Why Schafer is not a Canadian artist

While writing an essay one of R. Murray Schafer's works last year, I encountered a rather disturbing quote of his:

I am opposed to [immigration in Canada] since I consider the country already overpopulated. Canada’s most urgent problem is the discovery of an identity, an issue in no way served by the receipt of more strangers. (58)*

"Strangers", said the man, turning up his nose and thumbing the "GENUINE CANADIAN" badge that he had pinned on his lapel that morning.

We are all strangers.

When I encountered that quote, I was willing to cut Schafer a little slack, thinking that he might have good things to say otherwise about Canadian identity. His notes for the piece "North/White" however (which was performed by the Esprit Orchestra last night at Koerner Hall), revived the initial shock and disgust I felt upon reading that quote the first time. A glance through his program notes will likely quell any suspicion that I am wrong when I say that Schafer is not a Canadian artist.

These are the notes for North/White:

I call this piece North/White because, like white light,
which is composed of all visible frequencies, it combines all the producible notes of the symphony orchestra from the deepest to the highest instruments.

The North is not described by the adjective “pretty” and neither is this piece. North/White is inspired by the rape of the Canadian North. This rape is being carried out by the nation’s government in conspiracy with business and industry. The instruments of destruction are pipelines and airstrips, highways and snowmobiles.

But more than the environment is being destroyed by these actions, for, just as the moon excursions destroyed the mythogenic power of the moon (it ceased to be poetry and became property), Canadians are about to be deprived of the “idea of North,” which is at the core of the Canadian identity. The North is a place of austerity, of spaciousness and loneliness; the North is pure; the North is temptationless. These qualities are forged into the mind of the Northerner; his temperament is synonymous with them.

There are few true Canadians and they are not to be found in cities. They do not sweat in discotheques, eat barbecued meat-balls or watch late movies on television. They do not live in high-rise apartments, preferring a clean space to the smell of neighbours’ spaghetti.

But these few remainders from an authentic time are apparently to be sacrificed and the North, like the South and the West and the East, is to be broken by men and machines.

That, at least, is the design which the little technocrats of progress have planned. They seek not only to civilize the North but to civilize the imagination of the North. They do not realize that when they chop into the North they chop up the integrity of their own minds, blocking the awe-inspiring mysteries with gas stations and reducing their legends to plastic dolls.

The idea of North is a Canadian myth.

Without a myth a nation dies.

This piece is dedicated to the splendid and indestructible idea of North.

He goes further to say:

"North and East are the only directions that interest me: the East for sunlight, warmth, history and mythology; the North for purity and austerity. For me the West is just cowboys and chopsticks, and the South symbolizes tropical humidity and laziness. And so, having written East and North/White, I let matters stand."

In lieu of a rant, I have written Mr. Schafer a short letter explaining my feelings. (EDIT 11/18/09: This is of course a hypothetical letter. I have no interest in actually sending it.)

Dear Mr. Schafer:

Snowshoeing your way along a self-prescribed "Canadian" path only serves to cement the impression I had of you through your music, which is self-important and played only because you have managed to trick a sufficiently large group of people into thinking that it has some profound higher meaning. The world has left you and your romantic babble behind, Mr. Schafer, and for the better. There is no threat of losing our myth, for the North will always remain the North - waiting for those who seek it, and seeping into our subconscious on the coldest of winter nights. But our identity transcends mere weather conditions or physical manifestations of isolation. It is often anchored by these realities, but it is as diverse as its people, who are here to stay and who belong here.

And for all your complaints about modern culture, you sure seem to soak up every ounce you can. Wasn't it you I saw at the Grand Opening Festival Dinner, a table at which cost $10 000? Oh, it was. And do the wolves and sled dogs howl out your tunes when you can't find performers or an audience to appreciate them? Oh, you don't have to...because the non-Canadian cities provide you with both. I see...

You are not a Canadian artist, Mr. Schafer. You neither understand, nor care to understand, what that truly means.

Sincerely,

David Lacalamita

*Schafer, R. Murray. Patria and the Theatre of Confluence. Indian River, ON: Arcana Editions, c1991

A (treasure) hunt for craftsmanship

I originally wanted to continue the I Heart Aesthetics saga and discuss "good" and "bad" music as objectively as the last two entries. I may still do that, but in the meantime, I want to discuss craftsmanship and my own potential limitations as a music critic in hearing any sign of it in the music of the band Treasure Hunt. Have a listen to a song in which I can appreciate the craftsmanship, and then listen to some Treasure Hunt:





There’s something to be said for craftsmanship. The Think About Life tune, for example, is actually a very subtle composition despite being based on a fairly simple musical idea (the bass line and clavichord combo). Multiple layers are slowly added to enhance the build; there is a clear climax and a satisfying denouement; there is an interesting non-repeating section (“Ah, in the summer sun, dancing in the gay clubs”) in which the bass line does a little dance, and the vocal style is unique and interesting. It shows some serious skill to be able to push a simple bass line for 3 minutes 45 seconds. I could say more about it, but I’ll let you discover its subtleties. Let’s move on to Treasure Hunt and to the real subject of this entry.

It’s hard to see craftsmanship in something like the music Treasure Hunt plays, which seems to be based on the belief that being loud has artistic merit. It’s kind of like how certain artists get away with bad art because they make it two stories tall. Their music rejects continuity in favour of abrupt juxtapositions, rejects the full spectrum from sound to silence in favour of the extremes, and it attempts coherence through repetition. With two drummers, it is also clearly more about rhythm than anything else. While these are worthy musical ideas, when I encountered them in Treasure Hunt’s set at the POP Montreal festival in October, I really really did hate it. The problem was that nothings stuck; the music just bounced right off of me so that when the set was done, I couldn’t tell how many songs had been played or in what ways one piece (there was no singing) was different than the next. I felt completely disoriented, with absolutely no musical landmarks, no way to establish expectations and feel surprised, and no real change in mood throughout.

I find it difficult, in general, to appreciate art in which I can’t find subtlety, which is problematic because the only way to appreciate subtlety is to understand genre, form, and a whole slew of other musical elements. No single critic, therefore, can be expected to accurately critique every type of music. My evaluation of Treasure Hunt obviously has “flaws”, because a lot of people seemed to appreciate it.* And the bands from which the members originally came (Wintersleep, Hot Hot Heat and Wolf Parade) are all fairly decent, well-established bands, so these musicians aren’t amateurs and this is all obviously quite intentional. But it’s actually baffling. Why would a competent musician put out music like this? Is this, perhaps, a genre which I know nothing about and is it therefore a fault of my own that I find no subtlety in this? As someone who strives to know something about music, should I be educating myself until I can?

Thoughts encouraged.


*The band that played after Treasure Hunt was Oh No Forest Fires, the lead singer of which said “Did you all see Treasure Hunt? You know that nasty old stripper that comes on at the strip club after the young sexy ones do their thing? Yeah, I feel like that stripper right now.” Which I am fairly certain he meant as a compliment to them.

Doubletalk?

While I'm all for using outside references to describe music (an inherently difficult thing to do), I might draw the line when your description of a band tells your average music lover absolutely nothing.

This is taken from Sergio Elmir's article in Exclaim! on Global Propaganda. I know I don't know anything about reggae or world music, but shouldn't I at least be able to get the picture?

"Caballo's third album is an extension of a uniquely global drum & bass sound that Caballo's been developing over time."

Okay, you think..."global"...cool adjective. I thinkI get it. \frown

"His ragga-heavy, politically charged rhymes travel across borders on the back of dubby bass lines while bouncing along to Balkan beats and cumbia riddims."

... So... ?

"The album ranges from glitch-y Balkan dub to dark dub-step to old school drum & bass flavour."

Now, if I want to know anything about this music, I have to go look up all of these terms, which completely defeats the purpose of reading an article. How about shortening the whole thing to "Do you like political world music you've never heard of? Check this band out!"

I get a very pretentious vibe from this write-up. Unless "Balkan beats" are a sound everyone knows about I just don't...

The Future of Music

There is an interesting article in this month's Exclaim! about the 2009 Transmission music conference. This is apparently a North American (maybe just Canadian - a bit unclear from their website) organization that puts together conferences about the entertainment industry. This is not the interesting part. Writer Allison Outhit aims a provocative suggestion at music industry folk: Is music more about music or about making money off of music?

"One fundamental question that never gets posed," she says, "not even at Transmission, is whether it's right that we continue to base all discussions on the future of music on the premise that only through its commodification can we truly 'value' music."

As I try to start up my own band, the inevitable question "why" has been easy to answer for me: because I love making it, and because other people like consuming it and perhaps there's a chance we might scratch each other's back. Even if I never get paid a dime, I'll still play/write. I think Radiohead has got it right: the future of music is free. Call me naive, but I still believe that if at some point, people want me to drop everything else I'm doing and just make music, then they'll come out to shows and buy merch and give what they can give for tracks. Until then, I'll continue to work and make music on the side.

I hope the industry never manages to resurrect the cash cow that music once was. But I'd be interested to hear an economist's opinion.

Self-Storage Abhorrence

I've noticed a new phenomenon. Growing up, I never saw a single one of these places, and now Self-Storage and other such businesses have been cropping up all over the place. There is one in Cambridge, and I saw at least four on the way up to Bancroft last week. I can only think of one practical use for these places: If you are moving and you need a place to store your stuff whilst you find a new place (or in the case of students, if your parents live far from your university/college and you don't want to pay rent in the summer), this is a very smart solution. However, it is simply impossible that enough people are in this situation to justify the number of Self-Storage places around. So what's the deal?

My immediate thought is that people have so much junk that they don't own a place big enough to house it all. It's like putting an extension on your garage when your garage gets filled up with all your crap. But at least there would be the illusion that the stuff in your garage is somewhat useful - it's at least close at hand. If you are putting things in an off-site storage facility, it means not only that you have stuff, but you have stuff that you hardly ever use! Because, even without hard evidence, I can pretty much guarantee that the space left by the stuff being moved from the garage into these storage places is being used by something else. If you had the room, why would you choose to pay someone to house it for you?

If I think hard, I can think of seasonal sporting equipment and...nothing else that it would make sense to put in those things.

If anyone has a rational explanation for the explosion of Self-Storage, I would love to hear it.

I Heart Aesthetics - Part II

Welcome back. Before I continue, I must issue a(nother) disclaimer: I have not thought this discussion of Aesthetics through to completion and thus, by the end of it, I may end up changing my mind about a few things. You should therefore consider this more of an open exploration rather than a lecture entitled "Common Misunderstandings About Aesthetics and Their Solutions" by David Lacalamita. I expect to be wrong at some point, but I will do my best to make this readable and thorough; I have not chosen to write on Aesthetics arbitrarily. These posts are the culmination of many hours of conversation and thought.

We continue where we left off, with the subjectivity of interpretations of a work of art. We arrived at this issue, you'll remember, through our discussion of artistic intent and we concluded that this is largely irrelevant because of the subjectivity of interpretations.

In true philosophical form, let's start with a statement: "All interpretations of works of art are subjective" All in favour? Opposed? Abstentions? Noted. Motion passed. Great. So now all interpretations of works of art are subjective. This means that if I say Beethoven's Fifth is great and you think it sucks, there are no problems. I think Picasso is a genius and his art makes you nauseous so you hate it - great! You like the band Coldplay and my friend Dan Martin thinks they're offensively inoffensive - you get the picture.

These differences of opinion are common. We all like different types of music, different types of art, different styles of theatre, different narrative styles, etc. And it's all fine and dandy until consider the question: What is good art?

This is the point where voices get raised and temperatures rise. The age-old question of quality in art. Is there such a thing? Can we evaluate art? This question is important. It has particular relevance for arts educators because how can you mark someone's art? And it has relevance for the people who pay for art to be made - are they getting their money's worth? What if you had paid John Cage to produce 4:33? Or commissioned Marcel Duchamp and all you got was a urinal?

In order to answer the question, "Can we evaluate art?" we might do well to first define "art". I will go about this by using four examples: our friend Malevich's Black Square, John Cage's 4'33", Marcel Duchamp's Fountain and Iannis Xenakis' Metastasis.

John Cage wrote many pieces incorporating variable elements and elements of chance. One of his more famous works is 4'33", which is a three-movement piece for unspecified instrument(s) (that I had the pleasure of performing last year) comprised entirely of "silence".

*SPOILER ALERT* It turns out that even "silence" is not quite as soundless as you might suppose: an audience makes quite a bit of noise on its own. Thus, the audience becomes the performer and the performer becomes the audience since he or she is to remain truly silent.

The score is a set of instructions. Is this music? Is it art?

Marcel Duchamp's famous stunt at a New York art exhibit where he signed a urinal and placed it on display was just one example of a "Readymade" - an everyday object that is appropriated as a piece of art. Is this art?

Have a listen to this.



Is this music? If you ask my friend Aaron James, (to dangerously put words in his mouth) he will tell you that it most certainly is. One user posted this comment about the video on YouTube: "The difference between noise and music is structure and purpose". We've already discussed purpose but reconsider a few things.

What this user likely meant by "purpose" is "concept". Does the concept matter? Going way back to our friend Malevich and his Black Square I noted that context and intent make a significant impact on an individual's impression of a piece. I also concluded that despite this fact, Malevich's intent is relatively unimportant since interpretations are necessarily subjective. However, without knowledge of Malevich's intent, is the work still art? Considered independent of its intent, a black square might make us sink deep into our souls and ponder our darkest secrets, confront our most basic fears and come to terms with our utter isolation as a human, as a species as a planet. But it might not. More likely, it is perceived as a black square. Thus, its aesthetic value seems to be somewhat in question if we define "aesthetic" as pertaining to the bodily sensations elicited, and one might be inclined to say that it is strictly through its historical or conceptual significance that any value can be derived from Black Square. (I will return to this a bit later)

With the John Cage piece, it is really only because Cage was the first to think of writing a piece for an unspecified instrument in which not a single note is played that anyone cares about this piece at all. Anyone at all could have written a "silent" piece. This is another example where the concept of the piece seems very important. How could a piece in which not a single note is heard be considered music? If we accept that the audience becomes the performer, then are coughs and candy wrappers musical sounds?

A similar question applies to Duchamp's piece. If a toilet can be art, can everything be art? If someone put another urinal in an exhibit, would it be considered art?

And with Xenakis: The score is a graph of pitch over time. Compared with 4'33", it is easy to at least call this music (since there are pitches) but this piece blurs line between "noise" or "sound" and music.

(EDIT 11:15 pm: Aaron informs me that the score is not, in fact, a graph of pitch over time. I knew using Xenakis was risky. The point of this example is to illustrate the blurred boundary between noise and sound. There are likely an infinite number of better examples, but I hope my point is still made.)

All this threatens my previous conclusion about intent: The above examples force people to question the artist's intent and have little value outside of this speculative process. However, I don't the two conclusions are mutually exclusive. The concept behind a work of art may lend a work historical significance, and consequently, it may increase the depth of a work's significance to those who are aware of this concept. But I’m stuck on the subjectivity of individual reactions. No matter how obvious the intent or concept a work and no matter how integral this is to the piece, individual speculations about the artist's intent will always be different depending on our individual experiences - and depending on the expectations that these experiences have established. Psychologically speaking, "learning" takes place when our expectations are exceeded or not met at all (A point I may elaborate on in subsequent posts) and thus, while the "true" intent of an artist remains irrelevant, the process of guessing what his or her intent might be is not.

So then what is art? Where is the line in the sand between art and non-art? I am inclined to suggest that art is any object of aesthetic consideration. The colour black (or, shade if you're being picky), "silence", Readymades, "noise" are all things we experience every day. Art makes us reevaluate what these terms mean and question the nature of the things we experience every day. Essentially, it makes life more exciting.

The question that remains is the nature of “good” art. But I will leave this question for the next post.

I Heart Aesthetics

Based on the response from my "What is Art?" post, I have come to terms with my own insecurity and have decided to blog seriously on the topic. Friends that have spent more than five hours with me will no doubt be bored by the discussion since it rehashes many of the discussions I have had over the past year about Art stemming from Philosophy and Psychology of Music Education courses and, more influentially, the History of Theory and Criticism course that I audited with my good friend Kristen (who is a guy). He and I also collaborated on a seminar on creativity, from which material for this entry draws upon.

DISCLAIMER: People far more eloquent than I have commented on the subject (aesthetics) but to those who do not follow such blogs, I offer a point of view which draws heavily on the influence of this individual. For those who like primary sources, waste not thine time here.

The form that this will take is this: I will pose some questions about art and attempt to answer them. In the end, we will hopefully have an answer to the larger question I posed last time, which was "What is art?"

Let's start with this one: "What is good art?"

The question of good art versus bad art is exemplified nicely by using two examples: this


and this


Now, in order to not affect your bias, I will hold off with the source of these paintings, and I'll ask you a question (I am apparently all about questions and colons): Which would you say qualifies as art?

You may have seen variations on the second one in museums that you visited. They may have made you angry. I could have done this you say. Indeed. You could.

Some of you may have sensed a trap. Indeed that is what this was. The second painting is by Kazimir Malevich, a renowned painter. This work, entitled Black Square, is an example of Geometric Abstraction which was a movement that came about as a statement in response to the impressionist and prior artistic movements, asserting the limitations of the form (i.e. that an artwork is nothing more than a 2-Dimensional object).

The first painting is by an elephant.

This throws some obvious wrenches into our conceptions of "art" and forces some further questions. First, can animals be artists? Second, can the macaroni picture I made when I was 4 be considered art?

The argument has many sides. However, before we embark on this (no doubt) lengthy discussion, I think it's worth establishing what kinds of art exist. Specifically, I would like to define the difference between "Representational Art" and "Non-representational Art". The difference is simple but it makes for some interesting distinctions later on. Representational Art is that which has a direct correlation to real life, i.e. Fiction or Literature, which tells a specific story about (some character's) life; the type of Visual Art which depicts real life events or landscapes; most types of Theatre. Even if the fictitious work is Fantasy or Sci-Fi, it still deals with physical interactions.

The difference becomes clearer in contrast to Non-representational works of art. These are things like Instrumental Music, Abstract Visual Art, Dance (without the narrative elements). All music can technically be considered non-representational, since a single note does not correspond to any physical object or emotion, but some consider Programmatic Music (like the Debussy Preludes or Peter and the Wolf by Prokofiev) to be representational.

NOW, let's tackle this sticky issue. First, Which takes precedence: the artist's intention or the audience/appreciator's interpretation? There are several theories, the names of which I would appreciate assistance with. However, it seems to me that the artist's intention means relatively little in the grand scheme of things. It is certainly interesting, but the obsession with an artist's intention seems to betray a fundamental misunderstanding about art, especially non-representational forms like music. Once a work is completed and premiered, it leaves the grasp of the artist and goes out into the world, taking on infinite forms, eliciting infinite emotions and responses in the people with whom it comes in contact. Therefore, an artist like Stravinsky, who believed that there was a "right" way to perform his piece, is sort of missing the point. Certainly, the modern tendency to perform things uptempo (paging Leonard Bernstein*) changes things, but Stravinsky is fighting a losing battle if he thinks that by getting everyone to perform his pieces the exact same way he will ensure audiences respond the way he intended. Discussion on this point encouraged.

The point is that an artist cannot possibly FedEx his emotions to you via a work of art (to steal a quotation from Aaron James). The classic example is of Beethoven being appropriated by the Nazis during the Second World War as symbol of their power (and the superiority of the German blood line). The fact that these things can be so readily misinterpreted suggests that the intent of the composer is rather irrelevant to how a piece is interpreted. The same is true for representative works of art and if you've ever sat through an English class and wondered whether Shakespeare was really making all these political statements or whether your professor was making things up to keep his job, then you know what I'm talking about. Sure, it's interesting to speculate and it sometimes gives people a point of reference, but at the end of the day even the artist herself cannot tell you accurately what the work is "communicating" since it is entirely subjective.

This issue of subjectivity brings up our second question: is there such a thing as "good" art but I will pull a Star Trek and leave you hanging...

*Compare Bernstein's version of Shostakovich Symphony No. 5 with this version conducted by Paavo Jarvi (Hong Kong).

All-you-can-stuff-in-your-face Buffet

Sometimes I get these moments of clarity. Today I had one while I was walking between the aisles of an all-you-can-eat buffet watching all these people heaping food onto their plates (people who looked exactly like I looked five minutes before, on my second round). A pile of dismembered crabs, a mountain of rice, a sugar-plum feast straight out of Hansel and Gretel. Half a cow in riblets, an ocean of wonton soup.

How this usually seems normal to me is confounding. The old "eat your vegetables" guilt trip "Children are starving in Africa" rang clear in my head. And yet it wasn't a feeling of guilt. It was more a feeling of awe. Plentiful doesn't even begin to describe...

This gets me thinking, though. What's the use in comparing two completely different situations? It's an obvious inequality that there are heaps of food on our plates and scarcely a grain of rice on the plates of some. And so Tolstoy's great question returns: What, then, must we do?

Two things I learned recently come to mind. I just finished Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth by Margaret Atwood, who comments on the awful enslavement that debt causes, especially when what you take from someone is their means of survival. Second, a radio interview with someone whose name I (sadly) cannot recall, who suggested that foreign aid in the form of cash was detrimental rather than helpful. The old proverb "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime" seems apt. For how long have we loaned foreign governments money without any signs of this leading to progress? And for how long will we continue to do so?

And then, do I feel strongly enough to do anything about it? I could make a lot of excuses about how I'm not qualified and how I couldn't possibly affect this outcome as a lowly Bachelor of Music. And how Politicians and CEOs seem to have this ethereal quality in my imagination; they don't seem real since they operate on a completely different set of rules than everyone else. Their world might as well be Narnia. Or Mordor.

I came up with a cool guitar lick today.

What is Art?

Tolstoy has a thought or two.

Increasingly I am coming to agree with him. Art is a way of connecting people through a common experience, through the participation in an event that elicits a specific emotional response. The better the art, the more lasting the impression.

I can't decide if I agree with him that the virtues of "high art" are negated by the fact that it isn't accessible to everyone. True, you need to know something about the art and the context in which it was produced to appreciate most of this type of art, but the profound statements (occasionally) made in the upper echelons of art-making cannot be simply ignored. An audience cannot be expected to be equally educated on all matters or else art would consist only of expressions of our most basic instincts, which don't tend to be particularly beautiful most of the time.

Virgin Festival lineup

In case you haven't heard it yet, check out the Virgin Festival lineup: INCREDIBLE!

The Pixies? NIN? Mutemath? Grizzly Bear? Um, yes please.

Always Wear a Rubber

Location: The Fringe Club (292 Brunswick Ave.)
Date: 11/07/09
Rating: ***

This half-hour production ran as part of a showcase from the Paprika Festival, which is a free theatrical opportunity open to people under the age of 21. The actors seemed a deep shade of green in comparison to professionals like Eric Davis from Red Bastard. They struggled with their characters and had some trouble creating a convincing space on stage. However, they all managed to pass as their archetypal characters; one of the female leads played a shy do-gooder that was struggling with her faith as she came into her own sexuality. Hers was the one original story.

The issues addressed by the play, on the other hand, were very interesting. The classroom arranged on stage was a Christian "reform" class for kids with homosexual tendencies. The rubber in the title has nothing to do with condoms. It's actually referring to a practice used by some of these groups that has young people inducing punishment on themselves for having impure thoughts by snapping an elastic that they wear on their wrists. There was an interesting audience participation element, where audience members were invited to shout their orientations out in an exuberantly vulgar fashion, hammering home that sexual orientation - whatever you associate with - is nothing to be embarrassed about and that assumptions about orientation are ridiculous.

These issues are nothing new but the specific religious aspect and rubber band issue gave this the edge it needed to freshen up the debate. While lacking the actors to make this production a real success, it was nevertheless a thought-provoking 30 minutes.

Holy Fuck at Harbourfront

Date: July 10th 2009
Location: Harbourfront Centre, Sirius Stage
Event: Beat, Breaks + Culture - Holy Fuck w/ Winter Gloves

God bless Holy Fuck and the controversy their name has created. After being caught up in the government-funding debate last year, having been cited by the government as an example of the kind of thing that Canadians shouldn't be supporting, the band was caught up in yet another scandal when their names were removed from posters advertising Calgary's Sled Island festival. I can't help but think that this is yet another Barenaked Ladies phenomenon and it brings up some great questions about the ethical implications of words. The MC at Friday's concert at Harbourfront stumbled when he went to announce the band as if he had just been handed the lineup as he was coming on stage. You'd think the MC for a show would remember the name of the headlining band; I hope they didn't pay him.

I digress. What we're here to talk about is music.

With Brian Borcherdt and Graham Walsh at the helm of a rats nest of cables and keys, (and what Wikipedia says is a 35 mm Film Synchronizer), this band's sound is nothing that can be reproduced. had them running across stage swapping gear, unplugging cables and even changing batteries between songs. You could tell the two were working hard up there, piling on effects in just the right order to bring out a tune's mind-blowing climax just as you thought it get get no higher. However, the complicated setup got them into a bit of trouble during the last (pre-encore) song, when Borcherdt had a hardware malfunction and spent the length of the song trying to sort it out but bassist Matt McQuaid and drummer Matt Schultz held it together and gave the crowd something to move to.

This little mishap was very revealing. What other band could just vamp for five minutes and create music that wouldn't result in booing and civil unrest? In their best songs, the whole thing seemed almost spontaneous, as if the band was just vamping on a set of changes that got going whenever they telepathically decided it was time. It also revealed how much this music relies on its rhythm section. The subconscious interplay between McQuaid and Schultz really held the whole thing together. Yet Holy Fuck shows depth in their music too, proving that their performance isn't just a well-rehearsed jam-session. This comes via some very effective and often very elaborate changes that the band members had to coordinate, including a tasteful number of coordinated stops (what academics would call stoptime) that really hit you in the face with the silence they created. It's no wonder the band won a CBC Radio 3 Bucky award for Best Live show and was shortlisted for the 2008 Polaris Music Prize. If you've never seen Holy Fuck play, I would suggest getting yourself to their next tour date in your area.

Openers Winter Gloves from Montreal deserves no small amount of praise for a fun, high-energy set. Unfortunately, they won't get it here. Check out the track "Party People" for a good sample.

Red Bastard

Location: St. Vladimir's Theatre (620 Spadina Ave.)
Date: 09/07/09
Rating: **** (out of five)

From the moment Eric Davis's monstrous form emerged between the two back curtains, I knew this show would be unique. Imagine a cartoon imp, much like one from the Disney rendition of Hercules, enlarge it to life-size and paint it a devilish shade of red. Or imagine a morbidly obese woman with hips that span a doorway and a gut you could live off of for a month and balance her on a skinny man's legs. Now imbue either of these characters with the mobility of a male ballet dancer and you have Red Bastard.

Dressed in a gigantic leotard stuffed with what I can only speculate are balloons, Davis's costume creates an absurd, surreal vehicle for bizaare and erratic movements that toy with perception and draw laughs out of sheer absurdity. But the costume could not have been complete without Davis's technical brilliance. While the costume itself possessed a large amount of physical potential, Davis's spring-like agility utilized it to its full extent, compressing himself to his smallest form then jumping out and revealing the full extent of his bulbous body in impossible positions - in a star formation balanced on one foot or hurtling through the air four feet off the stage - only to return once more to his compressed form.

Physical theatrics aside, Davis demonstrated an agility of tongue that would challenge any improv pro, seamlessly incorporating audience reactions and responses into the show and interacting with audience members in ways few could likely convince close friends to do. "Sing into my mouth," he said at one point to an innocent female audience member, standing with his face inches from hers and his mouth as wide as it could get. "Not near my mouth, in it!" he yelled. And if you're looking to doze off in the back, I'd pick another show: the woman in the furthest corner of the room received plenty of attention.

The only parts of the show that seemed to flop were some of the monologues. In an attempt to introduce some more weighty content to the show, heavy political issues were introduced near the end, including something about the American Constitution and a few racial jokes thrown in for good measure. In a show made out to be about nothing but a good old-fashioned laugh, these seemed like strange anomalies. However, in a show that tossed the audience around, the sudden change of pace didn't seem completely out of place.

For an hour of surprises and some heart-felt laughs, definitely come see this show. Closing night is Saturday July 11th at 7:00 pm. www.redbastard.com

The Curse of the BMus

Wrote this for an audition piece for the site The Lemon Life. Many have heard similar rants from me.

The question “What are you up to these days?” always comes at me in a terrifying, fashion, flying through the air and stabbing me in the duodenum. It’s like the opening line of a play I have seen a hundred times against my will. One question leads to another and eventually, the ugly truth emerges: I hold an Honors Bachelor of Music degree.

When you tell people you studied music in university you get a very unique sort of look in response. It’s a look that asks a thousand questions all at once. At first, it’s a blank, often open-mouthed stare that asks: Did he say “music”? What the heck is he talking about? I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing. What is there to study about music that could take four years? More importantly, what kind of job does a music degree get you? Is it rude to ask that last question out loud? If this is a new acquaintance, the look mutates slightly as the grey matter ponders: What kind of a person studies music at University? And why am I talking to this person? As time passes – seconds of arresting awkwardness – the eyes take on a distant look and begin to blink rapidly as social etiquette ingrained into the subconscious of the polite forces the corners of the lips upward in a look that lands somewhere between anger and pain. Then, some other synapses fire and a painful, “OOHhhhh” emerges from still-parted lips. Those more familiar – friends, family, pets, etc.- simply smile knowingly: you’ve been “The Lost One” for some time now anyway.
I can’t say I’ve never been tempted to feign harbouring secret aspirations to become a doctor or an engineer – life would be so much easier! People understand (or think they understand) what these careers contribute to society. Deep down, I’m pretty sure most people think artists are selfish freeloaders, that we’re just too stubborn to get a real job. The rest probably think we’ll grow out of this “artist” phase and eventually go to teacher’s college like everyone else.

Studying any form of art at a university level, one comes to terms with this reality or one drops out and goes to college. No, studying music at university did not teach me how to build a house, cook, design a car or a bridge, project the flight path of an asteroid heading toward Earth, or any number of other tangibly useful skills that contribute to some traditional concept of economic or scientific progress. Don’t get me wrong; I honed skills: I learned how to play piano, how to write a paper, how to listen to music, how to write and orchestrate music. But more importantly, I feel prepared to answer the question, “Why?” Why build a house or learn to cook, or care about science or economics? In essence, why bother living at all? I would venture a guess that this is a universal question and although I don’t claim to have a universal answer, I have one that might interest people. In fact, I think the core of every artist’s work is their answer to this question. And for whatever reason – call it arrogance or stupidity – artists feel compelled to spread the word.

Whatever your idea of progress may be, sharing ideas is involved. Perspective is involved. If art is anything, it is a way of exchanging ideas about life. Music is non-representational – it doesn’t correspond directly to everyday experiences – but somehow it says something about life that words or pictures cannot. So the next time someone tells you they studied music, don’t stand there bewildered; ask them about the meaning of life. I would be willing to bet that they’ll say, “I don’t know. But here’s what I think…”

The Big...Pear?

I'm back online after a move to Toronto. Internet took a while to get sorted out.

The city workers in Toronto continue to strike. I'm of two minds: 1) Good for you for not letting those sleazy politicians give themselves a raise while taking stuff away from you. 2) Come to terms with reality. No corporation can afford to let employees bank sick days in a recession (or ever, really). If the only reason you're doing your job is for the benefits, you need a new life philosophy and the City of Toronto needs a new set of workers willing to work hard for a living towards a better Toronto. The whole is what we're looking to improve here, not the quality of your measly existence.

Judging by how much I had to say about each, I guess I'm more #2 than I am #1.

Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes.

Most Serene's latest album "...And the ever expanding universe" comes out soon. New video is out too. I have no idea what it's about.



(link to Heavens to Purgatory mp3)

Enjoy.

As I flip past pages and pages of advertisements in magazines, close yet another pop-up ad, ignore the advertisement banner at the top and down the sides of every webpage I visit and mute all the commercials I see on TV, I wonder if and how advertising works. The concept of providing a service for free in return for the opportunity to advertise is mind-boggling to someone who simply ignores as much advertising as I possibly can. In fact, this blog post was originally going to be about how ineffective I find advertising to be. And then I got to thinking about my most recent purchase and I discovered the treachery. While I didn't go to Moores because I saw a sweet commercial and was instantly lured in - my decision to buy pants wasn't motivated by a commercial, I just needed some pants - I somehow knew that Moores sold dress pants and decided to go there. How did I know that?! Who planted that information in my head?! We all know the answer, but it's a scary thought.

So no, the advertisement for the Hot Tubs isn't going to make me want a hot tub, but it will make me think of a place to get one if I ever decided to do so. I don't think I'm as susceptible to online ads though - there's no annoying jingle to recall. I can just scroll down and, in fact, I often make a point to not click on sponsored search results simply because they're sponsored. I couldn't tell you what the last online ad I saw was. Probably a car company or a dating service. But then again, who knows what's stuck.

I think I'm slowly losing the delusion that my thoughts are my own.

Being Canadian: Margaret Wenteshares her thoughts on Pierre Burton's famous quote, "A Canadian is someone who knows how to have sex in a canoe."
I hate Margaret Wente more than I hate any other writer, and despite the fact that the image of her mugshot bobbing up and down in a canoe will haunt my dreams forever, I have to say I agree with her on this one. Or rather, I am with her when she agrees with Atwood, Frye and Burton that being Canadian has something to do with an appreciation for our natural landscape/geography. And I don't think you need to have climbed the Rockies to appreciate them. It's the mere thought that our country is so wild and vast that gives me a sense of being Canadian. The furthest north I've been is Bracebridge and yet I feel a very strong association between Canadian landscape/geography and being Canadian.

In fact, the same goes for being a bilingual country. I know about as much French as I knew in Grade 9 (not much, although I've read the labels of a few more bottles of shampoo: "shower gel/gel douche", "shampoo/shampooing") but I'm proud of the fact that there are a bunch of people speaking French in a very specific part of the place I call home. And until I can speak passable French, I don't think I'll be able to consider myself a true Canadian.

Things I like about Canada:

socialized healthcare,
an international reputation for being polite,
being constantly at odds with American culture.

We see ourselves as the antithesis to "those Americans" and pride ourselves on how different we are. And although I think we're more similar than we would like to admit, and although I think a lot of that sort of comparative talk is more destructive than constructive, I think that Canadians, forced to abandon all attempts to compete in the "Free Market", produce things that are necessarily more honest and uncorrupted by the dictates of the masses. Low budget things necessarily have a "low-budget" look - they lack the million-dollar sheen everything from the states has on it - but lacking the varnish, it's easier to tell the better cut. And when people are forced to do more with little, the product has potential to be much more efficient, more compact and precise. True, this is not always the case, but a bad concept is a bad concept. All I'm saying is that a lot of the time, money makes things look passable that probably shouldn't pass at all, things without an original thought involved in their conception. Here in Canada, we don't have that luxury so things that suck look as good as they are whereas the Americans could dress up a turd sandwich and it would sell at Quiznos. I'm mixing metaphors - food is not the same as art. Don't think about it too hard and we'll be fine.

In short: O Canada. Our home and budget land.

TheatreWorks

Looks like I'm going back to my theatre roots this summer. I just signed up to volunteer for the Toronto Fringe Festival and got an interview for an (unpaid - meh, what else am I gonna do this summer?) internship with SummerWorks Theatre Festival. I was doing some reading for the interview and came across this article (scroll down to page 69) by the pleasant-sounding person who called to set up the interview. Needless to say, I hope I get the job. Enjoy.

Check this out. My cousin Robin told me about it months ago and I never got around to it.

I still can't see Nathan Fillion as anyone but the guy from Serenity/Firefly.

A blog post to end all blog posts

What an awful blog this is. It's seldom updated and doesn't contain a single link to a new band or DJ that I've tracked down on the Web. Most blogs skewer their target topics with that laconic, often biting commentary that I have only ever been able to appreciate. That is the type of blog that I aspire to write. The ones with the five word sentences that explain the daily news, followed by an aphorism and a link to a new dance tune. I want to have a daily miscellany with a few anecdotes thrown in for good measure (aside: what does that phrase mean, anyway?). And I want to be the type of person that always has a new beat to listen to or a line on the next best thing. I think that's what good blogging is. I think that is the most effective use of the medium.

Or maybe it's just what I think is cool.

And yet, the whole concept of blogging was supposed to be complete freedom of expression, wasn't it? "Good" blogging doesn't really exist since there is no Turabian style guide, no instruction manual. So what am I so worked up about? I should just be writing whatever it is that I feel like writing.

My hesitation, I suppose, is in writing something that will be considered lame, or unimportant, or egoistic or self-indulgent. I don't think so highly of my own opinion that I would review a movie or a book and expect people to read and take my advice. It's the unsolicited nature of such a thing that really bothers me. Then again, I doubt anyone is holding a gun to anyone's head to read this blog.

In short, my apologies if you came expecting the type of blog that I described above. This will never be that type of blog. In fact, I can't promise anything about what this blog will be, despite the fact that I find consistency to make for a more pleasurable read.

I can promise that I will never whine about this topic again. And I resolve to be a daily blogger whenever physically possible.

In my job search, I came across a couple interesting online culture mags. Eyeweekly and The Walrus. They actually have a lot in common, including a similar design. I've been hanging on the threads posted by NYMag (especially their blog, Vulture) but it's nice to get local news.

Speaking of local news, the Toronto Short Film Festival is going on June 16-21st. Anyone looking for something to do? I'm always looking for an excuse to go.

In. Out. Thud. Thud.

The world was dark. Memories of colour danced across his eyelids, sometimes coalescing into shapes, the shapes sometimes arranging themselves into figures or objects. How long it had been since he last saw them, he could hardly remember.

A sudden sound. His ears prick up but he remains still, a flicker under his eyelids the only indication he is still conscious.

It dawns on him how shackled to his sense of sight he is. Indeed, it appears that even now it remains with him, despite his attempt to rid himself of it. No thought comes unaccompanied. Even the thought of his own breathing conjures a chest rising and falling, a breeze blowing through the trees, a nose - his own, in profile - taking in oxygen. How do these illustrations affix themselves, unbidden, to my thoughts?, he thought.

Wait, if those are my thoughts, then what are these right now?

His phone vibrates and his eyes flash open while his fingers fumble over the canvas of his jeans to silence it.

Resuming his relaxed position, he breathes a sigh. He had been on to something, he was sure of it.

In. Out. Thud. Thud.

Bachelor of Clouds

Actual weather: high of 18 degrees, low of 10. Intermittent clouds.
Resultant emotional weather: Surprised and somewhat depressed. The future of BMus Man looks bleak...

I just found out that Western was streaming convocation online. And to think I could have saved 30 bucks and 3 hours of my life. Nah, I'm kidding. Convocation was really great, primarily due to the rowdy music crowd refusing to listen to directions and not clap for our colleagues and because having Ted Baerg read your name over a loudspeaker is something you just can't top unless you're pals with James Earl Jones. It was nice to know virtually every single person who walked across the stage and feel comfortable talking with anyone you sat beside from your class. Small faculties are where it's at. What a great graduating class. See you in 10 years, some of you! All the best!

Now...all that needs to happen is for someone to look at "Bachelor of Music, Honors Music Education" on a resume and be impressed. I just feel like it needs validation from someone other than my mom (so to speak). If ANYONE knows of anyone that fits that criteria...you know what to do. Namedrop me like I'm Santa at Christmas.

I know it was bugging you, but I did, in fact, spell Honors correctly. See the official comment. Senate passed the spelling 32 in favour, 25 against. An earlier motion facing the prestigious assembly to change the degree titles to Hona, a la Flava Flav, was put forth as an option to avoid the controversy altogether. It was denied by a vote of 55 against, 1 in favour and 1 abstention on religious grounds.

Quick shout out: Summer festival Luminato is currently going on in Toronto, featuring Children's Crusade, an opera by R. Murray Schafer and starring a friend of mine, soprano Danielle Buonaiuto. It's $40. I know. Expense. But I hear good things from Danielle. In any case, check the website to see all kinds of cool art going on in the city.

A new leaf

(Turn.)

Aaaand...POOF! Ta da. I'm a Bachelor of Music.

...

Wait. What?

His eyes grew wide with fright. And why shouldn't they? He had just spent four years of his life toiling away at Grout and Palisca's distorted conception of Music History, finally figured out how to really listen to music and write papers and discovered that life was at least twice as complex as it seemed exiting high school. From his view atop University College hill, the view had seemed so bright. And now...NOW...it was overcast with a 60% chance of rain.

But what do those weather forecasters know anyway?

Seriously. What do they know? I bet they know reams of stuff about clouds and weather formations and storm fronts and what have you. And I bet they feel like monkeys up there waving their arms at invisible maps and telling people lies every single day. Does every weather forecaster eventually say "Wait a second...I'm a fortune teller" and show up painted blue to protest being so blatantly snookered into thinking that you need an education for that job? Or maybe they really DON'T have a Bachelor of Clouds and WE'RE the ones being snookered. I mean, seriously. We pay someone to predict the future every day. I don't care how much that little spinning thing apparently tells these people or what type of pressure system the Doppler Radar seems to suggest - the margin of error is just too wide for weather forecasting to be considered a legitimate thing. Not only is it okay, as a weather forecaster, to predict the wrong weather but people STILL BELIEVE YOU even after you do it a dozen times.

I think the reason is that we all recognize how stupid it is to ask someone to predict the weather. Yet, we'd still really like to know, so we throw someone up there and say "Give it your best shot. It's okay if you're wrong. But if you're RIGHT, boy...I will have brought my umbrella that day and it will be because of you." I think we trust that these weather forecasters are more likely to predict the weather than we are. I am not convinced. And so, I will now predict the weather for tomorrow:

WEATHER FOR SATURDAY JUNE 6 2009: Sunny, a high of 25 and a low of 8. Sunrise: Who cares? Sunset: around 9:15.

I'll keep a record of who was more right based on the Weather Channel (The weather channel has a better success rate when reporting on current weather conditions). If I'm right, then we shall know that a Bachelor of Music is at least as useful as a Bachelor of Clouds and all is not lost. If I am not, then..."We're experiencing a rapid rise in temperature at the moment which could lead to a serious brainstorm in the near future...but maybe not. I'm really just throwing stuff out there."