T.C. FOLKPUNK: Rants, etc.

Gig Time:

T.C. FOLKPUNK (yo!)
at The HARD LUCK BAR, (812 Dundas Street West, Toronto)
at 9:00 PM, SHARP!! (one set only, don't be late)
$5 cover.

This Friday I'll be playing one set at this newish venue here in Toronto. I've decided that all of the money I make will be donated to help pay legal fees for some of the (innocent) people who were illegally detained during the G20 fiasco here is Smogtown last month. I was working on a full rant about it, then somebody I know on Facebook posted this link:

http://toronto.mediacoop.ca/story/story-my-arrest-detainment/3997
Lacy MacAuley is only one of hundreds of people who were subjected to the sort of treatment normally reserved for dissidents in such exotic locales as China or Sudan. I know some unenlightened individuals out there only receive their news from the usual suspects, and the general spin is that all the protesters were smashing up windows and deserved what they got.

Let's see, a total of something like eight windows smashed (that's right, EIGHT), and a thousand people rounded up, so that's one hundred and twenty-five arrests per window...

The day after the windows were smashed...

In a different part of town.

It's hard to say what my favourite chapter of this still unfolding mess would be, although Police Chief Bill Blair's assertions that no unwarranted arrests were made, and that the police had no reason to apologize for any of their members' behaviour would have to rank near the top. Go back to sleep Bill, we'll call you if we need you.

Look, whatever happened was not done by the rule book that we're all supposed to play by. If it was just a big disorganized mistake, then a few good lawsuits might get some incompetent fucks fired. If, on the other hand, it was a testing of the waters to see how far certain figures of authority can push their weight around, then it's our duty to let them know that the answer is NOT AS FAR AS THAT.

Any of us could be next.

Hey everybuddy!

This week The International Pop Overthrow will be rolling into Toronto, and taking over The Rivoli for four nights. The IPO is basically a travelling pop music festival that first started in Los Angeles in the 1990s, and has continued to grow so it now runs more or less year round, moving through Chicago, New York, Boston, Liverpool, Seattle, and a few other exotic locales.

I'll be bass-ifying for The James Clark Institute this Thursday (the 26th) at the IPO, and from what I've seen of the other acts sharing the bill with us that night, it'll be a supergroovycool way to spend an evening. Admission is $10, which means that your Thursday could be less expensive (and more entertaining) than going to the movies to see John Cusack somehow survive the curse of the Mayans in 2012. If you fancy a "tasty adult beverage", that'll cost extra, but most of the beer at the Riv is less salty than the popcorn at the theatres, and we have to watch our sodium intake now, don't we? And what are the chances that John Cusack will be sitting there selling you his CDs or t-shirts in person and even signing them? Slim, my friend, very very slim.

Still not convinced? Fine, here are links to our fellow IPO'ers (I've even included their set times, because damn it, you people deserve to be informed, and that's what I'm here for):

8:00- DARELLE LONDON
http://www.myspace.com/darrellelondon
8:30- THE FOREIGN FILMS
http://www.myspace.com/theforeignfilms
9:00- CLOCKWISE
http://ca.myspace.com/clockwisecanada
9:30- THE JAMES CLARK INSTITUTE
http://www.myspace.com/thejamesclarkinstitute Hey, it's us! 'Nuff said.

10:00- THE PRETTY FACES
http://www.myspace.com/theprettyfaces
10:30- THE FANTASY DEFENDER
http://www.myspace.com/thefantasydefender
11:00- BROOMFILLER
http://www.myspace.com/broomfiller
So come on out to the Rivoli on Thursday, and that way we can all start our weekend a day early!

...you could always log onto

http://www.beachcitymusic.ca/
at 3:00 in the afternoon (Eastern) to witness myself and a certain James Clark (he of the increasingly popular James Clark Institute) being interviewed live in the front window of the coolest little CD/vinyl/t-shirt/book shop this side of Yonge Street.

And in case you miss the show, it'll be available for podcast type viewing later that same day on their site.

And just to give you an advanced warning, we're playing Thursday November 26th at the Rivoli as part of International Pop Overthrow. More about that later, though.

Hey! It's gig time, here are the deets:

THE JAMES CLARK INSTITUTE (me on bass)
at MITZI'S SISTER (1554 Queen St W)
on SATURDAY OCTOBER 17th
9:30 start, Paywhatyoucan.
Also on the bill will be STEREO SPECTACULAR 71, and (direct from Montreal) FRANK MAKAK.

I'm REEEEALLY looking forward to this one, not just because I get to play bass on Jim's uber-cool songs (with a great new drummer, Brad Holy, sitting in), but also because I'll get to watch Stereo Spectacular 71 laying down their usual mix of cool and quirky instrumental twangeriffic gems, and a certain Frank Makak making his live debut here in Hogtown. He's looking forward to the gig too, even if it means having to borrow my guitar because VIA Rail won't let him bring his on board the train.

That's right folks, he can't bring his guitar on board a passenger train. Turns out that guitars are a few inches too long for VIA's liking, and would therefore have to ride in the baggage car. Only problem with sending a guitar to the baggage car is that many guitars are toted around in what's known as a gig bag, which is basically a guitar-shaped knapsack. Gig bags are a lightweight, comfortable alternative to hardshell cases, and are popular enough that many manufacturers include one when you buy one of their guitars at your friendly neighbourhood music store. Gig bags don't, unfortunately, offer much protection from things like heavy suitcases and boxes, and all the other things that tend to fly around inside baggage cars during the five hour trip on the wobbly tracks of eastern Ontario. Frank spoke to a representative at VIA, and translated their part of the conversation from French like so:

"Guitars and other musical instruments are not welcome onboard, as they may cause problems and shock our customers. If your reservation says that you are not allowed to register baggage on your way back to Montreal, we are not responsible if our agent refuses you access to the train, and your ticket is not refundable. We do not guarantee against any loss or damage of your guitar. You would have to have it shipped to Montreal."

Shock our customers?!? Jeezuz.

I used to be a fan of VIA Rail (back when they were cool about guitars being on board), but after the last couple of trips I took on their (sixty year old) trains, it's become increasingly obvious that they're adopting the same mindset as Air Canada and the Toronto Transit Commission, in which they treat their paying customers like retarded cattle, and then wonder why fewer and fewer people are buying their fucking tickets. In the UK, National Rail allows any musical instrument on board, as long as it can be carried by the passenger without needing extra assistance. In Europe, it would seem that there are no restrictions on musical instruments at all on the Eurail network.

Whatever. The show will go on, SS71 will be cool, JCI will be amazing (or we'll try at least) and Frank will still kick it folkpunk style with my Telecaster. As for you, you should try to catch it. Just don't take Via Rail to the gig.

Impossible as it may sound, it's been over three months since I last ranted. Funny, most people seem to get more curmudgeonly with age. Of course, I've been a bit more distracted from the madness of the world around us lately, what with all those fun summer activities like hiding in the closet while tornados threaten to touch down on the big trees outside the bedroom windows and such. Oh, and another distraction has been of the musical variety, which I'll tell you about now. Are you sitting comfortably? Good.

As far back as my late teens, my inspiration to write songs was often triggered by listening to Elvis Costello. After filling my ears with 40 minutes of This Year's Model, or Blood And Chocolate, or Brutal Youth or even (more recently) When I Was Cruel, I'd find myself totally fired up to begin writing something the second the last chord of the last song on the album had faded away. Many other artists have been influential, but Costello's rockier stuff was (and still is) capable of lighting an immediate fire under me. His was the only material that would hit me that way... that is, until the drummer from my old British Invasion cover band The Toggles, a certain Jim Clark, let me hear some of his compositions.

We began sneaking originals into our sets at Toggles gigs, and I found myself anxiously waiting for Jim's songs to come up next on our set list. Since I was the bassist, I was in that McCartney-esque "melodic bass" frame of mind from playing so many Beatles covers, and Jim's contributions were perfectly structured for that approach. And once again, hearing a new James Clark tune was sufficiently inspiring that I'd have the urge to write a new song right there on the spot. Anyway, fast forward to around 2003, and Jim asked me to lay down some bass tracks for what would become his next album, Home Is Where The Heart Attack Is. At that time I wasn't able to fully join his band due to my various adventures in Folkpunkery, but when this past June rolled around and he asked me to take over the lower octaves, I jumped at the chance.

So anyway, to make a long story...um...slightly longer, I'm playing bass with The James Clark Institute, and having a blast doing so.

Having a toddler has increased my (over)exposure to the world of Winnie The Pooh. I tried my best to tune it out whenever our little guy was "bingeing on the bear", but after being repeatedly subjected to the videos and books, I began to notice a few subtle personality traits in the main characters, and I think I may have uncovered some dirt by reading between the lines. I'm sure the folks at D*sney have done their best to maintain the coverup, but I love a good conspiracy, and I think this one's massive.

First off, I've determined that Winnie the Pooh himself is an alcoholic. He talks about "honey" the same way other alcoholics refer to their "medicine". I don't think he drinks just anything though, I'm pretty sure he's hooked on mead. Those "pots of honey" he has stashed in his closet haven't been sitting there because he forgot about them as he claims (although memory loss is certainly a side effect of his condition). No sir, that honey is fermenting. And the "rumbly" in his "tumbly" is actually his liver acting up.

Next we have Eeyore. Research has led me to conclude that the manic depressive donkey was at one time destined to take the spotlight in his own star vehicle, but on the eve of his leap into the Very Big Time, he was involved in some sort of Fatty Arbuckle type sex scandal. To their credit, the D*sney Corporation kept him on, but under the condition that he remain a support player, thereby dashing any hopes Eeyore had of taking his career to the next level. His resentment is turned inward, resulting in his pathological self-loathing.

And then there's Piglet. Skittish, nervous, afraid of his own shadow. I'm guessing that he may have been on the receiving end of whatever Eeyore got up to.

Owl is nowhere to be found in our collection of videos and books. He's not even mentioned by the other characters in his absence, as if he never existed. However, after placing a few phone calls, I have reason to believe he left D*sney, signed with Warners, and is currently reading some scripts in the hopes of having a new product on the screens by next summer.

Rabbit is a Scientologist.

Tigger's persona is characterized by an overabundance of energy, and the inability to stop talking. Since he sounds like he has a stuffy nose and the timbre of his voice also has a ring of deviated septum, the obvious conclusion is that Tigger is a coke head. Rumours abound that he prefers to snort the stuff off of Kanga's derriere.

The D*sney corporation carries a lot of political clout, and as a result they're able to convince certain law enforcement authorities to look the other way under certain circumstances. How else can one explain the obvious flouting of child labour laws in their employment of Roo.

Gopher is a jerk. No big scandals, but he's forever taking the other characters' parking spots in the D*sney lot, and according to rumour he leaves the toilet seat up on purpose.

And finally, Christopher Robin is actually Dan Quayle. He was found late one night wandering aimlessly around D*sneyland after the park had closed, muttering something about "you say potato, I say potatoe, let's call the whole thing off", and the corporation decided to put him to work.

I can't wait for Oliver Stone to get his mitts on this one...

Spring is sprung,
The grass is riz,
I got a new name,
'Cause that's showbiz.

Welcome to my first pseudonymous rant thingy. And what's a performer with a pseudonym if he doesn't have somewhere to perform? Nothing I say, nothing! So for the first time in two years and five months, I'll be performing in public in Toronto.

T.C. FOLKPUNK (that's now me)
FRIDAY APRIL 24th
at RENAISSSANCE CAFE
1938 DANFORTH AVE (block and a half west of Woodbine)
$5 COVER,
SHOW STARTS at 9pm,
I'M ON FIRST, DON'T BE LATE!

You should try to come to this one, because at my present rate the next time I play in Hogtown will be September of 2011. I'll be appearing at the last instalment of Flammable Fridays at the Renaissance Cafe. I say "last instalment" because the Renny will be closing its doors permanently in May. Its owner, Randy, tried to make a go of it, but operating a live music venue in Toronto is not unlike operating an outdoor skating rink in the jungles of the Amazon, in that it's something in which the natives have little or no interest. Anyway, they have great micro brewery type ales and lagers (and possibly even Pilsners!) on tap, and Randy will probably be anxious to empty the kegs before locking up for the last time, so bring your thirst for micro brews, and your thirst for live music.

I'll also treat the night as the Unofficial Release Party for the debut CD by That Satisfying Crunch! (my instrumental project), of which there are only 40 or so copies remaining. I won't be playing with a band, and I won't be playing instrumental songs from that CD, hence the "Unofficial" part of "Unofficial Release Party". I will however play a bunch of new tunes from the upcoming new Folkpunk album, which has already begun production, and I'll have some Crunch! CDs on hand of course.

And finally, one last quick observation. Housing sales are down, auto sales are down, but the malls and retail stores (from what I've seen anyway) are packed with shoppers. Maybe this isn't a recession, maybe this is the general public subconsciously declaring that the prices of houses and cars have been artificially inflated for too long, and we're not interested in being gouged anymore.

Just a theory.

My birthday is coming up next week. I have no problem getting older, in spite of being involved in a fickle thing like the music biz. In fact the worst part about my birthday for me is that it falls in the same week as St. Patrick's Day. Having played a few St. Patty's gigs in the past, I can only assume that the day was invented for all those amateur drinkers who didn't learn their lesson last New Year's eve. Anyway, as a result, I've gotten into the habit of waiting a couple of days until all the tacky little cardboard shamrocks and goofy green foam top hats have been put in storage for another year before I venture out for a birthday pint or three.

For years I've been meaning to get a tshirt made with Oliver Cromwell's portrait and the words, "Beer shouldn't be green, Putz!" emblazoned upon it, but I just haven't gotten around to it yet.

Anyway, instead of drinking in a licensed establishment where I'd risk being accosted by someone wearing a "Kiss Me I'm Irish" logo somewhere about their person, I decided to celebrate my birthday a few days early by adopting a new name for this here solo act of mine. Henceforth, I'm going under the moniker T.C. Folkpunk. Since my nickname has been "TC" since high school, and my website is "folkpunk.com", it seems like a good idea. There's also another Timothy Cameron who's in an R&B group called Silk, and a Google search turns up both of us, so this move should eradicate a bit of confusion.

I hope...

Well folks, we're halfway there.

Of the original one hundred copies of That Satisfying Crunch!'s first disc, only fifty remain up for adoption, either at CD Baby or here at Crunchquarters. To those who've treated themselves to a copy of my latest opus, a million thanks. Or fifty thanks at least.

Anyhoo, after these remaining fifty are gone, this little project will substantially reduce its carbon footprint to almost zero by being available in MP3 form only. Speaking of which, the album in question, entitled (cleverly enough) "Album #1", is now available at iTunes. It'll be interesting to see where iTunes sells the first downloads, although my money's already on Spain. I say that because a powerpop themed radio show in Madrid has played both "The Age Of Nefarious" AND "Someone Once Said" over the past couple of weeks. The show is called Plastico Elastico and it airs on FM station Onda Madrid, which is sort of like their version of Q107... I think... Anyway, the show's host, Pacopepe Gil, has become a fan of "the Crunch". On the off chance that I ever end up touring over there (hey, ya never know), I already picked up an English-Spanish dictionary for 99 cents at Canadian Tire, although since it claims the word "prostituta" is Spanish for "nurse", I think I may donate it to Goodwill.

Even setting aside such little victories as the airplay in Spain, I have to say I'm really digging this instro powerpop band thing more and more. In hindsight, I think I needed a break from stuffing myself under the already over-crowded umbrella of singer-songwriters. The term "singer-songwriter" itself is kinda getting on my nerves anyway. It's beginning to feel like there's some big cookie cutter in the sky that cranks out white males armed with beat up acoustics, dressed in battered jeans and gingham shirts, all of whom end up on CBC's Sunday Report, earnestly strumming away while the end credits roll. Some of them are good, but it seems there's an unquestioning, narrow minded market developing for the majority of second rate Neil Youngs (or fourth rate Dylans) among their ranks, a market which I've noticed is largely comprised of urban dwellers who are infatuated with the notion of the rural "salt of the Earth" stereotype, the God-fearing, hard working farmers, truck drivers and Marlboro Men, out on the lonesome prairie with only their moustaches for company.

Yeah, well I've lived in small towns, and for the most part they're like Scarberia without the LRT, and I got the hell out as fast as my Converse high tops would carry me, because one thing that I realized about the salt of the Earth is that it can leave a bad after taste.

Hmm, it would seem that just because I'm not writing lyrics doesn't mean I'll stop ranting. Funny that.

While reading an online article about indie band promotion last week, I temporarily lost my mind and took the article's advice that I set up a Facebook page for my "band". So I surfed over to Faceplant, and began the process of building up a profile for That Satisfying Crunch!, starting with uploading the album cover as the band image. Next step was to type out the song titles and the length of each song. Then there was a bit of band member info to be submitted. I think there was something involving choosing the genre of music in there at some point. Finally I arrived at the part where it was time to upload actual songs. That was when Facebook informed me that in
order to prove that I was the copyright owner of the music being uploaded, I'd have to provide them with my driver's license and/or passport information.

Excuse me?

You want what?!?!

And with a quick click of the mouse, I cancelled the entire idea and closed my Faceplant account before I ever finished creating it. Maybe Facebook's offices don't have windows, and as a result the people running the joint are in need of oxygen or something, but the last thing I'm going to do with private information like my passport or driver's license is naively hand it over to those lunkheads, so they can get hacked and next thing I know I'm getting bills in the mail for overdue payments on credit cards I don't even have. You can certainly see their logic though, because as we all know, people who go around pirating music don't drive cars or go on vacation (he said sarcastically...).

The sad part is that there are probably millions of struggling
musicians out there who are hopelessly naive about things like
hacking and identity theft, and have already signed up. Or even
worse, they know the risk involved in giving Facebook that info, but are so desperate to get noticed they're willing to gamble that Facebook will remain an impenetrable fortress, gallantly guarding all that is true and good in the world (he said even more
sarcastically...).

Actually, if you've got a couple of minutes to kill, check this out:

http://www.albumoftheday.com/facebook/
Impossible as it may sound, MySpace looks almost cuddly by
comparison, don't it?

Until next time Folk-Crunchers!
Timothy Cameron, or "Julian Freyes", as I'm known to Facebook
("Rusty Shackleford" was already taken).

I'll make this quick. My instrumental, jangly, power pop project, That Satisfying Crunch!, now has CDs for sale at CD Baby. Just in time for Chrismahannakwanzadan.

Makes a great gift. It slices, it dices, it Julian Freyes (whoever he was). Actually I should Google that name and see what comes up. Wait right there, I'll be right back.

(sound of crunchy, jangly instrumental music in the background)

Nope, Google came up with nothing for Julian Freyes. I'm kinda surprised actually. Anyhoo, in an effort to keep the carbon footprint of this project as small as possible, there are only 100 copies of this album in existence. Once they're gone, that's it, it's all MP3s after that. In the spirit of the Very Limited Run mentality however, I signed and numbered each copy.

So to sum up:

1. That Satisfying Crunch!'s new debut CD, appropriately entitled
"Album #1" makes a great gift.

2. Julian Freyes makes a great pseudonym.

Normally I'd post a separate blog entry for each of those two
announcements, but there's a recession on, and I've had to cut back on certain consonants.

I guess I should do some sort of listening party or release party or
something, so I'll keep you posted if and when that happens. Maybe
I'll even (gasp!) play a set. Stranger things have happened.

See ya!
Julian Freyes

PS- Yay! Obama!

Being a songwriter with more than a few politically charged tunes in my repertoire, some of you have asked me when my election rant was going to drop. Two words:

"Ta-Daa!"

I'll try to keep this as brief as possible, but I've had a lot of things rolling around in my head for a few days now. I thought of typing this without using vowels to save space, but if I did that, then Stephane Dion would have the same first name as Stephen Harper, and that could get confusing.

So one of the issues that's been brought up during this campaign is the issue of funding for the arts. Personally, cutting funding to the arts won't have a huge impact on me, I've always been self-funded and self-sufficient. I also sell more MP3s in places like Australia and Germany than I do in Canada, so for me Canada is where I live, but the rest of the world is where I make music. Having said that however, I still absolutely am in favour of my hard-earned tax dollars being spent on propping up whatever culture Canada still has. So let's quickly review what some of the leaders have said about funding for the arts, shall we?

First we have Stephen Harper. His opinion is that the arts are "a niche issue" which is only of concern to elitists, and that the average Canadian doesn't have any sympathy for rich artists who gather at galas to whine about their grants.

Huh? Or rather FUCKING HUH?!?!

The average self-employed artist in this country makes a paltry $23,000 per year, which I believe is roughly half the amount required to still fall under the category of "below the poverty line". The man is completely, utterly and hopelessly out of touch, to the point of being a bit scary. Or maybe he's afraid of art. You know, this artsy stuff is all subjective, and when the Fraser Institute implanted those chips in his brain, they didn't include the one marked "Imagination". Of course, this is the same man who wrote a letter to members of the Canadian Alliance Party (remember them?) suggesting that the Kyoto Protocol was a socialist plot. It's on public record people, go look it up. He also said that the whole notion of cutting carbon dioxide emissions didn't make sense because carbon dioxide is essential to life. Sure Stephen, and water is also essential to life, but we don't want the entire planet covered in it, do we? The fact that Harper's political career has taken him as far as it has is a testament to how ignorant the electorate can be, so maybe we deserve him after all.

Next we have Jack Layton, who's promised to reinstate the $45 million that the Harper government cut from arts funding over the past couple of years. Jack is totally with the artists... as long as they're unionized.

I say that because a few years ago the Blue Man Group attempted to set up shop in Toronto. There's a union for theatre actors in Canada, the Canadian Actors Equity Association (or "Equity" for short), but because Blue Man is more performance art than acting, it never occurred to the producers of the show that they'd need permission from Equity to run their show here. Unions representing theatre actors in other parts of the world had never had a problem with Blue Man's presence, so their oversight (if one can even call it that) was understandable.

However, once Equity caught wind of Blue Man's plans (and realized they weren't going to be collecting union dues from the show, I'll bet), they immediately set about painting the Blue Man producers as evil infiltrators who were going to unfairly take advantage of their performers, and it would spell the end of decent working conditions for theatre actors across Canada. Equity managed to organize a boycott of the show by convincing the Ontario Teachers Federation not to take class trips to see the show (class trips being a big and necessary source of income for Blue Man shows), and they even organized a protest in front of the theatre where Blue Man was planning to stage their shows. They handed out placards to all their members who showed up to march around in circles, shouting cliched slogans about how unfair Blue Man Group was.

And who was right in the middle of the protest, carrying signs and shouting along with the rest? Why, only those great defenders of the arts, Jack Layton and Olivia Chow. Anyway, the protests worked, and the entire cast and crew (many of whom had been NDP supporters up to that point, but have since changed their minds) soon found themselves under the banner of "Unemployed Artists" as the producers closed up a Blue Man show for the first time in the company's history. Thanks Jack!

By the way, what Equity failed to mention in all of the hoopla was that performers and crew at Blue Man were guaranteed well above the minimum income and benefits laid out by Equity's guide lines, including dental coverage, which I'm told isn't even mentioned in Equity's agreement. I'm also told that Equity members in good standing are entitled to a free pair of insoles every two years though. Pretty slick, eh?

Anyway, when it finally became apparent to the producers that the Toronto show was going to fold, they did everything they could to re-locate their performers and crew to other Blue Man shows around the globe, even picking up the tab for some of the moving expenses incurred. Note to Jack Layton: although you're very good at smelling a photo-op three provinces away, next time try hearing both sides of a story before picking up a placard and trying to look "radical" for the folks at Now Magazine, okay?

Then there's Stephane Dion, who has suggested that he too would reverse some of the recent cuts to the arts. Maybe he will, maybe he won't. I seem to remember the federal Liberals making a few cuts themselves when Chretien was in office, but once again, I've always supported myself, so I'm not sure, it wouldn't have affected me a great deal at the time. I spent a lot of the 1990's partying too much to pay attention anyway...

Next up is Gilles Duceppe. You know, I almost wish I could vote for the Bloc at times. Putting aside their goal to separate Quebec from the rest of Canada (which I would absolutely HATE to see happen, since I assume they'd take Montreal and Mitsou with them), they have fairly progressive ideas on issues like the arts.

Which leaves us with Elizabeth May. Since she at least acknowledges that arts and culture are responsible for roughly seven percent of Canada's gross domestic product, and acknowledges that Canada's arts and culture generate more than $80 billion annually (that's right, billion with a "b"), and realizes the arts sector employs upwards of 600,000 people, I suspect she "gets it". Also, since the Greens are a perpetual thorn in the NDP's side (hence Jack Layton wanting them excluded from the TV debates, even though the Greens met all the requirements for inclusion), I have a soft spot for their ability to stir things up a bit.

For those of you still reading at this point, thank you for indulging me. And make sure you vote, because there's no such thing as a completely wasted "X" on a ballot (although it might feel that way sometimes...).

The gig at L'Inspecteur Epingle was amazing. Best audience I've had in at least a decade. Sorry Toronto, but you've been out-classed. The Montrealers' reaction to, and appreciation of the arts in general is miles ahead of the Anglo portion of our little nation. Before the show, I was comparing notes with Matt Lipscombe, and between the two of us we came up with typical reactions to musicians from across the country, which I'll share with you now:

VANCOUVER
Them: So what do you do for a living?
Us: I'm a musician.
Them: Really? Have you played with anybody famous?

TORONTO
Them: So what do you do for a living?
Us: I'm a musician.
Them: That's nice, but what do you do for a living?

MONTREAL
Them: So what do you do for a living?
Us: I'm a musician.
Them: That's fantastique! Where can I get your CD? When's your next gig?!

Another thing that struck me as unique about the gig was the audience's willingness to contribute to the cause when it came time to "pass the hat". Toronto gigs have taught me to dread the passing of the hat. I'm accustomed to most of the punters trying not to make eye contact, or if they do make eye contact, it's with a look of "oh no, he's coming this way and he wants money, which I don't want to give him even though I really enjoyed the show and why couldn't everybody except me work for free and life is so unfair". By contrast, when it came my turn to walk around with the hat at L'Inspecteur Epingle, I had people across the room calling "Timothy! Ici!" while waving a five dollar bill in the air. There's a back room at the pub which houses a billiards table, but it's sort of separate from the front room where the music happens, so I didn't wander back there with the tip hat, thinking that the pool players weren't really part of the music crowd. About twenty minutes after I finished though, an elderly gentleman came from the back room looking for me. He couldn't speak a word of English, but he managed to convey to me that he liked my music, and asked where the tip hat was, because he wanted to drop in a few dollars. Imagine that, somebody came looking for me to give me money for playing music. I thought I was in Oz for a second.

Toronto might be the nation's financial hub, but Montreal has all the riches.

Not surprisingly, I'd like to play Montreal again (and again). I'm thinking I'll only play Toronto if Frank Makak will do the show with me. Bonus points if he brings a crowd with him. Speaking of Frank Makak, I highly recommend his new CD "A Cause Without A Devil". And like Billy Bragg, Frank is one of those performers who just stands there alone with his Telecaster and makes the job look easy. His website is located somewhere around:

http://www.frankmakak.com
So go to Frank's website or his MySpace page, pretend you're from Montreal and are willing to spend a bit of cash on somebody's artistic endeavour and buy his CD. It's time we Ontarians learned to recognize the value of something rather than just the price of something. Besides, I had to go all the way to Montreal to get a copy, so you're getting off easy.

Hi there,

I'll make this brief, since I'm at a loss for a rant at the moment. I know, hard to believe isn't it? I mean, you'd think with the Olympics going on right now I'd at least go to the trouble of drawing a comparison between the Olympics and the music industry, right? And then I might go on to mention that they both generate billions of dollars, but apparently not for the individuals who are the main attraction, namely the athletes/performers. And then maybe I'd take a moment to point out that certain members of the IOC seem to have yachts and mansions that rival those of the big music moguls, and how the individuals actually putting on the show are working their asses off to make these lumps even richer, in return for either the "prestige" of a little chunk of metal on a string, or the "prestige" of playing somewhere like CBGB, and having the honour of peeing in the same urinal that Johnny Thunders slept in back in '78.

You'd think I'd bring that up, wouldn't you? But no. Instead I'm just going to tell you about a gig I'm playing in Montreal next month. Montreal hosted the Olympics, you know. Not that I'd ever make a disparaging remark about the Olympics or anything. Nope, not me. I also wouldn't point out the PetroCan commercials that end with the phrase "visit PetroCan for your chance to cheer our athletes in person". You'll have to wait until those athletes get back from the games of course, and resume their jobs at the pumps...

Yessir, you'll be glad to know that I'm not going to say a word about the Olympics, nor will I point out how they had to resort to Computer Generated Imagery to make the opening ceremonies look better, since the smog in Beijing was hampering the visual appeal of the fireworks. Smog and athletes. It's a winning combination, people!

Anyway, here are the gig details in big honking capital letters, which science has proven are easier to remember than the usual mixture of lower case and capitals:

TIMOTHY CAMERON (that would still be me),
SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 13,
at L'INSPECTEUR EPINGLE,
4051 ST-HUBERT (at Duluth)
MONTREAL, QC

And yes, I realize that Montreal is a five hour drive from Toronto, but when you consider that back when I was playing gigs in Toronto every month or so, you'd probably spend at least half an hour getting to those gigs. Since I haven't played live in almost two years, I've saved you an average of twelve hours getting to the gigs which I would have played (but didn't because I was saving you travel time). So even if you drive all the way to Montreal, you're still saving precious "getting to a folkpunk gig" hours. It's win-win!! This is no ordinary gig either. It's a CD release party for my friend Frank Makak's new CD, "A Cause Without A Devil". If you've never been to a CD release party, you should definitely come to this one. It's really something to witness firsthand the moment the CD is released, and it runs around the room and people try to catch it. Also appearing (and running around after that pesky CD) will be Matt Lipscombe, formerly of legendary 90's indie band Me, Mom And Morgentaler.

Did I mention the Lollapalympics?

No?

Whew, that's good. I was afraid I might start ranting or something.

Later!
Timothy Cameron (whose initials are the same as "Team Canada", which is good because I have to support our athletes, otherwise I'm being a curmudgeon...)

PS- Here's Frank Makak's website. Go there!
http://www.frankmakak.com
PPS- Here's Matt Lipscombe's website. Go there too!
http://www.mattlipscombe.com

Okay I admit it. I temporarily lost my mind and submitted an entry to CBC's Hockey Anthem Challenge contest. Not to worry though, I emailed them and had it removed after a few days. The song's entitled "The Age Of Nefarious", although I temporarily renamed it "The Wrath Of Grapes" for the contest, which appealed to fans of Don Cherry while the entry was posted.

It was interesting while my participation lasted, and I'd like to make some suggestions to CBC.

First, stop calling it an anthem. It's a theme song. Bit of a difference.

Second, get somebody to return that copy of "Happy Gilmour" to Blockbuster, you're ten years overdue on the rental, and the late fees are a waste of tax dollars.

Third, change the name of the contest to "Logan Aube's Fifteen Minutes of Fame Sideshow".

Logan Aube, if you haven't heard, is a twenty-something sound artist who entered a piece in CBC's contest, which, although cool in an abstract way, probably doesn't have a hope of winning, since it's made up of sound effects such as cats meowing, sheep bleating, babies crying and what may be a volley of machine gun fire. The only thing missing is an element that we in the music biz refer to as a "melody". You may remember melodies. They were those things that you hummed or whistled. Some of us still use them.

Anyway, I have nothing against Logan's entry, and as I say it's kinda cool in an abstract way. You can even dance to it, although that might best be attempted in a manner reminiscent of Shields and Yarnell. Even more interesting though, is the aftermath of Logan's piece being uploaded. Like many others who've entered the contest, Logan told some of his friends to go and vote for his entry. You can rate an entry on a scale of 1 to 5, and not surprisingly all of his friends seem to have voted 5 out of 5 for his ditty. Interestingly, Logan seems to have a few thousand "friends", which must be murder when it comes time to send out Valentines cards every year. He announced his entry on various web forums and in chat rooms, and started a grass roots mobilization of an army of "Loganites".

This is where the contest starts to morph into a fiasco. Not only are the Loganites voting 5 out of 5 for his entry, they're also voting 1 out of 5 for every other entry, and by their sheer numbers making it appear that there's only one song/soundscape even in the running. One can also leave comments on each entry, and the Loganites have risen to that challenge as well, lauding his contribution with (I hope) tongue-in-cheek praise, pontificating on and on about his entry being the greatest thing to ever happen to music. They've also left disparaging comments on the pages of other entries, some even going so far as to accuse the catchier tunes of being bad classic rock and suggesting that the baby boomers know nothing about experimental music. For those particular Loganites I have two words:

"Number nine....number nine....number nine...."

Anyway, the contest is out of control, and CBC have only themselves to blame. The previous theme, which was used from 1968 until this year was written by a certain Dolores Claman. Since the song was initially considered to be a jingle rather than a theme song, she was paid a one time fee of $800 for her efforts. Years later she finally began to receive performance royalties for each broadcast, and everything seemed fine until CBC began selling the song as a ringtone and apparently not paying her a royalty for each sale, contrary to normal business practice in the world that exists outside the walls of Our National Treasure. Needless to say, Dolores was unhappy at this development, and commenced legal action against CBC in 2004. The CBC responded this past June by offering to buy the song outright from Ms. Claman for the sum of $850,000. That may sound like a lot of moula, but when one considers the revenue the network could generate from the song, it's conceivable that they could make that money back in less than five years. By the way, the lowest paid players in the NHL make $450,000 per season, and more than 200 players in the league make upwards of a million bucks per season. Not surprisingly, Dolores turned down CBC's offer, countering with an asking price of $2 million, equivalent to the annual salaries of two mid-level hockey players you probably can't name.

The prize for the new theme is all of $100,000, which would appear to be chump change for CBC, and as an added bonus whoever wins will suddenly fall under the category of "self employed artist earning more than $30,000 a year" in the eyes of Revenue Canada. That means the winner (and I use the term loosely) will have to register for a GST number, and spend the rest of their lives submitting quarterly returns to the folks in Ottawa. It's like income tax times ten. Good luck Logan!

The previous theme now has a new home over at TSN, which is owned by CTV, and the folks at CTV apparently had no qualms about paying whatever price Dolores Claman was asking. Either that or she cut them a deal because she loves Corner Gas.

As for CBC, they'll probably continue to muddle through in their unique "Air Canada with video cameras" sort of way, and maybe even pay a team of consultants a quarter million to sort the contest out. Kinda makes your eyes well up with national pride, don't it?

Hey folks!

So I'm working on an instrumental rock album, with drums, bass, the whole she-bang.

I'll wait here for a moment while some of you do double takes at your computer monitor.

Ready? Okay, here's the story about this little project, and I'll try to be as brief as possible. In early 2006, my friend Bruce was playing in the house band with the Blue Man Group. He and a couple of other Blue Man peeps decided to form an instrumental band called Experiment In Terror, and they played a weekly house gig for a few months. Unlike a lot of instrumental bands, they weren't strictly surf and/or rockabilly, but rather a mish-mash of whatever they felt like playing, while still being predominantly guitar-driven. They were fantastic.

A few months later, during the summer of '06, I had my own house gig at Castro's as you may recall. You also might remember that I had some sort of lung/throat irritation that went on for most of the summer, making each gig an endurance test (for myself AND the audience!). I remember envying the guys in Experiment In Terror, since they could still do their gigs regardless of colds or allergies or a dose of SARS or whatever the hell I was fighting. By the way, a neti pot turned out to be just what the doctor ordered. Or rather, it was what the doctor would have ordered if the makers of neti pots were in the habit of treating doctors to golf vacations the way the pharmaceutical companies do, but that's another rant...

My aforementioned friend Bruce loaned me a bass in early 2007, since he didn't want to lug it with him to Florida, which is where the Blue Man organization was nice enough to relocate him when the Toronto version of Blue Man Group was boycotted to death by some petty political bullshit. That too is another rant. Anyway, I now had the ability to record bass parts.

We own a Mac. Apple computers come with a recording program called Garageband, and it's waaaaay cool. The drum loops are incredibly realistic, in fact I've listened to major label bands on the radio a few times recently, and recognized some of the drum sounds as being the same as the ones Garageband provides. And recording directly into the computer means that I can work on guitar parts any time, day or night, since solid body electric guitars don't make much noise without some sort of amplification, in fact they're quiet enough that I can record a guitar part and the only really audible sound is coming through my headphones.

Also, I have at least 200 songs with no lyrics, and parenthood has severely restricted my lyric-writing opportunities. Not that I'm complaining, I'd much rather play with our toddler than wrack my noodle trying to come up with a rhyme for "antidisestablishmentarianism" or whatever.

Last autumn we moved to within a couple of blocks of Glenn Gould's childhood home. There's a historical plaque in front of the house that gives a brief recap of his career, including his refusal to perform live for the last couple of decades of his life, since he felt that the recording studio produced superior sonic results over the concert stage. Walking past that plaque three or four times a week to pick up groceries was the final kick in the arse that the universe served up.

Anyway, if you want to check out this new project, which has been christened That Satisfying Crunch, I've set up a MySpace page, complete with audio of the first five completed songs. It would be somewhere around here:

http://www.myspace.com/thatsatisfyingcrunch
And for those of you who still want your folkpunk fix, fear not, there's another album of that stuff slowly coming together too.

Slowly.

Last year I bailed out of MySpace. I was getting "friend" requests from people who were just MySpace whores, trying to collect as many "friends" as possible, and I didn't care for MySpace's connection to Rupert Murdoch and his Fox News empire (that right wing bastion of mock journalism that gives jobs to twits like Geraldo Rivera).

Plus it was always slow to load on our computer.

Ironically, having not learned my lesson, I then joined Facebook, and proceeded to get vampire bites and requests pestering me to take the "What Kind Of Salad Dressing Are You?" quiz. That wore thin even quicker than MySpace. A friend of ours (jewellery designer extraordinaire Susie Love) convinced me that maybe MySpace wasn't such a bad idea after all, since it was one more place for people to stumble across my folkpunkery, and she'd certainly been getting attention through her own MySpace page. So I took a deep breath and opened up shop on MySpace once again.

Fast forward to this past January when I received a "friend request" from a Montreal-based, folkpunk-ish singer-songwriter (enough hyphens for ya there?) by the name of Frank Makak. He plays both solo and with his band, The Makaks. Frank and his crew have become big fans of my musical noodlings, to the point that last week I got an email from Frank with some sort of mystery MP3 attached to it. I opened the file, the song started playing, and my jaw made a loud banging sound as it hit the floor. Turns out his band has recorded one of my songs, "Land Of Lukewarm". I was ecstatic, and more than slightly verklempt, so to speak. Anyway, Frank has given me permission to post their version of the song on my Noises page. It's loud and punky and it's right at the top of the page for the month of April, so feel free to help yourself:

http://www.folkpunk.com/music.html
And if you want to check out Frank's music as well, go to:

http://www.myspace.com/frankmakakmusic
And if you want to check out Susie Love's art and jewellery, drop by http://www.myspace.com/susielovesfun

When I returned to Toronto (the city of my birth) from the hinterlands of small town Ontario in 1990, I began what would be a four year run as a full time working musician. By 1994 however, the gigs were paying less and less, and had become a bit less plentiful, so to supplement my income I took a part time job at Cosmo Music out in the wilds of Scarberia. According to local legend, the name Cosmo is an abbreviation of COSt MOre, by the way. Anyway, they were assholes to work for, so I promptly quit one day, and realizing that I had to do something to top up the rent money, I flipped through the Help Wanted ads in the back of Now magazine. There was an add for a tele-fundraising company by the name of Goyeau Communications, looking for callers. I contacted them and set up an interview for the following week.

When I arrived at Goyeau's offices at Yonge and Gloucester (which is about as "downtown" as you can get in Toronto), I was greeted by the office manager, Daryl, and one of the supervisors, a tall wiry fella named John O'Keefe. They interviewed me, and offered me the job, which I accepted. On my first day there, I met my future wife, the lovely Camille, and over the next few months I soaked up the atmosphere that was created by a room full of would-be artists and liberal-thinking types that made up my gang of co-workers. It was during breaks between calls that I jotted down the lyrics for "She Dates Creeps", "American Dream" and a few other future Folkpunk gems. So you could say I have fond memories of working there.

The supervisors, including John, also put in shifts dialing would-be contributors to worthy causes such as Amnesty International, or Kids Help Phone. It was then that I realized that John O'Keefe was probably one of the funniest people I'd ever worked with. If he was speaking to somebody who was stonewalling, he'd keep hitting his phone's mute button during the conversation, so the person on the other end wouldn't hear him berating them for two seconds before John carried on with his sentence. It got the point that he could spout out a complete sentence, peppered with phrases worthy of Lewis Black on a good day, all the while clicking the mute button on and off like he was sending a telegram by Morse code. To anybody sitting near him, it was all we could do to not burst out into hysterical laughter while we ourselves were speaking to a potential donor. Also around this time a band called The Presidents of the United States had a hit on the radio entitled "Lump", and John and I would catch each other humming it at work. We had a running gag about how "you know, the kids today, they got their skateboards, and they got their Doc Martens, but they love their Lump."

Goyeau Communications folded in early 1996, and we all went our separate ways, but a lot of us would sort of keep in touch through other co-workers, or grab a quick pint if we ran in to each other somewhere. Camille and I hadn't seen John in at least a couple of years, but always meant to get in touch with him at some point.

Last weekend, John went out with some friends for a couple of drinks, not too far from where Goyeau had been located. As he was leaving the pub and walking up Yonge Street to catch the subway home (typical John, he was a supporter of things like public transit and bike lanes) he passed by a strip club, and was shot in the head by some useless little fuck from the suburbs who had just been tossed out of the strip club by the club's bouncer. The aforementioned useless little fuck decided that shooting the bouncer would be a good idea, but he missed and hit John instead. John died almost instantly, leaving his nine year old son to sort out just how fucked up this city and the rest of the world really are.

When Mel Lastman was mayor of this dump, he used to prattle on that Toronto is a "world class city", although how a world class city ended up with a dope like Lastman for a mayor is beyond me. Maybe he meant "THIRD world class city". In order to live anywhere decent in this rat's nest you now have to fork over about $400,000, just for the privilege of having idiots shoot your friends while your friends are minding their own business. The air quality gets worse by the minute, the condos downtown which started to sprout up uncontrolled while Lastman was mayor (I believe one of his sons is a condo developer, handily enough) have increased the population density to the point that gridlock and over-crowded public transit is the norm, and in spite of all of it there are still a few bozos who think Toronto is a wonderful place to be. Well, maybe back when John O'Keefe and Goyeau Communications were around, but not anymore.

So that, boys and girls, is why I cancelled my upcoming gig at Bread And Circus. I didn't really have it in me to stand in front of a microphone and be an entertaining performing flea for yourselves and a bunch of drunks from Kensington Market. Not now, and probably not anytime soon. Sorry.

What a fucked up world.

...AND PLAY A GIG!!

That's right folks, for the first time in over a year I will once again venture out into the wilderness of clubland and abuse my Telecaster and vocal chords for your enjoyment. Here's the pertinent info:

TIMOTHY CAMERON (still me, after all these years)
SATURDAY JANUARY 19th
at BREAD AND CIRCUS
193 Baldwin Avenue, Toronto
show starts at 8pm (so don't show up at 10pm and wonder where I am...)
appearing with Ottawa-based singer-songwriter John Allaire, and soon-to-be local legend Kim Jarrett, cover will be approximately $7.04, including GST...

http://www.breadandcircus.ca/ http://www.johnallaire.com/ http://www.kimjarrett.com/
Over the past few months I've had a number of folks ask me when I'm playing next, so I'm working on the assumption that enough of you want to see me play live that you may actually leave the comfort of your sofa (or chesterfield if you prefer) to venture down to Kensington Market in a couple of weeks. Hell, I'M going out that night, and I'll be dragging a guitar and knapsack full of harmonicas and cables with me, so don't complain.

I decided to make an exception to my rule of pretty much avoiding playing in bars at this time for two reasons: firstly, John Allaire is great. Secondly, the name of the venue is Bread and Circus, which is close enough to "Bread And Circuses" from my last CD that it seemed like something resembling fate. I also realized that 2007 was my first full calendar year without a gig since about 1982! I figured one night out wouldn't hurt.

In other news, I've redesigned the website, and put the guestbook back up under the heading "Your Turn". Feel free to say something.
Anyway, thanks for reading, hope to see you on the 19th. Unlike some other acts, I won't be pestering you with emails every couple of days about the gig. You're all big boys and girls now, it's up to you to figure out how a pen and calendar work. Besides, I'll be too busy re-learning my lyrics.

All of them.

Geez, I'm a wordy bastard, aren't I?

See ya when I see ya,
Timothy

An Open Letter To Meteorologists:

Hello. You're not fooling us, you know. We're onto your game. Like that nonsense about "long range forecasts", which we all know is a marketing ploy to get us to tune into whatever newscast you work for. Listen, I have a relative who for years worked as a commercial airline pilot. If anybody needs to know what the weather will be like for the next week, you'd better believe it's the guy who has to fly a few tons of jet airliner through the stuff. And yet after years of watching Five Day Forecasts on the evening news, he's come to the conclusion that your (shall we say) "gift of prophecy" is really only good for the next twelve hours, and beyond that you're (shall we say) "being creative".

And another thing. What is with this whole game of Blame The Weatherman on the news? You know what I mean, that sort of would-be humourous exchange that happens between you and the anchorman whenever there's bad weather on the horizon which usually goes something like:

Anchorman: "Well, Jim, it looks like we're not going to have a very nice weekend, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Weatherman: (forced chuckle) "Ha ha Steve, yes well what can I say, I do what I can, but sometimes the weather doesn't come along exactly the way I'd ordered it. Ha ha." (forced chuckle again).

When in fact the exchange SHOULD unfold something like:

Anchorman: "Well, Jim, it looks like we're not going to have a very nice weekend, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Weatherman: "Look you bubble-headed prat, once you learn how to pronounce the word Zimbabwe properly, then you'll have earned the right to get cute and flippant during the newscast, but until then go piss up a tree and by the way your fly is open, you vacuous twit."

Now THAT'S a newscast I'd watch...

And now, possibly in preparation for the kinds of books I'll be reading to our son when he's a bit older, I'd like to present a rant in the style of those old "Dick And Jane" books from eons ago:

Consumers in North America have been buying Chinese-made toys and other crap for decades, because it's cheap.

Oil has traditionally always been bought/sold/traded in US Dollars.

China bought oil from Iran, and paid for it in Euros.

The American government doesn't want oil to be bought/sold/traded in Euros.

The American government began conducting safety tests on Chinese made toys recently, and guess what? The toys aren't safe all of a sudden.

China is about to host the biggest circus of all, The Olympics.

Most places that host the Olympics lose money on the deal.

The North American media has also recently informed us that a lot of the food in China is bad.

People who go to the Olympics want to eat occasionally, but not if the food is bad.

People may not go to China to see the Olympics if the food is bad.

China may lose lots of money on the Olympics if people don't go there because the food is bad.

China may lose lots of money if the American and Canadian governments stop the importing of Chinese-made toys and other crap because they aren't safe all of a sudden.

China shouldn't have bought oil from Iran with Euros.

Bad China, bad.

Sorry I'm a bit late posting out a communique this month, we've spent the last two weeks moving. Incredibly, two adults and a baby managed to accumulate enough stuff to fill a cube van once, a pickup truck six times, a station wagon twice, a mini-van once, and a Mazda Protege four times. There were so many boxes here in the new place, that for a few days I wasn't sure what the floor looked like. Turns out it's parquet.

Sweet.

Anyway, as you may know, those of us residing in the province of Ontario (known to the rest of the nation as the province of Those Bastards), are currently in the throes of a provincial election campaign. So far, the incumbent Liberal Party and their leader, Dalton McGuinty are maintaining a comfy lead. In fact, the campaign has basically been a case of "As-long-as-Dalton-doesn't-get-caught-having-sex-with-a-platypus-on-a-park-bench-while-sticking-a-carrot-up-his-nose-he's-fine". As a result, the other parties seem a bit desperate to try to shoot him down. One of the NDP's attack ads reminds us that during Dalton's time in office, hydro rates have increased an average of 40% or something like that. That may be true, although if memory serves me correctly, Ontario's hydro was privatized by the Conservatives under the remnants of Mike Harris and his cronies, just before the election that finally sent them packing four years ago. The NDP are also quick to remind us that they're concerned about the environment. I guess that's why their lawn signs appear to be massive chunks of non-recyclable corrugated plastic this time around.

As for John Tory, he used to run Rogers. You remember them, they're that company that never shows up to connect your cable when they say they will, and you've taken the day off work because you can't wait to catch the Pet Network's next episode of America's Next Top Mongrel (with Tyra Barks).

'Nuff said.

I suspect I'll vote Green again.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have some boxes to unpack.

Lots of them.

Way too many...

Since this weekend marks the tenth anniversary of Princess Diana closing her account at Gucci, so to speak, I thought the following Toggles anecdote from the Folkpunk archives might be somewhat timely. The Toggles, as you may recall, was a '60s British Invasion tribute band featuring Rob Kay on guitar, Jim Clark on drums, and yours truly on bass. We first got together in '96, and by the summer of '97, we'd built up enough of a following that we were playing just about every weekend somewhere in the Toronto area. One of our regular haunts was a pub called Feathers. We'd always go over really well there, since a large portion of their clientele were originally from the UK, and were exactly the right age to remember the stuff that we played. It was probably our favourite venue on our circuit, since the audience would sing along with even our more obscure numbers.

On Saturday, August 30, 1997 we started another evening at Feathers in fine form and everything was going swimmingly, although halfway through our first set I noticed that one by one the televisions in the bar were all switching over to CNN. We couldn't really see any of the screens from where we were playing, so I didn't know what would inspire the bar to switch over from the Bulgarian badminton playoffs, or whatever had been on the tube beforehand. We finished off the set and began our usual between-set circulation through the bar to say hi to friends and loved ones who'd come out to see us. That was when I glanced up at one of the TVs and saw the caption across the bottom of the screen that read "Princess Diana Injured". Now keep in mind that Diana was apt to make headlines every time she caught a cold, and this was, after all, CNN, the same network that dubbed the O.J. Simpson trial the "Trial Of The Century" (memo to Ted Turner: can you say "Nuremburg"?), so my reaction was more than a bit cynical. Since the volume was turned down on all the TVs while the bar blasted the house stereo, none of us could hear what the talking heads on the screens were saying. I snidely commented that Diana had probably sprained her ankle while skiing or something, and CNN was having a slow news day.

After recharging our pint glasses, we headed back to the "stage" (i.e. the corner of the room next to the dart boards) and launched into the second set, blissfully unaware that our night was about to turn into the

Weirdest

Gig

Ever.

While we were in the midst of our second set, the caption along the bottom of the TV screens was updated to "Princess Diana Seriously Injured", and the entire bar suddenly got very quiet. Or more specifically, very quiet except for the three guys in the corner cranking out "What's New Pussycat" at full volume, oblivious to what was going on, since, as I said, we couldn't really see any of the televisions from where we were plugged in. About half of the folks in the audience began finishing their drinks and slowly filing out of the pub, no doubt to head home and phone their families back in England. Keep in mind that a majority of the regulars at Feathers probably owned tea sets commemorating Charles' and Diana's wedding, so this was turning into something heavy to say the least. We got through the second set, and once again mingled with our peeps during the break. About five minutes before we were planning to start our third and final set, the caption on the bottom of the TV screens was changed to "Princess Diana Dead". The bar staff finally turned off the stereo and cranked up the volume on the televisions, the atmosphere in the bar fell to about three notches below "Miserable" on the Happy Meter, and three Toggles looked at each other as if to say "Oh crap, now what do we do?".

After a quick consultation with the bar manager it was decided that we'd try to lift the spirits of the troops by launching into our peppy, poppy, happy-go-lucky repertoire and finish off the night. We took to the "stage", tuned up, plugged in and began the first song on the set list, a Beatles number entitled "One After 909", which included such lines as "my baby says she's DRIVING on the one after 909", and "come on baby don't be cold as ice". All in all, a somewhat unfortunate choice of lyrics considering the content of the breaking news. During Rob's guitar solo, I looked out into what was left of the crowd, and realized that our plan to cheer everybody up had mostly failed, and in some cases even earned us a dirty look here and there (the nerve of us colonials, acting happy in the face of tragedy...). Most of the audience were watching television instead of the band, and about half of them had tears streaming down their cheeks by this point. Yup, they were actually crying. That pretty much did it for us. We half-heartedly played a couple more songs (we skipped "Drive My Car", in case you were wondering) and then bailed on the whole idea, unplugged our gear and sat down to finish off our pints.

A few minutes later, as I was standing at the bar waiting to get paid for our hard day's night's work (this was back when bars in Toronto actually paid bands, a radical concept by today's standards...) one of the regulars, a Scottish fellow named Al, was standing next to me, glued to CNN. By this point the media were starting to point the finger at the paparazzi as the cause of the car crash that killed Diana, and Al shook his fist at the TV and cursed "Those God-damned pavarotti", in his thick Glaswegian accent.

For a moment I pictured a herd of bearded opera singers chasing Diana around Paris. And then my mind sort of went one step further and I pictured the opera singers wearing Shriners' hats and riding mini bikes (hey, if you're going to visit Abstract Land you might as well get your money's worth). And suddenly the surreal nature of the whole evening hit me, and I got a momentary case of the giggles. I put up a monumental struggle to avoid laughing out loud in the midst of the mourners, but the whole thing was just beyond bizarre, and I spent the next moments back at our table with head bowed in faux sadness and my pint glass strategically placed in front of my mouth to camouflage my dopey grin. I gave Rob and Jim their share of the lucre, and we packed up and left.

And now the epilogue:

When we attempted to land another gig at Feathers, we were told that the bar hadn't made much money on our August 30th gig, and they'd call us when they had an opening.

Which of course they never did.

Greetings.

First, a quick bit of music news: "She Dates Creeps" was downloaded 201 times in July. That's up from 122 in June. I have no idea why so many people have suddenly latched onto the song, but there's no way you'll hear me complaining about it. I've also gone through most of the initial run of the second CD, "...every cloud has a sulphur lining...". In fact I think this calls for a celebration. So to mark this festive occasion (and the third anniversary of its release), all seven songs from "...every cloud..." can now be downloaded for free on the "Noises" page.

You're welcome.

So a few months ago I started getting calls from some fax machine. At first I didn't think too much about it, and would simply hang up as soon as the offending machine started squealing in my ear. After a couple of weeks though, the calls increased to one or two a day. That was bad enough, but the part that REALLY pissed me off was how, after hanging up and waiting half a minute or so, the fax machine would still be there, trying to send crap through to somebody (me) who can't remember the last time he (I) even owned a bloody fax machine. So I guess if I suddenly needed to call 911, I'd have to patiently wait until the jerk-off trying to sell me a half price vacation was finished tying up the phone line.

I started hitting *69 after each call, and discovered that the calls were originating from not one, but FOUR different numbers. I contacted Bell Canada about it, and the good news is that they were very nice and promised me that the calls would stop within three days. The bad news is that that was over a month ago, and the calls are still happening. I've called Bell a couple more times, and each time they've been very polite. And very useless. And they probably wonder why so many people are giving up their land lines and just using their cell phones.

Twits.

In the larger picture though, you really have to wonder about the type of business that would even still send junk faxes in the year 2007. I mean, faxes were the way to go ten years ago maybe, but anybody who tries to promote their business by junk fax now is a bit of a joke. Maybe they only just stopped sending out flocks of messenger pigeons last year or something.

Anyway, there's your rant for the month. Enjoy the rest of August. Remember your sunscreen. Don't eat too much before riding the Tilt-A-Whirl at the CNE. Joe Strummer would have turned 55 on the 21st.

Etcetera...