Tuesday, February 07, 2006

you wrote a column about misheard lyrics here. and then your editor sends you a reader response from some kook who can't detect parody or cyncism:

Fwd: PopMatters: Pierre Hamilton's column - reader reply Inbox

> -----Forwarded Message-----
> >From: Sharon Lawrence <stonesrule@sbcglobal.net>
> >Sent: Feb 7, 2006 10:16 AM
> >To: comments@popmatters.com
> >Subject:
> >
> >I knew Jimi Hendrix for the last three years of his life. We discussed
his army days at length. In writing about him I spoke to some 10 impeccable
sources about his military service. Jimi's friend and bass player Billy
Cox, who served at Fort Campbell with Jimi, has refuted Charles Cross's
publicity-seeking claim.
> >
> >Hendrix was not gay nor did he "fake it" to get out of the army.
> >
> >Charles R. Cross has no evidence to support his words.
> >
> >In the interests of accuracy a correction is in order.
> >
> >Thank you for your attention.
> >
> >Sharon Lawrence

please let this woman in on the joke.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

my aunt thinks she wasted her vote. mine worked small wonders. the liberals painted my old home of brampton -- where I am right now -- red as usual. harper is the new PM. the next day's inevitably snooze worthy post-election stories: how to make muskoka chairs from your election signs (ctv), what harper in power means for the gta (every station) and the let's dig up someone who knew harper and an old yearbook. mmm...the traditional media revel in a monotony that would numb most minds. find yourself before you lose yourself.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

your friends are never as cool as you remember them. deadly unicorn on the right.

Friday, January 20, 2006

back in the day i used to scribble poetry on the regular. after watching the film slamnation, i was inspired to examine my writing again. here's one of my favourites, which borrows its style from my favourite spoken word artist, Saul Williams.

if i had a moment

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

This guy is so white he actually made Ray Charles's I Got A Woman into the sonic equivalent of Wonder Bread. Good for making peanut butter and banana sandwiches but not much else. He was on the Jimmy Kimmel show last night. That's where he whitewashed one of Ray's greatest songs. In doing so, he also tainted Golddigger which rapes Ray's hook so bad it should be tried and acquitted of all charges, kind of like Kobe Bryant ... Scanning the seven channels we can actually receive You know who was crazy during wartimes? The Japanese. TVO is airing a series that runs during the hours only i keep and those cats was raping and pillaging and slaughtering so bad Hitler would've been embarrassed. Asia for the Asians, they cried out ... later still in the comfort of my bed. Yesterday was MLK Jr. Day in the US of A. I listened to his speech and felt those twinges of responsibility that ripple through your body when great men order you to mark the world in any way you can. Hear the man speak, if it doesn't find a way to your soul, you don't have one.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

thatsa me luigi

you either know raymi or you don't. but if you know raymi, then at some point fil, sarah, samir adur-rahiem, hunter and myself enter the picture. we cool; we city. we all hung out friday night at fil/raymi's pad. fondu was had. i lost a banana in the sweet dark depths of a bowl of hershey's chocolate. a deceptively addictive and mind-boggling video game called We Love Katamari was played. It is Japanese and, needless to say, its psychological effects should be studied on ravers, potheads and all asian people, as a whole. Raymi has a terrible song written about her, it's by an indie band calling themselves the Quadrophonic Twelve, which is the air necessary to inflate my next statement. She is celebrity; she will play you this song if you visit. Terrible is an accurate, but subjective, description of the song's quality. Her opinion differs. These and other things that colour her life interesting, like Carl the pickle, are foisted upon you. Everything you do in her presence is documented. This can feel creepy on occasion but you can't leave. More so you don't want to leave. Raymi is crack. Laughter is frequent. Alcohol flows freely. Raymi and Fil feel like friends ...

Munich -- which I saw on Saturday with the woman in tow or rather towing me -- disturbed me to tears, but only once towards the end. It is a film of the lose faith in humanity variety. Unlike Hotel Rwanda, there is no redemption. No Schindler, no list. Only the quasi-fictionalized accounts of inhumane acts carried out by one sect of humanity against another. I didn't want to go out after i saw it. But, in the company of friends, a bottle of wine found its way to my lips and together we drowned my sadness in a Caubernet Sauvignon from Chile. It resurfaced hours later, but only after skipping Fuck Faces at the Boat for Eat Your Greens at Neutral. And only after running into a whack of people I knew from UWO. Only after exhausting the limits of escapism and the accidental decimation of a Olivia Chow sign, did those tears return. I don't know why that stuff affects me, but as i've been told, I'm too sensitive. Right. Neutral is the new Boat. Speaking of abandoning one club for another, does anyone still go to Mod Club (for those that do go, my sincerest regrets on your niggardly taste).

Thursday, January 12, 2006

You heard me right the first time, so I will say it again: We Are Scientists is a failed experiment. Ever since Franz Ferdinand's catchy-as-hell but boring-as-shit sophomore album appeared on my faux-Pod, I've avoided it. For me, WAS is Franz Pt. II, no question mark needed. That's the problem. I hate sequels so close together. I'm not a huge Franz fan. And my dislike of WAS is hogtied to reasons my fellow critics have been quick to finger.

Because they compare their album to J.D. Salinger. I'll admit it's been awhile since I read 9 Stories or Catcher In The Rye but Salinger stood out. WAS --
stuck between Hot Hot Heat and Franz -- fit in. There is little to disassociate them from the masses, musically. Brooklyn indie band soon to be on the O.C, another past its primetime show.

Sarah Liss mentions something about H.G. Wells type fantasies -- about WAS going back in time to a place they belong -- in her story, an allusion to the fact that this music, while enjoyable, sounds the way that meal I made three months ago and only removed from the fridge yesterday smelled when I tossed it. P
ost-punk was dead before Bloc Party. But armed with a defribillator, that gel they ooze on your chest and a a rhythmic guitar section so jittery and jagged it left scars all over the collective consciousness of last year's music. With a resounding "Clear," they tore post-punk from death's clutches and brought it back to the present.

With Love and Squalor is putting all the pieces of puzzle -- the mile-a-minute militaristic drumming, angular rock and existential angst -- together and discovering you don't like the picture anymore. I do admire "What's The Word" and I suppose the album isn't terrible, just too late and too sarah tall and plain when you want moira impossible to tame. Everything sounds the same so I'm on to new things. Let's leave nostalgia to the eldery and latch on to something futuristic...where are you TV On The Radio?