My friends Dan and Sky danced to this at their wedding. Aka The Most Amazingly Beautiful There Are Not Enough Adjectives for How Lovely it Was Wedding Ever. The album version is a little more upbeat. A stunning bride in cowboy boots and a short petticoated dress and the groom with exactly the look you hope to see on the face of a friend at his wedding ... I ruined my mascara.
Ivan and Alyosha - Easy to Love
I never see shows listed for anywhere other than Seattle. Boys - it's only a short (and scenic - I once saw a submarine. True story.) boat ride to Victoria. Dooooo it. We have numerous and fantastic breweries. I'm buying.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
O My Heart
Oy vey, another music post. Bear with me, I will actually write something again .... some day ....
Anywhoo .... Mother Mother. One day no one knew who they were, and the next they were adding dates to sold out shows. Well, it probably didn't seem like that to them, what with the toil of forming a band, writing (fricking fantastic) songs, building a following and so on. But from the outside, there was definitely a 'holy shit, where did these guys come from?' moment.
I saw Ryan Guldemond play solo a few months ago, sandwhiched between Vince Vaccaro (a pleasant yawn) and Jon and Roy (here's a bat, bludgeon me around the ears). Honestly, Jon and Roy ... at one point my friend Wendy turned to me and said 'duder, they've played the same song 21 times!'. Agony. Starbucks Pick of the Week, beach ditty flavoured agony. But Ryan Guldemond, oh my god. Without the flanking of the pretty girls and rest of band, all his Gumby strangeness was so magnificently magnified. Wendy was all 'is this dude even serious!?'. And I was all 'oh my god, I want to spoon feed him soup and watch him while he sleeps!'. He has such amazing stage presence, does things to his guitar that makes me want to have intimate encounters with his fingers, and dear god, are his vocals amazeballs. There were moments where, I swear, there was a whiff of Wayne Newton. But mostly he doesn't sound like anyone else.
Brief aside. When I was a kid I couldn't understand why Ferris Bueller was lipsyncing to a woman. Totally didn't get that Danke Schoen was sung by Wayne Newton, and that he was a dude, until probably the 12th viewing.
But Ryan Guldemond ... I can totally get down with a man that writes about not eating for days before a date so he'll look extra skinny. And, he was totally gracious when some puka shell wearing frat boy told him he was the bombdiggity. I couldn’t even keep a straight face.
Fast forward a few months, and Wend and I go to see Mother Mother. A second show that was added as the first was about to sell out. We made the call to see the club show instead of the sit down show as they're pretty frigging fun live, and not so much sitty downy. Unfortunately the show coincided with the influx of approximately 6,000 international navel personnel (the streets were running with seamen!), so the crowd was taller, drunker, sluttier and louder than usual. And that’s saying something, as Victoria has some seriously asshat chatty crowds. Oh god, and smellier! We were sucked into a whirling vortex of stale pit and old underwear for several songs. But, despite all that, it was a fantastic show. Though sort genre bending and hard to define, I’ll go out on a limb and say that Mother Mother is pop at it it’s best. Smart, distinctive, fun, catchy music that isn’t comfortably packaged to pander to the widest possible audience. Though that certainly hasn’t held back their ability to build a fan base. Not at all bad for a kid from an Island most Canadians couldn’t find on a map.
My little intro to this video turned into a bit of a ramble. I was just going to post this, and a wee note, but again, sucked into the power of Mother Mother.
This video turns the band into paper dolls and features a kid that looks like a gender confused Wednesday Adams channeling Robert Smith before he got all chubby and awkward, so I’m pretty much totally down with it.
Mother Mother - O My Heart
Anywhoo .... Mother Mother. One day no one knew who they were, and the next they were adding dates to sold out shows. Well, it probably didn't seem like that to them, what with the toil of forming a band, writing (fricking fantastic) songs, building a following and so on. But from the outside, there was definitely a 'holy shit, where did these guys come from?' moment.
I saw Ryan Guldemond play solo a few months ago, sandwhiched between Vince Vaccaro (a pleasant yawn) and Jon and Roy (here's a bat, bludgeon me around the ears). Honestly, Jon and Roy ... at one point my friend Wendy turned to me and said 'duder, they've played the same song 21 times!'. Agony. Starbucks Pick of the Week, beach ditty flavoured agony. But Ryan Guldemond, oh my god. Without the flanking of the pretty girls and rest of band, all his Gumby strangeness was so magnificently magnified. Wendy was all 'is this dude even serious!?'. And I was all 'oh my god, I want to spoon feed him soup and watch him while he sleeps!'. He has such amazing stage presence, does things to his guitar that makes me want to have intimate encounters with his fingers, and dear god, are his vocals amazeballs. There were moments where, I swear, there was a whiff of Wayne Newton. But mostly he doesn't sound like anyone else.
Brief aside. When I was a kid I couldn't understand why Ferris Bueller was lipsyncing to a woman. Totally didn't get that Danke Schoen was sung by Wayne Newton, and that he was a dude, until probably the 12th viewing.
But Ryan Guldemond ... I can totally get down with a man that writes about not eating for days before a date so he'll look extra skinny. And, he was totally gracious when some puka shell wearing frat boy told him he was the bombdiggity. I couldn’t even keep a straight face.
Fast forward a few months, and Wend and I go to see Mother Mother. A second show that was added as the first was about to sell out. We made the call to see the club show instead of the sit down show as they're pretty frigging fun live, and not so much sitty downy. Unfortunately the show coincided with the influx of approximately 6,000 international navel personnel (the streets were running with seamen!), so the crowd was taller, drunker, sluttier and louder than usual. And that’s saying something, as Victoria has some seriously asshat chatty crowds. Oh god, and smellier! We were sucked into a whirling vortex of stale pit and old underwear for several songs. But, despite all that, it was a fantastic show. Though sort genre bending and hard to define, I’ll go out on a limb and say that Mother Mother is pop at it it’s best. Smart, distinctive, fun, catchy music that isn’t comfortably packaged to pander to the widest possible audience. Though that certainly hasn’t held back their ability to build a fan base. Not at all bad for a kid from an Island most Canadians couldn’t find on a map.
My little intro to this video turned into a bit of a ramble. I was just going to post this, and a wee note, but again, sucked into the power of Mother Mother.
This video turns the band into paper dolls and features a kid that looks like a gender confused Wednesday Adams channeling Robert Smith before he got all chubby and awkward, so I’m pretty much totally down with it.
Mother Mother - O My Heart
Monday, September 06, 2010
All Your Friends Seem Like Enemies When You're Broken Down and Empty
Last long weekend of the summer and it's raining balls. Seriously starting to feel like fall. I've only ventured out to take out the trash, spent most of the day doing the domestic putter, wrapped in the vestiges of yesterday's dourness. Trying to cobble together a mix for birthday invites, but I keep getting sucked in to City and Colour. I really resisted City and Colour because, honestly, Alexisonfire ... always thought they were sort of douchy. And made me want to buy stock in throat lozenges. I have to give Dallas Green credit though. He's won this girl over.
This song is perfect today.
City and Colour - Waiting
* Are those rapist glasses?
This song is perfect today.
City and Colour - Waiting
* Are those rapist glasses?
Sunday, September 05, 2010
While You Were Sleeping
Urgh. Had the sort of hungover day that involves fantasies of ritual disembowelment, disturbingly adolescent melancholic self-loathing, and a driving desire to consume nothing but ginger ale. I don’t sleep well after a drink-heavy night out, so I was out of bed at 8:30, after fours hours of sleep. Only four hours because, after stumbling in famished and managing to whip up french toast I decided it was a darn tootin’ good idea to finally go on that neighbourhood-in-the-dark photo wander I’ve been meaning to do.
It was not a good idea.
For several reason. Not the least of which is that apparently the only other people awake in my neighbourhood at four am are a couple of skeezy dudes down the street. They very kindly offered ‘come on in the house, we’ll give you something to photograph’. Something about it gave me the nos though (go figure).
The photos didn’t turn out too smashingly. Shock. These were semi-salvageable. I do love dark empty streets.
I managed a semi-productive day of tattoo shop visit (oh god, tattoo noise + hangover headache = bad case of the unhappys), Scott Pilgrim, grocery shopping and pad thai cooking. All of which was soundtracked by White Stripes, Kevin Drew, Broken Social Scene and LDC Soundsystem. A concerted effort to not indulge the hangover weepies with the usual folky heartbreak fodder. It pretty much worked, except now I’m rocking a serious case of the envies for whoever Kevin Drew wrote this song for. Lucky bitch. Sadly, this is about the best video of it I could find on the internets. Hopefully BSS will play it October 12th. That would be nice. Very nice.
xo ~ m
Kevin Drew - TBTF
It was not a good idea.
For several reason. Not the least of which is that apparently the only other people awake in my neighbourhood at four am are a couple of skeezy dudes down the street. They very kindly offered ‘come on in the house, we’ll give you something to photograph’. Something about it gave me the nos though (go figure).
The photos didn’t turn out too smashingly. Shock. These were semi-salvageable. I do love dark empty streets.
 |
 |
I managed a semi-productive day of tattoo shop visit (oh god, tattoo noise + hangover headache = bad case of the unhappys), Scott Pilgrim, grocery shopping and pad thai cooking. All of which was soundtracked by White Stripes, Kevin Drew, Broken Social Scene and LDC Soundsystem. A concerted effort to not indulge the hangover weepies with the usual folky heartbreak fodder. It pretty much worked, except now I’m rocking a serious case of the envies for whoever Kevin Drew wrote this song for. Lucky bitch. Sadly, this is about the best video of it I could find on the internets. Hopefully BSS will play it October 12th. That would be nice. Very nice.
xo ~ m
Kevin Drew - TBTF
Thursday, August 26, 2010
I'll Always Have She Bop
My girl Otto and I finish an inordinate amount of conversations with 'Baby, I wish I had a penis! I love you!', because, you see, we are pretty much perfectly suited for each other in all arenas except one.
We are both, 100%, no doubt about it, committed fans of the disco stick.
Not that I haven't thought about it. Women are amazing. Beautiful. Lovely. Soft. Rarely hirsute. Don’t have awkward dangly bits. Well, except boobs. But boobs are nice! In theory the lady love is a grand plan, but when it comes right down to it, can I picture myself playing Tomb Raider? Nope. Definitely down with the dudes.
Cruel reality being that Victoria is a notoriously tough town for the single ladies. Well, those above university age at least. Once you hit the mid-to-late 20s most of the good guys have been annexed and it’s pretty much sit back and cross our fingers that some of them will become part of the 50% that end up cursing their ex’s name while rubbing self tanner in the pale flesh band where the ring once sat.
Not really ... but sort of.
All this to say that, for some inexplicable reason, I came across that ol’ time killer The Love Calculator today. Well, not so inexplicable. I Googled love to see what the number one hit was (Wikipedia, natch) and The Love Calculator was number two. Glad that the rest of the internet is stewing in their desperation juices too. Anywhoo ... It’s always worth a hope-destroying giggle, so I started calculating. Crushes. Former crushes. Dudes I thought that, with a few drinks in me, I might be able to conjure a crush on. Dude friends that I’d always thought, to quote a friend, must propagate by budding. You know, the ones you imagine as lump free as a Ken doll.
And I got bupkis.
Low end of the range 7%. High end 38%. Median in the range of 14%. Yeah, screw you too, Love Calculator.
So I threw in a couple of my best girls, just out of curiosity. And wouldn’t you know it, 72% and 79%.
I’m seriously thinking it might be time to re-watch Kissing Jessica Stein and High Art and reconsider matters.
Or maybe I shouldn’t put too much stock in an online love predictor. After all, it only gave me a 51% chance of loving myself. In fact, it says “....has a reasonable chance of working out, but on the other hand, it might not.” So as long as I don't try to work out any ambidextrous ambitions I should be just fine.
xo ~ m
ps - now that I've probably horrified my one dedicated reader (72%!) by implying masturbation, I'll easy the agony by leaving you with the 80s' and 90s' greatest odes to self lady love.
Cyndi Lauper - She Bop
The Divinyls - I Touch Myself
We are both, 100%, no doubt about it, committed fans of the disco stick.
Not that I haven't thought about it. Women are amazing. Beautiful. Lovely. Soft. Rarely hirsute. Don’t have awkward dangly bits. Well, except boobs. But boobs are nice! In theory the lady love is a grand plan, but when it comes right down to it, can I picture myself playing Tomb Raider? Nope. Definitely down with the dudes.
Cruel reality being that Victoria is a notoriously tough town for the single ladies. Well, those above university age at least. Once you hit the mid-to-late 20s most of the good guys have been annexed and it’s pretty much sit back and cross our fingers that some of them will become part of the 50% that end up cursing their ex’s name while rubbing self tanner in the pale flesh band where the ring once sat.
Not really ... but sort of.
All this to say that, for some inexplicable reason, I came across that ol’ time killer The Love Calculator today. Well, not so inexplicable. I Googled love to see what the number one hit was (Wikipedia, natch) and The Love Calculator was number two. Glad that the rest of the internet is stewing in their desperation juices too. Anywhoo ... It’s always worth a hope-destroying giggle, so I started calculating. Crushes. Former crushes. Dudes I thought that, with a few drinks in me, I might be able to conjure a crush on. Dude friends that I’d always thought, to quote a friend, must propagate by budding. You know, the ones you imagine as lump free as a Ken doll.
And I got bupkis.
Low end of the range 7%. High end 38%. Median in the range of 14%. Yeah, screw you too, Love Calculator.
So I threw in a couple of my best girls, just out of curiosity. And wouldn’t you know it, 72% and 79%.
I’m seriously thinking it might be time to re-watch Kissing Jessica Stein and High Art and reconsider matters.
Or maybe I shouldn’t put too much stock in an online love predictor. After all, it only gave me a 51% chance of loving myself. In fact, it says “....has a reasonable chance of working out, but on the other hand, it might not.” So as long as I don't try to work out any ambidextrous ambitions I should be just fine.
xo ~ m
ps - now that I've probably horrified my one dedicated reader (72%!) by implying masturbation, I'll easy the agony by leaving you with the 80s' and 90s' greatest odes to self lady love.
Cyndi Lauper - She Bop
The Divinyls - I Touch Myself
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
She's Got Superhuman Lips for Supersuction
She's got superpower hips for super reproduction.
Sufjan Stevens is so reliably earnest and heartfelt that when he busts out the irreverent it pretty much kills me.
Nothing to see here, but you get my drift, yeah?
Sufjan ... October 28th at The Commodore in Vancouver ... yes? Please? And also John Wayne Gacey Jr? Thanks, you're a peach.
Anywhoo ...
I didn't really sit down to write about Sufjan Stevens. I sat down to write about sexy. Which, yes, Sufjan absolutely is. Distractingly so at times.
But not the point.
My girl Otto and I have had many pj and coffee discussion about this over the past few weeks. About, you know, what does it for us. It's ok, Mom, you can stop squirming. This isn't about sculpted abs and treasure trails. Not my steeze. I'll leave that to the girls on Bachelor Pad who, inexplicably, don't go into vajayjay lockdown at the sight of dudes with picklebutt walks in with embellished pocket jean.
Gag.
So internets, I present to you ...
A Non-exhaustive List of Things That Make My Knees Go Squidgy
(in no particular order)
What about you? What makes your knees weak and composure crumble?
Sufjan Stevens is so reliably earnest and heartfelt that when he busts out the irreverent it pretty much kills me.
Nothing to see here, but you get my drift, yeah?
Sufjan ... October 28th at The Commodore in Vancouver ... yes? Please? And also John Wayne Gacey Jr? Thanks, you're a peach.
Anywhoo ...
I didn't really sit down to write about Sufjan Stevens. I sat down to write about sexy. Which, yes, Sufjan absolutely is. Distractingly so at times.
But not the point.
My girl Otto and I have had many pj and coffee discussion about this over the past few weeks. About, you know, what does it for us. It's ok, Mom, you can stop squirming. This isn't about sculpted abs and treasure trails. Not my steeze. I'll leave that to the girls on Bachelor Pad who, inexplicably, don't go into vajayjay lockdown at the sight of dudes with picklebutt walks in with embellished pocket jean.
Gag.
So internets, I present to you ...
A Non-exhaustive List of Things That Make My Knees Go Squidgy
(in no particular order)
- Passion - and no, I don't mean in-the-pants variety. Having something that you're super juiced on, that makes you lean in and talk too fast, or just a fantastically apparent sense of joi de vivre.
- Thoughtfulness - honestly, it really is the small stuff. Birthday flowers never mean as much as 'Hey, I know you're boss is being a douchbag this week, and I thought you could use something pretty' flowers. Tulips trump roses every time. Knowing this, and how I take my coffee ... oh la.
- Kissing - this might be a gimme, but, back me up here, not all kissing is sexy. Sometimes it's awkward/sloppy/violating/please make it stop. A good kiss though ... and more specifically, the moment before the kiss. Take a moment before landing that bad boy. Whoooo, daddy.
- Restraint - see above (also, restraints).
- Toques - this might be a Canadian thing, but toques do to me what male proximity to puppies / children does to breeder type girls. Elevates the ordinary to extraordinary. Especially if paired with ...
- Scruffy weekend facial hair- c'mon. I realize this is veering into LL Bean porn, but I'm from a damp coastal climate and therefor conditioned to appreciate men in their outdoorsy hotness. Probably explains why I was so obsessed with Relic on The Beachcombers.
- Mornings - ok, so take that scruffy Sunday face, add boyishly rumpled hair, drawstring pj bottoms, and delivering me coffee in bed, and I'm calling in fake sick to work for the next week.
- Good phone voice - well, good voice generally. A manly voice. Don Draper voice. I have one friend who has such an off-the-charts sexy voice that I tend to lose the line on what he's saying, I get so lost in it. Man voice. Yep.
- Cooking - I've always maintained that cooking is like fucking (sorry Mom). Done well it's totally instinctive. Books are great for ideas, but you need to have a sense of adventure. Men who are confident and at ease in the kitchen - and turn out an excellent meal - rare, but so, so tasty.
- Wine / whiskey - Yes, beer is great, but for long, winding conversations, evenings on the beach/roof/in the park I have to go wine or whiskey. A slightly heady drunk, a mildly smokey kiss. Beer just doesn't cut it.
- Humor - essential. And I don't mean big funny. I mean witty. Quick. Smart funny. Bring. It.
- Forearms - there is a reason my imaginary boyfriend Hank is a fine furniture maker. Hand tools = beautiful forearms > bumpy abs. Any day.
- Scars - love them. They're a map of personal history, charting out events, accidents, adventures. Best discovered under the covers.
- Blanket forts - really it's about a sense of playfulness, but I always think of blanket forts. If we're going to burn out and rent a movie, why not build a private fortress in the living room to watch it from?
- Smelling good - and subtle. The best is when you only catch it when you're just getting into the hug. Oh man. I love something a little spicy, like Jo Malone Nutmeg and Ginger, but not going to lie, fresh laundry smell is pretty damn good too. It makes me want to hug you forever.
- A fantastic walk - A bad walk can kill the quiver. And a great walk can deliver. Colin Firth once walked (no, he strode) past me, and oh my god, I don't think it's topable. I get it, Bridget Jones. I get it. Man stride. Throw on an overcoat and I'll need a moment alone.
- A sense of style - There are maybe three really well dressed men in Victoria. Not a sartorial town. And I don't mean in a $$ way. Men that know how to put it together. Yes please.
- A tinge of ginge - I'm not talking full out Carrot Top here. But there's a reason Hank (the aformentioned imaginary boyfriend) is a cross between Josh Homme and Britt Daniel (with a dash of Matthew Fox, just for flava).
- Articualteness - Boys, use your words. And punctuation. And please, please, work on the penmanship. It really sucks having to ask for an interpreter for cards and notes.
- Confidence - I could take my own advice here. It's true though. Confidence is hot. Not cocky though. A subtle confidence.
- Great taste in music/movies/art/literature - Obviously this is subjective, but I'm talking someone who isn't rocking the Top 40s on the way to Avatar. Throw down some Beach House and a few Oscar Wilde quotes. Please.
- Not taking yourself too seriously - I had this boyfriend who was super serious about being respected (not always all that reciprocated, though) and he had this whole theory about banishing people that he felt didn't deliver beyond the metaphoric moat, and they'd have to swim with the crocs to get back to the castle. My sisters and I call him Castle Asshole. Being able to chill out is important.
What about you? What makes your knees weak and composure crumble?
Monday, August 23, 2010
Hey Little Girl is Your Daddy Home?
I've had The Boss in my head all day. I'm on Fire specifically. Of course being the dirty little closeted hipster that I am my Bruce is only on vinyl. I wish I had a alphabetization fairy to sort my vinyl, because Born in the USA shouldn't take so damned long to find. My iPod has only (albeit fantastic)covers by Electrelane and Justin Veron - aka Bon Iver.
Tried to purge it with repeated listenings. No dice.
Quick aside - the Electrelane reference was about the only thing I really enjoyed about I Am Love. So wanted to love that movie.
Anywhooo ... Forced to resort to watching the stupendously cheesy original video. Several times.
There's a 'can get under my hood' joke in there somewhere. Ahhhh ... the working class 80's hotness of Springsteen.
Sweet plaid flannel dreams.
xo ~ m
* Sadly the webernigs was not forthcoming with Scruffy McBearderson's Drinking this Rain / I'm on Fire. Pretty danmed lovely though. Trust.
Tried to purge it with repeated listenings. No dice.
Quick aside - the Electrelane reference was about the only thing I really enjoyed about I Am Love. So wanted to love that movie.
Anywhooo ... Forced to resort to watching the stupendously cheesy original video. Several times.
There's a 'can get under my hood' joke in there somewhere. Ahhhh ... the working class 80's hotness of Springsteen.
Sweet plaid flannel dreams.
xo ~ m
* Sadly the webernigs was not forthcoming with Scruffy McBearderson's Drinking this Rain / I'm on Fire. Pretty danmed lovely though. Trust.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Studio M
Productive weekend. The craft room (hereafter refered to as the studio, in effort to convince myself there is an artist lurking round these parts) is slowly coming together. The closet shelving is installed, wall shelves stained and installed, bulletin board - despite several setbacks - Gigyvered together. Boxes are finally being upacked and contents finding homes. I still really want to make it a /darkroom, but it's a little overwhelming of a prospect, so for now it's all about arts and crafts. Pictures, and hopefully a few project how-to's, coming soon.
~ m
~ m
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