the drama i've been craving

who cares that barely played for an hour? who cares that i couldn’t hear carrie brownstein’s voice very well? who cares that for most of the show the view of my new hero janet weiss was blocked by a guy even taller than myself? none of that could possibly have ruined the show. sleater-kinney did their best to rescue rock and roll last night, smiling and snarling and shrieking and strumming and slamming and seducing us into becoming acolytes. they played “i wanna be your joey ramone” and “turn it on”, my two favourite s-k songs. they played practically every song i really wanted to hear. they left me wanting nothing.

sleater-kinney and the trail of dead own my soul.

the hours…

…was crap. nicole kidman, julianne moore and meryl streep all played…well, they all played meryl streep in every other movie. ed harris acted like a high school drama geek trying to impress his girl/boyfriend. only allison janney (because she’s the best) and claire danes (because she’s hot) made it worth watching. i was so bored that i became very aware of how tired i was getting, and how sore my ass was. it’ll probably win best picture, and nicole kidman will probably win best actress, but it was all – say it with me now – crap.

Top ten discs of 2002

10. the cooper temple clause . see this through and leave
09. godspeed you black emperor! . yanqui u.x.o.
08. gomez . in our gun
07. the doves . the last broadcast
06. spoon . kill the moonlight
05. sleater-kinney . one beat
04. coldplay . a rush of blood to the head
03. sigur ros . ()
02. neko case . blacklisted
01. and you will know us by the trail of dead . source tags and codes

surprisingly, a disc came out in early january and held the top spot the whole year, despite a new album from sigur ros and a surprise from neko case. hardly a shocking win, though, since source tags and codes is, top to bottom, one of the most complete and crushing and unnerving and fun pieces of work i’ve ever heard. after the first three songs (the best opening right-left-right combination of any cd ever) you’ll be bruised, sold and smoking.

***honourable mentions***

foo fighters . one by one, tami hart . what passed between us, bob mould . livedog98, robert plant . dreamland, the reindeer section . son of evil reindeer

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remember the movie L.A. Story? with steve martin? the scene where they were all ordering their coffee? well, today the second cup near my office, the woman ahead of me ordered a half-skim decaf chai latte. the server didn’t even blink. apparently she hears ridiculous orders all the time.

the hot chocolate i ordered must’ve been oh-so-disappointing.

9 days in London

9 days in london. too much to cover easily. will be terse.

nov 4: day 1
long flight, but not too bad. video screen doesn’t work, and they only show one movie. “eat drink man woman”; bleeaah. i tear into life of pi. they feed us breakfast, and table syrup says “dickinson family maple”. aroo? it’s too much for my pressurized mind. i see fireworks during the landing. isn’t guy fawkes day tomorrow?

meet tim & swmnbn at the airport. london. england. the uk. home of my soverign, the old bat. sitting in the bed in tim’s spare room, trying to finish the book after watching some bizarro brit tv. left-lane driving, pump toilets, “tyres” instead of tires, “take lift to car park”…little things make big trips fun.

i miss nellie. not miss because we’ve been separated, just that i wish she were here to do this with me. oh well, she has weddings to attend and drunk relatives to roll eyes at. can’t wait to go to scotland with her. i miss tigger too. in life of pi we met a little girl holding a dopey orange cat, dangling him in a strange way from her arms. it made me think of tig. one more friend gone. a good one too.

anyway, should quit reading (too hard with only an overhead light anyway) and try to sleep now. stay on tim’s schedule. london time. london time. it’s london time.

nov 5: day 2
up this morning with tim to meet swmnbn and her friend adam for coffee. dal outnumbers smu at the table 3:1.

get my tube pass and head down to wesminster station with tim. he points out the biggies (big ben, parliament, westminster abbey, the eye, the thames). we walk to trafalgar square, then leicester square. hit a pub called the salisbury for lunch (where i encounter a material called “mushy peas”). walk to the british museum. the reading room is enormous. cool. amazing. so typical of what the british would build and so unlike the north american trend. saw cleopatra’s mummy and the rosetta stone. museum’s impressive but, in the end, a museum and so i tire quickly of it. 90% of the things in any museum are unremarkable when compared to the really big draws, so i have no problem whizzing by most of it. got my money’s worth, though. god bless the free london museums.

take the tube back to west hampstead and take a seat at the gallery. have an $8 dollar beer. promise myself to stop doing the conversion. it’s depressing. home. hook up tim’s dvd & vcr to his bitchin’ new tv (“tim has a really big…tv”), then watch conan the barbarian and eat some nando’s.

guy fawkes day is really on now. flashes and loud bangs every minute or so, and the whole skyline looks like it’s bubbling and fizzing with coloured light. these britons love their drink and fireworks.

nov 6: day 3
couldn’t sleep last night. finished life of pi and finally nodded off around 3am, waking up 7 hours later. tim and i leave the flat shortly before noon and take in the bodyworlds exhibit. whoa. exhibits of actual dead bodies and body parts, plasticized and put on display in various poses. informative, but kinda disturbing at times, especially the aneurysms and malformed fetuses.

from that, believe it or not, we strike off in search of lunch. since we’re on brick lane, we had indian. chicken tikka to start, chicken curry, lots of papadum with chutneys and mango sauces…soooooooo good. we could hardly move for being so full. i glad we did that exhibit, it got us to a world-famous curry neighbourhood. i have to admit, though, that i found it fascinating and a mite creepy being in whitechapel where jack the ripper walked 114 years ago.

back on the tube and up to st. paul’s cathedral. my god. i mean…well, yeah. i’ve never seen anything like this building, certainly not a church. the huge hall, the carvings, the ceiling, the artwork, the people in the crypts (including john a. macdonald!). most impressive is the view from the top of the dome. a great vantage point, as good as from the top of the london eye (so tim says) and a 360 degree view from 280 feet up. the stairs (all 550) were nasty, but worth it. also very cool: the whispering gallery, about 1/3 the way up. tim and i could hear a kid talking 150 fet away as if he were right next to us.

legs recovering from stairs. youch. cross the milennium (aka, wibbly-wobbly) bridge to the tate modern, a very impressive building (old power plant). giant red horn greets us. big red harbinger. too many cool and freaky exhibits to list, but my favourites included the mark rothko seagram collection, the anarchy piano and one of the pollocks that i saw.

finally scoot home after a long day. leave from waterloo station at rush hour. funny to see the sheep gawping at the train departure boards. relax on the couch and watch a movie. fireworks continue. get pizza with tim (it has…get this…corn on it) and fight for sleep.

nov 7: day 4
get up late. make aborted attempt to see westminster abbey; some enormous service was happening for rememberance day, so i walk past scotland yard and over to buckingham palace. no desire to go inside (can’t anyway; off-season), just look at it and see the victoria memorial. walk up the mall to trafalgar square and check out the national gallery. best moment: in a section of religious paintings, large class of little girls comes streaming in. the room’s deadly silent except for one little girl who, so wonderfully english, says “is that jesus there?” well…you had to be there.

the collection of impressionist is as good as the art institute of chicago. favourites include:

  • “time orders old age to destroy beauty” (batoni)
  • “a sporting contest on the river tiber at rome” (vernet)
  • “a shepherd with his flock in a woody landscape” (rubens)
  • “the battle of sam romano” (uccello)
  • “portrait of a young man” (botticelli)
  • “the introduction of the cult of cybele to rome” (mantegna)
  • “fantastic ruins with saint augustine and the child” (de nome)
  • “landscape with ruined castle and church” (van ruisdael)
  • “anna and the blind tobit” (rembrandt)

drinks at the gallery and some great thai for dinner. london’s too smoky, i’ve decided. more fireworks. i’ll save you some trouble: the fireworks went on right up until the 11th, a full week after i arrived.

sidetrack: london, as historic and massive as it is, now seems smaller than it did before i arrived. as tim said, the magical becomes mundane quickly; trafalgar square is smaller than you’d think, and leicester square is the size of my apartment. so what it really comes down to is that the world is smaller than i pictured. cleopatra is here, as are countless artifacts from around the world. london isn’t smaller, i guess, not in relation to all else. it’s the world that’s shrunk in my perception, not london’s place in it. ze world is smaller now. of course, a trip to india or argentina or eritrea would probably reverse that thinking…

nov 8: day 5
the science museum is lousy with kids. seen an enigma machine, babbich’s difference machines, v1 and v2 rockets, all forms of aircraft (even an me-163), nuclear reactor models, steam engines, farm equipment (dad would be feverish in here). the bond exhibit is kind of disappointing.

i give upon the victoria and albert. i got up too late to do all 3 museums, so i just cover the major parts of the natural history museum. great architecture, almost cathedral-like inside. much the same as the inside of any museum i’ve seen, save the to-scale model of the blue whale.

gather at the lock tavern in camden with tim & swmnbn, swmnbn’s friend, the aussie, the scotsman, my cousin and her husband. i haven’t seen my cousin in 5 or 6 years, and i think the scotsman and i may be distantly related, so it’s like discovering two long-lost relatives in one night. why do bars close at 11:00 here? i keep asking the waitress in the grey shirt, but i may well be making caveman noises. we ride home in a proper london black cab after the scotsman gets his arse out.

nov 9: day 6
roll out of bed at 10:00 and have a proper english fry-up with tim & swmnbn. get good and full before muscling through the crowds at camden lock market. buy some gifts for nellie and stroll through the kafka-esque gallery known as “cyberdog”. quit the market and tootle about hampstead for a while, buying another (!) present for nellie. traipse through an old church graveyard (complete with rats), stop in his old neighbourhood pub for a glance at the england/new zealand rugby match and go for a ramble in the heath. lots of dogs and a great view of the city.

home where swmnbn and her new boots make us a kick-ass green curry. go to see michael moore in his spanking-new one-man show at the roundhouse in camden. not quite what i was hoping for, but good nonetheless. the self-professed dumbest brit in the audience was pretty friggin’ dumb, i must say.

nov 10: day 7
rancho relaxo. so very lazy a sunday. bagels, the maltese falcon, meat pie, blade 2 and the pixies (listening to “i bleed” as i write this). prithee, my dear, why are we here? well, we just feel like taking a day off, free of shower and shave, consuming digestive cookies and action films while it rains outside our windows. tim’s working while i try to get somewhere with a story.

go see 28 days later with tim, a zombie movie from danny boyle. seeing london in a movie makes much more sense now that i know where things are. grab a chicken tikka kebab on the way home, my first kabab ever. luckily, i get it from a place called “kahari master”, so you know it’s good.

nov 11: day 8
quote found on the wall of a pub: “i never comment on referees and i’m not going to break the habit of a lifetime for a prat.” -ron atkinson

up early and on the tube. down to westminster abbey. full of dumb american tourists yawping aloud. not as stunning as st. paul’s, but contains more impressive stuff: tombs of kings & queens, poets corner (shakespeare, chaucer, olivier, browning, dozens more), churchill and other prime ministers, darwin, general wolfe, more. the tomb of unknown soldier is covered in floating poppies after yesterday’s visit by the queen. only minutes now before the remembrance day ceremonies start, so i flee the scene.

tim and i make a quick stop at the monument (actually a monument to the london fire) before strolling across the tower bridge. we check out the crazy spiral staircases in london city hall and then jump a double-decker bus to the imperial war museum. i’m fascinated by the artillery and aircraft, and it’s good to see all these things while jim’s books about wwi and wwii are still in my head. holocaust exhibit is haunting and extremely well done, as is the “anthem for doomed youth” exhibit about wwi poets.

on to what is probably the coolest half-hour of the trip, the ritblat gallery of the british library. the magna carta, hand-written works by shakespeare, the final letter from lord nelson, original sheet music of handel’s “messiah”, beowulf, the gutenburg bible, the codex sinaiticus, ancient qu’rans, the canterbury tales, da vinci’s notebook, the original alice in wonderland, hand-written beatles lyrics by paul mccartney, tons more. not one thing in there i didn’t find impressive, and we saw it all in no time at all. coolest single room in london.

bar-hop backin west hampstead for a bit before heading over to hampstead. get some incredible moroccan food (and an equally amazing belly dancer). a banana & chocolate crepe for the trip home. so bloody good. home to watch “shooting stars” on tv, the weirdest british show (calling british tv weird is both redundant and an understatement) i’ve seen yet. a busy day. sleep comes.

nov 12: day 9
not much doing today, just packing and so forth. commute to the airport is no more fun in london than in toronto. board and endure the flight without incident (apart from my first delightful meeting with authentic welsh clotted cream) and arrive in toronto on time. nellie meets me at the airport with a chocolate glazed donut. my brain and stomach file this under “reasons why we love her” and i groggily head home. i think my body has adjusted to the time difference in london just as i was turning around to go home, dammit. i wake up at 6:30 and can’t get back to sleep.

nov 13: toronto +1
what can i say? i saw everything i really wanted to see and more, including some stuff i never expected (the dead bodies, for example). all that, and i got to spend a week with tim and swmnbn, which in itself is more fun than you can shake a kebab stick at. as samuel johnson once said, “…when a man is tired of london, he is tired of life; for there is in london all that life can afford.”

one more plate of chicken tikka and i may just agree with him.

lagið-i-gær

exactly 406 days later, i re-entered massey hall to delight in sigur ros again. if you’re reading this you already know what i think of them. if you want to know about the whole experience, read my review of last year’s concert. you’ll get the whole religious myth fed to you. the crowd was the same…lots of funk, lots of indie, lots of couples in power suits. seriously.

so, what was different, what was new to shock and amaze us? more than enough. there were actually only 2 or 3 songs last night that they didn’t play last year, and only one which i hadn’t heard before (certainly one of the best songs i’ve ever heard from them; the song sits on top of a bass riff that georg plays using a drumstick on his strings. unbeatably cool.), but they had a string section with them this time around which they used at the palais royale show last summer.

what made this show different was the mood of the band. looser, certainly; they had an opener (who was awful…he tried, but the execution just wasn’t there), jonsi twice broke a string, and there was some strange interruption before the last song where it sounded like they were asked to stop playing. massey hall management? still not sure. regardless, they then played their last song as they’d played all the others: roughly. well…as roughly as sigur ros’ music can be played. where last year’s show was almost orchestral, and the audience as well as the band seemed cautious and reverential, last night both knew what to expect, and that led to a sense of adventure in the band, especially jonsi. he was less connected to the audience last night, almost seeming to stand off with them. “svefn-g-englar” wasn’t the hymn that it was last year, but “daudalagid” flexed even harder (especially orri’s drumming).

the concert moved in the same way that () does, starting slowly and tentatively, setting up for the same 1-2 punch at the end, “dauðalagið” (death song) and then “popplagið” (pop song). it worked as a concept, a grand plan last night, whereas a year ago it worked by surprise and sheer bullying force, a mistake corrected by the principle of ‘might makes right’.

go see them in montreal, or new york, or boston. find them, see them somewhere. they wring emotion out of you ’til you could fit into the bass drum and find your heartbeat matching it. just make sure you go with the right person. i was lucky enough to last night. maybe that’s why it was so much better this time.

the set list:

  1. vaka
  2. fyrsta
  3. samskeyti
  4. ny batter
  5. njosnavelin
  6. svefn g englar
  7. salka
  8. hafsol
  9. intro
  10. daudalagid
  11. pop song

( )

let’s get something clear right off the bat: it’s not agaetis byrjun. nor should or could it be. agaetis byrjun was wondrous because it wasa surprise, an expected trove of incan gold when i wasn’t even looking for it. some of the lustre wore off when i began to hear “svefn-g-englar” in every tv show and movie striving to be indie-cool, but the that cd, for me, exists in my old apartment, 3 feet off the floor, crossing the living room to my couch where i sat agape. such a singular feeling about a cd eliminated any chance of a band repeating with a follow-up, and so i resigned myself to not making a comparison.

the self-control was unnecessary. () (a rather poncy title, i’ll admit) holds up as a different experience. agaetis byrjun was the introduction and indoctrination; () checks our guts to see if we understand why we’re here and if we have what it takes to stay. they do their best to scare us off in the first three songs, so anyone short of patience (read: MTV viewers) will lose interest without realizing it’s all part of a plan. the reward arrives with njosnavelin, probably destined to be the “popular” song from the album, much as “svefn-g-englar” was. it was already featured in vanilla sky in the crucial final scene, and it has an addictive – and, as usual, unintelligible – lyrical hook. i’ve been humming it today when the cd wasn’t playing in my stereo, computer or nomad. you will too.

there’s nothing new here. these songs have all been played live, and i heard most or all of them at the massey hall concert last fall (and will probably hear them again tonight), so while the general public may not have heard these songs, concert-goers and determined downloaders are familar with them already. with music like this, though, it’s the beauty of hearing it, the subtleties that you get in the studio that you don’t get live, that’s why you buy the disc and listen in the dark when everything else turns to shit or gold. live is a different experience, and an amazing one with this band, but the music coming from this album is like an established conductor or an old artist or the ’77 canadiens…there’s no deception here, no surprises. you know what’s coming, you’re ready for it…and it kicks your ass in ways you didn’t know a band could.

this is no longer just an alright start.

i come from downtown

toward the end of the first world war, and up to the beginning of the second, the british navy – which had been the dominant maritime power for centuries (thereby making britain a dominant world power) – became less and less of a force, not so much because they weakened, but because they rested on their laurels and let history pass them by while clinging to tradition (see also ‘French Infantry’) at the sake of innovation.

in any case, that was the last tragically hip concert i plan on ever going to. i’ve seen them live 3 or 4 times now, and the concert highlights are fewer in number and exactly the same as they were 7 years ago on the day for night tour.

first of all, let’s review some rules of concert decorum:

  1. not since the height of kiss army power in the late 70s has it been cool to fire up, giggling and triumphant, a joint/smoke as if this makes you rock n’ roll and shows how you stick it to the man. this is especially true in opera venues with names like “the hummingbird centre”, as was the case last night.
  2. devil signs have been dumb even longer than that.
  3. do i even need to mention swaying your lighters back and forth? see my spiritualized review for details.
  4. dancing, jumping, singing, shouting, whistling and generally getting your groove on are fully encouraged. however the music grabs you, you gotta let it do it’s thing. however, this does not mean you can scream (and i mean roseanne-singing-the-star-spangled-banner-quality screaming here…) at the top of your lungs for the full two hours – drowning out even the loudest parts of songs – unintelligible half-lyrics interspersed with “FUUUUCKINNNNNN’ EEEEEEEEHHH!!” as were the two mouth-breathers beside us. these fuckups, no doubt, drove in from barrie or ancaster, covering the floor of the pickup with empty bottles of wildcat. they would’ve been entertaining, except they were ruining the sound, so we just laughed at them and not with them. but, it’s a concert, so what’re you gonna do?

“nautical disaster”, “yawning or snarling”, “fire in the hole” and “greasy jungle” were the pallbearers of the mighty hip that had given us the absolutely brilliant (if overplayed) fully completely, the classic up to here and the underrated road apples (the best song from which, “cordelia”, still stands up as one of their greatest). day for night was their suez crisis, the signal to the world that they were no longer infallible. while half the cd (“grace, too”, “so hard done by”, “thugs”, “inevitability of death”, “an inch an hour”) showed their old strength, the other half threw in the towel and said, “no mas”.

it’s not nostalgia that makes people cheer the loudest for “new orleans is sinking”, “fifty mission cap”, “at the hundredth meridian” or “blow at high dough”. those songs are better, more original, more distinctive. the lyrics were more biting, the emotion was in it more. there sure as fuck weren’t any drum machines (as there are on in violet light). all 4 cds since day for night have had, at best, 3 good songs, not one of which is as good as the worst song on fully completely. remember, folks, i’m not saying this because i refuse to be drawn out of the past, i’m speaking from both a technical and a “gut” feel on this. the music isn’t as strong, and it doesn’t give you the same kick in the balls. i love it when bands evolve, as long they evolve into something good, otherwise they should cut their losses and pack it in.

and so, if this trend by the hip continues, i’ll keep trading (or just not buying) the new hip cd every few years, and they’ll get no more of my concertgoing money. not that this should worry them; they’ll never go broke touring here, certainly. fans have given them as much of a solid touring base in canada as the stones (who, coincidentally, played a block away at the air canada centre last night) have worldwide. i just hope they pull themselves out of this spin before they become a travelling sideshow like the stones, living on their fame and mystique rather than their music. they’re dangerously close already.

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at one point last night, when the four of us were cheering excitedly about drinking the same wine as tony soprano on the screen before us, someone said, “i’m not sure whether this is a high point or a low point in my life.”

see, we somehow managed to watch the entire third season in two nights. 13 episodes. 13 hours. it became something obsessive in us, almost maniacal. okay, not maniacal, but we were determined to get through it all. last night we fired up some pasta and vino to get into the spirit of things (much like my need to make pasta every time i watch the godfather and see clemenza teaching michael how to cook). there was also an incident with vampire teeth that i’ll not get into.

now i have to wait for season 4, since i don’t have hbo/tmn. no patience! instant gratification now! now right now!

fine, i’ll wait.

anybody have any wine?