Hurt no More

You beautiful, beautiful woman.

Keep on Keeping on

I keep listening to El Guincho's "Bombay" in order to remain in a somewhat up-beat mood... somehow. Post-trip blues settling in. This is a good fix though. The video has some pretty f-ed up match cuts that inspire me something fierce.

Happy Place

Alex sent me this yesterday and I can't stop watching it.

Capture Spontaneous Moments

An interactive performance installation by John Brennan.

Last Saturday I was at the CJ building (Loyola campus - Concordia University) for reasons other than classes. Mind-blowingly skilled Montreal-based musician and composer John Brennan is moving to Vancouver this summer and Saturday was one of our last chances to see his live work here for a while. Brennan put together an intricate set up involving a performance room, were he and other special guests were playing various instruments (all improvised, allowing spontaneous moments to guide the music) and an interactive room where audience members could create loops of the performance (composed of four stations, each equipped with keyboard to control the loops and speaker to hear the results. People could either walk throughout the space listening to the different loops, sit down on one of the four chairs and listen to all four loops in a quadraphonic setting or go up to a station, erase a loop and create new one). Last but not least, there was a third room in which the audience could make their own mix tapes of both the performance room and the loop room to take home.

I feel very very lucky to have had the chance to collaborate with John on my most recent big project. He created the perfect score for my film Anima, Animus for which I am extremely grateful. Above all I am fortunate to have him as an amazing friend who I will miss very much.

John, best of luck touring BC and Japan + starting your new life in Vancouver. You've definitely made your mark here, I know you will do the same no matter where you go.

Latest Treat

Time and time again I've brought up the fact that I was born in the wrong decade and on the wrong continent. Those who've been checking this page out since the beginning, are familiar with my profound love for Joy Division, Ian Curtis and late 1970's post-punk. This book is probably as close as I can get, as far as I know, to that moment in time that I've dreamt/fantasized so much about.

It's basically a time capsule (from 1976–1980) that succeeded in capturing (in an amazingly sensitive way) the aura of these inspiring men, their music and their mindset.

Photographer Kevin Cummins definitely attained with these photographs a level of intimacy I aspire to reach someday in my work.

Kudos to him and a huge thanks.

On a side note, when ever I do decide to go through with the tattooed portrait of Ian on my thigh, I now have a ton of amazing references to choose from!

This Song

Unfortunately I can’t find a decent video of it to post here for your viewing/listening pleasure and I lack the time to make one myself, but this song has been playing over in my head for days now and I needed to acknowledge it somehow, so the lyrics will have to suffice. It Ain’t me Babe – just another tour de force from Bob Dylan. It’s mad how songs can make one of the hardest things to say sound so profound and beautiful. Too bad life isn't like a musical where when faced with a situation, you could spontaneously break out into song.

Go 'way from my window,
Leave at your own chosen speed.
I'm not the one you want, babe,
I'm not the one you need.
You say you're lookin' for someone
Never weak but always strong,
To protect you an' defend you
Whether you are right or wrong,
Someone to open each and every door,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe,
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe.

Go lightly from the ledge, babe,
Go lightly on the ground.
I'm not the one you want, babe,
I will only let you down.
You say you're lookin' for someone
Who will promise never to part,
Someone to close his eyes for you,
Someone to close his heart,
Someone who will die for you an' more,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe,
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe.

Go melt back into the night, babe,
Everything inside is made of stone.
There's nothing in here moving
An' anyway I'm not alone.
You say you're looking for someone
Who'll pick you up each time you fall,
To gather flowers constantly
An' to come each time you call,
A lover for your life an' nothing more,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe,
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe.

Wish I Thought of This

Think about it… The pantyhose are probably right.
Although passionate foreplay is most likely what will tear them apart, the double entendre made me smile. Then again, anything Ian Curtis related will do that.

Waits

Well the moon is broken
And the sky is cracked
Come on up to the house
The only things that you can see
Is all that you lack
Come on up to the house

Sometimes all you need is a good song to take the weight off and realize that pretty much everyone is just as fucked as you are. Cheers!

“Your Ex-Lover Is Dead”

I am sure many of you remember the Stars’ hit. Playing it on repeat for hours on end. Humming it in the shower. Using the opening line “When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire” as your MySpace status. You remember that don’t you? Some of you even have those words tattooed somewhere.

Why was that phrase so meaningful to so many people including myself? My guess is because it refers to a common state of being: helplessness. However the above quote alludes to a state of helplessness brought upon one’s self by one’s self, a far more dark, maniacal and sadistic way of attaining it. Indeed, once we’ve tarnished everything that surrounds us, it leaves only one thing to be tarnished: ourselves.

I just re-listened to that specific line in the track and I can almost picture a pyromaniac holding up a can of gas, staring at his burning house and screaming family with a twinkle in his eye as the evil voice in his head booms out “when there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire!”
Truth be told, that is only a first-degree reading, skin-deep. Sometimes the damages caused are not physical, they are psychological and although they hurt others, they are in fact meant for the initiator. A result of self-loathing.

I feel like the scum of the earth, I am so far removed, nothing seems to matter, nothing is of importance. Why do people even still care? I’ll give them reason enough no to. The process will be fun, kill THREE birds with one stone: I’ll get a kick out of watching them recoil, pass off some of my inner frustration and hatred on them AND they’ll leave me alone!

Then… “when there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire”

People are so caught up in their pride that they’ll never seek to push past the aura of hopelessness that surrounds a tormented person’s actions. No, that route is far too complex. Best take things at the first-degree. Yes, skin-deep meanings are easier to cope with, really there’s no need to get messy is there?

“I Killed my Boyfriend”

Allow me to elaborate: the other night in a plight to distract my reeling mind, I fell upon Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi” music video. Did anyone ever pay attention to the lyrics? Of course not, so let me just highlight a few lines that struck me: “I’m your biggest fan I’ll follow you until you love me”, “promise I’ll be kind, but I won’t stop until that boy is mine” and last but not least “chase you down until you love me”.

Now here’s a question for all you gentlemen out there… Do you find this unsettling? Well I’ve got news for you - this is actually quite common female behavior. It just so happens that Lady Gaga apparently has no inhibitions and isn’t ashamed of acknowledging the female gene that I shall coin the “stalker-gene”. This phenomenon has gotten all the more effortless with the advent of the Internet and more specifically of course, Facebook. Women no longer have to resort to hiring detectives to discover the on goings of their love interests.

I would also like to point out that in the video Miss Gaga calls the police and says to the operator “I killed my boyfriend” after having poisoned the said boyfriend. Coming from a pop star idolized by many young girls, it seems as though we will have to deal with an influx of “man eaters” in the near future. Unsettlingly enough this term appears to be increasingly literal. My advice to you: sleep with one eye open.

Self-Portrait: Series?

What is a self-portrait? A just representation on one’s self? A representation of only a facet of one’s self? A representation of what one isn’t? The truth is there’s really no point in trying to define what it is, because someone is going to come along and push the boundaries of the definition anyway. A self-portrait can be all of the above and more. In July, during my mental meltdown, I even made a self-portrait using objects that represented my state at the time. Self-portraits can even be carried out by someone other than the actual artist; as long as proper instructions are given (photographer Cindy Sherman is known for such works).

One of the practical things about self portraiture is if you are suddenly hit by an epiphany and you have no one to use as a subject, you can always turn to yourself!

A few years ago, a close friend told me that David Bowie’s “Rebel Rebel” reminded him of me. Being a die hard fan of his, I thought to myself “sweet”.
Last night I decided to integrate that aspect within a self portrait and I feel this might be the beginning of a series… who knows.
I’ll spare you the analysis. I’m all analyzed out at the moment.

Barfly Goes Classic

If Kubrick had been into making comedies, I feel as though I could have possibly spent last night in one of them. It was freezing and we didn’t feel like going too far for a drink, so we hit Barfly. It was pretty dead, save for a few people gathered around a table and a few others seated at the bar. Everyone seemed to know each other. Those of you who have been to Barfly know that it’s not exactly your suit-and-tie kind of joint. Therefore although I never dared dream of hearing Bach being performed here, to our amusement, we actually enjoyed a solo cello performance. It was pleasantly odd. Like when people first started wearing Converses with their suits.

I’d Rather Go Blind

Completely down into Etta James at the moment.

Proof that pain can be translated into song…

Make Do

Last Thursday I went to see Do Make Say Think at Sala Rossa.

I believe there are two kinds of instances in life that make our heart feel as though it will leap out through our mouth dragging our lungs along with it: anxiety attacks and profoundly poignant music. For a change, it was the latter I experienced that night at Sala. I could barely see the band, but it didn’t matter. I closed my eyes, letting myself be engulfed by the heat and the music. It was as though I was listening to a full fledged orchestra. And no alcohol was needed to send hot flashes deep in my chest. I remember at one point, it was as though all the instruments had fused themselves into one, one wall of sound, one grand note, one moment where time stood still for as long as that note dragged on.

Hey! Daniel Johnston – UK FED

Friday (Oct. 16) was the first time in a long time that I actually got emotional during a show. This genius of a man, who’s been playing longer than I’ve been alive, really gets you here (violently grasping the fabric of my t-shirt over my heart). I have so much respect for Daniel Johnston and remarkably (or perhaps not so) on Friday at the Ukrainian Federation, the air was thick with that sense of respect towards this person that is shared by all. His set was immaculate and it was definitely interesting to see him with a band and not all by his lonesome. I am sure I speak for many when I say he is an immense source of inspiration in more ways than one.

He performed a cover of The Beatles’ “You’ve got to Hide your Love Away” and my eyes filled. This song happens to be my favorite of theirs so I couldn’t believe it. “True Love Will Find you in the End” was equally amazing… And I’m happy I was able to share such an incredible experience with my Love who enjoyed it as much as I did. Moments like these are great to look back on when you’re old and grey.

Montreal Jazz Festival, Day 13 (Finale): Ben Harper and Relentless 7

This concludes the enthralling two-week Jazz Festival for which Montreal is famed. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that this time I was smack-dab in the middle of the hundreds of thousands, but the energy emanating from the crowd on this particular night was more tangible than ever. As for Ben Harper, the pressure was on: would his performance be up to par with all the other extraordinary concerts presented during this very special 30th anniversary edition of the Festival? It most definitely was. During the song “Another Lonely Day”, there was a moment when everyone started singing along in perfect synchronicity as it began to rain. However the rain was as soft as the people’s voices. I even caught myself thinking “What a wonderful city I live in”. Forgive me for my tackiness, but it really was beautiful; I guess you had to be there. Another moving moment was at the beginning of “Fly One Time” as the mass clapped to the beat of the drums in unison. I couldn’t help but wonder how amazing it must be for a performer to look out onto such a well receiving crowd. What a finale it was. I’m already looking forward to next year.

On a side-note, the Tremblant Blues Festival started five days ago, I hope to make it up there before it ends.

Autoportrait

“Je ne veux pas travailler

Je ne veux pas déjeuner

Je veux seulement oublier

Et puis je fume”

-Pink Martini

Montreal Jazz Festival, Day 6: Patrick Watson/Pawa Up First

Sunday morning my eyes were still trying to get accustomed to their surroundings when my phone rang. It was none other then my dear friend Léliane. She wanted to know if I was willing to accompany her and her beloved to the Patrick Watson show that night, considering that I had been spending practically every waking moment at the Jazz Festival since day one. “Who?” I thought to myself. I assured her it was a date; after all, any excuse was a good one for me to make my way over to the agglomeration of Jazz-amateurs, tourists and whatnot, even if I had no clue who I was going to see, which was the case in this particular situation. Once I arrived at the site, I began to question my knowledge of the popular culture. It was almost like the Stevie Wonder concert revisited, with a tad less security. There were literally people of all ages and walks of life present. I could have even sworn I had seen a friend of my grand mother’s. The odds were against us, but Léliane and I were able to find each other. Gerardo, her gentleman of a boyfriend managed to fray a path for us through the dense jungle of people out into a clearing. Amen. I then stepped on my pride and confessed to them I had never heard of this Watson character before. Once again, by their reactions, I felt I needed to perhaps get rid of the metaphorical rock covering my dwelling. The show had started and it was near impossible for me to get a decent shot. It didn’t take long for me to give up, especially since I was feelings extremely claustrophobic at the time.



Overall I must say, the man knows how to put on a good show… and he’s got talent. Anyone who writes a song about “Where The Wild Things Are” (as over-rated as this phenomenon is now becoming thanks to dear old mister Jonze) gets me applauding. His mad fisting of the grand piano at the end of “The Great Escape” was also a pleaser. Not to mention the fact that his drummer was at least seventy years old. Amazing.

Hitting two pigeons with one rock, at midnight I made my way over to the Pawa Up First show at Club Soda. Once again, had never heard of these people before (boy was this ever a Celia you don’t know Jack night). However I must say these guys were possibly situated a bit more in my musical preference zone. They qualify themselves as Experimental Visual Rock and draw a lot of inspiration from film music. All in all, quite interesting. They reminded me of a much much much softer and more mainstream version of Mogwai whom I adore.