tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-226307052024-03-07T22:04:06.025-05:00Radio Botoxjack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-51007030841358790112012-05-03T14:32:00.001-05:002012-05-03T14:32:28.958-05:00http://cargocollective.com/thomassmithhttp://cargocollective.com/thomassmithjack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-51844161356943079422009-06-02T19:26:00.001-05:002009-06-02T19:32:22.655-05:00Print enthusiasts and techno DJs<div id=":zy" class="ii gt">You might not think that newspaper enthusiasts and techno DJs have much intrinsically in common. The former group comprises those classic, tradition-respecting individuals that enjoy the tangible tenure of the ol’ broadsheet. They lament the loss of comprehensive investigation and critical consistency associated with the decline of print. The latter group generally concerns itself with rocking the party right and moving them booties across the dance floor, meanwhile embracing the latest, most alienating and fantastical trends.<br /><br />But, having been a newspaper employee specializing in arts and entertainment as well as a part-time DJ for several years has given me a certain perspective on the two cultural genera. What most people don’t realize about techno fanatics is that, while the ultimate aim of the entire exercise is to artistically embrace the notion that we are living in a bizarre, dystopian ultra-future dominated by abstract relationships between flesh and machines, these people are notoriously nitpicky about tradition, canon and authenticity. In fact, despite the warp-speed pace of advancement in studio production and live delivery, particularly in light of digital technologies, the unequivocal apex of reverence in the techno world is actually that music which is produced on analog synthesizer machines in the seventies, recorded on reel-to-reel, and delivered in the club on vinyl records. I’m not even saying that people prefer old music to new. They want the music to be as fresh and challenging as possible, but virtually everyone agrees that the old way is better. They just can’t afford to do it. A laptop costs a grand and it’s free to distribute online. The new digital songs cost little to nothing and can literally be downloaded mid-set, onto the laptop setup on a nightclub’s wifi setup. The new productions have unlimited audio channels and can be edited to unimaginably sophisticated degrees of detail. Boom – world famous touring DJ in under $1500.<br /><br />Meanwhile, the old style involves painstaking and meticulous hours searching for, and exorbitant piles of cash purchasing and housing outdated, rare, finicky, onerous relics with specific, limited functionality. Then you have to make the doomed investment in vinyl pressing, record labels and limited distribution. The DJing part itself is no less complex. Searching for and buying the new cuts is a part-time job in itself, and a 50 pound crate of legitimately-acquired records lifts a heck of a lot more eyebrows at the many borders crossed on tour, than does an innocuous macbook loaded to the gunwales with pirated music.<br /><br />I won’t belabour the point, but rest assured that this is just the beginning of how monstrously complicated it is to stick to the sought-after analog sound. And, conversely, how easy and accessible it is to go digital. A laptop versus a studio full of arcane machinery and fragile records as well as a huge budget and a zillion travel worries.<br /><br />But few people in the business think it’s a real improvement. I have literally interviewed hundreds of electronic music producers, DJs, label owners and the like, very frequently asking about this. And while they all accept the many advantages and innovations associated with digital technology, virtually everyone agrees that analog machines are way cooler, vinyl sounds better, and that the best of the best haven’t significantly changed methodology since Kraftwerk wondered what pop music would sound like if robots made it.<br /><br />So here we have a huge conceptual dichotomy between medium and message.<br /><br />I think you can see where I’m going with this.<br /><br />Newsophiles, by definition, want the freshest information possible about events in distant or inaccessible areas. Well, the internet is a searchable, indexed panopticon detailing pretty much everything that ever happens and what everybody and significant numbers of dogs think about those things, all provided largely free and in any place at any time, instantly. But most of these people still want a reporter to go see something for themselves and reproduce the information in the accepted style on a monumentally wasteful, complex and expensive media platform. All to get that real, warm analog feel that no amount of blogging and twittering and youtubing can give.<br /><br />Let me just make it clear here, if it isn’t already clear enough, that I think these people are completely nuts. Don’t get me wrong, I love newspapers and analog techno. But seriously, I know there’s some adage about cakes and eating… </div>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-74611333644364676262009-05-25T11:50:00.007-05:002009-05-25T12:22:29.119-05:00The Yin and Yang of Broken Boob Tubes: Junk, Art and Serendipity in Applied Science.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3o2c1yUH-i5d4z8uvsWOCe7vCwn90Wgo_6bcJuovmgVB3AgxteTaNanU61Zi1XA0eSSuuNU5yxFDTD1HIWCfFpMjzmvjanYjOgO5NZlsqwbm8CcQgqoVsMZVXHh8rOn7P3_0/s1600-h/Picture+186.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3o2c1yUH-i5d4z8uvsWOCe7vCwn90Wgo_6bcJuovmgVB3AgxteTaNanU61Zi1XA0eSSuuNU5yxFDTD1HIWCfFpMjzmvjanYjOgO5NZlsqwbm8CcQgqoVsMZVXHh8rOn7P3_0/s400/Picture+186.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339807735348155154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Junk, Art and Serendipity in Applied Science.</span><br /><br />A pencil thin, scrubby Philadelphian with frizzy hair and archetypically crooked glasses frame stands before me rubbing against a gigantic panel of wires and tin foil arranged in the shape of a lion’s head, glowing red eyes and all. Thirty assorted geeks look in wonderment as the scrap metal feline growls an ear busting square wave, somehow modulated by the caresses of the frizzy hair guy – Maximillian Lawrence. This is a demonstration of Lawrence’s tactile synthesizer, which he has brought to Montreal for a conference dedicated to such esoteric baubles. I have come to the conference looking for answers that I suspect Maximillian Lawrence can provide me about what might be a burgeoning subcultural phenomenon in the world of applied science. It started, as many things do, with a television.<br /><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgToEiMexY4K1Pern6QYjwL-V5CYCGwJ6owOdWDgn3iyAcGjgV_Kb0kRLAaW8pW2dSKgoI9XOx3kmRi8aLn4DGCRkOHutLSl0w3-GkkJIWcXCRpSyl1hyxu2U4L94GyecVtqUn/s1600-h/oldtvonworld.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgToEiMexY4K1Pern6QYjwL-V5CYCGwJ6owOdWDgn3iyAcGjgV_Kb0kRLAaW8pW2dSKgoI9XOx3kmRi8aLn4DGCRkOHutLSl0w3-GkkJIWcXCRpSyl1hyxu2U4L94GyecVtqUn/s400/oldtvonworld.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339806990353118098" border="0" /></a></p><p><b>The burden of ingenious camaraderie </b></p> <p> </p> <p>Did you know that you can make a fully functioning oscilloscope with one of those old, turn-knob CRT beige box televisions just by crossing a few of the wires connecting the electromagnetic coils to the circuit board and connecting them to an audio signal? Did you know that if you cross the wrong wires you can drop dead from the 27,000 volt charge that any old screen’s capacitor carries?</p> <p> </p> <p>I know these things. I know them not because I want to, but because I have an inexplicable penchant for meeting eccentric physicists and engineers. And these people I meet have an irrational desire to tear apart trash technology they find in alleyways or decommissioned university stockpiles or my apartment, and turn it into functioning – well, sort of functioning – devices of all manner of perplexing description. They spend their Sunday afternoons discombobulating scummy, dented electronic children’s toys and video game systems and turning them into synthesizers or motion sensors or a motor for my disco ball or whatever’s in those three big boxes they left on my kitchen table a few nights ago. I haven’t had the stomach to rout around in there yet.</p> <p> </p> <p>They call it circuit bending. And as it turns out, there are a lot of people doing these things for reasons you and I will likely never understand.</p> <p> </p> <p>The television tube oscilloscope gimmick is what is known as a ‘standard bend,’ in that it’s an established experiment you can run at home with simple schematics and expect a reasonable degree of success. To give you an idea, this might mean a few days of tinkering to get a functioning device that won’t put you into cardiac arrest when you switch it on. But, as I have come to begrudgingly discover, even the standards are frequently unstable in this errant, whimsical branch of scientific inquiry. That damn oscilloscope should have stayed a television if you ask me. My friend the R&D physicist thoughtfully brought it to my apartment as a conversation piece for a dinner party. ‘Wow,’ I thought. ‘That’s amazing.’ Depending on the way he hooked up the bread board – the circuit board prototyping equivalent of a blank slate – the swiveling green lines of light would dance in circles or lines or figure eights or any number of other patterns. All he had to do was hook it up to my computer’s soundcard so that everyone at the party could enjoy the patterns bubbling along to whatever was playing on my iTunes. Great.</p> <p> </p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">After the thing blew, the soundcard and power supply didn’t cost me all that much to replace, but the motherboard was pretty much toast, and those things aren’t cheap. There were other circuit bending enthusiasts at the dinner party, who were enthralled by the intriguing problem as to how an audio output signal could be reversed by the oscilloscope and bake the inside of my computer. Fascinating! Astounding! I just wanted to know what the hell I was going use to meet my editor’s Monday morning deadline. Sigh.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b style=""><br /></b></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmD0kuMH5H7BVuLvVxNz9mWNDZZzhUsrdfMAsBsp3JdHAsQkdj9K1lsR4ZGxr54cKHx1QvyQ4bu2qucTc48ZBiG-4EatX6A7rkKGI17Tqp8Hsp5R0QuJA_V4CNu8US1rYVbtbw/s1600-h/phil11full.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmD0kuMH5H7BVuLvVxNz9mWNDZZzhUsrdfMAsBsp3JdHAsQkdj9K1lsR4ZGxr54cKHx1QvyQ4bu2qucTc48ZBiG-4EatX6A7rkKGI17Tqp8Hsp5R0QuJA_V4CNu8US1rYVbtbw/s400/phil11full.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339805998589989426" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /><b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chiptunes: Circuit Bending's sonic department</span></p><p>“Oh! Somebody bought 24 SIDs!” exclaimed Phil Karneef in a tone that would normally accompany a phrase like “Oh! Kovy makes Chara look like a pylon!”</p> <p> </p> <p>He then explained, from behind a tangled spread of dulling grey plastic and patch cables, that the SID is the synthesizer chip that was in the Commodore computer series. Someone had acquired 1000 of the dated chips in working condition from an old storage warehouse and begun selling them online via a website for retro audio circuitry enthusiasts. Karneef’s enthusiasm about one person owning two dozen of them came slightly into focus as he peered away from the screen and declared, “So they’re gonna make an orchestra or something like that.”</p> <p> </p> <p>The SID, a clunky mono sound chip from the early eighties, was retrofitted by a German designer to be accessed via MIDI from an open source hardware platform. So it’s a new way to frig around with old junk that conjures waves of indelible nostalgia for Activision fanatics and old school computer geeks like Phil, an electroacoustics graduate.</p> <p> </p> <p>While we chatted, he began fiddling with a 16 year-old Toshiba Satellite laptop which contains the same chip as the classic Soundblaster 16, the sound card that powered video games like Doom and Duke Nukem 3D. He prodded with pincers and switched wiring patterns. As the growling bass and plinking notes sprang forth from the speakers like Pixy Stix for the ears, I asked why he prefers the venerable gear.</p> <p> </p> <p>“I’m into not abusing,” Karneef began, then paused, “– well, I do that too. I’m not into getting carried away with using really complex stuff that you have to pay for and is designed to no end. This shit is anyway,” he referred to the dusty gear on his desk. “But a lot of people are taking advantage of new hardware and software that’s coming out and really not paying them dues.”</p> <p> </p> <p>“It’s one thing to talk about integrated circuits. But it’s fuckin’ 2008. Nanotechnology is coming up. They’re making gates out of three atoms. Something that makes a decision with three atoms. Let alone all </p> <p>this high voltage AC stuff. Everything is going down – the requirements for power and usage. Efficiency is going up. I have software here that mimics rooms full of synthesizers. Buildings full. You can design everything you’ve ever dreamed of.” His brow lifted and his eyes burned with the limitless ambition of a young politician. “You just need to spend the time to learn how to do it,” he concluded in a tone that told me all the technology Phil will ever need is already just laying around in dusty closets, waiting to be reawakened and screwed with in the right – or wrong – way.</p> <p> </p> <p>He then took me into another room to show me his SIDs. He had two of them, not 24, but with that he could achieve stereo sound, something previously impossible with this particular chip. The care with which he treated the gear was as telling as his convictions about its usage. </p> <p> </p> <p>“The coolest part about this stuff that I’m working on now is that it’s open source,” he concluded. “Everybody’s working on it together and helping each other out. When there’s a breakthrough, it’s not coveted. They want to share it. They’re patent busters these guys. They really don’t give a fuck. Design and development is paramount.”</p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ends with Unorthodox Means</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p><p>It’s hard to argue with results. What circuit bending doesn’t have is peer review, funding, educational foundation, formal institutions or even the basic feasibility of isolated variables. Indeed, each machine these vigorous young people experiment on is old, complicated, ornery and often uniquely quirky. Each experiment can only go seriously wrong once – at which point it is often destroyed – and replicating these experiments is next to impossible in many cases. But what circuit bending does have is a score of interesting developments and singular devices that have been aggregated from the infinity of wasted technology the human race produces.</p> <p> </p> <p>Canadian cyber culture pioneer William Gibson says that technology only gains cultural capital once people use it for things it was not originally intended. He postulates that that’s when things gain real meaning outside consumer patterns and marketing. If this is the case, this gaggle of young scientists, engineers and musicians is contributing massively to the meaning of so many junked baubles. They’re also, according to Maximillian Lawrence, emulating the father of such monumental advances AC and radio signals, Nikolai Tesla. </p> <p> </p> <p>Lawrence explains to the crowd that Tesla’s intuitive, unusual methodology saw many brand him as mad. But, he tells the circuit bending seminar at the Mile End Cultural Centre, Tesla represents an unexplored arm of science – serendipity. Standing in front of the lion synthesizer, he states that circuit benders are just screwing around with things and hoping that their gut will guide them to real development. Even if it’s largely a pastime, and something done by as many artists as actual scientists. The crowd attending the meeting listens to him and his buzzing sound device as they drink beer and fiddle with diodes and soldering irons. But I have a feeling they’re not contemplating their historic deviation from the monolithic cannon of scientific orthodoxy. They just seem to be having a good weekend. And blowing up a lot of motherboards.</p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-66641216544525720612009-05-25T09:44:00.001-05:002009-05-25T09:45:44.279-05:00More indepth inquiry for the interested party.The effects of the financial crisis on urban poverty infrastructure, explained:<br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ANsfVxKg6QY&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ANsfVxKg6QY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-55005953847263819122009-05-07T23:59:00.001-05:002009-05-08T00:02:28.581-05:00Hardware!<h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message">Behold, a wild and wonderful information ride precision engineered to satisfy the persistent demands of your curiosity glands!<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/MOTw_PkK_SU&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MOTw_PkK_SU&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></h3>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-8641488952587823892008-05-01T15:45:00.004-05:002008-05-01T15:50:21.653-05:00Chop Screwy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVP0drf2yz3P939dWSmn-ovwMIwVtABjk9fXoBwghcSJZJaa5LrAaTPZOJfcg3xE26Lt8miPsAq0WTSQU2tz0gUmLC3uqvQyTbL1FRf9pcsu4-PYgDf7aEGBUT2MCCJ8WUStqB/s1600-h/LAZER.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVP0drf2yz3P939dWSmn-ovwMIwVtABjk9fXoBwghcSJZJaa5LrAaTPZOJfcg3xE26Lt8miPsAq0WTSQU2tz0gUmLC3uqvQyTbL1FRf9pcsu4-PYgDf7aEGBUT2MCCJ8WUStqB/s400/LAZER.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195513951257538562" border="0" /></a><br /> <p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style="">Lazer Sword flip the script on the boom-bap tip to forge something fresh and freaky.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">By Jack Oatmon</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">It’s a percussive aggregate of neurotically deconstructed samples and synth hooks sprayed with a swarm of twitchy, gibbering bleeps and blasted out of the speakers, woven with artfully decayed bass thumps, and it sounds like a nightmarish prophecy about the future of hip hop production. Antaeus Roy and Bryant Rutledge, the two gentlemen behind the booth, originally met across the counter of San Francisco music shop Amoeba, where Roy regularly remarked on Rutledge’s sharp and comparable taste.</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">It was not long before they crossed paths socially and began crafting their sophisticated demolition derby, pitting up-to-the-second electronic production with the raw charm of the hyphy wave. </span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">“We were both into making straight up rap, hip hop shit at the time,” recounts Rutledge, “but once we hit the studio together it became clear we were both trying to step away from doing the same formulaic boom-bap business with something a little different.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Started flipping the script a little,” says Roy, “adding more electronics and equipment in the game, and just grew from excessive jam sessions and new inspiration over the past couple years.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">They’ve also both done time in the electronic music press, with Rutledge presently working at the eminent <i style="">XLR8R</i>.</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Our current sound came through trial and error,” explains Roy, “experimenting with new sounds and not always restricting ourselves to sample based beats, adding more synthetic glitches, bloops, and occasional bleeps here and there. Being in the Bay at the forefront of the hyphy movement plays a big part. As well as meshing that with the fact that we both at one point worked for the same electronic music magazine, feeding off of material that was a bit new to us at the time.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">“I think it was a natural shift from what we were doing already,” says Rutledge. “In addition to our love for hip hop and ignorant rap music, we both got down to all types of strange experimental shit before we met each other, and were also buying into a ton of old psychedelic rock and early synthesizer music as well, so it was only a matter of time until everything got smushed together.”</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Peep the jams at </span><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://www.myspace.com/lazersword">http://www.myspace.com/lazersword</a></span><br /></span></p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-734165029332536932008-05-01T15:28:00.006-05:002008-05-01T15:51:02.825-05:00Pop Panopticon<p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirkHrTDsQeG3A0NkObllhpwAAiMUsM6aKLao6kftJQE098x5n24HHlbavkfD0h4W6Eogn84acGKOVq2M2RH7zW2OVgykoOzKyhfxbulXrAJdJVChVA84o9Fsi-sBVSdtXSAA3g/s1600-h/IMG_49.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirkHrTDsQeG3A0NkObllhpwAAiMUsM6aKLao6kftJQE098x5n24HHlbavkfD0h4W6Eogn84acGKOVq2M2RH7zW2OVgykoOzKyhfxbulXrAJdJVChVA84o9Fsi-sBVSdtXSAA3g/s400/IMG_49.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195511107989188594" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style="">Midnight Juggernauts explore heavy themes from variable viewpoints.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">By Jack Oatmon</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">In this age of retro reclamation and revisionism, scores of artists are chasing an eloquent comparison of the futuristic visions of pop culture from recent decades with the reality that has sprung from them. But few have achieved such a resonant vision as Melbourne’s Midnight Juggernauts. They’re one of a handful of Australian rock-electronic crossover groups that have wholeheartedly abandoned genre definition in favour of mood and texture that speak to both classic songwriting sensibilities and point-and-click culture. On their fabulous debut album, <i style="">Dystopia</i>, the trio gazes back to Jules Verne and mid-70’s sci-fi rock conceptualism – <i style="">Rocky Horror</i> and <i style="">Ziggy Stardust</i> – with knowing glances at New Order and Daft Punk, but without relying on gimmicky nostalgia. In fact, the outward-looking record sincerely presses forward and dreamily hints at issues largely ignored by modern groups – war, consumerism, commercialization – never mired in the self reverence or deprecation of indie rock.</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span>“We didn’t really go in thinking this is what we want to do,” drummer Dan Stricker told me over the phone from Coachella, explaining that the flow of the album was not originally planned. “But as the songs came together and as it was unfolding, we just took it in a direction and played with that. We wrote 30 or 40% of the record in the studio. I hate to say it’s a concept record, but there’s definitely this underlying theme.”<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZFIpCTWT2MsK8jNO0TDVGpR9cgQSFdKjexA3vkl6NvMgq_cY5b-gaJfvgmIHrPjhI9JcarZ5VAA1Imv6CMB4Bh8JGk5y-WPgWZjLcsyvbllOeRrbc440kG9m8KyEBe9kbBviR/s1600-h/%C2%A9Nick_and_chlo%C3%A9.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 129px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZFIpCTWT2MsK8jNO0TDVGpR9cgQSFdKjexA3vkl6NvMgq_cY5b-gaJfvgmIHrPjhI9JcarZ5VAA1Imv6CMB4Bh8JGk5y-WPgWZjLcsyvbllOeRrbc440kG9m8KyEBe9kbBviR/s200/%C2%A9Nick_and_chlo%C3%A9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195510553938407394" border="0" /></a></span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">The uncontrived direction of the album does not, however, take away from its encompassing integrity. In fact, the disc is completely engaging, making for a moody, psychedelic listen.</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">“One thing we have always liked is music that creates moods, otherworldly stuff,” says Stricker. “I know it sounds really cliché, but you make this other sonic world for people.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">The recent releases of some promising material from their peers in the Australian scene bode well for the often foreboding sounds of Midnight Juggernauts.</span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Australia has been associated with the whole pub rock thing forever. But it seems like in the last three years, a lot of other similar bands have started up. Now our record and the Cut Copy record and the Presets are totally crossing over into the mainstream. None of us would have ever imagined that. It’s bizarre.”</span></p><p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:100%;">Check the video for "Shadows" or hear them at <a href="http://www.myspace.com/midnightjuggernauts">www.myspace.com/midnightjuggernauts</a> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 13px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-09440575979036987 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/LtynjqYUOvk&hl=en"></a><object style="font-family: times new roman;" height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LtynjqYUOvk&hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LtynjqYUOvk&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object></span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirkHrTDsQeG3A0NkObllhpwAAiMUsM6aKLao6kftJQE098x5n24HHlbavkfD0h4W6Eogn84acGKOVq2M2RH7zW2OVgykoOzKyhfxbulXrAJdJVChVA84o9Fsi-sBVSdtXSAA3g/s1600-h/IMG_49.JPG"><br /></a></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-27750970318050672862007-09-04T17:00:00.000-05:002007-09-04T17:01:55.782-05:00New Romantic Intuition<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The muffled cacophony of rusting automatons and wind crammed into geometric confines was the closest approximation of silence Ash could expect. Through the venerable concrete and rebar overhead, across the whirring gulf between the prefab monoliths and far below, caked in layers of urban soot and beads of sweat, the city rumbled. Fourteen million nervous little romantic tragedies played out to the soundtrack of four generations worth of plastic-encased numeric conceptualism. From within Ash’s musty, one-thousand cubic-foot compartment, the city outside represented only a ritualistically-ignored synaptic static that leaked in uninvited through the balcony door. </p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p>Stationed on a dusty, upholstered seat, Ash surveyed and edited a lurching spread of dissociated images. The grating, hysteric thud of electronic music pounded forth and more than a few curt, diagnostic conversations occurred in a variety of media platforms. All the input writhed and clicked like a sprayed cockroach as Ash’s spindly fingers and hazel eyes flashed across the display. Like a mutated Theremin with iris scanners and voice activation, the gearbox on the chipboard desk danced with Ash more eloquently than any partner she’d known. Sizes, hues, contrast, focal points, volume and layout jumped at her whimsy with an eerie accuracy that got marginally more intuitive with every single action catalogued. The overall effect was synaesthesia-inducing.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p>The night was humid as a cave and Ash couldn’t have been tired if she wanted to. She’d been tossing around her nest since before the sun had risen the previous day, catnapping through the hottest parts of the afternoon. She recalled seeing the sun setting to a quicksilver display of reds, mauve, daylily orange and faint hints of green where clouds’ golden edges faded to sky blue. The sun was almost menacing in its subtle power, the silent key to all the earthly locks. The image had fought its way through her waking murk and pressed some button in her forebrain reminding her of her own warmth, obscured within the general heat of the city. Like two electrodes across a Jacob’s Ladder, she had been connected to that sun for a brief, groggy moment. Then the frizz of coffee and simmering pan of civilization below her had brought her back to her place – just a spark in a chemical inferno.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p>Now, in the dark, she fidgeted mercilessly against data. She compounded and interpolated information in search of an elusive detail. She sifted through every relevant article and video log she could conjure up out of the machine. She navigated all the perceptible degrees of separation from where her gut placed this detail. Her eyebrows cramped and her carpal tunnels protested in vain. In certain moments she lost the thread of hunches and was left with nothing but a series of unrelated text files and images which she grouped, compressed and labeled numerically – hopeless conglomerations of evidence. Like the boxes of parts for forgotten appliances that she saw at the pawn shops on the strip. </p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p>When she was a child, her mother had said Ash had a woman’s intuition. She remembered crying about the way an uncle had spoken to her in a conversation that occurred out of earshot with her parents. Several weeks later she woke to the sound of her father drunkenly threatening the uncle and subsequently shoving him out the door. The image of her father battering her uncle on the mucky front lawn buried itself in the murky bottom of her memory like a mosquito egg, only to bubble up years later, complete with bloodsucking stinger. </p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p>At a young age the concept of women having some special, almost mystical power had excited and behooved her. Now, her artificial carapace of vapidity, layered on by many too many curt social interactions, told her that the idea was a relic. Just a throwback to that brief, historical moment between oppression and integration, when the ideals of feminism spilled over into the realm of the philosophical. She hoped it was not so. Particularly in light of the fact that she was searching for something that she wasn’t sure even existed, and had no idea what relevance it might bear, were it to present itself. <i style="">Women’s intuition or stress-induced insanity,</i> she thought, tentatively opting for the former. </p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-74772724567456518332007-06-12T11:37:00.000-05:002007-06-12T11:39:29.783-05:00The Last Frontier<p style="font-family: lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><br /><o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p style="font-family: lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Myspace is sunk. While certainly not a long-time subject of the thinly-veiled advertisement and demographic-research schemes known as ‘social networking utilities’, I can easily make that conclusion. It’s like a one-horse villa in there these days, complete with the digital tumbleweeds of automatically-generated friends and other such spam. While I’d like to remain indifferent as to which conglomeration facilitates my self-adulation, there is one glaring cultural setback buried within the transition of popularity from News Corp’s Myspace to Mark Zuckerberg’s ostensibly independent Facebook. Facebook doesn’t feature a utility for independent musicians, their proliferation or their promotion. While some features of the site vaguely mimic the ‘profile song’ concept, none truly approach the accessible, standardized style of ‘Myspace Music’. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t give a sweet fuck about Myspace’s market share. I’m simply interested in the questions raised by this simple, yet poignant difference.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Enter last.fm. For the uninitiated, this site is essentially an elaborated version of ‘gnod’ and the ‘music-map’ paired up with the online social-networking platform. Simplified, it automatically monitors your music listening patterns with a free, downloadable program via whichever music-player program you use, recommends you new music based on your tastes and pairs you up with other users of similar sonic alignment. So what?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Well, it dawned upon me that the highly viral, ironically organic nature of online musical popularity fostered by Myspace and its ilk made up no small part of the ‘indie’ (the concept, not the genre) boom we have witnessed since the turn of the millennium. That boom read doom for major music labels. Why buy $20 CDs of corporate kipple when you can catch the latest buzz from the Hypemachine? Again, enter last.fm. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">While we’re happily listening away and getting samples of potential new-favorite-bands as well as buddies to gab with, last.fm might seem to be the logical surrogate mother for independent artists. But if the historical harnessing and bondage of Gutenberg’s printing press by jealous despots is any lesson, we should wonder what the agenda behind this technology’s proliferation might be. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">If the developers of the site are to credited with any ingenuity or prophetic prowess, I’d guess that last.fm’s got some pretty sophisticated methods of graphing listeners versus all sorts of criteria – location, age, gender, time of day, whatever. I’d also extrapolate that they’ve got a good idea of which users are consistently listening to given artists shortly before they become popular. If I’m right about that, these ‘ahead-of-the-curve’ listeners – the music nerds – are essentially vehicles the site’s owners can use to determine the subtle patterns of the music biz without actually having to engage in the musical culture driving the popularity of the artists. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Break it down. By supplying entertaining services for free, social-networking websites are able to amass voluntarily-provided personal details about members of the public. Big, fat companies are desperate to find a way to keep making money off of music sales. It’s tough because it’s getting harder to cram manufactured icons down consumers’ throats. If only the companies could know which bands to invest in before they became popular…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Did I mention that CBS Interactive bought last.fm for $300 million dollars last month?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Geneva","serif";"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">Call me paranoid. Jack.oatmon@gmail.com</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-43887938223434398152007-05-30T13:36:00.000-05:002007-05-30T13:40:40.530-05:00An Unfashionable Truth<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p><span style="font-family:georgia;">As a species, humans have fomented all manner of tragedy and frivolous blunder in the world around us. The inquisitive demeanor that has allowed us to progress to the nearly incomprehensible level of sophistication and convenience that we enjoy also seems to have doomed us to stick our curious fingers in every dirty hole we can find in the name of exploration. Like that monkey on Youtube that pees into his own mouth. And as we charge into what promises to be a tumultuous century it sometimes feels like we’re set to keep making the same thoughtless mistakes again and again, unable to resist the temptation to rehash any idiotic frivolity we can think of, just to make sure we’ve done it to death and flogged it for measure. </span><o:p style="font-family: georgia;"></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>Yes, the return of the smoggy warmth of summer has exposed the re-emergence of one of our greatest failings as an intelligent race – the fanny pack. And that’s not all. The misguided emulation of numerous ill-advised 90’s trends is running rampant amongst the youth of our city. This doesn’t just stop at the baffling persistence of mesh-back foamers and camo shorts. No. This thing runs deep. As more and more university students decide it’s a good idea to ironically cultivate a mullet and wear big plastic chains around their necks, more and more of the poor souls who rock these lamentable steez in earnest feel justified in their heinous get-ups. Shoe-corporation t-shirts have never been baggier and jeans’ cuts have never featured lower rises.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF4D-vJaBIHwGsfaZp2cqeCCaSn0NPXPQpJwrdsqeDUhx0UkNicy3clvVa-5K5SvJMTvLbz_oIkbJ2alEKY00tStRCNHtJn99iyxql4y92SqQ_T8jXtH4FwlYANO9HdDBD3JUf/s1600-h/fanny+pack.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF4D-vJaBIHwGsfaZp2cqeCCaSn0NPXPQpJwrdsqeDUhx0UkNicy3clvVa-5K5SvJMTvLbz_oIkbJ2alEKY00tStRCNHtJn99iyxql4y92SqQ_T8jXtH4FwlYANO9HdDBD3JUf/s320/fanny+pack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070425401438574082" border="0" /></a><span style=""> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>I’m not just talking about ugly clothes here, either. What’s the difference between DJ Bubkiss still playing House of Pain on the late-night hits-mix radio that the taxi-drivers and falafel guys always seem to be listening to and some hype, young upstart rocking a ‘Jump Around’ mashup to a crowd of fanny pack-toting CEGEP students? At which point do things become little more than low-budget imitations of the trash they would ironically reference? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>You know, there was a reason everybody got scared that the turn of the millennium would cause some nebulous technological disaster and lead to the early release of prisoners and disruption of the food supply. There was a reason film directors became preoccupied with producing visions of a world on the brink of Armageddon in the late nineties, whether it be by meteor or volcano or alien invasion. That reason was The Backstreet Boys. That reason was Limp Bizkit. That reason was the fanny pack. We’d lost all hope and when the millennium finally came and we didn’t get punished for the dreary culture of the nineties, we wanted to turn a new leaf. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>But no – now the kids want their own bite of the crap sandwich we got served in the last decade. Well, I for one won’t stand for it. I urge parents to remind their children just how obnoxious grunge was to live through and just how inane and repetitive trance music really was. Friends don’t let friends do Ketamine and friends don’t let friends listen to Ace of Bass. I urge every man, woman and child in this city to stand up and say “No!” to nineties retro.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span><b style=""><span style=""><span style="font-family:georgia;">Little too much coffee... jack.oatmon@gmail.com</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-74052711525242742182007-05-29T15:22:00.000-05:002007-05-29T15:25:47.192-05:00Icarus’ shadow in the garden<p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><br /><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">By Jack Oatmon, AKA Thomas Smith</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The spring winds are pungent with the perfume of giggling lilacs and the chill, murky waters in the parks as well as the odorous smog and cigarette smoke of a busy city. My gritty brown eyes are shot with both the grating dust and nebulous clouds of pollen that the wind whirls through these streets, not to mention a few throttling tears. A thousand million little pods of potential life barrage the city, looking for organic purchase in a largely impotent landscape.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Us young folks are like those springtime paradoxes in the way that we can grow to be oaks and defy the most torrential storms, or get whisked into a gutter by the calmest breath. My head is shuddering with this simple axiom as I tread these dirty streets in search of a truth that will justify the self-evident, judicial tragedies of life and friendship. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Nor can I regret the whimsical fates that delivered such a vibrant plant into our garden, nor can I lament the turn that dashed that flower away or the wind that blows its memory into the sheen, for they are of the same force at work in different times. I can only thank the mysteries of a bittersweet life for their gifts and optimistically entertain them their brazen lessons.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps the most concise irony of this tumult is that our resistance to orthodoxy, which propels members of my generation to fly boundlessly and trust implicitly in their own mettle, also robs us of our faith in a utopian afterlife or an even-handed reckoning when we do chance to fall from our ivory pedestals. And so the rest are left alive with no better mourning inspiration than each other and the knowledge that our friend’s impact on us has been significant, lasting and beneficial. In that, we can only hope that someone’s life can continue on in this world through our everyday actions, as inspired by the conglomeration of experience they delivered us, for we fear we have no heaven to send them to.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And these cathartic musings of a young man are, too, but diminutive seeds floating unchecked on the wind; no one can say which might bear life and which will tumble to land on barren soil.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">In loving memory of our friend Kristina Raymond. On t’aime pour toujours.</i></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzhAfT7u988A2dllSD4qe03VxL6UNvne7L7CrONSv8m0dREZ6Bg5fkoVusx1E-OaL99JHONbO0DWa0eBwWoD-V8gyI2naM9tGnyGDlTkCPP_fCt3lV-rEO8MxuD8QU6sASn6T/s1600-h/Kristina+by+Elise.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzhAfT7u988A2dllSD4qe03VxL6UNvne7L7CrONSv8m0dREZ6Bg5fkoVusx1E-OaL99JHONbO0DWa0eBwWoD-V8gyI2naM9tGnyGDlTkCPP_fCt3lV-rEO8MxuD8QU6sASn6T/s320/Kristina+by+Elise.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070080945061434866" border="0"></a><br />Photo by Élise Martinjack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-812084626300489082007-05-23T15:07:00.000-05:002007-05-23T15:29:13.757-05:00The Hear and Now<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style="">Mutek 2007 boasts the best in contemporary audio experimentation and progressive electronic music.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">By Jack Oatmon<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">From May 30 to June 3, the Mutek festival launches into its eighth round of showcasing the bleeding edge of the bewildering, convoluted worlds of ambient electronic music, minimal techno, experimental house and other such digital animals. With a strong, contemporary visual aesthetic and an extremely savvy programming, the festival is wholly unique and, frankly, would make the average Vancouverite or Torontonian feel like they’d been warped into Bizarro World. The Mutek vision is a bold and thought-provoking one that explores the obscure, seldom-frequented corners of modern music in a forum that embraces eccentricity and champions ingenuity. I daresay that even if your musical taste is out of alignment with the bookings, the unique experience provided by the festival is in and of itself an extremely worthwhile part of the city’s cultural fabric. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">However, with over one hundred performing artists scheduled to appear in just five days, many of whom are only well-known in specialized circles, the big question is, ‘What the heck do I go see?’ Well, don’t worry, ‘cuz we got your back. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style="">Kode9 & The Space Ape – Nocturne 2 @ Société des Arts Technologiques, Thursday May 31</span></b><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.xlr8r.com/peepshow/gallery199/Kode9%20Spaceape%20Pokes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://www.xlr8r.com/peepshow/gallery199/Kode9%20Spaceape%20Pokes.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">A real diamond in the rough of club production, London resident Kode9 pushes an arresting brand of UK dubstep that references his city’s baroque musical history, back through jungle and dancehall to Afro-Caribbean sound system culture, while foreshadowing coming urban events through its glacial, stoic pace and knowing glances toward near-future literature and film.<span style=""> </span>When combined with the incessant, guttural interrogation of The Space Ape, the result is an eerie, yet strangely comforting blend of down-tempo electronica and dub reggae.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">“There are obviously some resonances between that and what we’re doing,” says Kode9 in reference to work produced by Canadians William Gibson, David Cronenberg and other such purveyors of prophetic technological fiction.<span style=""> </span>“We’re really interested in the near-future, like the cyber-punk world. What we like about cyber-punk that we don’t like about science-fiction generally is that it’s near-future, so in a way, it’s more realistic than fantasy science-fiction tends to be. That resonates with what we’re doing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">What they’re doing is taking cues from the abrasive elements of urban life and combining them with a inquisitive attitude toward the power of sound to create what Kode9 refers to as ‘a force field’ of music that mirrors the musical barrier the forefathers of dub put between themselves and the socials ills of their time.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">“That’s the way that our music resonates with original dub music, because obviously it relates to the experience of living in London, which has its own dystopian reality. But at the same time living in London, the electronic music culture is heavily influenced by Afro-Caribbean music culture. So we’re not trying to copy what dub was and it’s not the only influence on what we’re doing, but there’s certainly no stronger influence when it comes to using sub-bass as a force field. It’s a force field that brings people together. Clearly that comes from dub-reggae and dance-hall. The fact that we only came to dub and reggae after going through jungle music is what makes it different for us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">The powers of sound interest Kode9 in more ways than just his music. He’s currently writing a book on the different ways in which sound is used to influence people in society, which he refers to as ‘sonic warfare.’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">“Sonic warfare is a philosophy about the use sound as a force. I try to connect the noise research in the military, like sonic weaponry and sonic crowd-control devices, through to artistic responses and this idea of popular music, though to the use of bass in Jamaican sound system culture.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">He also relates the idea to corporate jingles and their power to incite consumption. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">“That’s the use of sound in the form of muzak and other types of sonic branding. I call that an ’earworm,’ which is a contagious piece of music. That’s one of the most explicit examples, but I also think there are things that are more imperceptible going on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">While he insists that the philosophies discussed in his book and his musical projects are separate, the music on his debut album, <i style="">Memories of the Future</i>, definitely constitutes a sonic force unto itself, and with an upcoming album in production, one safe prophecy of future events is that we’ll be hearing more from Kode9 and The Space Ape.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style="">Rhythm & Sound w/ Paul St. Hilaire - Nocturne 2</span></b></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style=""> @ Société des Arts Technologiques, Thursday May 31</span></b></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.failme.net/img/290105_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://www.failme.net/img/290105_2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style=""> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">The classic and the avant-garde get garbled as Rhythm & Sound bring their easy-going, guitar accompanied dub reggae to town as well as a wide spectrum of different approaches to progressive, repetitious dance music. Paul St. Hilaire’s melt-in-your-mouth vocals really set off the tracks they’ve produced together and the infrequency of their visits to this continent mean that all the heads will be out for this one. It’s perfect music for warm weather, and with a stacked supporting line-up, it looks like it’ll be a sultry Thursday at the SAT. For lovers of the cross-over between the psychedelia of dub and the squeaky production of the techno world, this is not to be missed!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style="" lang="EN-CA">Hausckha and Colleen – A/Visions 2 @ Ex-Centris , Thursday May 31<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">German Hauschka makes the room come alive with her unique modified piano while France’s Colleen employs antiquated string instruments and classical leanings as well as modern musical themes and experimentation to create bewildering acoustic soundscapes. A/Visions 2 promises to be a mystifying afternoon.</span><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style="">Matthew Dear’s Big Hands – Nocturne 3</span></b></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style=""> @ Société des Arts Technologiques, Friday, June 1</span></b></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style=""> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Texan Matthew Dear’s quirky, catchy, synth-heavy pop has a driving quality due to his selection of heavier, staccato drumbeats, but the songs are balanced out by soothing vocals, quirky percussion, jazzy guitar hooks and uplifting techno buildups. At times it has a real ‘chain-gang’ kind of quality to it, while at other times it harnesses the brighter side of modern electro to emotive effect. The best part about it is that it’s decidedly unclassifiable. Dear has produced releases under various aliases on M_NUS (Ritchie Hawtin’s label), Ghostly International, and other such dispensers of fine house and techno music. Plus, his new album, <i style="">Asa Breed</i>, is bananas. One listen of the track ‘Good to be Alive’ and you’ll be hooked. You can also see those big hands at work on a set of turntables when he appears in his alter ego Audion<b style=""> </b>at Saturday’s Piknic Electronik along with Claude VonStroke, purveyor of fun, moody house from San Francisco. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style="">Kalabrese and his Rumpleorchestra – Nocturne 3 </span></b></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style="">@ Société des Arts Technologiques, Friday, June 1</span></b></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style=""> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Ah, Switzerland, land of unspoiled alpine pistes, smooth ricotta cheese, and those freaky Ricola fatsos with the big horn who run around scalping throat lozenges. But those hills are alive with more than just the sound of commercial yodeling, because Switzerland is also home to a thriving club scene. Sometimes clinging to sophistications of the tried minimal house formula, while others venturing into the unlikely territory of homegrown folk, Kalabrese could only be from Switzerland. His new album, <i style="">Rumplezirkus</i>, is<b style=""> </b>a wacky mix of groovy minimal, acoustic instrumentation and hyper-clean production. As a bonus, if you can guess his real name, he won’t eat your children.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b style=""><span style="">Pantha Du Prince, Michael Mayer, Matias Aguayo, Gui Boratto - Nocturne 4 @ Metropolis, Saturday, June 2 </span></b></span><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Get your fill of that ravey, trancey techno with big buildups and lots of soft, ambient noises that make Kompakt one of the most influential record labels in Germany. Most of these guys have never been to Canada before and you can bet that the party-people at large will be coming out of the woodwork to zone out with Lucy in the sky, dance the watusi and generally get their groove on steady.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span style="font-size:130%;">To hear the radio program I did on Alaxander Buckiewicz-Smith's show 'Currents' on CKUT,</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span style="font-size:130%;"> click this: <a href="http://secure.ckut.ca/64/mp3.20070523.00.04-02.00.m3u">64 kbps</a>,<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span style="font-size:130%;">or this: <a href="http://secure.ckut.ca/128/mp3.20070523.00.04-02.00.m3u">128kbps</a><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-87548229209910446182007-05-01T00:11:00.000-05:002007-05-01T00:20:07.561-05:00The Long Arm of JusticeI was talking with Gaspard Augé, half of <a href="http://www.myspace.com/etjusticepourtous">Justice</a> about their new album recently, and I finally decided to put it on here. peep the article:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_DlQ-52DBCzEVVNYWadtDAR8EkX7N_R4UXKXw2Y8wgUVHBICHrc0Z5I5tnMcK8yEKE9oudU89eL2Ei6xK9jjz6WAszfBMCaW04kPA7Kpv1Mp7bCsDHjH0VTs_Kq7Xh4nuKM2/s1600-h/justice.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_DlQ-52DBCzEVVNYWadtDAR8EkX7N_R4UXKXw2Y8wgUVHBICHrc0Z5I5tnMcK8yEKE9oudU89eL2Ei6xK9jjz6WAszfBMCaW04kPA7Kpv1Mp7bCsDHjH0VTs_Kq7Xh4nuKM2/s200/justice.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059456692029706674" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="">An altar on a raised platform, a luminous cross, a spacious hall with a grand ceiling, shuddering with the ominous wailing of classical organ and hundreds of devout worshippers, hollering in tongues as they consume cleansing wines and rejoice in the unwavering power of… dance music? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>This is what Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay see when they look at a nightclub. The French duo, who go by the suitably weighty moniker Justice, have a style steeped in Christian imagery that highlights the blasphemous idolism of the DJ world with what might be backhanded critique or religious fervor, depending on how seriously you take it. Augé equates “the energy that can exist in the club with some kind of mass,” by way of explanation. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>Whether you take the image in earnest or as a gimmick, Justice have certainly amassed a sizeable congregation since they released their first remix, ‘We are Your Friends’ on Ed Banger Records in 2003. While the track gained them some attention, the two slowly emerged from relative obscurity until the release of their vicious anthem, ‘Waters of Nazareth’, in 2005, all the while compiling a catalogue of remixes for high-profile acts such as Britney Spears, Daft Punk, Soulwax and Franz Ferdinand. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>“If we think we can bring something to a particular track, we do it,” Augé tells me of Justice’s remixes. “In general, they’re pieces with vocals, because that permits us to completely change our mindsets (about the tracks) and find new harmonies and arrangements. It’s a mental exercise that’s very fun to do.” In doing so, Justice have carved out an unmistakable sonic signature of discombobulated vocals, rattling, onerous dance beats and brutally distorted melodies produced by synthesizers that sound as though they were martyred just to emit one last growling roar for Justice’s cause. All that is juxtaposed by lullaby piano interludes and the imposing church organ sound which markedly distinguishes the songs from standard party fare.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>“In the beginning we used lots of analog synthesizers and machines, but now it’s all done on computer,” continued Augé, who calmly hinted at a new direction more than once over the course of our interview. “For the new album, anyway, it’s only computer. The ‘Phantom’ track we did is the closest thing to what we were doing with ‘Waters of Nazareth’. It’s a very distorted piece. It’s the most violent part of the album. The rest is more pop and disco.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>That’s not the only thing that’s changing for Justice. Since the last time I saw them here in Montreal, along with a crowd of perhaps seventy-five people, Justice have begun to garner their share of attention from major media, including in their reception of the MTV European Music Award for ‘We are your Friends’ in the category ‘Best Video of 2006’. It was at that ceremony that hip hop artist, Kanye West, would make a spectacle of Justice’s video by storming the stage and throwing a tantrum over having lost the award. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>“I think Kanye had drunk a bit and he did it to amuse himself. He didn’t really seem angry. He was just full of the fact that his video was super expensive and ours cost nothing to make. It’s funny, because we were totally unheard of and we could have just taken the prize and no one would have seen it. But because he made a scene, it sort of became the highlight of the ceremony. So thanks Kanye!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-80989682649987263372007-04-30T23:59:00.000-05:002007-05-01T00:39:53.345-05:00Ghosts in the machineI just upped a new recorded mix that I made this week, which you can download right <a href="http://s24.quicksharing.com/v/9849332/dirtythursday.mp3.html">HERE</a>.<br /><br />The tracks I used were:<br /><br />B.E.A.T. -Justice<br />Anything New - Digitalism<br />WeKnowYouKnowIt - Foreign Islands (Filthy Dukes remix)<br />Dance to our Disco - Punks Jump Up (Baseball Furies Edit)<br />Trash - The Whip<br />TVTV - Digitalism<br />Gravity Rainbow - Klaxons (Nightmoves remix)<br />Banquet - Bloc Party (Boys Noize vocal remix)<br />No More Conversations - Freeform Five (Switch remix)<br />No More Conversations - Freeform Five (Mylo remix)<br /><br />And it was all done on two CDJ800s, one shot, no plan.<br /><br />I also got around to talking to <a href="http://www.monstersandsillysongs.com/">Joakim Bouaziz</a>, head of Tigersushi Records about his new album, Monsters and Silly songs. Check it out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54qwom5L00osQtse7tGS7YiEnhZMQr19JQ6KVeBSHidmrZTBjJXWiIXn-MCKifyj-JDjIIadprlLdTkCN7cErVPUHESGnk7fAUlBinK-igM49Cn_X1DVTi4ky7-utOtGqsZjg/s1600-h/joakim07FHT0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54qwom5L00osQtse7tGS7YiEnhZMQr19JQ6KVeBSHidmrZTBjJXWiIXn-MCKifyj-JDjIIadprlLdTkCN7cErVPUHESGnk7fAUlBinK-igM49Cn_X1DVTi4ky7-utOtGqsZjg/s320/joakim07FHT0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059455313345204642" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><b style=""><span style="">Fate works in aggravating ways for Joakim.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>Serendipity’s a bitch. That’s what Joakim Bouaziz, French composer and founder of Tigersushi Records, found out when recording his newest album, <i style="">Monsters and Silly Songs</i>. After losing the entire master copy of the completed album, he was forced to start over, only this time employing a fresh approach and a full band to create a cathartic sonic foray into the nether regions between electronica, organic psychedelia, folky dance music and experimental noise. As he navigated the streets of downtown Toronto in between gigs I queried Joakim, via cell phone, about just what happened to his album and how he went about rebuilding his creation.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><b style=""><span style="">Joakim</span></b><span style="">: It got completely lost. I lent my computer to someone for five minutes and when the guy gave it back, the hard drive had crashed. I lost everything on the hard drive, I couldn’t get it back, and I had no backup, so I had to do it all over again. The problem is I didn’t really remember what I’d done, so it’s like a new album. So, somewhere there’s a lost album!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><b style=""><span style="">jack oatmon</span></b><span style="">: Damn! So what’s changed between the two albums?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><b style=""><span style="">J</span></b><span style="">: I can’t really tell, but I guess the process of making the music is different because when I started again I already had the band with me for the live gigs. I felt that since we’re playing together live, maybe we can do some live stuff in the studio, too, which was different from the songs I’d done before. It’s really just the techniques that were different. The composition and everything was the same, but I could use more instruments with the band. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><b style=""><span style="">j.o.</span></b><span style="">: Do you think that a lot of artists who make electronic music are tending to go in the live direction, with more instrumentation?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><b style=""><span style="">J</span></b><span style="">: Yeah, but that’s not really a new thing. For a few years now a lot of electronic artists have been bringing in live musicians. But, for me it doesn’t really matter. I could do a record using only samplers tomorrow. I don’t feel like it’s better or worse, it’s just a different way to make sound. I don’t think of it as a revolution. There are very good things in both worlds. I don’t try to oppose analog and digital, for instance. I try to mix the two, because I think that there’s something magical in all the analog equipment: the recording and the synthesizers just sound better. But then there are so many things that you with a computer that you could never do with an analog synthesizer. What I try to do is really confront these worlds, like making very digital sounds and recording them on tape, for instance. <span style=""> </span>I wanted to have this warm, organic sound that you can only have with vintage equipment.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><b style=""><span style="">j.o.</span></b><span style="">: To me, the new album has a very melancholy feel to it. It seems very moody and emotional. What’s behind that?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><b style=""><span style="">J</span></b><span style="">: I just feel the music that way. That’s precisely the kind of thing that you cannot explain or objectify. That’s just the way I feel things, and I’ve always been more attracted to sad songs. Even when I used to play classical music, I was more attracted by the dramatic rather than the happy music.<o:p></o:p></span></p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-23842126860489191632007-04-30T23:56:00.000-05:002007-05-01T00:30:26.602-05:00Capitol hill thrills<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhabbpHkujAKzTHP2ABfQAqttJWWirS5qfxhWkJMD0flEAPkW9G4yUM_ppWpXtBdQsu_NVRUqr5jN7FZWQ6OKMyvlPb2x3auwV3E1ZndmgsmD91psT9kCGJXeb6fGvInNt5eAL/s1600-h/Stephen_Harper_Flag.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhabbpHkujAKzTHP2ABfQAqttJWWirS5qfxhWkJMD0flEAPkW9G4yUM_ppWpXtBdQsu_NVRUqr5jN7FZWQ6OKMyvlPb2x3auwV3E1ZndmgsmD91psT9kCGJXeb6fGvInNt5eAL/s400/Stephen_Harper_Flag.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059460316982104546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="">So I managed to claw my way off the island last Friday, April 20 for a trip to Ottawa, both the political epicenter of the country as well as the nation’s capital for hideous, domestic, pastel blouses, sports tees and sensible haircuts. Not being a fourteen year-old Green Day fan anymore, it wasn’t until I strolled up to Capitol Hill that the significance of the date dawned on me. A throng of shifty-eyed adolescents wearing baggy cargo and listening to atrocious 90’s rave music congregated on the grass in front of the stoic government headquarters, pipes and bongs in hand, reminding me that, not only was it four-twenty, but it was almost 4:20. Naturally, I giggled and squealed in mirth.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>As I stood there, I briefly wondered whether <b style="">Stephen Harper</b> was gazing out his office window, waiting to punch the clock, roll home and skin up a joint for the first hot weather of the year. The answer is, of course, not bloody likely. In fact, I’d bet my procreative faculties that the Prime Minister hasn’t even had the chance to fail to inhale, regardless of recent allegations that the government has been charging an arm and a leg for medicinal marijuana (for which, by the way, research funding has been cut to the tune of $4 million). No, the Doors of Perception are safely rusted shut for this gentleman. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>That got me to thinking about other cultural landmarks which happen around that traditionally-mild weekend, and how they relate to our pal Steve (can I call you Steve?). Earth Day’s a touchy subject to any politician, particularly one who once called Kyoto a “socialist scheme” in his call-to-arms for “our campaign to block the job-killing, economy-destroying Kyoto accord.” Especially when recent polls indicate that the environment has surpassed even healthcare in the average Canadian’s itinerary of concerns. Damn, I guess last weekend was kind of a Conservative Kryptonite. Well, maybe Steve was up there worrying about whether voters detest him for not being a tree-hugging stoner. Again, not bloody likely. In fact, I’d go pounds to pennies that he’s feelin’ pretty damn good about his shot at reelection, given the recent rise of support for the similarly-aligned ADQ back in Quebec. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>On top of all that, I thought, Steve’s got a mean hard-on for arts cutbacks. Gulp. Just then, as I looked down in the grass below me in dismay, I saw a jettisoned wood pipe lying on the ground, laden with a bowl of fresh ganja. I try to stay away from weed these days, but, damn, I thought, as the pulsing beat of pre-millennial trance rumbled the grass underfoot, better smoke that shit while I can.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>Things to look forward to before Steve guts the arts:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p>Rumor has it that French techno kingpin <b style="">Mr. Oizo</b> might make an appearance at this year’s Mutek Festival. Piknic Electronik starts back up on May 20 with a crazy lineup for the summer. <b style="">Air</b> will be at Metropolis on May 6 and <b style="">LCD Soundsystem</b> are due back on May 9 at Spectum. Orchestral electro phenomenon <b style="">!!! </b>will be at Les Saints on May 18 and <b style="">Datarock</b> hit La Tulipe on June 3 with <b style="">CSS</b> and <b style="">Bonde Do Role</b>.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><b style=""><span style="">Art, weed and nature: the pillars of society. Jack.oatmon@gmail.com<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-89266277322150688862007-01-17T03:44:00.000-05:002007-05-01T20:36:45.537-05:00CD review<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family:Geneva;">Nôze<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i><span style="font-family:Geneva;">How to Dance<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Geneva;">(Circus Company)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Geneva;"><o:p></o:p>French duo </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family:Geneva;">Nôze’s second album is an exploration into the funkier, quirkier side of minimal house music. The hoarse ranting of madmen meets melodically with synthesizers, pianos, droning cellos, blomping saxophones and guitars over jingly-jangly four-four beats. The disc is replete with whimsical, ambient noises, clever nonsense and eccentric percussion that evoke Tom Waits’ <i>Rain Dogs</i>. <i>How to Dance</i> is an inventive oddity to be listened to while discussing surrealism or working on the construction of your doomsday device.</span></span></p><p style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" ><span lang="EN-CA">Good: 8.5/10</span></span><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal">Awesome: 7/10<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">Angry: 4/10</span><br /></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-46068704498086123362007-01-17T03:29:00.000-05:002007-05-13T17:20:42.760-05:00Maximal Noize<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3H1-rxl7XcHBtxeXm3vaK4gsNByNa4IDg7qU4yojO9ZfPk4luqYfzEqQeoB8Q7sOY1q_TmDv3TAQTAJLCM7fwug3yy9NkATGs2vg7fIftOgfOmKC7EsaWA1yTbFutY8eZukGI/s1600-h/BOYSNOIZE1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3H1-rxl7XcHBtxeXm3vaK4gsNByNa4IDg7qU4yojO9ZfPk4luqYfzEqQeoB8Q7sOY1q_TmDv3TAQTAJLCM7fwug3yy9NkATGs2vg7fIftOgfOmKC7EsaWA1yTbFutY8eZukGI/s320/BOYSNOIZE1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020916222591154754" border="0" /></a><br /><p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b>Maximal Noize<o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt; font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b>Alex Ridha AKA Boys Noize rocks punk attitude, hip hop style and robust, analogue techno beats that rage-rather-than-ring in the New Year.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt; font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt; font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;"><span style="font-size:130%;">What kind of tunes do you want to hear as you kiss, holler and toast in your New Year? Ear-crushing, hesh, rock-electro bangers and indie-dance anthems coming from the able paws of a hip, young Berliner, I should hope. Otherwise you're reading the wrong article. If you're with me, Alex Ridha is your man for the job.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt; font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The distorted, chopped-up cacophony of analogue pulsation, production static and mutilated samples that comprise and punctuate Ridha's tracks has become a fixture in the electro world. His impeccable production and very timely taste means that you're more than likely to hear his songs amidst the <span style="">vanguard</span> of modern dance music and means that the list of DJs that you'll hear unleashing Boys Noize tracks sounds like <span style="">a name-dropper's who's-who of underground techno personalities</span>. His tunes have a raw sound, a desolate, modern feel and numerous tasteful Rock 'n' Roll allusions that belie the songs' electronic trappings and make them jump right out of the stereo. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt; font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Having started DJing at 14 and producing original music at 16, Ridha has already compiled a sizable discography in his 24 years that includes plenty of originals and some of the best indie-rock remixes around. He has released tracks on labels like International Gigolo, Datapunk, Turbo, Kitsuné and Institubes and has numerous other music projects on the go, including kiD Alex, <span style="">an angst-ridden indie duo </span>that he sings and produces for, and 909D1SCO, a retro synth-disco revisitation.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt; font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;"><span style="font-size:130%;">"Musically I'm really looking for the best of Daft Punk, from 95 to 98," says Ridha in describing the musical orientation of Boys Noize. "I think it's a really timeless sound." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt; font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;"><span style="font-size:130%;">He says that the sounds being made by him and a handful of other producers are more than just a wave of techno. "For sure it's electronic. It's all based on techno music, but it has many references to other things.<span style=""> We all have this punk attitude. Or maybe even a hip hop attitude,"</span> explains Ridha. "My mixing definitely comes more from the hip hop side. I do cuts and mix things fast."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt; font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;"><span style="font-size:130%;">"The scene is still very small," says Ridha. "Like in Berlin for example, I feel like I'm the only guy playing this music. I feel like it's small around the world. You have tonnes of people playing house and minimal and just a handful of people doing this music that I'm doing." I instantaneously know what he's talking about, but it's a style of music that simply lacks a name.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt; font-family: times new roman;font-family:Courier New,Courier,mono;"><span style="font-size:130%;">"I wouldn't exactly say it's the opposite of minimal… like… Maximal maybe?" says Ridha when I challenge him to classify the music he's describing. That moniker certainly fits in Alex Ridha's case, because despite the diminutive-sounding aliases he goes by, the sound is monstrous and the mixing is most definitely full-on. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style=";font-family:Geneva;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >What are Alex's predictions for the "maximal" sound in the New Year? "I think in 2007 it's just gonna blow up," He says. But, according to Ridha, when the mainstream catches up to him and his ilk, he won't be waiting to have his steez bitten. "When I hear bad copies of myself or Justice or something like that, then I'll know it's time to move on to something else."</span><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >(Photo courtesy of the artist)</span><br /></span>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-75919079687230878022007-01-09T00:51:00.000-05:002007-05-04T02:11:53.051-05:00New Computer Delicious.<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Now I have a computer. Now I can write on the internet.</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA">There is a theory stating that the universe, viewed as an average frequency of all the light and radiation therewithin, is a deep forest green. If the physicists who boldly purport themselves to be in possession of such knowledge of the outermost secrets of the universe are to be trusted, then the mean colour of mankind’s night-time cities would have to be roughly equivalent to the puke-orange sludge wafting past my window. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p>Seat 16E. “Sorry sir, normally I’m not picky, but I really wanted a window-seat, and uhh....” <i>Keep your flight back locked and tabled in an upright turbulence, and please pay prepared to carry on refreshments when the in-flight movie hits an altitude of forty thousand gallons of jet fuel.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p>The electric amber- and purple-tinted clouds ripple away to reveal the circuit-board-esque city below. Its avenues and alleyways transmit an unimaginable amount of automobiles, humans, information, food, trash, toxic waste, luxury items, electricity, greed, love, suffering, tragedy and pleasure day to day, end to end, top to bottom. Its lustrous edifices and ramshackle markets spell profit and infinite opulence to some and doom for others. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p>Our descent upon the streetlit metropolis reminds me to get my leather jacket on so that I can hop into the aisle and charge to the front of the plane just before the seatbelt lights go off and the sluggish, coffee- and sweat-smelling denizens around me take their cue to stand up and clog the only escape from this overheated, beige person-mover. Nothing annoys me more than that eight-minute purgatory between when the doors of the plane open and when all the fat people and business-crabs get their shit together. I could be <i>out there</i>. Like <i>right now</i>. It’s like the worst kind of poorly-written suspense novel. It feels like waiting for your dentist appointment rather than waiting for your first ultrasound.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p>By the time I get through the umbilical corridor to the terminal, the madness is already in full swing. Guards are securing and passengers are careening around me; lost things are being recovered and I need a goddamn drink. I’m what you might call an A-type personality. I generally tend toward social observation and integration. Obviously everyone has their ostrich-in-the-sand moments, but such is not the case as I stomp through the dervish toward the phoney-brick-walled “pub” next to those stainless steel security desks and internet portals. I’m feeling rather chatty after sitting on my compartmentalized ass for the better part of the day.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p>Like many stories, this one begins when I meet a girl. I promise it won’t be a love story, though. I wouldn’t do that to you. There’s a lotta love in here, but that’s not why you’re reading this. When I hit the scene, she’s sitting at the faux-oak, faux-folk bar of this watering-hole called Joe’s Pub©. The strangely reassuring smell of deep-fried-whatever juxtaposes her refined demeanour and sharp features. I’ll be honest here (and take that as a general rule, by the way). It was admittedly her streamlined figure, bangin’ wardrobe and arrogant, brown eyes that alerted me to her presence. That’s how dudes work, I’m afraid. Don’t lose your faith in the Male over a bit of pheromonal hubris, though. In the twenty-first century, us guys are remarkably quick at mustering substance once we’ve gotten over the initial bit of panting and dilated pupils. Especially us rough-around-the-edges, sophisticated rebel types. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p>“Is anyone sitting here?” I pipe as I sidle up. Sometimes clichéd lines are clutch. She doesn’t say a goddamn thing, seeing as she gets that bologna eighty-six times a day. I sit down and, noting that she’s drinking some sort of colourful martini, order a double rye whiskey on the rocks, in a tumbler with a splash of apple juice. (I just assume that they don’t have any Angostura. I’d say that no one knows how to make a good whiskey sour anymore, but I’m way too young to know shit like that.) This move is multi-purposed, in that I really like that drink, in that sours can either be sipped or slammed depending on necessity, and in that ladies sometimes mistake this kind of obvious contrast as supplementation. Chicks love to feel supplemented. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p>Then, gazing at the black-clad barwoman’s generous hips, her retort: “She has a beautiful way of moving, this girl,” in an almost-perfect, anglophone* lilt just barely belied by the unusual wording of the sentence. “She doesn’t see what happens around her and she does many things at once. It’s like she’s dancing.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p>I tear my eyes off the fuzzy strip of skin under her earlobe to momentarily feign interest in this particularly graceful server and say, “I guess you have to excel at your job in some way in order to like it. <i>T’es Montréalaise, toi?</i>”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p>“<i>Non, Je viens du Lac Saint-Jean</i>. Where are you coming from?” Her cheekbones are sharp and her voice is high pitched. She’s like a hawk or a birch in the wind.</span><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-CA" ><span style=""> </span></span><br /></p>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-1167878619957870302007-01-03T20:53:00.000-05:002007-05-04T02:12:20.699-05:00LCD Soundsystem - Sound of SilverIf <strong>LCD Soundsystem</strong>'s first full length release was the riotous preamble to a brief repeat-age of raving punk rockers discovering the frivolous abandon of disco (read The Clash and Crass in the early eighties) and angular, indie geeks with dilated pupils behind their Buddy Holly goggles, then <em>Sound of Silver</em>, for me anyway, is the strung-out postscript to the golden age of electroclash.<br /><br />Featuring all of the earmarks of the DFA sound, from the stacatto, garbage-bin percussion solos through cowbell cacophany, to the much-bitten handclap overload, <em>Sound Of Silver<strong> </strong></em>is, more than anything, an articulation of everything these guys have been experimenting with over the past couple of years of remixing, DJing, live shows and producing. It<strong><em> </em></strong>is the point at which James Murphy's production goes from a style to an album, which would be a shocker if you never heard any of what's been happening at DFA in the interim between two albums. If not, it fits pretty well in the grand scheme of this collective of musicians. Leaving behind the mix-tape style of the first record (and pretty much everything else ever released on DFA records), this recording has a detectable flow. In the wake of the 45:33 blunder (anything anyone does for Nike is a blunder. I don't care how majestic the grooves or how complete the emotional crescendo), the good folks at LCD are clearly trying to introduce a stronger element of their live act into the mix (which is one reason why the tour of this album is going to be epic). It's gradual, it's groovy, and it sets James Murphy squarely as the Fela Kuti/Tito Puente/James Brown kind of character he plays in concert. It's unabashedly mainstream and agressively accessible, unlike the other LCD Soundsystem album. Aside from any obvious attempts at pop-dom, you'd think that would be an essentially good thing, but listenability does have its failings.<br /><br />By this I mean that the musicality of the album and the thought-out order of the songs completely eliminate the possibility for a banger to emerge. Proof: did you hear any tracks from this album on New Years Eve? No, you didn't, even though every single electro DJ in existance has hornswoggled themselves a copy of this album. <em>Tribulations</em> blew your face right off of your head; <em>Someone Great is Gone</em> made you tap your feet and reflect about your contradictory, modern existance. <em>Daft Punk is Playing at My House<strong> </strong></em>is the reason you're on bad terms with your downstairs neighbors; <em>Watch the Tapes<strong> </strong></em>made you wonder if your mom might just want to hear the music her kids listen to.<br /><br />No, this album is not a banger, a rager, or subculture classic like the first one. But it's still awesome, and I'll tell you why: James Murphy is a funky cat who is remarkable at concocting the feeling that a song is talking to <em>you</em>, and his perception and communication of the hedonistic experience of youth is nearly flawless. Anyways, all your favorite albums don't all have to make you want to punch holes in the walls.<br /><br />I will, however, have to call bullshit on the track called <em>All My Friends</em>, which could have appeared on a U2 or Tragically Hip album and I never would have noticed, and although <em>Someone Great</em> really is great, it was already released on the Nike promo Super-sellout deluxe album.<br /><br />If my brief history of listening to this album is any indication, however, I'll delete this post in two days and replace it with an entirely different opinion. Actually, this is the third review of the album I've wrote already!jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-1158691348013961572006-09-19T13:28:00.000-05:002007-05-04T02:12:48.369-05:00Musings of the speakerThese dogs won't take me. It's a swift scrape that snatches this one, I'll tell you. They've been growling around the damn solar panels all day, probably thinking I'd be down for water. What they can't detect can't be shredded to bits by them, I say. All it takes is a digital transmitter that reads landscaping, with a rerouter on the police frequency. The little friggers think there's no one around because they're 'seeing' a sensory recording of when you weren't there. You just gotta hope they don't snoop outside your transmitter radius. I'll give the authorities a week to figure out that little trick before the bastard hounds' programming is updated. Until then I'll be eating canned peaches and UHT cream, dearie.<br />We've been storing data on them for weeks. The dogs, I mean. I'm going to try to get a live one today with a program I bought off some haggard cleric from Oman with a cleft lip and a mole the size of a peanut hanging from his damn eyelid. I'll be the first to hope he's not a loyalist pawning off detection software to speaker-folk like me. The thing seemed solid anyway. Better well be, cost me two litres of oil and the plastic bottle to go with it. I've got plenty.<br />Here goes nothing...jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-1157869472839126252006-09-10T01:07:00.000-05:002007-05-04T02:13:20.826-05:00Saturday in.<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">It's like something romantic the day after. The potpourri is still in the tub, but careless euphoria circumvented whomever from cleaning the bathroom. A room full of the odious smells of stale beer and grounded smoke rather than the cheerful laughter and easy warmth of it's former occupants. Minor tragedy and subtle decay. The foolhardy drawing on the wall now winks a sinister grimace where it used to grin. Even the mundane contingent of dirty dishes, caked with dried up rice grains that were never quite finished, mock me. It's like the feeling that you should be home even though you don't have a telephone and nobody ever comes by.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">That's what the taste in the back of my throat is like right now: Seedy, quite simply. It's a devil I know, though, so I take what comfort I can from it, like a loyal slave. The bakery didn't even fix it. Maybe I need a vacation from my own grumbly, hung-over self. A week of detox and a few gym sessions. Back to vegetarianism and non-smoking.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Hrrrrrrrrrrrrrm.</span></span>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-1156307179291111212006-08-22T23:16:00.000-05:002007-05-04T02:14:15.451-05:00RambleIt's a slick, tarry job, I'm thinkin'. You get it all, you know? The things people usually think of as 'underground' are more or less phantoms and reveries, but that doesn't mean that the grain of salt that the myths represent is any less incredible than the fallacies. The funny thing about it all is that when you contact these giants of pop culture, they're just 'struggling artists' who want to have fun. I always wondered about the too-cool-for-school stereotype of DJs and bandmembers, but to date I haven't gotten any guff off of anyone. That says something, too, seeing as I use an alias for publications. The reality is, of course, that while these people usually have less attitude than the scenesters themselves, they do party really hard. The lesson really, is come on in and have fun, because the cooler the happenings, usually the less pretentious the people there...jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-1155271374853106682006-08-10T23:42:00.000-05:002007-05-04T02:14:46.989-05:00Racist media fun! Wheeee!Ridiculous quotes from the BBC and my ridiculous reactions to them:<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">“At UK airports on Thursday - with the country on its highest terror alert of "critical" - bottles of water were taken from passengers and mothers asked to taste their babies' milk before it could be taken on to flights.”</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br />Quick: Were on high alert! We need as many babies crying and paranoid bystanders as possible! Get out the ether, fire up the cattle prods! Civil liberties are running rampant over our democratic* society!<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">“Sources told the BBC the "principal characters" suspected of being involved in the plot were British-born, some with links to Pakistan.”</span><br /><br />They’ll really say anything to reassure the public that these are no ordinary, white citizens. Look out: they have <em>suspected ties </em>to Pakistan. Pakistan’s <em>over there</em>! It ends with the suffix –stan! They must be Al-Qaeda Terror Death Muslims!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111111111111111111111111111111111111oneoneone<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*Democracy is a registered trademark of Newscorp. Any unauthorized transmission or reproduction of Democracy is copyright infringement and thus punishable by Antiterrorism.</span>jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-1154714816118443312006-08-04T13:06:00.000-05:002007-05-04T02:15:22.129-05:00Flood 'em with ErsatzWhen I was 16, my mom presented me with the complete works of Che Guevera, copies of all his transcripted speeches, and a bright red Che T-shirt, bearing that familiar, empathetic silhouette. When I was your age, she said, Che was my hero. As an adult, my parents’ incessant advice to me, somewhat of a road-worn cat in my own right, is always, Boy, you gotta go to Cuba before Fidel Castro dies and the friggin’ Americans flood the place with new cars and consumer junk. They’re from a generation that adored Trudeau and maintained reasonable hopes of a system recalibrated to suit the needs of the many. They’re not communists. Au contraire, my mom spent over a decade as a politician here in Canada and my dad votes conservative. But they, like their progeny, are politicized socialists in the extreme.<br /> So now Fidel’s on the way out, as far as anyone cares to extrapolate, and his brother’s not the man of the people that this unflappable stalwart of populism was, in an age of elitism. You can almost see the froth at the corner of the mouths of all the Yankee businessmen at the prospect of filling one more little niche economy with monocultural garbage in hopes of causing a miniscule spike in the growth of a market that is in the process of eating itself. Just one more little hit of dirty skag at the ass end of a junkie’s bell curve. Soon they’ll be in there proclaiming the victory of ‘democracy’, bulldozing villages to create opulent beach resorts, broadcasting any kind of advertisement that an analyst decided was a hit, and just generally sucking out the place’s soul through a vacuum called development.<br /> Fidel, I’m not a communist; I don’t agree with half of the things you say; regardless, our sincerest thanks for being one of the only people on this goddamned planet to keep the wolves at bay until now. We love you. Get well soon.<br />Gracias. Que te vayas con Dios.jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22630705.post-1154470245091407382006-08-01T17:10:00.000-05:002007-05-04T02:16:39.259-05:00Fuckin' ToriesWe were strolling St. Catherine this morning when we noticed the kafuffle of several thousand protesters from the Lebanese community and beyond responding to the Qanas Massacre and Stephen Harper’s support of Israel’s invasion. Naturally we joined in, despite our disdain at the presence of the odd bit of vaguely pro-Hezbollah paraphernalia. Rotten apples, I say. Regardless, the numerous Lebanese flags flown and chants of “Vive le Liban” were quite heartening. Later on in the evening, we cycled off to the village to see the Pride parade. I’m not Lebanese, nor am I gay, but you gotta join in your support. If the right can unite, so should we. Therein, however, may be the problem. For, you see, in the Pride parade there was a great and laudable presence from the Lebanese community, fags and otherwise. Not to mention a major Anti-Harper tone (in fact, the first float was accompanied by a banner that stated, “Harper: L’Union Civil. Un droit, un choix”). So is it sides, then? Are the fags pro-peace and the Conservatives anti-Lebanon by role?<br /> Gilles Duceppe was there. The NDP was there. Heck, the Liberals were probably slinking around there somewhere, too. They’re the ones who legalized same-sex marriage, after all. It wouldn’t’ve hurt Harper to at least give the damn thing a shout out. The inaugural edition of the World Outgames: ‘So what’s the big deal about a bunch of fags playing professional sports?’ you might think. ‘Why snub it?’ you might say. Well, Stephen Harper has a reason or two. First of all he’s a homophobe. Even he doesn’t deny that. So along with that comes the Conservatives’ pending challenge of the constitutionality of gay marriage. One of my professors always said that civil struggles go two steps forward, one backward. He doesn’t speak French, either. You’re potentially wondering what the hell French has to do with gays and Lebanese. Well, nearly the entire Canadian Lebanese community is francophone, and I don’t imagine anyone’s about to argue against Quebec being more tolerant of homosexuality than the rest of Canada (maybe even the world, according to certain members of the local gay community I’ve encountered, but that’s tough to say).<br /> Maybe I should see the silver lining here. Most countries probably don’t have enough queers and peaceniks in the left camp to represent the occasional majority government. This is on the backslide, I’m afraid. Canada’s not the bastion of socialism it was when I was a child. And it shows in the language, conduct, and political affiliations of our PM.jack oatmonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03682474615802974355noreply@blogger.com