Saturday, July 22, 2017

RIP George A. Romero, John Heard

I love several of George A. Romero's films. Cronenbreg is richer, Carpenter is more surprising, but Romero gets closer to the heart, you know? I ranked my favourite films of his on Facebook shortly after he died. My favourite by far is Knightriders, followed by Day of the Dead (the cliche "contrarian" move, to rank Day above Dawn, but really, really - I do love that film more. Say hello to your Aunt Alicia!). But my "tribute" screening in his honour - the film I insisted Erika see, that she pay respects beside me - was "The Crate" from the anthology film Creepshow. 

What a fun little film: male rage imagined as a killer monkey that has been locked in a box for hundreds of years. I hope Hal Holbrook has fond memories of doing it; I am sure Adrienne Barbeau does. (Fritz Weaver died last year but he gets to cut loose a bit in his performance for this film, getting to emote a bit more than his roles usually require him to, so I'm sure he was proud of his work here, too). It's the standout episode of Creepshow but if you haven't seen that film in awhile, it really is fun, with Stephen King and Romero paying homage to vintage EC Comics (not part of my childhood, actually, but I had Creepy and Eerie and such so I can still identify utterly). It sells on blu for 2/ $20 at Sunrise Records, incidentally, and is a considerable upgrade from the old DVD, which doesn't look so hot in hi-def.

Also, though he only did two roles I cared about, I want to tip my hat briefly to the late John Heard, who passed earlier today (or yesterday?) at the age of 72. You might know him as the star of C.H.U.D., if you're a horror fan - and his line reading for "what ugly fuckers" is pretty delightful - but there's also a fantastic, gritty 1970's crime film called Cutter's Way that has a performance that must be seen to be believed. Heard plays a bitter, hard-living, irrepressibly angry Vietnam vet, missing one arm, one leg, and one eye, who develops a vendetta against a rich oilman after Heard's beach-bum friend, played by Jeff Bridges, sees him commit a murder (or something like that). The film is sort of about the "revenge of the downtrodden" on the wealthy, and Heard's performance demonstrates like none other in his career just how GOOD an actor he was. It's something you'd be forgiven for not noticing, otherwise, since he's seldom cast in roles that ask him to do much. He's not bad, ever - I guess he's okay in Paul Schrader's Cat People, too - but Cutter's Way is the film that really lets him act to the outer ranges of his acting ability; it stands to his career as Prince of the City does to Treat Williams'. It's a must-see, if you've missed it.

I have one other death-themed thing I'm working on, but I'm not sure how I feel about it... I've been kind of "too busy to blog," but I had to come here and pay my respects, briefly. RIP John Heard and George A. Romero.

Of Robyn Hitchcock, John Fogerty, and the Age of the Selfie

Richard Butler of the Psychedelic Furs, by the great bev davies, not to be reused without permission. Note: I make almost no mention of the Psychedelic Furs below, but there are some vintage bev davies photos of the band in Vancouver here!

Sometimes, I don't enjoy a concert for reasons that make no sense to the people I tell about it (and which have very little to do with the artist in question). I don't always write about these experiences, because there's always a strong feeling of "maybe it's just me," and it seems like bad form to put the blame on any artist associated with the show.

Take John Fogerty at Deer Lake Park some ten years ago (almost exactly, in fact). I brought my uncle, who had come to town to visit his brother, my father, who was slowly dying of cancer. An ex (one I am on good terms with and was glad to see) was there with her new man. Esteemed colleague Adrian Mack was there. Hell, a whole park full of people were there, all of them apparently having a great time - certainly everyone I talked to did. And I cannot really fault Fogerty at all for my not being one of them: he smiled and played a long and energetic set (including unexpected tunes like "Ramble Tamble," the inclusion of which I recall impressed Mack a bunch). He looked great (are those his real teeth?), and said "how y'all doin'" to us a few times (which the Reverend Horton Heat - AKA Jim Heath - had once coached Vancouver audiences into responding to with a big "fuck you," since - he explained - it's one of the laziest ways to get applause you can resort to; Jim actually DRILLED us in this response one night at the Commodore some time ago, rather to my delight, so much so that I considered whipping it out myself that day at Deer Lake. I was pretty sure doing so would get me in trouble, though). Fogerty maybe didn't seem to be that SINCERE in his engagement with the event - for all I knew he was growling inside himself the whole time, because we gather he's a somewhat growly guy, about wanting to get off the stage or how applause is bullshit or blah blah; he could have been hating the whole experience, for all I knew. But if he was, he didn't let it show: he worked hard as hell and played his hits and some surprises and did it all well, and if he was maybe faking it a little - he did seem to be - it wasn't glaringly obvious. So I couldn't really justify the bad taste it left in my mouth, or my grumpy mood when it was all over.

In the end, I decided it wasn't on Fogerty at all. It was the fault of the audience. Though it was, properly speaking, not "the age of the selfie," back in July 2007, there was already a sort of narcissism that wafted off the crowd that day: the event, for them, seemed to be not about the music, but about themselves, being there to experience it. That's my theory, anyhow: going to the show was about standing in the aura of stardom, and more than that, the aura of 1960's rockstardom, and celebrating their own beauty and significance, their own participation in the lineage of that music, their being dressed up and seen and sharing the experience with their peers looking good amongst them, which the music and the artist only existed to facilitate. I couldn't help but think to myself how DIFFERENT the context of reception was from that in which the music of CCR had initially functioned (I presume; maybe rock music always has a bit of narcissism in it, but it's hard not to view the 1960's as some time very other, more sincere, authentic, engaged).

That same sort of narcissism, ten years later, could do something to explain why, a couple of nights ago at the Commodore - and very much in the age of the selfie - several hundred people, perhaps the majority of the audience, talked ceaselessly through Robyn Hitchcock's set, creating a background din of considerable depth and thickness (though because it was a bigger and better-attended venue, it was nothing akin to the wince-fest of the Wreckless Eric show at the Astoria which I wrote about here last year, then removed from the blog at Eric's request). "Why pay money to go to a show if you're going to talk all the way through it?" my wife observed, afterwards - a thought I've often had myself - but the sad answer is that a lot of people, in fact, don't pay money to go to a show to hear the music, these days; they go to be there, to be seen there, to partake in the "significance" of the event, and to have some of it conferred upon them, they hope. It is all about celebrating yourself; it has absolutely nothing to do with hearing music, which is a secondary, inconsequential aspect of the evening. You don't need to pay attention to anything external to you at all in order to pose for a selfie, it is just you and the camera and the thousands of people you imagine looking at the photo afterwards and being impressed. 

I don't remember it being like that, at all, when I saw Mr. Hitchcock at the Town Pump back in the 1990's, with NO FUN opening. It was a more intimate venue - as indeed RH acknowledged between songs, suggesting the next time he comes to town it will be at a "place like the Town Pump." (It prompted me to shout "Jimi Hendrix," riffing on my favourite memory of one of his shows there, but if he heard me or recalled the moment, he didn't let it show; some wag that night had called exactly that out when Robyn asked if we had any requests, and after drily retorting on the extreme unlikelihood that Hendrix would manifest on stage, Hitchcock proceeded to play an impromptu version of "And the Wind Cries Mary," which he obviously only half-knew, such that the audience occasionally shouted out chords to him when he couldn't recall them - one of the funniest, most inspired, and most memorable bits of "interactive performance" I have ever witnessed). Thinking back to the other night - I guess the past is always subject to idealization - it seemed to me that people knew how to listen better then; that they wanted to listen, that in fact, THEY HAD COME (mostly) to listen. Maybe it was never thus, maybe narcissism and "I was there"-ism have always been present in the rock transaction, but it seems to me now that it wasn't like that so much then.

It sure was like that last night

Of course, Hitchcock, going on mostly solo around 9pm (with some vocal support from a "Garfunkel" named Sean, I think) was blameless. He played brilliantly; there were some unfortunate loud pops from his guitar plug in, but he soldiered through and in fact kind of blew me away with his guitarcraft, which is not something I'd ever paid much attention to before (I'm more interested in him as a songwriter than player, but I was quite impressed by his flying fingers and his raga-moments; he had seemed a bit creaky when playing the opening tune, "I Pray When I'm Drunk," the most Merle Haggard-y song on the new album, but he warmed up really fast). Hitchcock was perhaps less chatty than he is at one of his own shows - I gather he was quite warm and friendly at the Biltmore last year, a show I missed due to illness - and his set was relatively short, but he sang songs that he obviously has a great investment in (a few of which I did not know, but there were three or four off the new album, plus a lovely reading of "Madonna of the Wasps," and a surprise inclusion of "Balloon Man" - a song we gather he is tired of, but which made perfect sense as a crowd-pleaser for a crowd running on nostalgia, since it is one of his bigger hits, and which I didn't mind hearing at all, since I am not tired of it). For me the high point was that he played "My Wife and My Dead Wife," which my living wife (I don't have a dead wife) knows from having heard David M. perform it a few years ago at Slickity Jim's; it was an even bigger treat in that David M. was standing with us last night, watching the same show. I'd bought him a ticket to thank him for performing at our wedding. Of course, it was doubly fitting that I had first seen David play live (with NO FUN) opening for Robyn Hitchcock at that very Town Pump show I mentioned (I gather Pico was in the house last night, too, since her boyfriend apparently was).

No, there was nothing that Hitchcock did that bothered me. He maybe was working hard to please - he spent nearly as much time as he was onstage at the merch table signing CDs, afterwards including one for me (The Man Upstairs, with him doing covers of the Psychedelic Furs, Roxy Music, and the Doors among his originals; I'm really glad to have it!). He was quite generous with fans, posing with total strangers for selfies. It seems to be increasingly an expectation of artists that they do that, that they break down the barrier with fans and meet them; Michael Gira, Lee Ranaldo, Pere Ubu and a ton of other bands I've seen come through town have made a point of making themselves available. In fact, one of the few shows I've been at in years where the artist wasn't hanging out to sign things or such - who actually declined the request - was Richard Thompson, who somehow impressed me for going against the grain (even though I had brought a Shoot Out the Lights LP to ask him to sign it; go figure).

In any event: I didn't really enjoy the night, and on consideration, once again, I think it comes down to the audience. There was a standout, telltale moment when I knew I was in the wrong place, in fact. I had gone back to the front of the stage to try to seek out David M., having left him there to go get a CD. As I weaved my way to the front of the crowd - seeing no M. anywhere - the house speakers started in with Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus." And the crowd cheered (cheered for CANNED MUSIC, more loudly than they'd cheered for Robyn Hitchcock) and some of them began to dance enthusiastically, gyrating to that bass riff...

...And suddenly I was back in Deer Lake Park, grumpy all over again. Surely some of the people dancing to Depeche Mode had been the same people who talked through Hitchcock's set. And suddenly I really, really, really didn't want to be among them. 

By the time the Psychedelic Furs took the stage, I was in no mood. It wasn't improved at all by them looking EXACTLY like I'd imagined they would look; but they sounded fine, and hey, now I can say I've seen them, too (for half a song). Again, no judgment is implied: I'm glad to have reevaluated the band - an underrated group with some fantastic popcraft, even in their hits (though check out that first album sometime if you haven't, it's quite a bit darker and edgier than songs like "Heaven" or "Love My Way," more of an undergound new wave kind of thing, and just fantastic). As they delivered "Dumb Waiters," I think it was, I gave up my attempts to get Mr. Hitchcock's attention. I'd wanted to tell him that David M was in the house, ask if he remembered NO FUN, but he was, it seemed, uncomfortable with the "I want to talk to you" vibe I was projecting, had made eye contact with me a couple of times and looked away. I wasn't going to press the matter and add to his stressors. Plus Erika and I were both sore and tired after a long day at work, and both of us having to get up at 7am. We left; it was fine. The evening was worth it insofar as I closed a circle that began when I saw NO FUN open for Robyn Hitchcock some 25 or 30 years ago, by bringing David to the show. It was further worth it for Erika getting to hear Robyn sing a song she knew from David. And it was worth it, I suppose, to confirm once again that I really don't enjoy rock concerts that much anymore, and need to choose the ones I go to carefully. 

It did help me in appreciating the new Robyn Hitchcock album, mind you. I have now progressed past the obvious and immediate favourites on the album - "I Want to Tell You What I Want" and "I Pray When I'm Drunk," both on the set last night - and now am fascinated by the suicide-themed "Virginia Woolf" and the more elusive "Sayonara, Judge," one of the more haunting and ethereal tunes on the disc. Seeing a few of these songs performed live also helped me understand a couple of lyrics I'd been mishearing - that he sings about competing to shoot blood "furthest" into "the mouths of our cannibal overlords" rather than "first," and that in fact it is "Mad Shelley's Letterbox," not "My Chinese Letterbox," as I'd been mishearing it. There are still songs that are wholly mysterious to me on the album, that haven't given up their riches yet, but I fully intend to keep listening to it until I love every minute of it equally.

Finally, an amusing note: having thought cynical thoughts the whole time I was at the merch table about people wanting to take photos with a total stranger, and having resisted the urge to take a single photograph myself of the night - let alone a video - it turns out that Erika, while I briefly interacted with Robyn Hitchcock, was snapping photos of her own, of the two of us, as he signed my CD. Here are my favourites:

What is funnier still is that on David M's Facebook page, photographer Dan Harbord also posted a photo of Robyn Hitchcock where, if you look to the right, it is unmistakeably me, standing next to David M. (whose head is identified as Erika's, but I believe she is either not visible or visible as a glimpse of cheek on the far side of me). I didn't ASK for a single photo of myself at this show! I was trying to feel SUPERIOR to the people who were asking for photos of themselves at this show, for fucksake! And now I have more photos of me at this show than I have of me at any other concert I've been to in years. I have so many photos of me at this show I feel like the Pointed Sticks should have been taking some, too.

Photo by Dan Harbord, hope he doesn't mind my using it!

Speaking of being seen, I didn't see the Pointed Sticks, but I did see Tim Chan, Danny Nowak, and Dave Bowes in the audience. Hi to all of them. Hope you enjoyed yourselves, and I'd be very curious to hear how the rest of the evening went, as I grumped off home, muttering about "audiences these days." The nice thing about seeing local shows - like David M's upcoming Lilith for Dudes dates! - is that the people who aren't there to hear the music are usually just drunks who didn't pay to to get in, who are fair game for heckling and sometimes bring their own unusual dynamic to the event. I'd much rather see a show amongs a bunch of drunk working guys who don't give a shit about the band than a bunch of self-important selfie-takers, actually (though I'll take a devoted and attentive audience over either, any time).

Note: David M. has TWO SHOWS coming up this week, one in Vancouver, with added drunks, and one in New West, with no one but his friends and collaborators! Come see them! I will be at at least one of them! And they're probably even FREE!

Friday, July 14, 2017

I love Okja

I have seen three Bong Joon Ho movies now. I have seen The Host twice, once when the director personally introduced it at the VIFF a few years ago, to the cheers of a stunned, mostly-Korean audience who would never get to see him in so intimate a setting back home; and Snowpiercer once. I am glad to say that I loved Okja, his newest film, now streaming on Netflix, because I can't say I loved either of his other films that I've seen.

I kind of hated The Host, in fact. Despite all the esteem slathered on it, and much as I WANTED to like a Korean monster-movie eco-thriller that took a bite out of American practices overseas, it couldn't keep me from seeing the whole film, ultimately - thanks to its ending - as an engine by which an incompetent dad trades in a troublesome daughter he can't raise well for a much more welcome boychild. If you've missed it, the majority of the film involves a young girl protecting a younger boy from a river-dwelling giant mutant fish-thing while her family searches for her. That the daughter is, after considerable heroism, ultimately sacrificed - in a climax that teases us with her expected survival, then denies us - seemed a grossout betrayal of the audience, morally suspect in the way other child-deaths in movies haven't been (say, in The Mist, where it is utterly necessary to the narrative, if heartbreaking... Funnily enough I have no such problem with the ending of another well-made Korean genre film, Train to Busan, by which a father is sacrificed to protect his child; but what can I say, adult men are less objectionable as sacrificial offerings than little girls). That the father obviously takes to having a boy to raise instead of a girl makes it all the worse. The film was received with so much enthusiasm - with various Korean students of mine assuring me that I had misunderstood the film's intentions - that I actually watched it again, to no different effect; I enjoy much of the film, but that ending just pisses me off to no end.

Still, I was reasonably excited to see the director's cut of Bong's English-language debut, Snowpiercer, when it screened at the Vancity Theatre. I didn't find it objectionable, as I did The Host, but I can't say I enjoyed it; it didn't really satisfy me either as a thriller or political parable, and the ending, once again, proved its weakest point, with a crappy CGI polar bear taking me out of the film's world, in its last minutes, and into the land of cola commercials. That film I have felt no desire to revisit; the peak of the movie is the discovery that the food that the lower-class passengers have been eating is ground up cockroaches, which is, in a way, quite a rational emergency-measure foodstuff, while managing to be even less appealing than that other great proposed "mystery food" of the future, Soylent Green. I'd have to think long and hard about which I wanted to snack on, and thought it an inspired bit of filmmaking, but that doesn't make me want to revisit the movie just yet.

But there's obvious skill in what Bong Joon Ho does. Tarantino has compared him to Spielberg, and that seems apt, particularly given that Korean mainstream cinema borrows heavily on the filmic languages of Hollywood. I've been more excited by Park Chan Wook's movies, that I've seen, but I have also not seen the two films of Bong's that are his supposed masterpieces, Memories of Murder and Mother. It could easily be exactly the same with him as it is with Spielberg, really: maybe he only has a couple of films in his body of work that I will love (as with Jaws or Jurassic Park II) and some that I hold in contempt (Schindler's List). I might just not have seen the right movies.

Okja - Bong's new international co-production, reuniting him with Tilda Swinton (who co-stars and co-produces), and now screening on Netflix, who funded it - is the first Bong Joon Ho film I can say I loved. Having spent a few days sick at home, I got fed up of my past M.O. of saving good movies for watching with Erika, and tried in vain to get a whole sitting of Okja in on Thursday. I couldn't do it. I watched for something like 40 minutes - until the appearance of Steven Yeun (Glen of The Walking Dead). Finally I sighed and stopped: it was too good not to share.

Everything about the film is delightful - though at times dark. And watching the first third twice was welcome, and made me love the movie all the more.

Mind you, Okja deals with horrifying themes. It is not exactly a downer movie - there's a lot of feel-good stuff, a lot of humour, a lot of exciting action - Netflix describes it as an "action comedy" in its menu, and you can see why - but underneath that all, it is a story of mutant GMO animals raised by an amoral corporation, obviously meant to figure Monsanto, for human consumption, despite the fact that these animals (more hippo than pig) are strikingly intelligent, sensitive, and loyal creatures (as is the case with many domesticated animals, in fact). Its climax - this might be a mild spoiler, but you can kind of see it coming - takes place in a slaughterhouse, and draws on what might be the most morally interesting use of CGI technology ever. I suspect it would be very hard to get most viewers, outside of animal rights activists or the hardiest of cinephiles to sit down to footage of actual animals being slaughtered. I won't be trying to sit Erika down to Workingman's Death, or Blood of Beasts, or In a Year with 13 Moons, or, god help us all, Casuistry: The Art of Killing a Cat (the late Zev Asher's masterpiece, which contains no actual slaughterhouse footage, but which has a slaughterhouse at its moral centre; I have praised the film in her presence and gotten understandably horrified reactions, even more extreme than when I've tried to suggest we watch Devor and Mudede's Zoo). But in Okja, CGI allows us to go into a slaughterhouse where the fictional mutant superpigs are being killed. It adds just enough unreality to the proceedings that you can be confronted with the "realities" of a slaughterhouse in a safe, unreal way - something I am unaware of any other filmmaker having yet even attempted, to use CGI to present viewers with a reality most wouldn't dare look at otherwise. I think this is an important move: though I am not a vegan or even a vegetarian, I am a conflicted omnivore who believes vegans are my ethical and moral superior; and I think that if you're going to consume meat - this echoes arguments raised in Casuistry, actually - you should at least LOOK AT WHAT YOU'RE DOING, get over the denial, hypocrisy and sanitization that goes into the neat plastic packages of bloody animal flesh you buy. Even better if you kill the animal yourself: you're at least paying the full price for knowingly participating in the consumption of flesh. It is somehow less distasteful to me than lying to yourself and just chowing down on meat that has been all cleaned up and packaged by others; if you can't look killing in the face, you probably shouldn't be eating meat at all.

Another remarkable thing that Okja does requires an even bigger spoiler (you're safe for now, though).  The film deals with the relationship between one such mutant superpig who is raised in Korea, as part of an international PR move, and a little girl, Mija (a terrific Ahn Seo Hyun) who loves her and has a special degree of communication with her (Okja is, likably, female). As is the way in Korean cinema - which sometimes has a Mishima-like fixation on the moral purity of the young versus the corrupted compromises of adulthood - the girl is devastated to learn than her grandfather has been lying to her about Okja's fate, which is that she will be shipped off to America for slaughter when she's fully grown. There's more to it than that - a lot more, involving the ALF (lead by Paul Dano and The Walking Dead's Steven Yeun, making the most of his bilingualism)  and a debauched TV host (Jake Gyllenhaal, in a role so outrageous he seems to be channeling Sacha Baron Cohen). But, like I say, we end up in a slaughterhouse. People who share with me an aversion to Bong's The Host might reasonably be worried that the whole thing could end in a gigantic bummer. If you want to watch the film under the shadow of that worry, read no further, but - spoilertime - what's really great about the way the ending of Okja is structured is that while it DOES allow for a happy ending, in which Okja is allowed to return to South Korea with Mija, this isn't a comforting cure-all. Unlike the usual "special animal" movie pattern, where the success of an exceptional relationship between a human and an animal is offered as part of the heartwarming denial of the millions of animals slaughtered for meat each year, we are only allowed our "happy ending" to Okja at the cost of going INTO the slaughterhouse and confronting the reality that a vast herd of animals every bit as intelligent, caring, and sophisticated as Okja are going to die. (Actually I guess there are shades of Schindler's List here, except without Liam Neeson chewing the scenery about a pen he might have sold, or Spielberg himself appearing in the film to pat himself on the back over Schindler's grave). So you end up with a feelgood movie that is nonetheless morally challenging, and might still find yourself feeling a bit ambivalent about your bacon the next morning, if you haven't already given up eating meat...

There's lots else I could say about Okja - the creature itself is delightful, perhaps the most wondrous fictional animal to appear onscreen since Totoro, who seems to get a nod in a particular scene, where Mija is sleeping on her belly; and the film is deftly paced and fun throughout - but the above elements are the main reasons I loved the movie, and heartily recommend it.... though I might add that I was pleasantly surprised to see it was co-authored by Jon Ronson, best known for The Men Who Stare at Goats, but whose best book is probably Them: Adventures with Extremists, which contains his story of David Icke's controversial last attempt to speak in Vancouver - he is back again this September - and of his "investigating" Bohemian Grove with Alex Jones, who is presented - somewhat fondly - as a bullhorn-waving lunatic. It's a great read, though there's not much in it that will remind you of Okja. 

Thursday, July 06, 2017

Waking thoughts: Omar Khadr versus Nietzsche's master morality

Congratulations to Omar Khadr.

There's a strange dynamic going on with the powerful - more easily observed in a country slightly south of us, but also present here in Canada, where, threatened by changes in the world, the ruling classes are clinging all the more fervently to the reigns of power, and behaving in increasingly neurotic and destructive ways, resenting anything that could destabilize their regimes.

Witness, for a recent local example, the last days of Christy Clark's Premiership, as she flailingly tried to bribe the public with promises of all the money she could throw at them, while attempting to manipulate the mechanisms of power so she could remain Premier a few weeks longer. She wanted to drink from the cup to the last drop, wasn't going to let it go without a fight, because, clearly, being Premier gave her access to perks she knew she wouldn't have otherwise. I'm not corrupt, wealthy, or connected enough to know exactly what those perks might have been but she sure wasn't wanting to cling to power because of a humble, self-sacrificing determination to continue serving the people of BC.

The whole thing makes me think of Nietzsche - poor old mad Nietzsche, with his absurd mustache, crippling migraines, and somewhat pathetic desire to see himself as an aristocrat. He was, in a way, brilliant - positing that master morality and slave morality are very different things; except that in his desire to be part of the elite, his analysis skews master morality - which he conceives, more or less, as the overflowing abundance, creativity, and generosity of those who experience power and wish to express the joy it brings - to the positive, while slave morality (the weak's desire to protect themselves by positing institutions that keep the rich, or even others among the poor, from doing harm to them) is seen as something craven, contemptible and (Nietzsche would shudder with disdain) Christian.

Alas, democracy is the stuff of slave morality. We live in a slave morality world. Our laws and public institutions are all about the weak protecting themselves, which is why they're so often at odds with the whims of the wealthy and powerful. You can find examples in anything from courts repeatedly knocking down Trump's travel ban to the idiot caught speeding his Ferrari over the Lion's Gate bridge the other day, whose driver's license was rightly taken away for a longer-than-usual time. Our laws and institutions are often specifically designed to keep those who have wealth and power from abusing it - which is as it should be, because the Trumps of the world can do a great deal of damage if left unchecked. Even the jackass in the Ferrari stood to do more harm than some skid ripping off your car or stealing your CDs or whatnot.

What Nietzsche misses wholesale in his analysis - as far as I've seen, anyhow - is that master morality often contains within it a neurotic, destructive, and ugly side: the need for the wealthy to protect their wealth from any perceived threat. Like an animal standing over his kill, looking around nervously between bites to make sure no other, bigger animals are coming to take it away, the wealthy KNOW they've got it good, know that they have access to privileges that they could, if things go wrong, lose. That's why they fight to keep their position: they know its ephemeral, know its unusual, know its exceptional; but they LIKE it. So while the "slaves" of the world - I count myself - push for laws and institutions which will protect us and ensure public safety, the rich will try to impose a different set of laws, which shore up their power base and make it less vulnerable.

One of the things they have to defend against, one of the things that makes the "masters" particularly vulnerable, is their own excess. Nothing is as threatening to the powerful as being caught in the wrong, since it is being wrong about things that most often leads to punishment - like being stripped of your powers and sent to bed without supper (or deprived of your driver's license for a maddeningly long period of time).

So when the rulers of a nation are threatened by (perhaps deranged but nonetheless influential) populist/ nationalist movements dangerously close to their oil supply - one of the key sources of their wealth - the wealthy might start wars, create special prisons, dispense with due process, and start torturing people in the name of protecting their position. All of these things are transparently bad ideas, which anyone more likely to end up in such a prison than to find themselves running it will realize quite quickly. But once you've got these institutions in place - once you are transparently IN THE WRONG about how the world should be run, as America has been since the institution of Guantanamo Bay,  your grip on power becomes all the more precarious. To admit that you are wrong, to even be honest about what you've been doing, is dangerous. You have to lie about it, have to disguise it, because if you are caught in the wrong, well... you're screwed.

There isn't anything much wronger in this world than imprisoning and torturing a child.

If you've been disagreeing with me on any of this, stop and read that sentence again. Let it sink in, past whatever you've heard on Fox News, past whatever spin you've seen put on this story by the Harper administration (or even the Globe and Mail). Omar Khadr, when captured, was a child,  a victim of his parents' extremism. He was deprived of any semblance of due process, sent to a place where he was tortured for years and from which he doubtlessly feared he would never return. (If you're in any way unclear about any of this, there's an excellent documentary called You Don't LIke the Truth: Four Days Inside Guantanamo that will hopefully change your mind; it's very educational and contains actual footage from Khadr's detention, taken from security camera footage; every Canadian should see it). If he indeed threw a grenade that killed a medic, it was in the context of defending his family from a siege of their compound, which a fifteen year old with jihadi parents was in no position to understand or resist; more importantly, the fact that he confessed to having done so, as a precondition on his ever being allowed to leave Gitmo, is no more meaningful than the condition placed on the West Memphis Three of having to admit to the crimes for which they'd been wrongly imprisoned as a precondition on ever being allowed to walk free. It's an ass-covering move, part of a propaganda war, akin to the "criminal record" Khadr has found waiting for him in Canada, which makes bizarre references to things like a "criminal youth court" in Guantanamo Bay. Excuse me? Such moves are nothing more (and nothing less) than evidence of a sort of forward-thinking mendacity on the part of the powerful, since they give sympathetic, right-leaning journalists tools to spin public opinion, allowing them to describe Khadr as a confessed war criminal in their editorials, where they, like Nietzsche, can suck up to the people they're hoping to curry favour with. Seems like horseshit to me, and likely to you, too - everyone I know on Facebook seems to be on the same page about Khadr, at least - but there are a lot of ill-informed people in the world these days, acting on very partial information, believing and doing some very confused things.

In fact, what really offends me in all this, almost as much as the fact that the Canadian government under Harper stood by and let it all happen, is that Khadr should be described by his Gitmo tribunal as a war criminal. It's an insult to language, common sense, and decency. While the invasion of Afghanistan in which Khadr was captured may not have been a war crime - unlike, say, the invasion of Iraq, by the same administration - the use of torture and enhanced interrogation, the suspension of due process - indefinite detention without trial or recourse to the rule of law - in an institution like Guantanamo Bay (still up and running, despite all of Obama's gum-flapping, with at least 41 detainees there) is surely that. Worse, subjecting a child to torture in such an institution - for both the Canadian and American government to disregard Khadr's rights as they did - is a further war crime. It is perversity in the extreme to call Khadr a war criminal; he is the victim of a war crime.

It is the start of justice for Khadr to receive money in compensation. As a friend on Facebook has rightly pointed out - a friend who has apparently since deleted her post, so I'll refrain from naming her - this isn't just about Khadr, either: it's about the failure of law in Canada, and a symbolic appeasement to all who might be concerned that such a thing could happen, who realize that if our institutions fail us, we too might be subject to such treatment.

The masters aren't done with their neurotic, evil flailings; but the compensation given to Khadr for his treatment - like the identical amount previously given another Canadian, Maher Arar - is a step in the right direction.

Congratulations, Omar Khadr. (And welcome back to Canada and to freedom).

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

News re MDC, Flesh Eaters (more to come)

MDC (Millions of Dead Cops, most of the time) plays Seattle in September (the 22nd I think) at a place called the Funhouse. I have a big Dave Dictor piece I'm going to put into the world sometime before then. Dictor tells me he can't easily get into Canada - it requires some very expensive paperwork to get around an old criminal charge, which makes it pointless to cross the border. So MDC fans who want to see the band need to go to Seattle.

Also, the Flesh Eaters have announced some West Coast dates this January. It's the same lineup we saw in Seattle last year, the "Minute to Pray" Flesheaters with members of X, the Blasters, and Los Lobos (and of course Chris D.) Not only will they play Seattle again but it has been announced that they're going to come to Vancouver, for the first time ever, to play the Rickshaw! (There had been a couple of aborted attempts to get the band here in the past, including a gig that was briefly announced and canceled at the Cruel Elephant, around the days of Dragstrip Riot, that I actually showed up at hoping it was still happening, tape recorder in my bag, even though I had only ever seen one brief announcement in the Straight or Discorder some three months prior, and only for one week; and a later gig Chris told me about, which got shut down due to border complications).

Anyhow, two interesting shows for an old punk. I have a lot going on right now so I'm not writing much, but I'll be back here presently (those of you who saw me griping on Facebook about a very uncomfortable MRI should note that this is a routine follow up, not a sign of recurring sickness).

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Mutank, Annihilator, Bison: more metal from me!

Not sure why but I seem to be going through my third metal phase lately. The first was in the early 1980's, where - after spending some time proclaiming that the Who were the best band in the world, for a brief period, my favourite bands were Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, AC/DC, and the Blue Oyster Cult (fuckit, folks, I am not hunting umlauts down for this blogpost). I saw some some killer shows, mostly at the Pacific Coliseum, including Van Halen touring Diver Down (the "lock up your sheep" tour, with the original lineup of the band, including a cartwheeling David Lee Roth); Black Sabbath (with Ronnie James Dio) on the Mob Rules tour - which was maybe my third-ever stadium show, which I got my Dad to take me to; Judas Priest on Screaming for Vengeance (where Rob Halford rode a chopper onto the stage); the BOC on Fire of Unknown Origin (with Aldo Nova opening!); and Maiden on the Piece of Mind tour, complete with a really amazing 9 foot tall Eddie (I still don't know how they do that). I saw a lot of peripheral bands as opening acts, too - Saxon, Fastway, and I think even Kickaxe. I wrote lyrics for a teenaged metal band with a friend who could play guitar, poring over the dictionary for cool words for song titles and the band name (we settled on Epicurean Nightmare, and designed a cool logo, with interlocking E's and N's at either end. Then that dude - named Greg; no idea what he's up to these days - discovered punk, turned me on to the Sex Pistols, and I became - with the "fuck this and fuck that" chorus at the end of "Bodies," especially - indelibly impressed and fascinated with this new (to me) and dangerous-seeming genre, more than I'd ever been with metal: whatever metal was to me, punk was more of it, made even more compelling by the near impossibility of FINDING any artifacts of the form out in Maple fuckin' Ridge - and especially not bands from Vancouver, where the first wave of punk was just winding down.

Within a couple of years of discovering punk, I'd gotten rid of all my metal albums except for the BOC and Motorhead, who I discovered a bit later. Metal became the music of the people who drove by in their Camaros and chucked empty beercans at punks, or yelled abuse at them, or occasionally shitkicked them. I frequently site a story where the stoners in the park near our high school chucked rocks at me ("stoned by stoners") as I walked by with a funny haircut and a small Realistic tape recorder playing The Exploited. As much as I'd once loved metal's music, I realized that the people who liked it were to some extent stupid thugs, and I started to take issue with some of the lyrics (especially the sexist, rapeheaded lyrics - see "Squealer" - of AC/DC). Their tribe was at war with my tribe, and - since punks didn't actually go out there and shitkick people, at least not as a habit - all I could do was feel totally and utterly superior to the headbangers at my high school. Iron Maiden? Judas Priest? Fuck that shit - it's music for morons (that was how I felt around 1985, anyhow).

When the crossover happened - with Suicidal Tendencies, the Bad Brains, and D.R.I. all releasing albums that took them in a much more "metal" direction, circa 1987 - it made me sad. Maybe punk could get wider appeal because of it, but these were all bands I liked. I could recognize - with some festering tribal ambivalence - that there was some great stuff going on with the Bad Brains' I Against I - but I was so disappointed with D.R.I. that, not only did I not buy Crossover, I sold my copy of Dealing With It and stopped listening to them. Tribal loyalties run deep, you know? I tried, as I recall, to listen to Annihilator at the time, but only because Rampage was singing; when I found out it was just more metal, I tuned out (enjoying their new stuff a lot, tho'). I was pretty closed-minded and probably blocked out music I really would have enjoyed, as a result. I kind of wouldn't mind revisiting Suicidal Tendencies' Join The Army, because at the time I absolutely hated it: what's this shit? This band had been GREAT, and now they were making this crappy, lame metal... yecch.

I didn't come back to metal in any real sense til around 2008, when two things happened: I interviewed Lemmy Kilmister - eventually even met him in person - and, in doing my homework, discovered that I liked a lot more than just classic Motorhead; and learned that a free jazz/ noise musician I liked and had seen live, at gigs at the Sugar Refinery and 1067 and elsewhere, was joining a metal band. That guy was named Masa Anzai, then known to me as a saxophone player; and the band was, of course, Bison; I still remember being surprised when he told me, at a Mats Gustaffson concert during the jazz fest ("I can always play the saxophone when I'm older," he reasoned. Okay, I guess that makes sense...).

I actually saw Bison, with Masa, at the Plaza, when their current album was still Earthbound. I didn't know what to make of it at the time, but by damn did they look like they were having a good time. I still have a t-shirt from that show, actually...

Anyhow, Masa was up there with Lemmy, for me, in other words, in terms of getting me to get interested in metal again. Turned out that so much had happened in the genre since I'd walked away back in 1986 or so that there was a lot to hold my interest; it didn't hurt, either, that I was starting to interview people. For a year or so, I plunged deep: I watched every Sam Dunn film I could find, I read Lords of Chaos - an excellent book, even if it looks like it's going to be a deeply suspect movie - and bought maybe a hundred different metal CDs, taking in movements (death metal, black metal, folk metal, sludge, doom, etc) that I had completely ignored to that point. Believe it or not, until about 2008, I had never owned or listened to classics of the genre like Slayer's Reign in Blood. It really didn't take much for me to fall in love with it all over again, especially since even the most derivative, genre bound, and mediocre death metal and black metal bands sounded completely new and strange to me. How was I to know that there were a hundred other bands out there that sounded exactly like them?

It lasted for awhile, and then petered out. Death metal, with all its technical prowess and showoffery, lost me first; black metal - much of which sounds the same to me - came a close second, though it still interests me as a phenomenon (it seems to have inherited the old puritan "underground" spirit of punk rock, taking it even more seriously in some cases). To my surprise, the bands I found myself enjoying the most were folk metal (which sounded utterly ridiculous on paper, before I saw, say, Arkona and Korpiklaani live) and, yep, exactly the stuff I'd liked as a kid: Maiden and Priest and Sabbath.

Eventually I kind of lost that second wave of enthusiasm, and went back to listening to punk, mostly. I haven't spun much metal in the last year or two; I've listened to some Unleash the Archers and Amon Amarth and other bands I've written about, but I haven't been digging like I was just a short time ago. (I didn't even buy anything at the Scrape closeout).

Anyhow, I don't know why, but I'm wanting to listen to metal again more. I'm totally excited about the MUTANK/ Annihilator show this Thursday - today, maybe, by the time I publish this, and have interviewed MUTANK for an online article at the Straight. And in print, I've done a feature on the second most significant band in getting me back into metal, the cherished Bison, formerly Bison BC. I am so keen to see Friday's show I can't believe it. I actually didn't care that much for that last EP they released, so I'm really, really happy to be lovin' their new album so much. I was afraid without Masa - the guy who got me INTO the band in the first place - my feelings about their music would change, but nope, it hasn't.

Really enjoy interviewing James Farwell, too. He's a very articulate and honest man, an interesting dude to talk to. Maybe I'll post some outtakes here sometime...

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

More on Christophe Szpajdel

Christophe Szpajdel in Vancouver, by Allan MacInnis

Christophe Szpajdel is a thoroughly unique human being. His passion and enthusiasm for his art are stunning; so is his enthusiasm for black metal and for talking about his art and black metal, which he seems to do tirelessly; you get the impression when he's not doing his work, he's talking about his work (though I gather he did get to spend part of the afternoon yesterday searching for frogs in Lynn Canyon, unsuccessfully). The day after Black 2, I ended up at a two hour dinner at the vegan Chinese restaurant Po Kung, on Kingsway, with Kevin Eisenlord, the Vegan Black Metal Chef, and Christophe; but the show was really all Christophe's. We talked about everything from recent disappointments - a client who he did over 40 variants on a logo for before they changed their mind - and his past history (the early days of black metal and his fandom for it). I'll be transcribing it all when I get a chance; it's a really interesting interview, he's a really interesting man (and I've put a clip of our talk online).

Unfortunately - for whatever reason - very few people came out to see Christophe, for the first and maybe only time, painting for about an hour live onstage on a beautiful naked girl named Medina, onstage at the Rickshaw on Sunday. I've never seen anything remotely like it (and he was followed by a great performance by SVNEATR, who also joined us at Po Kung yesterday). It would have been an incredible, if somewhat odd, inclusion in the Covenant - which Christophe attended, and would have loved to have been a more active participant in. Didn't happen! Something somewhere must have been offputting to people on the scene, because it would have been quite the addition (a few photos got taken, which I will post presently, but you really had to see it live, which I would guess fewer than fifty people did).

In other news, possibly related, I had odd dreams last night of seeing the Blue Oyster Cult at the Rickshaw, where they were doing a very strange, busy, and disorienting bit of live theatre, incorporating the songs. Buck Dharma. at one point, paused and expressed concern for a sunburn on my neck that I actually do not have; Mo Tarmohamed and Rob Frith were in the audience, as well.

Saturday, June 10, 2017

A seriously Black Metal Weekend in Vancouver, plus Christophe Szpajdel interview, and a bit on grave desecration

I didn't actually work any mention of the ongoing Covenant festival into my Straight article about Sunday's "Black 2, the Gathering" at the Rickshaw - which might, I suppose, be to some people's irritation. The Covenant organizers have obviously worked hard to set up an enormous fest of black metal bands from all over the world,  along with very cool merchants, taking place in three different venues, starting early (5pm!) to fit in as much music as possible into the evening: and the article that gets the press is for an event held the day after, and focusing on someone - the Vegan Black Metal Chef - who is makin' a wee bit of sport of the subgenre (though he's a serious musician in his own right, with an industrial black metal project besides the cooking videos, called Forever Dawn - whose logo, note, is by Christophe Szpajdel.) I've got no particularly compelling excuses for not giving a nod to Covenant; I was busy at work, I was assigned an article, I did it, and only became aware Covenant was going on AFTER the article was done. Oops. But for those who care about black metal, night three of Covenant is today, starting at 5pm. As a relative outsider, I don't know any of the acts performing, though the best band name tonight by far is Vancouver's own Necroholocaust, IMHO (though my wife, making pancakes, just described their vocalist as sounding like a "horrifyingly mad Donald Duck," adding that "that's not a concert you will ever get me to," as if I needed the clarification..) And I expect that Christophe Szpajdel, the "Lord of the Logos," also interviewed in the Straight piece, will be there; he certainly was at Covenant last night, working on logos at the Rickshaw, where I ducked in to say hello, finding him just after Phoenix, Arizona band Harvest Gulgaltha played. They have a great band name - presumably referring to collecting bones from the hill where Christ and others were crucified, also rendered as Golgotha or Calvary; they also had great atmosphere - the Rickshaw was thick with red-lit dry ice - and harsh, intense music, with a cool album cover, pictured below, projected on the screens to the side of the stage. That's for their release Altars of Devotion, which was selling on vinyl for a mere $10. I managed to resist, since, you know, I can't actually play this stuff at home anymore...). Incidentally, lots of band merch on the tables seemed priced on the real cheap, I guess so they didn't end up having to bring it back with them; a person with money to burn and a passion for metal vinyl could find worse places to be tonight (there were also books, DVDs, clothing, and LPs from bands NOT playing; Victoria's Cavity table even boasted an Arkham House HP Lovecraft edition for At the Mountains of Madness, though it had a "real" - and totally reasonable - pricetag of $40).

Returning to the Lord of the Logos, however: the thing you realize very quickly about Christophe is that he is a true enthusiast, bursting for passion for what he does. Surveying the logos he's done on the Encyclopedia Metallum metal archives - including Pacific Northwest bands like Abigail Williams and Wolves in the Throne Room - you get kind of dizzy, there are so many. Kevin Eisonlord, the Black 2 event organizer and photographer who is managing Christophe and who hooked me up with him, tells me Christophe has done over 10,000 jobs so far, including, as I mention in the Straight piece, the faux-Mayhem Metallica logo in the "ManUNKind" video, which features the cast of the upcoming, controversial Lords of Chaos movie, which looks like it's going to mine all the most sensational and disenheartening aspects of the Mayhem story - where the whole "brain eating" trope comes from, though that seems to greatly exaggerate what Euronymous got up to, which mostly seems to be the making of amulets from bits of Dead's skull (the braineating thing in the Straight article was Mike's addition to the piece). Note, if you watch the Metallica video,  the Blasphemy shirt the drummer is wearing! 

Besides being passionate about his work, Christophe is, very clearly, a devout FAN of this music. When, for instance, he mentioned grave desecration, my mind went immediately to my chat with Blasphemy co-founder and vocalist Nocturnal Grave Desecrater and Black Winds, where grave desecration was hinted at (and quickly shied away from as a topic). To disgress again for a second, apparently - I learned from Black Winds - grave desecration is something that takes place in some quarters of the black metal community (a member of Norwegian band Emperor, for whom Christophe did the logo, was arrested for it; I forget the bands Gerry told me were also involved in the practice, but there's more than one). The appeal kind of makes some degree of sense, presuming you're into Satanism, or any more extreme brand of individualism; besides getting a good workout with a shovel, you can flout social taboos and conventions of religious superstition, and prove your toughness and independent-mindedness. It reminds me a bit of the Tibetan ritual of chöd, actually, where - I'm simplifying - you play a flute made from a thigh bone trumpet (a "kangling") and/ or a "damaru" (drum often made from a human skull cap) in a cemetary while praying for demons to dismember and/or eat you. It's meant to get rid of ego, but it could also be seen as a really hardcore dare. 

As true students of Tibetan spiritual practices will likely see, I don't really know chöd from C.H.U.D., but it does sound like a practice that would have an impact on a person's psyche. There's a bit more on the grave desecration in the black metal community here; apparently a former member of Blasphemy quit the band after he took things a bit far. As it happens, Mickey Hart of the Grateful Dead had similar experiences with a Tibetan damaru, which he was glad to get rid of  (thanks to Dan Kibke for these anecdotes; he also has some good stories about Metgumbnerbone, a noise project that drew heat for making instruments from human bones, though these were harvested from a cemetary in disarray, not actually dug up). To come back to Christophe, he had talked in the Black 2 piece about how he would have nothing to do with bands who had desecrated Dimebag Darrell's grave. ("I don't mind if a band has a sort of ideological orientation in their lyrics, but if they are promoting disrespectful acts, that is where things are going wrong.") I wanted to ask the next logical question, to probe his boundaries: what about bands that had desecrated the graves of non-celebrities. Where does Christophe draw the line? 

And somewhere in there I mentioned Blasphemy - my only direct encounter with this practice - and Christophe was off and running. Once I said the name Blasphemy, I couldn't get a word in edgewise.
"Blasphemy is a completely different story," he responded, speaking in his very precise, Belgian-accented manner. "It is one of my favourite bands from Vancouver. They are for me the first extreme - really extreme - band I discovered, in 1990," he said, "when they recorded Fallen Angel of Doom, that I picked up as soon as it was released. I knew that this band would be a profound influence to the entire black and death metal scene. And actually, my dream is to finally be wearing a Blasphemy hoodie - with great pride!” (We're trying to help set that up, note). "Even if it's a band with a certain history behind it, it is my top favourite, and one of the most influential bands in my entire discography, because they are a band that opened the whole concept and inspired a lot of bands like Beherit, for example, or Impaled Nazarene, from Finland. And Blasphemy - I caught up with them, I've seen them live when they were with Immortal and Rotting Christ in 1993 - and then in 1994, with Gorguts. And they were absolutely amazing, for both shows. Of course, Immortal at that time were behaving like rockstars, they already had this rockstar attitude, but they were doing good shows. Rotting Christ were very under-estimated, and actually they were a fabulous band, and Blasphemy, you know, there was  this excitement: 'Ahh, Blasphemy in Europe! Can't miss that!' That is the time when they were signed on Osmose..."

Anyhow, I abandoned the line of questioning at that point, because I think I get the idea (you can always take it up for yourself at the Rickshaw tomorrow night, where Christophe will apparently be painting a logo on a (living) human body, and be the subject of a short film projection (Mo tells me it won't just be on the side screens, but on a real screen centre-stage). The cost for the event is only $10, which is stunningly cheap. Meantime, here's a bit more of my conversation with Christophe (cut somewhat short due to my faulty microphone).

Allan: Let me ask you about the Metallica video, for "ManUNkind."

Christophe: I think it was a gigantic leap for me, and it marked the year 2016 with a very positive blast. Same with the Rihanna logo, they were the two highlights of 2016. And actually, this is how I got recognized not only by the metal audience, but by the general public. That is when my name got to the light of knowledge of the most general public you can imagine. You know that I work in retailing, that I work at a checkout of a retail story, and I had lots of people who congratulated me for both the Rihanna and Metallica logos, as I had an interview in the local press. That has received positive reactions. I'm actually  not even aware that there would be negative reactions to my show with the Vegan Black Metal Chef - but this is Kevin's idea, and Kevin has great ideas. With that being said, Kevin is aiming to put me for Black 3 in Japan on a cruise ship! It would be great if Kevin, with all the connections he gets; I know he can get bands like Darkthrone, Satyricon, Immortal, Emperor - to play all together on one cruise ship! He's got amazing convincing skills, to say how successful an event with these bands, and my exhibition, could be. On a cruise ship!

That sounds amazing...! I wanted to ask about the retail store. I'm surprised given how well-known and respected  you are, that you still have to work retail! Do you want to get out of that?

I won't say that, now. I have recently transferred to a very good store where I have excellent rapport with colleagues and management, and I feel like there are a lot of clients who choose another route. Kevin's been talking with a lot of clients - he has put together lots of price packages - and a lot of clients, they just stop responding to emails once it got to the time to take the down payment, which means, "sorry, we've decided to take another route." [Kevin Eisonlord, in a separate interview, noted that there are graphic designers out there willing to work for incredibly cheap, on websites like Fiverr; it's a very competitive field].  The reason why I wanted to pursue retail is, I feel like I cannot yet make a living on my logos, no matter how well-known I am. I've been going with all Kevin's ideas - like Father's Day t-shirt, Mother's Day t-shirts [and others, that I'm not going to mention online, since they involve trademark infringements]. We put them online, and the response was fairly low. So that is proving - I must be honest, I always will be honest with you and everybody else - that making a living out of my logos at the moment is not possible. That's the reason I do about thirty hours in that retail store - I'm contracted for twelve - and I have then my art, that I can fit around it. Also, that art gives a sense to my life. I am single, no wife, no children, so I've got time on my hands to concentrate on the clients who really want to work with me. Remember, there is so much competition... There are excellent other logo artists, like Chris Horst, Gragoth from Luciferium War Graphics, Raoul Mazzero from View from the Coffin, [and someone whose name sounds like "Alan Zahim," who I can't find on Google], they are all people I have collaborated with, on several occasions. Especially I have done collaborative works with Chris Horst. And how many times, clients, when I have responded, just the next day - because I got the email while I was sleeping - the client was saying, "well, thank you very much for your time and response, but we have chosen to work with a different artist." How many times I have received that answer! Practically nine out of ten times. That proves there is very strong competion in the logo art scene, which very few people seem to realize!

I certainly hadn't. So what logos are you working on lately? 

At the moment I've been working on quite a few. I've been working with a band from Barcelona called Together, I've started working with a logo for a company from London called Bompas and Parr, a clothing company called Blind Death, a metal band from Canada called Black Sacrament(s?), and then another called Thanatos - so quite a large bunch of people. And also last week I've been working on a few designs that I have sent to Kevin - Kevin asked me to do renditions of a few classics [from a company whose name I will keep out of this article] like The Lion King, The Little Mermaid... but it wasn't really clicking. I kind of forced myself into these, but I got really unlocked when I did something that Kevin had not asked me to do, which is the Sorcerer's Apprentice, and there I let my imagination go completely berserk, especially with brooms carrying buckets! And this melody - "dah dah dat dah dah, dah dah" - it really unlocked me! I don't know, the others just didn't click. I also used my own initiative, on my own, to create two logos for Game of Thrones, and one for Deadpool. 

They're not comissioned pieces, though, right?

They aren't comissioned, they're just things I did because I wanted to do them. I have not been asked to do it. I've sent them to Kevin, because - with that being said, Kevin has the most amazing marketing skills you can ever imagine, it's amazing how he can sell ice to Eskimos. He is so good at it! 

When you do designs outside of black metal bands - are they all in the fashion of metal logos?

They have a sort of black and death metal form, especially the one I did the Sorcerer's Apprentice!

Did you have any interesting experiences last time you came to Vancouver? 

Last time I went to see some interesting shows. I had a glimpse of a band I really like - the Dayglo Abortions. I really enjoyed their music; I think they're the sort of "missing link" between punk and metal. And I think also that they are a very emblematic band in Canada. I picked up their album Here Today, Guano Tomorrow, in 1987, when it was on sale - you know the unsold records, after awhile they go on a discounted sale? So I just picked it up for $5. It was still in shrinkwrap, an unsold album. But they have a reputation for playing loads of gigs, they probably are doing one gig every day!

Murray Acton of the Dayglo Abortions, by bev davies, not to be reused without permission

They work hard, yes! Let me ask one last question. I am surprised that some people have taken exception to the Vegan Black Metal Chef's appearance at the Rickshaw. Maybe they don't know his stuff - it seems very smart and funny and he obviously has a love of black metal, but there's been a hostile reaction to it - some people in the black metal community seem to take themselves a little seriously. So how do you feel about sharing the stage with the Vegan Black Metal Chef?
I think, personally, it's fabulous, it's amazing, because I am open minded. Unfortunately, I would say to a lot of these black metal kids who consider themselves true and cult and evil as possible, my message to them is, "Grow up and wake up."

Christophe Szpajdel will be at the Rickshaw tomorrow (Sunday, June 11th) alongside the Vegan Black Metal Chef, Kevin Eisonlord, and SVNEATR. Tickets are a mere $10. Also check out the Covenant Festival night three, also at the Rickshaw, starting in about two hours from now (5pm today). 

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

I Called Him Morgan: Lee Morgan documentary at the Vancity Theatre, plus John Coltrane

Though I have owned and enjoyed a couple of his records in my time, I didn't know anything at all about the life or death of trumpeter Lee Morgan before watching I Called Him Morgan, upcoming in early June at the Vancity Theatre. When I first discovered the film would touch on issues of drug addiction, infidelity, and murder - all, of course, among African-Americans - I confess that I bristled a bit. Understand: both my parents, before they died, used to watch plenty of daytime TV, and between Cops ("white authority figures arrest and lecture poor black people") and various talk shows (I don't know their names but they often involved lie detectors and/or Maury Povich) which seemed bent on proving black men are cheating pieces of shit, I have had more than my fill of seeing people with darker skin degraded in the media. And it's not just daytime TV, either: it seems like every film I've seen about jazzmen has to - almost like it is a genre convention - deal with death, suicide, murder, mental illness, and/or drug addiction, or a combination thereof: there's My Name Is Albert, Bird, Straight No Chaser, the recent Miles biopic (which I haven't seen, but which surely touches on Miles' heroin use)... Hell, there's even plenty of infidelity, drug abuse, and a suicide in Let's Get Lost, about Chet Baker - and he was white! I've yet to see a movie, documentary or otherwise, made about a jazzman who ended up successful and comfortable in later life, maybe mellowing out their later years by playing prestigious festivals and making a bit of extra coin hawking stereos on late night infomercials, or something. It's like we don't want to tell stories about jazz players unless they end in sensationalistic darkness and despair, like jazz has to be something that comes at a heavy price - how dare you display your virutosity so blatantly? Maybe films about it need work as cautionary tales to keep us from resenting the players, or heading down the dangerous road of jazz ourselves...?

Thankfully, my fears that I was going to be taken on a tawdry ride proved groundless. I Called Him Morgan is a very well-made documentary, which takes what could have been a sensationalistic story and makes something profound and touching out of it, without exploiting its subject matter in the least. It has an incredible amount of respect for the musicians interviewed, and everyone comes across as articulate, reflective, and genuine - about as far from the hystrionic blaxploitation of daytime TV as you can get. (I felt an equally uncomfortable white liberal relief at how civilized everyone was, in fact, which is another matter altogether - but I enjoyed the film, and was even moved to tears at one surprising point). One of the great strengths of the film is that - I'm guessing - to make up for scanty footage of Morgan (who died at age 33, in 1972) the film draws on a huge archive of black and white photos taken during sessions at Blue Note, where most of his most famous recordings took place. They're gorgeous to look at, illustrating the spoken testimony of Morgan's contemporaries like Albert Tootie Heath, Bennie Maupin, Wayne Shorter and other bandmates. We hear stories of Morgan's rise, his time with Dizzy Gillespie and Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers, and his eventual common law marriage to Helen More - Helen Morgan - who "rescued" him from his heroin addiction and later, we learn early in the film, shot him to death. They don't explain why, when they first tell us this, and we're kept in suspense as to the circumstances until near the end, hoping that the story will make sense of the act, which it does. Most remarkable of the people called on to testify is Helen Morgan herself, who - having served her time for killing her man and gone home to North Carolina - was interviewed by teacher and jazz radio host Larry Reni Thomas shortly before her death of old age in the mid-1990's. The cat - and by "cat" I mean the literal cat, trying to sleep in the living room while I previewed the film - could have done without some of the screechy noise that accompany the playing of Thomas' cassettes (but only when the cassette is being shown onscreen; they mercifully edit it out otherwise). But it was the only sonic irritant in the film: when not listening to Morgan's peers tell stories, we're listening to Morgan's playing, mostly from the very peak years of the Blue Note sound, which is easy jazz to listen to indeed, with a distinct blend of the sonic sophistication that marked that label through the 1950's and 60's, with a populist leaning towards warm, playful, engaging, and tuneful jazz (even at times just slightly funky, though not like, say, a Stanley Turrentine record, if you see what I mean). It's a great doc, describing a profound, quiet tragedy, and you may find yourself - so skillfully crafted is the film - sympathizing as much with Helen Morgan as her late husband; maybe even moreso.
For those who crave more difficult jazz, also ongoing at the Vancity Theatre is Chasing Trane: The John Coltrane Documentary, which (even without having seen a minute of it) you might feel mayyyybe stretches the "celebrity testimony" thing a bit far. I mean, okay, Denzel Washington, who narrates, played a character whom I'm guessing was at least partially inspired by Coltrane in Spike Lee's Mo' Better Blues (certainly "A Love Supreme" is all over the soundtrack to that film, where Denzel plays a tenor saxophone player). Carlos Santana might raise eyebrows, but he belongs, too, because he and Coltrane's wife and collaborator Alice Coltrane both recorded together after Coltrane's death and, along with John McLaughlin, shared a guru, Sri Chinmoy, during the early 1970's. I was even ready to roll with John Densmore, and had no trouble at all, obviously, with the inclusion of Wayne Shorter (again) or Sonny Rollins. But BILL CLINTON? I mean, yeah, Bill plays saxophone, sure, but WHAT THE HOLY HELL DOES BILL CLINTON HAVE TO DO WITH JOHN COLTRANE, man?

But I haven't actually sat down to the Coltrane doc, and I'm not going to get a chance to - it's playing now at the Vancity Theatre. Who knows, maybe Clinton is well used? Certainly the title sequence - a trippy excursion to music into interstellar space - seems promising. I suspect the people who need to see it are going to go regardless of what I write here...

Rodney DeCroo: On Guns, Crows, and Redemption (and his time at Monroeville Mall)

I've been aware of Rodney DeCroo for a long time, but I have never done him justice. I know my higher ups at the Straight respect him up and down, and I have dim memories of sitting at the (original) Railway Club with Rodney and (I think) Adrian Mack talking about life, music and writing, maybe from as far back as the days of the Nerve Magazine, where Mack was my editor (the Nerve, for those who don't know it, was a smart local music paper - kind of the Beat Route of its day, but edgier - that folded around 2006 or 2007). I've heard a few of DeCroo's tunes, watched Flick Harrison's compelling, surveillance-themed video for "War Torn Man", and I might have even been somewhere doing something else while DeCroo was onstage, but mostly my relationship with DeCroo has been one of neglect, so much so that, listening to a press download of Old Tenement Man, his new album, my reaction is one of embarrassment (at having arrived so late to the party) and shock: holy shit this guy is great! And... what the hell, he rocks! 

Turns out that's partially about sequencing. The album begins with two extremely - and atypically - heavy and dark songs: "Jack Taylor,' sung from the point of view of a young man that murdered his father, and "Jacob's Well," about finding respite from darkness and pain in, yep, drugs and alcohol. There's distortion, there's an oppressively heavy drumbeat, there's a stoned evil menace to both songs that puts them on a spectrum, for me, between Nick Cave's Let Love In and the second LP by Black Mountain, maybe. Folk music they ain't. I suspect that it might be possible even for people who know DeCroo's other albums well - Mike Usinger recaps them in this week's Straight feature - to be going, "Holy shit, this is Rodney DeCroo?"

Anyhow, that was my reaction. I was both relieved and a bit disappointed to discover that the album calms down after those two numbers, ventures into more redemptive, even at times upbeat territory, introducing some light to the darkness; why I was salivating at the prospect of a journey through hell I cannot say. But it's a very strong, compelling album. I know nothing of the backstory besides what is in Mike's article - nothing about Mark Evans, a friend and neighbour of DeCroo's on Commercial Drive who inspired the album, nothing of PTSD, and nothing at all about DeCroo's book of poetry besides the title, Next Door to the Butcher Shop. But DeCroo will be playing songs from the album, and reading some of his poetry, at the Cultch this Wednesday, so we managed to do a quick email interview - meant as an adjuct to Mike Usinger's piece (so do read that first, eh? Among other things, it contains some information DeCroo's painful background, growing up in Pittsburgh, which will inform some of his answers here...).

Rodney DeCroo by Rebecca Blissett

Allan: It suits the more "rock" aspect of the album, but "Jack Taylor" is a hell of a place to start the journey. Is Jack Taylor a fictional character, based on a real person...? Where did the song come from, and why put it as the first track? (Is prison part of your experience? I kinda thought of Steve Earle's songs about executions while listening to this...)

Rodney: Honestly Allan, sequencing is something I struggle with. My impulses always seem to go against the conventional wisdom. I played my original Old Tenement Man sequence for my friend Rob Malowany and he said Rodney, you're doing your contrarian thing again, you're placing the best songs near the end of the album. For example originally I started the album with "Ariel" and "Jack Taylor" was close to the end. So, Rob and I sat down and sequenced it together. He recommended that the album start strong, hence "Jack Taylor," "Jacob's Well." etc. "Jack Taylor" is based on someone I knew growing up. But the actual crime he committed was grotesque. His father was brutal, a terror of a man who abused his wife and children horribly. Sadly the boy I knew grew up to become an abuser as well and was sent to prison for many years. In memory of the boy I knew as opposed to the man, I wrote a song that still results in a brutal crime, but it's committed for arguably noble reasons. No, prison isn't part of my story though my biological father is rumored to have died in prison in California, but I don't know if that is true.

Do you have favourite examples of other writers or songwriters who manage to have compassion for the brutalized, dangerous and degraded?

When I was 12 I found a copy of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown. It devastated me. I was a patriot. I wanted to be a Marine like my Vietnam vet ( step) father. I read books about Paul Revere, George Washington, the American Revolution. I believed in the fairy tale of America as the champion of freedom. My childhood was steeped in trauma, violence, sexual abuse, addiction / alcoholism, bigotry and religious mania. My patriotic fantasy gave my life some crude form of dignity, purpose, a higher calling. I thought George Custer was a tragic American hero! Then I read that book and I couldn't make sense of it. It destroyed my fantasy. I was surrounded by far right Christian zealots and bigots so no one would answer my questions. No book has ever impacted me like that since, though Howard Zinn's A People's History of America is right up there for me. I can't say it was a "favorite" because there was nothing entertaining about it, but it decimated my patriotism and made question everything I thought I knew.

Mike's feature says the title of "I've Got a Mirror, I've Got a Gun" is "pretty much self-explanatory" but I went somewhere totally wrong with it before the song started playing: Travis Bickle ("You talkin' to me?" - I mean, he had a mirror and a gun, right?). Seems to me that it's actually about choices - between reflection or other-directed violence - but I could imagine different readings of the song... Where did it come from? Any unusual interpretations so far?

I'm not sure where it came from. The line "I've got a mirror, I've got a gun" came to me one night and I sat down and the song poured out of me. Yes, it would seem to be a choice between reflection,- in my case songwriting, poetry- or other-directed violence. Of course I've done both and still face those choices. But as the chorus implies maybe it's not that simple. I mean, I've gone to some pretty dark places in my drive to create. Maybe all roads in the end lead to the gun, for me.

There are actually a fair number of guns in your lyrics, at least on this album. Were guns part of growing up in Pittsburgh? How do you feel around them?

I was surrounded by guns. I hunted a lot all through my early and late teens. But hunting rifles and shotguns were a mundane part of life, a kind of tool. However hand guns were a different story. I stole a handgun from a hardware store when I was fifteen. I got caught but before I was grabbed by the manager, when I got that gun in my hand, the surge of excitement, the sense of power, was exhilarating and terrifying. I felt like Billy the fucking Kid. Guns are potent symbols for me. They have a dark, seductive, violent aura. They terrify me and fascinate me. In short, I'm an American.

The Biblical Jacob comes up a couple times on the album (and fittingly enough I actually first read the title as "Old Testament Man.") So do you have a religious background? Where did the Jacob story resonate for you? (I actually don't know my scripture well enough to know what's important or isn't, here - I'm trying to do a refresher on Wikipedia but I'm just getting lost and overwhelmed. Jacob actually sounds like a piece of shit, buying his brother's birthright and then lying to his father to get a blessing... it's not exactly a heroic beginning for a patriarch!).

My family were Fundamentalist Christians of the Jesus Camp variety and Southern Baptists. I didn't like the Biblical stories of Jacob when I was a kid, my sympathies were with Esau, I felt a connection to him. It's funny but I felt way more connected to the bad guys and rejects in the Bible. I felt for Cain, for Saul, for Absalom, for Judas etc. I hated the biblical heroes like David. In the story of Jacob and the Angel, Jacob fights the Angel all night and they fight to a draw. But then the Angel wounds Jacob's hip socket. For the rest of his life Jacob walks with a limp. He is maimed by God, but he is also given a blessing. However the character in the song "Like Jacob When He Felt The Angel's Touch" is eternally defiant toward God, like Milton's Satan in Paradise Lost. He views God as an oppressor, a tormentor and he longs for revenge against him. I initially thought of calling the album Old Testament Man but it just didn't ring right for me and some people would have misinterpreted my intentions. Old Tenement Man is meant to "echo" the other while saying a lot more.

 I confess, I am not a big "poetry" guy - and I actually grinned at the line about poetry in "Jacob's Well" about it being "such a fuckin' bore." What's your history with poetry? (Bukowski was a poet who was pretty cranky about other poets, come to think of it - though again, Mike goes somewhere else with this line, that you're speaking in another voice to address yourself, not other poets...)

Yeah that line is directed both at myself and at other poets. Frankly a lot of poets are academics. They're not poets. I have what I think is a healthy dose of contempt towards them but I also find my poet as class warrior attitude a bit tedious at times. The launch at the Cultch is both a CD release as well as a launch for my second collection of poetry Next Door to the Butcher Shop with Nightwood Editions. My poetry is written out of my life. I'm not an academic.

The second "Jacob" song (and here I meant "Like Jacob When He Felt the Angel's Touch", which appears second of the two songs that mention Jacob, but Rodney seems to have taken me to mean "Jacob's Well," which is the second song on the album) got me thinking on Nick Cave's
Let Love In - the arrangements, more than the lyrics, though he'd doubtlessly approve of the religious referent. Got me thinking of the Rolling Stone interview where Cave tells high school students to read the Bible, not Bukowski. But when it comes to compassion for the poor, it seems to me that someone can read BOTH the Bible and Bukowski. What do you think of Bukowski? Cave? Was Let Love In at all a touchstone, here, or...?

In my twenties I wanted to be Bukowski. I don't think much of his poetry now. It's just not that good though some of it is quite funny. I think as a writer his real achievement is his novels. I have to keep Nick Cave at a distance or else he'd overwhelm me as a songwriter. I am deeply impacted by his work but I try come to it solely as a listener, to be taken up, but not as a writer, or I'd end up just poorly imitating him. But I'm sure Let Love In has impacted me as a songwriter. How could it not? But not directly, in terms of "Jacob's Well." I would say it's more of a spiritual referent rather than religious in "Jacob's Well." When it comes to the Bible for me it's always about the poetry never dogma or religious practice.

Also wondering about a gamut of other songwriters who might have influenced you but... Art Bergmann has been on my mind lately. Is he someone you feel any affinity for? He also has a lot of darkness in his songs...

Yes, Art Bergmann is a songwriter I admire and listen to. I saw it as a good sign that he hired Lorrie Matheson to produce his last album. That was kind of what sealed the deal for me in my decision to have Lorrie produce Old Tenement Man. As far as songwriters who have impacted me, it's all the names you'd expect and some others you wouldn't. How's that for vague?

Was the album designed for vinyl? Because there seems to be a "side one/ side two" thing going on here, with the emotional arc of side one ending on the rather redemptive and forgiving "Radio," and then a fresh start with "Like Jacob When He Felt the Angel's Touch." Am I reading that right? Are you a vinyl guy vs. CD? Are you happy with the resurgence?

I knew the songs added up to an actual album, that they were of a piece. I guess in the back of my mind I was thinking in terms of vinyl but more because that's the format that shaped my idea of what an album is. I guess I prefer vinyl. I mean, CDs are fucking ugly, they're so disposable. Vinyl, the cover, everything about it is something that you want to engage with and keep around.

I pretty much love any song I've heard that has crows in it. Did "Half Blind Crow" take its inspiration from an actual crow? Any favourite crow songs?

A crow landed on the windowsill of my apartment. Half its face was burnt off and the other half was normal, black feathered and the other side was all white scar tissue, no feathers, there was no eye, it was just a burnt mass of scar tissue. Freaked me out. I thought it was an omen. Caused me to do some soul searching. Like Cash says "God's Gonna Cut You Down." "Half Blind Crow" is a similar type of song.

Any stories about Mark Evans that didn't make the Straight article? Are there moments on the album that reference your friendship with him that might not be so obvious to an outsider?

There are but I disguised them and they're going to stay that way.I feel that honors him more.

Not only have I paid far too little attention to you over the years, I have paid even LESS attention to Geoff Berner, a guy I know gets TONS of respect as a songwriter but whom I've never seen live, never listened to a full song of). Do you have any history with Geoff? Favourite moments in his catalogue? Have you collaborated?

I've never collaborated with Geoff. I pretty much like everything he's done.

Finally, a dumb, irrelevant question that  you're free to skip, but if I had grown up in Pittsburgh - growing up misanthropic and in love with George A. Romero - I would have spent tons of time at the Monroeville Mall. (The main mall in Maple Ridge always took me right back to Dawn of the Dead and it's nothing like the mall in that movie, except spiritually). Any Monroeville/ Romero stories?

I don't have any Romero stories, but Monroeville Mall was only about a 15 drive from where I lived. It was largest mall at the time in the area. My parents lost me when I was three in Monroeville Mall. I wandered off. Eventually a security guard found me. I skipped school once and took a bus there to meet a girl I had a teenage crush on - I'd met her at summer Bible camp- but she never showed. I was heart broken.

See Rodney DeCroo (with guests Geoff Berner and Fraser McKenzie) at the Cultch this Wednesday (note that it is an early show, eh?).