Live Rock Show! The Impalers, The Dissonants, Rance Mulnix, Bedbox, A Still Life Depiction of Momentum, Seven Swans: of Silver City, Barfly, $3.

Turbonegro Coming As Quickly As Possible

Turbonegro, Norway's fabulous deathpunk funboys, are back on the road spreading their mischief (and most probably their buttcheeks, sailor!). They are not to be missed. Europeans beware! The tour coincides with a CD launch for their upcoming album "Party Animals" on May 9th.

~~~

23-Apr Germany, Hamburg, Grosse Freiheit
10-May Sweden, Stockholm, Nalen
12-May Germany, Berlin, Huxleys
13-May Germany, Leipzig, Haus Aunsee
14-May Germany, Muenster, Joevel
15-May Germany, Wiesbaden, Schlachthof
16-May Germany, Munich, George Elser Halle
18-May Netherlands, Amsterdam, Paradiso
19-May UK, London, Islington Academy
20-May UK, Leeds, Cockpit
21-May UK, Morcambe, Wasted Festival (http://www.holidaysinthesun.net)
26-May Austria, Vienna ,Aerodrome Festival
27-May Spain, Madrid, Festimad Festival
28-May Portugal, Lisaboa, Super bock Festival
30-July Sweden, Östersund, Storsjöyran

Check out a video of Turbonegro playing their hit song "Denim Demon"!
(courtesy of TurbojugendUSA.com)

America, Land of Bombs & Money

"Easter is the victory of light over darkness. In this season of renewal, we remember that hope leads us closer to truth, and that in the end, even death itself will be defeated. That is the promise of Easter morning."
U.S. President George W. Bush, National radio address on Saturday, March 26th. (CNN)

Yes, Pres. Bush. Death will be defeated by praying to Jesus. Perhaps the thousands of marines in Iraq can say hail marys as their unarmoured humvees get shot at by stray AK-47 and RPG fire.

When 16-year old Jeff Weise decided to shoot up his school, he was taking the path of violence and destruction that most of us would abhor. He should have joined the U.S. Army. That way, he could have killed as many "insurgents" as he wanted without risking a murder charge.

"A senior (U.S.) Army legal official acknowledged that the Iraqi colonel had at one point been lifted to his feet by a baton held to his throat, and that that action had caused a throat injury that contributed to his death.

The Army accounting said the Special Forces Command had determined that the use of force had been lawful 'in response to repeated aggression and misconduct by the detainee.'

Despite recommendations by Army investigators, commanders have decided not to prosecute 17 American soldiers implicated in the deaths of three prisoners in Iraq and Afghanistan in 2003 and 2004, according to a new accounting released Friday by the Army."
"Pentagon Will Not Try 17 GI's Implicated in Prisoners' Deaths" (NYT)

Killing is wrong any way you look at it. When you're the most powerful nation on the earth, you have a moral duty to limit the spread of violence and the distribution of arms.

Instead, America is the biggest purveyor of weapons on the globe. Just days ago, they announced the sale of F-16 multi-purpose jet fighters to Pakistan, no doubt due to Pakistan's half-hearted attempts at catching Bin Laden, America's Emmanuel Goldstein. Never mind the fact that India has protested that this will only escalate tensions in the region.

If there is a point to all of this, America's establishment will recoil in horror when one of its own sons decides to pick up a rifle and begin killing his classmates, but they think it's just fine to spread violence elsewhere in the world by selling kill-machines and bombs to other nations. Don't they see the relation between having weapons and using them?

U.S., do us all a favour. Sign on to Kyoto, sign the Landmines ban, join the International Criminal Court, and stop thinking that you're some sort of empire. Your downhill slide is already apparent to many independent observers, anyhow. While you're at it, start teaching Mandarin or Japanese in your classrooms. They'll own you before the century is through.

Oh, and Happy Easter!

Hacking Up a Lung & Dissonants Gig

I've been busy as of late trying to retrieve the wreckage of Concordia Flight 2005 from the crash scene of my school year. I fucked around a lot and now I'm mathematically doubtful of passing several of my courses. It would be nice to be a part of the religious herd at this point so that I would have somebody to pray to. Being an agnostic, I've been secretly praying to Enn Rautsepp, the director (?) of Concordia's Journalism program.

Today, I have to go and cover some exposition on chocolate at McGill University. It begins in 43 minutes and my bacon isn't done frying on the stove. I predict that I will arrive late, start scribbling down any notes I can, and then dart towards the free samples of chocolate. I'm salivating just thinking of ripping through a sweet little piece of cocoa extract right now.

Later this week, I have some copy stories due for Radio class (deadline: Friday night) and a myriad pile of other work that has accumulated in the past few months. Rautsepp preserve me!

~~~

In other news, the Dissonants will be playing a gig at Reggie's Pub tomorrow (Thursday night). They want to punk you into a frenzy. Doors open at 7 PM, cover is a paltry $2, and there will be four terrific bands to stroke your musical muscles. Come one, come all!
##########
Thu - 03.24 Launie Anderssohn, The Dissonants, The Rothschilds, Coriander @ Reggie's Pub ($2) (7pm), 1455 De Maisonneuve (in Concordia's Hall Building!).
##########

"Wilding" by JB

I think that I've progressed, comparing this text to "All of You". I dropped the forced rhyming and just went with my gut.

"Wilding"
~~~
This is the most important instant of my life.
I am completely aware
of the dangers inherent in uttering such a thing
You could crush me like a beetle
My legs would twitch on
but I'd be dead, nonetheless

I'm holding out my hand
it's yours for the taking
If you lock me outside
I will have to curl up in a snowbank
I'm a vagabond even if I have a home.
I still piss in alleyways and eat table scraps

Give me what you can
I'll wait until there is peace in Israel
Like patient waves that reach for mountains
but only make it as far as the beach
My love has no expiry date
It will age like red wine
~~~


Ironically enough, I am indeed twitching but I'm hoping I'll get scooped off the street before any more sedans pass over me. I'm not broken. Lather, rinse, repeat. I'm not broken.

"All of You" by JB

Wrote this one a while back but never bothered to do anything with it. Poetry means something to me again because it's all I have left. I can't sleep, I barely eat; even alcohol has lost its woozy charm. I need to rely on words to get me through this turbulence, these nightmares I dream while I'm awake. Point is, this poem once inspired me to keep going way back when, so now I wanted to share it with you all.

I'd appreciate some criticism or commentary. It's a tad bit rough, so go easy on me, eh? Might even work as lyrics, I guess. [Ed. Note: Stick to something you're good at, like sleeping, or fooling people into thinking that you're some sort of bewildered idiot-savant. You're an actor, a stumbling, self-obsessed little fuck who thinks that because he has access to a keyboard and a couple of 4-dollar words, all of the sudden he's some sort of poet. Jeremy Brendan, you've always been a fraud & now your inflicting all of this miserable prose on the world. Shame. Shaaaame.]

"All of You"
~~~
I am alive for
this minute
for art and the
worlds in it
for love and the
infinite
for friends and readers of
English Lit
for truth and arguing with
the cynics
for people who like
being misfits
for the unknown hero lying to
be tragic
for the causality that is based
on magic

I love humanity
insanity
& vanity
in small doses
for lovers who twist
like red roses
for brown hair
and delicate poses
for winter
and red noses
I am alive and I thrive
because what's in me
is all of you
~~~

Don't listen to my editor. He's just hateful because I always get the last word.

First Annual "Spot JB Drunk" Contest

I am about to go and pawn some of my personal effects to fund the first annual "Spot JB Drunk" Contest. Yes, I am going out to drink like my liver is made of titanium, folks. It's 3:18 PM so the day is young.

The contest has two parts:

• Spot JB:
Participants must track down Jeremy Brendan and taunt him/buy him drinks/explain to him the mysteries of life and why it seems that women are puzzles made of broken glass, beautiful but capable of inflicting such intense pain.

• Stamina:
Once they have found JB, participants must go drink for drink with JB until somebody either passes out or gets sick. At that point, the contest is over and we all begin the hunt for drugs.

Everyone is welcome to attend! Bring your fat, swollen wallets and a sense of humour, because JB doesn't have either of those today. [Ed. Note: To give you all a hint, JB's usual haunts are Cock 'n Bull Pub, Brutopia, and Reggie's, although there is a strike at Concordia today so Reggie's is not a potential hangout.]

What contest would be complete without a prize? If you spot JB, you win at least one anecdote relating Hindu mythology with a musical instrument or maybe a corny joke. Also, JB can help you find whatever you need, ie. opium, ether, etc. If you can keep up with JB's drinking, you win his gratitude and the unadulterated respect of your peers (the drunken gang at whichever bar you happen to be at).

Looking forward to seeing you all out there! Cheers and vive la peine, l'amour est mort!

The Hunter Has Left the Building

[Ed. Note: Hunter S. Thompson died last night of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Jeremy wrote the following last night but I was only able to post it today. His real-life alter-ego is trying to get it published in the Montreal Mirror but we can't guarantee they'll accept it. En attendant, here it is, unedited.]

It's getting damn close to 4 AM but I can't sleep right now. What I wouldn't do for a drug tonight, anything to get my mind out of this soul-sucking space. I can't believe that another one of my heroes has died; Doctor Gonzo is no more.

Hunter S. Thompson was once a writer, before he became a lab rat and singed his neurons into charcoal. Thompson was a barbarian in his early days, clanging his pen against the gates of the publishing world, trying to prove that electrified prose and quick wit could triumph over accuracy. The 50's was mostly a wasteland until he rolled up on his motorcycle, drugs in one hand and a gun in the other.

Thompson used a novelist's eye to get to the epicentre of the story, sometimes lying to get his point across. Many credit him with ushering in the style known as "New Journalism", a school now relegated to trashy mags like Vice or the occasional college rag. His detractors painted him as a fraud--nothing more than a celebrity-cum-writer who milked his reputation for all it was worth--to them, he was more a drugged-out gun nut than a literary figure.

Hunter was all of these things. More importantly, he set the journalists free. Why else would I be compelled to write that my hemorrhoids are really burning right now? His death makes my soul burn more than any pile ever could.

Often going by the pseudonym "Raoul Duke", Thompson showed the American Press that their "inverted pyramid" technique was just as boring as the missionary position they would employ on their wives once a week.

Thompson proved that colour and flair (along with a keen sense of what is right) can compensate for gaps in the narrative; ultimately, the truth will emerge even if it is submerged beneath a sea of falsity.

Hunter never did wipe out the "Pyramid crowd"; those dinosaurs will still walk the earth when we're all just bones and plastic beer cups. I don't know if we'll ever be rid of the type of people who work for Fox News.

It must be said that Thompson never did a journalism class. Hell, he probably would have choked on the endless fluff pieces that I and my fellow scribes are forced to ejaculate for our loveless Concordia professors. Hunter's whole career was based on a sham, after he convinced the U.S. Air Force that he was qualified to write, edit, and produce a newspaper.

Hunter was an exception.

Now, I'm left here with all these Rules and no Buzz with the walls closing in like lobster claws. Where is Wendy, my one and only, when I need her? Has the world gone mad?

Maybe the Canadian Air Force is hiring?

The Dissonants & The Casingles, Reggie's Pub, Fri. Feb. 18th, 9 PM, $5

As listed in the Montreal Mirror, don't miss the Dissonants & the Casingles show tomorrow night @ Reggie's Pub. (Friday, Feb. 18th @ 9 PM!) It will be bedlam, I tell you.

Note: This is not the real logo from Reggie's Pub but a visual aid was needed, so use your imagination.
The Dissonants have a prolific set planned to ease you into the "Reading Week" Holiday Spirit. The D's plan to play a handful of originals and some inspired covers (ie. Arcade Fire, Wolf Parade, Turbonegro). Their sound is hard to pigeonhole but probably lies somewhere between Dinosaur Jr. and Old-School punk. [Ed. Note: More like the unholy bastard child of Alexisonfire and Counting Crows! Despite this, I assure you that they will rock your casbah.]

After the Dissonants, headliners the Casingles will bring some of that voodoo garage punk that you all know and love. After the hysteria-inducing set they played a couple of Sundays ago at Cafe Chaos (accompanied by Manic Manon and the surprisingly excellent psychobilly band Flesh), expect them to put on a hell of a show tomorrow night.


[Ed. Note: Shaking Judy could not make it to the show because they were abducted by Space Raelians. Our hearts and prayers are going out to them (to Shaking Judy, not to the Raelians!)]

I am not usually one to agree with hacks like the New York Times but Montreal's burgeoning rock scene is home to a lot of impressive acts (ie. Arcade Fire, Wolf Parade, Launnie Andersohn, The Stills, The Unicorns, The Dears, etc.). Support your local scene!
~~~

The Dissonants, The Casingles, 9pm, $5
Feb 18, Reggie's Pub, Concordia U, 1455 de Maisonneuve W.
For more info: 848-7423 or 242-9840

The Ayatollah's Edicts & Whether Holding Hands is Permissible

I was reading an interesting article by Patrick Cockburn on Counterpunch Magazine (""Sistani's Vision for Iraq") and it lead me to Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani's Official site.

Ayatollah al-Sistani is one of the key figures Iraq's Shi'ite community, a group that represents over 60 percent of the Iraqi population. In the January 30 election, the United Iraqi Alliance is claiming to have won a majority of the seats in Iraq's National Assembly. According to the Economist, the UIA "claims Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani as its chief mentor."

A recount is underway in Iraq but if the preliminary results hold to be true, will the UIA (which some have described as fundamentalist) turn Iraq into another Iran? Ayatollah al-Sistani has not expressed an interest in running for public office, but will the UIA decide to bring in Sharia law or something similar?

Will America's attempt to inject democracy serum into an Iraq, bound by the chains of occupation, turn it into another fundamentalist Arab regime indifferent to American demands? [Ed. Note: JB, can you make these sentences any longer? This is amateurish bullshit. Get to the point.]

I decided to do a little digging and on al-Sistani's website, I found some startling revelations. Thanks to his very comprehensive FAQ page, here are the Grand Ayatollah's views on:

Suicide
"Question:Is suicide permissible in Islam?

Answer:It is not permissible.

Question:What does the Qur’an say about suicide?

Answer:Islam does not allow it in every circumstance."

Oral Sex
"Question:Is oral sex by husband or wife allowed?

Answer:It is permissible provided no liquid out swallowed."

Checking Out Some Guy
"Question:Which part of strange man’s body is it allowed for a woman to look at? Is it allowed to look at his breast? On the tv in the western countries its very oft, that the men show their bodies till the belly ?

Answer:Looking of a woman at a stranger’s (ajnabi) body is forbidden, if it is with lust and fear of falling in sin. It is not even permissible to look without that (lust and fear) also as a measure of obligatory precaution except for the parts of body which normally a man does not cover i.e. head, hand and ankles which a woman can look at if it is without lust and without fear of falling in sin."

Masturbation
"Question:If my wife wants me to masturbate in front of her, is it then allowed?

Answer:You are not allowed to do it with hand, but your wife is."

Friendship
"Question:I wanted to know about friendship norms in islam about females ?

Answer:Friendship with her is not permissible. Because in such friendship man is not immune from sin."

Backdoor Action
"Question: Is anal intercourse permissible.?

Answer:Permission is bound to wife’s agreement, but it is strongly undesirable."

Orgies
"Question:Is having an orgy permissible under the Qur’an?

Answer:It's forbidden."

Or Just Getting Acquainted
"Question:Are shaking of hands with girls allowed?

Answer:It is not permissible."

After reading al-Sistani's site, I've realized that I take a lot of my freedoms for granted.

I didn't quote his ultra-religious edicts to mock him in any way--I am equally disdainful of all religions--it's just that a party that sees him as its spiritual guide could very well win the Iraqi election and write a constitution that will absorb edicts like these.

Saddam was definately a brutal tyrant but he was still more of a secular leader than a religious one, mainly because his Sunni-led regime used secular policies to minimize the power of Shi'ite religious leaders. Now that the Shi'ites will be running the show in Iraqi, can they be relied upon to protect the rights of women? What about those of minorities like the Kurds, the Turkmen, or the Sunnis?

My heart of hearts hopes that there will be an end to the fighting between Iraqi versus Iraqi and the occupation will end by Bush's strained National Guardsmen and tired Marines. Then, you can bring the boys home, Mr. Bush. [Ed. Note: Tell them not to buy their tickets just yet. There's 20 or 30 thousand Iraqis running around with heavy weaponry looted from Saddam's weapons depots. JB, you are one deluded informer! The occupation will end the year we have a female President.B]

Oh, and just in case you were wondering:

"Question:I have a cat, and I heard that I couldn’t pray in clothing that have cat's hair. Is this true?

Answer: It does not make the prayer void.

Question:Praying in a condition that you have a leather wallet (bought from un Islamic country & unaware of the nature of leather) in your pocket is acceptable or not?

Answer:That is permissible and there is no objection in it."

Bush's 2006 Budget; "Just When You Thought Things Couldn't Get Any Worse!"

The Bush administration released their FY 2006 budget proposal on February 7th and I think that it truly proves that he is a compassionate conservative. The only downside is that his compassionate nature only extends to wealthy industrialists and other shady characters, the ones with the keys to the war machine.

Bush's sordid gang of looters are planning to invest the retirement savings of American workers into the stock market. As Lyndon Larouche pointed out, this economic plan was already tried out in Chile with disastrous effects for their population. Of course, this was under the Pinochet Regime and was pushed through at gunpoint; hopefully, the American public will have the good sense to rise up and demand that their representatives throw this idea out before it bankrupts their future.

While Bush seeks to reduce federal expenditures, he has no real means of doing so without cutting his bloated military budget. The War on Terror don't come cheap, eh Mr. Bush? Since 2001, the Bush Administration has raised "overall Defense spending by 41 percent." It is disheartening to see so much money available for bombs and unmanned attack vehicles but less to provide for health care or education.

The Bush budget has a couple of other doozies that stand out like erections on a crowded subway car. For example, Bush has slated "$100 million to fund competitive grants for States to develop innovative approaches to promote healthy marriages." Healthy marriages? Are they going to pay for Viagra or perhaps give each American married couple a free night at some swanky hotel? My instincts tell me no, that this is just a polite way of saying "if you can stop those queers from getting hitched, we'll toss you some coins!" Past experiences tell me that the term "healthy marriage" can't be bought with currency; it must be fought for, tooth and nail, by two loving partners, whether they be straight, gay, or just plain crazy.

U.S. federal spending on education should amount to $56 billion USD, a decrease of 1 percent compared to the FY 2005 budget. The Environmental Protection Agency will also feel the pain next year; their 2006 funding will decrease by 6 percent to $7.6 billion. Even with reductions in these departments, the U.S. will still have a $390 billion dollar deficit to contend with, and projected annual deficits of at least $200 billion or more over the next four years.

Bush is definately concerned about young people who fuck without getting married first. The proposed budget will "(provide) more than $206 million for abstinence-only activities this year." Paradoxically, these sort of "activities" haven't really worked in the past, as teen pregnancies and sexually transmitted diseases show no sign of disappearing across America. Neo-puritanism will never solve the issues of our time, no matter what the Religious Right's televangelists are preaching.

If there is a silver lining, it is for the Richie Rich jet-set club. The wealthiest Americans will enjoy the fruits of their lobbying and connections; they will save about $1 trillion USD over the next decade, money that could have gone to rebuild America's tumbling infrastructure or to uplift the needy. This will also exacerbate the ballooning national debt (an eye-popping $8.6 trillion USD, which is projected to rise to $11 trillion by 2010!).

Budgets like this one prove that when you put a blind man behind the wheel, you are sure to run into oncoming traffic. Fifty years from now, Americans will spit whenever somebody mentions the name George W. Bush. He makes "Tricky Dick" Nixon look like Ghandi. George Dubya's "faith-based" leadership is just that; he believes that his disjointed economic policies will work despite all other evidence to the contrary. If America is to climb out of this hole, they had better start praying.

[Ed. Note: This budget hadn't yet been approved by Congress as of press time. Also, most Democrats and a few key Republicans oppose many of the cuts in the slated budget. It will be interesting to see whether Congress gives Bush their seal of approval.]

The Arcade Burns For You, America

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

"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

"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.

"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.

~~~

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!]

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.

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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.

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.

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.]

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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.

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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.