The Arcade Fire are on tour in the oppressed police state south of chilly Canada. If Bush has got you down, at least you can enjoy some great music and drink that weak putrid beer, America! [Ed. Note: What are you on? Keep writing posts like this and you'll be selling pencils in front of Alexis-Nihon Mall in no time. JB, give me a call.]
~~~
01.27 * Asheville, NC @ The Orange Peel
01.28 * Carrboro, NC @ Cat's Cradle
01.30 * Washington, DC, @ 9:30 Club
01.31 * Philadelphia, PA @ Theatre of Living Arts
02.01 * New York, NY @ Webster Hall
02.02 * New York, NY @ Irving Plaza
02.03 * Boston, MA @ Roxy
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
"2nd Ave." by JB
The moon is a half dream and I forgot
how to prove my own existence
I'm a pariah, parallel with the beams
that drip down from that white crescent
My friends are asleep
They're smiling
and graced with the Karmic bliss
of empty days
I wouldn't trade them
for a treasure chest or a leather chair
~~~
Gerald sips his water and wishes
that it was beer
His eyes are still bold
and his shoulders are high
He may have lost his voice
but only from singing
He is very sad
because he knows what life is
He has given us more
than he has taken
~~~
Chris is a punk through and through
He is a stargazing rock and roll hero
We are waiting for him to make good
The Colombian lady is his temptress
and he might pawn his game for gold
but he doesn't steal
and his future is unravelling
into a sea of mermaids
and sandy beaches
He may return to B.C.
~~~
Clem is an old friend
His heart was born lately
It is always ready to seize control
and veer him wildly askew
like Ski-doo tracks between the trees
He means well
and watches out for his friends
If his Id has vanquished his Ego
so be it
as long as Clem remembers
how far he can leap!
~~~
Mike is a bulldog
He'll guard his kin to the death
and he barks at trespassers
His eyes are big, bright remembering things
(blue beads that watch the fall)
For him, Blue Six-point-one is never far
and I think he'll keep on running
until he finds a place to rest
and a lady to love
~~~
Destiny is scratching at our door
I can hear its little claw paws
Let us feed it and find a way
to hold our souls up to the light
without seeing any wavy lines
or broken glass
We'll keep each other clean
and praise the shambles dawn
how to prove my own existence
I'm a pariah, parallel with the beams
that drip down from that white crescent
My friends are asleep
They're smiling
and graced with the Karmic bliss
of empty days
I wouldn't trade them
for a treasure chest or a leather chair
~~~
Gerald sips his water and wishes
that it was beer
His eyes are still bold
and his shoulders are high
He may have lost his voice
but only from singing
He is very sad
because he knows what life is
He has given us more
than he has taken
~~~
Chris is a punk through and through
He is a stargazing rock and roll hero
We are waiting for him to make good
The Colombian lady is his temptress
and he might pawn his game for gold
but he doesn't steal
and his future is unravelling
into a sea of mermaids
and sandy beaches
He may return to B.C.
~~~
Clem is an old friend
His heart was born lately
It is always ready to seize control
and veer him wildly askew
like Ski-doo tracks between the trees
He means well
and watches out for his friends
If his Id has vanquished his Ego
so be it
as long as Clem remembers
how far he can leap!
~~~
Mike is a bulldog
He'll guard his kin to the death
and he barks at trespassers
His eyes are big, bright remembering things
(blue beads that watch the fall)
For him, Blue Six-point-one is never far
and I think he'll keep on running
until he finds a place to rest
and a lady to love
~~~
Destiny is scratching at our door
I can hear its little claw paws
Let us feed it and find a way
to hold our souls up to the light
without seeing any wavy lines
or broken glass
We'll keep each other clean
and praise the shambles dawn
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
"7 Thoughts" by JB
I live to linger in the late hours
clutching my talisman to my breast
(the bottle that is always full to me)
The anthracite evenin' is my armour.
~~~
Of late, the most curious thing has happened
(I dare not call it by name
because that is the surest way for it to disappear)
Roots take time to catch hold of the loamy soil.
~~~
She is pure and sad and beautiful
and many other things
I want to soothe her ailments
and hold her coat.
~~~
There was a man with a heavy pack
The straps dug down deep into his shoulders
He carried his life inside of it
When he put it down, he was free for a time.
~~~
We should dance wild in Loyola hallways
and kiss like our lips are made of oxygen
Come and inhabit my bed for a week
I can cook great fluffy crepes.
~~~
Some things creep up on us like vagrant waves
Completely random, like phantom gusts of East Wind
Personally, I don't resist the weather
I move right through the atoms like a renegade electron.
~~~
Be forewarned, my hands are thin typist-things
and I am a sporadic fuck-up, but I mean well...
The inside of your mind must be a carnival of dreams
I want to spend the day with you.
clutching my talisman to my breast
(the bottle that is always full to me)
The anthracite evenin' is my armour.
~~~
Of late, the most curious thing has happened
(I dare not call it by name
because that is the surest way for it to disappear)
Roots take time to catch hold of the loamy soil.
~~~
She is pure and sad and beautiful
and many other things
I want to soothe her ailments
and hold her coat.
~~~
There was a man with a heavy pack
The straps dug down deep into his shoulders
He carried his life inside of it
When he put it down, he was free for a time.
~~~
We should dance wild in Loyola hallways
and kiss like our lips are made of oxygen
Come and inhabit my bed for a week
I can cook great fluffy crepes.
~~~
Some things creep up on us like vagrant waves
Completely random, like phantom gusts of East Wind
Personally, I don't resist the weather
I move right through the atoms like a renegade electron.
~~~
Be forewarned, my hands are thin typist-things
and I am a sporadic fuck-up, but I mean well...
The inside of your mind must be a carnival of dreams
I want to spend the day with you.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
"To Jeffrey" by JB
Every night, I go to my dreams guilty
Each day, I wake up forgiven
My soul is like a thousand onion peels
or a constantly-unravelling cassette tape
I want to send you
a Medium Message.
You say that you don't understand what I mean.
That disconnect is art in itself.
Your mind will paint the portrait it desires.
Our attempt to comprehend each other makes us all Picassos.
{Even the Milwaukee's Best-swilling, Nascar-watching
barbaric gang of Pleasure-Hunters
Even the quasi-Bohemian snuff-breathers who carry
around little hardcover notebooks and fear their own demise
Even the loveless Crescent Streeters in their 1000 Watt
Ritalin Paradise
Even the Old and Older folks whose pants are rising by the minute
and who can remember Johnny Carson jokes}
I realize that I am using broad strokes here
and you can always retort...
(insert one-size-fits-all "No Comprende" here)
but that is just A-OK.
We are [a: born / b: alive / c: dying / d: all of the above] alone
Suffice it to say that this lack of comprehension between us
makes words taste like red licorice.
~~~
Each day, I wake up forgiven
My soul is like a thousand onion peels
or a constantly-unravelling cassette tape
I want to send you
a Medium Message.
You say that you don't understand what I mean.
That disconnect is art in itself.
Your mind will paint the portrait it desires.
Our attempt to comprehend each other makes us all Picassos.
{Even the Milwaukee's Best-swilling, Nascar-watching
barbaric gang of Pleasure-Hunters
Even the quasi-Bohemian snuff-breathers who carry
around little hardcover notebooks and fear their own demise
Even the loveless Crescent Streeters in their 1000 Watt
Ritalin Paradise
Even the Old and Older folks whose pants are rising by the minute
and who can remember Johnny Carson jokes}
I realize that I am using broad strokes here
and you can always retort...
(insert one-size-fits-all "No Comprende" here)
but that is just A-OK.
We are [a: born / b: alive / c: dying / d: all of the above] alone
Suffice it to say that this lack of comprehension between us
makes words taste like red licorice.
~~~
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Jello is Quite Evil, really.
The New Years Dissonants show at Gordie's Loft (AKA Chez Gordie's) taught me several things about performing live, and about being in a band in general. These should be tattooed on one's arm (in 6 pt. Arial font, I suppose) so that their import won't be overlooked at any time.
Violations of these precepts should be punishable by extreme measures (OK, maybe not death, but something severe!). I will summarize them in Point Form, just like those corporate pigs at Maxim might, for enhanced readability!
1) Jello-Wrestling Ban: Although watching two lovely ladies grope and grapple in a tub full of Jello sounds like harmless fun, it will inevitably result in a Jello throwing match and equipment covered in red gelatinous mush. Jello is also very difficult to get out of one's hair and/or corduroys. Realistically, the Jello Ban should really be extended to all sticky food wrestling. (Jello is also made of animal bones so why eat it in the first place?)
2) Start the Gig Early: By the time our drummer graced us with his presence, it was close to 2:15 AM and most of our guests had already migrated to other bars/parties/afterhours and we were playing for a largely empty room. Only two hours earlier, we had close to a hundred people and things were looking rosy. If you tell people that your gig is going to start at 1 AM or so, try and be reasonable or else you'll be watching the tumbleweeds roll by. Also, if your whole band can't make it by a certain time, cancel the gig and severely guilt-trip the band member in question.
3) Two Beer Rule Must Be Enforced: When we hit the stage, our band was mostly drunk, myself included. This may be just fine for Musical Geniuses like Connor Oberst or the Libertines but it doesn't cut it for Rookies like our band. My lead guitarist was so intoxicated that at one point, he was kneeling on the floor and couldn't get up for fear of tumbling down in a heap. While I was severely intoxicated, at least I could stand up and play my parts. Since we started so late, it was to be expected that we would be boozed up by showtime, but this can't happen in the future. Also, drugs, although fun, will only make things harder to handle emotionally and deplete money that could pay for band practice or food.
4) Write More Songs and Stop Learning Covers: This can't be stressed enough. A band without songs is like a Bonobo monkey without sexual organs. If you are going to learn covers, make sure they're songs that are new and vital enough to warrant repeat playing show after show. Also, stay away from Mainstream Bullshit unless your band is a big fan of Nickelback or Evanescence. In my heart of hearts, I truly hope that my band will remain untainted by the stench of Middle-Ground Rock.
5) Don't Be Afraid To Institute a Fascist Intra-Band Regime: Democracy, while great for running nation states, doesn't work in families or in bands. The songwriter(s) should enforce their will through threats and cajoling because that is the only way to have a cohesive sound. If nobody can agree, that means that it is time to start a new band. While I am optimistic that the Dissonants will survive until our next gig (Dutchfest, Feb. 1st 2004, Venue still being negotiated), I can't predict whether we'll stay together for good. Luckily, we're (mostly) still friends in the band so we may just be able to sort out this band strife and make something good out of it all.
6) Bands Are Like Lovers, Only Without the Sex: Yes, people have feelings and you can't be too blunt or direct with your opinions. Always temper your criticism with some sort of compliment or else your band-mates will be building a trap full of Ponzi Sticks to impale you in no time. Plus, they're musicians, so if they make music, sometimes it is just a question of finding yourself in their creation. Fuck egos or trying to please everyone. Just give them a fair shake and you'll be surprised how good the final product can turn out. This can be ignored if the song sounds too Mainstream or Evanescentish; in this case, Rule 4 applies.
Happy New Years! What sort of resolutions did you make for the next 12 months? [Ed. Note: No more drugs for a long time!]
Violations of these precepts should be punishable by extreme measures (OK, maybe not death, but something severe!). I will summarize them in Point Form, just like those corporate pigs at Maxim might, for enhanced readability!
1) Jello-Wrestling Ban: Although watching two lovely ladies grope and grapple in a tub full of Jello sounds like harmless fun, it will inevitably result in a Jello throwing match and equipment covered in red gelatinous mush. Jello is also very difficult to get out of one's hair and/or corduroys. Realistically, the Jello Ban should really be extended to all sticky food wrestling. (Jello is also made of animal bones so why eat it in the first place?)
2) Start the Gig Early: By the time our drummer graced us with his presence, it was close to 2:15 AM and most of our guests had already migrated to other bars/parties/afterhours and we were playing for a largely empty room. Only two hours earlier, we had close to a hundred people and things were looking rosy. If you tell people that your gig is going to start at 1 AM or so, try and be reasonable or else you'll be watching the tumbleweeds roll by. Also, if your whole band can't make it by a certain time, cancel the gig and severely guilt-trip the band member in question.
3) Two Beer Rule Must Be Enforced: When we hit the stage, our band was mostly drunk, myself included. This may be just fine for Musical Geniuses like Connor Oberst or the Libertines but it doesn't cut it for Rookies like our band. My lead guitarist was so intoxicated that at one point, he was kneeling on the floor and couldn't get up for fear of tumbling down in a heap. While I was severely intoxicated, at least I could stand up and play my parts. Since we started so late, it was to be expected that we would be boozed up by showtime, but this can't happen in the future. Also, drugs, although fun, will only make things harder to handle emotionally and deplete money that could pay for band practice or food.
4) Write More Songs and Stop Learning Covers: This can't be stressed enough. A band without songs is like a Bonobo monkey without sexual organs. If you are going to learn covers, make sure they're songs that are new and vital enough to warrant repeat playing show after show. Also, stay away from Mainstream Bullshit unless your band is a big fan of Nickelback or Evanescence. In my heart of hearts, I truly hope that my band will remain untainted by the stench of Middle-Ground Rock.
5) Don't Be Afraid To Institute a Fascist Intra-Band Regime: Democracy, while great for running nation states, doesn't work in families or in bands. The songwriter(s) should enforce their will through threats and cajoling because that is the only way to have a cohesive sound. If nobody can agree, that means that it is time to start a new band. While I am optimistic that the Dissonants will survive until our next gig (Dutchfest, Feb. 1st 2004, Venue still being negotiated), I can't predict whether we'll stay together for good. Luckily, we're (mostly) still friends in the band so we may just be able to sort out this band strife and make something good out of it all.
6) Bands Are Like Lovers, Only Without the Sex: Yes, people have feelings and you can't be too blunt or direct with your opinions. Always temper your criticism with some sort of compliment or else your band-mates will be building a trap full of Ponzi Sticks to impale you in no time. Plus, they're musicians, so if they make music, sometimes it is just a question of finding yourself in their creation. Fuck egos or trying to please everyone. Just give them a fair shake and you'll be surprised how good the final product can turn out. This can be ignored if the song sounds too Mainstream or Evanescentish; in this case, Rule 4 applies.
Happy New Years! What sort of resolutions did you make for the next 12 months? [Ed. Note: No more drugs for a long time!]
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
The Apple Of New Years Eve
Do you have plans for Friday night? It's New Years Eve, dammit! Why waste $50 on tickets to a throbbing dance club full of beautiful, sweaty Montreal women far too drunk on all sorts of liquor? [Ed. Note: JB, you are the worst promoter I have ever laid my eyes on.] Why not forsake the techno and come to a kick-ass loft party? (BYO everything!)
Come to Chez Gordie's for a New Years Party you won't forget (or remember). There will be an open mic (for the aspiring musicians and guitar fiends out there), unholy amounts of beer will be consumed, and to round out the night, the Dissonants promise to play their first gig of 2005. Their sound has been compared by various observers as a cross between the Sex Pistols and Dinosaur Jr. [Ed. Note: I would argue that they're a hybrid of old school punk and folk music.] They have also promised some interesting covers, including one by Turbonegro and another by Wolf Parade. Tickets are free for everyone who can breathe.
~~~
Chez Gordie is located at St-Antoine and Atwater (not far from Lionel Groulx Metro). It's in the loft above Sheinhart's Dress Shop, just down the hill from the underpass. Doors will open at 9 PM. Contact me for more information.
Come to Chez Gordie's for a New Years Party you won't forget (or remember). There will be an open mic (for the aspiring musicians and guitar fiends out there), unholy amounts of beer will be consumed, and to round out the night, the Dissonants promise to play their first gig of 2005. Their sound has been compared by various observers as a cross between the Sex Pistols and Dinosaur Jr. [Ed. Note: I would argue that they're a hybrid of old school punk and folk music.] They have also promised some interesting covers, including one by Turbonegro and another by Wolf Parade. Tickets are free for everyone who can breathe.
~~~
Chez Gordie is located at St-Antoine and Atwater (not far from Lionel Groulx Metro). It's in the loft above Sheinhart's Dress Shop, just down the hill from the underpass. Doors will open at 9 PM. Contact me for more information.
2004
was a Swedish foot that fell in the mud.
A rusty pair of skates
or maybe a guitar missing two strings.
I walked for thousands of miles
(from St-Laurent street to Angrignon Park
and back X 8 or 9)
but my legs aren't folding.
I can't say it was a bad year.
No deaths in the family.
Body sound
even though my mind is corroding
and losing sharpness.
School was jam slipping though my fingers
but I kept enough to feed on.
Music was a reason to Be.
Even when my heart is limping
the songs carry me on.
They are natural stimulants
and make tragedy seem edible.
I can't wait for 2005 though.
A rusty pair of skates
or maybe a guitar missing two strings.
I walked for thousands of miles
(from St-Laurent street to Angrignon Park
and back X 8 or 9)
but my legs aren't folding.
I can't say it was a bad year.
No deaths in the family.
Body sound
even though my mind is corroding
and losing sharpness.
School was jam slipping though my fingers
but I kept enough to feed on.
Music was a reason to Be.
Even when my heart is limping
the songs carry me on.
They are natural stimulants
and make tragedy seem edible.
I can't wait for 2005 though.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Baby, This Place is a SHAMBLES
Run, don't jog, definately don't limp (!), whatever you do, just get your paws on a download/copy/etc. of Babyshambles - "Killamanjiro". It is a triumph, a tour de force if you will (as our Frenchifically-enhanced friends would say), and I had no choice but to tell you that this song Exists.. [Ed. Note: JB tells me he intended to put two periods on that sentence. He's trying to emphasize the point and I think he's just got too much Labatt Blue flowing around in there, somehow.]
Pete Doherty is the convicted felon responsible for this crime against bad music. His solo project Babyshambles has yet to release a proper album here in Canada (I can't seem to find it yet but I'm still hunting) but if this track is any indication, these Brits will raise their axes to the sky and rid the world of Rock Pretenders for at least a generation. [Ed. Note: Eternally optimistic, Jeremy Brendan is probably writing these outlandish hackfests from a dingy basement somewhere. Quit the bullshit. You're not a PR person, JB. They don't pay you. Actually, nobody pays you. Gotta go!]
Fuck my editor; I think that Pete deserves garlands around his head and a carriage to carry him straight through downtown London with Punk Rock music blaring at the front of his procession.
He makes me want to play music until both of my feet are in the grave.
Fuck the "crackhead" label or the caw caw cawing of Doherty's bandmates. After all, it is plain to see that they're just sods who rode his coat-tails into the Indie Rawk Ball; now that they realize his power, they've amputated him from their band and are hopping along like the pogoing bastards they are. Yes, I have a beef with the Libertines. Bring back Pete! He's your only hope that anyone outside of the Isles will ever listen to you.
It's all about the music that we create, we imbibe, we devour. Reputations are short-lived, but sounds resonate eternally.
Pete Doherty is the convicted felon responsible for this crime against bad music. His solo project Babyshambles has yet to release a proper album here in Canada (I can't seem to find it yet but I'm still hunting) but if this track is any indication, these Brits will raise their axes to the sky and rid the world of Rock Pretenders for at least a generation. [Ed. Note: Eternally optimistic, Jeremy Brendan is probably writing these outlandish hackfests from a dingy basement somewhere. Quit the bullshit. You're not a PR person, JB. They don't pay you. Actually, nobody pays you. Gotta go!]
Fuck my editor; I think that Pete deserves garlands around his head and a carriage to carry him straight through downtown London with Punk Rock music blaring at the front of his procession.
He makes me want to play music until both of my feet are in the grave.
Fuck the "crackhead" label or the caw caw cawing of Doherty's bandmates. After all, it is plain to see that they're just sods who rode his coat-tails into the Indie Rawk Ball; now that they realize his power, they've amputated him from their band and are hopping along like the pogoing bastards they are. Yes, I have a beef with the Libertines. Bring back Pete! He's your only hope that anyone outside of the Isles will ever listen to you.
It's all about the music that we create, we imbibe, we devour. Reputations are short-lived, but sounds resonate eternally.
The Dissonants Need your Help
Completely-unknown rock band the Dissonants are making some big promises these days, and some of them may just happen to be true. They guarantee beer (in kegs), rocknroll (live and preferrably loud), and an interesting scene (Gordie's loft @ St. Antoine & Atwater, that place above Sheinhart's Dress Shop near Lionel Groulx, doors open @ 9 PM). Do them a favour and check it out. No cover so you've got nothing to lose except your time (and it won't be lost. It will be invested in the next best band you haven't heard yet!). contact me if you need further information or more specific directions.
Of course, being a part of said band means that I am a biased individual and in no way representative of what the Rock Critics would say. I'm just whoring myself out here, people. Don't take this as the word of God. I'm more like a prophet anyway. [Ed. Note: I would argue that you're a loss.]
====
In other news, I'm working at RadioShack a million trillion hours a week lately, trying to make some money for tuition. If you need batteries, Illico boxes, or electric massagers, please visit me at RadioShack Dorval (in Les Jardins Dorval, right near the highway & Dorval Terminus) and I won't give you a discount! Yes, that's right! No discount whatsoever.
====
Lastly, contrary to popular opinion, I am in no way, shape, or form a bunny rabbit. I may not be a zebra--I'm stripeless--and I'm definately not a lion, but I can assure you all that I'm not a bunny rabbit. Besides, I hate carrots. If I had the choice, I suppose I'd be a seagull; they're repulsive, tough as titanium, and they'll eat anything. Also, even if I am a hopeless romantic, there's no reason to forget I exist.
Of course, being a part of said band means that I am a biased individual and in no way representative of what the Rock Critics would say. I'm just whoring myself out here, people. Don't take this as the word of God. I'm more like a prophet anyway. [Ed. Note: I would argue that you're a loss.]
====
In other news, I'm working at RadioShack a million trillion hours a week lately, trying to make some money for tuition. If you need batteries, Illico boxes, or electric massagers, please visit me at RadioShack Dorval (in Les Jardins Dorval, right near the highway & Dorval Terminus) and I won't give you a discount! Yes, that's right! No discount whatsoever.
====
Lastly, contrary to popular opinion, I am in no way, shape, or form a bunny rabbit. I may not be a zebra--I'm stripeless--and I'm definately not a lion, but I can assure you all that I'm not a bunny rabbit. Besides, I hate carrots. If I had the choice, I suppose I'd be a seagull; they're repulsive, tough as titanium, and they'll eat anything. Also, even if I am a hopeless romantic, there's no reason to forget I exist.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Thursday, December 09, 2004
"Dimebag" Darrell Shot By Lunatic
Yesterday was the 24th anniversary of John Lennon's assassination by a deranged fan. Two days before that, another nutjob named Mr. Lepine shot and killed a classroom full of women studying engineering, specifically targeting them because of their gender. Now, "Dimebag" Darrell is dead due to a crazed individual.
Darrell "Dimebag" Abbott, former lead guitarist of metal heavyweight Pantera, was playing the first song of a set with his new band Damageplan when a hooded man lept onto the stage and fired several shots at him from point blank range. The assailant also killed a bouncer, two fans from the crowd, and wounded two others.
Some might say that this is directly related to the celebrity culture that we live in; by placing all of our hopes and dreams on these strangers, when they make a decision that we don't agree with, some of the more deluded in the audience will go ballistic.
I think a good step would be to ban all handguns. They are useless. There is no way that America is safer because anyone can wander into a 7-ll and put a slug in the cashier's head.
Admittedly, in Canada, we do have some gun violence but this is often thwarted by security or police because it is hard to hide a rifle. Also, many of the gun deaths are related to our infamous biker wars (Hells vs. other gangs, etc.) so it is relatively safe up here in this cold wasteland.
I call on all rational individuals to contact their government leaders to demand a ban to all handguns. If you have ever listened to the Beatles or Pantera, you have two good reasons to pick up that phone.
Darrell "Dimebag" Abbott, former lead guitarist of metal heavyweight Pantera, was playing the first song of a set with his new band Damageplan when a hooded man lept onto the stage and fired several shots at him from point blank range. The assailant also killed a bouncer, two fans from the crowd, and wounded two others.
Some might say that this is directly related to the celebrity culture that we live in; by placing all of our hopes and dreams on these strangers, when they make a decision that we don't agree with, some of the more deluded in the audience will go ballistic.
I think a good step would be to ban all handguns. They are useless. There is no way that America is safer because anyone can wander into a 7-ll and put a slug in the cashier's head.
Admittedly, in Canada, we do have some gun violence but this is often thwarted by security or police because it is hard to hide a rifle. Also, many of the gun deaths are related to our infamous biker wars (Hells vs. other gangs, etc.) so it is relatively safe up here in this cold wasteland.
I call on all rational individuals to contact their government leaders to demand a ban to all handguns. If you have ever listened to the Beatles or Pantera, you have two good reasons to pick up that phone.
Friday, December 03, 2004
Long live the Winter Session; the Fall Session is Dead
As of Monday, my first semester of journalism at Concordia U. will be a done deal (aside from two exams which I'll hopefully coast through with straight-B's). Gone are the days of scurrying to the Loyola Computer Lab to slap together my Print assignments; no more sponging off of the People's Potato, that student-run collective that feeds free vegan meals to the less fortunate at Sir George William campus; I may even get to sleep in the weeks ahead!
I've learned several things from this semester. First of all, I'm a resilient bastard. When George W. pushes the Nuclear button because he thinks it's the remote for his Sony television, only I and the cockroaches will survive. I'm like a boxer who keeps limping to his feet as the ref calls out "eight...nine". (Should the period be within the quotation marks? Dammit, I need a copy editor, stat.)
Also, during the past three months, I fell in love, and before long, I got my heart sauteed and served with a side of grief. Did I learn anything from that car-wreck of a romance? If you feel something, don't lie to yourself. Make sure that you know what you're getting yourself into. Be completely honest. If you're a lover, love. If you're a hustler, hustle. Don't try to grow wings if you're meant to walk on the loamy soil. Love is a drug that only the very brave or very stupid should ever experiment with.
One feather in my cap is the band that I've played two gigs with. We're a curious lot but I think we have potential. There's no guarantee that we'll be able to translate that into something real but you never know. We played a gig @ Cafe Chaos (St-Denis, just below Bar St-Sulpice) and it went relatively well. I'll post some pics and music as soon as they become available, if any of you are curious and/or interested.
I'll end this self-indulgent navel gazing by saying "Happy Holidays" and keep your eyes focused on the moose in the middle of the highway. Good luck in the new year & let's all just agree to forget about November. That was one tootheache of a month.
Any thoughts? What was your November/Autumn/semester/etc. like? Let me know, below, in the comments section.
I've learned several things from this semester. First of all, I'm a resilient bastard. When George W. pushes the Nuclear button because he thinks it's the remote for his Sony television, only I and the cockroaches will survive. I'm like a boxer who keeps limping to his feet as the ref calls out "eight...nine". (Should the period be within the quotation marks? Dammit, I need a copy editor, stat.)
Also, during the past three months, I fell in love, and before long, I got my heart sauteed and served with a side of grief. Did I learn anything from that car-wreck of a romance? If you feel something, don't lie to yourself. Make sure that you know what you're getting yourself into. Be completely honest. If you're a lover, love. If you're a hustler, hustle. Don't try to grow wings if you're meant to walk on the loamy soil. Love is a drug that only the very brave or very stupid should ever experiment with.
One feather in my cap is the band that I've played two gigs with. We're a curious lot but I think we have potential. There's no guarantee that we'll be able to translate that into something real but you never know. We played a gig @ Cafe Chaos (St-Denis, just below Bar St-Sulpice) and it went relatively well. I'll post some pics and music as soon as they become available, if any of you are curious and/or interested.
I'll end this self-indulgent navel gazing by saying "Happy Holidays" and keep your eyes focused on the moose in the middle of the highway. Good luck in the new year & let's all just agree to forget about November. That was one tootheache of a month.
Any thoughts? What was your November/Autumn/semester/etc. like? Let me know, below, in the comments section.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
"Hush" by JB
Hush you and hear my
atypical rant
Listen to this pathetic prophet
(a slave to modernity
and shackled to his image)
I've dreamed
things you've never seen
Flowers that grow in the most obscure places
Waking up beside you when the morning is new
Coffee made of sand
and painted lungs turning black
All beginnings and ends
The back of the train
A particular pause when your lips are like songs
Your hair climbing out from under your hat
And green empty eyes
with huge tearless pupils
This can't just be the end
or love is a well-marketed myth
Your absence condemns me
I need your grace
~~~
JB, 2004.
atypical rant
Listen to this pathetic prophet
(a slave to modernity
and shackled to his image)
I've dreamed
things you've never seen
Flowers that grow in the most obscure places
Waking up beside you when the morning is new
Coffee made of sand
and painted lungs turning black
All beginnings and ends
The back of the train
A particular pause when your lips are like songs
Your hair climbing out from under your hat
And green empty eyes
with huge tearless pupils
This can't just be the end
or love is a well-marketed myth
Your absence condemns me
I need your grace
~~~
JB, 2004.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
"The Healer" by JB
I'm a victim of tragic rhythm
A drunken sop without a pen
I'm a physician who heals the pigeons
and chops the heads off all the hens
(JB. 2004)
A drunken sop without a pen
I'm a physician who heals the pigeons
and chops the heads off all the hens
(JB. 2004)
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Excuses, Alibis, and Explanations for my Scant Blogging of Late
I haven't been maintaining this blog for some time. It is like a rickety barn barely standing, with holes in the windows from stones pelted by local hooligans and a door hanging on by a rusty hinge. Luckily, this lack of online activity is due to a flurry of real-life existence which has appeared from out of the fog in the past few weeks. I'm not keeping my blog warm and well-fed because:
Suffice it to say that I will return to this blog when I can focus on it with the attention it deserves. Until then, please read Google News or Salon.com (or other blogs like the ones in my sidebar!). I'll be back, just like the Governor of California once said in some Hollywood blockbuster that made millions for a bunch of rich white guys.
------
On a side note, do you read "Exclaim!"? They published my letter in their November issue (remember? the one I posted on JB regarding Michael Barclay's failure to reference my interview with the Arcade Fire properly...also, I complained about how they put a picture of Wolf Eyes instead of Wolf Parade). Revenge is Nutrasweet.
- I'm in a band. Formerly called the Sellouts, we are in the process of finding a new name. We're also auditioning for a singer although I have a sinking feeling that this may just induce me to jump ship, since I want to sing. (Sadly, I suck vocally but my heart is in the right place) Regardless, we played our first gig @ Louis VIII on Friday night and it was a raucous success, despite a bizarre legion of moshing pals who knocked over equipment, spilled beer on my dear mother, and nearly bashed her over at one point. The ringleader, who happens to be a good (if constantly inebriated) friend of mine, eventually got picked up by the throat and tossed into a large P.A. speaker. Since we were playing punk rock (Turbonegro, etc!), it was a decent set but I don't think we'll be invited back to the Louis for quite some time. I'll keep you posted regarding our next gig, if we haven't already been blacklisted as a bunch of troublemakers.
- I'm trying to survive Journalism school. I'm studying at Concordia and this semester has been both rewarding and mortally terrifying. I have enough papers to write in the two weeks ahead to make Noam Chomsky hide in a broom closet and sob uncontrollably. Also, I have to catch up on all the reading that I neglected to do because of the next point...
- I party like an escaped felon. The other day, I was nursing a Boreale Blonde beer when I realized that I invest a large part of my time and money into getting royally fucked up. This is not a good thing. Since I haven't gotten my student loan yet, I've been neglecting my bills and yet, somehow, keeping my eyes pink and glossy almost daily. Also, I am out in pubs several times a week (Reggie's or Cock 'n Bull Pub on Tuesdays) so booze is also absorbing part of my life like a Scott Towel. My liver probably looks like a piece of tenderized beef.
- I write for the Link. This one is sort of a weak excuse because I haven't really written anything for the Concordia Link since my Blackspot article. Googlers can read it if they so choose; it will even reveal my true name, since everyone knows that Jeremy Brendan was but a "Nom de Plume". (And no, I didn't choose that God-Awful headline!)
Suffice it to say that I will return to this blog when I can focus on it with the attention it deserves. Until then, please read Google News or Salon.com (or other blogs like the ones in my sidebar!). I'll be back, just like the Governor of California once said in some Hollywood blockbuster that made millions for a bunch of rich white guys.
------
On a side note, do you read "Exclaim!"? They published my letter in their November issue (remember? the one I posted on JB regarding Michael Barclay's failure to reference my interview with the Arcade Fire properly...also, I complained about how they put a picture of Wolf Eyes instead of Wolf Parade). Revenge is Nutrasweet.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Into the Lion's Den
According to UPI, Coalition Forces have conquered about 70 percent of Falluja.
A psych-ops unit was broadcasting the following message to the Iraqi insurgents holed up in many of the houses near the downtown core:
A psych-ops unit was broadcasting the following message to the Iraqi insurgents holed up in many of the houses near the downtown core:
"Brave terrorists, I am waiting here for the brave terrorists. Come and kill us. Plant small bombs on roadsides. Attention, attention, terrorists of Fallujah."I don't really know how many Iraqis will be lured outside by such a message. It makes me wonder if the U.S. Military has any good sense at all. They would be better off playing GWAR or N*Sync at high decibels from their psych-ops loudspeakers. I can picture the Iraqis running out of their foxholes with their hands in the air.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
You Can Lead a Southerner to Vote but You Can't Make Him Think
The election is over. The bad guys won. At least it's not a Hollywood ending.
I can't really blame Ohio or Florida for their twisted electoral logic. To do so would ignore the middle of America, that big empty wasteland full of gay-hatin', God-lovin', gun-totin' folks who don't appreciate men who speak French. I know that I'm painting with a wide brush over here but how else can I rationalize the results of this Duo-Party-Winner-Take-All Gang-rape of American democracy?
The American Election was about Faith Inc. versus Reason and it looks like America is very faithful. Religion is fine in my books but when you mix it with politics, you're unknowingly producing a chemical not unlike TNT. The terrorists will love the Bush victory--they're already putting clips of Dubya smiling with all his teeth in their recruitment videos--and the Dems have been neutered and chained to a wall somewhere.
Bush is already busy making his tax cuts permanent. Instead of ending in 2011, they will go on unchecked for as long as a Republican holds the White House keys. America, when your son/daughter/father gets drafted and sent to some God-forsaken desert enclave to get shot at by AK-47 wielding maniacs, just remember in your heart of hearts that your country had a choice, and 51 percent of your fellow Americans chose wrong.
Hillary in 2008! Hope springs eternal like the American National Debt!
I can't really blame Ohio or Florida for their twisted electoral logic. To do so would ignore the middle of America, that big empty wasteland full of gay-hatin', God-lovin', gun-totin' folks who don't appreciate men who speak French. I know that I'm painting with a wide brush over here but how else can I rationalize the results of this Duo-Party-Winner-Take-All Gang-rape of American democracy?
The American Election was about Faith Inc. versus Reason and it looks like America is very faithful. Religion is fine in my books but when you mix it with politics, you're unknowingly producing a chemical not unlike TNT. The terrorists will love the Bush victory--they're already putting clips of Dubya smiling with all his teeth in their recruitment videos--and the Dems have been neutered and chained to a wall somewhere.
Bush is already busy making his tax cuts permanent. Instead of ending in 2011, they will go on unchecked for as long as a Republican holds the White House keys. America, when your son/daughter/father gets drafted and sent to some God-forsaken desert enclave to get shot at by AK-47 wielding maniacs, just remember in your heart of hearts that your country had a choice, and 51 percent of your fellow Americans chose wrong.
Hillary in 2008! Hope springs eternal like the American National Debt!
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Vote
Kerry.
Bush put you in debt. He put your troops in harm's way for shifting, flip-floppish reasons. He squandered America's international standing like no other President in history. He assisted Al-Q'aida's recruitment efforts by bombing Iraq when they had nothing to do with 9/11. He changed the laws to permit the government to know where you buy your books and what you told your doctor. He held innocent men captive in a concentration camp (Guantanamo Bay Prison) although none of them have ever been prosecuted as true terrorists. He let Osama Bin Laden get away. Should I go on?
I must. Bush gave tax cuts to the wealthy and signed a deal that would enrich the pharmaceutical companies in the years to come. He gutted the Clean Air Act and allowed polluters to write the legislation that should regulate their polluting ways. He threatened to ban gay marriage and then chided John Kerry for mentioning that Dick Cheney's daughter is gay (and that it's OK because she's a good person). Bush never visited the NAACP. He didn't remove Donald Rumsfeld despite the human rights abuses that appear to be systemic across Iraq's American prisons.
I could continue until I'm blue in the face but why bother? I can't vote in this election because I'm a Montrealer eh? Still, I figured I might as well take one last crack at convincing you.
If you're an American, prove to the world that you can make a sound decision. John Kerry is not perfect but when you compare him to George W. Bush, he looks like John the Baptist.
Vote Kerry, please. I'll beg if I must.
(I support Kerry)
Bush put you in debt. He put your troops in harm's way for shifting, flip-floppish reasons. He squandered America's international standing like no other President in history. He assisted Al-Q'aida's recruitment efforts by bombing Iraq when they had nothing to do with 9/11. He changed the laws to permit the government to know where you buy your books and what you told your doctor. He held innocent men captive in a concentration camp (Guantanamo Bay Prison) although none of them have ever been prosecuted as true terrorists. He let Osama Bin Laden get away. Should I go on?
I must. Bush gave tax cuts to the wealthy and signed a deal that would enrich the pharmaceutical companies in the years to come. He gutted the Clean Air Act and allowed polluters to write the legislation that should regulate their polluting ways. He threatened to ban gay marriage and then chided John Kerry for mentioning that Dick Cheney's daughter is gay (and that it's OK because she's a good person). Bush never visited the NAACP. He didn't remove Donald Rumsfeld despite the human rights abuses that appear to be systemic across Iraq's American prisons.
I could continue until I'm blue in the face but why bother? I can't vote in this election because I'm a Montrealer eh? Still, I figured I might as well take one last crack at convincing you.
If you're an American, prove to the world that you can make a sound decision. John Kerry is not perfect but when you compare him to George W. Bush, he looks like John the Baptist.
Vote Kerry, please. I'll beg if I must.
(I support Kerry)
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Eminem Sees a Burning Bush
Multi-platinum-selling rapper Eminem, never a stranger to controversy, has taken a swipe at Bush in the final week of the U.S. Presidential election. A video of the song "Mosh" was leaked to Gnn.tv today but it appears that the server is overloaded because I can't access it right now.
According to Salon.com, Eminem has decided to vote for the first time in his life specifically because of George W. Bush and his Neoconservative administration. Contrary to his song from the Slim Shady LP, Eminem finally "gives a fuck" and will vote Kerry on November 2nd.
What will the critics think of this song? I'm not sure if Eminem will ever be remembered as a neo-Dylan lyrically, or even as a Great Rapper (on par with Biggy, Tupac, or Nas), but one good point about this song is that Eminem seems hungry again. Bush has that effect on people; he's certainly a uniter, only Bush tends to drive his opponents together. He's like a matchmaker for progressives, leftists, union members, city-folk, and academes. Bush being in office is the best thing that ever happened to the Left in America because it gave them a reason to fight again; he is the perfect Darth Vader for them to oppose. [Ed. Note: That is debatable. Please feel free to comment below if you think JB is going too far.]
Reading Eminem's lyrics, I was overcome with a sense of gratitude. Instead of just making his money and threatening gays/his mother/other rappers, Em has taken a political stand; for once, we can't accuse him of limited subject matter.
(Excerpt from Eminem- "Mosh")
Eminem is no Winston Churchill but he may encourage some of the youth voters to mark their ballots. His heart is definately in the right place, anyhow. Marshall Mathers III may have his personal issues but at least he's trying to make a difference for once. Kerry now has Bill Clinton and Eminem watching his back. Still, I think that Bush and Cheney are more appropriately "Thugs for Life".
According to Salon.com, Eminem has decided to vote for the first time in his life specifically because of George W. Bush and his Neoconservative administration. Contrary to his song from the Slim Shady LP, Eminem finally "gives a fuck" and will vote Kerry on November 2nd.
What will the critics think of this song? I'm not sure if Eminem will ever be remembered as a neo-Dylan lyrically, or even as a Great Rapper (on par with Biggy, Tupac, or Nas), but one good point about this song is that Eminem seems hungry again. Bush has that effect on people; he's certainly a uniter, only Bush tends to drive his opponents together. He's like a matchmaker for progressives, leftists, union members, city-folk, and academes. Bush being in office is the best thing that ever happened to the Left in America because it gave them a reason to fight again; he is the perfect Darth Vader for them to oppose. [Ed. Note: That is debatable. Please feel free to comment below if you think JB is going too far.]
Reading Eminem's lyrics, I was overcome with a sense of gratitude. Instead of just making his money and threatening gays/his mother/other rappers, Em has taken a political stand; for once, we can't accuse him of limited subject matter.
(Excerpt from Eminem- "Mosh")
"Imagine it pouring, it's raining down on us,
Mosh pits outside the oval office
Someone's trying to tell us something, maybe this is God just saying
we're responsible for this monster, this coward, that we have empowered
This is Bin Laden, look at his head nodding,
How could we allow something like this, Without pumping our fist
Now this is our, final hour
Let me be the voice, and your strength, and your choice
Let me simplify the rhyme, just to amplify the noise
Try to amplify the times it, and multiply it by six
Ten million people are equal of this high pitch
Maybe we can reach Al Q'aida through my speech
Let the President answer on high anarchy
Strap him with AK-47, let him go
Fight his own war, let him impress daddy that way
No more blood for oil, we got our own battles to fight on our soil
No more psychological warfare to trick us to think that we ain't loyal
If we don't serve our own country we're patronizing a hero
Look in his eyes, it's all lies, the stars and stripes
They've been swiped, washed out and wiped,
And Replaced with his own face, mosh now or die
If I get sniped tonight you'll know why, because I told you to fight
So come along, follow me as I lead through the darkness
As I provide just enough spark, that we need to proceed
Carry on, give me hope, give me strength,
Come with me, and I won't stear you wrong
Put your faith and your trust as I guide us through the fog
Till the light, at the end, of the tunnel, we gonna fight,
We gonna charge, we gonna stomp, we gonna march through the swamp
We gonna mosh through the marsh, take us right through the doors
[Eminem speaking angrily]
And as we proceed, to mosh through this desert storm, in these closing statements, if they should argue, let us beg to differ, as we set aside our differences, and assemble our own army, to disarm this weapon of mass destruction that we call our president, for the present, and mosh for the future of our next generation, to speak and be heard, Mr. President, Mr. Senator"
Eminem is no Winston Churchill but he may encourage some of the youth voters to mark their ballots. His heart is definately in the right place, anyhow. Marshall Mathers III may have his personal issues but at least he's trying to make a difference for once. Kerry now has Bill Clinton and Eminem watching his back. Still, I think that Bush and Cheney are more appropriately "Thugs for Life".
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