it’s given me a chance to finally step back and try to survey what the greatest party even thrown meant for this city, how it felt to witness it, and the potential problems and opportunities that came along with it.

Vancouver over the past few weeks has been like no city I’ve ever been to. As an enthusiastic transplant from the prairies, this city has always seemed part magic to me- something about seeing the ocean, the Burrard Inlet, the soaring North Shore mountains, and Vancouver Island all at once while you sip a boutique coffee or chat over a glass of wine is a luxury that has yet to get old for me. Every time I visit the downtown core, I get off the train with a smile on my face. But when the Olympic hype started building, and the city was populated by enthusiastic helpers in snappy blue coats, tourists and observers from around the world, as well as citizens not knowing what to expect, the laid back, cosmopolitan din that usually hangs in the air here was inflated to a definite buzz. An energy even. Conversations about how the weather would factor in, about the potential for protest and social resistance, about the world media training its eye on the uneasy relationship between “have” and “have not” so powerfully articulated by the Downtown East Side, about how Canada would fare in the medal standings, about what this would mean for the arts and cultural industries in BC at a time when provincial arts funding was to be the subject of 90% cutbacks. If anything, the city became a massive discussion forum, with anti- and pro-Games activists clashing online, on the streets, and in the media, and moderates caught in an ambivalent position where the excess of the games and the very real problems of rampant corporatism, social justice cutbacks, and over security were constantly echoing in the back of their minds, but where the foreground was emphatically occupied by the excitement of the here and now. I spoke about the dialogic, innovative opportunities that the games opened up in a post I wrote following the early clashes between riot police and members of protest groups known as the Black Bloc and Olympic Heart Attack, and so I won’t delve too deeply into the issue of media, discourse, and democracy, but needless to say, the conversations bouncing through the social media networks were fiery, often polarized, and an embodiment of precisely what it means to live in a democratic Canadian culture.

A number of anti-games activists have claimed that the concerns outlined above (social justice, homelessness, poverty, arts funding) were glossed over by the wild popularity of the games as a branding exercise and as a global-scale marquee media event. I beg to differ. Never in my life have I witnessed the critical voice take such defiant charge of its own potential for change. On the Downtown East Side, a massive tent city was established for the second half of the games to draw attention to the rampant homelessness that characterizes the neighbourhood. A non-profit Legal Observer program was established for the duration of the Olympics on the second floor of W2 Culture + Media House as a way of guaranteeing that citizens, activists, and artists had access to information regarding their rights in a city under 24/7 video and police surveillance. Legitimate, peaceful protest groups such as the 2010 Welcoming Committee planned months in advance to have their voices of dissent heard by the world as the games opened, drawing immediate attention to pressing issues in this city that simply cannot be ignored. The list of examples goes on. The alternative, activist voice in this city has never had more opportunities to create change than it does now.

So while the problems persist, and the questions remain largely unanswered (well…some of them. The provincial budget was just released this week, slashing provincial arts funding by an astonishing 50%, down from initial estimates of 90%, conveniently painting the Liberal government as generous in tough economic times), now more than ever is the time where we may find answers and collaborative paths forward. Activating true dialogue, as the games have done, is the first step toward concrete social progress.

Beyond these fascinating developments in community discourse, the Games were also an amazing party. Canadian musicians like Hey Ocean!, Said the Whale, Hey Rosetta, Mother Mother, Dan Mangan, We Are the City, Broken Social Scene, Jill Barber, Kathleen Edwards, The Arkells, and Sam Roberts were among the must-see acts not just for local music fans, but for visitors from around the globe. Having made it to a few of these shows, I can personally attest to how ridiculously fun it is to experience live music for free with thousands of incredibly diverse and enthusiastic guests. I had the immense privilege of being downtown to watch Jennifer Heil medal in moguls, the Hamelins recover from their initial devastating loss with back-to-back golds, Canada play every single hockey game (including the total bummer loss to the US in the second round), and probably most memorable of all, me and a crew of out of town friends staked out a spot at a pub on Granville at 8:30 in the morning last Sunday to watch Canada play for the gold in men’s hockey. When Sidney Crosby scored that game-winning goal in overtime, I kid you not, you could feel the ground in the city rumble. Friends across False Creek from downtown told me that they could hear the cheers explode out of the core the second the puck hit the net. We celebrated with hugs and cheers in the bar, and then spilled out onto the street to celebrate with thousands of others. We weren’t just celebrating that final game, though. We were celebrating a country and a city ignited by Canadian pride, and the ability to finally be a Canadian without feeling the need to blush. We were celebrating the very ability to celebrate, and the apparent growing-out of our bashful national adolescence. It was thrilling, and a story I’m proud to tell. Mind you, I couldn’t tell it for a few days, seeing as how I had absolutely no voice by the end of it. But the magic of the Internet disavows my irresponsibility.

Granville and Robson about 10 minutes after Canada took gold in men's hockey

Granville Street celebrating hockey gold

I don’t think I would have rather been anywhere else in the world than Vancouver during the Olympics. Our city remains locked in intense social justice debates swirling around unresolved questions of power, inequity, and poverty. But for a couple weeks, I saw all of these issues championed and enthusiastically discussed alongside (and as a part of) a national celebration of our identity as a particular people with our own very unique set of characteristics. The games were expensive, challenging, exciting, and problematic, as any major event usually is. Where we struck it lucky, though, is that Canadians seem totally willing to address these issues head-on, and have the discussions that matter when they matter most. Also, they know how to party. In a big way.

Whoa. Whoa.

2010-03-05T11:52:00.000-08:00

Biggest two weeks in the history of everything ever. Taking some time downtown tomorrow to catch up on this blogging business. Expect new content soon! Also, I think I'm moving over to WordPress. My friend (find her blog in my "Good Folks" section- Remix our Lives) just made the move and is loving it. So we'll see how ambitious I'm feeling tech-wise come tomorrow morning.

In other news, I am seeing the delightful, marvelous, and always inspiring Basia Bulat live tonight for the very first time! I've been waiting to see her for close to three years now, and couldn't be more excited. Especially when I see things like this:

And this:

I miss the blogosphere! Maybe now that the Olympics are over and I'm not hung over for the first time in 3 weeks, I will be able to make this thing count again.

ALSO: If you tweet, follow me! I'll return the favor! You can track me down under the name Man_Descending. If you don't tweet, it's friends off.

Big Days Coming Up!

2010-02-19T08:25:00.000-08:00

Alright friends, I know I have some followers and readers from lands far, far away (read Ontario), however, there's too much cool stuff happening in Vancouver in the next few nights not to mention:

1. Friday Night (Tonight): Head to the Surrey Celebration site this afternoon before 5 PM to catch Peak Performance Project winners We are the City open up an amazing night of music from The Arkells, Sam Roberts, and Dan Mangan (!). I've seen We are the City, and they are unreal! And of course, my love for Dan is old hat at this point. OR if you're not in the Surrey mood this evening, head down to Robson Square to catch Said the Whale and Hey Ocean! for free behind the Vancouver Art Gallery.

2. Saturday: Always the best night to be downtown to watch the games. Gather around the TVs at CTV's broadcast booth on Robson between Burrard and Hornby, head over to Robson Square to watch the massive projection on the side of the Sears building, or get downtown early to snatch a seat at one of the bars or pubs on Granville. Celebrate!

3. Sunday: Canada takes on the United States in men's hockey for the first time in this Olympics! Downtown is sure to be manic, so Commercial might be your best bet to get a seat by a TV and an active beer tap. But if we should win, you're only a few blocks from the train that will get you into the heart of the celebration downtown.

4. Monday: W2 Culture + Media House at 112 West Hastings is hosting the Fresh Media Olympics Conference from 1-7 PM on Monday February 22. This conference will address the question "how has social media changed the Olympics story?" Featuring keynotes and panels led by leading thinkers on the issue of social media and sport, such as Andy Miah, the day promises to be exciting, interactive, and extremely productive. For all those who didn't take a look at my last entry, W2 is a gallery space on the Downtown Eastside that, for the duration of the Olympics, has been transformed into the media centre for unaccredited and citizen journalists who have come to Vancouver to provide a non-commercial, alternative perspective on the games. It's an amazing site, and the Fresh Media conference will be a great showcase of all the amazing work that's happening there. Visit the EventBrite page to reserve your spot!

After you're done at W2, run over to LiveCity Yaletown to catch Canadian jazz songstress Jill Barber, and prepare to swoon over her sweet voice as it curls around her neo-vintage love songs. Followed up by Colin James, and the whole event is, as expected, free!

Hope to see some Blogger friends out and about this weekend. Comment me and tell me where you'll be!

Lighting a Different Flame: Media, Discourse, and Democracy at the Games

2010-02-13T13:20:00.000-08:00

I have never been more proud to be a Canadian than I am today.

I'm not proud because of our elaborate opening ceremony, nor because of our ability to throw a great global party.

I'm not proud because of the corporate sponsorship or the torch.

I'm proud because today, I truly realize that I live in a democracy. Not just a democracy, but one that people will defend, fight, utilize, question, and protect at a moment's notice.

Some exposition: since September of last year, I have been involved with a community organization in Vancouver, formerly known as W2 Woodwards. Located in the Downtown Eastside, W2 serves as the fulcrum around which Vancouver's media arts and activism scene turns, using the intersection of community, media, creativity, and a spirit of innovation to create positive social change and support activist concerns throughout the city. In anticipation of the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympic Games, W2 took on a new role. Through tireless planning, promotions, and organizing, this 4-floor gallery space has been transformed into and officially recognized as W2 Culture + Media House. W2 now serves as a media and broadcast centre for unaccredited and citizen journalists who have come to the city to provide and alternative, critical, or celebratory perspective on the games, from beyond the frame of corporate journalism.

I have the immense luxury and privilege to work part time out of a small office at W2, and spend some time with some of the globe's leading independent media innovators. As such, the past two days of my online, mediated life have been explosive. When I arrived at work yesterday and fired up my TweetDeck, I truly felt that something had shifted in the way that we discuss and communicate in this country, and perhaps around the world. And I believe that shift has been for the better.

When the tragic news of the death of Georgian Luger Nodar Kumaritashvili at the Whistler Sliding Centre broke yesterday morning, the social media networks caught fire. They were on the front lines of the story as it developed throughout the day, and following the initial frenzy, they were among the first to raise concerns over the use of the video as spectacle in mainstream news broadcasts. Even now, I'm receiving updates from critical media watchdogs questioning CTVs gratuitous use of the footage in last night's programming.

In the lead up to the games, social networking platforms such as Twitter and its activist toolkits were used extensively by anti-games protesters to organize demonstrations and pressure action throughout the city. When these protests turned violent this morning on Robson Street, once again, the independent, non-commercial media were the first to catch the story, and the first to turn it over to citizens for comment and discussion.

This is democracy incarnate.

The journalists, bloggers, activists, and critics based at W2, and stationed around the city, on the front lines of breaking stories, have not simply taken it upon themselves to challenge the authority of traditional modes of media distribution, but have also taken what they gather in the field, and turned it over to the population through Flickr pools, blog posts, and a flurry of tweets, where questions are constantly being raised and debates are constantly evolving based on new information pouring in, free of the filter and bureaucratic infrastructure of big media production.

Regardless of what one thinks of the riots this morning, the fact that I am actively engaged in discussions about their legitimacy with people both inside and outside Vancouver, around the globe, pro-Olympic, anti-Olympic, and indifferent is truly one of the most astonishing, invigorating experiences I've had in recent memory. Today has demonstrated, beyond a doubt, that we live in a nation where dissent is the norm, where challenge is almost mundane, and fiery conversation is the hallmark of the every day. The Robson protesters have exercised their right to challenge dominant messages and ideological systems. The people who have critiqued the Robson protesters and their actions have done the same. In no way do I celebrate the acts of violence and vandalism themselves, nor do I subscribe the hurtful, ignorant, reductive slurs being thrown at them by games supporters. What I value and celebrate today is the fact that it happened, and the fact that it has ignited a city and a nation, forcing us into a direct confrontation with our assumptions about how and where we live. This is a revolution that has been bred by passionate individuals utilizing networks of support and innovative approaches to technology that put the power of speech back in the hands of those who value it most- citizens.

This is not an over-statement. This is a change. This is coal-fired discourse.

As the games wear on, I suspect the protests will subside, or at the very least, become more civil, and as the excitement over medal counts, global rivalries, and the amazing cultural events happening throughout the city heats up, the focus of the media coverage of these Olympics may shift. But I will remember today. Today our city changed, and today we have a rare and unique opportunity to step back, and become staggeringly aware of all that we truly have to be proud of.

One More Reason to go Amish

2010-01-06T12:41:00.000-08:00

Logic boards are for chumps, anyways! Hey friends, it's been a while, and I am writing from a rather grimy looking rental computer that has allegedly made the rounds on the DJ circuit, and so I'm likely clacking away through layers of vodka, Red Bull, and sweat, but I soldier on.

I hope your New Years treated you spectacularly well and that you weren't quite so immobilizingly hung over as I was the next morning. I have returned to school to start an 8-month work term as a media educator, working with secondary school students in workshops to raise awareness of media issues, and I cannot wait to get going on it. I couldn't create a more perfect job for myself if I tried.

I just wanted to update a bit, seeing as how I've been quite absent for a while, and leave you with a couple things that might make you smile, such as my new favorite podcast, Popcorn Mafia, an utterly insane hour-and-something program filled with curse words and off-colour jokes, reviewing the newest films in theatres. It's a riot, and you should definitely check it out here and follow them on twitter at popcornmafia. You won't regret it.

Other than that, the sun is shining, the skies are blue, and there's a new decade yawning out before us. Let's make the best of it!

Listomania

2009-12-21T13:14:00.000-08:00

It's very likely that the last thing anyone wants to read at the moment is another "Best of the Decade" list, but I've been itching to write one. There's no way in hell I could do a decade list for music, but I think I can do it for films, so I'm going to take a crack at it. Like I said, for many, list fatigue is setting in, and so I forgive you if you entirely skip over this. We're still friends, for realsies. Anyhow, here are my Top 10 (potentially 11) films from the past 10 years. I might even try to rank them. I'm feeling gutsy.

10. The Constant Gardener, Fernando Meirelles, 2005

I feel that this is one of the more overlooked films of the past decade. It really is a tremendous piece of work, with leads Ralph Fiennes and Rachael Weisz delivering powerful, and oftentimes heartstopping performances throughout. Meirelles treats the sweeping, overwhelming vistas of Africa simultaneously with respect, refusing to give into tropes of slum representation, while still making every frame read as something of an abstract composition. I'm still haunted by the image of the overturned jeep on a muddy, salt-crusted lake shore. The story itself is urgent, and unabashedly engages with some of the most pressing issues we face today regarding first world treatment, and oftentimes, devastating abuse, of third world resources, both material and human. Yet at the same time, the details of the mystery are left vague enough that the script dodges the bullet of becoming moralistic didacticism, and echoes in a deeply unsettling way how little we actually know about how money, power, and wellbeing are traded in a globalized economy. I really do love this film, and maybe it's because it seems so effortlessly excellent that it doesn't stick out as particularly challenging, or something like that, but the script, the images, and the performances, taken together, create a pulsating, disturbing, and emotionally engaging brew that shouldn't be missed.

9. Divine Intervention, Elia Suleiman, 2002

On the poster pictured above, this film by Palestinian director Elia Suleiman is described as both hysterical and devastating, and I'm inclined to agree, but perhaps not at the most obvious level. It's hysterical because it's devastating; it makes us laugh out of self defense. And it is devastating because it is hysterical; when we laugh, we realize how staggeringly flawed our perceptions (as Westerners) of the Middle East truly are. Divine Intervention is sort of like American Beauty set within a Palestinian encampment in Israel. Suleiman constant plays with mediatized images of Palestinians as violent, destructive, and dangerous, and then turns them on their heads, swinging us wildly between horror and humor, and in the wake of the transition, a bit of shame and embarassment for having been mislead. Suleiman himself plays the film's central figure, a silent, almost Buster Keaton-type figure who somewhat listlessly shuffles about, never seeming any real threat, yet he constantly opens doors, through hilarious and surrealist slapstick, to legitimate discussions of who defines whom in the Middle East, and to what effect.

8. Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?, Joel and Ethan Coen, 2000*

I love the Coen Brothers. They could make almost any movie as well or as poorly as they wanted, and I'd probably love it, but this one holds a particularly special place in my heart as it was my introduction to their work. George Clooney has never been funnier or more bearable than he is as the fast-talking Ulysses Everett McGill, and his superb comedic timing throughout literally always leaves me laughing out loud in a pretty embarassing manner. The barn sequence, coupled with the repeated line "Damn, we're in a tight spot!" is one of my favorite comedy moments of the decade. The film, further, looks absolutely stunning. The Coens capture, in vibrant, vivid strokes, everything from pastoral beauty and picturesque agrarian vistas, to almost operatic and theatrical images of depression-era devastation and poverty, and press them all through a warm, dusty colour palate that makes the whole thing at once stunning and gritty. Many of my favorite scenes and shots of the decade come from this film, such as the Siren Song/River sequence, the Baptism sequence, and an early scene in which a blind, railcar-hopping soothsayer foretells the troubles in Everett's future. If you haven't seen Oh Brother, I really suggest that you do, and if you have, watch it again. I'm almost sure you'll be surprised how hard you fall in love with it all over again.

*Tied for this spot is Guillermo del Toro's amazing fascist fairy tale Pan's Labyrinth from 2006. Dark but lush, terrifying but still heartfelt, this film is easily one of the most ambitious and successful experiments in genre, style, and representation in recent memory, and refuses to leave you for a long while after leaving the theatre, if it ever does leave you. Also, can you recall a more terrifying image in the past 10 years than the eyeless Pale Man sitting at his sumptuous banquet, deathly still? I think not.

7. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Julian Schnabel, 2007

Anyone's who's seen this film knows why it's on this list. Stunningly acted by all parties, even Mathieu Almaric who, for the vast majority of the film has mobility only in his left eyelid; Poetically and elegantly photographed by Schnabel; and absolutely beautifully scripted in a way that captures both the frustration of paralysis, and the faint glimmers of hope we find within despair. Diving Bell is just beautiful. I don't have much to say about this film in an academic or analytical mode, because I just love it as it is. Really, it's a classic trope about excess, suffering, and redemption, but Schnabel executes this narrative with such subtelty, honesty, and emotive power, that it's hard to do anything but love it.

6. Waltz With Bashir, Ari Folman, 2008

Even if this film weren't emotionally engaging, socially relevant, and superbly voiced (which it is), it would deserve at least honorable mention on this list for its absolutely stunning animation style and genre-bending approach to documentary convention. Ostensibly a documentary, but framed through fantasy, memory, and surrealist dream sequences, Folman brings to the screen, through his incredible non-rotoscope animation style (that is somehow 3D and 2D at once), an intensely personal, idiosyncratic, subjective examination of his own role in facilitating the devastating Sabra and Shatila massacres of the 1982 Israel-Lebanon war. Folman has been criticized by a number of people for refusing to engage with the lager trauma of the war as a whole by languishing in his own fantasies and memories, and some have even claimed that the film operates as an attempt to absolve Israel of its brutality in the conflict. To be certain, there's problematic elements here, such as the curious choice to not subtitle the Palestinian figures in the film, yet I can't help but think that these critiques expect something of Folman that he never attempts to explore, in the first place- after all, what authority does he really have to act as the voice of a suffering Palestinian refugee? He has his own voice, and explores it as his own truth, and never makes an attempt to extrapolate it out into some broad assertion of Israeli innocence. I see Waltz With Bashir as an emphatically personal story, and an innovative, arresting one, at that.

5. Downfall, Oliver Hirschbiegel, 2004 (German Release)/2005 (American Release)

For very obvious reasons, the centrepiece of this film is Bruno Ganz's heart stopping performance as Adolph Hitler in the final 12 days of the Third Reich, as his paranoia, physical health, and mental stability collapse upon him within his Berlin bunker. It really is one of the best performances ever put to film, in my opinion. But in a broader sense, Downfall takes a defiantly innovative approach to the WWII film, shirking sweeping vistas, exploding forests, and tales of individual heroism. Rather, we find a focus upon cramped spaces, the devastation of insularity, and the transformation of the war from something deeply disturbing and visceral into something totally abstracted and distant. Near the end of the film, as the Red Army marches on Berlin, we catch our first glimpses of actual combat. For the vast majority of the running time, however, the war is nothing but distant explosions, the drone of airplane engines, and flickering lights. Nonetheless, the tension within the bunker is almost unbearable, with every character caught between their unwavering faith in Hitler, and a complete awareness that their project has failed, and that they now stare death in face for their crimes. The brutality of this circumstance is fleshed out in exquisite detail by Hirschbiegel, particularly in the heartbreaking sequence in which the wife of Himmler chooses death for her children, as opposed to life in a world without Naziism. A staggering, haunting portrait of self-conscious guilt, and the impossibility of delusion in the moments before the collapse, Downfall is truly one of the most memorable films of the decade, and likely one of the best war films of all time.

4. No Country for Old Men, Joel and Ethan Coen, 2007

Those rascally Coen brothers, taking up two spots on my list. No Country seems to be pretty divisive, with audiences split between abject hatred and boredom, and visceral adoration. I place myself in the latter category, quite obviously. Without being too crass, yes, this film does indeed make a haunting assertion about the omnipotence of terror and the reproduction of oppression over time in contemporary society, but mostly, I felt No Country in my bones. I was literally white-knuckling my armrest throughout the movie, particularly in the scene where Josh Brolin sits alone in a dark hotel room, staring at the sliver of light sliding under his door, knowing that Javier Bardem's terrifying (if slightly unfashionable) villain is only steps behind. This sequence, alongside the gas station/coin flip scene earlier in the film, at once acts as a philosophical fulcrum around which the whole message of the film pivots, as well as a breathless, haunting atmospheric piece that functions almost as a stripped down and terrifying ballet. I find it hard to re-watch this movie, because it affected me at such a gut, base level on first viewing, but one viewing is really all it took for No Country For Old Men to become etched into my memory for what will hopefully be decades to come.

3. Children of Men, Alfonso Cuaron, 2006

I love dystopia films. I'm obsessed with possible futures and apocalyptic finales to life as we know it, and Cuaron, in his 2006 film, Children of Men takes a unique approach to the dystopia trope that realigns the conventions of the genre to respond to more contemporary anxieties rooted in the body and the natural world. Bladerunner, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and other classics of the genre are obsessed with the breakdown in the boundary between man and machine, yet in Children of Men, the body itself is the enemy, with the film set in 2027, 18 years after all women on earth mysteriously became sterile. Cuaron depicts a rapidly decaying urban London, marked sporadically by new, but conceivable technologies such as video billboards and animated bus ads. Outside of these advertising-based technologies, the only new innovations we see in the film are highly sophisticated, but still cubicle-bound computers, and the slightly more fantastic video newspaper. However, these flashy technologies are hardly the norm in Cuaron’s world. He portrays them as superfluous and mundane decorations amid the anonymous, concrete housing projects, the dreary filth of urban waste, and caged hordes of “illegal immigrants” on street corners. Against this stark and hopeless visual world, though, is a tiny glimmer of hope in the form of a young, pregnant immigrant, Ki, who must be smuggled to the coast to keep her out of the hands of a corrupt government. The ending of the film is often criticized for being vague and unsatisfying, but I really like it. It asks a question of the audience, instead of slipping into the precautionary finger-wagging so common in science fiction. It gives us hope by asserting that the capacity for change and progress lies within our own bodies, but leaves it up to us to make the leap to actually use that capacity.

2. The Lives of Others, Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, 2006

At its core, this film is really about isolation, and the pain of sacrificing pity, love, emotion, and care to the demands of a rationalized, heavily policed state- both for those it polices, and those who do the policing. But just as many of the films on this list do, The Lives of Others resists schmaltz or hamfisted moralizing. Ulrich Muhe steals the film in the role of Gerd Wiesler, a cold, calculating, expert interrogator for the Stasi, the East German state police. However, when he is assigned to monitor and observe the actions of stage actress Christa-Maria Sieland and her party-friendly playwright boyfriend, Georg Dreyman, he finds himself drawn to their intoxicating passion, artistic vigor, and honest love for one another, and so is suddenly caught between the relentlessly pragmatic and brutal authority of the East German state, and his own crippling isolation from all meaningful human contact. Muhe performs the role to perfection, displaying at all times microscopic suggestions of doubt and guilt, making the audience feel deeply for his personal circumstance, but never leaving us to languish in the idiosyncratic realm. Our pity for Wiesler is quickly expanded into a sweeping condemnation of the brutality of the East German state, and totalitarian governments, in general. Above all, though, I think I like the scripting best in this film. Tiny suggestions established early in the film (which, despite being quite personal and intimate, really does feel sprawling and powerful) are quietly built up over the course of the running time, and then elegantly tied back together in the conclusion with tremendous emotional power. The dialogue is expertly crafted, and every nuance of the story seems to have been considered in detail, giving powerful insight into the personal experience of isolation, love, and life under a totalitarian regime. This is an excellent film that, in every way, deserved its Academy Award in 2007.

1. Caché, Michael Haneke, 2005

For lack of a better term, Austrian director Michael Haneke has long been known as something of a shit disturber. Films such as Benny's Video and The Piano Teacher earned Haneke, early in his career, a reputation for subjecting his characters to staggering brutality, denying his audience any sense of narrative satisfaction, and exposing violence in film for what it really is- horrifying. Haneke has commented extensively upon this habit, calling it a negative aesthetic, a cinema of insistent questions as opposed to a cinema of easy answers (read Hollywood), a cinema that forces us to witness the horror of death and violence rather than making it exciting, thrilling, and consumable. Haneke's films, then, are deeply politicized from the outset, especially when it comes to violence. His negative aesthetic reached its apex with the release of Funny Games in 1997 (which he followed in 2007 with a shot-for-shot English remake starring Naomi Watts), which is all but unwatchable. With Caché, however, and his recent follow-up, The White Ribbon, Haneke seems to have turned a bit of a corner, still focusing upon violence, brutality, and horror, but in a much more subtle manner, exploring how the subjects of surveillance and ideological oppression internalize the forces that control them, and become themselves objects of symbolic, historical, and ideological violence. Caché mobilizes these themes in a manner that makes the film seem absolutely urgent, even five years after its release.

The film’s ostensible “subject” is a contemporary French bourgeois family made up of Georges Laurent, his wife Anne, and their young son, Pierrot. The family lives in a stylish, well-designed Paris flat. Georges hosts a popular television program about literature while Anne works at a publishing house and Pierrot assumes the role of the media-savvy but emotionally-disengaged teenager. The pleasant mundanity of this life is rocked when a tape of the family’s home appears, unmarked and apparently unmotivated, on the Laurent’s doorstep. Anne and Georges initially approach the tape with a sense of bewilderment; venturing guesses that it may be an innocuous prank pulled by one of Pierrot’s friends. As more tapes appear, though, they become increasingly invasive and unsettling. Eventually, frightening drawings of disturbing scenes begin to accompany the tapes; among them, crude renderings of a young boy vomiting blood, and a decapitated bird. As the tapes delve deeper into Georges' history, Haneke expertly draws out and re-inscribes within out contemporary culture of digital images (where the line between private and public has become increasingly fluid), a hidden French history of colonial rule and oppression.

One of the cornerstone events of French-Algerian history and Georges’ own narrative is the Paris Massacre of 1961. Despite the estimated 200 Algerians this event left dead, in the decades following, it received almost no attention in the mainstream French media, and remains a largely ignored part of French history. To finally fix this buried legacy of Algerian oppression to video, then, to draw it into a public and transnational media culture and out of the repressive realm of personal memory is, in some ways, the fundamental crux of Caché as a whole. In Haneke’s imagining, the culture of digital images has the capacity to confront those parts of history and ourselves that have been packaged and restructured by historical media discourses as innocuous or insignificant. Caché confronts the hidden legacy of French colonialism by turning repressed personal memories inside out, and exposing them through cinema as embodiments of an entire history ignored and forgotten through silent negotiation.

Political, thrilling, challenging, and tense beyond measure, Caché is a marvel of contemporary cinema, and gives me a deep sense of hope that the grand artistic gesture isn't dead; that there's someone out there making film that they think will matter, films they think can change the world.

Top Albums and Songs of 2009

2009-12-10T14:05:00.000-08:00

I am the least hip of all hipsters. As much as I love publications like Paste Magazine, I'm pretty damn out of the loop when it comes to the NPR indie scene. I was a year behind the hype on almost all of 2008's big releases, including Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver. But nonetheless, I soldier on, compiling lists of albums and tracks that have seemed particularly excellent to me over the past 12 months. I'd love to hear feedback and comments and additions you would have made, so never be afraid of the comment button! Also, note that these albums in are no ranked order, seeing as how that's almost impossible. So this isn't really a "top" list in the strictest sense, but just nine really excellent records.

Favorite Albums:

1. Dark Was The Night, Various Artists: This tremendous, all-star collection of songs was released nearly a year ago by RedHot, an organization that, since the 1980s, has been putting out compilation albums in support of HIV/AIDS research and awareness programs. So right off the bat, there's really no way to go wrong, just based on the project of the album as a whole. It certainly doesn't hurt that it's packed to the rafters with amazing one-offs and B-sides from some of today's top indie acts, including Yeasayer, Bon Iver, The National, Andrew Bird, Grizzly Bear, Connor Oberst, and The Decembrists. It's a pretty tough chore picking out the strongest tracks from this collection, but I'd certainly fix Yeasayer's shimmering "Tightrope," Bon Iver's understated "Brackett, WI," My Brightest Diamond's cover of the Nina Simone classic, "Feelin' Good" and Connor Oberst and Gillian Welch's re-imagination of Oberst's "Lua" around the top of the heap. DWTN is an arresting compilation that never simply relies upon the clout of its contributors to carry its weight. This is a powerful, well-arranged set of songs for an excellent cause.

2. Horehound, The Dead Weather: Jack White's newest supergroup truly lives up to its expectations. Made up of vocalist Alison Mosshart (of The Kills), Jack White on drums, vocals, and occasionally guitar, Dean Fertita (of Queens of the Stone Age) on keys and guitar, and Jack Lawrence (of The Raconteurs) on bass and guitar, The Dead Weather convened somewhat by accident for a period of not much more than two weeks in 2009 to record their debut album Horehoud, with pretty excellent results. Part southern-fried rock, part Led Zeppelin, part soundtrack to your sexiest encounters, Horehound is a gritty, seductive, ballsy set of songs that makes you want to smash vintage guitars, grow your hair out, toss liquor bottles at your needy groupies, and gyrate your hips with all the energy you can muster. Standouts include the lead single "Treat Me Like Your Mother," and the unbelievably sexy, slow-burning album opener, "60 Feet Tall." One listen and I was totally hooked. Excellent album.

3. Noble Beast, Andrew Bird. Andrew Bird has a long, somewhat tortured and inconsistent relationship with the recording process, having been variably lumped in, over the course of his career, with a number of now-reviled trends, such as the ill-fated swing revival of the early 1990s. With Noble Beast, though, Bird seems to have finally hit his stride. By combining achingly beautiful violin arrangements and his incredibly erudite and verbose lyrics with just enough electronic instrumentation to keep it on the leading edge of the alt-folk scene, Noble Beast achieves that always challenging balance between pastoral beauty and avant garde poking and prodding. Perhaps the strongest songs on the album are the rollicking tongue-twister "Tenuousness," the lovely folk ballad "Effigy," the seven-minute instrumental piece "Carrion Suite," and my personal favorite, "Anonanimal." Sometimes stunningly crisp and precise, other times satisfyingly hearty and throaty, Noble Beast is an excellent album, especially for those quiet nights with a book and a mug of something warm.

4. New Moon Original Soundtrack, Various Artists. Let's just address the obvious elephant in the room right away. This is the soundtrack to New Moon. That movie about sparkling vampires who can't get laid, Native American werewolves, and awkward teen girl angst. I was in a meeting with a professor this term and he made direct reference to this album as an example of why he would hate to be a 20-something music snob in 2009. This disc is filled, top to bottom, with tracks from some of today's most important and influential independent acts, but is nonetheless stapled onto the back of the Twilight morass- what's a hipster to do? I've chosen the option of simply not caring. I'll never see the movie. I'll never have to hear Lykke Li (on the stunning track "Possibility") provide the background track to some vampire heartbreak montage. Problem solved. Let's just look at the music. Fielding tracks by artists such as Grizzly Bear, Anya Maria, Death Cab for Cutie, The Killers, and Thom Yorke, the New Moon OST is full, like DWTN, of tasty indie tidbits and elegant, lush tracks, such as the Bon Iver+St. Vincent collaboration "Roslyn," which, despite being next to incomprehensible, is stunningly beautiful. We even get some unexpected contributions from Lupe Fiasco (with the actually pretty wicked "Solar Midnight") and Australia's answer to Meatloaf, Eskimo Joe ("Thunderclap"). Despite their diversity and occasional weirdness, every song on this album is arresting in its own right, and they all deserve lots of attention, regardless of their unfortunate coupling to the Twilight vehicle. The vampires that this album promotes may suck, but the tracks it offer certainly don't (PUN).

5. Torches/ Torches (The Ward, Colorado Demos), Brian Borcherdt. Borcherdt is something of a quiet deity in the Canadian music industry. He's spent most of his career starting independent artist development organizations and labels, such as Hand Drawn Dracula Records, and has helped launch the careers of such Canadian success stories as Jill Barber. While he's not working on the institutional side, he's busy touring with his critically-acclaimed noise/electro troupe, Holy Fuck. Borcherdt's moody, atmospheric, and decidedly dark solo work, however, belies this frantic persona. Torches is the follow up to Borcherdt's 2008 release, Coyotes, which rendered, in haunting, ethereal shades, the darkest, most idiosyncratic parts of the isolated imagination. After having almost lost every last bit of Torches to the trunk of a cab, Borcherdt released the whole album, along with the original demos, free of charge in late November, and building off of the aesthetic established by Coyotes, tracks like "Preserver" and "Crime Scenes," while a bit fuller and more fleshed out, provide stunningly honest, powerfully moody glimpses into the snowiest corners of memory.

6. Nice, Nice, Very Nice, Dan Mangan. I don’t think that there was ever any doubt that this album would end up on my year-end list. Any regular reader (or casual acquaintance) will know that, to borrow a friend’s term, I have a pretty serious “Mang-on,” though I prefer the term “Fangan.” Biases aside, however, this is a truly excellent album that deserves all the glowing press it had received since its release in August. Nice, Nice, Very Nice makes no bones about it- it aims for the heart strings. From the saccharine pizzicato strings in “You Silly Git,” to the roaring passion of “Basket,” to the stunning swell of “Fair Verona,” every song strikes at the emotions at a startlingly honest level. The album has received scattered criticism for being a bit schizophrenic in its programming. Granted, “Some People,” while a pretty great track, seems to be a bit out of place here. But nevertheless, the album doesn’t really need to adhere to a single aesthetic to be unified, as such. What holds the whole operation together is Mangan’s amazing ability to speak directly and without pretension to our most impassioned moments, be they silent and reflective, or soaring and heroic. Of course, a good sing along about robot love doesn’t hurt, either.

7. Timber Timbre, Timber Timbre. The band’s name gives probably the best summary of what to expect from their eponymous album- a kind of organic, echoey, spare, but still lush hike through the dark, seductive bits of our experiences; what one might hear if Grizzly Bear played a concert in the middle of a forest. The instrumentation throughout the album, heavy on organs, filtered guitars, muffled percussion, and sometimes barely-audible screeching violins, provides the perfect complement to Taylor Kirk's sultry, defiantly unique vocals. Nowhere on this album, does this combination work better than on the eerie blues track “Trouble Comes Knocking,” which wades through sticky guitar riffs and juke-bar piano lines to make everything around you seem a bit hazy and blue. Similarly, on the pared back “No Bold Villain,” we feel somehow caught between the crisp, shivering woods of Canada, and the claustrophobic humidity of the bayou- an oddly intoxicating balancing act. An album to wrap yourself in, and happily so.

8. Fantasies, Metric: The smashing Canadian success of the year, Metric’s follow up to Live It Out proved to be the album of the summer for many of my closest friends and compatriots. When Live It Out was released, Metric took some flak for moving into a more decidedly rock vein, with tracks like “Empty” defying the hooky pop sensibility of classics like “Combat Baby.” With Fantasies, Metric seems to have found some pretty excellent middle ground. Big, shimmery, full of distortion, loud, catchy, sometimes contemplative, and full of the melodic loveliness that made them the darlings of Canadian indie music nearly 10 years ago, Fantasies has proven both eminently listenable, effectively popular (without being populist), and irresistibly fun. My favorites include the album’s lead single “Help, I’m Alive,” the ridiculously catchy “Sick Muse,” and the big finale, “Stadium Love,” which all but demands open windows, a sunny day, and your foot to the floor.

9. Echoes, Jenn Grant: Jenn Grant makes me smile like a damn fool. I had the pleasure of seeing Jenn perform live with Dan Mangan this summer, before I’d ever had a chance to delve into her music. She was endearingly crazy, intimate, and always charming, and bounced between her lovely dream-pop ballads with ease. After the show, I took it upon myself to take a harder look at her 2009 release, Echoes, and was not disappointed. Grant’s vocals flutter elegantly atop every track, providing an arresting focal point amid quaint bass clarinet lines, simple, bright guitar parts, the pleasant white noise of brushes on a snare, and the delicate ringing of bells. Tracks such as “You’ll go Far,” the tender “Where Are You Now,” and the hypnotic “Sailing By Silverships,” epitomize this elegant mixing, and showcase Grant’s truly unique voice, which effortlessly swings between idiosyncratic and assured, elegant and tenuous. I just love this album. It’s so pretty, from top to bottom, and reflects the personality of its creator with photographic accuracy.

Songs!

I promise, to keep this short, I'll only write commentary for those songs that I haven't already mentioned above. Same rules apply: no particular order, and all that jazz.

1. "My Girls," Animal Collective: Big, sweeping, shimmery, hooky; one of a few songs that become the soundtrack to the best nights of the summer.

2. "Anonanimal," Andrew Bird.

3. "Ambling Alp," Yeasayer. This track was actually just released near the end of November as a free download, and has quickly become a favorite. Characteristically Yeasayer (filled with organs and elaborate falsetto choral passages), but still all its own, "Ampling Alp" rollicks through driving percussion and electronic elements to make for a wicked good time.

4. "So Far Around the Bend," The National. One of many great tracks from Dark Was The Night, this song is just lovely. The unaffected vocal delivery grounds the almost whimsical instrumentation, complete with dueling clarinets and rich piano. Always a pleasure, even if a pretty devastatingly sad one.

5. "You'll Go Far," Jenn Grant. I'm gonna break my own rule briefly just to express again how much I love this song. So pretty.

6. "Fair Verona," Dan Mangan.

7. "60 Feet Tall," The Dead Weather.

8. "Tightrope," Yeasayer.

9. "Deep Blue Sea," Grizzly Bear. Another track from Dark Was the Night that still impresses me almost a year later. "Deep Blue Sea" has Grizzly Bear written all over it, steeped in lush instrumentation, but what really sets this track apart is its swirling, hypnotic rhythm that mirrors the ebb and flow of its titular character.

10. "You're Too Cool," The Zolas. It's been a huge year for Vancouver artists, and this duo are a big part of the reason why. Their latest album Tic Toc Tic is a soulful, psychadelic, piano-driven romp that walks a fine line between quirky and certifiably crazy. But it's also excellent, and this spunky track captures its essence perfectly.

11. "Roslyn," Bon Iver and St. Vincent. (From the New Moon Original Soundtrack)

12. "Treat Me Like Your Mother," The Dead Weather

13. "Crime Scenes," Brian Borcherdt

14. "Big Bird in a Small Cage," Patrick Watson. Watson's latest album, Wooden Arms was shortlisted for Polaris this year, and deservedly so. His unique and always unexpected instrumentation constantly leaves me dizzy and wanting more. "Big Bird in a Small Cage" is just lovely- distinctly Watson, but uplifting and whimsical on an album that often takes a darker, more atmospheric approach.

15. "The Beat Stuff," Hannah Georgas. Hannah Georgas, another Vancouver artist, has had a tremendous year, having just recently snagged the CBC Radio 3 Bucky Award for Best New Artist, and this track is ample proof of why it was so deserved. So cute, so fun, spunky, and unique, "The Beat Stuff" is just great. Plain and simple.

16. "Goodnight Moon," Said the Whale. Consider this a bonus track? Said The Whale's newest release, Islands Disappear is a great time throughout, but this explosive, sweeping finale is really the tops from the disc, in my books. Starting innocently enough, with a tenderly finger-picked ukulele, "Goodnight Moon," gradually winds up into a big ole' dance/clap/shout-along, and couldn't be more fun if it tried.

And that's all she wrote! Sorry it's so distressingly long, I tend to ramble. As mentioned, feel free to provide feedback in a comment; I'd love to hear your thoughts. Hope the early days of the holidays are treating you and yours well.

Merry Early Christmas

2009-12-09T21:28:00.000-08:00

St. Vincent and Andrew Bird. Too much beautiful music in one spot. The violin looping that Bird does in "Natural Disaster" is insanely beautiful.

Home Stretch Motivation

2009-12-06T10:00:00.001-08:00

You know what? There's a whole lot of shitty things about Fall/Early Winter in Vancouver and the end of the semester. You're worn out from 13 long weeks of classes and assignments, yet have to somehow buckle down harder than ever to get prepped for exams and finish term papers. As was the case this year, you get locked under 2 weeks of record breaking downpours and forget that the sun even exists. You always seem a bit wetter and colder than you logically should. The prospect of Christmas with the family is tempting, but seems impossibly far away.

But you know what else? It doesn't take much more than a walk downtown when the sun is bouncing off the snow-capped mountains across the Strait and resting warm on your face, taking the edge off the cool air, to make all those things disappear. The city is magic at times like these. Everything glows silver and cracks with a sharp certitude. What a way to recharge the batteries.

Also, Jenn Grant helps a lot, too:

Shameless

2009-11-26T10:00:00.000-08:00

Hello, friends

I've been busy fluttering around the social networking circles, getting myself involved in all sorts of things. Probably most exciting or all my new projects is that I now write for an excellent Canadian music blog, North by East West (possibly my favorite blog name ever, explained as "A geographically impossible blog for a geographically impossible country." Cleverness for days). Between now and the end of the semester, my posting might be pretty scattered, as my actual life is getting unreasonably chaotic, but once Christmas holidays hits (15 days!), I hope to have lots of time to sit down, come up with my Favorite Things and year-end music lists on Man Descending and get some posts up to NxEW.

Also, you should watch these videos:

Ashleigh of Hey Ocean playing "If I Were a Ship" on kalimba

The Zolas playing "The Great Collapse"

THE ZOLAS - The Great Collapse from Mitch Fillion on Vimeo.

If you're interested (you should be), you can check out NxEW here:www.nxew.ca

Activating the Tweet: A Manifesto in 128 Characters

2009-11-23T19:54:00.000-08:00

Building, sharing, and celebrating collaborative, participatory dialogues and social action. In real time. One voice at a time.

Rehashing

2009-11-15T00:24:00.000-08:00

Last February, I wrote a fairly long, but perhaps not-so-coherent post on La Blogotheque, a French website that posts "take-away shows," which are essentially re-imagined music videos fascinated with embedding performance within a shared public space. Since that ill-fated late night attempt at profundity, I've had a number of opportunities to explore the idea of public space in a bit more depth, and based on some rather stunning information I've come across, I want to take another crack at this. Unfortunately, I'm again taking this project on late at night when many, many things should be taking priority, but this somehow seems more pressing.

The notion of a "public space" seems natural in the West, but every discussion of this issue demands that we see the idea of public space as something relatively new and socially constructed, growing largely out of the late 1800s and the force of the Industrial Revolution. . In pre-industrial European society, work and leisure occured in the same spaces. The family, in the era before waged labour and factory-style production, was a productive unit, turning the home into at once a space of work and a space of rest, a space where the family would eat, learn, pray, assemble, craft, carve, and celebrate. Work was carried out not in the interest of exchange, but largely in pursuit of a subsistence lifestyle, and thus there was rarely an impulse to produce beyond what was necessary for survival. The crop that a family worked to maintain was not meant to be gathered and exported for profit, but consumed within the home, and perhaps shared with neighbours during annual celebrations. In this society, ritual, work, play, and survival were inextricably combined, and so were the spaces in which each took place.

With the Enclosure Acts of the early Industrial Revolution, however, this arrangement was dramatically undercut. The Enclosure Acts allowed feudal lords to conglomerate and fence their land, and crucially gave them clearance to remove from these lands the subsistence-level tenant farmers who for centuries had lived a life based on communal use of shared resources. As a result, many farmers found themselves cleaved from their rural existence, and had little choice but to immigrate to cities and accept waged work in the factory system. Suddenly, instead of tending crops on the family plot that would eventually be utilized and consumed within the home, workers travelled from spaces reserved exclusively for sleep and rest, to spaces reserved exclusively for work and production, and created objects that they themselves would rarely consume, as wages for early industrial factory workers were stunningly, inhumanely low. It is in this divide that we find the roots of the idea of public and private spaces. Spaces such as the home and the factory were decidedly private, reserved for particular activities that were radically dissociated from one another. The city, despite being overwhelmingly dense, disaggregated the elements of daily life for the new working class. Outside the factory and the home was a network of spaces reserved exclusively for leisure: pubs, taverns, parks, and eventually music halls and theatres. However, as the dominion of the market over daily life increased throughout the period, even these spaces came to be roped off to all but those who could pay to enter, ultimately serving to privatize leisure.

Out of this history comes a sense that privately owned property is fenced off from the general public, and everything outside these areas falls into the public domain, an amorphous and ill-defined sphere where space, resources, and experience are shared. In urban studies rhetoric, this public space is one that encourages mingling and discussion between people of all ages, religions, races, income levels, and backgrounds, allegedly promoting the growth of values such as pluralism, openness, and social learning. Unfortunately, as anyone living in a city is well aware, this optimistic vision of the street is far cry from urban realities. The public space is rigorously policed not just by official institutions such as municipal governments, but also by the forces of capital. We live in a profoundly branded physical world. Everything is sponsored by, made possible by, facilitated by, founded in partnership with (ad nauseam) some corporate body. Every street is lined with billboards and storefronts emblazoned with colourful logos. Even spaces such as universities are deeply commercialized, with campuses accepting into their walls international chain retailers and food outlets. As a result, just as common as the vision of public space as pluralist and socially vibrant, is a vision of public space constantly under attack by corporate colonization and, in many areas, gentrification.

This process of colonization has reached almost comical levels. Well, I suppose it would be more funny if it weren't actually happening, but nonetheless. For example, it was recently brought to my attention by a filmmaking friend that it is now possible (and apparently quite common) to copyright a building. Iconic designs the world over such as New York's Empire State Building, Paris' Eiffel Tower, and Vancouver's Canada Place have all been copyrighted, and, as a result, it is technically illegal to photograph, film, or represent these buildings in any way, without either obtaining express permission from the copyright holder, or simply biting the bullet and forking over exorbitant amounts of money to cover rights clearance. I should point out that the Eiffel Tower copyright issue is a bit more contentious than I make it out to be. Technically, the Tower itself is not copyrighted, but the constantly rotating and changing installations that adorn it are subject to the protection of copyright. For example, the tower is currently covered with thousands of lights that periodically twinkle throughout the evening. It has been argued that this installation is a non-trivial artistic expression, and thus can be protected by copyright, making it illegal to photograph or film the tower after dark. Based on that detail alone, it's not hard to pick up the overwhelming scent of lunacy that lingers around such practices.

Vancouver's Canada Place

The Eiffel Tower after dark (subject to copyright, apparently)

I can detect two main faults (of many more possible ones) with this practice. Firstly, there is perhaps no better illustration of the spectacular failure of nations around the world to protect the founding principles of copyright law from exploitation by commercial interests. Copyrighting is a practice that was developed as a way of protecting the creators of non-trivial expressions of an original thought. The practice of copyrighting a building, vista or public view, however, all but ignores this definition of the term. Rather than protecting the interests of creators, it pads the pockets of copyright holders: in a situation where someone creates something while employed by another person, the copyright on that something they created is immediately owned by their employer. In the case of an architect on commission, the copyright on their design goes to the person funding their work, not to the architect him or herself. To claim copyright on a building, then, only makes sense if you're copyrighting the nuts and bolts of the design. If someone were to steal the blueprints that the architect created and build their own Empire State Building or Eiffel Tower, then there should be legal grounds to take action. This protects creators. This allows an architect to defend their work from theft and compromise. When the owner of the copyright on a building, however, bars students from filming their first- and second-year projects in certain spaces that are ostensibly and functionally of the public domain by citing copyright infringement, they are simply exploiting their legal ownership of that space as a way to shake every last dime from the pockets of citizens.

Secondly (or rather, an extension of firstly), such a practice moronically and unjustly attempts to reorient the very notion of public space by blanking out certain portions of the urban map. It is my belief that once a building is created, it exists within a larger urban fabric that people move through, around, wrap themselves in, and occasionally tear to shreds. In other words, it becomes something larger than itself, it contributes to a shared cityscape where it can be interpreted variably and unpredictably by any citizen walking by. It exists as part of a skyline, as part of the pulsing urban organism, as part of a shared material world. Narratives are negotiated around it. Life happens outside of it. Life happens inside of it. And the life that happens on the inside bleeds into, informs, and is itself structured by the life outside of it. In essence, it is public space. How is it then possible to simply, with the stroke of a pen, make it invisible? How do we photograph downtown Vancouver without capturing the billowing sails of Canada Place? It's outright impossible. Copyright holders have attempted, through legal rhetoric, to assert that their properties vanish when confronted with the unlicensed camera, but the eye doesn't lie. We see that Canada Place exists. We see that it belongs to our city. We see it as an instrumental part of our shared urban experience. No exploitation of copyright law can undo that integral combination of the material and the social that gives rise to the organismic city. To copyright spaces or buildings is like copyrighting air or conversation or bus noise or the garbage on the streets. Every single one of these things is part of public space, and deserves to be treated as such, and cannot be artificially blanked out by commercial interests.

Cities only exist because people live in them. Because we allow them to. Because we will them to. Without people, cities are just buildings. This is a fact that colonizers of public space seem to forget. Their buildings only have such profound meanings and strong reputations because of the people that they now attempt to push away with legal wheelings and dealings.

The city that you live in belongs to you, and vice-versa.

Finding Ways Out

2009-10-26T00:57:00.000-07:00

A little while back, I had a break between classes, and so took to the Internet to fritter away my time, as opposed to tackling yet another paper. I came upon a link to this tremendous and powerful article by Mark Slouka for Harper's Magazine, detailing the ways in which the humanities have been systematically marginalized in the contemporary university; reduced to a romantic novelty in a space now geared less toward the cultivation of effective citizens and more toward the production of hirable employees. The article is long, detailed, and demands your full attention, but if you have the time, I'd highly suggest reading it not only because it articulates a position close to my own heart, but because I feel that it touches on a characteristic of the postmodern humanities ghetto that frequently goes unnoticed (willfully or otherwise) in much of the critical literature on the subject.

Slouka disparages the ways in which the university has become a kind of corporate incubators that places quantitative and "practical" fields of study at the top of their funding lists. After all, how does a university bolster their reputation in the popular press? By citing the success of their alumni. How does the university gauge the success of its alumni? Salary and job title. These arguments are important, and are hard to understate, but perhaps predictable. We've come to expect those in the humanities to scorn their counterparts in business administration, mathematics and the applied sciences. In many ways, people have grown weary of the dusty philosopher, tangled up in complex discursive webs, thrashing through the overgrown jungle of academic erudition. The student or expert of humanities is often thought of as deliberately obscure, offended by the corporate, pragmatic world, forcibly pressed into a subordinate position within the academy and in the workforce at large; losing him or herself in the thrill of academic inquiry by night, silently loathing the business people he or she serves during the lunch rush. And out of this resentment arises an attitude more-or-less unique to the humanities: an embrace of obscurity. If the big kids won't let us play on the jungle gym, we'll take recess in the library, speak in code, baffle them with our obscurity, accept and celebrate our subordinate position out of spite.

This attitude is what Slouka finds reprehensible. How can the humanities resent their position in the university if they actively create it? What right does the expert on shrubbery in Shakespeare have to lament her position within the confines of the humanities department if she deliberately makes her work next to impossible to understand? How can we expect the world to take the humanities seriously if its most devoted practitioners continually reduce it to a derelict heap of jargon and good intentions?

To answer these questions, we have to first ask a bigger, perhaps more metaphysical one: When did art stop believing in itself?

In the late 1800s and early 1900s, as the Modernist avant-garde was flourishing, the art world was brimful of hope for a better future. Architects like Le Corbusier and Erickson truly thought that, by changing the ways that we built, we could change the way we exist within the world. Picasso tried to re-invent vision one canvas at a time. Vertov tried to create a new, universal, egalitarian language with the movie camera. This is art that would change the world. This is art that had faith in its ability to rethink the inequalities, injustices, and limitations of the modern world. Not just rethink, but reconfigure. This is art that acted. With the Second World War, however, came a sense, that modernism had collapsed on itself. The machine that Le Corbusier and Vertov had envisioned as the road to a more equitable and effective future had been transformed into a force of destruction. Death had become efficient and mechanical. Politics had become a game of aesthetic posturing. History obliterated in the pursuit of the new. Later strains of Modernism attempted to reinvigorate the project of Modernity, but are widely considered to have failed. By the end of the 1960s, Modernism was dead. Postmodernism, that invisible catch-all of 21st century Cultural Studies, seemingly filled the void. Where modern art collapsed upon itself as the result of political manipulation to nefarious ends, postmodern art collapses on itself simply because it can. It cannibalizes itself because it has nothing better to do. Modernism failed to create change, and it had piles of manifestoes, blueprints and road maps specifically designed to meet its own goals. Postmodernism is predicated on hopelessness and nihilism. If there's no hope for change, why develop plans? If you don't have plans, how and what do you create, and for what purpose? Aesthetics cease to be political tools, and become ends in themselves. Art is simply there. On place mats in cheap restaurants. In magazines. On CD covers. In museums. Airports. Bathroom stalls. Art is. And that's all it is.

Don't confuse this for formalism, which assumes that art exists in a vacuum, because even formalism presupposes that there is something beyond art. For art to exist in isolation, it has to exist in isolation from something. Even in a school of thought that seems to thrive on art as neutral and distinct from culture, there is a political dimension- art is seen as different and distinct from the world around it. Difference and exclusion are always, without exception, political issues. Postmodernism does not assume continuity with, or isolation from the world. It just is.

I feel that this is an attitude that needs to be, if not reversed, re-imagined. Art simply can't be taken seriously if it sees itself as silliness, as something that exists because it can. Art must see itself as necessary to be seen as necessary. To tear down the walls of the postmodern ghetto and upset taken-for-granted models of ideological production, the humanities have to regain their humanity. They have to strive for change, not erudition; accessibility, not mystification.

Perhaps this is why many people now consider the vast majority of music, film, television, and literature to be so intolerably boring. If music has no goal but to exist, how can it rouse its listener? Even in art forms generally acknowledged to have a social concern or political agenda, like documentary film, hopelessness reigns. Michael Moore makes controversial films about gun control, capitalist hegemony, and the violence of corporate health care, and yet somehow, his films seem stunningly uninteresting. This is because there is no hope in his films. At the end of Sicko, Moore doesn't propose possible solutions, nor does he provide a set of terms on which health care should operate. Sicko concludes with Moore's own voiceover telling us of how he personally paid for a surgery needed by the wife of a former online enemy. Any hope for broad institutional change is obliderated. The only solution we see manifests at the level of private exchange, a kind of capitulation to the impossibility of reformatting entrenched models of health care funding in the United States. Moore deeply betrays his own goal. He resigns himself to the all-too common position of grudgingly accepting the terms of the world around him, but always seething and sneering at it, feeling always intellectually superior, but institutionally subordinate to those around him. Moore's films are boring because they are all the same, and they are all the same because they are hopeless.

Hopelessness is always the same. Hopelessness is unchanging, stoic. Hope, however, is necessarily dynamic. Hope is always evolving, always adapting to new circumstances, always creating new ways of doing things in the interest of keeping itself alive on uneven ground. Hope is motion and progress.

Hope is what the arts and humanities need. The humanities need to understand that their subordination in a corporate world is not a given, but an imposition that they themselves were complicit in constructing. If we got ourselves into this mess, as the saying goes, we can get ourselves out. All we need is to believe that it's worth it. All we need is to believe that art can change the world. All we need is hope, and the motion, change, and future-focused optimism that it carries with it.

Sad Realization

2009-10-21T00:46:00.000-07:00

So I was just sifting through some of my old YouTube favorites to find some forgotten gems, and I realized that I have become the WASP-iest, douche-baggiest, spoiled-est jackass on the planet. I actually found myself scoffing and the quality of videos from before when YouTube went Hi-Def.

Old Yeller me. Kthx.

Long Time

2009-10-11T14:30:00.000-07:00

No see! I have been wicked busy lately. I'm attempting to balance some rather hefty upper-division classes that tend to run about 4 hours a piece with some new, really exciting volunteer work that I'm doing (deetz later). I'm currently home for the Thanksgiving weekend, and have been indulging in treats in a manner befitting a French monarch, and most importantly, shirking all forms of responsibility (including my as-of-yet incomplete set of essays). I just wanted to take a moment to wish all my fellow Canucks a very warm wish for a happy Thanksgiving and safe travels, if you are embarking on any.

Also (shameless promotion time): if you live in Vancouver or in the GVA, please take a look at these upcoming events put on by OpenMedia.ca, a non-profit media democracy advocacy organization. They're going to be super exciting, and focus on some amazingly important issues and opportunities in the contemporary Canadian media system (Like CanWest filing for bankruptcy protection!).

1. Media Democracy Day Fundraiser at The Railway: Featuring Wintermitts, Greenbelt Collective, Francis Mantis, Pawnshop Diamond and burlesque performances! October 15, 9pm, $10 at the door.

2. FreshMedia Festival: A one-day showcase of the future of media production in Canada, innovative workshops and collaborative art and media projects taking place October 24, at the W2 Gallery space at 112 W. Hastings, beginning at 12 pm. Tickets available for $10 through EventBrite: http://freshmedia.eventbrite.com/?ref=ebtn. Followed by the Hot Type after party, also at W2 (access by an additional $5 on your ticket). More information available on Twitter at FreshMediaMe, and through our Tumblr at http://freshmedia.me .

3. Media Democracy Day: Another full day of forums, panel discussions and debates about the ways in which politics and media intersect- both positive and troubling. Takes place November 7, at the downtown Vancouver Public Library, 350 W. Georgia. Information on access and times to follow! For more information, check out the MDD Twitter stream at MediaDemocDay or our website.

THANKS! Enjoy turkey, folks.

Coastal Pride

2009-09-28T08:45:00.000-07:00

Dan Mangan and Hey Ocean perform Wintersleep's song "Weighty Ghost" at the Western Canadian Music Awards.

Freshly Squeezed

2009-09-24T18:02:00.001-07:00

Hello friends! I have had a long, but very interesting and rewarding week, complete with one thing I feel is worth reflecting on- the value of a democratic system of media production in this country (and everywhere...but I'll try to narrow my focus for the time being). Last year, I had the supreme pleasure of working with an organization called the Pacific Cinematheque in Vancouver, a not-for-profit cinema appreciation and education group that screens "essential cinema," hosts vibrant discussion groups and allows young people access to the world of filmmaking through numerous education and outreach programs. A few classmates and myself were put in touch with the head of the education department at the Cinematheque as part of a project that worked to increase media exposure of the organization among primary-school aged children, elementary teachers, parent organizations and community institutions such as the Vancouver Public Library. Being quite new to the world of not-for-profit business and grant funding, I jumped into the project with big ambitions and even bigger britches. Quickly, I realized that this was no easy world to operate within. Budget constraints are a constant battle, and where money is available, it is subject to the whims of grant requirements, private donors and governmental restrictions. The upside of this challenging structure is that, wherever struggle is present, innovation flourishes. The Cinematheque relies on unorthodox labour and promotion solutions such as heavy use of new social media like Twitter and Facebook, and volunteer staffing. Nonetheless, working with a non-profit arts organization is an exercise in perseverance and optimism, constantly striving for more in the presence of less and less.

I feel that there is a sense among many, many people in this country that cinema is "just cinema," that music is "just music," that the publishing industry is "just magazines." So when push comes to shove in the production of cultural artifacts in this country, the people and organizations invested in them, always seem just shy of total success. This is, of course, excepting the large, powerful corporations such as CanWest, that can afford to produce media and enter into acquisition deals with American and international firms. Independent media production in Canada, while vibrant, diverse, and absolutely worth cherishing not only for it's beautifying properties, but for it's economic benefits (I won't go into them here, but they are many, to be sure). As a result, we end up in a situation where media selection becomes less and less democratic. That is, the principle of 'voting' with one's dollars on which media products to consume and which to pass by, becomes baseless. What does dollar voting matter when we are ultimately voting for the same party, over and over again, regardless of what ballots we cast? In a 500-channel universe, we are presented with a multiplicity of media products, not a true diversity. How many reality television programs are continually among the most popular shows on the tube? How many of them are ostensibly and functionally the same?

This is where the concept of media democracy becomes crucial to maintaining a vibrant cultural community in Canada. Media democracy is a vision of cultural production that looks to redirect it toward diversity, and away from homogenized multiplicity that has become tied to large-scale, industrialized chains of media manufacturing. It is a vision fought for and promoted, in large part, by the very non-profits and volunteer-based organizations that struggle so consistently with funding and the structural biases of a marketized cultural industry. In many places in Canada, this vision has come to fruition. The Polaris Music Prize, for example, an annual music prize given out to one Canadian album (based solely on artistic merit and the opinions of a massive panel of music journalists and cultural figures), selects its nominees from the enormous and diverse cultural landscape that this nation has to offer. One need simply look at this year's shortlist of nominees to discover the value of cultural products from beyond the bastions of the corporate multitudes. The list celebrated art-punks Fucked Up (winner), hardcore bluegrass trio Elliot Brood, Francophone dream poppers Malajube, Somalian-born rapper K'Naan, avant-garde multi-instrumentalist Chad VanGaalen, and folk singer Joel Plaskett's brave, high-concept triple-disc tribute to the open road, Three, among others. By contrast, this summer, I switched between four radio stations and heard nothing but Lady Gaga. Regardless of whether or not you enjoy this music on an aesthetic or artistic level, there is something important in the divergence between industrially produced music, and that music made by amateurs and self-producers. They are two aesthetically and functionally different spaces, and speaking as a musician of sorts myself, I can attest to the sense of support and community, and the explosive creative energy that exists within the realm of the amateur. There is something to be said for true choice, not just mutiplicity, for energy as opposed to forumla, and it must be said.

Luckily, there are many people in this country devoted to screaming it from the rooftops, despite funding and staffing challenges. Celebrate them and help them out which ever way you can.

The Internet is Great

2009-09-17T12:07:00.001-07:00

Because, despite being filled with lots and lots of crap, it allows me to receive wonderful messages from wonderful people, such as this one, from a friend:

"Distance is the worst, but time knows best."

Distance

2009-09-15T18:44:00.000-07:00

Is supposed to make the heart grow fonder. And I guess it kind of does, occasionally. Mostly, though, it's just kind of rains on my parade.

Self-Pity ftw!

Question

2009-09-13T09:53:00.001-07:00

So I was just going through my photos from France and came upon this one that I took just outside Versailles, and have a question to pose to you about it.

Was anybody, anywhere, aware that this is how sheep eat?

Departures and Recoveries

2009-09-07T22:42:00.000-07:00

I return triumphant! I write this entry not from the Starbucks down the street, nor the campus library, but from the comfort of my very own bedroom in my new home. Our cable has been successfully hooked up, and I am now full of food after a weekend away with the family, grinning after watching Burn After Reading with the roommates, and looking forward to the next couple of weeks as classes reconvene and the fall tours pile up. Speaking of tours, I promised I'd give some thoughts on the Dan Mangan CD release party at The Cultch which rocked my world on the 29th of August.

Its no secret that I love Dan to the ends of the earth- both as a musician and a genuinely nice, endearing and heartfelt kinda dude. But driving to the venue this particular night, I was flush with pride and excitement for him. Postcards and Daydreaming, Mangan's first full-length release, while darkly pretty and commendable for a spectacular sense of honesty, was on its last legs, having been released more than four years ago. The follow-up to that album, Nice, Nice, Very Nice has been received with critical acclaim and dump trucks of love and praise heaped upon the demure performer by his devoted fans. The CD release event was spread over two nights- Friday the 28th, opened by an excellent singer-songwriter, Aidan Knight, and Saturday the 29th, opened by experimental pop orchestra, Meatdraw. Both nights sold out in an awful hurry, and from experience, the will call line at the box office was a race for first place. It's nothing short of astounding to see how quickly Mangan's career and momentum have increased from a slow burn to raging inferno, seemingly overnight.

The excitement at the venue was obvious. Many in attendance were friends of Dan or of his family, and that electricity made the already excellent hall feel that much more inviting and intimate. The show began when Meatdraw (or rather part of Meatdraw) took the stage. A shy-looking woman, dressed in a rather va-va-voomy red dress took to the empty stage entirely alone, ukulele in hand, and stood in silence, occasionally indicating that she was waiting to hear something from off in the distance. After a good while, the quiet and wheezy sound of an accordion began to rise out of the audience, followed by woodblock, stomping feet, chains clanged on ketchup tins and tambourines. The remaining members of Meatdraw emerged from the house and made their way to the stage where they launched into an astoundingly energetic set that successfully merged Decembrists The, The White Stripes and Neil Young into pure entertainment. Loosely costumed and shredding instruments as diverse as a saw, a ukulele and a chain and bucket, the 6-piece rollicked through southern soul, Appalachian hymnals, pure indie pop, and dreamy, wide-eyed shoegaze. I was supremely entertained, as was the whole room. Every foot was stomping and every head was pounding out the beat of the kick drum. There probably couldn't have been a better way to capitalize on the excitement in the room, and no better way to prime a jazzed audience for something they've all been waiting for.

After a (mercifully) brief intermission between sets, the house lights were dimmed, and applause spread out over the audience like swine flu. Only awesome. And without the unfortunate smell of Purell that accompanies it. And not flu, but happiness. So, in the end, applause spread out over the audience in a way not at all similar to swine flu. I'm so sleepy. Anyhow, amid the cheers, Dan Mangan and his immensely talented backing band took to the stage and warmly greeted the room with smiles and a sense of giddy excitement as genuine and honest as I've ever seen. You could tell immediately upon seeing Dan that this was, as he continually mentioned throughout the night, the true realization of his dreams. He was energetic and endearing and loved every single second of celebrating the dedication he's shown to his craft. After the formalities had been exchanged, the band opened their set with the foot-stomping, fist-pumping anthem to change, "Road Regrets." All around me, feet were stomping, hands were in the air, and as the song ramped up toward its climax, hollers and hoots burst out of the audience. Soon after, Dan's set wound down a bit, I suppose one could say, into performances of the more contemplative, introspective and, at times, somber, songs that form the real heart of NNVN. Tunes like "Pine for Cedars," "Tina's Glorious Comeback," "Fair Verona," and "You Silly Git" swelled with a spectacular kind of passion that left the room absolutely silent in moments of retreat. I've always found that one thing that Dan can do as easily as breathing is silence a room, and fix every bit of attention on the heave-hoes of his emotional tug-of-wars, and when backed by a swirling string section and a three-piece brass ensemble, that power is only magnified. "Pine for Cedars," in particular, left me quite astonished. Granted, it happens to be my favorite track from the album, but there's something about hearing the build and feeling the the foot stomps shake up through the legs of your seat that make this piece of mournful nostalgia a massive pleasure to experience.

Dan's set concluded with a stirring and (as always) devastating performance of "Basket," accompanied by the throaty bass of a cello and the sharp delicacy of a violin, and with the always memorable and lovely "Robots." The latter once again found Dan atop a chair in the audience, unplugged, and singing his lungs out to the smiles of a packed house. As is to be expected, though, this was far from the end. This room was let letting Mangan go without a fight. He was quickly cheered back onto the stage and invited, for the second time in the evening, Vancouver beat poet Shane Koyczan to the mic to help him perform the arresting "Tragic Turn of Events/Move Pen Move" from the Roboteering EP, released early this summer. Just as a note to anyone who knows Dan's music (speaking to BunkleLife, in particular), if you think 'Basket' is a toughie to get through with dry eyes, just you wait until you get the chance to experience this- a nearly 8-minute spoken word/sung tribute to those people taken from us too soon by forces beyond our control. This heart-felt performance was followed up by a sing-along party on stage to "So Much For Everyone" which found Dan accompanied by Meatdraw, members of many other Vancouver bands, and the whole audience. Another wonderful moment.

Yet again, the evening happily refused to end, with Dan (clearly overhwelmed) being cheered out to centre stage once more for a performance of a tiny little song called "Petunia" which goes like this: "Petunia, my daffodil/Petunia, my rose/Please find my 'tulips' in the dark/And let yours be my home." Nuff said. I left overjoyed, proud and massively excited for this young musician's future. It was a bit of a sad show, knowing that he will likely never have to play small rooms again, but also thrilling in that we were all witness to the first step towards very, very big things for someone very, very deserving. A perfect show, in my eyes.

Moving In: An Itinerary

2009-09-02T12:15:00.000-07:00

Step 1: Pack up all belongings in a frantic rush in between shows, work, and tying up loose ends at home.

Step 2: Depart

Step 3: Get stuck in construction traffic in such a way that you add over two hours to the first leg of your trip. Don't forget to make sure the sun is blazing and the air is still.

Step 4: Arrive at overnight pit-stop

Step 5: Attempt to contact landlord (unsuccessfully) regarding key transfer so that you have access to your home and can avoid dumping all the furniture on your front lawn

Step 6: Depart half-way stop over.

Step 7: Continue to make feeble attempts at contacting landlord as you speed through the mountains in a vain effort to beat the movers to your front door.

Step 8: Drive faster than the speed of sound out of stress

Step 9: Arrive at your house without keys, make numerous phone calls to what appears to be an absentee landlord and become convinced that you have been scammed. Learn later that the keys were hidden on the exterior of the house all along, and you simply didn't get the email informing you of this fun fact.

Step 10: Drink

Step 11: Cancel movers, intercept mattress in transit from another part of the province. Drink.

Step 12: After locating keys, attempt to move in what you have in your car. Return to hotel. Drink.

Step 13: Reschedule movers for the next day, sit around the house most of the day waiting for everything to arrive. Make multiple trips to IKEA and find yourself hunched over a half-built desk, drowning in a sea of alan wrenches, bamboo pegs and ramshackle tools. Weep.

Step 14: Welcome roommates with vigor. Snuggle. Hug. Make more trips to IKEA

Step 15: Wait for four days for your internet provider to arrive to hook up your modem only to realize the cable connecting your house to the city's cable service has been severed and left in a coil on your deck.

Step 16: Walk to Starbucks because it has free Wi-Fi for two hours a day. Blog, lose yourself in fussiness and caffeine. Hopefully do not repeat.

Step 17: Hope for better luck tomorrow.

Dan Mangan CD Release Party

2009-08-29T23:41:00.000-07:00

Makes moving seem less sucky.

Full review soon.

Moving

2009-08-28T21:12:00.001-07:00

Sucks.

Summer Songs Pt. 3: The Final Edition

2009-08-22T20:32:00.000-07:00

Okay. So. Summer is this close to being officially over. Classes start again in a couple of weeks, and in those couple of weeks, I am going to be doing massively unpleasant things like moving and attempting to build IKEA furniture. But, hopefully, armed with this arsenal of tasty, tasty tunes, I'll get through it with a bit less fussiness than I otherwise would.

5. "Miss You Now" by Elliot Brood

(I couldn't find a YouTube video with this song on it, but click on the photo above to link to a blog where you can stream it for freeeeeeeeee. I suggest that you do so. Also, the album that this song is on, Mountain Meadows is nominated for Polaris this year and totally deserves it. It's wicked. http://www.quickbeforeitmelts.com/2009/07/polaris-09-shortlist-elliott-brood-mounatin-meadows/)

4. "Pine for Cedars" by Dan Mangan

(Same deal as above- I couldn't find a YouTube'd version of this song as it's just been released, but click on the photo to link to a page with a free stream of this tune, which reminds me of all the things I'm moving for.)

3. "60 Feet Tall" by The Dead Weather
(Kicking song from a wicked album. For me and Jack White, the third time was the charm)

2. "Hang Me Out to Dry" by Cold War Kids
(Please ignore stupid video. The official video has embedding disabled. Weak.)

1. "House of Cards" by Radiohead
(Ultimate song for patio chill time).

And that's it for this summer. That's probably a lie, but whatever. Enjoy! Happy impending-autumn, I guess?

Trading on Health: The Problem of Marketising the Body

2009-08-14T15:47:00.000-07:00

**Possible Spoiler Warning

Last night, a friend and I went to see the new Neill Blomkamp film, District 9, a sci-fi thriller ostensibly about the interaction of humans and aliens in near-future Johannesburg. The film opens by giving a brief background of how the extra-terrestrials that become the focus of the film's two-hour running time found themselves in the slummy shanty town of "District 9" in the middle of the South African city. Twenty eight years before the film begins, an alien spacecraft arrives above Johannesburg. Following the expectations created by decades of invasion movies and fantasies, the humans on the ground formulate two possible outcomes of this strange floating residency. First, the aliens are here to declare war, and will soon annihilate the city below them. Secondly, they are here on friendly terms and our interaction with them will herald a new dawn in technological advancement as we gain access to their weapons and advanced computer systems. Neither of these scenarios materializes. The aliens do not attack, or make any gesture as to their demands. Their weapons cannot be operated by humans, as they require a genetic match with their user. Only aliens can operate alien machinery. The aliens, pejoratively referred to by the citizens of South Africa as "Prawns," become refugees. They are given shelter in a tent city below their hovering mothership, and quickly settle into a long residency as the tents rapidly give way to clusters of clap-board shacks and improvised economies built on theft, murder and exploitation.

The film, outside of being remarkable and very fun, clearly treads on some very thin ice and allegorically addresses a number of social issues, perhaps most notably, the legacy of apartheid and segregation that haunts South African political and racial relations. However, the theme that kept rearing its head most clearly to me, was that of the marketised body- the transformation of health, blood, flesh, and bone into commodified business objects. Wikus van der Merwe, the film's unlikely and highly conflicted protagonist, is an agent with Multi-National United, a private company established to monitor and administer the many complex operations that take place in District 9, including handing out eviction notices to the Prawns, and organizing the efforts of mercenary troops and personnel during such eviction episodes. On one such occasion, Wikus accidentally comes to be a carrier of certain alien genetic sequences, and thus becomes capable of operating all the weapons and machinery that the international arms market is desperate to obtain for its own use (including MNU, itself- it's one of the world's largest arms manufacturers and distributors). As one of the characters in the film notes, Wikus instantly becomes the most "sought-after business object" on the planet.

Perhaps it's simply my own busy mind churning too hard, or perhaps its the furor developing in the United States currently over the issue of healthcare reform, but this issue of health and physical state as potential capital struck the deepest nerve with our current reality. Being Canadian, I struggle to comprehend the debate raging in the United States at the moment over President Obama's attempts to reform and nationalize certain elements of healthcare. Millions of Americans struggle daily with meeting their basic medical needs. A close friend recently moved to California, and still travels back to Canada for medical procedures. The travel expenses are less than simply being treated in the United States. And yet, any attempt that the White House makes at reforming the health care system is immediately lashed and struck down by moronic complaints of communism, socialism, totalitarianism, and occasionally, Canadianism. And so the status quo is maintained: Private insurance companies extending tenuous coverage to those who are most healthy, and denying care to those who need it most because they are liabilities in a system that demands maximization of profits, low-risk investing, and cutting your losses before they materialize. Charging citizens "market price" for medical services, giving monetary, discrete value to abstract, amorphous concepts such as the body, health, well-being, and survival.

There is a violence in marketised health care. It's not a literal, visceral, bodily violence (although in some cases, it may well be), but it is a symbolic violence. Unregulated capitalist industries place value on certain practices and behaviours. The tend to 'rationalize' their actions and duties. That is, they break whole entities or concepts down into manageable and quantifiable stages, then arrange those stages in such a way as to maximize production, minimize inefficiencies, save money, and make everything understandable and manageable at the most micro-level. This is what the car industry does. This is what the consumer goods industry does. This is what the garment and clothing industry does. And unfortunately, this is what the health care industry does. It extends the rationalize-quantify-maximize logic of the market (a decidedly violent, dissociative logic) to those spaces and concepts which are not easily quantifiable, things like the body and health. The body becomes systematically dismembered by the market forces that run American health care. Insurance companies put a price on your immune system by refusing to pay for certain prescription drugs. Hospitals put a price on your organs, on the help you need to stay healthy. Ultimately, your body becomes priced, and traded as a commodity. Your kidneys have a certain price and risk. Your eyes. Your skin. Your heart. All things that can be evaluated, understood, and risk-managed by an economy based not on well-being, but on the exchange and accumulation of capital. Those who represent the lowest risk to insurance companies and care-givers (that is, the healthiest and wealthiest of all citizens) are most likely to receive insurance plans, and most likely to be able to obtain care, should they ever need it. Those who are most sick, those who need the help of prescriptions and hospitals, though, are too much of a liability. They are a bad investment, and are left to fend for themselves.

Wikus van der Merwe in District 9 is this marketised body incarnate. MNU pays no attention to the physiological, emotional, social, or psychological trauma that Wikus becomes burdened with upon being exposed to the alien genetic material. He begins (literally, in some cases) to fall to pieces as he is pursued by war-lords, underground arms dealers, government agents and private mercenary soldiers. His suffering body, and the suffering mind that accompanies it, represent capital, and nothing more. The film is gory and at times very unpleasant to watch, and I can't help but feel this is something more than Peter Jackson (producer) having a real penchant for making viewers squirm in their seats. The violence carried out by marketised and private health care systems in the West is highly symbolic- it exists in the realm of rhetoric, economic jargon and the sly actions taken by those behind desks. It is, nonetheless, tangible. However, when we hear stories of things like underground organ trades in other (mostly third-world) countries, we cringe. We simply can't stomach the fact that something as sacred as the body can be literally carved up, doled out, and sold for passports, work visas, and the like. We judge the people who commit such acts as less-than-human, as violent, as criminals of the worst kind, all the while ignoring the fact that these organ traders are simply making physical the symbolic crimes and injustices that our insurance and health companies commit every day. Wikus' failing body, and the attempts to harvest its secrets for monetary gain, represent both the symbolic violence of marketised health and the physical violence of the commodified body. He is at once a representative of the private sector impinging upon abstractions such as "home" and "self," and a victim of this very system- a manifestation of the body disrupted by a relentless drive for capital and competitive advantage.

It may seem silly to discuss such important issues through something as apparently menial as a sci-fi thriller, but District 9 is a remarkable film, and one that pushes the boundaries of its own genre, and could not have been released at a more timely juncture. It makes visible the problems of bodily valuation and disrobes the problematic and disturbing truth of the violence of the marketised body

Worst. Blogger. Ever.

2009-08-09T22:25:00.000-07:00

Guilty as charged. I'm sorry about the shoddy posting, lately, friends. I have worked 13 of the last 14 days, and in between that, I have been running around the city like a mad man, usually with oodles of audio equipment in tow, between band practices, guitar shops, and venues. I suppose things could be much worse. But in any event, I do apologize for the lousy summer of boring posts. They do say, however, to write what you know, and in a pinch, I suppose that's what I'll do.

I have had a fairly rough few months since returning from the land of Baguette and Cheese on everything in sight, and while my vacation was indeed excellent, it doesn't do much to soothe the bruises of a lousy economy and numerous family-type struggles. I've been struggling with money for some time now, as many of my friends are, and when you're under the gun for things like school, living expenses, rent and gas in the coming months, things can be stressful. This summer has seen many sleepless nights and long phone conversations with those I care about in an attempt to ally one another's fears and stresses. Even so, I have been lucky enough to have made wonderful friends and carved out amazing spaces of support in trying times. Much of it I owe to the magic of music and performance. At the beginning of the summer, I began regularly attending a couple of weekly open mics around the city, not expecting much out of myself or the people I was playing for. After all- I'm about as amateur as they come when talking about musicians. Much to my surprise, though, I've discovered that music in these sorts of environments is less about "win over the crowd" and more about "share in the experience." The strangers who I once played for back at the beginning of the summer are now good friends that I look forward to seeing each and every week. The guy who sold me my newest guitar and once seemed like any other salesman is now a buddy, and someone I can rely on for musical-type help whenever I need it. People now ask me to play certain songs- both original and covers; People know my songs well enough to request them! I've been given the opportunity to collaborate with old friends, play featured and promoted shows, and open for immensely talented artists. These are the spaces and people I will miss the most when I return to my studies and to my new home this fall.

The way the chips have fallen over the past couple years have left little for me to look forward to when it comes to visiting the place I grew up. So spending 4 months here seems, at times, trying. But it's these little nooks and crannies carved into the edifice of a modern, corporate city- the little shelters and caves I've chipped out of the steel and glass- and the people that inhabit them, and the melodies they sing out with such conviction, that have made it all worth while. Music, I've always thought, has a magical ability to bind people and give them power, identity and a sense of belonging when all else fails. After all, how many times have you been in an awkward conversation with a stranger, only to find common ground through a musician, song, or band that you both love? But I don't think it's ever been so obvious to me as it is now, that, first and foremost, music is a way of supporting and finding others in a big, anonymous crowd. I never expected myself to get so far into the whole music thing as to be talking to producers, opening shows for people I admire, etc. But here I am, purely through the support and encouragement of others I now happily count as friends and allies.

So here's to looking forward to big, important, fun things happening this fall, more and more music all the time, and lots of new places to feel comfy when everything seems like a bit much. Night, friends.

Songs of the Summer, Pt. 2

2009-08-02T10:08:00.000-07:00

A while ago I posted a list of my top 5 songs of the summer. Unfortunately, at that point it was still May and not even really summer yet. But, at the time, I said I'd probably make another one of those lists as the summer went on, and here we are. There's only a little while left in the summer, so do your very best to sit out in a park, or out on a friend's deck with a glass of something cold in your hands and some good tunes playing in the background, because in Canada, those days will soon be resigned to a long, stubborn winter. Cheers to August!

5. "A Thousand Suns" by Hey Rosetta!

4. "My Girls" by Animal Collective

3. "Anonanimal" by Andrew Bird (I've posted this song before, but whatever)

2. "White Winter Hymnal" by Fleet Foxes

1. "Road Regrets" by Dan Mangan (Not to be too predictable...)

And there you have it! Enjoy the remainder of your summers, and, to my coastal friends, please don't roast alive before I have a chance to see you in the Fall. (Also...I'm seeing Dan Mangan at the end of the month. EEEEEEEEE. NEW ALBUM AUGUST 11TH.)

Holy Smokes!

2009-07-24T11:58:00.000-07:00

It's officially been one year since my first post on this little thing. A year! Such a long time! Aside from remarkably brief, this year has been a whole bunch of other things: frustrating as hell, surprising, thrilling, scary, depressing, hopeful, and full of change. Man Descending has seen the rise of Barack Obama to the office of the President of the United States, and in a less encouraging move, the re-election of Mahmoud Amedinedjad to the position of President of Iran. It's seen exciting nights out on the town and quit, contemplative ones at home, moments of spectacular optimism and faith in mankind, and others of anxiety and fear for tomorrow. I started this thing as away of chronicling the bits and pieces of my life in transition, as a way of observing the world around me as I fall unstoppably through and toward it. When I look back on my entries, I think I've done that, and I look forward to doing it for a long time to come. Perhaps the most surprising at all, though, is that others have taken an interest in my little thought experiments and late-night musings. Lord only knows why, but I certainly appreciate every kind comment and every glance at my entries made by anybody who has ever dropped by. I've found some excellent writers and great companions through blogging and have no intention of stopping. Thanks again, and happy birthday to my readers, as well!

I, Radio

2009-07-21T12:32:00.001-07:00

Just so you know, I am alive. I have just been stupidly busy since the whole house-hunting business an remain so. However, I have the next couple days off and am looking forward to them immensely. If there's any activity that characterizes my summer thus far, it is the act of driving. I have driven clear across provinces, through cities, there, back, up, down, and basically all over the damn place. Luckily, most of the time, I have what is probably the world's best traveling buddy- a fully charged iPod and a contraption that connects it to my car stereo. Nothing quite beats a perfect summer playlist with the windows down and your foot on the gas knowing that there's something exciting waiting for you at the end of the road. There are days, though, when my iPod decides to take a sleep and run out of juice just as I hit the road. On these days, I resort to radio. Disclaimer: from here on in, the entry will be spectacularly pretentious. Apologies?

I gave up radio about three years ago, about the same time and for the same reason as I more-or-less gave up TV and magazines: I simply cannot tolerate a leisure or relaxation device that revolves around advertising and irritating hosts. Radio, in particular, privately-owned, corporate Top 40 stations were a big part of my swearing off of this form of entertainment, as I felt that, predictably, radio overplayed certain songs, favored one type of music for the sake of advertising dollars, ignored new talent in favor of proven winners, ad nauseam. And, while kind of cliche, I think that those criticisms are, on the whole, fair. Radio three years ago was pretty tough to take at times. It was with great reluctance, then, that I concede defeat to my dead iPod and took on the airwaves once again this summer. To my spectacular disappointment, things seem to have gotten worse. I don't think I can recall a time in my short little life when popular music was so transparently about making money, so blatantly a scam, an exercise in branding, really. An artist, even in the 1990s, where the pop smash ruled the charts, still had some kind of attachment to the song. You could recognize a voice, put a face to the tune, and so on. This is no longer the case. Especially in dance and hip hop music, the obsessive use of the pitch correcting effect a la T-Pain and Lil' Wayne. The voice on the track, when fed through such an obvious and obstructive filter, essentially makes the human contribution useless. Why even bother having someone sing the lines, if the end product is that they sound like a computer? The musician is totally alienated from the song. Any person in the world could be standing behind the mic in the sound booth, putting words to that beat. To say that a song is being performed by Lil Wayne or T-Pain, then, purely becomes an act of brand recognition- capitalizing on the reputation of the logo or name and attaching it to a mechanized product.

This type of music is the audio equivalent of General Motors about 18 months ago- a flood of functionally identical products re-badged over and over again to capitalize on long-standing brand loyalties among different consumer niches. A Chevy becomes a Saturn becomes a Saab becomes a Pontiac becomes a GM, etc. In the same way, the pitch-corrected, relentlessly engineered top 40 song becomes totally divorced from any actual identity or individual stamp of artistry and labelled with some name that some niche will identify with and gravitate toward. In a slightly different, but equally obnoxious marketing strategy, the practice of re-engineering and re-arranging a completed song to sell it to two different markets is now rampant. Take, for example, Taylor Swift. Swift, while in a whole bunch of ways, much more enjoyable than her teen-girl singer compadres (Miley Cyrus, and the rest of that bullshit), still demonstrates the total transparency of branding in the music industry. Her hit song, "Love Story," was initially released to country radio as a country song, yet when it began to chug along in a spectacular fashion, climbing charts left and right, a team of producers took to the original trak in order to try and expand its market. The result was the pop version of the song, with country touches like acoustic guitar and lap steep forgone in favor of non-offensive electric riffs and beats engineered on a touch pad. The song, while maybe not so great to begin with, was nonetheless stripped of its integrity as such. Changing and retooling a song so obviously and openly sends a clear message that music is about ornamentation. The song must be a skeleton from which you can hang shiny trappings and decorations to catch the eye of media-weary consumers. Just like the entry level GM re-badged as an up-market Lincoln, the product remains the same, but is superficially modified to churn out cash. Fortunately, the GM model of commodity production collapsed in on itself when the weight of standardized production and market saturation came sagging down on a corporate infrastructure weakened by recessionary pressures. I hate to be a douche, but I kind of hope the same thing happens to Top 40 radio.

I'm totally aware that these are totally boring and obvious arguments that a million and a half people make every day, but like I said, this year, I've just been so struck by how obvious it all is, how little effort is put into offering choice and difference, and worst of all, how everyone seems kind of okay with it. It's widely known that Britney Spears lip synchs every word of her live show, and yet they sell out in every city. I couldn't for the life of me tell you the difference between 90% of the songs on the radio, and the less said about Lady Gaga, the better. But yet, people just kind of go along with it, and say that they love Lil Wayne, they love Britney Spears, and so on. It's impossible to love either of these people, because they're nothing but labels on a CD case- nothing but means of selling and commodity differentiation in a crowded market. Sometimes, this complicity with branding and retooling of music pushes me to the point of nausea. And I'm not sure what can really be done about it, other than continuing to support more forward-thinking radio stations that seek out new, local talent, encourage artist development, and place as much value on live performance as they do with produced recordings. This is why CBC Radio 3 is the bomb, but is unfortunately still relegated to Internet streaming and satellite receivers. I will finish with a morbid prayer: If the recession claims one victim, make it the pitch adjuster. Please?

Talk soon.

So

2009-07-13T23:19:00.000-07:00

I just read something that made me throw up in my mouth a little. Apparently, Lady Gaga has just become the third musician EVER to have three songs from a debut album reach #1 on the Billboard Top 40 Charts. Apparently, the only other "artists" to ever match this feat are Ace of Base and Avril Lavigne.

Gaga, you are among champions.

"I'm responding to your ad for a rental property..."

2009-07-10T11:49:00.000-07:00

I am away right now, blitzing the better part of a province looking for a home to live in in the Fall. It is tiring, stressful, worrisome work, but it must be done. I have things to talk about, but not the wherewithal to do so, at the moment. I have 7 houses to view today.

Also, I bought a new guitar. I giggle every time I play it. It's that good.

TALK SOON.

Happy Canada Day!

2009-07-01T18:21:00.000-07:00

For those not in the know, on this day 142 years ago, the nation of Canada was signed into existence, and what a century-and-some it has been since then.

I just spent the day in the mountains with one of my best friends under perfectly sunny skies, listening to a 300-song all-Canadian playlist, sitting on logs by rivers and making music without heed! What a perfect way to celebrate this wonderful nation, all it's people, and all that they stand for. To all Canadian readers- be proud! you are from an incredible place, and have an immense standard of living the envy of much of the globe. Where else can you go from open prairie, to dramatic mountainscape, to lakeside village, to theatrical parade and back again all in one day? I love it here and would never imagine living anywhere else. Happy birthday Canada, and to all its friends, children, and compatriots!

No Words

2009-06-28T00:12:00.000-07:00

Adrian Glynn- Ballad of a Christian Man.

Night.

Dan Mangan and Jenn Grant Live

2009-06-24T09:53:00.001-07:00

Last night I had the pleasure of taking in a fantastic show downtown featuring two and Canada's most talented musicians- Dan Mangan and Jenn Grant. Mangan, a native of Vancouver, British Columbia gained wide acclaim with his first full-length album, Postcards and Daydreaming, and over the course of touring that album for the past three and a half years, has developed a devoted fan base all across the country. In kind, Dan opened the show in his typical scene-stealing fashion. Armed with just his guitar, his excellent song-writing and his mind-blowing voice, Dan silenced the entire room. During his performance of "Journal of a Narcoleptic," a track from his first album, you could have heard a pin drop. Throughout his all-too-short set, I found myself constantly holding my breath without even realizing it, totally fixed on the stage. I just have not come across any musician, indie, major-label, or otherwise that commands the attention of a crowded room the way Dan can, and that ability is purely a function of talent, not of any kind of trick or overwrought showmanship. He's just spectacularly talented, end of story. He finished off his set with the heart-wrenching "Basket-" an ode to his own grandfather, but more broadly, to the anxieties of aging- and with the always delightful sing-along, "Robots" which found him in the middle of the crowd, guitar unplugged, the whole room stomping, clapping and singing along to the final refrain "Robots need love, too. They want to be loved by you." After his set, I had the chance to talk to him for a few moments at his merch table, and just as he was the last time I saw him at JunoFest, he was absolutely gracious, friendly and willing to talk to anyone who had a minute to spare. Dan has just released a teaser EP called Roboteering in anticipation of the August release of his new full-length record Nice, Nice, Very Nice that features track such as "Robots," a spoken word collaboration with Vancouver beat poet Shane Koyczan called "Tragic Turn of Events/Move Pen Move," and a beautiful collaboration with Vancouver composer/experimental pop artist Veda Hille called "The Indie Queens are Waiting." I'd highly recommend checking it out and seeing Dan as soon as possible. With talent like his, he won't be playing little rooms for much longer.

After a bit of an intermission, the adorable and endearingly crazy Jenn Grant took the stage with her two-piece backing band. Admittedly, I was a little behind the curve on the whole Jenn Grant thing. She just released an album to great acclaim this year and has been touring non-stop and playing very prestigious shows all over North America, and yet I never really caught on with the record or the live show, despite a few half-hearted efforts to do so. And so, the only thing I had to go on heading into the show was an enormous amount of hype and no real, concrete expectations. Recipe for disaster? Luckily, Jenn's beautiful blend of art pop, folk and country, matched with her dipped-in-syrup voice, and accompanied by bass clarinet, glockenspiel, and violin, confirmed and validated every bit of press I've heard bout her over the past few months. Initially a bit closed-up and seemingly distant, Jenn really opened up as her set went on and she danced through song after song of delicate melodies with the most expert precision. I never once heard a note out of place or a misshapen phrase. She just has a natural talent for flitting through her vocal range with a unique blend of grace, delicacy and very real power. I'd like to point out a few highlight songs from Jenn's set, but, as I'm basically ignorant when it comes to her album, I don't know any of the tracks by name. However, every tune was delightful and she put a smile on every face in the room. Perhaps the highlight of the whole evening, though, was when Dan Mangan joined Jenn on stage during her set to perform a collaborative version of Dan's song "So Much For Everyone," which they claim was a seat-of-the-pants kind of exercise. Regardless of how long they spent preparing, the result was spectacular and something I'll remember for a long, long time.

Overall, a great night, a great crowd, a great room, and even more motivation to see Jenn and Dan again in the future.

Awkward

2009-06-17T12:34:00.000-07:00

It feels silly to follow up last post with something kind of nerdy and self-serving, but fingers crossed that my readers are forgiving. I am seeing Dan Mangan and Jenn Grant next week! So excited. Dan was incredible at JunoFest and I've heard nothing but amazing things about Jenn Grant's live show and new album, Echoes. ALSO, while squandering my life away on YouTube yesterday, I found this video by an awesome vlogger "Your Friend in a Box" who also happens to be a dynamite young Canadian filmmaker whose short film "The Hall" went all the way to Cannes this year. Observe:

After I watched it, I decided that I was going to make my own personal "Top 5 Songs of Summer 2009." Alas, it isn't even officially Summer just yet. We have to wait a few more days for that. But I figured that it was fun, and a good excuse to geek out about great tunes. I'm thinking that I'm going to make several of these lists throughout the summer, but for right now, these are the tracks that put a smile on my face:

5. "Tightrope" by Yeasayer from the Dark Was the Night compilation album.

4. "Stadium Love" by Metric from their new album, Fantasies

3. "Too Soon" by Hey Ocean from the album It's Easier to be Somebody Else

2. "2 Atoms in a Molecule" by Noah and the Whale from Peaceful, The World Lays Me Down

1 (A couple years old, but still solid) "Dropkick Queen of the Weekend" by The Dudes from Brain, Heart, Guitar

Regression

2009-06-14T17:31:00.001-07:00

As I understand it, there are two main definitions for the term "regression." The first being the mathematical operation that you perform on data sets to determine the nature of the relationship between two sets of numbers. The second being backward or damaging actions that inhibit social progress. I do not understand either of these things, which makes both Calculus and the state of current global affairs next to impossible for me to wrap my head around. It is 2009, and yet I'm writing tonight next to a province that has, without pomp, circumstance, or challenge, passed a spectacularly regressive law regarding the education of young people on subjects such as sexuality and religion, situated above a country that, based on the desire of a radical few, is systematically denying the right to marriage to millions, all while watching news stories about the exceptionally suspect re-election of one of the word's most delusional and oppressive leaders. Let's address these issues in turn.

Alberta, a notoriously conservative province (often more graciously referred to as 'entrepreneurial') in Western Canada has just slipped a new law through the provincial legislature known as Bill 44. In essence, what Bill 44 stipulates is that a child's parent has the right to remove their child from the classroom when subjects such as sexuality, sexual orientation, or religion are being addressed by the teacher. Bill 44 passed with almost unanimous support through the Alberta legislature accompanied by an offensively cavalier attitude assumed by those politicians championing its cause. It was widely and openly acknowledged by politicians that the bill did not receive its fair share of debate in the house, and that, in many ways, it was intended as a smoke-and-mirrors distraction from larger economic issues plaguing the province as oil prices remain volatile. I suppose this is what one would call the "Rural Alberta Advantage." Effectively, this bill gives the parent of any child the right to bar that child from an education on some of the issues most central to daily, lived experiences. We're not just talking sex education or religious history. Sex and religion are indelibly tied up with some of the greatest works of art, literature and music that mankind has ever produced. Shakespeare had one of history's greatest potty mouths, and yet his work remains the centre piece of many childrens' introduction to Early Modern culture, the Protestant Reformation and dramatic literature. According to Bill 44, a parent has the right to withdraw a student from a Shakespeare class based on offensive content. I think what galls me the most about the passage of the legislation (outside of its stunningly antiquated approach to changing social climates- this is something I've come to expect from Canada's heartland) is that it gives all power of withdrawal to the parent, and yet it isn't the parent who suffers. The Child is deprived of information that he or she needs to know. It's easy to say "Oh well, their loss if they withdraw their kid." This isn't the case. The child loses out on an education that they deserve and require due to the blind irresponsibility of an ignorant parent. This isn't just irresponsibility on an individual scale, this is short-sighted reactionary politics at its best (or worst?). By depriving a whole generation of kids access to the information they need about things like safe sex, birth control, the need for social equity between genders and sexualities, the histories and agendas of different religious sects, the Alberta government has irreparably damaged the very future of the province. Ignorance is never the answer, and it's only bliss for those savvy to the truth. The shame I feel for even being near a place that would allow such a law to be passed so simply is overwhelming, and it's not often I can say that I'm embarrassed to be Canadian. This is one of those rare occasions.

I would like to say that this is an isolated case; a once-off misfire in the march toward progress. Yet as I look south into the United States, I see the same kind of spiral backward taking shape amid the Proposition 8 debates raging south of the 49th. The fact that there remains a "debate" over the legality or "rightness" of gay marriage is an unsolvable mystery to me. It seems so simple. Marriage is a union of love. If two people feel love for one another, then they should be allowed to sanctify and make official that love through the institution of marriage, regardless of gender or sexual orientation. Love is love. People are people. This is precisely why talking about Proposition 8 is a logical impossibility for me. I just can't understand why the fuck people can't simply be married because they are in love. And, call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure that California is the last place on earth with any right to deem any marriage more valid than any other. Overnight celebrity marriages are legit? The thousands of quickie weddings and divorces based not on love, but booze and double-dog-daring are legit? Of course they- they have the complimentary parts to make babies. Who gives a damn if they care for each other in a lasting and committed way? But wait- what if a straight couple chooses not to have a child? Or what if the husband or wife is infertile or sterile, or for some other medical reason, is incapable of conceiving a child? That marriage is no longer valid, according to the procreative destiny argument. But they're straight...so they have the right to marry...right? The lobby against gay marriage, for this precise reason, is incredibly ignorant, locked up in its own semantics, and indebted to an imagined past of a "righteous" nation. The United States was founded on separation of church and state and the equality of all the fundamental civil and social liberties guaranteed and protected by the state. That has not changed. Yet today we see a kind of quasi theocracy forming, gelling around the hateful and moronic rhetoric of a few reprehensible people, and denying the very goals that they claim to champion.

Even further abroad, more signs of a dangerous cultural decline. Iran, for the last several years under the rule of the, for all intents and purposes, crazy Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, has just proclaimed the results of this week's federal elections. Against a number of very suspect circumstances and conditions that raise serious questions about the validity of the electoral process, Ahmadinejad was once again proclaimed Iran's president by the Ayatollah Khameni- the nation's highest spiritual leader and ultimate authority on all domestic and foreign concerns. Ahmadinejad has, since being confirmed as the winner of a curious ~60% majority of the popular vote, refused to guarantee the safety of his main rival, Mir Hossein Moussavi, explained the arrest of several dissenting voters and opposition-party members via the thin veil of a "soccer riot," and done absolutely nothing to address the criticisms leveled against him regarding the integrity of the voting process, outside of a few rather arrogant quips in the vein of "Every Iranian is able to cast a vote in our elections." If only every vote counted. Just as in the Prop 8 furor, however, there are glimmers of hope. As Ahmadinejad cracks down on protests throughout the country with tear gas and riot police, shuts down official websites and expels foreign journalists from Iran, those with a hope for a progressive future continue to subvert his extremism and theocratic rule through a number of new media resources, chief among them, Twitter. As one Iranian citizen tweeted earlier today, "If Iran sleeps tonight, Iran will sleep forever."

I try my best to remain positive and put my faith in people. I believe that we can do better for ourselves and each other by working hard and never giving up on something with any shred of hope left. And while I'm spectacularly disheartened by the weakness that this world has shown today, by the stifling arrogance, ignorance and hatred perpetuated by an elite few on a mass demanding equality, I hold out hope. I hope tonight for those fighting in Tehran and throughout Iran, for those rallying across the United States and Canada against legislated hatred, and for those in Alberta who are demanding better, more equitable and open education for their children and a stronger future for their province and country.

Number's aren't my strong suit, and a lot of people can't crunch a data set through a regression formula to save their lives. Talking and marching and demanding better in the name of progress, though, might just do the trick.

Long Story Short (And Bonus Features)

2009-06-10T20:29:00.000-07:00

Stephanie Meyer's Twilight Series*:

Male Vampire: /Sparkle. Is it alright if I like...eat you...instead of have sex with you because I appeal to a younger audience and somehow cannibalism is more appropriate than regular-type romance?

Female Lead: /Swoon

Other guy: I think I'm a werewolf?

The End.

*I have not read any of these books or seen the movie. I just assume that this is pretty close.

In slightly more enlightening news, here is the quote that Mark Kingwell uses as the epigram for his Concrete Reveries. It's pure greatness.

"The situation of consciousness as patterned and checkered by sleep and waking need only be transferred from the individual to the collective...Architecture, fashion-yes, even the weather-are, in the interior of the collective, what the sensoria of organs, the feeling of sickness or health, are inside the individual. And so long as they preserve this unconscious, amorphous dream configuration, they are as much natural processes as digestion, breathing and the like. They stand in the cycle of eternity selfsame, until the collective seizes upon them in politics and history emerges."

-Walter Benjamin

Weekday Distractions

2009-06-08T20:51:00.000-07:00

To all of those looking for some way to kill some time, please consider the following (pop culture reference, look it up).

Paste Magazine's Josh Jackson tells a really wonderful story about the power of great, honest music in a time when all fame requires is an audition with the Disney Channel and a maladjusted father-figure. Also, bonus points for the fact that it focuses on Brandi Carlile, one of my favorites.

One of my favorite columnists, Witold Rybczynski, who writes on architecture for Slate Magazine, put together an excellent photo essay a while ago on the proposed plans for the new Museum of African-American History in Washington, D.C.. In it, he touches on a lot of the concerns I looked at in my entry about Arthur Erickson a while back- architectural fancy vs. continuity with the surrounding world- something Witold phrases much more simply as "pink flamingo or garden gnome?"

Following a brutal spring of civil warfare in Sri Lanka that represented the final motion of the Tamil independence movement, the Tamil Tigers, the militant forces fighting the Sri Lankan government conceded defeat near the end of May. For a lot of people, this was a clear-cut fight: Sri Lankan government against radical terrorist organization. But take a look at John Green, another of my very favorite lay-cultural observers, explaining the situation, and maybe try and consider this in a perhaps more moderate light (I'm so self-indulgent it kills me).

Another reason why the United States still scares me: Jennifer Steinhauer for the New York Times reports on a more-or-less horrifying wing of the Boy Scouts of America which preaches preparedness and skills in the wilderness....only with guns and xenophobia.

Mark Kingwell's stunning book, Concrete Reveries: Consciousness and the City was released in paperback this week to excited yelps from tools, geeks, nerds and literati around the globe. In this book, Kingwell takes a new philosophical perspective on what seems like the lowliest of subjects- concrete. Channeling everyone from Walter Benjamin to Sigmund Freud, Kingwell turns concrete, through precise strokes of beautiful prose, into a spectacular metaphor for hope in the modern, globalized megacity; into a way of looking at the convergence of hope and hopelessness, in and out, here and away, in a world where the very validity of those concepts seems to be slipping away.

I'm going to bed because work began at 6am this morning. Hulk smash.

Things

2009-06-03T10:09:00.000-07:00

1. I have a job now. Mostly I fold clothes and scrub mannequins, but it works. Recessions kind of suck, just FYI.

2. I played an open mic with a friend last night and it was great. It was at a teahouse downtown and it ended up going really well and we may be getting into regular/featured rotation at some point in the near future. Cool?

3. Music: La Blogotheque has once again proven itself as freaking awesome.

Yeasayer- "No Need to Worry/Redcave" live in the Paris Metro

Lisa Hannigan- "I Don't Know" live in a pub somewhere

Andrew Bird- "Anonanimal." I listened to this song while scrubbing mannequins for hours, and suddenly the job seemed a whole lot more awesome. Listen to it in HQ.

From Fencesitters to Flip-Floppers: Defending the Moderate in an Age of Extremes

2009-06-01T09:47:00.000-07:00

Critiques of the contemporary political system as one that is highly polarized and divisive are hardly new. We are all fully aware that one is expected to be Right Wing or Left Wing, with little room for crossover between the two, and very limited provisions for effective, cooperative measures geared towards social progress as opposed to numerical advantage. This system creates a kind of decision-making vacuum within the political process that relentlessly suctions legitimate debate and discourse into a spectacularly unwinnable and moronic conversation between two hostile parties riddled with phrases like "bleeding heart," "pig," "pinko," "fascist," etc. Complex social issues are reduced to hero/anti-hero levels of simplicity, nuances are overshadowed in favor of sensation and the conference table suddenly becomes no-man's land in such a climate of discussion- two camps dug into rotting and unpleasant trenches on either side of an insuperable divide pockmarked with failed attempts at conquest.

In the space of this vacuum, however, there is an opportunity for improvement and a chance to bridge the right-left, hero-antihero model that is superimposed onto some of the most important political and social issues the world over. That chance for improvement is simpler than it would seem. It is nothing more than moderation and consideration. Before I continue, I'm aware that my simple request is perhaps functionally impossible, and that I am indeed an idealist, though this is never a title I have resented. Nonetheless, I feel that the role of the moderate political subject position has been muddled and, in many cases, lost, on the global stage. What is a moderate? In my mind, the moderate is a political or social actor with individual agency and the ability to exercise that agency is a way that moves beyond dichotomous polar politics and takes a more holistic view of life as a series of interests, motivations and bids as opposed to a string of actions. The difference here is crucial. I feel that, by and large, global political activity is based largely on responses to actions. Perhaps above all others, the recent crisis in Sri Lanka illustrates this gulf between action and interests most clearly. The Sri Lankan government,for years, has been reacting to the independence movement staged by the Tamil Tigers by employing military force. The Tigers, in response, stage further acts of resistance (in many cases, acts of terrorism), which, in turn, are put down by further Sri Lankan military action, ad nauseam, This is the trajectory taken by a number of seemingly insoluble international conflicts- one side moves, the other moves against that movement, leading to further movements. These are desperate circumstances often marked by sporadic and scattered tit-for-tat bombing such as that that characterizes the Israel/Palestine conflict. Oftentimes, the most heavily affected are those caught in the middle, in the residential and unarmed areas used as a staging ground for guerilla and insurgent violence. To consider and approach tensions from a more moderate stance, from one that acknowledges interests and bids, however, could potentially go a long way to dismantle this kind of long-standing and stalemate type of conflict. When speaking of interests and bids, I have a specific meaning in mind. Take the bid metaphor, for example. At an auction, a bidder places a bid with a specific goal. They don't simply enter a bid expecting nothing in return, or for its own sake. A bid is a calculated move that reflects the interests and goals of the bidding party. It is an extension of the self into the shared space of negotiation engineered to generate a certain type of response. Conflict erupts when a bid remains unsatisfied, or in other words, when the intentions and interests of a particular party are ignored and not considered for whatever reason. The bidding process is entirely foregone in tit-for-tat, retaliatory conflicts. Any action taken targets only some other previous action, not the underlying goal, desire or intention that motivated that action. The conflict digs itself deeper into the earth, more lose their lives, and policy makers and international organizations grow increasingly weary and pessimistic about the possibility of coming to an effective solution.

Why is the bid approach more moderate? The bid approach acknowledges that there is something beyond the dichotomizing nature of armed combat. It refuses to see solutions as a matter of weaponry or attrition, and demands that the conflict is solved more through policy, dialogue and discourse, as differences and conflicts in negotiations are largely an issue of rhetoric. By looking at interests, we are forced to see all sides of an argument, we are forced to consider combinatory rather than explosive action, to find ways to bridge insuperable gaps between entities as volatile as faiths, nationalities and races. Take the Israel/Palestine conflict, for example. This battle ideally epitomizes the tit-for-tat violence that can shatter hope for a solution, having been fought largely (with the obvious exception of Israeli military action) on a civilian, guerilla scale. Not surprisingly, the conflict has become startlingly polarized, at least through Western lenses. The Palestinian cause is routinely cast as unambiguously barbaric and rooted in terrorist activity, at least in the North American media. This view does nothing to acknowledge the very real suffering and disenfranchisement of the Palestinian people that the establishment and subsequent expansion of Israel has caused. Since the early 1950s, Israel has been conceived of as a "land without people for a people without land," providing a homeland to displaced Jews following the Second World War- a very legitimate cause. However, the land was far from empty. It was populated by millions of settled Palestinian nationals who were, without hesitation, turned into refugees in their own country. That said, any attempt that the Palestinian people have at recovering a sovereign homeland is being ruined by Hamaas, an honest-to-goodness terrorist group governing the Palestinian people whose sole agenda is the elimination of the state of Israel. Israel, conversely, must stop attempting to expand its borders through powerful military campaigns against largely unarmed and non-unified pockets of Palestinians. As it stands now, Israel and Palestine take as their official government stances a tit-for-tat, retaliatory form of combat. Two nations officially endorse retaliatory combat as their main means of conflict resolution. Is it any wonder that the situation in Israel has snowballed so far out of control? The solutions proposed by both Israel and Palestine pay no attention to interests- shared and equal sovereignty over particular territories based on historical settlement and human need. This is an astonishingly unworkable future, for very obvious reasons. This is where the moderate, holistic, bid approach is most fruitful. We must discover what motivations are underlying acts of violence other than simple retaliation and eye-for-eye philosophy. Hamaas must be removed and a legitimate political party must be elected to govern the Palestinian people that seeks collaboration with Israeli officials; one that works hard to have its voice and claim to sovereignty over certain territories heard, yet one that demands such concessions based on legitimate claims. Likewise, Israel must embrace a spirit of cooperation that looks to cease hostilities, even if that means halting outward expansion into surrounding territories. Finally, we must all realize that there is no hero/antihero dichotomy here. All Palestinians are not terrorists simply because their corrupt government ignores attempts at peace, and Israel does not have the right to expand its holdings just beacause. Israel's interests currently lie in expansion and consolidation. Palestine's lie, somewhat hypocritically in destruction and the attainment of sovereignty. These are the interests on the table. These are the issues that need addressing. These should receive the attention and energy that the military is currently given. Every word is spoken as a bid, with some underlying intention and hope for a particular response. Lets get people back to the bidding floor, and away from no-man's land.

Again, I understand that I have idealized this situation, but in our age of extremes, when people seem to fight for its own sake, out of retaliation, out of pure hatred, there needs to be some kind of idealism. There needs to be some attempt to create a workable solution that is, in some regard, holistic and moderate; one that considers all interests and works toward consolidating those interest by understanding the way in which we interact and expect responses. Like I said, I've never been ashamed to be called an idealist.

Moderates are often seem as weak-of-heart, or perhaps not committed to a cause, not devoted to achieving the best for their own people as possible. In one respect, this is true. A moderate does not seek only what is best for his or her own people, but for all those people with whom they interact. They seek solutions that, in the words of one of my idols, "no one is going to like, but everyone can live with." And I feel that this is the role of the moderate today- to peel back the decades of retaliatory combat and reconsider the underlying causes, approach them with more holistic and combinatory minds and eyes, and attempt to find new solutions to very old problems. It's often said that the time for talk is over, that it's prime time for action. But I doubt that anyone who uses that kind of epithet would also say that action is the best solution for all. Why settle for less that our best effort? Have you ever noticed that negotiations between nations can break down after only a matter of days or weeks, and that immensely important global conferences last only a weekend, and yet we're willing to fight wars for decades or more? I have a hard time believing, then, that the time for talk is over.

Here's to the moderate.

Constructing Unities: Remembering Arthur Erickson

2009-05-26T15:02:00.000-07:00

In my local paper last week, I came across a story recounting the life and works of one of Canada's foremost architectural masters, Arthur Erickson, who was born in 1924 and passed away last Wednesday, May 20th. The article was solid enough, detailing a few of Erickson's triumphs and missteps and outlining in broad strokes the general trajectory of his 50-year career, yet the headline struck me as somewhat crass, and perhaps reflective of some of the greatest misunderstandings of Erickson's expansive body of work. The article was titled "Canada loses it's concrete wizard," referring quite obliquely (and some might say reductively) to Erickson's famous use of concrete on an almost monumental scale for projects such as Vancouver's Simon Fraser University and the Canadian Chancery in Washington, D.C. Something about that title "concrete wizard" seemed quite brutal and unfair to me. It grossly underestimates and even belies Erickson's fascination with the natural and his constant attempts to blend modern function, social imperatives and the natural world into grand spaces in which people could share knowledge and experience freely and openly, without feeling like a brutal imposition on the surrounding world.

Erickson was, at the core, a thoroughly modern thinker, embracing the legacies of functionalism and grand ambition established by the great architects of high modernism such as Le Corbusier. The modernist architects were responding to something of a crisis in artistic thought that took shape largely as a result of the Second World War, when the broad metanarratives of the Enlightenment, based on the ideal of social progress through technological advancement, had collapsed upon themselves with the exposure of the Nazi death camps and totalitarian governments in Eastern Europe. Enlightenment thinkers believed that freedom could be achieved through science alone, through a single representational language. This pervasive faith in rationality bled into a wide range of artistic fields, architecture being one of the most eager adopters of the new faith in the machine. Some factions of artists such as the Italian Futurists became fanatical about their belief in the machine as the pinnacle of human achievement and even expounded the benefits of uniting man with machine, in effect, endorsing what we now call a "cyborg." With the rise of Nazism in Germany, however, and the brutal totalitarianism of Josef Stalin, both of which were perpetuated on a thorough rationalization of even life and death, and the horrors that ensued, embracing rationalism for its own sake took on chilling new overtones that would haunt the project of modernity well into the present. In the wake of this collapse, artists and thinkers alike were left scrambling for a way to make sense of technology and its role in human societies. A belief took root in this schism that technology in itself was perhaps not a tool that humans could control to the ends of liberation and social progress, but perhaps that technology had indeed become so pervasive that the machine must now be considered the backdrop of daily life- the mechanism was no longer the tool with which we etched, painted and superimposed our dreams of liberation onto neutral communities, but had itself become the canvas. Social life and the machine had become deeply entangled and the latter had become a new medium of expression.

From this stream of though sprang a number of artistic tributaries such as Brutalism and Modernism that sought to embrace the machine as the new medium of artistic creation and apply that medium to genuine social progress. In short, the project was to use the factory as a new kind of aesthetic in an effort to create better ways to live, as opposed to simply equating the factory itself with progress. It is here we see the works of Le Corbusier finding their genesis- works that provide an important counterpoint to Erickson's projects later in the century.

Some examples of Le Corbusier's significant works.

Note that in Le Corbusier's work, the geometrical forms are purposefully visible, and that there is little attempt to ground the building in its surroundings. The Villa Savoye (bottom) rises up from the ground in an unnaturally clean shade of white and appears austere, even office-like. These are not mistakes or architectural insensitivities. Geometrical forms and rationalism were instrumental in turning living spaces into highly functional machines that looked to maximize efficiency, just as the conveyor belts and machines of a factory looked to streamline the process of manufacturing. It is this quite staunch strain of modernism that I feel the term "concrete wizard" tends to evoke- austere buildings that appear stoic and unforgiving in light of the postmodern love affair with intimate spaces and public displays of whimsy. But when we pose Erickson's work against le Corbusier's work, we note a number of critical differences that speak volumes about the spirit that underlies each of his monumental projects.

Take, for example, the project that launched Erickson's illustrious career on a global scale- Vancouver's Simon Fraser University. Much lauded in its day, SFU has since attracted the scorn of many students for being quite dour, and even prison-like in its design. I feel that, on the contrary, the SFU campus is a thoughtful and incredibly calculated attempt at creating a unified and flowing space for public gathering and the liberal sharing of knowledge. Constructed almost entirely from concrete masonry, the campus does indeed appear a bit ominous in the Vancouver fog, having been darkened and worn down by the constant moisture of the coastal air. Nonetheless, Erickson managed to create a spectacularly balanced school that, while brand new, and constructed from synthetic materials, seems to emerge from the mountaintop on which it rests and accommodate the spectacular forest that surrounds it on all sides. As opposed to creating a small city-type campus with a number of disconnected buildings and faculties, Erickson created a campus where all buildings were connected either by enclosed hallways or semi-covered breezeways, that worked with the grade of the mountain to vastly reduce sprawl and respect the ground upon which he was building. From the grand, open Convocation Mall, to the massive corridors of the Academic Quadrangle, all faculties are a part of the same building, a move Erickson made to encourage an interdisciplinary spirit and facilitate cooperative scholarship. Granted, many of the additions and expansions made to the campus since its birth have compromised this original spirit and detracted from the original aesthetic, the spirit remains the same, with students moving easily and quickly between departments as diverse as Physics and Music in a matter of moments. The distinctly Grecian and Athenian overtones created by the isolated mountaintop location and central courtyard surrounded on all sides by lecture halls, labs and seminar rooms, draw upon a time when all education was all education, and a single student was encouraged to excel in artistic, scientific and philosophical pursuits.

Simon Fraser University's Burnaby Mountain Campus

SFU demonstrates the true genius of Erickson as something more than just a "concrete wizard." He constantly managed to pursue the grand narratives and ambitions of modernism, constantly creating buildings that seemed somehow socially important and capable of facilitating and nourishing truly progressive social relationships. At the same time, they harnessed the deep functionality of Le Courbusier, making the most of what little space he was given and creating efficient, well-planned and easily navigable spaces. Above all, though, his greatest works achieved both of these ends while existing in a deeply respectful and reciprocal relationship with the world around them and illustrating a reverence for the materials, environments, climates and people that would inhabit and surround them. While Courbusier and the other high modernists are indeed owed a large debt for their massive contributions to the field of architecture, Arthur Erickson managed to achieve and balance what few, if any of these masters of the art, managed to- space, the needs of the people that inhabit and use that space, and the world that sustains them both. This pursuit og grand unities between function, form, society and surrounding is reproduced over and over again in Erickson's works- from his individual buildings to his massive-scale town planning projects.

Erickson was more than concrete, and he certainly wasn't a wizard. His architecture, at its best, was brilliant not by a slight of hand or smoke and mirrors, but by a belief in the idea that buildings shape who we are and the way we see the world, and by treating such an important project with the respect it deserves. No tricks, no gimmicks, just intent, passion and belief in the power of public spaces.

As Promised

2009-05-24T12:19:00.001-07:00

I've thrown a good number of my photos from France into an online album if anyone is interested in taking a look at my horrid photography skills. Normal posting will resume soon.

PS. go see Wendy and Lucy with Michelle Williams. Great little movie.

France Photos!

Chasing the Sun

2009-05-17T13:14:00.000-07:00

I have returned to the Great White (or brown, as the case would have it) North with many memories, more pictures, and still more miles on my shoes. France is a wonderful, beautiful place with so much to see and do, it's a bit overwhelming. Paris is a spectacular example of history in progress- from Roman Classicism to Medieval Austerity, from Modernist Brutality to Postmodern whimsy, from the Mona Lisa to Graffiti. The world meets, chats, and does lunch in Paris. Granted, there were bad experiences and challenges, but I think that what's crucial to remember when traveling anywhere is that no matter where you go, people live and work there. There will be nice and rude people everywhere, spots of luck and patches of misfortune. A city isn't a museum, no matter how beautiful it may be, and that is perhaps the greatest lesson I can give any would-be travelers to Paris- take the beautiful with the run down and the good with the bad. You have to give yourself to Paris, not expect Paris to give itself over to you.

Provence is a bit different. The pace is much slower and more relaxed- perhaps more comfortable for tourists struggling with language barriers and time differences. But again, many of the larger towns like Aix are too chic and energetic to exist in a kind of antique-ey vacuum. I will definitely return to Aix and settled there for an extended stay and come to know the city a bit more as my own, but for now I will remember it fondly for its wonderful people, beautiful weather and scenery, and the roses.

I'm going to create an online photo album and create a public link for those who want to see all of them, but for now, here is a smattering of my favorites (click the photo to see it full-size).

Detail- Eiffel Tower

Town of Bonnieux in Luberon

Rose Festival in Aix

Notre Dame

Pont St-Bezenet (Pont d'Avignon)

Gardens of Versaille

Central Fountain in Aix

View from the top of Bonnieux

"Skyline" of Avignon

Eiffel Tower at night

Notre Dame

Outside the Hotel des Invalides in Paris

More to come!

Provence

2009-05-07T09:31:00.000-07:00

Bon Soir, mes amis

This will be short becaus the further south I hqve travelled, the crazier the keyboards have gotten.

We finished off our time in Paris with a relaxed day of lunch under the Eiffel Tower and then strolling along the Champs Elysee and side streets where we got to gaze quite adoringly through the shop windows along Rue du Montaigne. For those playing the home game, Montaigne invented the essay, and now has a high-end shopping district named after him in Paris. WTF. Moving on. For our final day up north, we headed to Versailles to take in the Chateau. I was a bit shocked to discover that the town of Versailles is in no way distinct from the city of Paris, but is basically a small suburb West of the city.The town, though, is quite quaint and pleasant. The Chateau is incredible, as well, if you can get past the school groups and hoardes of people. I think Versailles will stick with me the most simply because the events that occured there lmiterally changed the course of republican governments in the Western world. Marie Antoinette's private quarters and personal hamlet (no joke) are also a site to be seen. We then treated ourselves to a horribly expensive cocktail at the Astoria-owned hotel in Versailles before returning to Paris for our final dinner at a very chic bistro just about 3 blocks from the eiffel tower. A perfect enf to a crazy week in Paris.

I am currently sitting in sunny Aix-en-Provence, a beautiful town of just over 100,000 people about " hours south of Paris by high speed train and 40 minutes north of Marseilles by commuter train. We arrived here yesterday afternoon to beautiful clear skies and perfect temperatures, and once we were checked into our hotel, we quickly set about exploring the area. Aix is bizzare. Its not the tucked-away, isolated farming village I imagined it would be in the least. Its definitely a tourist town with a nu,ber of trains arriving daily from major metropolitain centres around France. Nonetheless, parts of the town come off quite museum-like, draiwing on the areas incredible past as both part of the Roman Empire and one of the first sites at which Christianity was formally practiced. As soon as you get into the side streets, though, and away from the 'main drags,' so to speak, the town changes quite dramatically. On the tiny, winding streets that cut between the old-world apartment blocks, you're just as likely to find Dolce and Gabbana, Fendi, and Dior as you are to find traditional boulangeries and charcutries. On the other side of town is a thoroughly modern shopping area and the future site of the Aix interpretive centre, La Rotonde, with a number of high end shops and boutiques. The people here are very friendly and, I suspect, very accustomed to broken attempts at French like I often venture and are often quite able to help you in English. Regardless, I will continue to soldier on with my terrible knowledge of French.

The country surrounding Aix and the other Rhone villages is quite spectacular. South of Paris, the countryside is very lush and dotted with banks of low hills and small farming villages. As you approach Marseille, though, the vegetation gets lower and scrubbier very fast, the hills rise to exposed faces of rock and the skies clear off beautifully. In turn, Aix and Marseille are full-blown Mediterranean climates with low vegetation, hot, dry summers, and lots of warm-weather produce. We will be setting out to explore more of the region of Provence tomorrow and the day after with excursions to Avignon (of school song fame) and Arles before relaxing in Aix for a couple days to prepare for the long journey home via Frankfurt. Will updqte again soon and upload qaton of pictures once I get home. Tah for now

Paris, je t'aime

2009-05-02T10:11:00.000-07:00

Bonjour, mes amis

I have been in France for a grande total of three days and am having a wonderful time. Just from the outset, I should point out that the 'y' key is in a drastically different place on this keyboard, so apologis for any insane spellinsgs. The flight here was long, but pleasant enough and, most importantly, screaming baby-free. Once we arrived at Charles de Gaulle, things got a bit overhwlming. That airport is gigantic and busy at all hours of the day. Put that on top of finding our way to our hotel near the Bastille when we have no idea how transit in this city operates and two immensae and clunky suitcases, and you have yourself a party. All things said and done, though, we arrived at our hotel alive and well after a few near misses and slight miscalculations with regard to the 'walk-don't-walk' system. People in this city who drive must wish to die. I have never been more terrified watching cars moving as I am here. No lines on the roads, complete disregard for the colours red and green. Happily, I get around well below street level on easily the most efficient and reliable transit system on the planet. We arrived in Paris on a beautiful, sunny morning at 8:30 am and spent most of the day getting settled in our vibrant neighbourhood. Bed came early as 24 sleep-free hours weighed heavy on us.

We wasted no time in going to see the city the next morning. Our first stop was, predictable, the Eiffel Tour. We did, however, overlook the fact that it was May 1st., May Day, a very important labour holiday in Europe. as a result, the streets, gardens and the tower itself were packed with people, which, while maybe a bit overhwelming, certainly made for an exciting atmosphere as we walked from the Tour across the Seine to the Place de le Trocadero and then took the moetro to the Arc de Triomphe and meadered down the Champs élysée. THe sun was bright, the skies blue, and the wine at the street-side brasserie cold as we people-watched on the champs. For the record, Paris is filled with the best-looking people on the planet. Somehow, people here combine bohemian chic, chongo, mod and hipster seamlessly into a whole lot of great outfits that make me feel like a chumpy tourist. Which, to be fair, I am, but still. We turned off the Champs and passed le Grand Palais and le Petit Palais, a couple major art museums, and headed toward the absolutely stunning Hodel des Invalides, home to a military museum and spectacular views of the Eiffel Tower, the Champs, the Seine, and the Grand Palais. From here, we headed back across the river and to the Place de Concorde and into the Tuileries, an incredible garden that lies ahead of the Musee du Louvre. After taking a few pictures and having a rest on the lawns with a drink of water, we headed back ip the champs to grab the metro back toward the Tour for dinner and to see it illuminated. When the Tour is all lit up, it is truly stunning and a site definitely worth taking in. Exhausted from our day, we grabbed a train back to our stop and turned in for the night.

Today brought more adventure (and more walking) as we headed to the Musee du Louvre itself and did the epic hustle through the Saturday crowds. It may not be possible to see all of the Louvre in a single go, but dammit if we didn't try our very best, and appreciated a good deal of it along the way. Of course, we pushed our way through agitated crowds and self-righteous tour groups to see highlights like the Mona Lisa, Madonna of the Rocks and the Venus de Milo, but I 'd say that the Louvre itself as a piece of architecture was the most spectacular of all. If the French know one thing, it's how to make the ostentatious truly spectacular.

Paris, so far, has been a fascinating city. I'm struck, overall, by two main characteristics which seem to manifest themselves all throughout the metropolitain area. First, Paris looks a lot like history's testing ground. In a singe block, you can see mixed incredibly ostentatious Monarchial-age structures, modernist\brutalist big-box apartments and whimsical postmodern experiments in the intersection of form, function, technology and fantasy. The trip from the airport to our hotel revealed, side-by side, the failures and successes of centuries of urban experimenation and regimentation, leading to a truly and sometimes bewilderingly diverse city. The upside of all that structural madness? Legitimate social vibrancy. As we left the Eiffel Tower, we passed by groups of people sitting on the lawns with bottles of wine, books, guitars, and shared food, laughing and singing together. Young people gather on corners ourside shops here not just waiting to cross the street, but to talk and joke with one another. Every single restaurant turns out to the street, not inward to the building. It's a fascinating, dynamic place where nothing is really separate from anything else. Perhaps this is suprising because France has such a long and storied history of being a place of 'high culture.' But in modern Paris, the Louvre offers just as much artistic and social excitement as the street culture just beyond its walls.

I AM SICK OF TYPING ON THIS KEYBOARD. It feels like Quest for Fire. Updates in the next few day on the second bit of Paris and the first bit of Aix. Apologies again for horrid spelling and punctuation. This computer doesn't spell-correct me like my self-righteous Mac. Bon soir.

ALSO. I have tons of pictures, but no way of uploading them. Patience, friends!

Au Revoir!

2009-04-29T07:52:00.000-07:00

Paris!

I am lame

2009-04-27T13:27:00.000-07:00

A few things:

1. I've been insanely busy this week, between moving home, spending too much money, and packing for France, so I apologize for lack of posts.

2. I went and saw Canadian electro duo Thunderheist on Thursday and had the time of my life. They are so energetic live and amazing at working the crowd. Isis, the vocalist, is also incredibly sweet and friendly and did a huge favour for me that made me the best friend in the world. Check them out!

3. I AM LEAVING FOR FRANCE ON WEDNESDAY. I'll try and update this thing every now and again while I'm over there, so don't expect any hard-hitting writing for the next couple weeks.

Talk soon, friends!

Foot-in-Mouth Disease

2009-04-22T23:55:00.001-07:00

So I realize that in the "Experiential Epistemologies" post, I went on this whole ultra-vain bender about how I don't need presents for my birthday cause I learned how to be a better person this year. That remains true. But my growth as a person probably wouldn't suffer if someone were so compelled to purchase this guitar for me:

Just sit on that thought for a while. Let it digest. Do with it what you will. I'm just putting it out there.

PS: This whole Miss California flap about gay marriage has me righteously pissed off. Just give me time. There will be narcissistic, incoherent rambling about it soon enough.

Moving

2009-04-21T10:25:00.000-07:00

My life is in boxes.

My back and arms are tired.

Will update more when I don't have a pavlovian-type response where I want to die every time I see the U-Haul logo

For the record, though, Cruise Control+Open Road+Sunny Skies+Metric's new album Fantasies, "Statium Love" in particular=the best of all possible worlds.

LuckLucky: Experiential Epistemologies

2009-04-08T01:32:00.000-07:00

I got older today, and I now find myself reflecting on a chaotic and memorable year, attempting to locate, somewhere amid the emotional breakdowns and nerve-wracking buildups, between home and away, between here and gone, the things that I've learned, the maps that I've forged, the bits I remember.

I started this blog as a kind of thought-experiment at an extremely important moment in my life; at a point where I thought I'd left behind, once and for all, the universe of things I'd grown up with, and attempted to jump into an entirely new community of faces, signs, meanings and stories. I began writing this little dog-and-pony show as a way of cataloguing, and maybe coming to grips with, the fears, thrills and uncertainties of flirting with the new. I envisioned myself on thin ice overtop of something bottomless, dark, full of hidden caverns and buried chambers, falling as deep into the earth as I cared to imagine. I was on thin ice, waiting to jump. And a little under a year ago, I did. I fell headlong into a dark, but thrilling world of new experiences, new spaces to understand, new stories to spin.

Hence the name of this project, "Man Descending," a phrase drawn from Canadian author Guy Vanderhaege's collection of short stories of the same name. Vanderhaege wrote that "A man descending is propelled by inertia; the only initiative left him is whether or not he decides to enjoy the passing scene." I can't think of a better way to describe my life over the past year. Once I broke the ice, my fall was unstoppable- I became propelled by the inertia of a frenetic mass, and my only option was to attempt to learn, to see and to experience what flashed by me as I spiraled downward into uncharted territory.

A wise mentor once told me that wonder is the emotional response to the experience of ignorance, a moment in time where truth, in its most basic essence, ceases to exist, and reality is structured purely by words, by experience, by your own creation of every passing second. When I fell into this new space and time, I looked up with wonder at the steel and glass jungle in which I found myself, I looked at the forgotten corners, the polished pedestals, and all the highs, lows, mediocres and unmentionables in-between, and felt profoundly new, as if my slate had been genuinely wiped clean. It was in this moment of wonder that I set about constructing new visions of reality, putting together piece by piece, line by line and name by name, the brushstrokes and shadings of a new experiential map; drawing out of ignorance new versions of personal truth, and establishing new traditions of knowledge. As a result, my personal "project," so to speak, over the last year-and-a-bit has been to forge new experiential epistemologies- new theories and visions of understanding and truth grounded in the steps I've taken and the mistakes I've made.

Days like this give me a chance to reflect on the relative success of this rather vain and narcissistic project of mine- one graciously indulged by my many wonderful friends and anonymous readers who somehow find pleasure in what are often mundane and go-nowhere late-night ramblings. Having taken this opportunity for reflection and reconsideration, it is with a great sense of pride and accomplishment that this year, I can look back and say that I've learned.

I've learned to give myself over to chance, to open myself up to every opportunity for change, to creating memories, to discovering of new friendships and re-invigoration of old ones. I've learned to let my feet, not my brain, chart my course. I've learned to find solace in the simple things and finally figured out how to define myself beyond quantification, measurement and comparison. As a result, I've found myself in suspect pubs, run-down theaters, front-row and backstage. I've dropped way-points on new continents, drifted on new currents, and shoved off of new docks. I have found location in dislocation, experience in irrelevance and meaning in the mundane.

I don't particularly care about ceremonies like birthdays, graduations, weddings, funerals, etc. I seek out experiences, regardless of what day those experiences happen to fall upon. Nonetheless, being able to say that I've learned, grown, tried and discovered, and truly mean it for the first time, is one of the best gifts I could ever hope to receive. I owe it to the strangers who've given me their time, to the professors who've told me I could do better, and to the old friends who don't give a damn what I do, so long as it makes me happy. Gifts are not in order this year. You've done your part- many, many thanks.

Veda Hille released a wonderful album in 2008 called This Riot Life, and my favorite track from that collection is called "Lucklucky," an anthematic reflection on what it means to know, on what it means to find, and what it means to chart out new paths on blank maps and bar napkins. Among the things I've gained this year is a deep love for the words of others, and an ability to speak through them in ways that reflect my new versions of truth. In kind, I'll let Veda's words sum up the nonsense you've now read a good deal of, and close by saying, rather cheesily, that this year, I have been immensely "lucklucky-" bemused groans welcome and encouraged.

There is the place you know,

There is the place you don't know.

Curtain number 1, curtain number 1,

You are blind, blind, blind

There's where I did this,

This is where I did that.

It took thirty years to draw this map

And now what do you see?

The city, or your map of the city?

You are blind, blind, blind.

The city, or your life in the city?

...

You need the air!

You need the freedom!

You need to pit yourself against the hardship of the world

...

This is where we are,

Are you ready?

What was, what is, and what shall be?

City of destiny

Grab your coat and your popular music,

We're taking it to the streets.

Happy Accidents, vol. 2 (and some more stuff)

2009-04-06T00:20:00.001-07:00

Because I am a lazy bastard, and it is 2 in the morning, and I have to wake up tomorrow and write a take-home final, I am taking the easy way out of this, and simply posting videos of all the musicians I saw/met/fell in love with over the past two weeks (both at JunoFest and at random shows around town).

The Dudes: Great guys, fun music, solid catch-phrases.

Dan Mangan: Personal hero, massively talented

Said the Whale: Heaps of fun, very good people

Hey Rosetta!: Also massively talented, air-tight live show

Maurice: Friendly guys, super danceable power pop, huge potential

(I couldn't find a decent video of them- remember, lazy bastard, 2 am, etc.- so I'm just going to link to their MySpace)

Adaline: Beautiful girl with a beautiful voice and serious composition skills

Hey Ocean: Also some of the nicest folk you're likely to meet, and some of the most talented, too

Jill Barber: Another personal hero. Also, my wife (you can't prove it isn't true)

AND THERE YOU HAVE IT. In the absence of full reviews of each show, just know that not a single one was bad, and more than one was exceptionally memorable. Thank you to all my new friends (and all my old friends who put up with my merciless bragging), all the wonderful musicians for making wonderful music, and to coffee for making the mornings-after easier.

Until next time!

Take that, Murphy's Law!

2009-04-04T18:12:00.000-07:00

Okay.

So.

There should be a "Happy Accidents, vol. 2" by now, seeing as how more than a week has gone by since it happened. BUT. Since night 2 of JunoFest, more insane things have happened, and continue to happen, and I am thus struggling to find where to start and how to categorize. But more is coming. I swear.

Happy Accidents, vol. 1

2009-03-27T10:50:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: I have two goals in this post 1) Relay a personal story, 2) Provide a relatively cogent set of concert reviews. Forgive me if the two don't come together quite so eloquently. Also, I'm stupid and forgot my camera, so what was going to be a great, exciting post, is now just text. Woo!

I have spectacularly awful luck, there's no two ways about it. I broke my arm in two places in second grade in one of the most outlandishly embarrassing falls mankind has ever been privy to. I've never won a single door prize, raffle, 50/50, or lottery of any kind. I've purchased tickets to free events. I've been rear-ended by a semi-truck as I was on my way to pick up my friend to leave town for a week-long vacation. As a result, I fear that the universe may try to balance out the insanely lucky and incredible night I just had by putting me in the path of an oncoming bus in the near future. But until then, I will simply revel in the ears-still-ringing glory of last night.

It began innocuously enough, going downtown to see a great show with a friend of mine. We were planning on seeing what is probably one of the best lineups in the history of lineups: The Dudes, Dan Mangan, Said the Whale, John and Roy, Hey Rosetta! and Hot Hot Heat. When we get to the gates, though, my friend realizes that she is, in fact, without ID and cannot get into the show. She insists that I still go and not lose out on a great night on account of her. Bless her heart. So I go in by myself and stand around in a spectacularly awkward fashion, hoping beyond hope that someone takes enough pity on me to strike up a conversation. I'm not above making friends through pity. No such luck through the first set of the night- The Dudes. The Dudes hail from Calgary, Alberta and make great, upbeat tunes that are perfect for starting off a party. They move through their set quickly, but with a ton of energy, and manage to develop a great rapport with the audience in the short time they were on the stage. This thanks in large part to frontman Dan Vacon's memorable slogan-of-the-night: "When I say 'long,' you say 'ass tent.' 'LONG' 'ASS TENT." The show was in a long ass tent. I had the pleasure of meeting and working with The Dudes a couple years ago on a music video of theirs, and can safely say that they are some of the nicest guys you're likely to meet, and their friendly dispositions come shining through on stage through great songs like "Do the Right Thing" and "Don't Talk."

When The Dudes wrap up their set, I am still without a companion, and decide to simply embrace my creepy loner subject position with open arms for the rest of the night and enjoy the show. I move to the front of the audience area in anticipation of the next act, one of my absolute favorites, Dan Mangan. Turns out that when Mangan is on stage, the last thing you need is a friend. His deep, gravelly, heartrending voice draws you so deep into the songs that it just couldn't matter less if there were anyone else in the world. Mangan played a mix of songs from his last album, Postcards and Daydreaming, and new material from his upcoming LP Nice, Nice, Very Nice (a name presumably drawn from my favorite book of all time: Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut. So many bonus points), due out in August. He moved through every tune expertly with outstanding accompaniment from his band, finishing his set with the heartwarming sing-along, "Robots," which concludes with an audience of hundreds singing in unison, "Robots need love, too. They want to be loved by you." If you happen to live in BC, Alberta, or Saskatchewan, Dan will be touring with Hey Rosetta! this spring- a show definitely worth the price of a ticket (and then some).

As Mangan packs up his equipment and heads into the great unknown, I opt to stay where I am. What benefit will wandering and mingling have for me when I have nowhere to mingle and no one to do it with? In what would turn out to be the lucky, flukey, right-place-right-time moment of the century, two people come up beside me and stake out a spot along the rail for the next act, Said the Whale. They're mention that there's a good chance they'll be dancing, singing, jumping around, etc. through the next set, and apologized in advance. This led to the three of us getting to know each other a bit and grabbing a couple drinks. As we're heading back to the stage from the bar, one of my new concert companions stops at a fenced-off lounge area on the side of the tent and starts talking to who I presume is a friend. Surprise: That friend is Dan Mangan. She graciously introduces the two of us, and I throw every ounce of strength I have into not becoming a fan boy. Clearly, I've made friends with the right people.

We make our way back up to the stage and Said the Whale, a young Vancouver-based band, launches into a tight set of upbeat power pop, complete with glockenspiel and ukulele. Said the Whale are a relatively young band, but are already showing a ton of composure on stage. They moved between songs seamlessly and got the crowd (freezing, by this point) moving. This is a band worth watching for in the coming months and years, and one that has already produced a great album, Howe Sounds/Taking Abalonia, available through iTunes and in stores. Having thoroughly enjoyed our Said the Whale dance party, we decide it's prime time for another beverage. While fighting the bar line and other crowds, Jon and Roy, a pseudo-reggae jam band, takes the stage. I missed the majority of this set, but from what I heard, they sounded very fine indeed.

Next up was the act I've been dying to see all winter- Hey Rosetta!. These guys are actually insane. A little while ago I posted a video of them playing live in a studio for the XM channel, Verge, and said that I was stunned that it was actually a live recording. Now that I've actually seen them live...I still have a hard time believing it. They sound fucking incredible. They're a pretty sizeable band- piano, acoustic and electric guitars, mandolin, cello, violin, bass, drums, etc.- and yet every piece is heard in perfect balance. Their set is absolutely air-tight. And Tim Baker....his vocals...what in the world? People shouldn't be able to have voices this good. For serious- go see these guys with Dan Mangan this spring. The awesomeness of the set was probably helped by the fact that I watched a good portion of it alongside some members of Said the Whale who I'd just been introduced to by my companions. No big.

A fairly sizeable lull followed as the headliners for the night, Hot Hot Heat got set up. In the mean time, my luck improved once again as my friend and I headed back stage to spend some time with all the bands who'd already played in the night. Suddenly, the creepy loner who only a few hours ago had found himself without a soul to talk to was back stage with some seriously talented people- Said the Whale, The Dudes, members of Hey Ocean, Adeline, bits of Hey Rosetta!, Dan Mangan and his backing band, et. al. I was lucky enough to run into a young woman from Berlin who was in basically the same position as I was and was at least able to confide in her how absolutely and gloriously out of place I felt. Eventually, Hot Hot Heat takes the stage, and plays an absurdly energetic set. I've never been a huge fan of these guys, admittedly, but one has to give credit where credit is due, and those kids leave absolutely everything on the stage. They are spectacularly energetic and manage to bound around the stage not unlike gazelles, despite the fact that they are all wearing pants tighter than their own skin. I watch a portion of the set from back/side stage and then head outside again and have a nice chat with more parts of more amazing acts, and silently lose my mind some more.

The show wraps up, and I decide that I'd best not push my luck any further than I already have. I head for the bus, reeling from meeting people who I don't just think are amazing, but people who I count as serious influences and inspirations on my own music. As the icing on the cake (actually, let's be honest, this cake was basically all icing), while I'm sitting on the bus, I hear two hobos on crutches and three frat boys discussing their favorite books and the problematic relationship between the American executive and the military industrial complex it administers. I have thus proved, in a single night, that the world will always manage to surprise you.

Here's to night two!

Hilarity

2009-03-22T10:50:00.000-07:00

Since my last post was so horrifyingly heavy, I thought I'd follow up with something that's been making the rounds on the Internet, but is still hilarious beyond measure.

"It's called acting, Mr. Gervais."

Hope that brightens your day some. I'm off to write about...something I don't understand. Story of my life.

Pope Benedict XVI is an Idiot

2009-03-18T12:50:00.000-07:00

Now that the feathers have been ruffled, here's why:

Pope Tells Africa 'condoms wrong'

Pope Benedict XVI, who is making his first papal visit to Africa, has said that handing out condoms is not the answer in the fight against HIV/Aids. The pontiff, who preaches marital fidelity and abstinence, said the practice only increased the problem." A Christian can never remain silent," he said, after being greeted on arrival in Cameroon by President Paul Biya. The Pope is also due to visit Angola on his week-long trip, where thousands are expected to attend open-air Masses. Some 22 million people are infected with HIV in sub-Saharan Africa, according to UN figures for 2007. This amounts to about two-thirds of the global total.

Source: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7947460.stm

It's things like this that take my tolerance for the church as an institution from minimal to nil. I used to feel that "Okay, let people believe what they want, as long as it's not imposed on me." When I read such utterly idiotic and patently false rhetoric, though, that moderate position decays into bile in my gut. I'm perfectly aware that not all members of the Catholic church share this position- I'm very close friends with very charitable, kind and progressive Catholics. Nonetheless, the papacy, by exploiting the (non-consensual) support in numbers and money of even these moderate, temperate followers, is able to preach outright lies, slander an entire body of reliable scientific research, and worst of all, endanger the well being of an entire continent grappling with one of the most serious public health issues in history. This is not love for your fellow man. This is not compassion, charity and union with all peoples. This is complete fabrication, manipulation and propaganda. In a word, this is bull shit. I don't really know what to say beyond that- it seems impossible to think of any way to effectively challenge such a powerful institution. That said, if the opportunity should arise, take it. Don't let these words pass unnoticed- write to local and student papers, participate in protests, do what you can to make sure this liar is brought to account for spreading such shit.

Dear Richard Crashaw

2009-03-14T15:03:00.000-07:00

Seek psychiatric advice

In other news, I had the coolest night ever last night. I don't usually do the personal "here's a story about my life" kind of blogging, because, as a general rule, my life is really dull. But tonight I actually have a good story, so bear with me.

I played a short set in the middle of the night as entertainment for all those participating in my school's Relay for Life. After I was finished my set, I was just sitting in the stage area with a very devoted friend and fan (it was 2am and she still came to watch. Good friends rule) and messing around with my guitar when a group of three other musicians come in and start setting up all their equipment. All of a sudden, from behind me, I hear one of this group playing along with me on snare and brushes. Ignoring the fact that, at the time, I was playing "I Kissed a Girl," this was really cool seeing as how I've never heard myself accompanied percussion of any kind. So we continue to horse around, talk about musicians and about my love for acoustic covers of boring pop songs, and end up playing Jill Barber's "Oh My My," and it sounds absolutely awesome. It was the neatest thing ever. I've only been playing music for a very short time, so perhaps I'm just not used to things like this, but before I knew it, I was playing a song I usually sing to myself when I'm cooking dinner with backing vocals and full percussion. So after that fun wraps up, the three of them get on stage and perform a set of their own (which was actually so great). But once they finish, they ask me to come up and play a couple more with them, so I do- I played two originals that, until that point, had been purely private experiments in word-smithing and lousy guitar playing. But there they were- backed up with harmonies, blues and slide guitar, percussion and all, sounding like actual songs for the first time. Again, maybe this is just my greenness to the whole world of musical performance showing, but this was genuinely exciting. We then finished up by playing "Oh My My" again, with people singing, clapping and stomping along. It was literally the coolest thing I've ever done. Out of nowhere, something totally personal and private turned into music...like...actual music. By the time I got home, it was 4 am, and I had to be up at 8 to be downtown for 10. I'm currently working on the three hours of sleep I actually got, nursing raw, sore finger tips, and working my way out of the pile of homework and term papers I created for myself by going and playing a show instead of working, but damn do I feel good.

Make music, make art, make sound, move, talk, play with other people as much as you can and as openly as you can. Open yourself up to every space of interaction and creation and the memories will make themselves.

Night.

Totalement, Tendrement, Tragiquement

2009-03-10T00:42:00.000-07:00

On nights when I feel like I know the APA Style Guide better than my own name, the thought that I'll soon be here keeps my chin up...

Also, on a less poetic and fantastic (but kind of interesting note), I'm playing an outdoor show at 1:30 in the morning this Friday. Time to put all my jargon about "making music magical again" where my big idealistic mouth is. I know I said I'd post something by the end of the weekend. That clearly never happened, seeing as how I'm again making excuses for why I haven't posted anything intelligible in weeks. Give me time- I'm working on two papers right now which are fascinating that I'd love to blog about, but I fear that I'd lose more readers by doing so than just posting pictures and videos that don't belong to me. The only relatively relevant thing I can muster at this hour is that you should really get out there and read up on this TicketMaster/LiveNation merger and what complete and utter bullshit it is. Last time I checked, anti-trust laws were still in effect. Though you couldn't tell by looking. I don't want to start brandishing the "corporatisim is unequivocally toxic" sword, because that's one of the more irritating and reductive cultural critiques of the 20th and 21st Centuries. Nonetheless, the last time this kind of vertical integration was allowed to occur was in the pre-1948 Hollywood studio system. The major film studios of the day, Paramount in particular, decided that it would be great to own the production, distribution and exhibition phases of the movie industry. This resulted in shitty things happening left, right and centre, like block booking (forcing a theatre to buy a whole whack of lousy B-Movies just to get a single decent one) and bogus cuts of first-run revenues. The 1948 Paramount decree effectively shattered this system because, in basically every way, it was unjust. Why is it suddenly okay now? A tuppence to whoever can offer me a reasonable answer to that question. I need sleep now. France soon. School sooner. Night.

Just so you know

2009-03-05T15:00:00.000-08:00

I have been insanely busy and sleep deprived for the last little while. Rest assured, however, I am alive and (relatively) well. I'm working on a couple posts right now that hopefully will be up by the end of the weekend and mid-next week. In the mean time, enjoy some people who are way more talented than I am:

Call- Miranda Martini (Jason Poulsen on Second Guitar)

Miranda Martini

Jason Poulsen

Hymne a l'amour- My Brightest Diamond (covering Edith Piaf)

New Goodbye- Hey Rosetta! (I actually can't believe this is live. They sound SO good.)

Enjoy! Happy weekend.

Long Story Short

2009-02-26T00:04:00.000-08:00

Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus

Faustus: I may not have a soul, but I've got grapes!

The End.

Um.

2009-02-25T01:02:00.000-08:00

I have my first "gig" ever this week. In less than two days, actually.

It's nice to be scared witless about something in a good way again, rather than just in the way that makes me not want to eat or sleep, like school does.

It is late, and I slave over an incredibly dull science textbook (degree requirements, ftw!), but take solace in the excitement of sharing music with friends and Laura Marling's Alas, I Cannot Swim.

Hope everything is well with you. Happy Wednesday.

Complaint

2009-02-22T20:48:00.000-08:00

I mentioned a while ago that I got a really bogus noise complaint slipped under my door in the middle of the night from an anonymous malcontent bent on exacting his/her revenge for my violation of the yuppie-condo code of silence- a claim, which, it turns out, got overturned because it was stupid. Now it's my turn.

The person who lives above me is an elephant on 'riods after one too many Cliff bars. I swear to God, whoever lives up there lifts their furniture over their hulking frame and tosses it around the apartment at all hours of the bloody night. People have suggested that these noises may in fact be the soundtrack to rocking the casbah. For the good of the pelvis of whatever man or woman walks through that door, I sincerely hope this isn't the case. Drawing on my favorite television show (Futurama, duh), I have decided to name and picture my upstairs neighbour-beast The Crushinator. Behold:

The person who lives next to me has the loudest sex in the history of sex. I live in a concrete-construction apartment complex. When this person has sex, every part of my condo moves. I didn't think it physically possible, but this person has actually managed to move concrete with his pelvis. The girl he is sleeping with clearly learned how to have sex from watching porn, as her vocalizing would make a songbird blush. Being in the throwes of passion is one thing, but when I can hear the screaming over my television, dishwasher and vacuum cleaner combined, it's time to call it a day. As if this kind of sex weren't obnoxious enough at night, this couple have now taken to having morning romps. Like...really...really early morning romps. Like...7-7:30 am romps. YOU JUST FINISHED LIKE THREE HOURS AGO. GIVE THE POOR GIRL A REST BEFORE HER VOCAL CORDS (or something else) RUPTURE.

The man who lives one floor above me and one unit over begins extensive and sprawling telephone conversations on his balcony at around 12:30 am. He usually finishes his chats around 3 am. At which point he commences barbecuing. I shit you not. I live kitty-cornered to a nocturnal Bobby Flay. Barbecuing, for the record, is one of the most conspicuous forms of cooking. He's not slowly braising, he's not gently simmering. No. He is out there at 3 am, scraping the carbonized remains of his last meal off the grill, clicking his shitty lighter for what seems like an eternity, and clanking his stupidly massive metal flipper against his stupidly large metal barbecue. At 3 am. Barbecuing. Once more with feeling: Barbecuing at 3 am.

I will not report this to the condominium powers at be. I will seethe quietly, living politely among The Crushinator, the Copulators and the Barbecuing Loud Mouth.

The Wheels on the Bus...

2009-02-18T21:01:00.000-08:00

Right off the top: I bought the new Hey Rosetta! album earlier tonight, called Into Your Lungs (and around your heart and on through your blood), and it is stupidly, bafflingly good. I've listened to the whole thing top to bottom about 6 times already. Buy it.

Onto the task at hand:

I know I haven't posted in forever, but this is because things like school, sleeping and booze got in the way of me being productive over the last little while. Nonetheless, I've seen and done things in the past few weeks that have sparked my imagination, despite being in a haze of midterms and remorse. Quite some time ago, I started watching a channel on YouTube called "JustSoFilms" who post videos of independent musicians playing one song, in one take, in the back of a London Black Cab. Among those who have partaken are some of my favorites like Emmy the Great, Laura Marling, Johnny Flynn and Charlie Fink of Noah and the Whale. Black Cab has also featured artists as diverse as St. Vincent, Amanda Palmer of The Dresden Dolls, Death Cab for Cutie, Martha Wainright and Lykke Li. I love the concept of a one-take show with nothing but a couple musicians and some instruments. That's always been my favorite kind of music, and something about making it mobile and public and a part of the real world is really engaging and interesting to me. There's an almost guerilla element to it that transforms the act of making music into a magical event once again. Black Cab has the ability to reinvigorate music by literally putting it on the streets. Busker chic?

A number of other websites offer similar concepts- Handheld Shows keeps it a little more private and a little bit more performance-based while La Blogotheque takes bands outside of even the privacy afforded by a cab and puts them right in the middle of public parks, commuter trains, busy roadways and the like. I think the explosion of these sorts of public performance websites and video services are probably the result of two things:

1. An indie love for all things ironic and mildly awkward and,

2. A desire to overturn the North American tendency to privatize and dissociate music, art and creative activities from the public sphere

Its probably pretty clear which of these options I'm more inclined to believe. Cultural Studies students love giving meaning to things that don't really have any. I don't think it's any mistake that the vast majority of these services are based in Europe. La Blogotheque (my favorite of the sites mentioned so far-their photography is beautiful) sets most of its "Concerts a Emporter" in the heart of Paris, Just So Films uses the London Black Cab as its studio and Handheld Shows is based in Norway. Most places outside of North America (and certain pockets of North America) have a long and storied history of making music a public, collectivizing experience. The east coast of Canada is infamous for its musical house parties, Central and South America incorporate music into the backdrop of every day life, and in Europe, music has long been a means of story-telling, as well as a site of community rituals and experience. In these kids of communities, music is less a form of performance that it is just a part of a larger landscape of social interaction. There's a great moment in the Noah and the Whale Blogotheque session where an old Parisian man just joins in the singing as he passes the band on the street that illustrates this sort of ease and comfort with music beautifully. In a lot of places around the world, music isn't public by chance or perversion, but by necessity. North America, though, approaches performance much differently. Art is housed in galleries, music is performed on stages inside elaborate concert halls or dive bars, dancing is reserved for ornate staged productions. Art and the pleasure we derive from it is an experience very much separate from every day life for many North Americans.

I think this is why it's so exciting to watch these "take-away shows." While still based on performativity and the exhibition of a particular cultural product, they take leaps and bounds towards troubling and questioning the line between private creative effort and public engagement with that creative effort. There's nothing stopping someone singing along on the street, nothing to stop a passer-by walk directly through a shot. This is performance, but situated deeply in the grand, complex and expansive performance of daily rituals- walking the dog, taking the train, buying the groceries. I watch these sessions and come away stupidly inspired. I want to stumble upon people making music for the sake of making music. I want to find a fun fiddle line on the train, a gorgeous harmony in the park, a catchy hook as I walk through downtown. There's something so magical about making music an integral part of our daily rituals that simply cannot be reproduced by ritualizing the performance of music in itself.

Taking a cue from these wonderful sites, me and some friends were on a bus returning to campus after a few refreshments a week or so ago, and decided that we were going to sing and make music because it felt good. And it did. It felt so awesome, especially when people around us were bobbing along, singing quietly to themselves, trying to hide the fact that they were enjoying it. This experience threw into stark relief something fundamental about North American views on performance and creation. When I see a woman coyly singing along on the bus, I see someone wanting to overturn the tradition of privatized performance we've established on this continent. When I watch the Noah and the Whale Blogotheque session and see the old man boisterously join in the singing, despite not knowing a single word of the song, I see this desire realized.

I propose putting the magic back in music. Music shouldn't have to be performed to be experienced. Music should be a part of lived experience that we can't abstract from everyday rituals and duties. Sing with friends on the street, make music with as many people as you can, try to participate instead of always being an observer of a "legitimate" performance. The world will sound better, feel better and (with any luck) get along better, too.

Because I Suck at Updating

2009-02-17T18:16:00.000-08:00

Just so you know:

I had grand designs on writing a really sweet entry this weekend, but never got around to it.

It's the thought that counts, right?

New stuff soon. Thank you for being patient.

Further Proof that Natalie Portman is Actually Jesus

2009-02-09T14:14:00.000-08:00

So this sketch showed up on SNL a couple years ago and was really, really, really, uncharacteristically funny for SNL. The Lonely Island just released the uncensored version of this song, though, and it's always worth a second listening. For all those who don't wish to ruin the illusion of Natalie Portman's perfection, navigate away from this page now.

"What you need, Natalie?" "TO DRINK AND FIIIIIGHTTT"

Swear to God, you'll hear me say those words about 100 times in the next week.

Long Story Short

2009-02-02T22:12:00.000-08:00

Sir Philip Sidney's Astrophil and Stella Sequence:

Astrophil: "Oh, Stella! I draggeth my soul over the coals of Hell

For but a glimpse of thine gentle hand. My soul ringeth before my eyes

The swell of your troth, denied mine touch"

Stella: "This is probably why you can't get laid."

The End.

Dan Mangan makes me want to be an alcoholic

2009-01-30T23:02:00.000-08:00

In the best possible way.

Just thought you should know.

Dan Mangan

Remember This Day

2009-01-27T22:59:00.000-08:00

For it is the only time I will ever, repeat EVER, defend anyone in the clan Simpson (as in Jessica, Ashlee, old fucked up Joe, and entourage).

In my daily time squandering, I happened upon a weirdly large number of articles and blog posts about a particular photo of Jessica Simpson. My shock was two-fold:

1. I was almost certain that Jessica Simpson had finally just given up on trying to be talented, leading me to speculate on why exactly it was that she was still performing.

2. The nature of the criticisms being thrown at this particular photo were fucking mind-blowing to me. Here is the photo:

Now, here are a few of the comments I read about this particular photo:

"Jess's Fashion Faux Pas: The curvy singer took the stage in a seriously unflattering outfit." -AOL Music
"Simpson Debuts Fuller Figure" - Also AOL Music
"Simpson Proves Not Everyone Should Wear Mom Jeans"- PopEater
"Honest to god her appearance couldn’t have been any more shocking unless she had grown glow in the dark tentacles." - What Would Tyler Durden Do?

Hey, Internet. Shut the fuck up. Granted, Jessica Simpson is one of the most profoundly untalented people in the whole of the music industry (and the definition of untalented in the music industry is pretty wide). She does NOT, however, appear grotesque, offensive, abnormal, disgusting, fat, shocking, or whatever other sorts of stupid things you care to level against her. Call me crazy, but she looks good. Maybe that's just my taste, though. Maybe it's just some crazy, outlandish turn-on of mine that I don't like women who could die from starvation at any moment.

She looks good. She looks better than good. She looks like a person, not a pile of bone and remorse with a crack pipe buried somewhere inside.

This is why normal people of my generation are fundamentally and eternally fucked up. It's because that photo is seen as unacceptable. It's because someone, simply by virtue of being healthy and comfortable, can be rejected in an instant with brutality and without regret.

I'm too angry to be long-winded while remaining coherent, so I'll leave it there for the night.

Something in the Water?

2009-01-21T22:24:00.000-08:00

What is it with Britain and its ability to churn out absurdly talented folk musicians? I should have been born on the other side of the pond, methinks.

Laura Marling, "Rambling Man"

Johnny Flynn, "Tickle Me Pink"

Emmy the Great, "Two Steps Forward"

Hey, Britain! Share some song writing talent with the rest of the world. Kthx.

Long Story Short

2009-01-19T21:26:00.001-08:00

Sir Thomas More's Utopia:

"Slaves for all!"

The End.

Next Stop: Granola Town!

2009-01-15T23:56:00.000-08:00

I write to you today, dear readers, in defense of one of my own beliefs that I feel deserves defense.

Sustainability is a loaded, confusing and convoluted term that has all but lost significance as the green movement and ethical consumption has been picked up by mainstream marketers and retailers. Nonetheless, I feel that it is an idea worth exploring, and one worth considering drawing into your own practices and routines. The most classic definition of sustainability comes from The Brundtland Report, a paper published in 1987 by the Brundtland Commission, detailing possible solutions and remedies to the increasingly serious environmental conundra we presently find ourselves locked in. In this report, sustainability is defined as the use of resources in such a way that does not diminish the ability of future generations to use those same resources. Basically, it aims for resource consumption to be a zero-sum game. Use stock resources slowly, and frugally, with an eye always on the future, use flow/renewable resources only to the extent that they can recharge themselves, and always be investigating and testing technologies and alternative materials and processes that can reduce the strain placed on both of the preceding categories. Sustainability is based on three fundamental concepts: 1) Equity (both inter- and intra-generational), 2) Futurity, and 3) Valuing the environment. It is the goal of sustainability to allow for continued human life on the planet by instilling in each new generation a respect for the needs of future generations, a sense of environmental stewardship, and a respect for ecological stability, health and futurity for its own sake.

Unfortunately, as with many contemporary social movements (Globalization being a prime example), sustainability has lost many of its teeth, largely as a result of shoddy definitions and countless permutations and modifications of the terms outlined above. The Brundtland definition, while helpful and broad, is by no means universal. Nations, cities, corporations, communities can create and enforce their own version of sustainability- no standard definition exists across all regions, municipalities, and nations. Unlike globalization, however, which tends to favour economic interests first (a big plus in most societies around the world), sustainability has the added disadvantage of being less about making money, and more about spending it. Sustainable farming, for example, often entails more expensive seeding, tillage and irrigation techniques, translating into high prices for organic and sustainable products in the markets and grocery stores. The farmer pays more, the consumer pays more, all in the interest of making the land pay less. It doesn't take a genius to see why sustainability doesn't fit very comfortably within North American society. It preaches the exact opposite of some very fundamental beliefs that form the basis of our economic systems.

This has placed sustainability and efforts toward it squarely in the hands of two much-mocked social niches: Upper-class urban professionals with the cash and time to burn on things like organic produce and slow food lifestyles, and un-classed "hippie" types who, by-and-large, reject mass production of food and favour deep ecology, ecocentrism, and other radical environmental doctrines. In both cases, sustainable lifestyles seem well outside the interest range of what we may call the majority. The two groups described above (for sake of ease, we'll call them Yuppies and Hippies), are the target of much derision and scorn, largely because of their belief in the doctrine of sustainability. Yuppies get turned into self-righteous liberals who don't know what it's like to have to work hard for a living, who don't know what it's like to be pressed for time to find something to eat, who don't know what its like going to the grocery store on a budget. Hippies get turned into...almost the same thing actually, but with more dreadlocks, pot, baggy clothing and Phish records. As a result, sustainability tends to get bound up with other environmental issues taken up by these two niches- things like climate change, deforestation, animal rights- all things that people in the majority tend to look upon with a sympathetic, but distracted eye.

Sustainability thus becomes one of many throw-away issues associated with other things that people tend to not care about, or be skeptical of, like global warming and climate change. This is terribly unfortunate. The reality is that, while sustainability and more "controversial" issues like global warming are indeed related and have significant overlaps, I think It's important to recognize and appreciate sustainability as its own entity, worthy of pursuit in-and-of itself.

Actions supporting a sustainable lifestyle- cutting back meat consumption, buying things with less packaging, buying local produce, driving your car less and relying more on transit and walking, etc. - are commendable causes for reasons well outside of the global warming "debate" (if it can so be called anymore). Let's look at each of the preceding examples in turn. Cutting back meat consumption is considered a more sustainable lifestyle choice than eating meat several times a week, for example. This is because the industrial production of livestock is incredibly chemical-intensive. Feed lots tend to be drastically over-crowded, concentrating the formidable amounts of waste produced by, among other animals, cows. This can overwhelm the natural assimilative capacity of a piece of land, and cause dangerous chemicals and bacteria to leach into soils and acidify/contaminate them, rendering future agricultural use effectively impossible. Further, these same chemicals and bacteria can very easily wash into nearby rivers or leach into groundwater systems and be carried to populated areas causing residential water contamination, posing on the one hand, a public health risk, and on the other, the possibility of an enormous clean-up and purification effort in the future. Additionally, it's no big secret that cows are capable of producing a mighty stink when they feel so inclined. This unfortunate habit releases huge amounts of methane into the atmosphere. Fears of climate change aside, I don't think anyone would be opposed to cutting the amount of noxious gases floating around in the air we breathe. As a final note, industrial livestock farms are often located well outside of urban limits, and meat is often imported from overseas. This produce has to travel enormous distances just to reach our supermarkets, consuming, per unit, a huge amount of fuels and energy. Again, climate change aside, if we can save on fuel usage, cut back emissions of any sort, shouldn't we?

Purchasing things package more efficiently and purchasing local goods is also seen as a wise sustainable choice. Perhaps the most obvious reason this is a good idea is because there's no hiding the fact anymore that we just don't know what to do with all the trash we produce. Landfills are filled, there's an enormous plastic dump in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, hazardous chemicals leach into soils and groundwater as organic and non-organic materials decompose (a process often accompanied by the production of methane. See the previous paragraph for why this sucks). It seems pretty apparent to me that none of these things are great. Reducing waste has nothing to do with climatic cycles or temperature variation on a global scale, but stands alone as a worthy cause. Associated with this attempt to reduce waste is the attempt to buy as many goods locally as possible. Doing this can help to reduce the amount of packaging needed to transport goods. If you're buying an apple from an orchard 40 minutes by truck form the market, odds are, that apple isn't going to be jostled about as violently as it would if it were being imported from, say, Japan. Thus, we end up using far less packing per unit of consumption because it simply isn't necessary any more. Also, by buying local, you eliminate the need for insane import patterns, and thus reduce the amount of fuel and energy (and in turn, emissions) consumed per unit. As a fun bonus, buying local gives smaller farmers the help many desperately need. Many local-scale farmers run smaller operations than the industrial systems used by the world's largest producers, reducing their overall impact on the land they utilize. These small-scale operations tend to be higher-cost, so buying your produce from them bolsters a local agricultural industry that struggles to compete with globalized production. Get better food, with less packaging, from better producers, with less energy and fuel consumed in transport, and with a smaller impact on the soils being used. QUINTUPLE WIN! Of course, a lot of this depends on larger issues of the decentralization of industry from global hubs and the rethinking of urban and ex-urban spaces, but nonetheless, the ideas hold up.

Driving less and relying more on public transit and walking is probably the action most people could take tomorrow, if they chose to. In most major metropolitan centers throughout North America, Europe, and Asia, public transit systems are extensive and can be easily accessed from around the city. Places like Vancouver, Montreal and....all of Europe are blanketed with frequent and relatively reliable mass-transit systems. Of course, there are obvious exceptions to this rule. Cities like Atlanta, Mesa/Phoenix and Calgary are absolute urban-planning abominations and, in may areas population densities are too low to make transit lines profitable, forcing many to spend hours in their car per day, frequently only one person to a vehicle. the advantages to using transit are apparent, immediate and personal. Above all, you don't have to pay for gas! I know prices have fallen over the last little while. Nonetheless, I drive a little car that sips rather politely on fuel and every time I fill up, it still costs me 50 some odd dollars- money that I'd much rather spend on something like...you know...food...or rent...those details. Predictably, cutting down on individual driving also vastly reduces emissions created by the combustion of fossil fuels, reduces the amount of crap thrown into land fills (cars, for the record are the stupidest investment ever. Even stupider than computers. You buy it, and as soon you sign the papers, it's next-to-worthless, and as time goes by, it gets less and less efficient, more and more costly, up until a point where it just gets turfed. The whole damn car. That's like throwing out the down payment on a banging new condo).

That was a lot of blathering on, but I just can't help but pick up on this not-so-subtle resentment of ideas like sustainability because it's basically become so amorphous and nebulous as to be rendered nearly meaningless for the majority. I think it needs to be pursued, regardless of ethical, moral, political or personal scientific persuasions for no reason other than its a good idea that's totally attainable. Small choices made on a grand scale can change the world. I'm not sure if the fact that I actually believe that is stupid or wise, but I believe it nonetheless.

All the best,

Treatise on Apartment Living

2009-01-09T20:29:00.000-08:00

Apologies for very shoddy posting for the last little while, folks. I've been busy with getting settled back into school life and detoxing myself out of the turkey and stuffing hangover that I've been fighting since the day Christmas holidays began. Also, I've been tied up with a non-blog, creative writing project that's been taking up much of my free time to frustratingly few results. In any event, I've returned to regular routine and am looking forward to settling into better postings once again.

At the beginning of this academic year, I decided to make the step out of residence and move into my first apartment. I live in a small (pushing micro) bachelor suite in a self-consciously self-righteous community oriented toward fostering long-term sustainability and a vibrant resident community. At least that's what the brochures say. In recent weeks, I've been pushed to my wits end with the type of people who inhabit these types of places. I am not referring to those who believe in sustainability or smart urbanism because heaven knows that I do my damndest to adhere to these principles myself. I'm speaking more to the type of people who believe that paying a higher rent, living in an exclusive community, buying all-terrain baby carriages, wearing Gore-Tex and Chanel in the same swoop, shopping at small independent whole foods markets, etc. some how changes the nature of those around them. Some time ago now, I received an anonymous note under my door in the dead of night, citing strata bylaws, and asking me to please "be more courteous" to my neighbours and respect noise restrictions. This little treat claimed that I had been running appliances like vacuum cleaners after 11pm, moving furniture all night (for the record, this is impossible. I have the upper body strength of an 8-year-old girl), blasting music after midnight, and so on. Regardless of the fact that none of these noises had come from my apartment, whoever had sent this note had felt that it was within their rights to remind me of bylaws and make accusations regarding my behaviour, without ever having spoken to me or confirming their suspicions. Imagine my surprise, then, when I received a letter some time later notifying me of a formal noise complaint against my apartment that had been brought before the city-wide condominium service! All this without a single knock on the door! Without even an attempt to speak with me. Without so much as a passing effort to determine if these accusations were indeed true!

It is not that I was falsely accused of violations that bothers me, but the fact that whoever had perceived the problem was obviously bent not on solving their noise issues, but on bringing swift and, aboveall, anonymous revenge down upon my ruckus, noisy, disrespectful little head. Call me crazy, but when you encounter an issue, do you not speak to the person with whom you take exception? Isn't that your first instinct? It would certainly be my reaction. In turn, I struggled valiantly against my own worrisome mind, trying to figure out what exactly would have made the anonymous victim so averse to simply knocking on my door. What was it that made them so absolutely furious that they would leave the note in the dead of night, (presumably in the hopes I wouldn't notice when it had been left) and without even seeing my face, take the complaint to the highest authority of condominium regulations in the city? As a side note, the highest authority on condo regulations in the city is accurately comparable to the hamster in the pet store- cute, vaguely respected, and self-empowered, but always bypassed in favour of animals of consequence, puppies, kittens, and in some more exotic pet shops, ferrets.

It occurred to me, only after hearing a similar story from a friend in my building, that the reason for this aggressively hamster-like behaviour is purely economic. My friend received a similar noise complaint citing, of all things, walking too loudly. Her walking had disturbed someone to the point that a 50 dollar fine seemed in order. It became abundantly clear that the people making these complaints, rattling the hamster cage, so to speak, have absolutely no desire to live around other humans. It isn't that they want respectful neighbours, or to live in a courteous community. They want to live away from neighbours entirely. To complain about and attempt to fine someone for walking too loudly isn't a matter of making sure people respect noise bylaws, it's a matter of telling other people what they can and cannot do on a very broad level. Somehow, paying a higher rent has become tantamount to the demand for common bedtimes, common routines, common tastes and behaviours. These people want to live next to robots, not other people.

The problem with this kind of apartment living is the mentality that takes root among the more ornery tenants: that if they are paying for a home, they are also paying for the privilege to live within that space in a way that they choose. This is a fair claim. However, what they seem to forget is that every other tenant has the same expectation- everyone pays, everyone uses their space as a home. The problem arises, though, when the odd person believes that their rent payments entitle them to live their lives in the way the desire, free of interference from others. This is an impossible expectation to meet. Neighbours, tenants, renters, owners, are all people, and people make noise. Going to the kitchen and getting food makes noise. Walking to the door to leave for class makes noise. Emptying the dishwasher makes noise. These are not malicious actions. They are simply the things we do in our days, as we live our lives in our little stacked homes. But should those noises spill from one life into another, they suddenly become attacks on the sovereignty of the next unit over. All at once, me vacuuming my apartment after 7pm becomes an act of war, an attempt to annex your kitchenette and sofa.

Should you wish to avoid interaction with others, I suggest you throw yourself in front of a train right now, because you will constantly be let down by your total inability to meet this goal. People make noise, people do the same things you do, people exist outwardly, people move in amongst other people's lives, sounds, wishes, contracts and rent payments. Should someone genuinely offend you, fair enough. But rather than leaving an anonymous note by cover of darkness, try knocking on a door and speaking to the person with whom you have a problem. I can almost guarantee that this will yield a more positive outcome than the bureaucratic hamster aggravation that comes along with alternate mediation mechanisms.

No amount of rent you pay, no number of gates on a community, no slab of concrete and steel will ever change the fact that people are people. Realize this, then reconsider your anger, and commence feeling like a jackass. Many thanks.

THANK YOU

2009-01-07T12:58:00.001-08:00

If there's anyone better at explaining complex world events than John Green, I haven't found them:

!!!

2009-01-05T08:09:00.001-08:00

This is not a post about the band confusingly named !!!, but rather, a celebration.

Today was to be the first day of classes of the spring semester. My campus, however, is buried beneath what appears to be a mile of snow. Thus, I have no classes.

Rejoice!

Kind of the Same

2008-12-28T15:34:00.000-08:00

So, a couple weeks back I published a post called "Favorite Things" in which I gave some recommendations or things to read/watch/listen to this holiday season. This entry is similar, but no more interesting. Everyone does one of these at some point in December or January, and I've decided that there's no point in refusing to give in. All my favorite bloggers have taken up the task of the year end "best of" list with great gusto, and I'd very much like to join their ranks. For the sake of ease and laziness, though, this will not be many lists. This will deal with music, because I find that's what most people end up caring about in the end, anyways. And we embark! (Note: none of these lists are in any particular order)

Top Albums of 2008:

1. Third by Portishead

Very few of these selections will come as surprises to regular readers, this first one included. Third isn't an album that I instantly loved, which was kind of disheartening. I remember listening to Dummy for the first time and how utterly new and engrossing it was to me at the time. Third isn't like that. Its electronic brutality, apparent on tracks like "Machine Gun" and the latter half of "The Rip" can, on first listen, be exhaustive. With some time alone with this group of songs, though, that brutality slowly shifts into a kind of sensuality as gentle and sumptuous as, say, "Roads" (my favorite Portishead song). The work you put in on your first few spins of this record will yield an incredible listening experience down the road. Trust.

Highlight(s): Machine Gun, Silence, The Rip

Weak Spot(s): Deep Water

2. Chances by Jill Barber

The best word for this album is probably "effortless." The concept seems trite- a short collection of 50s-style love songs crooned by the classically beautiful Barber, and packaged as something of a throwback album. On first listen, though, it becomes very apparent that to use the word "concept" to describe this album is entirely fallacious. A "concept album" implies a kind of once-off, masquerade album that assumes a particular sound, aesthetic and structure distinct to a particular genre, era, or audience. The sound on this record, though, seems like a natural progression for Barber. When you hear the title track, You have a hard time imagining her singing anything else- this is where her voice belongs. Wonderfully produced and orchestrated by Les Cooper, Chances is Barber's most satisfying release to date and makes me stupidly happy every time I listen to it.

Highlight(s): Chances, Oh My My

Weak Spot(s): Some less-than-perfect programming choices: "Old Flame" shouldn't follow "Be My Man" (picky much?)

3. Acid Tongue by Jenny Lewis

A ripper of a follow-up to Lewis' first solo record, Rabbit Fur Coat, released in 2006. Where Rabbit Fur Coat excelled was in the deeply nuanced and constantly surprising songwriting of Lewis herself, highlighted supremely by the plaintive title track and on the slightly more ruckus "The Charging Sky" and "The Big Guns." Where the album stumbled, though, was in a lack of forward energy on the remainder of the tracks. After the jangling, rollicking opening to the album, I felt kind of let down by the tepid, ultra-slow burn of the rest of the collection. Acid Tongue makes up for these missteps by taking the whole works into the deep south and retuning with a serious boot stomper of a good time. Tracks like "Jack Killed Mom" and "Acid Tongue" show off Lewis' serious lyrics chops while still delivering the loose, brassy, rough sound of southern rock. Very enjoyable- Rabbit Fur Coat if you fried it and served it with grits.

Highlight(s): Carpetbaggers, Jack Killed Mom

Weak Spot(s): Bad Man's World

4. Man Descending by Justin Rutledge

I’m on an unofficial quest to find the achiest and breakiest of all achy and breaky folk and country being made today. I find this kind of music profoundly comforting for reasons that are totally beyond my powers of explanation. Not rap, not rock and roll, not even punk can make alcoholism and heartache seem as surreally glamorous as folk music. Lil John, Keith Richards and Sid Vicious, for me, have absolutely nothing on some wineo sitting in some bar off some highway in some state that probably grows potatoes singing about how booze is the only thing that’s reliable in this crazy world anymore. As a note, I’ve just realized that I have really shitty life goals. But anyways, that freakish fascination with alcoholic country is part of why I love this album. It seems to be a genuine recreation of the conflict between Godliness and destruction that weighs down so much of the classic country and folk I grew up on, despite being generally (sort of) upbeat. But I think the root of my love for this music comes from the fact that we live in a period where every review of every album claims that the given artist is “defiantly unclassifiable” or some such nonsense. Justin Rutledge is, I think, defiantly classifiable. He creates classic country in an overcrowded country supergenre that’s merged with pop and rock in what is, I feel, probably the worst thing to happen to man kind…like…ever. He isn’t alt-folk, anti-country, alterna-blues or post anything. He makes really excellent folk country music with serious soul, artistry and skill, in a time when transcendence is slicker than whale shit in an ice flow *.

Highlight(s): Alberta Breeze, St. Peter

Weak Spot(s): ...

*Disclaimer: I think boundary breakers are rad, but only when the breaking of boundaries serves to individualize the music being made, not necessarily when the breaking of boundaries is done simply in the interest of creating “crossover appeal.” This is why Taylor Swift sucks so bad.

5. This Riot Life by Veda Hille

I’ve talked about this album a great deal on this blog so far, and with very good reason- It’s straight up exciting to listen to. I’ve listened to some seriously messed up music in my short time, but none of it has ever sounded so refreshing and fundamentally new as This Riot Life, despite the fact that nearly the entire album is based off of traditional hymns and, on more than one occasion employs conventionally classical arrangement and orchestration techniques. It just seems completely new and never stops being fun for me. “Ace of the Nazarene,” almost shrilly satirical stands directly opposed against the almost choral “Constance” and “CowpersFolly” which are all challenged by the absolutely bizarre and theatrical “Soapland Serenade” about the girls who work in a “full release” spa. It sounds completely pretentious and deliberately inaccessible, and, on the first of those two counts, I’d probably agree. It’s totally insane, totally artsy fartsy, completely schizophrenic, but relentlessly fun and exciting. A fantastic album. Also, Veda wins hands-down for coolest album cover this year, if not in the history of man.

Highlight(s): Constance, Ace of Nazarene, Lucklucky

Weak Spot(s): This Spring

Top Songs of 2008:

"Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)" by Beyonce:

Look. You just have to accept it- there has probably never been a sassier song or music video in history. This song is awesome. So awesome that I’m even willing to forgive the almost inexcusably annoying Beyonce/Sasha Fierce marketing gimmick that she pulled on this album. This habit for rock stars to adopt a split personality has (unfortunately not by me) been referred to as the “poppelganger.” I wish I’d thought of that so bad. Oh well…"Single Ladies" is awesome- you know it, I know it, we all know it, we might as well accept it.

“New Romantic” by Laura Marling:

Probably the most impressive thing about this song is the fact that I’m older than Laura Marling, yet she has more soul, maturity and experience in her songwriting than I think I ever will. “New Romantic” has incredible lyrics which are just as witty and surprising as they are downtrodden, and Marling’s loose, gentle, effortless delivery is at once soothing and heartbreaking. These are the incoherent but poignant 4 am ravings of anyone who’s ever been hurt.

“Paper Planes” by MIA:
This song is not technically from 2008, coming from the album Kala, released in the summer of 2007, but nonetheless, “Paper Planes” exploded when released as a single last February and deserves some mention here. I love this whole album, and I think that “Paper Planes” is an ideal example of why it’s so great. On Kala, MIA has taken common hip hop tropes and narratives, but manipulated them to make them personally and politically relevant. In “Bamboo Banga,” for example, when she repeats “we’re knocking on the doors of your hummer hummer,” she’s using a common symbol of American wealth, especially in the rap community, and placing it in the context of Third World degradation, implying street children running alongside a Western car, pounding on the doors as it passes. Similarly, in “Paper Planes,” she assumes the decidedly Western role of “bona fide hustler,” yet still pumps gas, and constantly references the challenges of Third World living- “pirate skulls and bones,” “lethal poison through their system.” What “Paper Planes” did for hip hop was to recontextualize it and, in the process, completely undermine and change it. Here, following the stereotypical “hustler” role seems absurd when people are stuck pumping gas, dealing with lethal poisons and bombs. Also, it’s hella catchy and fun.

“Wanderlust” by Bjork:
Also not from 2008, but again, released as a single in April of this year. I don’t even really know what to say about this song, other than that it’s really great. Bjork has called it the heart of the album it’s drawn from, Volta, and I’m inclined to agree. The “relentless” craving that saturates the song underscores the liminality implied on the rest of the album, especially on tracks like “Earth Intruders” and “The Dull Flame of Desire.” In the context of the album, “Wanderlust” works beautifully, helping the nameless revolutionary protagonists introduced in “Earth Intruders” march onward throughout the collection.

“Fabulous” by Dan Mangan:
This is probably the best song to listen to on a bad day. Ever. Mangan growls his way through this track like a really sad drunk at the tail end of a really shitty party, telling people things they don’t want to know in ways they don’t want to listen to. If you can listen to him sing “wishing the world would fuck off” without somehow feeling better (or at least self-righteous), you are surely made of stone.

“Jack Killed Mom” by Jenny Lewis:
This song is probably the highlight of Lewis’ Acid Tongue. The lyrics teeter between funny and seriously disturbing, and they’re laid over a rollicking, southern saloon rock track that seems to highlight both of these characteristics. I hesitate to say that the song is fun, simply because the subject matter is 100% not awesome, but dammit if I don’t find myself honky-tonking with the best of them every time I hear it. There’s just something about the song that’s totally magnetic, and its explosive momentum is far beyond anything seen on Rabbit Fur Coat.

“Help I’m Alive” by Metric:
I’m basically in love with Emily Haines, and this song has reminded me why. Her unaffected, totally dead-pan lyrical delivery has always been one of Metric’s signatures and it shines on this track. When Haines sings “If I stumble, they’re gonna eat me alive,” she seems absolutely stoic about the whole experience. Even on the great chorus/refrain “can’t you hear my heart beating like a hammer,” there isn’t any attempt at a grand, swooping, star-search moment. It just kind of is. I don’t know why this kind of delivery makes it sound so good. By all accounts, it should make it boring as fuck, but “Help I’m Alive” somehow makes stoicism into a killer slow-burn that I’m ass-over-tea kettle for.

“Elephants” by Rachael Yamagata:
I loved Yamagata’s last album, Happenstance, and have been waiting eagerly since its release in 2004 for even a little hint of something more from this soulful balladeer. Her new album, Elephants…Teeth Sinking Into Heart has finally arrived, and on this double disc, Yamagata explores both her tender and feisty sides. “Elephants” is drawn from the first disk and is the perfect show case of Rachael’s amazing ability to squeeze blood from a stone. I’m not really sure I understand the huge conceit about elephants and lions that she carries throughout the song, but it’s all worth it just to hear her nearly silent delivery of the final stanza, “So to those of you falling in love, keep it kind, keep it good, keep it right. Throw yourself in the midst of danger, but keep one eye open at night.”

“Coyotes” by Brian Borcherdt:
This song is what would happen had Eliot Smith been sadder and slower. Borcherdt puts an enthralling new twist on the guy-and-guitar routine by stripping back acoustic folk songs to their absolute bare bones and giving Michael Stipe a run for his money in terms of cryptic lyrics. This is ideal dead-of-winter-middle-of-the-night music: slow, sparce, moody, dark, lonesome, and all kinds of great.

“Jerk It” by Thunderheist:
The people responsible for this song maintain that “Jerk It” simply means “dance,” and nothing more. Whether or not you believe that, the song is still awesome. The low-key vocal delivery helps turn this “booty poppin” track into both a pleasurable listen as well as a great dance floor beat. In my opinion, at-home good and club good are notoriously at odds in a lot of electronic and dance music. I don’t usually dig electronic because I just can’t stand listening to it at home. People tell me “but at the club, it’s great.” This is usually true, but I kind of feel swindled when I have to get all dressed up, pay 20 bucks cover and have a few drinks in me before I can stand to listen to a song. I’m a lazy, lazy man. “Jerk It” solves my conundrum- great to listen to on its own and a perfect track for the clubs. Canadian rap FTW!

“Gunpowder and Lead” by Miranda Lambert:
I was only going to put 10 songs on this list, but I heard this song for the first time in ages last night, and remembered that it’s probably the only thing this year to rival the sassiness of “Single Ladies.” Again coming from a 2007 album, (Crazy Ex-Girlfriend), “Gunpower and Lead” makes murder seem like more fun than ever before. Lambert wails “I’m going home, gonna load my shotgun, wait by the door and light a cigarette. He wants a fight well now he’s got one, he aint seen me crazy yet.” These aren’t terribly uncommon sentiments in radio country, even in the pop-country-rock morass mentioned earlier, but when Lambert threatens “His fist is big but my gun’s bigger- he’ll find out when I pull the trigger,” I believe it.

Merry Everything

2008-12-24T08:45:00.000-08:00

I know it probably seems stupid to be blogging on Christmas Eve when the family is supposed to gather and chill and laugh and be merry, but everyone is either beating down old ladies in the grocery store in a mad attempt to buy a functioning turkey baster, or working for the first half of the day. Thus I have opted to spend my morning with Restaurant Makeover, the 2008 Bucky Awards CBC Radio 3 Podcast (likely the best award show of the whole live-long year) and my wonderful readers. I don't think it gets any more luxurious than that. I love Christmas for this reason. I'm in pajamas, desperately need to shower, ate too much junk food over the last two days, and have done nothing of value for days, and I feel totally centered and happy and content. This Christmas break, while unimaginably cold (-35 before wind chill FTW!) and sometimes hectic and busy, has been decadent in the extreme. The other night I was at a good friend's house and had what is probably one of the most Christmassey days on the books- Gingerbread making, Christmas movies with cocoa on the couch, carols all night. It was wonderful. Take some time to let yourself have this. It can be impossible in this party season to just shut down for a day and be slow and kinda gross and lazy. But everyone in the world is working harder than ever before, functioning on less sleep and giving up time with friends and family to try and make up for our dismal markets. Give yourself a break from all that gobbledy gook and just be happy and full of food and drink. It makes the coming year seem less daunting and the one we're leaving behind not so miserable after all.

And now without further adieu, GINGERBREAD CELEBRITIES:

The Joker

Beyonce: Notice that someone has, indeed, put a ring on it.

Samantha Ronson: Complete with vest and headphones

Kanye West: Always looking fly in his useless plastic shades and Louis Vuitton

Angelina Jolie: Big lips, even bigger heart. (Note: There was a gingerbread version of Angelina's son, Pax. But he got sampled)

Exciting!

2008-12-17T15:43:00.000-08:00

New header! Thank you to Colin Sharp for the design. See some more of Colin's awesome work here.

Hope the holidays are treating you well!

Famous Last Words

2008-12-16T10:12:00.000-08:00

Hello!

Thank you all for being so patient with me as I finished exams, came home for winter break, and caught up on about 2 weeks of lost sleep. I hope the holiday season is treating you and yours well and you're taking time to relax and reflect on the year gone by. It seems fitting this time of year to think about conclusions and beginnings, stops and starts. Thus, it is a happy coincidence that one of my favorite YouTube vloggers, John Green of the vlogbrothers, just posted a really funny and interesting video featuring the famous last words of 50 historical figures. Take a look below:

This may seem morbid/twisted/inappropriate, especially at this time of year when we are supposed to be celebrating life and joy and all those wonderful things we take for granted, but this video really got me motivated to come up with some really great last words. I've been mulling over it for quite some time, and have struggled to come up with anything profound, funny, incisive or timeless in any way. Here are some of my ideas:

1. "Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt."

This is a quote from Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five and just about the only thing I've ever considered getting tattooed on my body. Granted, these would be seriously bad ass last words, but I can't help but feel that they're a cop out. They are brilliant, but they aren't mine, and should I ever become some sort of canonical figure, people in the future would always read "TM, quoting Kurt Vonnegut, said on his deathbed..." If I can, I'd like to get rid of that qualifier "quoting Kurt Vonnegut" and make it my own.

2. "What a terribly predictable ending."

I'm kind of partial to this one. This is something that I'm prone to say frequently regarding movies with people like Kate Hudson and Reese Witherspoon in them. It often results in me getting called a snob by my mother and sister and hearing once again that I "just need to learn to have fun at the movies!" So not only would it be a hilarious way to go, it would be just poignant enough to be quoted in the future.

3. "Tell Jill Barber I love her."

This is just true. No explanation needed.

4. "My only regret is that I didn't live to see cyborgs rule the Earth."

Also true.

5. "At my funeral, make sure there's an open bar."

True, and profoundly functional. I don't want a funeral where people sit around and cry and wave incense about and talk about how I'm in a better place now (cause I'm not). I want people listening to great music, dancing, drinking many different kids of rum cocktails and doing things they'll regret in the morning. It'll be great, you'll always remember it, and I won't have to clean up the mess- perfect plan!

6. "I'm just going to say it, Vampire Weekend makes me sick."

This is inspired by one of the quotes from the video above, only with Vampire Weekend in place of Dante. Vampire Weekend doesn't genuinely make me sick, but if I read any more articles on Pitchfork or Rolling Stone about how Vampire Weekend is so overrated that they have, in fact, become underrated once again, I will put a bullet through my skull. This phrase suffers the same curse as the first one though, it isn't really mine.

7. "The Egyptians buried their dead with cats and gold, the Greeks buried theirs with coins over their eyes. Bury me with wine, cheese and music, and you will have gotten it right."

I like this one quite a bit, mostly because it has just enough Oscar Wilde-esque arrogance about it to make it hilarious and endlessly quotable. This is much more suitable to a life of historical significance than Vonnegut's words coming out of my mouth.

8. "I give this life an 8.9 out of 10"

This would be my final "suck it" to Pitchfork Media, an obnoxious-as-fuck website that rates music on a scale from 1-10, but allows decimal points, so it is effectively a scale of 1-100. They often wait until after all other major reviews have been published, THEN publish theirs, which is often self-consciously against the grain. So annoying. Also, they don't edit their pieces before they are posted, so you often end up in a nightmarish world of semicolons, obscure references, and appositive phrases galore. I'm not so sure I want to devote my final breath to something so appallingly stupid, though.

9. "If they ever find a cure for whatever it is that has put me on my deathbed, make sure you give it to sick people, not pharmaceutical companies."

Medicine should be used to make sick people better, not to make insurance and pharmaceutical companies more impervious to recession. I'll be spreading that word until I'm dead. People seem to listen to someone when they know that someone is dying, so maybe the message will finally get through. Cold, boney, lifeless fingers crossed!

10. "People are people. Make the most of it"

Favorite Things

2008-12-07T22:42:00.000-08:00

So I may not be Oprah, and I may not be able to give you a car, or mixing bowls, or other really mediocre crap that no one cares about until there's a big sticker that says "Oprah" on it, but I can give you a list of the things that have brought me joy, happiness, pleasure and laughter this year. Some are material, some are musical, some are mythical and others are mindless, but they are all uniformly great and I hope you enjoy them this holiday and New Year as much as I have in the past months.

Music*:

"New Romantic" by Laura Marling:
The most sublime cure to the late-night study blues. Marling's introspective, self-deprecating, and charmingly downtrodden lyrics are the perfect complement to her sweetly melancholic voice and smooth guitar. "New Romantic" has kept me afloat on those many nights where midnight came and went while I was up to my eyes in notes, books, remorse and abject frustration.

"Tiger Mountain Peasant Song" by First Aid Kit (Cover of Fleet Foxes):

I kind of hate the original version of this song. The guy who sings it is pretty dreadful. But these two girls, collectively known as First Aid Kit, make the beauty of the song abundantly apparent. It's a cover I've listened to God knows how many times at this point, and I've yet to get sick of it.

"Too Sober to Sleep" by Justin Rutledge:

I won't lie- I basically wish I was Justin Rutledge. His newest album Man Descending is fantastic (and partially inspired the name of this blog), he writes the songs that I can only dream about writing, and he's about the only person who's ever made me say "God I wish I could hurt this bad. Maybe then I'll be able to play music like that." Maybe not such a great goal, but nonetheless, "Too Sober to Sleep" is amazing and one of my favorite songs by Justin. I could only find a relatively low-fi version of it on YouTube, but I urge you to buy the song from iTunes- it's on his album No Never Alone.

"Ace of the Nazarene" by Veda Hille:

This isn't actually my favorite song from Veda's new album This Riot Life, but it's close (and it's the only one on YouTube. Lame excuses FTW). This Riot Life is insane. It's so great. It's unabashedly artsy and challenging and obscure, but is unstoppably pleasurable to listen to. It swings from the manic and the wryly satirical in this song to lush and hymnal on tracks like "Constance." I sincerely hope that you check the album out.

"La Vie en Rose" by Pomplamoose (Cover of Edith Piaf...duh):

I happened upon this insanely talented duo one night on YouTube (surprise!) while I was dodging studying and papers (double surprise!). They call themselves Pomplamoose, and both their original songs (in particular "Hail Mary"), as well as their covers (see "Gatekeeper") are fantastic. Very high production values combined with a ton of talent makes for very easy viewing- enjoy!

"Now That All My Dreams Have Come True" by Jill Barber

Almost as much as I want to be Justin Rutledge, I want to marry and bear many musically talented children by Jill Barber. This song is taken from her new album Chances, which, frequent readers will be aware, basically sustains me. It's fantastic, charming and so impossibly loveable that your head almost explodes on listening to it. Again, this is a lo-fi live version, and great though it is, the full-orchestration of the album version is 100% required listening.

Other Favorite Music for the Year: Portishead's Third, Dala's Who Do You Think You Are?, Wendy McNeill's Guide to Hardcore Living, Laura Barret's Natural Science EP, Dan Mangan's Postcards and Daydreaming and Donovan Woods' The Hold Up.

Reading:

I haven't read too many "new"books this semester, due in large part to existing under a pile of academic articles most of the time. Nevertheless, I will give you a list of the writing (be it fiction, opinion, blog or otherwise) that I have taken solace in over the course of the past year.

Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut:

My absolute favorite book of all time. I just finished re-reading it for about the 7th time, and it still feels like the first. A hilariously unsettling portrait of the future, the end of the world, and how we should behave when the human race is domed to extinction. This book is beautiful, funny, frightening and brutally honest in even its most dishonest moments. Read it!

A Taste of Honey by Shealagh Delaney:

Again, not a new play by any stretch, but one that was new to me when I bought it for an English course this semester. Delaney's examination of domesticity, motherhood and identity in the industrial slums of working class England was a revolutionary work in the post-war period that radically undermined notions of what terms like "family," "mother" and "wife" really meant. Still relevant, still fascinating and always worthy of a read.

Slate Magazine:

Slate is an online magazine that is blissfully unfocused. Almost like a Sunday paper- filled with trivial information about books, food, life, business and politics- Slate immensely fun and comforting to read. It provides things that other general-interest magazines just don't care about, like a weekly poetry podcast, photo essays on architecture, and (ghasp) a concern for things happening outside of the United States. Slate is just fun, and even if it is just pandering to people who aspire to feel intelligent, it does a damn fine job of it.

Clarity, 2008:

Clarity is just about my favorite blog. You can find a link on the right hand side of this page under the heading "Good Folk." I feel sort of creepy and weird reading other people's blogs still, but this one is so wonderful. It follows the author's own experiences, but never gets hung up on internal tumult or becomes a way of airing dirty laundry. The author always finds a way of drawing broad conclusions about how to center yourself in a frantic professional life, even amid the pushes and pulls of home, office, family and friends. Kudos to the author, and I urge you all to take a look. I dare you not to feel better and more centered afterward.

StopSmiling

StopSmiling is a quarterly magazine that professes to be for high-minded low lifes and runs a fantastic blog that you can read here. It's great fun, short, and updated frequently. Also, the magazine is pretty great if you don't mind paying a stupid amount of money for a magazine.

Movies:

I have encountered two main problems when it comes to movies so far this year: 1) I have neither cable nor peasant vision, and thus can't even watch re-runs and 2) I have lived this semester as a hermit. It's pathetic. The tragic consequence of both these problems is that I have not watched a single new movie in the last four months, with the exception of the first half of Pulp Fiction which, obviously, is not new. As a result, this section will be comprised of a short list of movies that I think are really great and will make you feel wonderful over your much-deserved winter breaks:

Wall-E: 'Nuff said

Finding Nemo: See above

Irving Berlin's White Christmas: Likely one of my favorite Christmas movies. Mostly because it is basically Irving Berlin's version of Purple Rain. It may be really atrociously long, kind of dull and ultra-hokey, but I never stop being impressed by how great Bing Crosby sang despite being such a bastard in real life. Also, the final number is so over-produced and garishly staged that you can't help but love it.

A Muppet Christmas Carol: Not even kidding- the funniest and most cheerful Christmas movie I've ever seen, and the only Christmas Eve tradition that's held up in my house. I demand that you watch this movie over the holidays.

Jingle All The Way: If there's anything more jolly than Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sinbad fighting off cigar-smoking midgets in a warehouse as they battle for possession of a Turbo Man Doll, I haven't seen it.

Things That We're All Supposed to Say Over Christmas and That I Truly Mean:

Now for the sappy stuff! This year has been one of extreme difficulty and loss for many, many people. Our financial, banking and industrial structures are breaking down, taking with them the stability of old assumptions about energy, labour and resource exploitation. Every day, we hear news of human and social tragedies- the bombings and gun battles in Mumbai, wars that continue to rage in the Middle East and claim the lives of civilians and soldiers alike, the intensification of slum living and extreme poverty in developing nations, human rights abuses in Myanmar, the assassination of Benazir Bhutto. The list is endless. Yet from somewhere amid this turmoil, tumult and struggle, hope emerges. This year, we have seen the election of the first African-American President of the United States, citizens across Canada participating in political rallies and engaging in debates about democracy, the emergence of truly viable clean technologies, an unprecedented public scrutiny of nations such as China that have been accused of human rights abuses, and numerous other victories in the name of equality, social justice and basic human rights for all. We are not there yet, but we are gaining ground.

I can't shake the feeling that my generation is maturing in the midst of a truly foundational social shift. For so long we have assumed that cheap energy is effectively unlimited, for so long we have assumed that people living in poverty cannot be helped, for so long we have assumed that racial, social, economic, sexual, gender and political differences are fixed and insoluble. I feel that this is finally starting to change. People are questioning themselves, others, their governments, their technologies, their entire system of reality like never before as old assumptions are shown to be fallacious, reductive, incomplete, unjust. My generation will bring in a new form of social order, not through revolution, not through revolt, but through the constant questioning of truth; by constantly asking ourselves why things are the way they are.

Thus my Christmas/whatever else people want to celebrate wish for anyone who reads this, and to the world at large, is that you seize any chance at education you get, take advantage of any little scrap of knowledge that you can get your hands on, and use it to increase your awareness of the world around you. Use those bits of knowledge that you gather from school, from the news, from magazines, from YouTube, from your parents and friends to critically examine what truth is, what your truth is. Always question, always seek to improve, always seek to change for the better, always believe that there is a stronger, more ethical and more just way of doing things. Only through this constant re-evaluation of our own system of reality can we ever hope to turn the few glimmers of hope amid tragedy into a fully realized beacon of change. Take time this year to question, to hope for change and to believe that we can be better as a community engaged in common struggles. That's my wish for all of you. Merry Christmas, thanks for reading, thanks for thinking, thanks for being. A million times thank you.

*For the record, the new widescreen YouTube format is sweet when viewed on the YouTube pages, but makes embedding significantly more arduous and frustrating. Forgive the wildly fluctuating frame sizes and the possibility of dead links and non-functioning videos. Fingers crossed that the Internet god** is on my side.

**I imagine the Internet God to be something like in that Simpsons episode where they show Vishnu at the centre of the Earth, furiously pressing buttons, pulling levers, cranking cranks, Supermanning Hos (not actually) and making the whole world run properly.

It's Very Late

2008-12-02T01:41:00.000-08:00

Just thought I'd let you know my new all-time favorite joke:

What's the difference between a writer and a park bench?

A park bench can support a family.

Maybe I should be getting a degree in park benchery? It's late, and I just spent many hours reading about sustainability. I love finals. Sleep now.

Shut Up and Sing?

2008-11-25T16:10:00.000-08:00

This will be brief, as I have a pile of information on my desk on sustainable development that needs studying. This is kind of an old issue, but only recently has the mixing of politics and celebrity seemed worthy of actual discussion to me.

I, for one, just can't understand why it is that people seem to be so horribly offended by celebrities (singers, in particular) that share their political views through their music. To again refer to my favorite YouTuber, Julia Nunes: She recently posted a video to her channel in which she performed a very nice cover of the song "Brighter than Sunshine" by Aqualung, and followed it up with a vlog update on what's been going in her life. In this section, she mentioned that Obama had won the presidency, and that the eruption of excitement on her college campus is an experience that she will tell her grand children about. She then discussed the passing of Prop 8 in California, constitutionally banning gay marriages, making a sincere and heartfelt apology to those who had been ripped apart by the legislation. The amount of shit she took for this video was astonishing to me. She was called horrible names, over and over again, and people who had been long time subscribers and fans instantly turned on her and brutally attacked her through the cowardly anonymity offered by the Internet. It isn't hard to think of other examples of this disgusting reaction to the mixing of music and politics. On the eve of the invasion of Iraq, Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks (I am not ashamed to say that I love them) said at a concert in London, that she was ashamed that the President of the United States was from Texas. She and the band spent the next 4 years of their lives fighting radio boycotts of their music, disgusting and hurtful names like "Dixie Sluts" and "Saddam's Angels," and even a threat against Maines' life.

This is so insane to me. When someone decides they want to make music, or when someone signs a record contract, they don't sign away their right to participate in political and civic discourse. Spending time in a studio doesn't make you any less of a person and certainly doesn't strip you of your freedom of expression and speech. I write and perform music myself, and my politics and views on social reality are an integral part of where my lyrics come from. My songs are as much an articulation of my beliefs as are the papers I write, the blog entries I post, the arguments I make in debates with friends and peers. Putting these beliefs in musical form and performing them in public does not make these viewpoints any less valid, and certainly doesn't take away my rights as a free citizen to dissent, speech and expression. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a fan of the politics written into the music of far-right wing musicians such as Toby Keith (fully explained in the entry called 'Ditches and Hoes') and, given the choice, I wouldn't opt to listen to his music. It's critical to mention, though, that it's his politics with which I take exception, not his expression of them in a public forum or on a stage. He can write whatever he wants in his music, and I can choose not to listen to it. To actively try to destroy or hurt someone just because their politics become exposed in front of an audience of any kind, though- that's ridiculous.

Being a musician or a public figure doesn't take away your ability to feel and think and speak in a way that reflects your politics. I'm not usually one to side with complaining celebrities (read, I'm never one to side with complaining celebrities), but when it comes to that stupid aphorism "shut up and sing," I feel my bile duct raging. Music is personal, and the personal is inherently political. If you don't like it, don't listen. But the expression of beliefs and values is not a right that should be restricted, unless it infringes upon the safety and well-being of others, or denies others the right to free expression, as well. Seems to me this is a pretty basic argument that's been kicking around for along time. In fact, it's suspiciously similar to the ideas put forth by Classical and Reform liberal philosophers emerging from the Enlightenment. The Enlightenment...as in the period of history emerging around 1600(ish) and lasting until about the end of the French Revolution (1789). That's over 200 years ago. 200 years and we still haven't gotten it right. Maybe it's time to stop telling people to shut up and sing. I think we should finally shut up and listen.

Things and Stuff

2008-11-21T14:04:00.001-08:00

Dear Readers,

Thank you for being readers! I have been very lacking in the update department as of late, so here is some news for all you wonderful people:

1. The guest blog has been arranged and the entry is being written at this very moment. I hope to have it up sometime before the end of next week. I'm super honoured to have someone so brilliant and talented writing for little old me, and on a subject which I feel many people misunderstand- stay tuned!

2. One of my good friends, Mr. Colin Sharp has designed an awesome logo for Man Descending at one of the busiest times of the semester. Huge props and thanks to him. I haven't uploaded it yet, but I plan to do a bunch of revisions to the page over the Christmas holiday coming up. Stay tuned for those, as well, I suppose. Check out Colin's work here. He's a talented fellow.

3. Once the guest blog goes up, I will likely go on a temporary hiatus until exams are over. I have much to do in not very much time. Forgive me!

4. The CRTC (for all you non-Canadian folk, the Canadian Radio-Television Telecommunications Commission) has just fucked up in a big way. They chose to not take Bell to task for the allegations of Internet throttling brought against them. I don't have the time/energy to go into this issue in any substantial way, but basically the notion of net neutrality has been ditched in in favour of the illegal and immoral strangling of Internet access by service providers. Take a look at a story outlining some of the main issues at play here, then help me try and understand why this isn't being stopped.

5. One of my favorite YouTubers, Julia Nunes has just put a sweet video up on her channel for her song "Maybe I Will" that she'll be playing on Saturday at the YouTube Live event in San Francisco:

6. I AM SLEEPY! I just finished and presented a project that I've been working on for 3 months. I'm going to go relax for a bit then start my studying for finals. Huzzah!

Thanks again to everyone who helps, supports and reads this little thing.

Cheers

Obama : Socialism as Apples : Oranges

2008-11-12T10:36:00.000-08:00

It’s no secret that I’m pumped that Barack Obama is the new president. I acknowledge and respect, however, the opinions of those who consider themselves Republican. A couple days ago, I read something attempting to explain the Republican opposition to the allegedly Socialist policies of Barack Obama. The writer used the following analogy: A student who gets a 4.0 GPA shouldn’t have to give up some of their grade to boost the GPA of a 2.0 student so that they both end up with a 3.0, so why should hard-working Americans be forced to give up their hard-earned money to help those who are lazy and unmotivated? This type of analogy, while superficially convincing, is based on a faulty parallelism between the example of the students and the reality of American society, and makes a few key assumptions about the capitalist system and the “freeloaders” who unfairly take advantage of the hard work of others. Here is a brief explanation of those oversights.

1. Social government is not Socialism:

If Barack Obama is Socialist, I’ll eat my shoe. Obama is a left-leaning politician who supports increased government intervention into those areas of the social system that require attention form a less volatile institution than the market. Socialism, on the other hand, is a political ideology fundamentally rooted in issues of class conflict, fetishization of the commodity and the abuse and devaluation of human labour. Granted, one of the creeds of Socialism is “from each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs.” However, this is not the policy adopted by Barack Obama. To call Obama a Socialist is to demonstrate ignorance of both Democratic Party policy and Socialist ideology. It is a faulty comparison, at best, and one that I feel is indicative of the remnants of irrational Cold War fears.

2. Not all people who believe in social government are the lazy, hard-partying free loaders that reductive analogies make them out to be:

Many of those that depend on the programs of social governments such as accessible health care, governmentally regulated health insurance practices and quality public education are, contrary to popular iconography, capable, educated, employed and contributing members of society. The problem is, it’s really hard to say to your opponents “get a job you lazy bum” when your opponents are working professionals. So the hard-line Republican has latched on to the image of the low-income, frequently unemployed citizen as a way of making people believe that social programs are just a big money grab, meant to give more purchasing power to those who couldn’t give a shit about whether they fail or succeed. There are people in the United States who make money, who have families, who own homes, who buy cars, who carry briefcases, who go to meetings, that cannot get health insurance because their welfare and safety has been left to the vicissitudes of an unregulated market. As a caveat, this is not to say that I am against market economies. On the contrary, I believe that the market can be used to both corporate and social ends, if properly regulated. However, allowing physical well being to become a tradable commodity has effectively barred millions of Americans from being guaranteed adequate health care. The problem with deregulated health insurance is that the sickest people, those who require the most assistance from insurance companies, are the people that are least likely to be covered. If someone is in danger of dying, or if they have a condition that requires any sort of intensive, long-term treatment, they’re left to fend for themselves. Helping these people costs too much money. And when money is the sole determining factor in who is valuable as a human being and who is not, the demands of the market will always win: cut your losses, invest in strong futures. To say that social government punishes those who work hard to the benefit of lazy, unmotivated freeloaders, then, overlooks the barriers and stonewalling that are built into the social structure of American capitalist ideology. This oversight ultimately amounts to an ignorance of one of the most fundamental aspects of power relations and cultural studies: Hegemony.

3. Ignorance of the Nature of Hegemony:

Nicholson (1997) provides us with a productive definition and discussion of hegemony that is worth quoting at length:

“Hegemony is a form of consensual control... a sort of society-wide agreement which attempts to maintain a social order among the various members of that society. This may sound like a harmonious situation, but a problem arises in that most nonfictional societies continue a degree of oppression against certain members of the population…the subordinate group. Subordinate groups are deemed ‘subordinate' because they are subject to the various and sometimes seemingly invisible, forms of power the dominant group possesses...Hegemony occurs when the subordinate group acquiesces and accepts the ‘reality’ produced and then maintained by a dominant group. That is to say, the subordinate group has an understanding that their position within society and culture is for the most part, preordained- that is, it is common sense that things are the way they are, given the information we have to work with.”

What Nicholson has touched on here is the crux of understanding the way in which social relations function, particularly in (to borrow Jamieson’s term) a late capitalist society. Those who have been vilified by Republican rhetoric as the lazy, the freeloading, the non-contributing, can be said to belong to the subordinate group described above. While their unemployment, generational cycles of poverty, and other economic shortcomings have been constructed as self-inflicted wounds by those who oppose social government, Nicholson provides us the tools to discuss these “failures” as the consequence of restrictions, boundaries and limits that are built into the very system that we call “reality.” As mentioned in my last point, if someone has trouble getting health insurance, it is not necessarily because they are naturally or inherently subordinate, but likely because there are features of their reality, characteristics of the dominant social paradigm that prevent them from doing so. If any true apathy or ‘laziness’ occurs on the part of those contributing members of society who are barred from certain social institutions, it is not because they are bad people, but because of an “acquiescence” to the “seemingly invisible forms of power the dominant group possesses.” The negotiation of hegemonic power, in this way, silently, but without fail, grants the cultural and economic capital necessary for access to certain services and institutions to some, and seeks to normalize the will of this dominant group among others. To criticize those without health care, those without stable employment or those without the means to an education is to criticize those that have been made subordinate through the very policies of those who criticize them.

The student with a 2.0 GPA has a low GPA because he/she did not make an effort to succeed once given an opportunity, not because he/she was never even given an opportunity in the first place. The lazy freeloaders so often mocked and derided in Republican rhetoric have been shut out of certain institutions through the negotiation of hegemony, and through the establishment of hidden, but universally enforced limits to advancement and growth.

E.T. Bell said “‘Obvious’ is the most dangerous word in mathematics.” Turns out that the same can be said of cultural studies. The equivalencies implied between social government, Socialism and redistribution of wealth by reductive analogies are false, and based on the social construction of a group of subordinate people that has little or nothing to do with their actual nature. I am not a Socialist, I am not a Marxist, I am not a Republican. I believe in questioning truths, and helping people because it’s the right thing to do, not because it’s the first stage of a proletarian revolution, or because it will generate more money. It’s just something that should be done. I think that’s fair.

***

"Poor wanderer," said the leaden sky,

"I fain would lighten thee,

But there are laws in force on high

Which say it must not be."

--"I would not freeze thee, shorn one," cried

The North, "knew I but how

To warm my breath, to slack my stride;

But I am ruled as thou."

--"To-morrow I attack thee, wight,"

Said Sickness. "Yet I swear

I bear thy little ark no spite,

But am bid enter there."

--"Come hither, Son," I heard Death say;

"I did not will a grave

Should end thy pilgrimage to-day,

But I, too, am a slave!"

We smiled upon each other then,

And life to me had less

Of that fell look it wore ere when

They owned their passiveness.

~Thomas Hardy

Note:

I think that I should probably clarify my own political views a bit. I do not support just throwing money at those in need. Without the necessary infrastructure to make sure this money is used in the areas where it's most needed, the money itself is useless. A lot of countries have run into the same kind of problem in trying to get more of their citizens online. When programs are launched to "wire" more homes, governments often buy a whole bunch of computers, and give them to people without any understanding of how to use them- the physical and mental infrastructure has to exist before you can expect people to use services effectively. In its purest sense, then, I don't support "redistribution of wealth." I do, however, feel that taxation provides an effective means of distributing wealth in the interest of establishing the physical and institutional infrastructure necessary to provide essential social services. Okay. That was a lot of writing. I'll call it a day.