It's Here.....

The good:
PAUL. MOTHERFUCKING MCCARTNEY.
THE CURE.
MORRISSEY.
BEIRUT.
MY BLOODY VALENTINE.
TV ON THE RADIO.
FLEET FOXES.
YEAH YEAH YEAHS
No BRITNEY. (Recent rumors had us shaking in our vintage boots at the indie cred suicide her presence would incite…but then again, Goldenvoice loves the last minute zingers and I predict she could rear her grade-four-educated-head on Sunday night.

The bad:
WAYYYY less electronic. (BUT still there’s: MSTRKFT, Girl Talk, Hercules, Junior Boys…)
No pavement Reunion. No Radiohead/Smiths.

This is a festival line up in true, authentic fesitival style – a bit of everything with a real throwback to its rock festival grandfathers…
Yes, there’s no Erol Alkan. No Radiohead or Sigur Ros.
But perhaps the glitz and flash of years’ past has given way to this year’s sea of legitimate, worthy, lasting acts. Stuff I’ll remember long after I’m over listening to weird synth drug idled dance candy.

Right now:
I’m creating new playlists and digging out bikini tops.
I’m planning summer dresses and dreaming of sun.
I’m eating only celery and doubling workouts.


I’m excited and it’s fucking Friday.

See you at Steamwhistle tonight. I’ll be the one manically smiling in the din of the brewery and dancing like crazy in the bombshelter afterparty.

(oh and you sound pretty rad too.)

Dear Handsome Furs,

You are so hot.

I wanna party with you.

Sincerely,
Drooling

the future is unwritten.

I’ve been on a Clash kick this week.
The sharp immediacy adds the missing impact to my day.
I got really into Joe Strummer in university. I had a prof who used to be buddies with the legendary punk himself back in the day. We read Clash lyrics and talked about the re-appropriation of Doc Martens and slam dancing and were allowed to stage protests for course credits.

Strummer grew up all over the world – his worldly influences are what make songs like “Rock the Casbah” timeless – he wasn’t just a 3 chord angry kid from Brixton who wanted to scream for the attention of it all – he wanted to see reactions in the injustice he saw around him like he had seen in Mexico City and Calcutta. Hence, “White Riot”….

I saw his posthumous documentary a million moons ago, but I can still remember how I felt when I heard his famous BBC ‘the meaning of it all’ spiel… it shook me up . And I know it seems simplistic or naively optimistic, but the core is there: if you don’t do something about it, then you’re the culprit too.

People can change anything they want to and that means anything in the world.
People are running about following their little tracks and I am one of them.
But we've all got to stop just following our own little mouse trail.
People can do anything, this is something I am beginning to learn.
People are out there doing bad things to each other, it's because they are being de-humanised.
It's time to take the humanity back into the centre of the ring and follow that for a time.
Greed really ain't going anywhere, they should have that in a big billboard across Times Square.
Without people you are nothing,
…that's my spiel.”
- Joe Strummer, aka. The Shit.

this is for you Animals.

Friday top 3:

1. The blank Coachella poster has become the bane of my existence. I want to see THE SMITHS RADIOHEAD PAUL MCCARTNEY DAVID BOWIE BEIRUT KINGS OF LEON PAVEMENT names in bold and all of the other gems to look forward to. I want to replace the aging 2008 lineup posted on my fridge. I want to plan summer dresses and start two-a-day workouts so when Stephen Malkmus scans the crowd in mid kindling for the masses he’ll fall in love and leave his silly* wife and we’ll flee the country together fueled only on musical sweet nothings and chocolate covered coffee beans. Romanticize this much?

*probably not so silly. And the mother of his children. Clever amazing men like Malkmus don’t marry idiots. Maybe we can be polygamous together. I could dig it.

2. I’m restless and anxious for the cozy confides and music swelling out of the walls in tonight’s promise of fun. Guitars and drinks and friends and art and secrets and debates and records and cigarettes on balconies. What else could you want on a cold Friday night?

3. Merriweather Post motherfucking Pavilion. Animal Collective, cheers, hearts, love to you. When every guy in the band lives in different city (one across the ocean). And you still deliver absolute perfect synth handclapping reverb looping gems, you make me think anything is possible. MY GIRLS could be the best song of 2009 (ask me again in December. I’ll stand by it.) This album is EVERYTHINGUNIVERSEAMAZINGPERFECT.

dark was the night

Matt Berninger used to be a suit. He made music after work and survived on caffeine pills to get through department meetings. When he found himself penning lyrics in boardroom meetings he knew it was time to get out. The next year, the Boxer would become the best album of 2007.

Greg Gillis was a biomolecular engineer. In Pittsburg, he wore brown suits and on the weekends would sweat through his AA deep V’s in full mash-up abandon. He would play sets around the world, as long as promoters promised to have him back to his day job on Monday by 9 a.m. By 2007, his Dr. Jeykll/Mr. Hyde lifestyle was over when colleagues started seeing him in magazines surrounded by AA models and clad only in his gitch.

I don’t want to work in the music industry cause I think, unless you’re doing it, then you’re just the administration without the heart. too selfish for the superficiality of it all, even if new albums, new songs, new shows, are what get me out of bed.

That’s why I like it when music and good works come together…though I question the bottom line results of the labour, the dream of melding music and meaning seems a few inches closer

Listen here

Of bartenders, birthdays, and bassists

Wednesday top 3.

1. With trepidations and equal parts intrigue, we walked the excruciating 5 blocks to see a piece of a puzzle that, in 2002, came together to create a future where the radio might actually, occasionally, play good music. Yes, The Strokes were immediately commercial, but don’t forget, This Is It. WAS IT. That album is tight, immediate and so on point.

2. “ Hello motherfuckers cause I’m back from exile” might be the best lyric in recent memory. Anyone who was only there to see a Stroke in real life, suddenly paid attention when this rambling yet sharp as a tack song kicked up.

3. Dear bartenders at the Elmocambo, when you open a beer for me, charge me $6 and then give me back change no smaller than twoonies, I hate you for making me look like a cheap bastard. I used to bartend. I get it. you want me to tip you. But two bucks for leaning over, selecting the right green bottle and a .4 second wrist action to open said bottle is not worth a total of $8. This isn’t King street and you’re not even hot.

love letters

Dear Jon Favreau.
Why are you so smart and so cute? Valedictorian and youngest presidential speechwriter in history? Aw shucks Jon.
I like your aviators and your grad school boy good looks.
You’re a pretty good writer too.
Soo, like, what are you doing after this speech thingy today?
Like, wanna hang out and write stuff together? I’m real good at English.
Sincerely,
Lovestruck.

don’tdance don’tdancedon’tdance don’tdaaance

Timber Timbre doesn’t want you to dance. But he’s still pretty great. Now. Live? Unneccessary. Even in the quiet room of my favourite record store did the music seem too austere and cold for a night so chilled. Jeff Buckley meets Tiny Tim meets Arthur Russell. Perhaps these references are too lofty.

In other news. This is the Monday top 3.

1. What the hell is the deal with f’ing sidewalks in Toronto.
At about 8:57 this morning I seriously would have given a blow job to David Miller to get rid the goddamn ice/snow ridiculousness so I could actually walk like a normal human being rather than this tiptoe-please-don’t-fall-in-front-of-anyone bullshit.

2. Saturday highlight: bundled in fur and wool and still cold-footed – we braved the chill of a bleak garage and the annoyance of too many under-agers to see some local gems. Expecting to increase my love of the Bicycles, I instead found new gold – Skeleton Me. Luke Lalonde (of Born Ruffians. who I was all over after a ridiculous Wolfe Island introduction in ’06.)
Grizzly Bear feedback meets Dylan’s jangly vocals and a soft guitar. The ghostly soft soprano in sister form. Add a Buddy Holly aesthetic and I am going on a celery diet and studying the history of blues until I am worthy to marry this 18 year old. (ok. Maybe not marry. Let’s not forget ourselves here.)

3. I seriously think that the Globe horoscope writer has me on suicide watch. Cause really, the inherent greatness us Libras supposedly embody is getting a little much, you fake-future-castors.

LIBRA (Sept. 24 - Oct. 23): That negative frame of mind you've found so hard to shake off will disappear in an instant today, and suddenly the world will be a brighter, happier place again. The sun in Aquarius over the next few weeks will bring back that dazzling Libra smile.

Dazzling, no less. Hearts to you Globe.

Snowstorm, schmostorm*

*Ok, getting a ride at 3 a.m. on Saturday was a bit of a bitch. But overall, the show goes on, eat it winter.

Friday:
A parade of you favourite friends. Gin. Tonic. Belmonts. Laugh a lot. Listen to Grizzly Bear.

Saturday:
Wrestle out of the comfort of the Bermuda triangle. Re-establish your love of one vintage Levis cowboy shirt. ‘Saturday mixtape’. Meet everyone down the street for the cutest afternoon line-up eva...Sports. Green Go. Winter Gloves. Hexes and Ohs.

Highlights:
Winter Gloves. I have such a hard on for this band. They sound so good I am continuously baffled by their slow rise…not to mention how ridiculously hot they are.

Overheard on song #4:
Q: Why are you not doing this guy? (or at least trying to…)
A: In response to calls of ‘encore’ lead singer: “Sorry we have to get home. It’s late. We have babies.”
I’ll say it again, I hate babies. They ruin everything.

Green Go have a great sound, all former-band-kid-well-trained and synthy. A bit awkward on the ‘between-songs-banter’. *
*upcoming party alert: rumour has it Green Go lead vocalist is DJing the next Unsigned with the band to host an afterparty under (?! C’est possible?) the Cameron House – which would be a change from the usual but ALWAYS fun Steamwhistle afterparty…decisionsdecisions*

Sunday:
Hangover death even a delicious Beaver brunch and new vintage boots could not solve.
Glimmer of hope in a long worthless day:
Fearless Freaks.
If you haven’t seen it and you ever liked music even a little, you need to watch this.
Proof that amazing-creative-genius-sparkling-sunshine-spaceship-forever-art-music-greatness can come from anywhere.
Even Oklahoma fucking City.

Monday: new swim regime commences. Me and ten speedo-clad over-40 mans. lucky girl, I am.

No, really.

Things that I want to accomplish in January.

1. Snowshoeing the Bruce Trail.
2. Eating here.
3. Sledding in Christie Pits (just add zoomers).

AND:
to. stop. eating. cheese. and bread.*

*"if cheese and bread didn't exist: I'd be Kate Moss."
- Kelly.**

**results unconfirmed