Times I saw the Rebel Spell

Posting this a day late for Todd Serious' birthday, but what the heck, I feel like thinking back.

The first time I saw the Rebel Spell was in 2007, when they opened for the Furies and DOA at Richards on Richards, on February 10th of that year. I was blown away, hadn't heard about them before that. I fell in love, might have bought their CDs then and there; back then, they had only released Expression in Layman's Terms and Days of Rage, and they sold them for $5 each. I was impressed that they sold them so cheaply.

I saw them at the Cobalt, under wendythirteen, at least two or three times after that. I think for sure I caught them on August 11th, 2007, because the Vicious Cycles were on the bill, and I remember that gig. Sometime in there, I did my first interview with them at a house they were, I assume, sharing in East Van. I vaguely remember walking there that evening. Todd, Erin, and Chris Rebel were all present, Stepha wasn't; my recorder was behaving weirdly, so we taped it on a machine that Todd provided, all of us sitting around the living room. Some of Todd's quotes got mutated into a later piece I did to promote their Dutch tour, since they were still relevant, but the full magazine piece is not online in any way, as far as I know. Chris Walter, who might have been selling books at a table the first time I saw them at the Cobalt, and whom I was just getting to know - I had only read East Van at that point, and remember him selling me Welfare Wednesday - hooked me up with photos of the band, courtesy of his partner Jennifer Dodds. I was probably working with Femke van Delft around that time, too, and some of her pics probably made it into Razorcake, as well. I can't really remember (magazines I've been in are boxed up in storage somewhere, so I can't easily check).

Todd Serious by Jennifer Dodds, not to be reused without permission

But people who don't have Razorcake should note, that the original interview - which ran in 2008, a few months after I talked to the band - was really funny and fun to do, and there's a lot that hasn't appeared anywhere else in print, with Todd and Chris teasing Erin about growing up with Angus and Slash as early guitar heroes and Chris and Todd nearly getting into a fight about some conspiracy theory (I think) that Todd wouldn't even let Chris mention, totally shutting him down when he tried to bring it up (I assumed at the time that it had to do with 9/11 but I don't really know). In any event, they were quarrelsome, poking fun at each other, and a bit at me; but they were all obviously also tight with each other. You can still buy back issues (#42) of that magazine from the Razorcake website, it looks like, for a mere $3 plus shipping. There are a few irritating typos (not my fault - there's an editorial comment I made about Gerry Hannah, addressing some other mistake, that ends up IN THE ARTICLE, because the editors there just aren't that attentive, or have other things on their mind; it was kinda part and parcel of dealing with them, which is part of why I no longer do). Still, there's also a Chris Walter feature on the Tranzmitors, who get the cover, so it's not a bad issue to have, if you're a fan of local music.

Besides Cobalt gigs, one of the next times I saw the band was at Under the Volcano, August 12th 2007 (the day after I saw them at the Cobalt the first time? Maybe!). I think Four Songs About Freedom had just come out at that point, because I remember all these kids - they were performing to an open air moshpit - getting frenzied to "I Am a Rifle," as well as jokes about how strange it was to see punks moshing in the sunlight. Femke took great photos of that day. I don't feel comfortable using her photos anymore, since we don't really have a working relationship, but there's one here, one here, one here, and one here.  Chris Rebel was camera shy at that point - "the government is watchin'"-type paranoia, I think - so I avoided posting shots with him in them, at the band's request. He had sunglasses and a hat on, anyhow, as I recall. As you see, Todd is wearing a "homes not games" t-shirt, apropos of the upcoming Olympics; Stepha is on drums, and if you look in the background, that's bev davies leaning against a tree, with her then friend Carola of JEM Gallery, now defunct as far as I know. That was how I met both women. I reviewed the show for the Nerve Magazine, but there was a bit of a feud between the Nerve and the Rebel Spell at that time, and their passage got cut, which bummed me out a bit, because I'd intended it as a gesture of reconciliation. I have no access to that passage at present or I'd print it here...

Not sure what the next time I saw the band was, but I was at the July 26 2008 Seylynn Hall gig with the Subhumans, again with Femke. I remember Brian Goble wearing a curly wig, and that half the kids who had come for the Rebel Spell didn't stick around for the headliners. Plus I remember Femke standing on a chair beside an unruly moshpit to get pics.

 I was probably at the May 22nd 2009 Cobalt book release for Chris Walter's Wrong. In fact, I know I was, because I think that that was the gig when Chris Walter got me confused with Ty Stranglehold and had to cross out an inscription in the novel that he was selling me, but addressing to Ty (Ty would later laugh with me about it that about the only thing he and I have in common is that we're both "white and large," but it was enough for Chris to confuse us).

A few months after that, in late summer, my Mom had a stroke, and then, in November, my father died. I was back in Maple Ridge at that point, so gigs came fewer and further between for me. I missed the band's shows with Propagandhi and Bad Religion, but I think I was at the July 9th 2010 gig at Funky's. I'm not sure, though. I might not have been, may have only seen them at Funky's once.

But who needs to go to the Rebel Spell when the Rebel Spell will come to you? On July 11th, 2010, I saw the Rebel Spell at the Hammond United Church Hall, on the outskirts of Maple Ridge (most gig posters for events there omit the word "Church," rendering the word "United" somewhat confusing, making it sound like the room belongs to a football team or something). It was a dark room that night, but Femke and bev both came out, at my invite, and did some Maple Ridge tourism with me. I took pictures that I guess are now lost, Femke took pics that I think I have never seen, and bev took this photo - that's Erin, the only visible member of the band. Like I say - dark!

Photo by bev davies, not to be reused without permission

The room was so bare - a church hall that doubled as a gym - that Todd quipped, at some point, that you could just tell that nothing fun was ever supposed to happen in it. (More shots of that odd little venue here.)  The band had an interim bassist, at that point; I believe I ran into Todd and Erin at a Nomeansno gig in a Vancouver rental hall around that time, and he told me that they were between bassists and "balls deep" in recording a new album, which would prove to be It's a Beautiful Future. About the only other thing I remember from the Hammond gig was buying my hard copy of Four Songs About Freedom there.

I didn't really like Four Songs About Freedom, to be honest. "They Know" has grown on me, especially after having seen it live a few times, but I always thought that EP was their weakest release, song-wise. There, I said it.

April 23rd, 2011, I saw the band open for the Dreadnoughts at the Rickshaw and left before the Dreadnoughts came on, probably to get a bus back to Maple Ridge. December 9th, 2011, I had written about the Rebel Spell's gig in support of A Better Life Dog Rescue, who were in legal hot water, and had a very interesting night showing a Danish filmmaker friend the town, drinking beer with him - more than I usually drink, in fact, since he wasn't comfortable with pot - and talking with Todd and Erin about animal rescue, anti-fascism, and other topics. I had a copy of Werner Herzog's Cerro Torre/ Scream of Stone - a rock climbing film - for Todd and a copy of Ox Fanzine for them, a German mag that I'd helped get them on a CD sampler for ("All We Want"). That was the night I fucked the Steam Clock: photos here.

No, no: I didn't really fuck the steam clock, it was figurative. I slept in the scummy jamspace that night, the one Todd thought it was "pretty punk rock of me" to sleep in, when I ran into him at that SNFU show that I mentioned, a couple of posts ago.

I don't think I saw the Rebel Spell at all in 2012, but it doesn't look like they played many shows locally, that year. I think I only went to one of the two "DOA Farewell gigs" at the Rickshaw where they opened - the one on January 18th, 2013. Here's a pic from bev from those shows that I don't think has seen print anywhere:

Todd Serious by bev davies, not to be reused without permission

Also there's this one of Elliot from one of those shows, again by bev, again not to be reused without her permission:

When I caught them May 24th 2013, for Todd's 40th birthday at the Russian Hall, I remember being in a bad mood and leaving early; I felt like an outsider to the punk scene at that point, had had a cranky exchange with someone from Not Yer Buddy at the door, but mostly I just wasn't much in the mood for a concert. Early bus home, again. I think it's the only time where I left a concert by the Rebel Spell before the band had finished playing; the crowd was loving it, but I felt totally apart from the spirit of the evening.

Somewhere in there - April 2014 - I wrote this thing on the veggie oil bus for the Straight, and had an interesting experience. (This was my "lost Todd tape" where he talked about writing a song with Jeff Andrew, so this article may be all that's left of it). I had scavenged a bit from Razorcake about it being hard for Todd to stay vegan on the road. I let him know I was using it - I was actually checking to see if he still downgraded from "vegan" to "vegetarian" on the road - and he replied, by email:

"It's funny you ask actually that interview haunts me. By that time that made it to print I had gone totally vegan and have never looked back. I really like that interview it's funny and intelligent and overall probably the best written thing ever published about us but I regret saying that. It takes a little knowhow to find decent food in places like Saskatchewan but once you get past that learning curve it's no problem."

I promised to fix the quote, but on consideration, I addressed the issue not by omitting it, but by appending something about how Todd had corrected himself totally, since then, even using his words about never looking back. I thought it was revealing and interesting to do it that way, but it also wasn't so easy to address the problem by just snipping the quote entirely, because it set up the whole veggie oil bus issue (he'd also said, in the same quote, that being in a band was why he owned a vehicle, which I guess in 2008 was still burning fossil fuel). Anyhow, the piece ended up online, and it got back to Todd, and the day it was published (or maybe one day later) he called me - I was walking to a bus loop in Coquitlam at the time, on the commute home - to ask what was going on. He was worried, I think, that I had kinda fucked him over, said I would do something and then didn't, or did it in a half-assed way. We talked for about fifteen minutes about it, during which time it came to light that he hadn't actually read the piece - he was calling based on someone's report of it, said he found it kind of trying or embarrassing or such to read articles written about him. I assured him that I wasn't trying to mess with him at all, argued that I thought I'd "fixed" it in a totally appropriate way, showing that maybe in 2008, he wasn't wholly vegan, but by 2014, he was, had corrected himself where he once had made excuses for falling short of his ideals. I mean, it's not like you were born perfect, you're human, and subject to learning and growing, like any of the rest of us, I argued (I am paraphrasing, here, who knows what words I actually used but that was the jist). It makes you more approachable, more someone people can identify with, rather than this perfect figure. I offered, as I recall, to amend the piece further if need be, but that I'd like him to at least read it first, to make sure he felt it necessary; I didn't know that he would.  The conversation was conciliatory, and he seemed all right with me/ the article by the end of it; maybe he wasn't, but he never asked me to do anything further about it, if not.

I didn't see the Rebel Spell again until I had the band, Gerry Hannah and his wife Michelle over for a vegan dinner in Maple Ridge, on the date of Adstock, July 6th, 2014. Erika and I made about five dishes, on an Indian theme, including yellow lentils, green beans, a salad, and a couple of main-course curries that I forget the exact contents of, but it was a bit of a feast. Mostly Todd and Gerry talked outdoors stuff that day, then Gerry and Michelle joined us to see the band play. I shot video, took pics. Another sunny, open air gig, only there the pit wasn't on grass, like Under the Volcano, but concrete, which is why Todd introduces that clip with "last chance to hurt yourself!" No one did. The "circle pit around the gazebo" is probably the funniest thing I've seen at a gig (see the photos). I remember getting a kick out of Todd trying to pay respect to the "no profanity" rule, too; it was like he'd forgotten which of the Rebel Spell's songs had the word "fuck" in them until just before the word came up, so he had to fake his way through. He was still recovering from a back injury from a rock climbing accident at that point - which we also talk about, I think, on that lost tape - and I remember being worried that someone who was grabbing at him from the pit was going to cause him further pain.

By the by, Adstock 2016 will happen on July 10th this year - it's free, it's fun, and it looks like Ninjaspy are headlining. I don't think the full lineup has been announced yet.

Then I did the article for the Straight, promoting Last Run, the full transcript of which I put up after Todd died. In fact, it wasn't full, though; there were a couple of things I didn't transcribe, because they were irrelevant/ distracting/ etc. One of them was Todd digging out what he thought was my first article on the band - the one he calls "funny and intelligent and overall the best written thing ever published about us" - and it was THE WRONG FUCKIN' MAGAZINE, an article by a different person, with glossy pics (I don't recall which mag it was but Razorcake only did B&W). He'd told me he liked the Razorcake piece before - that it was "us," if embarrassing at times, since I had forced my editor to leave in some of that aforementioned in-fighting - but it kinda called the whole thing into question, like maybe he'd been thinking of a different article all along!

Ah, well. Anyhow, I saw the band October 11th, 2014, at 333 for the album release of Last Run. Pics here, video here. I missed their next Vancouver show, the last one with Todd, at the WISE Hall.

After that, you know about, it's recent history, though note that I skipped the gig at 1739 Venables, because I had spent the day cleaning out Mom's apartment and just wanted to relax with my girl. But what a fantastic band. May Vancouver see another as good, someday.

...Now, what was it that I was supposed to be getting accomplished today?

Black Angels, LA Witch, and Bev Davies at the Commodore: of seats and sounds

The Black Angels by bev davies, not to be reused without permission 

This will quickly become about last night's show at the Commodore, and about the whole PHO/ seats vs. standing thing that is a current topic. But I need to set a couple things up first. 

The thing about going to concerts for me: I don't go to watch the band. I go to listen to the music, played live and loud. Often - with the right types of music - that works way better if your eyes are closed.   

I mean, sometimes I do watch the band. There are performers who are riveting, who have crazy antics, or whose style of performance is so muscular and powerful that you gotta see it in order to really participate - or whose music just isn't "about" sitting there listening intently. When I went to see the Cramps, my eyes were OPEN. Jello Biafra? Open! When the Spitfires, Bishops Green, and DOA take it to the stage at the Rickshaw, I'll be as close as I can get to the stage, eyes wide open there, too. 

You may also take comfort that, although I have not tried to mosh since the last time I saw the Circle Jerks at the Commodore, maybe ten years ago - my last lame mosh ever was to "Coup D'Etat" - I do that with my eyes open, too. A 300lb dude moshing with his eyes closed would not be safe for anyone. 

I don't even attempt stage diving. 

Mostly I go to listen. If a band is ABOUT the music - not the performance or the speechifying or the stage show or whatnot, but about rich, textured sound, as was the case with both LA Witch and the Black Angels at the Commodore last night - I LOVE sitting with my eyes closed and zoning out, trippin' on the sound and the shapes it makes in my mind. Maybe it's a holdover from my psychedelic youth, where I would put on headphones and have the music translate instantaneously into rich, moving, multicoloured machinery behind my closed eyelids, but almost every concert I go to where the band is ABOUT the music, I spend at least half of it with my eyes shut, even if I'm stone cold sober. 

Sometimes there's even a conflict in me between impulses. It's hard enough to close your eyes on a performer. It feels like it might seem rude, and I've even gotten heat from a bouncer, when I was deep in a music-induced altered state during a Wolves in the Throne Room show at the Venue, for "sleeping" during the show - he grabbed my shoulder and said "don't sleep," and I immediately yelled in fury at him, "It's called listening, you jackass!" or something like that. Lucky I didn't get removed! 

But not all bands make it that EASY to shut your eyes. When I saw Godspeed You! Black Emperor at the Liquid Room in Tokyo about 20 years ago, given their haunting, moody, richly-layered music, that's a show I would have LOVED to experience with my eyes shut, but a big part of the show was the films they were projecting behind the screen, using images to compensate for the lack of lyrics. The film component was vastly more interesting to watch than the band. Plus the Liquid Room was mostly a big, hard dance floor - I certainly never sat down the times I went there, though there might have been seats, Commodore-like, around the periphery; I don't recall. In any event, closing your eyes and listening makes a LOT more sense if you are sitting down, and fits with the purpose of closing your eyes: it eliminates distractions, so you can focus on the music. 

So here: say what you will about how fucking WEIRD it was to arrive at the Commodore and see the dancefloor filled with folding chairs - 

Photo by Allan MacInnis

- but this is a show I would have wanted to sit down for ANYHOW, y'see? If this gig had happened pre-COVID, I would either have a) begrudgingly stood and tried to dance with  my eyes closed without colliding into anyone (which I have sometimes done quite successfully), only to find myself longing more and more for a seat after three hours' worth of standing; OR I would have begrudgingly found a seat at the peripheries and tried to enjoy the music, even though sonically I was not ideally situated (who wants to listen to a concert when they are off to one side? You want to be front and centre, exactly in the same relationship to the stage as you would be to your home stereo, no? That's me, anyhow). Because of COVID, last night, I got to listen to TWO bands that are very rewarding to listen to with your eyes closed, while being seated IN THE CENTRE AISLE, six rows back on the left. It was a good enough experience that if we still have this, uh, "seat bullshit," if I may call it that, the next time I see a show at the Commodore, depending on what band I'm seeing, that might just be where I head. 

That said, the next band I hope to see at the Commodore is the Circle Jerks, so...

...anyhow, about the music last night. LA Witch was visually more interesting - light show excepted - to watch than the Black Angels. The bassist alone had more onstage charisma than any of the Black Angels (except maybe the drummer). It was very interesting to see the discrepancy between members' self-expression - because in her tight short-shorts, with a strap falling off her shoulder, and a fair bit more makeup (I think) than her bandmates, Irita Pai had her "sexy levels" set way higher than her bandmates; she looked - how can I put this without seeming lecherous or sexist? - like she was, for example, at a club on Granville Street - which, uh, she was, kinda - whereas the guitarists looked kinda like they were out for a swanky business affair and the drummer looked like she was at the gym. I mean, I'm SORRY to be writing about female musicians in terms of how they look here, right? But the point is, the bassist alone, I could watch for hours; she has charisma. There was CONFLICT in me between the desire to watch her, and the desire to shut my eyes, as opposed to the Black Angels, who were completely visually un-exciting (lightshow excepted) and who generated no conflict whatsoever. (I am sure they have fans who disagree but if I saw the Black Angels walking through the mall I would think nothing of it). 

LA Witch by bev davies, not to be used without permission 

If LA Witch were easier to close your eyes and listen to than the Black Angels - they were nowhere near as hooky or danceable, or at least they did not make ME want to stand up and dance. They ARE a rock band, and there WERE hooks, but mostly the stuff I found most interesting and enjoyable about their music was about tone, texture, mood, and the weird stuff hanging at the peripheries of the soundscape of their music. I didn't even really notice their songs so much as the sounds they generated; like, eyes closed - and only with my eyes closed; the effect was lost when I opened them - I heard all these weird phantom vocals in the back of my head, ghostly female whooos and even deep masculine growls and such that had me looking at the band to see if anyone onstage was making them. It was like the weird swirling stuff you sometimes could hear at a Mission of Burma show, where there actually WAS a member you couldn't see, doing sonic manipulations to the sound. Some of the phantom male stuff, mind you, might be down to an obnoxious drunk off to my left, who yelled way louder than was necessary throughout some of the set - I mean, maybe he presumed to sing along, too? But there were definitely some auditory hallucinations. There were also some very interesting, shimmery textures generated, and striking temporal mindfucks where the band deliberately completely changed gears at midpoint in a song, a very disorienting downshift in tempo that brought back a staggering moment at an Under the Volcano a long time ago when a dub reggae band did the same thing (I've only ever heard dub do that so dramatically before, I think). It's the feeling of powerful drugs kicking in, but without the powerful drugs: suddenly the music CHANGES and you're swimming in a totally altered, unfamiliar sound-world, during the same tune. There were only a couple of moments like that, but they were what sold me on the idea of buying their newest CD - a mere $10 at the merch table, which, btw, is now moved across the venue to the far side, opposite where it used to be. 

I don't know LA Witch well at all, in fact - I'd tried to interview them once before (which didn't happen, due to technical problems), but I don't have their records and I haven't seen them before. Erik Iversen, another local photographer, not present last night, tells me on Facebook that their label, Suicide Squeeze, has other great stuff, too - especially Death Valley Girls, but also the Coathangers (one helluva name for a female band). All of it bears investigating. 

Before and between bands, I was posting about all this on Facebook, interacting with friends about the whole "seats" phenom. I bonded with a fellow big guy about how those rickety folding seats are kind of terrifying for people of our girth to sit in, since it is vastly too easy to imagine them collapsing under our weight (yes, folks, we fat people DO have that as a life experience to contend with; it's only happened a couple of times to me, but it sure is memorable when it does). Some people commented that the seats were "a load of bullshit," since they wouldn't be allowed to go to the front, but the thing is: YOU COULD go to the front, as long as you were SITTING in the front and committed to staying there. Unlike, say, my usual experience at the Rickshaw, which is perfectly designed for people who want to stand up at the front for SOME songs then go back to the back and sit for others, this new weird seating thing requires you to sort of just SIT WHEN YOU WANT TO SIT, and stand when you want to stand, WITHOUT mingling. If discouraging movement through the venue was the point of the PHO directive, then it works. If forcing people to stand a slight distance from each other was the point of the PHO directive, it also works - because you can't stand too close to someone when there is a fucking CHAIR in between you! But no one discouraged standing, as long as you stood at your seat; I saw little overt policing other than a few bouncers trying early on to make sure no one stood in the aisles, which quickly became impossible, so it became about making sure no one BLOCKED the aisles. 

It actually brought me back to Japan a bit, in fact, where people are generally more reserved, and I truly began to dig the seated experience; since no one stood for LA Witch, I began to wonder if people were going to stand up at all. The only person I saw stand up for LA Witch, in fact, was Bev herself, when she was taking the photograph above! 

bev davies shooting LA Witch, by Allan MacInnis

However, I quickly discovered that people were MORE than willing to stand; they just needed more danceable, hooky music to make them WANNA stand, which is exactly what they did when the Black Angels came on - the typical slow wave of people standing up front, with a few curmudgeonly types like me holding out for awhile. Eventually, I would imagine everyone was standing in front of their seats (or in the aisle); even I got up and swayed around a bit. More irritating from an audience perspective, for me, than the seats that kept the people ahead of and in back of me a distance away, was that the dance floor at the Commodore has become surprisingly sticky. Where I was, at least, it was like there had been a Coca-Cola convention that afternoon and they'd forgotten to mop - so I'd be swaying a little to the music, trying to get into it, and I'd try to lift my foot and the sole of my shoe wouldn't move and I'd nearly lose my balance. I don't remember it being that bad before! Eventually I just sat down again and hoped the girl who had taken the aisle space to my right, who bumped into me a dozen times during her own dancing, didn't manage to get me in the eye with her purse. 

She didn't. 

There is other stuff I could get into that I'm gonna make short work of - like mentioning that it was kind of weird to see two bands in a row with the drummer at the periphery, LA Witch's drummer to the right (from my POV, not the stage) and the Black Angels' to the left, which had a predictable affect on my inner experience; usually - in front of my stereo - I experience the drums happening right in the centre of whatever shape the music is making, which makes sense because live, drums are usually center stage; here, the drums seemed to be at one side or the other of the music, sonically as well as visually. Maybe that was subjective, though? 

I also have to add, here, that I was REALLY impressed by the Commodore's staff, who made it really, really fast and easy for us to get into the venue, get to our seats, and stay safe. I am sure they had some hassles during the night, but I witnessed NONE of them. Sticky floor outside, last night was as fun a night out as I've had in a long time, live-music wise (not quite as fun as that Betty Bathory show but still). And it was amusingly weird to see Bev tentatively make her way across a row of seated people to stand in the centre aisle and shoot, which is simply never a circumstance I've seen her in before; she's either always standing among fellow standers or in a photographers' pit, which there was not one of last night. (In fact the crossing over wasn't too weird, she tells me, but "standing in front of seated people was strange.")

I think we're all a bit out of practice at this, not sure what the rules are, and that it may take some time to get comfortable with these changes. There's not a lot of consistency between venues, that I'm seeing, either. While Mo is being forced to postpone shows and reduce his capacity so he can put in seats, there was no effort to change the floor of the Railway the other night - maybe because their dance floor is so tiny? The seats at the Commodore turned out, after the initial weirdness, to be welcome by my old, fat ass, but they sure won't be when it comes time for the Circle Jerks, you know? DOA at the Rickshaw with chairs will be fucking weird indeed, too. I am deeply skeptical that the amount of social distancing and "control" that the chairs imposed on the pit will be worth the harm it does to venue operators - and I feel really bad for Mo that he took on good faith that he would be allowed to operate at capacity, then had this chair bullshit rob him of, what was it, 25% of his capacity? 

And sorry, folks, but the chairs will also mean a net loss of FUN for people who want to mosh, or to lose themselves in a sweaty press of flesh, at a show where you DON'T just want to sit down and listen...

...but speaking just for myself, last night, sitting down and listening was EXACTLY what I wanted to do. And to say hi to Bev, who I haven't seen at a show since... shit, I dunno. I didn't mention her in my "What were you doing when the world ended" post when COVID hit, where I recorded some of the last concerts I saw before the pandemic... Bev, what was the last show we were at together? Comment if you remember...! 

Favourite misheard lyrics of the night came from a Black Angels song: "She had six arms and most of her eyes." In fact, it's "Lucifer eyes," though the rest is right - it's from their song, "Call to Arms," which I did not know. I got the chorus wrong, too - the correct lyric is "don't play with guns," but I somehow heard, "Don't paint your cranium." 

I like my versions better. 

Black Angels by Allan MacInnis. 

ALL BAD PHOTOS BELOW ARE BY ALLAN MACINNIS. All good photos, above, are by Bev! 

(My doctor tells me I gotta quit alcohol because of the mouth cancer. Luckily I don't mind the taste of this stuff - it's no worse than regular Bud, and two-for-two, it's the only de-alcoholized beer that I've found at a venue!)

The Rebel Spell kickoff at 333

Had a terrific time watching The Rebel Spell tour kickoff last night - and I've uploaded some video evidence, though it really doesn't capture the spirit of the evening. (NOTE: EDITED TO ADD THAT THIS CLIP DOES CAPTURE THE SPIRIT A BIT! Good!). The venue, 333, is a great place for punk shows - it's an old disused garage or something, complete with a busted toilet seat in the crapper and a separate room for alcohol for when they have licensed events. I'd go to see shows here again - a good little punk venue, with much better sound and lighting than you'd ever expect from such a place.

Above: Wretched Erin of the Rebel Spell

Below: Selfist

Bad cellphone photos by Allan MacInnis

I'm not sure if the name of the opening act, Selfist, refers to one who practices selfism - whatever that may be - or one who practices self-fisting; perhaps there's an intentional conflation of the two concepts? They reminded me for no particular reason of seeing Sludge back at the Cruel Elephant - maybe because one of the singers for Sludge had long blonde hair. I liked the bass player's solos during "Morbid History," one of the few songs whose title I got to pick out.

 The Binz

The Binz - that's a link to their bandcamp - were probably my favourite band of the night besides the headliners. Twin guitars, a tall heavy guy in plaid (named Gary) on vocals, and a complex, evolved, but still melodic approach to punk: they weren't just about power and passion, had some interesting music happening too - seemed like a smart band.

 Above and below: The Royal Red Brigade

So did the Royal Red Brigade, mind you, who came all the way from Regina by van to play this show (hopefully with a few other gigs along the way). I was feeling my two beers and the two glasses of Fireball I had downed, and feeling the heat and closeness of the room, so I spent part of their set outside on the sidewalk, breathing in cold fresh air. Still, a female friend of mine was very pleased to see they had a female bassist - while I kept trying to get a good photo of the drummer (a heavy, sweaty, hairy hard-hitter in a Clash t-shirt). I was distracted, too, by watching the female-heavy mosh pit - there were some seriously aggro girls in it, throwing punches and pushing guys around, sending them careening. I'm only an occasional mosher, but I've never gone out of my way to shove anyone in the pit, unless, say, they've just jumped on my foot and I need them off it; it's weird to see a pit where the toughest people in it are girls. (One of them seemed in a really bad mood, too - like she badly needed whatever catharsis she was getting).

The Rebel Spell were on fire as usual; I must have seen them around fifteen times by now*, and I've never seen them be less than great. Near the end, Jeff Andrew joined them onstage for his song with them, "The Tsilhqot'in War," playing violin and trading off vocals with Todd. I attempted to make a video of it, but midway through, I exceeded the storage space on my phone, and it shut down. I think I like what Andrew does, tho' - check out "Professional Asshole" on his bandcamp, say, for a witty bit of darkly political folk music. I've already said my piece on the new album in the Straight (though go figure - listening to the album on vinyl is totally different from what I've been playing on my phone; Todd's voice seems much clearer hearing it off record, while Erin's guitar isn't as dominant; I wonder if what I was sent is actually the final master, or if my phone is an unreliable way of listening to music? Hmm). Here's wishing them a great tour. Read my 2011 interview with Todd Serious here (with much, much better photos of the band, by Bev Davies and Femke van Delft).

*I have now seen The Rebel Spell:
- once at Richards on Richards, with DOA and the Furies: my introduction to the band
- at least twice at the Cobalt
- once at Under the Volcano
- once at Funkys
- twice at the Rickshaw, once opening for the Dreadnoughts, once opening for DOA's "farewell" a couple of years ago
- once at some Cultural Hall or other, for Todd's 40th birthday gig
- once at a church hall in Hammond, with an in-between bassist (after Chris but before Elliot)
- once at Adstock in Maple Ridge, just this summer
- once at 333, last night

So actually that means the total number of gigs I've seen by the Rebel Spell is more like eleven. Unless I've forgotten a couple. I may well have. Anyhow...

All Hail Femke van Delft!

It was in 2007. Eugene Chadbourne was onstage at the Cobalt with Han Bennink and three members of Robots On Fire. I had a Eugene Chadbourne interview written and ready for publication and needed a photo - if I recall correctly, the gig was happening just before the publication of the forthcoming issue of The Nerve Magazine; the issue would promote Chadbourne's upcoming jazz festival appearance, which this gig was an early forerunner of. Problem: I didn't have a camera, and even if I had, I knew from past experience that, in the low light atmosphere of a rock concert, any photos I tried to take would look likely be completely unworthy of print - as this photo of mine of Doc Chad at the Cobalt in 2009 amply demonstrates (compare with Femke's pics from the same show, a few posts back). It's so far along on the "bad" scale that it borders on coming out the other end as beautiful, like an abstract impressionist rendering of the artist, but I assure you, all beauty herein is completely accidental:

(Photo by Allan MacInnis

but don't you dare credit me;

in fact, don't show anyone.

Don't even look at it)

Then I noticed this tall, skinny blonde woman was intently photographing the whole set, from a variety of locations around the club. I had never seen her before, and I'd been to my share of shows locally. It seemed at least possible that if she were taking pictures, she might want someone to see them. The only question would be, "Hey, do you work for free?"

I mean, at least I could grin widely and follow that up with, "...because I do!" (Or I did back then, anyhow. I try to avoid it where possible these days...).

Luckily for me, Femke didn't laugh in my face, and a copy of the Nerve with Fem's picture of Han Bennink at the Cobalt went back to Amsterdam with the drummer, who was most pleased with it. I still remember then Nerve Music Editor Adrian Mack's reaction when I offered him the photo: "hey, I'm even impressed that you know someone named Femke van Delft!"

Suddenly, Fem and I were on assignment together for the Nerve. I met her at her skytrain station and she drove us out to cover Under The Volcano. Due to a spat rendered irrelevant by the subsequent death of the paper, my Nerve Magazine review of that day omitted my lines about the Rebel Spell's performance (largely focusing on how strange it was to see punks moshing on green grass on a bright summer's day), to say nothing of Femke's photos - though I think some of them ended up being used in my Razorcake interview with the Rebel Spell (issue number 42, also featuring a Chris Walter interview with the Tranzmitors, so it's a good backissue for fans of local bands to buy). I love how, if you look carefully at most of the pics from that show, you can see Bev Davies and Carola of the Jem Gallery lounging against a tree in the background - it was, in fact, the first time I met Bev Davies, though pictures of hers had complemented my writing, too, by that point.

Photo by Femke van Delft, not to be reused without permission

After that day, we worked together in a variety of contexts; I got full exposure to Femke's finely-honed sense of the absurd (ask her about the llama sometime), and I got to know how community-minded and committed to her work she could be. Take, for example the time when, since she needed better light to work with at the 'balt and realized they didn't have the time, staff, and possibly the moolah to do anything about their many burnt out bulbs, she trundled off to the grocery store down Main Street to buy some kitchen lights out of her own pocket and did the job of installing them herself, much to the benefit of all those who like to be able to actually see the bands onstage. I've seen Femke stand on a chair beside a mosh pit at a Subhumans show where she could have gotten careened into at any moment, taking photos without the slightest concern for anything aside from her subject; I've also seen her in pretty much every other possible posture or place for a photographer save for hanging upside down from her ankles over the stage, though I don't rule that one out as a possiblity if it means getting the shot. I've witnessed Femke being assigned near-impossible lighting conditions and a three song limit - at this Animal Collective show, say - and pulling out amazing photographs. Fem's been stepped on, insulted, forced to shoot covertly from the back of the venue, harassed by security, and asked to do far too much for too little reward - but she continues to do it, and any casual look through the last three years on my blog will turn up amazing photo after amazing photo by her.

I've seen various art projects of hers as well as photos, too, the most memorable of which was an easy chair punctured by pencils, clustered around the areas corresponding to the human heart and the crotch and almost entirely bypassing the brain - a comment on television. Her capacity for critical engagement with her photography, and with the form in general, is one of the most interesting things about working with her - she has lots to say about her work, about music, and about the representation of musicians in photographs, especially in her "Light Parasite" series. Acknowledging that concert photography is a "form of tourism," with writers and photographers feeding parasitically off the aura of the celebrity, she adopted a very interesting approach by which she sets her camera to a long exposure and then shoots in the hopes that there will be a flash used elsewhere in the venue - a more literal form of "light parasitism," which, when it pays off, creates a very unusual and quite lovely ghostly effect, as this picture of Stephen McBean of Black Mountain, adjusting his gear at Richards on Richards, will illustrate:

Photo by Femke van Delft, not to be reused without permission

To date, Fem's pictures have run alongside my writing in The Nerve, The Skinny, Razorcake, Ox Fanzine, Bixobal, The Wire and elsewhere. Where my writing would be without her contributions is a questionable thing - she has made my work look very, very good over the years, and she's been a supportive and reliable friend and cohort; enthusiastic and articulate collaborators like her are hard to come by. She'll be the subject of a show at the Railway Club - their first ever concert photography show, I'm told - with Fraulein Fanta, Marko Polio, and Yellowthief performing on opening night, next Thursday, June 3rd, from 7pm to midnight. When I last checked in with Fem, she was unsure if she'd do a series of all-local shots or not; images hadn't been printed, so she wasn't 100% sure what would be included. There was talk of running pictures of Swank, Black Mountain, Bison BC, Ejaculation Death Rattle, the Subhumans, and a Creaking Planks she likes (perhaps this one?) because "it's just so Rembrandt." (I agree!) - there will be at least 18 pictures, to my understanding/ Fem's photos are also appearing in the Chapel Arts rock art show, alongside the work of Bev Davies, Adam PW Smith, and others (their site doesn't seem to have been updated recently but I'm sure committed folks can find the information they need somewhere online). Those interested in rock, the local music scene, or photography - or combinations off all three - should check both of these shows out, and if you see Femke, be sure to get her talking about her work; she always has interesting things to say...!

Nashville Pussy by Femke van Delft, not to be reused without permission!

Rollercoaster tonight -- of Brendan Fletcher, Robin Wood, teen suicide and Playland

The Cinematheque, at 7pm tonight, is screening a remarkable, under-sung, shot-in-Vancouver drama: Rollercoaster, from 1999. No, this is not the 70's action film that the band Sparks appears in: Scott Smith's 1999 film deals with a group of troubled youth who break into an amusement park, and stars Brendan Fletcher, up there with Gabrielle Rose as one of the very finest Canadian actors to make pretty much no headway in Hollywood (okay, his role in Violent Night is pretty substantial, but he's kinda blink-and-you'll-miss-him in The Revenant, which is a shame, since he's obviously skilled with frontier adventures; just see Ginger Snaps Back, which makes far better use of him). Starring roles in Canadian films, supporting roles in American ones shot here -- it's kind of the way it goes.  

Fact is, I've followed his career much more closely than I ever intended. I even caught him in an adaptation of Equus, once -- not to mention seeing him in starring roles in multiple Uwe Boll films, most notably Rampage -- partially shot in a Maple Ridge bingo hall where I played bingo as a child with my Mom! Rollercoaster is one of his finest films, directed by Scott Smith from a story by Alex Kazemi. But oddly, despite it being shot at Playland -- the titular rollercoaster is the one all Vancouverites know -- the reason I saw the film was that it was amply praised by UK/ Ontario film critic Robin Wood. Yes, the same Robin Wood with a hate-on for Cronenberg. You can find the whole book online easily enough as a Google docs PDF, so I'm going to presume to quote liberally; the relevant section begins on page 327 of the expanded edition. Wood also riffs on the 1977 flick, which is not very good! 

Note: Stick is Fletcher's character, and Wood's warning about spoilers isn't that essential up until you get to the passage on location and cinematography. Unless you have decided to see the film already, and don't need to be sold on it, I would just soldier ahead, at least to that point. 

THE PARTY’S OVER: SCOTT SMITH’S Rollercoaster (from Robin Wood's Hollywood from Vietnam to Reagan: the rest of this writeup will be a lengthy quote): 

Even in Canada, Canadian films (unless directed by David Cronenberg, or Atom Egoyan in his later works) are categorized instantly as “small,” and I think we should ask ourselves exactly what this conveys, and by what criterion smallness or bigness can be gauged. The answer is clear: “small” here has nothing whatever to do with subject matter, quality, or ambition; it has to do exclusively with money and is yet another proof of our insidious and all-pervasive corruption by capitalist values.

I wonder how many people reading this chapter have even heard of Rollercoaster (or, perhaps, are expecting a critical exploration of the 1977 Sensurround movie of the same title, a disaster film in every sense, in which case I shall disappoint them). Scott Smith’s film is, in the common usage, “small”: its budget was not exactly enormous, and I assume its cast of six (uniformly marvelous) actors were each paid somewhat less than the $10 million nowadays taken for granted by major Hollywood stars, though they give performances as good, if not better. And the film is “merely” about teenagers, our culture’s disenfranchised, disenchanted, and desperate members, and (more specifically) about teen suicide: a “small” subject? I have to suppose it is, for most people. We read brief references to it in the newspapers, but nothing is ever done so presumably no one cares, it not occurring to them that these same teenagers (the ones who survive) represent the future of our culture. But then, does anyone care about that either?

Rollercoaster is a great movie, but its pleasures and disturbances will be spoiled for you if you haven’t seen the film before you read what follows. It is available (although not all stores bother to stock it) on both VHS and DVD in a really splendid widescreen transfer. The DVD includes a very useful Director’s Commentary and an intermittently illuminating commentary by the teenage actors.

I missed Rollercoaster in the Toronto Film Festival (2000) but attended its theatrical opening on its first day. I was the only person in the auditorium. It ran, I believe, for one week. Since then I have watched the DVD five times, seeing more on each viewing, partly thanks to certain insights derived from the commentaries. The film is not in any obvious way “difficult,” but it is rich in significant detail (a gesture here, an expression there, a throwaway line of dialogue, a camera movement, a particular use of décor). I liked the film straight away, but I attribute my initial underestimation to precisely those preconceptions about Canadian cinema that I have attacked: I suppose my attitude could have been summed up as “very good for a small Canadian movie.” So I have not avoided contamination; consequently I missed things I should have picked up on from the start. My renewed interest in the film developed out of my engagement with the American high school comedies. While noting their total refusal to confront certain crucial problems involving teenagers today (gayness, teen suicide, the frequent connection between the two), I thought suddenly of Kitchen Party and Rollercoaster, to both of which these issues are central. (One must now add Ginger Snaps, which had not then appeared, but which takes as its starting point the projected joint suicide of two sisters. It seems to me inferior—less “thought through”—than the two earlier films.) The Hollywood films belong, as a group, quite blatantly to that favorite and essential capitalist strategy of “making us all think we’re happy”; the Canadian films are oppositional and, whatever the filmmakers’ conscious intentions, can stand as a critique of their jolly American relatives. The closest American equivalent is Larry Clark’s Kids, to which Rollercoaster seems to me vastly superior on every level.

Structure 

The film’s intricate overall structure is built upon a set of interlocking structures:

1 The 24-hour time scheme. The film starts in early morning, ends in the next early morning. The effect is not mere symmetry: the “next” morning is “the morning after,” when everything has changed, and where there are glimmers of fresh hope following tragedy.

2. Weather. Shooting restrictions for this ultra-low-budget (but by no means “small”) film, shot entirely on location and outdoors, were extremely tight. That one scene—and one scene only—takes place in the rain, with all its connotations of simultaneous sorrow and purification, was apparently (to judge from the commentaries) fortuitous. It just happens that it’s the film’s pivotal scene, to which everything leads up and from which everything follows.

3. Progression A. The rides in the amusement park (within or just outside which the entire film, up to the last shot, takes place). For the first third of the film everything is shut down, static, the kids climbing on a motionless rollercoaster; in the middle section (as things start moving dramatically) the machines are turned on; when night falls, the kids turn on all the lights, start all the rides, and the park becomes a wonderland, a celebration of life (albeit a partially ironic one, in which suicide is still an option).

4. Progression B. Dramatically, the film builds up to and then beyond two parallel crises (Chloe’s, Stick’s), the two linked by disclosure, the revelation of what was previously unspoken.

4. Paradox. The most likely of the characters to commit suicide is the one who emerges strengthened; the one who seems least likely is the one who goes through with it.

Source Smith reveals in his commentary that the source of the film was a true story. Four teenagers decided to commit suicide together, as life appeared to hold nothing for them. But, when it came to the point, they found they’d run out of beer. So they drove off to a liquor store, came back, drank all the beer . . . and committed suicide. This story is told in the film by Stick, in one of its many extraordinary shots. He is standing (long shot) on the highest reach of the stationary rollercoaster, addressing his suicidal friends (with one of whom he is, potentially at least, in love). In the background is a mountain, with clouds around its peak, strongly suggesting the smoke from a latent, but about to erupt, volcano. I have been haunted by that image ever since I took serious interest in the film—by its fusion of visual beauty, precariousness, and imminent disaster. There are many such beautiful moments in the film, marking it as the work of an artist with an instinctive understanding of cinema; if this single image stands out, it is because of its duration and the lack of movement, suggestive of a contemplative pause in the film’s otherwise swift forward momentum.

Location and Cinematography 

Having made the decision to shoot virtually the entire film within an out-of-season amusement park, Smith makes dazzlingly inventive use of its potential, both visual and dramatic. Nothing is faked, there are no back projections or studio sets, the camera is up there on the rides with the kids, whether the rollercoaster and the other machines are static or in motion. The contrast with current Hollywood “action” movies couldn’t be stronger, their computer-generated unreality mercilessly exposed. The meager reviews of the film I read (polite, condescending) showed no sign of recognition of the nature or quality of Smith’s achievement. The climactic sequences, where, at nightfall, the kids turn on all the amusement park lights in a celebration of life that is partly real, partly (in the context of darkness and imminent death) ironic and valedictory, are at once exhilarating and painful. The use throughout of the various machines and other amusement park décor is consistently intelligent, never merely “colorful,” always dramatically justified: the “Zipper” in which Ben is tricked and trapped, the bumper cars in which the characters’ diverse tensions are released, the rollercoaster from which Darrin will throw himself, the hidden video “eyes” that watch from various adornments.

Stick’s Progress

It is perhaps unfair to single out Brendan Fletcher’s performance from a cast that contains no weaknesses and, under Smith’s direction, plays faultlessly as an ensemble. (One gathers from the DVD’s cast commentary, in which all six actors join, that Smith got them involved as a group before shooting started, and that they have remained friends ever since.) But Fletcher has the showiest role and plays the character who undergoes the most development; if anyone can be said to dominate the film it is he.

The subtleties with which Stick’s progress is charted may not be apparent to the casual viewer, or perhaps to anyone on first viewing. Hollywood has habituated us to the careful spelling out of plot points, seldom allowing them to be made purely visually but indeed often underlining them in the dialogue. With Stick this is impossible: the gayness which he denies to himself as much as to the world can be “spoken” only through inadvertent physical behavior, and especially through his insistent physical contact with Darrin (Kett Turton), mainly a matter of those “playful” punches that easily pass for “normal” masculine behavior among teenage boys. (Smith points out in his commentary how he tried as often as possible to connect Stick and Darrin in two-shots, one of which he describes as the “lovers on the beach” shot). This inexplicitness serves an important function: the film becomes a cunning trap for homophobic teenagers in the audience, for whom Stick, throughout the film’s first two-thirds, is the most obvious identification figure, the most seemingly extrovert, the most active, the rowdiest. When the park attendant Ben (the film’s only adult character) traps Stick in the washroom and sexually molests him, it is possible to read, carelessly, Stick’s reactions merely as a sort of paralyzed horror, Ben thereby becoming, at that point, the film’s representative of homosexuality. The tables are then turned, the trap sprung, by Stick’s subsequent revelation (the beginning of his self-acceptance).

If, however, we attend to the details of Fletcher’s remarkable performance, the stages of Stick’s progress become clear: (1) his constant “playful” provocation, and constant awareness, of Darrin, never entirely rejected; (2) the extremely complex reaction to Ben’s molestation as rendered by the actor’s face, where horror mingles with desire (in the cast commentary the actors describe him as “torn”); (3) his pathetic attempt at self-denial in abruptly “feeling up” Chloe, in whom he has previously shown not the least sign of sexual interest; (4) his crucial speech to Justin (Darrin’s younger brother), when Justin describes Ben as a “fag” (“No. I’m a fag. He fucks kids”), in the scene Smith describes as the film’s “little window of hope”; and (6) the climactic revelation of his desire, in the game in which everyone has to lie, saying the opposite of the truth (“I hate you, Darrin. I fucking hate you”—Darrin understands perfectly and turns aside).

Does this contribute to Darrin’s suicide? As with Stick, Smith refuses to spell things out for us, but the context suggests the possibility, adding to the film’s poignance and complexity. Its underlying assumption seems to be that these teenagers (including the barely teenage Justin) are at an age where sexuality has not been finally “fixed,” where there is still the possibility of flux. Darrin’s fondness for Stick is evident throughout the film (to the point where one could almost substitute “attraction to” for “fondness for”). And Darrin has already had to face Chloe’s revelations (which parallel Stick’s): that she has been sexually promiscuous, that Darrin may not be the father of her child, and that in any case the child (the pretext for the joint suicide—Chloe’s “We’re not going to bring our baby into this world”) has already been aborted. The film’s sensitivity to the confusions and fears of teenagers struggling to make sense of a harsh and hostile environment and of their places within it strikes me as a rare and valuable quality, totally lacking in the corresponding American teen comedies.

The film’s delicacy and inexplicitness is summed up in the last scene, a single-take extreme long shot. Outside the amusement park at last, the four survivors drive off. Then the car pulls up, and we see Justin get out and set off on his own, up a steep bank to the main highway. The car drives on, leaving the foreground empty, but then backs up and stops again. Stick gets out and follows Justin. The boy (apparently about thirteen) has earlier shown a mature sensitivity toward Stick, responding to his “It will be hard on you without Darrin” with “It’ll be hard on you.” Clearly, Stick has replaced Darrin as “elder brother,” and his following Justin is an acknowledgment of responsibilty accepted; there is also the possibility that Justin may grow up gay, hinted at in his readiness to accept Stick. The “little window of hope” (which refers to the possibility of supportive, positive human relations within a cruel and uncaring world) has opened a little further.

[End quote; that was all Robin Wood -- like I say, the whole book is online, so why not quote liberally?]. Rollercoaster screens tonight at the Cinematheque at 7pm. Be there? 

Chris Towers of The New Creation: Witness Testimony

Chris Towers normally shuns the spotlight (photo by Femke van Delft. All photos on this blog are used by permission of the photographer and not to be reproduced without the same).


I didn't tell many people who my musical guest for my belated birthday event at the Vancity Theatre was last week, and not just because I wanted it to be a surprise: Chris Towers of The New Creation had agreed to perform at least one song - "Wind," my favourite tune off The New Creation's debut, Troubled - but I knew he was nervous, not having performed publicly for something like forty years; and there were other complicating factors. For one, the audience was comprised in part of punks who might object to the content of Chris' music - since all of The New Creation's material is explicitly Christian; further - sadly - Lorna Towers, Chris' mother and one third of the band, now in her mid-80's, had taken ill (and is still, to my understanding, not doing so well); there was a chance her condition could turn for the worse, and I wanted Chris to have the option of cancelling without feeling he'd let anyone down.

Chris did not cancel, nor did he let anyone down. Guests can attest that he could be seen pacing and practicing in the concession area of the theatre right up to soundcheck; when people were finally let in to the auditorium, I briefly introduced him. The backstory bears repeating: The New Creation's first album, released in Vancouver in a run of 100 circa 1970, was completely neglected, until it was recovered from oblivion by the late Ty Scammel of the Vancouver Flea Market, who found a copy in a thrift store some time in the late 80's. This sole copy, which Ty, an expert in psychedelic rock, thought had some very promising moments, would be played for hip customers, and thus came to the attention of an "outsider music" scout, James Brouwer. This led to the album being re-released on CD some thirty years after it was recorded, as the debut release on Companion Records - a rediscovery that shocked the Vancouver-based band and brought them, for the first time, to the attention of music geeks worldwide.

Chris Towers (photo by Femke van Delft. All photos are used by permission of the photographer and not to be reproduced without the same).


There's more to the story, too: as I wrote for the Straight, a single copy of their debut LP surfaced last year in England, apparently part of a collection belonging to Sir Cliff Richard; it sold on eBay for over $1700 US, being finally snapped up by a Belgian collector, showing that some people indeed value The New Creation's music a great deal. In 2003, the band got back together and recorded a follow-up CD, themed around the Rapture, mostly as conceived by Lorna Towers; I interviewed the Towers about the album for The Nerve Magazine a couple of years ago - an article you can read online here. Despite a Catholic upbringing and an admiration for aspects of Christ's life and teachings, I am not, myself, a Christian, and am highly suspect of the concept of the Rapture and what I regard as the pernicious, non-Christian right-wing fantasies of the Left Behind series, which I discussed briefly with Ms. Towers in the interview (without, I admit, challenging her much; Lorna Towers is a strong-minded, outspoken individual and certainly the most intimidating senior citizen *I've* ever met, and I didn't want to get into a fight with her -- particularly since there seemed no likelihood either of us would sway the other in the slightest). All the same I can appreciate creative music, and in some cases (the song "Wind" off Troubled, in particular, but also "Calamity World" off A Unique Disaster), can find myself very much moved by the band's music and message. I was delighted at the idea of introducing at least one of their songs to a select crowd of Vancouverites.

Erin, guitarist of Vancouver's The Rebel Spell, described Chris' appearance as a "slightly less dramatic Susan Boyle moment," referring to the somewhat frumpy British spinster who shocked TV audiences this April by proving to have a golden voice. (It was so perfectly apt a comment, which she emailed to me, that I didn't chase her down for more). The Rebel Spell's new album, which they are busy putting together even now, has a working title of It's a Beautiful Future, and probably won't be released until the fall; anyone interested in smart, fast, tuneful political punk should come see their May 22nd show at the Cobalt ("a book release for Chris Walter's latest opus Wrong," Erin reports). Members and fans of the band might be interested to know that Chris Towers currently has my copy of Walter's East Van, and that a few years ago, he attended my screening of Glen Sanford's film about Gerry Hannah, Useless, part of an old Blim triple bill I did also featuring two films about Christian activists the Berrigan brothers - The Trial of the Catonsville Nine and In The King of Prussia, both of which I heartily recommend for people interested in the anti-war or anti-nuclear movements or in non-violent models of direct action. The Berrigans can be seen torching draft records on Youtube with the Catonsville Nine; there's also a documentary, Investigation of Flame, that can be found. I hadn't realized there was even such a thing as Christian direct action until I heard about the Berrigans, who have been a topic of conversation between Chris and I on more than one occasion (though I won't presume to represent his views here!). (Photo of Erin by Femke, at Under the Volcano a few years ago; again, not to be used without permission).

Anyhow, Erin's sentiment re: Chris is reflected by Tony Bardach of the Pointed Sticks (who have new demos here and a new album in June) and Slowpoke and the Smoke (gig notices here). He says, "at first I listened with my eyes closed - the voice was beautiful. When I finally looked around there was still just a slightly ungainly middle aged man singing alone on the stage. Great!"

Femke, like Tony, has done some very interesting and provocative work in the fine arts, and will be curating a show this summer that I will give her press for at a later date; in addition to those on view here, she has provided the majority of pictures that have accompanied my writing over the years and has proven a tireless and insightful compatriot. Femke says of the April 24th performance, "I watched Chris pacing and practicing. It was obvious that this was a difficult thing for him to do... Chris' story and music force me to face my own prejudices born out of my 'born again atheist' up-bringing." This is not all that unsettles Femke about phenomenon like the popularity, among some, of bands like The New Creation, however. "This is the music equivalent to the cool and recent obsession in the art world with Outsider or Art Brut," she writes, "which has spawned magazines, exhibitions, curatorial statements using any/all of the following words : discovered, raw, naive, pure, untrained, genius, insane. I really don't trust what motivates this outsider movement. It's a 21st century freak show." Nonetheless, Femke says "it was a privilege to witness (Chris') first performance in years." By the way, the pic of Femke above is by Adam PW Smith, and, once again, is not to be used without his permission, or Femke's!

Racan of Scratch Records, says, echoing Femke's sentiment, that he "definitely felt privileged to be able to witness a member of the New Creation perform in any capacity - especially in such a great venue (the perfect movie theatre). Even getting to hear a single song was probably a bit of a miracle. Chris was soft-spoken, but charming and quite moving. Most of the staff at Scratch are fans, particularly Keith Parry. I hadn't listened to either of the albums in quite a while, and didn't realize the extent of the band's early obscurity. Frankly I'm still shocked that an album that began with an initial pressing of a mere 100 copies could eventually find itself in the right hands and get reissued. I only wish Chris had played longer, but hopefully that will happen eventually." Racan, a filmmaker, has completed what he describes as "a silly movie" that will have a screening as part of Khan Con, a Star Trek mini-con at the Rio Theatre on Saturday, May 16th. Info about the film can be found here, with more info on Facebook; I'm told you can rent Racan's film for free at both Black Dog locations, and Happy Bats on Main. (Photo of Scratch by Femke van Delft).

Local musician and man of mystery Michael Carrothers - who performs live around town with slightly more frequency than Chris Towers, but has no Myspace or Facebook page that I might link to, and no shows upcoming (though I gather he has a stellar songwriting partner urging him on), reports of seeing Chris that "what still sticks out in my mind now, is that it was one of the most honest performances that I've ever seen, he was genuine and sincere from the moment he walked up to the mic, and it was easy to see that he was really pushing himself past his nervousness after such a long period of not performing. He even commented that he was there out of his desire to play a song as you'd asked him to, out of gratitude for the help you've given him and other artists through your writing. I think his words were 'when Allan MacInnis asks you to play a song, you play a song.' I don't think I've heard such honest and humble stage patter before. I was genuinely surprised when he started to play, I got goosebumps listening to him perform, and found myself singing the chorus for days afterwards (it's running through my head as I'm typing now.) His guitar playing and voice may not have been perfect and precise, but his sincerity, songcraft and the delivery of the song itself were inspiring, not to mention the courage it took to get up there alone, without his band and play in public after such a long absence. I never thought I would actually be inspired by, or go out of my way to see someone play Christian-themed music, it's just not really my thing, but I'd be the first person in line if he ever decided to play a full show, or even if he just were to sing one more song at next years birthday celebration."

Michael does a good job of summing up what I felt, listening to Chris Towers; Chris' sincerity and humility are moving things - rare qualities indeed in the so-called music biz. I wonder if everyone would agree that these qualities alone make The New Creation's songs remarkable or worthwhile, though? Dissenting rumbles about what transpired before the film last week have been heard among the people that I've contacted for this article - though they didn't want to go into it publicly. Chris' guitar playing was certainly below the standard that any professional performing musician would aspire to; he himself - his own harshest critic, of course - admits that he was dissatisfied with his playing. Then again, the musicianship on Troubled itself, the album The New Creation is most famous for, is not perfect by far; he even bungles a lyric on the recorded version of "Wind," attentive listeners will note (which he got right live!). Similarly, I personally find/ found his singing voice beautiful, even if his delivery wasn't without its "rough edges," and perhaps indeed because of them. Might it seem the standard of beauty that I'm using - which deals in sincerity of expression - may not in fact hold Chris accountable to any sort of technical standard at all, though? In what sense am I praising him, then? Femke's comment about outsider art as a "21st century freakshow" starts to echo in the back of my mind; am I guilty of exploiting Chris - taking advantage of his lack of guile and desire to please and encouraging him to embarrass himself in front of people? (Don't I kind of get a back-of-the-hand chuckle out of some of The New Creation's more outlandishly odd songs, like their creationist pop tune, "Dig," off Troubled, or "From the Roman Shores," off A Unique Disaster, which has Lorna Towers describing the rise of the Antichrist with Chris providing a catchy, singalong chorus of "666?" I mean, "Wind" moves me as much as any old-timey gospel tune, but that's not the case with all of The New Creation's output; at least some of it appeals because of its bizarre novelty value. I've got nowhere else to put it).

If this is a freakshow, then - am I the barker? "Step right up, folks - see this touching artefact of old-school Christian worship! Be amazed at his sincere unrefined passionate expression! Vicariously revel in his lack of ironic distance! Watch him try to play guitar after 40 years of non-performance!" ...I mean, I don't think that that's what I'm doing, and I don't think it's why the people who provided their comments above generally seem pretty positive. I'd go see Chris again in a second, if he had a show lined up, which most people I spoke to said they'd do. Frankly, I'd love it if he put together a whole set of music. I'd bring friends. I'd enthuse. I'd give him press.

And then again, I really dug Daniel Johnston's show here, too...

In any event, I figure the final word for tonight should go to Nathan Holiday of Tunnel Canary - my second-favourite Vancouver comeback story, after The New Creation's (and topping even that of the Pointed Sticks, at number three). (Pic of Nathan and the reconfigured TC at the Shitstorm Noise Festival by Dan Kibke - again, not to be used without permission). "I thought it was interesting, first of all," Nathan told me over the phone, "because it was a religious song, or a spiritual song, and it took a lot of guts to just get up there with a guitar and no backing and do the thing... but it was very short, and it was pretty simple. I didn't know if the album was like that or not; I guess it's more flushed out, because there's a drummer - I don't know if the other woman plays. I was waiting for something more 'psychedelic,' because you had mentioned the album was psychedelic. But I kind of listened to it and thought, 'That was interesting,' and then that was it! The song was there, and he actually presented it well; and I thought the guy was very humble and very genuine in his presentation. Apart from noticing the song was well-crafted and apart from his personality, I didn't really have any other thoughts about it!" Nathan has, however, expressed interest in hearing The New Creation's CDs sometime, which I will definitely facilitate. I wonder if Nathan - whom I would describe as a very spiritual man - would be able to find much common ground with Chris? (What would the world make of a Chris Towers/ Nathan Holiday collaboration, I wonder...? Good Lord, what a thought...)

Chris Towers (photo by Femke van Delft. All photos are used by permission of the photographer and not to be reproduced without the same).

Chris, whatever else may be said, I think the above sampling of my audience reveals that another live set by you would be welcome in this town, if you wanted to do it. Readers are welcome to make offers or suggestions in the comment section below; if you were there for Chris' song and have anything to add - or wish you had been there - do chime in. Meanwhile, I'm already scheming on what to do for next year's b-day film event (last year, Cassavetes, this year Phase IV... must do something completely unrelated next year. I've got a pretty good idea, I think - and I know just who I'm going to ask to perform in front of it). Thanks to everyone who came out, and congratulations to those who won the prize draw!
Photo by Femke! (I do kind of look like some sort of barker, or tout, or something. Hmm...)