BONNIE ‘PRINCE’ BILLY
ST JAMES HALL, KITSILANO
11/11/06

Christian Martius

In the St James Hall the wooden pews are hard enough to remind anyone that they are sentient, mortal and maybe have a boney ass, but in these church-like confines and with such a service delivered by Mr. Will Oldham in one of his many guises, concerns of seating are secondary. It’s the last of a 3 night stint and the venue is packed so all are thankful to have a place in front of the stage, whatever uncomfortable position they find themselves in.
The performance that follows is one of sublime full band wig out, complete with vocal, instrumental and conversational interplay between various band members. Bonnie Prince Billy himself flips and flops on stage while holding his guitar in what looks like a very uncomfortable position, his soulful fragile vowels interjecting grace and focus to what seems to be a man either in the grip of religious fervor or vicious constipation. Veins spiral up the forehead and teeth clench in expressions that are wholly incongruous to what is heard. The picture he gives is not the same as the sound.
It seems to be no accident that his latest album is called, Letting Go and let go the band do as Will Oldham leads his companions into a territory of eloquence and charm that stretches far beyond the reaches of the pseudo emotive expressions of the bourgeois indie ballad. This is for real. These tender moments even manage to shut up the ever present audience members who have nothing to say in the loudest of shouts; the small and meaningful wins out over the big and ignorant under these rafters. This sweet voice delivers paeans to God, love and the bittersweet experience of life and in the church of (...read more...)

complaints issued by: Dorothy-June Fraser

The day after my triumphant return from the Mid-West (see my upcoming however-many-part series on it), I was safely embedded in East Van when the proposition of going up to Whistler for the day was examined. As in: leaving, driving, getting there, coming back. With drop-off and visiting purposes. But really, my main job was to watch my friend Pixie drive white-knuckled down the Sea to Sky in driving rain, make sure she didn't zone out.
Well.

Lemme tell ya, from corn-fed culture shock, to that of my own province, I did get a bit confused.



Where are all the people who believe starch is the only food group? What? Tourists?
Let me explain something about the Mid-West. Yeah. Mid-of-nowhere West really would be a better description, seeing as there isn't anything to be seen, done, whatever. I didn't even see the typical convenience stores that exemplify as many friends/aqquaintances/colleagues put it, "why terrorists hate us".

Brings me to the point, which has sooooooo little to do with the title it's almost shocking. You know the Timmy Ho's in Squamish? The quintessential pee stop and sinking fast food fuel-up that's needed, not only for actual necessity, but the symbolism.
"Ahhh, yes, the Squam. We'll be in Whistler soon."
Breathe that fresh mountain air.
Hold on!
What do my squinting eyes spy?
A brand new Wal-Mart going up in the lot across from TH. Well, serenity of a quiet mountain to hell. DAMNED, says I!
So, how is it, in the state capitol of Indiana there is no sign of life, and yet, the perfect exemplification of all things American the subculture of us excitable urbanites love to hate is…in Squamish?
So, little America is being realized in the strangest of places.
Whatwith the stores, the expansion (...read more...)

Illustration?Logo?Art! by Logan Mcdonald

quips and quibbles: Christian Martius


5.11.06

It was raining cats and dogs outside but inside the Media Club there was a warm candlelit glow and amongst the shadows and illuminated faces something special was presented to those that braved this city's stormy monsoon weather.

Parlor Steps, a local band, have branded themselves as “Thought Rock” so I’m inclined to believe there was going to be a histrionic display of complicated harmonies and intricate thought out instrumentation, like Good Vibrations ciphered through the indulgencies of Emerson Lake and Palmer. Obviously, a horrifying and tortuous prospect for any unsuspecting unbearded punter. Thankfully the stench of progressive rock didn't linger heavy under the nose and the term was a misnomer.

Parlor Steps were a very different kind of band. Using traditional indie rock balladry as a foundation they built upon each successive song with quiet-loud-quiet-loud dynamics and a democracy of vocals. The songs were the bricks of a house slowly coming into view. Only by the end of the set could you know where the Parlor Steps were going to go and by the time the house had been built the audience was theirs.

Lovely Feathers were a jolt to the senses. Leaping out of the rich seam of talent coming from Montreal, they played what can only be described as demented post punk nursery rhymes, complete with plinky plonk piano and bumbling bass. An assortment of key changes twist the songs into perverse shapes as the singer intermittently yelps as if he has plugged himself into the amp. Memories of Pavement at their most ramshackle and brilliant are recalled as choppy guitar cuts up the sound.

Between the numbers, tales of lost singers are told and 80’s vinyl is thrown to a hungry crowd. They continue on with a (...read more...)

Quietly mocking witty title, photo and
words by Dorothy-June Fraser

Last night, our favourite American cartoons came back on the air from hiatus with a political bang…!
Every single show I watched in my Sunday night lineup (as in, "The Simpsons", "Family Guy", "American Dad") gave the Bush Administration a cartoon BOFF!! in the ass. Even the ever-Republican "War at Home" (the name itself…come on!) had a few jabs to the Bush League. Not that I watch it.
So, what does this mean? When did the Sunday lineup throw malice at the administration before now? Uhmmmm, lots.
But this Sunday evening was different. EVERY SINGLE SHOW had some piece of mind to throw out to the general public, FG going so far as throwing Brian and Stewie into the army in Iraq. But, so far as it goes, the message in most cartoons has never been so strongly anti-Republican, as far as my brain can remember, although there may be something more to that Coyote vs. Roadrunner thing; a possible stab at the red/blue choice in the States. Perhaps.
Actually, now that I am thinking about it, let's go back in time: to a simpler day when drawn, monochrome cartoons were dissent from the current political regime. And it's not as though they were taken lightly, either. These cartoons, from before the beginning of the French Revolution, have always carried heavy weight, being accessible to the public, as opposed to most politics. For example, shall we say, the artist Daumier in the late 19th century and his depictions of the First, Second, Third Class cars on the new trains. The filth portrayed in 3rd class cars was in direct opposition to the opulence of the first-class carriages. It was an obvious jab at the staggering gap between classes in the late-era (...read more...)

All this by Dorothy-June Fraser
Dave= drums, Heath=vocals, Tim=guitar, Denyss=bass, Frank=guitar ( in no particular order...)

Ahhhh.
The ever-burgeoning music scene in Vancouver. It really goes to show how wonderfully different life in this city can be.

After an evening of free food and liquor at a big art show, I was firmly on my way to the DTES, ready to interview the newest band on the scene that’s ready to explode all over us, hopefully not in green oozing goo.

LAST PLAGUE.
Yes, that’s a good name. So, let’s start with that: what kind of imagery do we all come up with there? If you hadn’t already guessed, I went to ooze. Goo. Oozing goo. Right. However, the music lacks this quality and instead, makes me feel better than any bursting pustule could.

The originators of Smurfcore, Last Plague may play hard, but are so much with the silly. During my hours spent in the jam space with the band, I participated in the normal routine of practice, except it was weird, no longer being the friend, or the girlfriend, but the interviewer. Luckily, I left my digital recorder on the whole time, so I could hear every last minute. Including when I was taking photos. Great. Fast Forward.

With Heath, Dave, Denyss, Frank and Tim's combined energy, Last Plague promises to blow some eardrums with their heavy style and reborn metal/hardcore sound. The floor of the jam space building itself, is riddled with cigarette butts, garbage and some other questionable debris; seeing as we spent some time trying to find a good spot to shoot some photos, the labyrinth of the building became suddenly became clearer to me.

So we shot some photos. And talked. Beer runs. Slight, but not incriminating drunkenness.

"My name is Heath. I like, started (...read more...)

Dorothy-June Fraser did all this stuff


So, my predictions of rain and all the other glorious and unique qualities of the Vancouver winter season weren't quite right, perfect….uhm….correct.
Honestly, though it is coming. But I suppose this is a good time to address the question of global warming. The other day I learned that about two billion tonnes of ice is melting off Greenland every year. Now, that's scarier than Halloween.
But, hey!
Halloween!
What are you doing for this yearly spooktastic fest? My roommate and I were having a conversation about Halloween through the ages. Not history…just childhood, adolescence and grown-upness. Funny how when we were kids, we ate so much candy we got sick, and now it's replaced by vodka, beer, whatever your poison. And then it turns into this:

Or, alternately, a different sort of costume (mine shown here after a certain special lady character off the sadly-defunct TV series, Arrested Development):


I myself have been struggling with the idea of giving out candy or not. Money is factored in here, and I am (unfortunately for the neighbourhood children) leaning towards giving out raisins and nuts. Have I become that person? Flaming bags of poop for me, if so.
I remember Halloween, uhmmmmm, '96?
Trevor Linden lived close to me, and he gave out raisins. So, if the NHL can do it, why not me?
In case you're wondering, we used the raisins for fighting with. You know, those little boxes can really hurt. This year, I believe I will spend the night hiding in my house, maybe wearing a pair of fairy wings and drinking Pabst. Maybe not.
Of course, there have been the regular events that people with real lives have gone to over the past weekend, including spooky shows and costume parties and the whatnot. (...read more...)

Scotty MacDonald

I was particularly nervous as I walked into the doors of the Belkin Satellite’s opening of John Cage's silence show. Nervous, not for the usual social anxiety reasons, which were still present; nervous for two legitimate reasons. The first reason would be that even though art shows are the cours du jour for the hoi polloi of freethinking urban conformists, this wasn’t a regular low-brow art show where people stumble around half drunk pretending that they know something about art. The second reason being that my girlfriends dad was the one who invited us. My girlfriend’s dad, aside from being a Supreme Court judge, also lived at the Western Front during the seventies, which was at the forefront of Canada’s art movement at the time. And me, knowing very little about art felt somewhat unnerved at the prospect.

Fortunately for me, reason number 2 wasn’t so much of a deal it turns out. Right as we arrived the curator was accosting D.J.’s dad for sitting in one of two chairs placed back to back in the middle of the room. In turns out the two chairs were parts of the installation. And I was worried about getting in trouble in front of him. This, with the beer I powered chugged with one of my Clonozolpoft left me with a happy, chemically-induced feeling of calmness. So with that, bring on the art! My favorite part of the show was the hands on aspect. Each piece was a written narrative giving the reader instructions on how to find a bird in a (what I’m assuming) fictitious landscape. Attached to each piece via a handy piece of string was a birdcall. After many sideways glances to see if anyone was watching I mustered all my courage and blew into the bird call. (...read more...)

By Robert SanzaloneLast night I was at the October installment of the Vancouver Entrepreneur Meetup and - wow, was I impressed! I have been both a participant and an organizer for Meetup in the city since 2004 and the organization has seen both ups and downs.

It all started as a simple idea and interface on the Internet. Choose a topic, choose a LOCAL venue then choose a date and time to meet. The cool thing about it was how you were GUARANTEED to meet new and interesting people. My enjoyment always was at the very beginning of the meeting. Two people, say at Blenz or Starbucks, cautiously approach each other at one of the tables. "Are you here for the Meetup?" one would say quietly. "Yes, I am. You too?", "Yes". Then quietly the conversation began as each person sniffed the other out. After a few minutes when the volume began to increase, another would come in and say, "Is this where the Meetup is?" and the two sitting, as if long time friends, pipe out, "Yes it is! Come on in!" and so forth. By the end of the evening you have a large table of newly found friends talking about not only the initial topic, but everything else that might be of interest. Always entertaining.

The fun started to dry out after Meetup made a "major" announcement in early 2005. The organizers were required to collect a fee to maintain each group on the website. MANY groups immediately folded as the backlash echoed in each city, including Vancouver. As organizers bowed out, so did the participants who didn't want to have their own financial burden (be it as it was, it initially was only $9/mo). Some organizers just foot the bill themselves, others asked for meeting "donations" (...read more...)