Art Metronome 01

Featuring Antony, The Hidden Cameras & Daniel Barrow, Daniel Olsen, Eric Chenaux and Marla Hlady.
April 10 @ Harbourfront Centre (www.artmetropole.com)

The first Art Metropole fundraiser was an absolute disaster. Headliner Antony, the androgynous diva darling of NYC, may have been blessed with a better-than-average voice, but his ridiculously "Am I a boy, am I a girl" lyrics and soulless piano playing couldn't be saved by his fabulous outfit and charming stage banter. Daniel Olsen's demonstration of his new Sound Box creation -- a toy-like device that creates eerie squeaks and music box melodies -- began promisingly but failed miserably. His creativity in instrument-making does not extend to his performance practise, and he was left twiddling switches aimlessly to a bored and unsympathetic audience. The Hidden Cameras fared little better. With his backing band pared down to percussion and string quartet, front-man Joel Gibb's songs lost much of their anthemic appeal. The addition of the brilliant Daniel Barrow was cosmetic rather than revelatory, and the young Winnipeg artist's visuals were often upstaged by Gibb's mugging. Marla Hlady was undoubtedly the star of the evening, as her sound ball objets were serenaded with sleepy country tunes, played by Eric Chenaux and other Rat-drifting regulars. Their version of "Moon River" was show-stopping, sounding like a dozen wax cylinders playing a dozen different renditions. A shame such a venerable and vital institution as Art Metropole began it's Metronome fundraising series with a misstep. Maybe next year. -- JB
File next to: Ipecac, sleeping pills.

Be a Man

comic: by Jeffrey Brown (Top Shelf Comix)

Funniest ever. Anyone who's ever dated anyone will fucking love this, and if you don't, well, you have no sense of humour and should off yourself while cranking your Bright Eyes records. A series of one-page gags retells Brown's best known work, Clumsy (about a shy, awkward long-distance relationship), but with Brown turning himself into a total alpha male. Look, I'm not gonna retell the jokes. What is this, eye Weekly's "The Panelist"? Perfect cure for your still-Optic-Nerve-damaged nerves. -- BP

File next to: "It's OK, my girlfriend lives in Florida."

Black Dice

Miles of Smiles (DFA)

The new Black Dice EP is magic. Squealing mini-disc and sampling and hard drive fuckery, plus percussion, plus who knows what else, plus surf, plus nature being amalgamated into digital textures. Two songs in half an hour, and it is like taking a journey, basically. "Miles of Smiles," the opener, is clicked up and cut up and reassembled as a noise sculpture with melody. "Trip Dude Delay" is the sonic goodbye from the beaches and canyons the band was chilling in last time we saw them; ambient and pretty, but at the same time harsh. I want to see what these guys do next. It is sure to be interesting, from their progression so far. They are music at its roots, without structure but with tons of substance (take that however you like). -- AG
File next to: Boredoms, Animal Collective, digital residue turned rock, Vibracathedral Orchestra, maybe, if they were a digital-noise-psych-surf collective.

Bonnie "Prince" Billy

Sings Greatest Palace Music (Drag City)

This is basically a release I have been anticipating since hearing about it. Palace songs? Being re-recorded by the Prince? Man, I didn't know what to expect but I knew it would be at least interesting. And it is. The songs have been given the Nashville treatment -- there is more of a country vibe on this record than there has been on any other BPB release before this; gone are the desolate folkscapes that these songs came out of in the first place. This is good and bad, depending. New versions of "New Partner" (arguably Oldham's shining moment) and "Ohio River Boat Song" fail the test, coming up as light-hearted anthems instead of the agonizing songs of loss they once were. On the other hand, earlier songs (pre-"Viva Last Blues") have such a newly found grasp on what they should have been in the first place -- "You Will Miss Me When I Burn" is reminiscent of Johnny Cash at his prime, the slide guitar on "Agnes, Queen of Sorrow" (along with the backing vox!) are wistfully beautiful, and "The Brute Choir" is newly unstoppable. I'm not sure what else to say about this; I would have liked to see more reinterpretations of favourites, despite the results -- I mean, what would "We All, Us Three, Will Ride" sound like given the Nashville treatment? Otherwise it is pretty surprising and I'm happy the Bonnie Prince decided to do this. -- AG
File next to: Nashville, Johnny Cash/June Carter, revisionist dirge, Palace Enterprises, campfires out on the valley with Pushkin.

Broken Social Scene

Beehives (Arts & Crafts)

This release is weird because it sounds as if it should be coming before You Forgot It In People, the transition between the instrumental Feel Good Lost-era and the pop that the group has now perfected. But, I guess since it is a b-sides collection, there are songs that did come before the latest album, so this is kind of a transition, if only one that came late. I dunno. The songs are all very beautiful, some much better than the stuff on You Forgot It In People. There are alternate versions which suit this release well, like the eight-minute version of "Lover's Spit" -- which becomes a hollowed out piano ballad that slowly mutates into bombast, as sung by Leslie Feist. This is the nighttime companion to YFIP's happily dark and sad pop. -- AG
File next to: Toronto alumni, stopgaps, where is the next album, I am curious to hear how that will be.

Calexico

Convict Pool (Quarterstick)

Their cover of Love's "Alone Again Or" is what drew me to this EP, but what made it stick was the lovely title track. Just Burns and Corventino (the heart of Calexico), it is bombastically simple: drums, acoustic guitar, and voice. But these elements are used to their full potential -- the drums sound like a marching band, the guitar is thrashed on eloquently, and the vocals are heartfelt and yearning. The rest of the EP goes from good to bad: Traxx like "Corona" and "Sirena" remind of last year's Feast of Wire, but failures like "Si Tu Disais" and "Praskovia" don't really mesh into it. Maybe because the latter are covers, I dunno. Get this for the title song. Or download the title song. Or something. -- AG
File next to: Contemporary Southwestern Americana mariachi folk.

!!! [chk-chk-chk]

Louden Up Now (Touch and Go/Warp)

Shiiiiiiit! Now this is like burning, like a burning discosaurus -- that's how I feel after collapsing from exhaustion on my bedroom floor. And the smoke hasn't cleared yet, the fire extinguisher has had no effect, and if nobody can put this blaze out, my dancing feet may burn up and become extinct forever... but I would happily retire my sole in the glory of digital soup! Scheisse! -- SW
File next to: The record you dreamed of hearing in 2004! Merde!

cLOUDDEAD

Ten (Mush)

I have seen the future of hip-hop, and it is cLOUDDEAD. Maybe that's a bit of an overstatement, but they are one of the only groups in hip-hop today doing something truly interesting and stimulating. Their last release, an untitled collection of their first five ten-inches, was interesting enough to make me anticipate Ten. And I got what I was looking for. Combining the fast-paced lyrical delivery of Doseone and Why? that were all over the first album, and adding into it tighter production and a better grasp on melody, thanks to their separate stints in various bands (Dose: Themselves, Why?: Hymie's Basement, Odd Nosdam and his self-titled instrumental stuff), there is no failure here. This is the sound of the future now. It is what hip-hop will aspire to in ten years' time. And the vocal melody of "Dead Dogs Two" kicks major ass, too. -- AG
File next to: The sounds of tomorrow, today.

Eluvium

An Accidental Memory in the Case of Death (Temporary Residence)

Last year, Matthew Cooper (alias Eluvium) made an album of genuinely pretty but fairly plain ambient music; it was good, just not great. This year he comes back with AAMITCOD, which should be considered one of the landmark piano albums of the last ten years. Although it only runs for about half an hour, there is so much beauty here that it is, at times, difficult to listen to. It plays out much more complexly than the last Eluvium album, and is that much more rewarding. It's the kind of album you put on at 2 a.m., in that down state that only comes late at night, when you're not really sad, but still not really happy. This is the comedown album, and when you listen to it, it's easy to blank out, staring out the window at silently passing traffic. Damn. -- AG
File next to: Labradford, Do Make Say Think, Jack Rose, late night downs trips.

Fake Cops

Absolutely Your Credit Is Excellent But In A Certain Way We Also Need Cash (Mockingbird; www.fakecops.com)

Kudos for the album title, lifted in classic sardono-punk fashion from a convenience store near this Calgarian band's jam space. A title like that commands attention, as do Fake Cops' tightness and aggression level, as this EP jumps out of the speakers with effortless confidence, making one wonder what kind of guitar-humping and Fugazian leg-dances the band members undertake on stage. Ah, but there's the rub: the "wiry" and "angular" duelling guitars, breathlessly declaimed vocals and nervously energetic rhythms make the "File next to:" list a little long and obvious: Hot Snakes, Les Savy Fav, Ex-Models, Liars, our own Arm Back On (who they've graciously invited out west for some summer shows)... and at one point, "Snake Eyes" sound creepily close to "State" by The Creeping Nobodies. Esteemed company all, but I'm disappointed to report Fake Cops don't quite match up in the hooks department. A little crafty melody injected into the chaos goes a long way, and in that spirit, I'm looking forward to seeing what these dudes come up with next. -- JD

File next to: See above, yeah I don't know if I can do better myself.

The Field Register

Eastern Shore (Ships at Night)

Albums can be likened to documents of time from the past. This one would be akin to looking at a photo of that time you were in Halifax hanging out on the veranda, and cuddling with your boy on a warm spring night, and feeling content, not having to say anything. Beautifully crafted, restrained and melancholy, with sparse drums. Tracks "Pictures" and "Forgotten By Now" are especially beautifully written, very evocative and memorable. -- KK
File next to: Red House Painters.

Freaks and Geeks

DVD: The Complete Series (www.freaksandgeeks.com)

One lonely night in Chicago in 1999 my heart stopped as I channel surfed my way to what appeared to be the first movie starring Jason Schwartzman since Rushmore. As I watched on I realized it wasn't a movie at all but the best television show of all time, Freaks and Geeks. Brainchild of Judd Apatow and Paul Feig (who also created Undergrads), this show ran for only one season and only after six years of diligent petitioning by hardcore fans has it finally been released. The series includes all 18 episodes, behind-the-scenes and audition footage, bloopers, outtakes and commentaries and is worth its weight in pure gold. It is perfectly cast and remarkably well-written, with episodes about everything from Friday night D&D sessions to the accidental Halloween egging of a little brother. Rather than relying on Degrassi-esque seriousness or the gimmicks of other high school dramas, the show is realistic and draws more on human emotion than shock value or mass appeal. In one of my favourite and one of the saddest scenes of the show, the character Sam comes home after spending a night with his best friend who is in the midst of finding about his father's affair (the discovery of which netted him a brand new Atari). Sam arrives to find his parents beaming with a new Atari they had bought him, "for being such a great kid." His reaction is to burst into tears and throw his arms around his dad. The show makes me cry, is wicked funny and is divine fodder for any good TV junkie like myself. GO AND GET IT! -- JP
File next to: Bedroom eyes and hearts beating faster.

Dan Goldman

Through A Revolution (self-released; www.dangoldman.ca)

This album would be more aptly titled Songs To Sleep To because that's what I did every time I put it on. At his peppiest, singer-songwriter Goldman almost has a quiet Ron Sexsmith quality, but with no pop aspects, no hooks. It was a good sleep though. -- RM
File next to: NyQuil.

Guitarkestra

Shimmer Shimmer Ya (floating.thru.life)

Craig Fraid is no chickenshit. Restricting himself to only electric guitar and looping pedal, the debut Guitarkestra LP is eight tracks -- over an hour -- of uncompromising monochromaticism. And it's fantastic, virtuosic, and absolutely perfectly executed. Every track shifts imperceptibly from texture to texture, each phrase fades away into a mist. Compositionally, Guitarkestra strives for perfection over innovation. A welcome throwback to the early days of minimalism, effectively skewering a thousand Michael Nyman and Philip Glass acolytes. This is uncomfortable, static, hypnotic music, and the finest work of minimalism I've ever heard from a Canadian composer since early Hugh LeCaine. This is an absolute must. -- JB
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Lali Puna

Faking The Books (Morr; www.lalipuna.de)

Germany's indie-tronic collective Lali Puna have grown exponentially since their last release Scary World Theory. Not necessarily in terms of their lyrical content, which still reflects Valerie Trebeljahr's stream-of-consciousness socio-political commentary, but more stylistically this time out. Gone are a lot of the simple electronic studio tinkerings now replaced with more traditional instruments. They seem to be rocking out more as a complete band too (they put on a great live show, by the way). One listen to the halfway mark of "Grin and Bear" or "Call 1-800-FEAR" will convert you. Without a doubt there is a distinct kinship to my other favourite German indie band of late, The Notwist. It's no surprise then that Markus Acher has his hands in both projects. Both of these bands work in that melancholic yet groovy area that mixes American indie rock with a rich German electronic music heritage. -- SV
File next to: To Rococo Rot, Kom'˜it, social conscience with a head-bobbing groove.

Modest Mouse

Good News For People Who Love Bad News (Epic; www.modestmousebootlegs.com)

Modest Mouse albums have always explored the theme of opposites, both musically and lyrically. Modest Mouse is able to mesh lush instrumentals with kick-ass, head-bang rock, not just on the same album but on the same song, while Isaac Brock whispers and caterwauls lyrics that explore the frustration of being in a state of constant conflict, being pulled by the positive on one side and the negative on the other. "The good times are killing me." This album takes a step forward from previous efforts with slightly more positive lyrics and branching out with more experimental song structure and instrumentation, adding a more epic feel. If you hate Modest Mouse, you won't like this album either. But, if you even somewhat like Modest Mouse, or Isaac Brock's solo project Ugly Casanova, you won't take this out of your CD player for a long, long time. -- RM
File next to: The ever-present spiral.

Mum

Summer Make Good (Fat Cat; www.noisedfisk.com/mumweb)

Recorded in an old lighthouse in a remote area of Iceland, this seems more haunted and ghostly than their previous efforts. Sacrificing their sweet electronic pop sound for more glitch-y instrumental collages and old-world traditional sounds, this album's ten times bigger in mood than anything done before. Where Finally We Are No One was a small and lovely thing this is more of a nightmarish fable as if envisioned by Four Tet. Kristin-Anna Valtysdottir's little girl voice ensures that this remains a truly beautiful yet simultaneously creepy release. Images of Czech film animator Jan Svankmajer's Alice came to my mind as I listened to this. Not something to listen to alone in the dark I would think. A cold wind blows here and it goes straight to the bones. -- SV
File next to: Dolls coming to life and dancing to scratchy radio transmissions from the North Pole.

The Office

DVD: Second Series (Warner; www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/theoffice)

I found the first Office series brilliant and hilarious. I was jonesin' for more and was glad to discover that season two was now on DVD! The show centres, mockumentary style, on the self-aggrandizing manager of a paper company, David Brent (Ricky Gervais). Anyone who's ever worked in an office can surely relate to this show. Enter The Office Part Deux: Somewhere along the way creators Merchant and Gervais must have gotten too much money, or fame went to their heads. This was a total letdown. Where once there was love, now there was disappointment. With Brent carrying on in season one it was amusing. But as he became stifled and humiliated in this second series it just became a sad little drama for me. Let's hope the American version of the series (with Merchant and Gervais behind it) picks up more from season one than two. -- SV
File next to: The Office first series (gets an "A"), flames burning twice as bright only half as long.

Old Time Relijun

Lost Light (K)

Imagine that the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion was sent to live in a cabin in the Rockies for a long time, and that everything that is "New Yawk Shitty" about them became these organic, elemental, nature-based things. Dancey beats are there, but the guitar is a lot more angular, perhaps Polvo-esque, and the stand-up bass fucks with tonality quite a bit. And there's something Devo about them too, as is the case with most great contemporary bands. -- RR
File next to: Vampires, werewolves, zombies.

The Passion of the Christ

(directed by Mel Gibson, starring Jim Caviezel)

It was about fucking time someone brought back the hardcore bondage to Catholicism. At its best, Roman Catholic imagery is like insane porn, where you're so bloodthirsty you could watch like cumshot after juicy cumshot and not pop a gremlin. Thorny crowns, bloody goatees, loincloths and bearing the cross all a tent in your pants make, however. The Orthodoxy know that. You don't get blue balls from a delirious saviour with a freshly bloodied ampalang, that's for sure. But if the Opus Dei is Playboy, Mel's movie is fucking "Leg Sex." How's that for satisfaction?! -- BP
File next to: Blood boners!!!!

Revenge

Welcome to the Party (Narnack)

I can honestly say I don't get this. Basically it's an insular party record for the San Francisco scene (Numbers, Coachwhips, Pink & Brown, OCS, others). I don't understand why it was released. I mean, it's alright -- not as good as Coachwhips, Pink & Brown, or OCS, but way better than Numbers -- but I don't really see the point. "Dear Colonialist" is funny because it name-checks everyone in the SF scene, apparently sung by eight-year-old Kristy Geschwandter, eventually bringing it down to "This is the new school of San Francisco rules!" and "WE HEART SF!" (not kidding here). This is fun, but it'll probably get old. I'm not selling it, though. Yet. -- AG
File next to: Get the party started, SF style. Name-checks to Burmese, Numbers and John P. Dwyer. Huh.

Stop Die Resuscitate

hell.o (self-released; www.stopdie.com)

What a weird band. Are they hip-hop? Goth? Electro soul? Nu-metal? Definitely all of the above. While Stop Die sometimes lean towards the kind of melodramatic cheesiness that makes me reach for the stop button (or tuner dial if it happens to land on Edge 102), there's a handful of songs on hell.o where it all comes together to make something really moving and effective, like "Crylon," which rides on darkly melodic organ chords and showcases MC coolhandLuke's unique voice, which is pretty big and booming for such a small mutha. Kind of like the tapestry that is their adopted hometown of Toronto, it's often hard to figure out what the diversity adds up to, but it's worth enjoying those moments when everything synthesizes. Speaking of synths, what's with that Kraftwerk-y song though? -- JD
File next to: The corner of Queen and John. (SDR play WL June 6.)

Summer Hymns

Fools Gold (Misra)

I can only say that, after the disappointment of Clemency, the last Summer Hymns record, I was not expecting this. Budgeted as an "EP," but really an album's worth of songs (ten!), this is basically the distillation of everything that SH has been up until now. The pez-psych of the first album, the narcoleptic sadness of the second, and the half-hearted pop-country of the third. But this is a combination! And it works perfectly. Sounding like a ramshackle Flaming Lips chilling with Olivia Tremor Control and other E6er's (technically, Summer Hymns are an Elephant 6 band, but they got on that right around the time E6 collapsed, so...), it's a yearning, heartfelt, and fun release. The artwork is great. Pick it up, please. This band has remained criminally underrated, even with four albums to their credit. -- AG
File next to: Flaming Lips, Olivia Tremor Control, Essex Green, a psychedelic sunny afternoon.

Teratoid Heights

comic: by Mat Brinkman (Highwater Books)

I've been smoking dro a lot lately so this book has been like a box of Corn Pops -- essential. Dark, detailed yet hazy drawings. Basically no words, just weird genital creatures walking around eating each other, getting eaten, getting crushed, riding the centipede to work (who doesn't feel that?) and shit. Plus, it's really hard to follow if you've had even like one beer. But pot? No problem. -- BP
File next to: That time a pointy headed guy busted up our bush party and threw us all in the fire.

T.I.

Trap Musik (Atlantic)

OK, so I know you're all busy with your copy of Madlib Shades Of Blue (PS -- what the fuck on that one?) but you have to go get this. Better yet, have me over to your house with it every weekend, and it will be like a non-stop party. Imagine -- every weekend will blur together into one huge never-ending party because it'll all have the same soundtrack. We'll even tape it and play it on your ghettoblaster when we go outside, like all summer long. It'll be fucking amazing. Then, in the fall, we'll be hanging out and "Be Better Than Me" or "I'm Just Doing My Job" will come on, and you'll be like, "This reminds me of holding your hair out of your face while you were puking," and I'll be like, "Come here, you." So like I said, put down the cLOUDDEAD (Why do you own that?! That shit is racist!) and fucking phone me on this plan. -- BP
File next to: Your taste in hip-hop sucks so bad I can't even look at you anymore.

The Girl Next Door

(directed by Luke Greenfield, starring Emile Hirsch + Elisha Cuthbert)

Reviewed by Jason & Jonny, Boy Detectives:

JONNY: Okay, for our long-awaited reassignment case, this had a surprising amount of non-suckage. Most of the laughs came from the male lead's two cool-dork sidekicks, sort of like 16 Candles' dipshits via Sebadoh --- especially any time they donned fencing masks or said "Dude. I know." But what did all this shit amount to? Boy meets girl, boy finds out girl is porn star, boy saves girl, boy makes educational porn film to save his own ass. The filmmakers display a weird degree of ambivalence towards the porn industry. It's okay to get turned on by it or even profit from it, but heaven forbid if you want a relationship with someone who works in that biz, you have to get them out because they "deserve better."

JASON: It's like the movie's trying to reconcile the different values of two infamous regions of California: Orange County (where Seth, Summer and the rest of my O.C. friends learn valuable life lessons) and the San Fernando Valley (where the skin flicks get made). I was amazed at how earnestly the movie struggles with this dilemma. Which might be why the second half of it isn't very funny. Plus, once you let "reality" into a movie like this, it tends to make a mess of things. Like the bit where our hero, after learning he's in love with a porn star, fantasizes about his girl making out with his mom and blowing his dad. You can tell the movie's going for American Pie-style comedy, but dude, that stuff's not funny --- it's just fucked up. I wanna go take a shower, y'know, a celibate one.

JONNY: I just found it all so vanilla --- there wasn't one anal joke in 110 minutes! Yeah, the second half took it away from the fun Weird Science-meets-Risky Business vibe into Something Wild at the senior prom, and even though Timothy Olyphant steals the second half as the sweet-then-snakey porn producer, he's got none of Ray Liotta's menace.

JASON: All I can think is, why didn't I get more nudity? It was all a big tease. That's why I've got give it up for Euro Trip, a sorely underappreciated recent entry in the youth sex-com genre with a more than ample amount of nudity and Hitler jokes. And it climaxed with the desecration of the Vatican. I really can't ask for anything more.

JONNY: Dude. I know. But I wasn't expecting to see any nip.

File next to: Weird Science, Risky Business, Something Wild, American Pie, The Girl Next Door (documentary).