melting

Somehow it crept up on me. Like I wasn't paying attention and then BOOM, suddenly it's moving day. Again my life is in boxes around me. Again it's hot out and I'm combing through a lifetime of stuff, organizing, choosing, throwing away. Catharsis is heavy.

On Saturday, Leah, myself, a handful of boys and two hired guns have the astute privilege of bringing said two boxed-up lives up, up, up five stories, into our elevator-less new pad.


It's gonna suck, to be sure...but it's a means to an end. 2007 is already the most cataclysmic year of my life so far, so why not dive headlong into more change? I'm good at it, I think. I take it head on. I'll just be glad to be downtown, in the HEART of the smog, rather than having to ride through the layers of it as I ride downhill from my current abode to work. (insert eyeroll)

If only it would cool off a little. As a result of the heat, I go through about three shirts a day, all completely sweat through; I drank about 3 liters of water today, and my cat is clinging to the bathroom floor, because the lino is SLIGHTLY cooler than the rest of the house. We have no blankets, no air conditioning, no comprehension of what is happening to our bodies as we sweat from every pore.

Have I mentioned that it's hot out? Yeah. My KINGDOM for a sprinkler.


Like the feeling of running through upward streams of ice cold water, I having one of those episodes of musical intake that is making me leap and scream (inside) about NEW, GROUNDBREAKING music.


Like Bumps, a dreamteam of a project brought to you by the Dan and Johns of Tortoise, Herndon and McEntire. It's like they took everything that can be funky and aggro about hiphop breaks and drag it over a razor-wire fence. Imagine the hard snare shuffle on Seneca, (my favorite song from Tortoise's 2001 album Standards,) reconsidered in colorful percussive tones, and over a whole album. A stunning concept, I know. A brilliant delivery, I wasn't confident of. I am now.

Might I also steer you towards Shocking Pinks, who are the newest signing to DFA, and evoke Television and Suicide's darkest moments. It's moody and catchy and I can't wait to hear the full-length.

Then again, I'm really happy with what's out now. What can I say? I love pop music. Especially the power kind.

Have a good weekend, friends. I'll leave you with a funnyish photo...4 AM, west Toronto, 2 Saturdays ago:


Can you spell drukn?

summer in the city

It was the kind of hot that makes everyone around you glisten. Even the walls were sweating. The lights were left on and the sign at the door read, 'Please be seated. Thanks, the management'. Nobody moved an inch, but quietly sang along for the so-called 'epic chorus fadeout',

they'll beat you with the truth so you won't feel the lies
they'll beat you with the truth so you don't feel the lies.

Ian McKaye and Amy Farina had all eyes on them as they languidly wandered through their set, almost oblivious to the mounting humidity - a result of their own decision to NOT run the AC, lest the soft plucks of his baritone guitar be drowned out by a mechanical whirr. In short, The Evens commanded the room's attention with skill and grace.


Photo by Suzanne Sutherland

It was one of the best shows I've seen so far in Toronto, although it was perhaps the hottest venue I've ever been to in my life, save for Coachella in '04 (52 Celsius in the shade, anyone?). If there's one word to describe this city in the summer, its HOT. Fucking hot. On its own it's not always a bad thing, but its the kind of heat that makes you choke just a little when you step outside.

As as I sat, nay, cooked in the sun today and watched the Blue Jays destroy the DC Nationals, I thought about how much I've learned to love this city, and despite the bumpy road it took to get here, I'm glad and proud to call it home these days. We move into our new place in less than 3 weeks, and Leah's about to start a new job then too. Things are changing and evolving and feeling...progressive. Kinda like Toronto, with its forward thinking transit commission, its futuristic art festivals and non-stop music scene.

And it's beautiful here. Bonus, dude.

Photo by Moss Productions

Speaking of music, NXNE was fun. Drunken, shmoozy fun. It was four straight nights of running from show to show to show seeing everything from booty rap to tight-pants rock; I even got a little DJing in for a friend's party. It takes things like NXNE to remind me just how massive this industry is and how lucky I am to be in one of the great epicentres of it all. Best of all, I'm back to feeling like my opinion of an artist can lend itself to actual action on them, like a project, something to work on. Perhaps working too hard and too long, as you faithful readers may have noticed. I'll work on working on that, too.


workworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkwork.

francophonix

Ok, I admit it. I've become a bad blogger. I'm busy, sue me.



I've been killing time in Montreal, just dancing, eating and generally loving life. The best mates were there too, AND my sister, which made it pretty much the best weekend of the summer so far. Leah and I drove into town Friday night, battling traffic and the heat alike, cruising into the belle provence around midnight - an interesting and fantastic fact about Montreal is that the bars serve until 3:00 AM...thank GOD because we showed up at the local pub/dive and got our drink on. An old french man tried to discuss Puppy Yoga with us, and an enamored Mexican man drunkenly proposed to my sister, then clutched his heart as she let him down, as gently as she could.

The picnic on Saturday was a phenomenally good time. We met up with the superfriends and went to Parc Jean Drapeau (pictured above with the dome), where we could hear the steady thump of MyMy emanating from the wall of subwoofers built around the DJ booth. While this video isn't of the day we were there, you get the idea of what it looked like:



The sun shone, kids ran around, beers were drank, crepes were consumed. I sat by the river with my friend Gary and had a funny talk about music, which led me to think about something I hadn't before, and thought I'd share it with you to see your own thoughts on it.



We all grew up listening to our parents' music; Neil Young, The Beatles, and in my case, Todd Rungren...but what happens when MY generation starts having kids? What anthems do we pass on? It won't be The Who, and I'm terrified to think it's Britney Spears or GASP! Hillary Duff (though I think I'd be ok with Mika. So fucking catchy!), but watching all the little kids on the island made me think of the FORTHCOMING anthems of our children. Arcade Fire? Modest Mouse? Perhaps...but what about raver babies? Will they have Percolator as their ringtones, for irony's sake? Will Moby's Everything is Wrong (arguably one of the most important records in the young history of electronic music) be considered 'classic' past our own ears' appreciation? It's almost scary to think that the revisionism of dance punk and electro is likely totally throwing off those who wrote that music 30 years ago! When will Pitchfork be considered passe? When does irony's irony become less ironic?

I smell a thesis brewing.


Thank god for Diesel Sweeties. Always there when I need them to defend my snottiness about music.

Speaking of music, I likely won't be back to you before next week. I've got hands to shake, people to meet and bands to see. I'll let you know the best of it sometime soon.

Kisses.