This summer, The Peak (a local radio station) put on The Peak Performance Project. And while this would have probably gone unnoticed by me, Josh's band, The Painted Birds, were selected to participate in the contest. Therefore, I became very familiar with the whole thing.
The gist of it: 20 BC bands went for a week-long 'bootcamp' to sharpen their music-industry knowledge and skills. After the bootcamp, the bands perform and complete little tasks and are judged and rated. The public gets to vote for their favorite band, and the winner gets some ridiculous prize.
Tangent: Can we please stop using 'bootcamp' to describe every thing? Why is this the new buzz-word? Seriously?
Sorry.
Ok, first I want to say - I love this idea. That a radio station is interested in not only promoting, but actually cultivating locally grown talent is very cool. I don't know if this is a first, but it is the first time I have heard of something like this, and well, I think it is pretty fucking impressive.
So, where is all of this coming from?
Tonight, my friend Nikki and I went for some cheap, really cheap, Mexican and then to see The Painted Birds' perform for The Project. Bonus - it was free!
There was a difference in the band's performance. I had seen them perform last year, and they have improved. It was almost as if they were ... tighter or something. I don't know if this is because of the "bootcamp", or if they have just grown over the past year or if I was just sober this time.
I am crediting it mainly to the first, with a sprinkling of the second.
So, yay to The Peak. Yay to supporting local music. And yay to giving it to the public for free.
But boo to the word 'bootcamp'.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Folking Monsters
Tonight, I went to The Monsters of Folk.
I have to say, it was pretty freaking awesome.
I had listened to them before, but I was not expecting that show. They were a surprise like Wolf Parade and The Constantines were.
First - it was almost three hours of music. THREE HOURS OF MUSIC! No opening band, just these actual, monsters of folk making music.
If you don't know, Monsters of Folk is considered a 'super group' - if there wasn't a lamer term for it. The band consists of Jim James of My Morning Jacket, Conor Oberst and Mike Mogis of Bright Eyes and M. Ward.
All of the musicians in the group are great artists in their own right, and you can see it. The thing I loved though is that when they got on stage, there was little pretense, only music.
And really good music at that.
The tickets were a little more expensive than I am used to - but I still bought a concert tee, which shows you how good they really were.
And here is why I will never work for Rolling Stone: I loved the show, but I can't remember why. All I remember is having a smile on my face for most of it, and what can more can you ask for?
I do remember the song Dear God. The transition from Jim James to M. Ward was ... well, it was impressive.
And hello M. Ward. I wasn't sure who he really was when I went, but he blew me away. His voice, well, his voice is impressive - to say the least. In fact, in general, he was quite impressive.
As for Conor Oberst, well, there are few words. Bright Eyes is the creator of one of my favorite songs - First Day of My Life. I had hoped, after hearing the show was three hours, that Conor would make me pee my pants and perform the song. While he didn't, he did show me why my co-worker is taken with him.
So there you have it.
If you are lucky enough to have them show up in your city, do yourself a favour and pay the money to see them.
I promise, you won't be disappointed.
I have to say, it was pretty freaking awesome.
I had listened to them before, but I was not expecting that show. They were a surprise like Wolf Parade and The Constantines were.
First - it was almost three hours of music. THREE HOURS OF MUSIC! No opening band, just these actual, monsters of folk making music.
If you don't know, Monsters of Folk is considered a 'super group' - if there wasn't a lamer term for it. The band consists of Jim James of My Morning Jacket, Conor Oberst and Mike Mogis of Bright Eyes and M. Ward.
All of the musicians in the group are great artists in their own right, and you can see it. The thing I loved though is that when they got on stage, there was little pretense, only music.
And really good music at that.
The tickets were a little more expensive than I am used to - but I still bought a concert tee, which shows you how good they really were.
And here is why I will never work for Rolling Stone: I loved the show, but I can't remember why. All I remember is having a smile on my face for most of it, and what can more can you ask for?
I do remember the song Dear God. The transition from Jim James to M. Ward was ... well, it was impressive.
And hello M. Ward. I wasn't sure who he really was when I went, but he blew me away. His voice, well, his voice is impressive - to say the least. In fact, in general, he was quite impressive.
As for Conor Oberst, well, there are few words. Bright Eyes is the creator of one of my favorite songs - First Day of My Life. I had hoped, after hearing the show was three hours, that Conor would make me pee my pants and perform the song. While he didn't, he did show me why my co-worker is taken with him.
So there you have it.
If you are lucky enough to have them show up in your city, do yourself a favour and pay the money to see them.
I promise, you won't be disappointed.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
I and Love and You
Normally, I would find this pretentious or something ... a mission statement for an album. But not this time.
From The Avett Brothers album I and Love and You, as written by Seth Avett:
"The words 'I' and 'Love' and 'You' are the watermark of humanity. Strung together, they convey our deepest sense of humility, of power, of truth. It is our most common sentiment, even as the feeling of it is so infinitely uncommon: each to proclaim these three words with his or her own heart and mindset of reason (or lack thereof); a proclamation completely and perfectly new each time it is offered. Uttered daily and nightly by millions, the words are said in an unending array of circumstances: whispered to the newborn in a new mother's arms; shared between best friends on the playground; in the form of symptathy - said by a girl to a boy as the respect continues but the relationship does not. It is said too loudly by parents to embarrassed children in the company of their friends, and by grown children - to their fading parents in hospital beds. The words are thought in the company of the photograph and said in the company of the gravestone. It is how we end our phone calls and letters ... the words at the bottom of the page that trump all those above it, a way to gracefully finish a message, however important or trivial, with the most meaningful gift of all: the communication of love. And yet the words themselves have been the victims of triviality, a ready replacement for lesser salutations among near strangers, burst forth casually as 'love ya'. Truly? To what degree? Why, how much and for how long? These are questions befitting the stature of love, though not the everyday banter of vague acquaintance. The words have also been twisted by the dark nature of deceit; to 'I love you' with a dramatic measure of sythetic emotion; a snare set by those who prey upon fellow humanity, driven to whatever selfish end, to gain access to another's body, or their money, or their opportunity. In this realm, the proclamation is disgraced by one seeking to gain rather than give. In any case, and by whatever inspiration, these words are woven deeply into the fibers of our existence. Our longing to hear them from the right place is maddeningly and simultaneously our finest strength and our most gentle weakness. ...
We are powerful, yet weak, capable yet temporary. Inevitably, an attempt to place honesty within an artistic avenue will follow suit. This is a piece which shows us as we are: products of love surrounded by struggle. ...
Perhaps the inabilty to say these heaviest of words is as much a part of life as the lighthearted candor of those who say them without any difficulty at all. And so it ends with the phrase whispered to and by those of us most defeated and most elated ... I and love and you ..."
PS - the cd is pretty freaking good.
From The Avett Brothers album I and Love and You, as written by Seth Avett:
"The words 'I' and 'Love' and 'You' are the watermark of humanity. Strung together, they convey our deepest sense of humility, of power, of truth. It is our most common sentiment, even as the feeling of it is so infinitely uncommon: each to proclaim these three words with his or her own heart and mindset of reason (or lack thereof); a proclamation completely and perfectly new each time it is offered. Uttered daily and nightly by millions, the words are said in an unending array of circumstances: whispered to the newborn in a new mother's arms; shared between best friends on the playground; in the form of symptathy - said by a girl to a boy as the respect continues but the relationship does not. It is said too loudly by parents to embarrassed children in the company of their friends, and by grown children - to their fading parents in hospital beds. The words are thought in the company of the photograph and said in the company of the gravestone. It is how we end our phone calls and letters ... the words at the bottom of the page that trump all those above it, a way to gracefully finish a message, however important or trivial, with the most meaningful gift of all: the communication of love. And yet the words themselves have been the victims of triviality, a ready replacement for lesser salutations among near strangers, burst forth casually as 'love ya'. Truly? To what degree? Why, how much and for how long? These are questions befitting the stature of love, though not the everyday banter of vague acquaintance. The words have also been twisted by the dark nature of deceit; to 'I love you' with a dramatic measure of sythetic emotion; a snare set by those who prey upon fellow humanity, driven to whatever selfish end, to gain access to another's body, or their money, or their opportunity. In this realm, the proclamation is disgraced by one seeking to gain rather than give. In any case, and by whatever inspiration, these words are woven deeply into the fibers of our existence. Our longing to hear them from the right place is maddeningly and simultaneously our finest strength and our most gentle weakness. ...
We are powerful, yet weak, capable yet temporary. Inevitably, an attempt to place honesty within an artistic avenue will follow suit. This is a piece which shows us as we are: products of love surrounded by struggle. ...
Perhaps the inabilty to say these heaviest of words is as much a part of life as the lighthearted candor of those who say them without any difficulty at all. And so it ends with the phrase whispered to and by those of us most defeated and most elated ... I and love and you ..."
PS - the cd is pretty freaking good.
Friday, October 09, 2009
Wanderlust
The problem with vacations, even short ones, is that they get me all ... distracted.
I come home and well, it is the last place I want to be. I would rather be on the beach somewhere, or exploring some fantastic city, with some fantastic person.
But instead, I am here, typing away, wishing I was anywhere but here.
ANYWHERE.
This week, when I returned to work, for the first time in a while, I wished I was retired.
Tangent - why is retirement wasted on the old? I mean, I would have WAY more fun retired right now than any old person. Give me my CPP now, and I will start working again at 35 and slave away for the rest of my days. I don't care.
So, where am I wanderlusting to?
Paris.
There's a side-story you need for some context.
When I was 14, my dad took me to the UK with his family. His family and I have had, let's say a rocky relationship.
While we were there, we took the Chunnel to Calais, France. As he was in the cafe buying lunch, he realized that Paris was only a 45-minute train ride.
He came out of the cafe excited - and he never gets excited.
"Iris! Paris is only 45-minutes away. Let's go. You and me and Paris!"
I had never been more excited for anything - PARIS?! For reals?
Well, this idea was quickly shot down by his sister. Apparently this was a family trip, and a visit to Paris with just he and I did not qualify as a family trip.
Fuck that.
Paris was so close ... like Westlock close, and I didn't get to go.
*sob*
Recently, after many glasses of wine, my dad confessed one of his biggest regrets to me - not saying screw you to his family and taking me to Paris anyways.
This made me want the city even more. This city that was so close ... in my grasp almost, but so far away.
I haven't been back to Europe since and when I go again, it will be very different.
That is why I am thinking about skipping a family Christmas, because, well, they never go well, and heading to Europe.
What could be more lovely than spending a week in gay Paris in solitude? The city, me and who knows what.
sigh.
I think it might just be a pipe-dream though. My mother would kick my ass if I missed a holiday with her.
Although she did just have heart surgery - that might have slowed her down a little. I'm sure she doesn't pack the same punch she used to.
I come home and well, it is the last place I want to be. I would rather be on the beach somewhere, or exploring some fantastic city, with some fantastic person.
But instead, I am here, typing away, wishing I was anywhere but here.
ANYWHERE.
This week, when I returned to work, for the first time in a while, I wished I was retired.
Tangent - why is retirement wasted on the old? I mean, I would have WAY more fun retired right now than any old person. Give me my CPP now, and I will start working again at 35 and slave away for the rest of my days. I don't care.
So, where am I wanderlusting to?
Paris.
There's a side-story you need for some context.
When I was 14, my dad took me to the UK with his family. His family and I have had, let's say a rocky relationship.
While we were there, we took the Chunnel to Calais, France. As he was in the cafe buying lunch, he realized that Paris was only a 45-minute train ride.
He came out of the cafe excited - and he never gets excited.
"Iris! Paris is only 45-minutes away. Let's go. You and me and Paris!"
I had never been more excited for anything - PARIS?! For reals?
Well, this idea was quickly shot down by his sister. Apparently this was a family trip, and a visit to Paris with just he and I did not qualify as a family trip.
Fuck that.
Paris was so close ... like Westlock close, and I didn't get to go.
*sob*
Recently, after many glasses of wine, my dad confessed one of his biggest regrets to me - not saying screw you to his family and taking me to Paris anyways.
This made me want the city even more. This city that was so close ... in my grasp almost, but so far away.
I haven't been back to Europe since and when I go again, it will be very different.
That is why I am thinking about skipping a family Christmas, because, well, they never go well, and heading to Europe.
What could be more lovely than spending a week in gay Paris in solitude? The city, me and who knows what.
sigh.
I think it might just be a pipe-dream though. My mother would kick my ass if I missed a holiday with her.
Although she did just have heart surgery - that might have slowed her down a little. I'm sure she doesn't pack the same punch she used to.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Vegas' Y Chromosomes
There are a lot of guys in Vegas.
A lot.
Not all of them were ... quality men. In fact, while most provided good stories, only one name was worth remembering. The rest just made for good blog fodder. I think Andi got the brunt of the creepers - she is super hot and well, I just look kinda angry most of the time. meh.
So here, because I know you have all be waiting to hear about the escapades of Andi and Iris - who, might I add, are a bit like a girl buffet, something for every taste. Now, to the boys of Las Vegas.
XS
While we are walking into the club, some guy just tells us to come with him, so we do and we end up getting in for free - we'll totally take the $20 savings each - however, we won't hangout with you another night. We're just not that into you.
Just because you do something nice, we are not obligated to spend more time with you. Your generosity is appreciated, but that is all.
As we are sitting down, a dude sits on the other side of Andi and starts to create a conversation - being polite, Andi obliges, until he asks "How tall are you?" When she answered, his response: "Cool! We're the same height - let's dance!!"
Seriously, has this worked before? Is it a turn-on to be the same height? Odd.
There was the cute Swiss boy - he was tall, European and well, very cute.And get this - he wasn't creepy! Also, yay for accents!
Boys - being cute and having an accent will always work in your favor. Always. Although, Nein sprechen sie Deutsch.
To the guy on the dancefloor that wouldn't leave Andi alone - yes, I pushed you and yes, I would do it again. Asshole.
Here's the thing - if a girl is unresponsive the first time you try to dance with her, it is likely that SHE DOESN'T WANT TO DANCE WITH YOU. Don't try three more times, just move on. Idiot.
Pure
Um, Pure was BAAAD. The club was pretty, but the boys were a critical fail. No seriously.
Upon arrival, Andi gets stopped by an Aussie who wanted to 'mate' her. As he was holding us both hostage with inane conversation, he starts to talk about his search for juice in Las Vegas.
huh? I'm still confused. JUST GO TO 7-11 and stop talking about it with random people.
After we had broken free from the small Aussie, Andi gets stopped again, but this time by an older dude. This guy wanted to 'guess' which province and city we were from.
Again, huh? Is this a game that works boys? This guessing game? Because it shouldn't and if it has, you have been LUCKY.
Lavo
Lavo was our last stop of Tuesday night and thank goodness. The music was good, the boys weren't as bad and well, we just wanted to dance.
When we sat down, Andi was approached by some random. This time, his topic of conversation was her job. When she mentioned that she works in an accounting office, he asked for two two-digit numbers and proceeded to try and multiply them .. IN HIS HEAD.
You get that she works in an accounting office and isn't actually Rain Man right? Ugh.
There was the old man that invited us to his table for champagne. Seriously, he was there by himself, with a couple of bottles and half naked woman flanking him - the girls weren't actually with him, but were at the club and he invited them over for company and free champagne.
Gross.
Vancouver
After all the Vegas cheesiness, we were happy to be back in Canada where the men are slightly frightened of women.
That was until we were leaving Josh's apartment and two dudes get into the elevator with us. The conversation went like this:
WHEN HAS THIS WORKED?! I mean, I am a fan of cheesy lines - if you are playing them as cheesy. These dudes were serious.
So, boys, the moral of the story:
Don't be a douchebag. If you want to chat with a girl, make sure she's actually interested in the conversation. No one's asking for deep conversation or anything, but give her something she can work with.
Above all else, remember: NO ED HARDY.
Tangent: What is it with Ed Hardy - why is this brand around? Who is wearing this shit? Who thinks it looks good? Please, stop buying Ed Hardy and buy a shirt with only a couple of colours and no bedazzled accessories. Even if you are from New Jersey - this is unacceptable. If you are from LA, well, it is just expected.
Ugh.
Sorry. So yes, the boys of Vegas were a'plenty, but the quality of Vegas was lacking.
Badly.
A lot.
Not all of them were ... quality men. In fact, while most provided good stories, only one name was worth remembering. The rest just made for good blog fodder. I think Andi got the brunt of the creepers - she is super hot and well, I just look kinda angry most of the time. meh.
So here, because I know you have all be waiting to hear about the escapades of Andi and Iris - who, might I add, are a bit like a girl buffet, something for every taste. Now, to the boys of Las Vegas.
XS
While we are walking into the club, some guy just tells us to come with him, so we do and we end up getting in for free - we'll totally take the $20 savings each - however, we won't hangout with you another night. We're just not that into you.
Just because you do something nice, we are not obligated to spend more time with you. Your generosity is appreciated, but that is all.
As we are sitting down, a dude sits on the other side of Andi and starts to create a conversation - being polite, Andi obliges, until he asks "How tall are you?" When she answered, his response: "Cool! We're the same height - let's dance!!"
Seriously, has this worked before? Is it a turn-on to be the same height? Odd.
There was the cute Swiss boy - he was tall, European and well, very cute.And get this - he wasn't creepy! Also, yay for accents!
Boys - being cute and having an accent will always work in your favor. Always. Although, Nein sprechen sie Deutsch.
To the guy on the dancefloor that wouldn't leave Andi alone - yes, I pushed you and yes, I would do it again. Asshole.
Here's the thing - if a girl is unresponsive the first time you try to dance with her, it is likely that SHE DOESN'T WANT TO DANCE WITH YOU. Don't try three more times, just move on. Idiot.
Pure
Um, Pure was BAAAD. The club was pretty, but the boys were a critical fail. No seriously.
Upon arrival, Andi gets stopped by an Aussie who wanted to 'mate' her. As he was holding us both hostage with inane conversation, he starts to talk about his search for juice in Las Vegas.
huh? I'm still confused. JUST GO TO 7-11 and stop talking about it with random people.
After we had broken free from the small Aussie, Andi gets stopped again, but this time by an older dude. This guy wanted to 'guess' which province and city we were from.
Again, huh? Is this a game that works boys? This guessing game? Because it shouldn't and if it has, you have been LUCKY.
Lavo
Lavo was our last stop of Tuesday night and thank goodness. The music was good, the boys weren't as bad and well, we just wanted to dance.
When we sat down, Andi was approached by some random. This time, his topic of conversation was her job. When she mentioned that she works in an accounting office, he asked for two two-digit numbers and proceeded to try and multiply them .. IN HIS HEAD.
You get that she works in an accounting office and isn't actually Rain Man right? Ugh.
There was the old man that invited us to his table for champagne. Seriously, he was there by himself, with a couple of bottles and half naked woman flanking him - the girls weren't actually with him, but were at the club and he invited them over for company and free champagne.
Gross.
Vancouver
After all the Vegas cheesiness, we were happy to be back in Canada where the men are slightly frightened of women.
That was until we were leaving Josh's apartment and two dudes get into the elevator with us. The conversation went like this:
Dude 1: Where did you ladies come from tonight?
Us: Um, just a friend's apartment
Dude 2: Of course they were in the building - where did you think they were, the sky?
Dude 1: Well, angels sometimes fall from heaven.
WHEN HAS THIS WORKED?! I mean, I am a fan of cheesy lines - if you are playing them as cheesy. These dudes were serious.
So, boys, the moral of the story:
Don't be a douchebag. If you want to chat with a girl, make sure she's actually interested in the conversation. No one's asking for deep conversation or anything, but give her something she can work with.
Above all else, remember: NO ED HARDY.
Tangent: What is it with Ed Hardy - why is this brand around? Who is wearing this shit? Who thinks it looks good? Please, stop buying Ed Hardy and buy a shirt with only a couple of colours and no bedazzled accessories. Even if you are from New Jersey - this is unacceptable. If you are from LA, well, it is just expected.
Ugh.
Sorry. So yes, the boys of Vegas were a'plenty, but the quality of Vegas was lacking.
Badly.
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