FEAR Vancouver return! (With Dead Bob and the Vicious Cycles)

So the last time FEAR was in town, I wore my loudest pink shirt. If Lee was gonna start on that homophobic shtick you see in The Decline of Western Civilization, I was going to pick a side, so to speak -- a sort of hot pink message of, "Fuck you! I'm with them!"

FEAR at the Vogue, Vancouver, April 21, 2023, by Bob Hanham, not to be reused without permission

Because y'see, based on that film clip, and things I'd read, but having had no actual live experience of the band, I had kinda thought that being abused and shouting back was half the point of a FEAR concert -- that it was some weird, sadomasochistic/ purgative/ quasi-therapeutic ritual of Los Angeles punk, a play-acted us-and-them cartoon that in fact hasn't really translated well geographically or temporally: "Hey, this band are going to call us f*gs, lets all go spit on them!": not an aspect of the punk scene I really had much exposure to, not an aspect of the zeitgeist that I can say I understand.

Maybe some of what you see in the film was put-on and amped-up for the cameras, but with the film then reinforcing that this was the way to behave at their shows, it must have had an impact on what was to come -- if their fans didn't really act that way before the film, damn sure they did after! Did the band finally get tired of it? What was that like, coming to shows with people primed to gob? (Surely FEAR is one of the most spat-at bands in American punk?). And when they weren't saying things to bait their audience and get a reaction, what did they really believe?

Whatever the case: no abuse was hurled at the Vogue back in 2023, either from the band at the audience or from the audience at the stage. Lee was very polite and thankful. One of my friends even complained that he had gone "Vegas," what with saying things like "what a great audience! I love you guys!"

I mean, it definitely wasn't what I'd expected, either. Lee used to present as someone out of a Hubert Selby Jr novel (see image below, and yes, I'm specifically thinking about Last Exit). He was singing his crudest lyrics ("piss on your warm embrace/ I just want to cum in your face!"), not censoring himself at all -- which I kind of respect; play the song or not, but don't change it, you know? ...don't water the thing down! But in-between songs the other year, it was more just generic entertainer stage patter, much tamer than I'd imagined. I wouldn't necessarily say it was Vegas, but it was none of what you see in the doc.

Hubert Selby Jr

Like, would Lee be pissed off, if I could ask him about that, or would he be, "What's wrong with Vegas?" Does Lee dig Sinatra? Tony Bennett? I'm more of a Dean Martin guy myself. Lee's in that Netflix is a Joke video clip about aging punk rockers, smashing up a scooter with a hammer, so clearly he's got a sense of humour... Like, how does he feel, looking back at himself in Decline? Was that guy really him, then? When did that start to change?

And how the hell would people LIKE him to have aged? No, it was fine with me that Lee was polite, that FEAR has matured out of that audience-abuse stuff. Maybe they gave that up years ago? I mean, who would want that level of expectation placed on them? Who would want to be the guy that you see in Decline as a full-time job? He's 74, for fucksake!

It's like, if GG Allin had lived, man, if GG Allin were alive now (like Lee) in his 70s and still touring -- stop and contemplate this: he would probably have gone full-outlaw country by now (Lee has an album of country songs, you know, right? They could have toured together). The laxatives would have been given up long ago, the shitting onstage, the sucker-punching-the-audience: "Naw, man, that was my old me, I've gone acoustic for good." GG didn't live to see those days, but Lee did! We should be happy for him!

Or like, at that Iggy Pop show, where he was opening for the Pretenders here on the Blah-Blah-Blah tour, there was that one grizzled guy in the pit shouting, "Spit on me Ig!" But if Iggy had actually spat on the audience that night -- mostly comprised of 20somethings who had heard "Real Wild Child" on the radio and a song they thought of as David Bowie's, but nothing more -- if Iggy had actually SPAT on them, 95% of the audience would have shrieked and ran. It woulda been me and the old guy left: "Uh, spit on me next?" 

Which is to say, times change. 

People always joked about Iggy going Vegas, someday -- which would be all right by me, actually; anyone who knows the bootleg Heroin Hates You has heard what that might sound like. But if we'll make a space in Vegas for Iggy, why not allow Lee there... or maybe a home on the range? (Country people are supposed to have good manners too, right? I'd have loved to see a set by Range War. Whole album here).

And I mean, fan expectations can be dreadful on performers. Remember that time when someone had said on the radio, the day the Cramps were here, with Slow, out at UBC, that the last time the band had been in town, Lux had gotten naked onstage, so that that night, everyone started chanting "strip!" at him before the encore? He was not one to strip on command, that Lux; I don't think he appreciated it -- the encore was brief ("Surfin' Bird" was involved) and underwhelming (I think there was also an issue involving Slow having gotten blood on the band's equipment, in their evening's homage to Carrie).

So contemplating my friend's observation about Lee going Vegas, I started turning it over in my mind. Why shouldn't Lee have toned it down by now? And what did it mean about me that I had come to the FEAR show dressed to be abused? What had been going on in MY head? Why was I disappointed that Lee was nice to us? What the very fuck?

Why wasn't I just there for the songs? They played them real well; and Lee was in great voice.

All recent photos of FEAR by Bob Hanham, April 21, 2023, at the Vogue; not to be reused without permission

I had to, like, critically reflect a bit on all this. This FEAR had not been that FEAR -- FEAR as I first saw them on a VHS rental of the Decline -- but in retrospect, that was just fine with me. I was ambivalent about that FEAR anyhow, even though I have always liked some of their tunes. I should have known better than to expect them to be stuck back then... though I'm still happy to have worn "colours," so to speak. What else can you do about a song like "Let's Have a War?" "Give guns to the queers/ the enemy's within"...? 'Scuse me?

I mean, this was not serious, right? "Let's Have a War" was surely some sort of inverted protest song, right? There's actually some wit at work here, but also an outpouring of... what? Something really angry, brewing under the surface, which isn't exactly being feigned - working-class masculine toughguy aggression -- even if the expression of it partially was a put-on, designed to provoke? Is that the dynamic, here? The band you love to be hated by? The band who represent the authority positions you abhor, who you can then scream your hate at?

Like, "I Don't Care About You," one of their greatest songs... it's not an actual endorsement of not caring about other people! It drags out ugly, dark stuff from us, but that what's great about it... it's kind of a digging tool for our darker feelings, stated bluntly. The ugliness is the point, the confrontation, the forcing-us-to-acknowledge how fucking cold our society is. There's a really interesting lyrical annotation to that song, from an interview with Lee, on the Genius website, for the line about seeing "a man with no legs crawling down 5th street trying to get something to eat." Quoting Lee:

I’m walking home in New York City to my little dumpy apartment, and I notice that there is a guy on 5th street … he’s a double amputee, he’s not doing good, he’s a drug addict or something, he’s fucked up. And he’s trying to ask for something, I can’t tell what he’s saying. And I’m supposed to tune this out? I’m supposed to keep walking? I don’t know, what the fuck, what kind of place is this? Is this how you look on your fellow human? “Don’t get in my way, I’m on my way to something.” You know, you’re dying here right in front of my eyes? That’s "I Don’t Care About You"… I’m thinking about these things that I saw in New York while I was living there, driving a taxi, working in the Gramophone Record Store on St. Mark’s place, and seeing just every kind of thing stumble in the door.

There's some unusual psychology to FEAR's music -- because that song sort of invites a powerfully cathartic identification with the feeling of not caring about our fellows, followed by a shame and a self-examination... it's social criticism, but disguised as an anthem of insensitivity. I'm not sure ALL FEAR songs are as rich, but, say what you will, they're not just simple thugs, here.

All recent photos of FEAR by Bob Hanham, April 21, 2023, at the Vogue; not to be reused without permission 

One does wonder, though, with a song like "Public Hangings," which side Lee was imagining being hanged... probably not in his interest for this to be known until after the revolution, depending on which side wins... they are, after all, entertainers first, right?

No, in fact, my main complaint with the last FEAR show here was that it was a very, very focused concert, playing the most obvious songs, with no deep dives, and omitting the three things I most hoped they would do, which were the aforesaid "Public Hangings;" also, they didn't play what was then their new single -- a terrific cover of "Nice Boys" by Rose Tattoo, a band that it really pleases me to know Lee digs (Does Lee like AC/DC? The Angels? Does he have history with Angry Anderson or that song?). They were selling a 7" of it in the lobby, but I guess they were operating under a "no one cares about the new stuff" principle when it came to the setlist, or maybe it was a lineup that just hadn't learned that stuff yet? I would have loved to hear it, in any case. Finally, they also ditched my other favourite FEAR song, "Responsibility," off their second LP, you know, the one with the, uhh, evocative cover?

But give it a second if you don't know it; the song is a witty hardboiled anthem for people trying to harness their energies to be productive, pushing against the urge not to be, reigning in excess: "Had a little money in my pocket for a minute/ had a little money in my pocket but it's gone/ My time is running out and my choices are few/ It wouldn't look so easy, if you only knew..."

But I do know, Lee, I do. I relate to this song more and more with each year. And the line about how knowing the time doesn't get you to your destination quicker... it's so true...

I think I actually may have seen the setlist for that night, and smiled that "Responsibility" was on it. Then they didn't play it! This tour is actually celebrating the 40th anniversary of More Beer. however. which means there's a much greater chance for "Responsibility" to be played; it is on the most recent posted setlist. And "Waiting for the Meat" will probably be represented, too, and "Null Detector"... there are some other songs I enjoy on More Beer (none as much as "Responsibility"). I used to have the album on vinyl, years ago...

All recent photos of FEAR by Bob Hanham, April 21, 2023, at the Vogue; not to be reused without permission 

Other deeper dives on the setlist include this gem that I didn't know until a few minutes ago, "Now Your Dead" with a your/ you're misspelling in the title... And while there is very little from their two most recent albums, there may well be something off their newest, The Last Time; and even if they probably aren't going to do their cover of Rose Tattoo, they might just do their cover of "Ramblin' Gamblin' Man." Yes, FEAR have covered Bob Seger (and yes, it's pretty great). 

And then classics like "I Love Livin' in the City" -- of course I want to hear that again, another stone classic punk song. These are, for me, all great reasons to see FEAR again this time, and this time, I can see them without the filter of expectations or some desire for sadomasochistic catharsis, or something.... whatever that audience-abuse shtick was, it was never something I really wanted, so I am more than happy to let it go. 

There are still lingering curiosities about their politics, of course, which make it an interesting time in history to be seeing this band; what will Lee have to say about the relationship between our countries? Right now, that only adds to the intrigue! Did he vote for, y'know, that guy, and doesn't that make a song like "Bomb the Russians" problematic? (It's probably on the setlist too!). There are some definite pro-American songs in their recent repertoire, like "For Right and Order," or there's the somewhat older "USA."  The awkwardness of the moment, politically, only makes these things more interesting to me (they won't play those last two songs, I bet!). 

So here we go: I'm going to have another beer with FEAR. [Apparently it's original drummer Spit Stix on the kit, taking a break from his duties with Nasalrod, by the way]. I don't think I'm going to bother wearing pink this time, though. Let's move on, and let FEAR move on, even if some of their lyrics are, uh, provocative... I think I'm just going to let them be a punk band I loved when I was 17, who still have songs that connect with me, and who have a few lyrics that really don't. But they're not the only band we can say that about (consider the Descendents or the Forgotten Rebels -- and neither of those bands have a song that's as chilling or potent as "I Don't Care About You"!).

Post-script: of course, most of the people reading this already bought tickets as soon as Dead Bob was added to the bill. I have not written this for them -- they're going anyhow! 

And I think the Vicious Cycles have a new album out soon, and a show coming up with the JOLTS? Yes, the Jolts are back! So I'm ready to see them again, too!

FEAR Rickshaw event page here! Thanks to Bob Hanham for the photographs...! 

And hey, Lee, if you've actually read this, I do know a magazine that would love an interview with you... I'm game...  

Cosmic payback vs. stuff that happened: the story of a lost wedding ring

Nietzsche observes somewhere -- I'm going to paraphrase without citing, but I'm sure you can find it if you like -- that there are no moral phenomenon in and of themselves, only moral interpretation of phenomenon. 

Or, remember that Simpsons episode where the punchline, when Homer is asked to draw a moral conclusion about the things that have transpired, is something like, "it's just a bunch of stuff that happened?" 

...For moralizing purposes, the story begins yesterday, on the way up Main Street. I noticed that, coming out of the Skytrain Station, a rather desperate-looking, grubbily-clothed guy had pulled up the grates that separated two sections of pavement, and was digging in the ground beneath them quite fervently. This wasn't, say, the usual behaviour of your ordinary crack addict, poking at crevices, hoping someone had dropped a rock -- a tragic thing, very sad to witness, but minor by comparison: This was more like an archaeological dig, or maybe like the guy thought there might be buried treasure to be found -- years of dropped loonies and toonies, perhaps? Whatever he thought he was doing, he had piled two large mounds of dirt up, using sections of grate he had removed as a shovel to scoop up more dirt, which he would then sift through with his hands. He was being very thorough. 

I sent Erika a text with an uncharitably terse description ("some crackhead is digging up the dirt beneath the Skytrain grates"), along with a photo I snapped. I don't want to get the guy in trouble, so I have cropped him out, but here's just a tiny portion of his handiwork -- this is about 3/4s of the area he had dug out, when I saw him:

Then the bus came. I elected to do nothing, because what can one do? Offer to help him dig? (file that under, "What would Alejandro Jodorowsky do?"). Call the non-emergency "report unauthorized excavations" number? Or just saunter over and say, "Whacha diggin' for?" to help determine the best approach...? I wondered if, maybe, he might actually be in his right mind, and had just lost something very important to him...? This will be germane a bit later. 

Carry on down the street. My first of several stops is Neptoon, where I congratulate Rob on his newsworthy find and I buy an album by the Wainwright sisters -- Martha and Lucy Wainwright Roche -- called Songs in the Dark. I had glibly referred to Lucy as "Roche or something" in a recent post, not remembering her name and feeling a bit exasperated at the number of talented musicians in the Wainwright clan. I was excited by the promise of dark lullabies, of gorgeous voices harmonizing on the songs of, among others, Townes van Zandt ("Our Mother the Mountain"!!!), Richard Thompson ("The End of the Rainbow") and their shared dad, old Loudon himself ("Lullaby," one of several songs on the album with the word "lullaby" in the title. I like lullabies!).

I get where I'm going, a book and record store where I'm doing a favour, filling in for a sick friend; I sit at the desk and spin the record on the store turntable. It truly is marvelous; okay, I don't really need any version of "El Condor Pasa," ever, which has been done to death, but it's more than made up for by the true gem of the album, which one of the sisters (not sure which) describes as a "hostile baby-rocking song." But wait: "Our Mother the Mountain" has a skip in it! It was the song that my eyes first grabbed in scanning the back cover at Neptoon, a favourite tune of Townes' that was marred in the studio version by the fact that the album it is on is not well-produced (people had not quite figured out how to present Townes on his first two albums. For the Sake of the Song is worse; It's only on his third, self-titled record from 1969 that an appropriately stark sound is settled on.) 

What do I do about the skip? The store's record cleaning solution doesn't seem to work, and when I read a review of it online, I search out a bottle of water and some sort of soft cloth, to try to clean the residue of the solution off, since it is notorious for leaving a film, apparently. There is a pad for cleaning records that lacks bristles to go into the groove -- it's just a pad, maybe good for dust, but not a deep cleaning. I try various things and succeed in making the skip a bit better, so only one word is missed, but then I try another trick, of putting a coin on the tone arm, and manage to undo what good I'd done; now three words are missed. Fuck! It's the song I bought the album for! Can I get Rob to replace it? (I hate to do that, besides which, the album is from 2015 and may not be that easy to get in; very possible that it has sat in the store for ten years, waiting for me!). 

Hmm, maybe if I had better cleaning equipment...

There are no customers, so I put a "back in fifteen minutes" sign on the door and rush down to Red Cat, where they have record-cleaning kits; I try, on Nen the Sunday guy's recommendation, a Vinyl Cat kit that has a better solution (supposedly) and a microfibre cloth. I make it back to the store -- nursing a cold, in fact, and maybe getting a bit obsessive  -- and set to cleaning the record anew, or trying to. 

I am unable to improve it. I can actually see the mark on the vinyl that's causing the skip, but I can't get it out. I'm deep in my work, working the damp cloth along the grooves, when Nen pops his head in the door: I had somehow forgotten my wallet in the store! 

He hands me my wallet, which in fact has a wad of cash in it. I thank him and feel very lucky. I go on about my business, spinning the other sides of the record, hoping that maybe my needle at home will be more charitable. How could I have lost my wallet? I sit there, chiding myself and shivering -- it's cold, and I'm sick -- and intermittently masking when I have to speak closely to customers, though everything about this suggests it is just a cold. I wish I were home in bed. But slowly, time passes; I make a trip to McDonald's for a large coffee. I spin other records (there's a new Sipreano album of Jamaica-to-Toronto soul and reggae on Light in the Attic records that I happened to snag while I was at Red Cat; it's the next album I spin after the Wainwrights, and it's terrific).  

I realize that this starts to seem like one of those online articles that go on forever, designed to drag you past as many ads as possible, but I assure you, I'm just long-winded. There are no ads on this page. I am not monetized. I did shoot Kevin an email about how great the comp is, though! 

Finally, Al Mader, the Minimalist Jug Band, arrives at said bookstore to relieve me, starting the evening shift, and I head back to Red Cat to look at the $5 bin, where they have a Members EP and LP both featuring my favourite song by the band, "Offshore Banking Business," which is left off the pressing of the album that I have at home. It's kind of like the Fall's "Cruiser's Creek," a single that only is on some pressings of This Nations Saving Grace, or, like, "God Bless America" by Toxic Reasons. First I buy the EP, then I remember that some versions of the LP have the song I want, too; when I see it's on the LP version, they let me swap the EP for the LP, since they're both from the same bin. Now I'm thinking I might go back and get the EP too!

The $5 bin at Red Cat has some real gems lately. 

So I'm basically done for the day. I've stuffed my records in my backpack and zipped up my raincoat when, on the way out the door, I get a text from my wife telling me if I want bread, I'll have to buy some, she wasn't able to get it on her grocery run (the bread she wanted had had an open bag; it was the final one of the brand she wanted and the store wouldn't sell it to her). 

Here, I have, after thinking the word "crackhead," being slightly dismissive of the Roche among the Wainwright/ McGarrible clan, the third uncharitable thought which I will later contemplate as a possible reason for my forthcoming karmic payback: I grumble inwardly about how if my wife had been sick, and I were doing a grocery run where I was supposed to buy her bread, I would have bought her some come hell or high water, even if it wasn't the brand I myself wanted. I go on runs for cottage cheese for her all the time, and I don't eat the stuff at all! 

We are, in truth, a bit different that way, but maybe she has her own inward grumbles (I did just get her to drive me all around Vancouver, picking up and dropping off stereo equipment -- I'm giving an old turnable, amp, and speakers to a friend and had no other way of delivering them, and Erika was very very helpful in this, despite losing a day to it).  

Anyhow: grumbling inwardly, I trek to Nesters, grab the Silver Hills Little Big Bread that we favour, and pay for it (seven bucks!!!). I'm on the way back to the bus stop, also griping to myself that now I've missed a bus or two because of the added trip, when I happen to look at my left hand. 

There is no wedding ring on it. 

I had had the wedding ring at the store. Surely I would have noticed it otherwise?  I scroll back to a photo I took for Erika's benefit of me sitting at the desk, warming my hands on the heater/ humidifier. My ring is on clear display. 

This is -- along with needing to get new pants -- one of the downsides of losing weight. With my cancer surgeries, various meds I'm on, and even a wee bit of exercise, I have dropped from about my all-time peak of 385 pounds, which is roughly what I weighed when we got married eight years ago, to my current weight of 295, which is about the threshold where my ring starts falling off my finger. I have been here before, immediately post-surgery, a couple of years ago, though my weight rebounded a little in the year that followed and it stopped being an issue. Understand that I like wearing my ring, and don't want to go through the hassle of getting it resized, but recently, I have occasionally put it in my pocket when I go to gigs, for instance, since I don't want it flying off in a mosh pit. Easier to just let myself not drop below 295! 

But it's finally happened. Ring lost, I panic. My mind races, as I search the crevices along the sidewalks, retracing the route from the bookstore to the record store to the grocery store, and finally going in the McDonald's, then repeating my route. Did it fall between records in the five dollar bin at Red Cat? Is it under the lip of their counter? No. Did the clerk at Nesters find it? Is it buried in my backpack, from when I stuffed the Members record in it?

The Nesters girl eyes me skeptically when I try to explain myself to her: I'm speech impaired, my voice additionally rough because of my cough, and I'm obviously agitated, looking desperately under shelves in the bread section, near the till, under the sidewalk out front, pacing around like some sort of nut. She's clearly an immigrant, and I know from experience that, if you come from a conservative Asian society where people are simply not allowed to fall so far between the cracks as they do here, it is hard, at times, to tell whether someone in Vancouver is damaged/ a potential threat -- to distinguish, say, between addicts excavating Skytrain Stations, looking for buried treasure, and people with funny voices telling you their ring is missing. I can sympathize: if I were her, I'd probably regard someone behaving like me like a possible problem, too (because white people are crazy, y'know?). 

Eventually, at my suggestion, she takes my name and phone number, and I head to McDonald's to ask if anyone has turned in a ring, there: this time, my interlocutor is a blank teenaged female, actually from here, who thinks telling me no one has turned in a ring will placate me.

"But if someone did turn in a ring, and you didn't see it, what would the staff do with it?"

"I don't know." Said with slight exasperation. 

"Do you have a lost and found?"

"No." She looks at me emptily, like she doesn't know what I expect her to do. 

Another staff member (an immigrant, in fact) overhears and weighs in: "We'd give it to our manager."

"Can I speak to your manager?" 

I do (the manager is an immigrant too, but I don't ring her "crazy" bell; maybe she's married and has been in spots like I'm in, but she treats me very politely. Still, there's not much to be said: I give her my name and phone number with the words "lost wedding ring" and run back to Red Cat, eyes in the gutter left and right. Nen and the girl have closed up, but I knock on the glass. Nen, sweeping, looks up and shakes his head: no ring. I rush back to the bookstore, explain the situation to Al, and look up and down the aisles, in case I dropped it there. I had looked in this bin of used CDs: maybe it fell in there? I had looked through this rack of records: maybe it fell in there? I used the toilet: maybe it fell off in there? 

I do not find the ring, and increasingly frantic, jot back outside to search areas of sidewalk where the ring might have fallen off (it's actually quite difficult to remember the exact route one took, in such situations; we move about on autopilot, storing no memories. Did I use this crosswalk or that one? Was on the left or the right?). 

I feel utterly defeated. I head back to the store. Al -- who knows Erika, as well -- is scouring the aisles. And here I begin to seek moral meaning of the events: did I lose my ring because I bought records when I should be saving my money? Because I thought grumpy thoughts about my wife offsetting the bread purchase onto me? Because I was unfairly dismissive about Lucy Wainwright Roche, before having heard her mavelous music? Or was it, indeed, cosmic payback for having kind of judged the "crazy crackhead," or however I inwardly thought of him, who was so desperately digging in the dirt?

Al says something about having checked the garbage, and that reminds me of something: I look in a garbage can outside the store that I threw something in on the way by, earlier. There is an inch of standing, brown water, with floating cigarette butts in it: what if the ring flew off into the bin and it's concealed by the water? If I knew it were actually in there, I'd reach in and start feeling around, but it could be anywhere on the block: I really, really don't want to grope in the garbagewater. What would passerby think?

I feel defeat brewing. I've now missed four buses, am nearly an hour late for dinner, and I'm starting to accept that I'm not going to ever find my ring again. It's gone. I'll have to tell Erika. What do I do?

I return to the desk in the bookstore and make one last search of the desk where I'd been sitting, while Al looks about the aisles. Suddenly he says, "Aha!"

He's always been lucky at finding things, he tells me. (Erika will observe, when I show her this photo, that Al "looks like a magician").

That was my day. The only certain meaning I can get from any of it is that I shouldn't have gone out at all this weekend; I've been sick, and should have stayed home and rested. Losing both my wallet and my wedding ring in one afternoon is not good.  

But that's not quite the end of the story. I snap a photo and say, "Hang on one second." The McDonald's and Nesters people don't merit a heads up -- they weren't particularly sympathetic -- but I run back down the street and knock on the Red Cat window again, where Nen is still cleaning the floor. He looks up; I show him my ring through the glass door, now back in place on my finger. He grins and gives me a thumbs-up.

Then I take the ring off and put it in my wallet, where it's safer... unless I lose my wallet again. 

The Gravel-Aires at the Boot Factory, plus Mark Branscombe on the Shmorgs, the Frantic Technicians, and the Mud Bay Blues Band

Michael Mahoney and Mark Branscombe of the Gravel-Aires, live at the Princeton, March 8, 2025, by Allan MacInnis

I always think that, when playing live, a band should do the odd cover tune. It's a great way to pay respects to your forbears and provide some context for what you're doing; it can deepen the artists own connection and tap into the joys of music that is not their own; and it can make audience members perk up and get excited, especially if the cover isn't just some mass-appeal dreck -- I ain't talkin' "Stuck in the Middle With You," here; I'll walk out of the next bar I hear that played in -- but something well-chosen, maybe known only to a few people in the audience, but loved by them and felt deeply: suddenly you have enthusiastic rapport where before you only had, say, polite attentiveness. 

Case in point: I don't know Justin Townes Earle's catalogue that well, but I've been in love with his song "Harlem River Blues" since I first heard it -- a strangely joyful tune about killing yourself by drowning. I was enjoying the Gravel-Aires set well-enough, opening for Sudden Darts at the Princeton earlier this month -- enough that I broke out my phone to record a clip; it turned out to be a rather transformed version of said Justin Townes Earle's song. As often happens, the vid I shot wasn't actually my favourite song the duo did that night -- an original took that honour, though I wasn't taking notes and couldn't tell you the name -- but it grabbed hold no less, and served as the basis for further conversation... which we now see below. 

Thanks to Mark Branscombe, who passed on a copy of their CD to me, and to Michael Mahoney, who unexpectedly partook of the following email interview (two for the price of one set of questions!). You can see the Gravel-Aires tonight at the Dayton Boot Factory in East Vancouver. Not sure if I'll make it -- it's quite a week I've been having, and I'm recovering from a nasty cold -- but if you like roots music (or are curious about local music history, since these guys go way back -- it's bound to be a great show.

True confession: I had never heard of the Frantic Technicians before this interview (just because I own the Art Bergmann book doesn't mean I've read all of it!). 

Allan: I saw you the other week without a drummer, but I gather there often is one on your recordings; who will be playing the Boot Factory show - just you two, or is Stuart with you, or...

Mike: We have a lot of fun playing with the full band the last couple of years but our roots are as duet and we decided we'd simplify things and see what new creative ideas emerged.

Mark: Yes, Mike and I returned to our acoustic duet this year. Stuart Bedard recorded the last album Westerly with us and in 2024 we were a five piece with Stuart, Tom Hammel on pedal steel and Bob McIntosh on bass. A full band is a lot to maintain, distance to rehearse, scheduling and motivation to present a quality evening when some shows are not covering much of the expense were a factor for us.

Allan: Mark, you had early dealings with the Shmorgs [Art Bergmann's first band] and history the Mud Bay Blues Band -- you played bass? Do you have any favourite stories from that time, favourite songs?

Mark: With the Shmorgs, not so much dealings; I didn’t play with the Shmorgs but I was a fan; joyful times when the one and only Shmorgs album released at the first local indie record I knew about. Saw a few live shows and loved the energy and the writing that Art was doing at the time; it opened my ears and brain to the idea of original music that was coloring outside the lines.

I met a lot of the South Surrey musical people about that time in the late 70’s and answered a Georgia Straight musicians ad with a local phone number on it ”Bass player wanted for Beer, beans and possible trips down south.” The phone # on the ad turned out to be Art’s and so a few basement sessions later, I played with the Frantic Technicians at a Battle of the Bands at the Commodore. The band was Art, Buck Cherry, Gord Nicholl, Murphy Farrell and Bill Scherk.. if memory serves. Shortly thereafter, everyone migrated to Vancouver and the history continues to be made…

Re: Mud Bay, I knew Slim through a friend in the 70’s and went to a few early Mud Bay dances out in Surrey. At some point they needed a bass player and Slim invited me to a “rehearsal” at The Blues Recluse a house that Gord Nicholl rented out in White Rock. The sessions would commence in the tiny living room close to midnight when Slim would arrive after his shift at a local chicken or turkey plant. The band was never short of refreshment or exuberance in the day.

“Bad British Columbians” was a fave tune that Slim and James Lougheed had written, a rebuttal to Grace McCarthy’s comment on people protesting Expo. During Expo 86 we played aboard a fish packing boat and were given entry to False Creek. From the deck of the boat we serenaded the BC Pavilion… “Bad Bad British Columbians” rang out across the waters…message delivered to the Socreds…um maybe? Other high points with Mud Bay were shows at the Commodore opening for Stevie Ray Vaughan and the James Cotton Blues Band.

Allan: I had missed that there were two CDs of Mud Bay Blues Band stuff put out in 2007... they're on Discogs, but only barely! Is this the sort of thing where Gord Nicholl has a box of them in his closet somewhere that intrepid local music completists can pester you to bring to a show, or are they all gone?

Mark: There are a few uncracked CDs that Slim and the lads might still have. The fellows are now out and about performing as “Sons of Mud”. I’ll check and see what I can find for you!

The Mud Bay discography is:

1. Floyd

2. Death Taxes & The Mud Bay Blues Band

3. Mudified

4. Colebrook Road

5. Best Laid Plans


Allan: Give me a timeline of bands you've been in, locally, since? I bet I know a couple -- were you playing in punk bands and such or have you always been close to the roots scene?

Mark : I was a faithful Mud Bay man 1978 to 2022, so yes kept a boot in the roots; but did play the Smilin’ Buddha and a few of the other spots. In the 70s 80s had internships with I, Braineater and recorded and performed with the Melody Pimps. This century , made a lot of music and video with the Ormidales and did a solo record. Gravel-Aires came together in 2016 and I have done some solo work as well lately.

Allan: What's Michael's backstory? How did the two of you connect?

Mike: I'm originally from Calgary and Ottawa where I experienced the Ontario punk rock scene before moving back to Alberta in 1981 and then Vancouver in 1983. I was a big fan of first wave punk and when that petered out. I went deep into outlaw country, eventually into bluegrass and when I started playing with Mark I was playing reggae.

I'd met Mark pretty much as soon as I had moved here but we never played music together until just over 8 years ago. Mark called me up and wanted to play some acoustic music; I love acoustic instruments and hadn't had much chance to play mandolin and bottleneck slide for a while, so I jumped at the opportunity. I have enjoyed playing with Mark, we've done some interesting music, for the most part original, and mixed up the instrumentation and feels to try all sorts of stuff.

Allan: Why "Gravel-Aires?" It's a great name but what does it mean, and who came up with it?

Mike: While neither of us is originally from East Van we've both lived in East Van most of our lives. Gravel seems like East Van's precious stone and is a nod to the working origins of this part of town. The "aire" part is a reference to the old cars like Belairs etc. It was Mark's idea.

Mark: Prairie recollection, riding between small towns in the gravel highways. The rocks would bounce off the wheel wells when dad drove at high speeds. The old-time bands that played the country dances seemed to have the suffix to their band names.

Allan: I was thinking about "Harlem River Blues" and decided that I am puzzled by your version! One of the things about Justin Townes Earle's version I really like is that it has this incongruously peppy, upbeat vibe to it (given that it's about suicide). By slowing it down, you kind of turn it on its head, a bit. On the other hand, I like that you're DOING something with the cover, not just playing it like the original. What's your history with that song and Justin Townes Earle?

Mike: I can't remember where I first heard Justin Townes Earle, but I am mostly a fan of the song. We usually play it in the traditional fashion which is great and with a full band it's a dance song. We just thought it might be interesting to try to draw the emotion out by trying a different feel. It is a very powerful song for me given the toll drugs and alcohol is taking on so many people and the lyrics are extraordinary.

Mark: I was fortunate enough to see Justin play at The Rio in 2011 and was taken by the spectrum of American music styles that he was able to express with his songs; he played solo acoustic with a violinist. I have searched out most of his recorded material; some really great songs an performances.

Allan: The new album has Simon Kendall on it! That seems a curious thing. I assume that is "the" Simon Kendall. Do you have a Doug and the Slugs story for us?

Mark: Yes Simon did a swell job on “You Lost Me.” We met while working on our second album, Headlights in The Rear View Mirror, with Jesse Waldman, and Simon’s name came up for some keyboards on a couple songs. We did discover that we may have both played a show together; Mud Bay/ Doug & The Slugs at the Viking Hall back in the day.

Allan: Of the songs on the album, what do you play most regularly live? (I don't know which to ask about). Tell me something about it...?

Mark: “Babylon Blue” was on the setlist a lot last year. It’s a bit of a different feel from a lot of our stuff and fun to play, a story of a visitor to our psyches, moving town to town in a non-descript sedan, arriving about closing time in an alley and sauntering in through the back door …he’ll sit down and listen to you ponder your motivations and help you weigh the options.

Allan: About the show tonight: You ever own Dayton Boots?

Mark: YES! I have two pairs, bought them years ago, Romeos, slip-ons, amazing durability, will be wearing them at the gig.

Allan: Why is a show being booked in a boot factory?!! (Is it a functional boot factory? Have you explored it? Did this start with the boot factory ("we should put on shows?") or... someone else?

Mark: It is a functional boot factory to this day, I pass the iconic neon on the way to my doctor’s office and noted they had hosted shows recently. I contacted one of the co-owners to ask about doing a night there and he was receptive to the idea. We met up and he showed me around.

Allan: Anything else I've missed????

Mark: Next show is Country Kits Unplugged at the Painted Ship, Wednesday, April 2nd,  8 pm!

Tonight's show will have no cover, plus "a cash bar, a few drinks, live music and plenty of tempting haberdashery!" My wife is as interested to see the boot factory as to hear the music... maybe we'll turn up...? 22250 East Hastings! 

Punk vs Roots vs My Cold, plus Rob Frith in the news!!!

It's funny: twice now, Erika and I have failed to catch COVID off each other -- once her managing to avoid a case I had, once me managing to avoid a case she had. But I've definitely caught her cold this week  -- one of the first times in recent memories where I HAVEN'T worried a cold was COVID; it's just a cold, but it's still annoying, and -- having watched her progress through it all week, or, I guess having watched it progress through her, it has now definitely spread to me. I might be recovering, but who knows? My cough only just turned productive this morning, and between that and some Nin Jiom in a tea with honey and lemon, I'm starting to feel a BIT better... but I still think I might elect to stay in tonight... 

You shouldn't, though. You should go out -- go see a Quebec hardcore band, maybe? Tonight's gig at the Red Gate is going to be a smasher. It's also going to be packed and very loud. Puffer bandcamp here. 

Packed and very loud -- with a $30 at the door cover -- might be a bit much, however, if you're old, tired, and broke like me... 

Digression: what's that corny old Triumph song, "Magic Power?" With the "I'm young, I'm wild, and I'm free" line? (I had Allied Forces back when I was 13, actually. I'm a bit embarrassed that I can still enjoy this song). Maybe the lyrics could be rewritten, do a song called "Tragic Power" with the line changed to "I'm old/ I'm tired/ and broke..." Rhyme it with something about life being a joke... but it's not funny... I'm sore... I'm sick... I'm tired of the constant barrage of terrifying news... the world's a mess, and I need a vacation... or at least a few more hours' sleep...

HOWEVER, there's another cool gig tonight more appropriate to my condition: the Gravel-Aires. Mark hasn't gotten back to me yet re: my email interview questions, and who knows if he will -- maybe he's agonizing over getting everything just right, or maybe he's busy preparing for the show elsewise -- but his band is playing a roots music gig tonight at the... Dayton Boot Factory? Who the hell puts on gigs at a boot factory, and why does this seem like such a great idea?

Who knows, maybe I'll have an "Introducing the Gravel-Aires" post up later today... 

But in other news: I love, love, love that Rob Frith has a) found a rare Beatles demo and that b) he's offered to just give it FOR FREE to Paul McCartney, on the condition that he comes collecting it in person. I don't know my Beatles that well but this is a delightful local story, so much so that Rob's in the news over it (not every day you see that). 

I do have questions, however: the Decca demos apparently have been long bootlegged and available in some form or other -- there's even stuff on Youtube from the sessions -- so what exactly *IS* the tape in question? How many copies of the Decca demos were made? What's the cash value? One copy of the tape, described as the "original safety master" on the Wiki, sold for 35,000 pounds to a Japanese collector in 2012 (missing five of the songs from the session, so there's some dispute about what that tape actually was). There is also an "original master tape" that has unknown whereabouts, in addition to copies and copies of copies and so forth. 

Whatever exactly it is, I hope that Sir Paul gets the news and comes to town. Rob should make him do an in-store!!! 

Heheheh. 

Martha Wainwright news: on 20th anniversary of her first album and its vinyl debut

Here's a surprise; I'm a big fan of Martha Wainwright's first album, first released on CD in 2005. 

Historically, mostly I've been a Loudon Wainwright III man, to be honest; I have about eight albums by the man, Martha's father, all signed by him at a Rogue Folk concert a few years ago. I can probably recite at least half of "Road Ode" from memory, so that when I hear Martha Wainwright reference Oprah on her song "TV Show," I think, "Huh: like father like daughter." I have never investigated Rufus; his work is simply unknown to me. I've owned some Kate and Anna McGarrigle, but I don't "know " it -- mostly I know their version of Wade Hemsworth's "The Log Driver's Waltz," the animation for which I've been known to use in ESL classrooms. I think she has other family members who perform (there is a lot of music among her people) who are also unknown to me... Roches, or something... But in fact, I think I listen more to Martha's first album than I do to anything by her Dad, these last couple of years. 

It hadn't been the plan. I took Erika to see her at the Imperial a few years ago (missing out on a Lee Ranaldo show down the street at the Fox!) and was surprised that I enjoyed it as much as I did. Martha was smart, witty, wry, and kept doing this weird thing with her leg, kinda twisting it out to her side to ease pain in her hip or lower back, like some sort of auto-chiropractic dance move. She kept up a fair witty banter, as well, though I seem not to have taken notes of any of it. But I love a performer with a quirky stage presence. And there were a couple of songs where I was asking Erika afterwards, "What album was that off?" 

They were songs off her first album, which continued to grow on me when Erika played the CD in the car -- "Far Away," "Factory," "Ball and Chain," "Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole" -- all sinking deep hooks. I haven't really cottoned onto some of the other female artists and female-fronted bands that Erika has had on heavy rotation -- I don't really need to spend time with Dido or Adele or Florence and the Machine -- but three of her favourites that have really grown on me are Alabama Shakes, Frazey Ford, and, believe it or not, that first Martha Wainwright album. 

It's brilliant. Unconventional song structures, prickly lyrics and ethereal background vocals all tied to a sort of dark, swirling European romanticism -- I actually have it on my phone; it's a great headphones record, highly crafted, but full of emotion. My only complaint is, it never came out on vinyl. 

That changes as of tomorrow. Martha Wainwright, by Martha Wainwright, will be on sale as of March 21st, and available exclusively at merch areas on her North American tour -- until April 4th, when Cadence will be distributing it to retail stores in Canada. May 23rd, PIAS will pick up distro in the UK, Europe, and the USA, and on May 27th, the UK tour will start, again with the vinyl available on merch tables. There will also, I am told, be a 2CD set, remastered at Abbey Road, with an extra disc of outtakes and demos. 

From Martha Wainwright's publicists, we learn, also, that

Martha digitally released a previously released 10 song record called Ground Floor this past January. It was the very first set of recordings she released back in 1997 that were originally available as a 10 song cassette that she only ever sold at shows and have become collectors items of sorts among her super fans. She is also pressing 250 cassettes of this release and will be selling it at all the shows (or until they sell out). 

Her vision with these extra releases of Ground Floor and the bonus disc of B-side’s, etc. is that it all ties into the same period of her as an artist and the build up to the release of her debut record. It will also be good to have it all available digitally worldwide as it’s all only been released in a hard to find format.

At present, it appears there are only side-of-stage options for the Shadbolt Centre concert on April 6th; not sure how competitive it will be to get those -- you seem to have to phone the Shadbolt to get them, which is puzzling -- but Martha Wainwright also plays Sidney, for my island friends, the next night, at the Mary Winspear Centre. Her complete list of tour dates is here. Here's hoping we'll see her at one of these shows, or at least manage to snag a record! 

Blood Moon: the cat's first lunar eclipse, March 2025

Walking home from checking out Caveman and the Banshee at the Biltmore, I took a couple of snaps of the moon. It didn't look at all red, but was there a faint sliver missing from the top right? Of course it did not show in the photos that I took, but the sky looked pretty cool, regardless. 

I joined my wife for the second half of The China Syndrome, the superb 1970s nuclear disaster film that, along with Missing and Save the Tiger, marked a terrific run of serious mid-career films from Jack Lemmon,  along with Missing and Save the Tiger. I first saw this film first run in a movie theatre, I guess at age 11, and have seen it twice since. Erika had forgotten that I had shown it to her before (at least until the scene where they showed the inside of the control room); but I was pleased to see that she kept it on after we interacted about it via text -- it was still playing when I got in. (Sorry, Bob Log III, but I had had a full meal with Caveman and the Banshee, was tired from work, and preferred the idea of being home with my wife to seein' you!). 

More to come on Caveman and the Banshee, methinks. But Bob, you sure had some cool street art up outside the Biltmore! Way to do a tag! 

But that was awhile ago -- let's get back to the Blood Moon: having finished the film, my wife went to bed -- she's not feeling that hot -- while I stayed up to look at my photos of the band and look over my notes, when I noticed, hey, the moon was now like a sliver in the sky, with a definite red hue. I tried to photograph it from the window, but cell phone cameras and moons are seldom friendly -- you could see the red hue, but that was about it.  

Flash forward half an hour: with my wife now sleeping and a volley of email interview questions sent off to Caveman and the Banshee, I started to put on my shoes, the better to see the moon, without having to lean out an open window whilst cock-blocking the cat from trying to leap out (he loves open things). But Nicholas -- who is a very carrier-friendly guy -- sensing that I was about to go outside, actually walked over and got in his kennel, as if to say, "Take me with you?" So I did. I tucked in his tail, closed the door behind him, and hefted all fifteen pounds (14.5 pounds of him, plus the kennel) down the stairs to sit on the curb and contemplate the night sky from safety. 

He was more interested in sniffing in a downwards direction, to be honest. I'm not sure he could tell that the moon was different -- I tried pointing it out to him, tilting the camera upwards, but he doesn't really have much interest in human language. Still, I posed with him for a couple of pictures.

Then I carried him upstairs, my arm starting to feel his weight, and sat down to write this. Midway through, he reminded me that I hadn't given him his nightly can of wet food (Fancy Feast chicken florentine, mixed with a bit of warm water, to make it easier for him to lap up; he likes it wet!).

The moon is no longer visible from my window, but I got the idea. This might have been my first Blood Moon, as well as Nicholas'. 

But the bed is calling to me. Hope you had your own cool moon experiences.  G'night. 

From Bob Log III to Oneida, plus ARGH!! at the End Times Garage Sale: Cool stuff this weekend

ARGH!! in Hunter S. Thompson mode, soon appearing at the End Times Garage Sale, more on which below!

The weekend, for me, will kick off, at least if all goes to plan, with Bob Log III tomorrow at the Biltmore. He does somewhat unhinged, shit-hot one-man-band slide guitar stuff while wearing a mic'd helmet, which apparently he will lift occasionally to sip whiskey that he has invited ladies to stir with their breasts ("Boob Scotch"). Nanaimo's Caveman and the Banshee open; they were pretty darn entertaining the other week at Green Auto, where the Banshee had no idea I was "some sort of journalist" (?) when she sat on me; I gather that sitting on Bob Log III is also something that may happen. There will certainly be other hijinks -- I expect something equal parts silly and high-energy, and presume there'll be some kickass slide guitar along the way. I have not seen Bob Log III before, and it's been awhile since he's been this way, so... here's your chance... 

There's also some new Caveman & the Banshee merch, apparently, but I'm not altogether sure what this is. Fun art, though! Should be a perfect opening act.

...then Friday I got nothin'. I'm not going to the sold-out Punkstravaganza at the Rickshaw, and it sounds like, if you don't have tickets already, you won't be either (unless they release a few at the door? Good luck! The Real McKenzies, I bet, will be quite the thing this year, given how astonishing The Enigmas were at Ronfest). But there's lots else you can find on This Week in Vancouver on Instagram. I have no opinions worth noting. 

Saturday, if I weren't going to Martin Howse (see previous post), I'd be torn: people with a taste for punk, avant-punk, and other non-mainstream, high energy musics might consider Ivan and the Tax Evaders at the Grey Lab, The Hairy Cherries at Green Auto, Computer at the Cobalt, or M01E and Shearing Pinx at Red Gate. No shortage of choices there.  People wanting something rootsier would be advised to check out Rockabilly Roundup with Paul Pigat at the Heatley or Stephen Fearing (of Blackie and the Rodeo Kings) at Mel Lehan Hall.  

Sunday is clearer: Oneida and Kinski at Green Auto. I am really enjoying Oneida's new album -- playing catchup, because they aren't a band I've paid much attention to before now (I think I've seen Kinski twice, however, and enjoyed them both times -- though it's been quite awhile!). Both are bands for people who like rock that isn't afraid to colour outside the lines. 

The other big event on Saturday is not one I will be at, I don't think -- other commitments -- but the End Times Garage Sale will take place on Main Street and include the art of ARGH!!, previously interviewed by me here. He's assembled various posters for the event, which is described on Facebook as a "market focused on local art, music culture, handmade crafts, vintage items, and curated thrift." ARGH!!'s show -- assemblages, collages, paintings, cartoons; I'm not entirely sure -- will be "fear & loathing in america 2025: remembering hunter 20 years gone." Hard to believe that Hunter S. Thompson -- political commentator, drug enthusiast, and the King of Gonzo Journalism -- died that long ago! 

buffalo dick

fear & loathing in jelly stone park

bring me the head of hunter thompson

i am not a crook

tripping & lusting where the buffalo roam

mm jfk usa r.i.p

americana aquarium