Friday, July 22, 2011

Whatta day...

Woke up early to do an interview that got cancelled. Couldn't get back to sleep. Felt lousy and sick all afternoon.

Decided, since certain confluences lined up, to make my way to Vancouver for the Thurston Moore gig after all, where Nathan Holiday met me. Great, but: we didn't get a chance to connect with Thurston (I am convinced Thurston would value being in touch with Mr. Holiday, seeing the Tunnel Canary documentary, and perhaps even be useful in setting up a couple of live shows for the band, but attempts to get through - Nardwuar and I did some scheming to this effect once, to no avail, as well - have thus far not worked out).

It wasn't really standing-up-at-a-rock-concert music that Thurston was playing tonight - it would have fit better at the Orpheum than the Rickshaw, if you nevermind the size discrepancy; someplace more oriented towards sitting. I mean - he had a harp and a violin onstage; this wasn't exactly Goo he was playin'. He was affable and warm (sharing anecdotes about everything from Mike Watt's preference for lagers over ales to the band's experience of the back alley behind the Rickshaw) and no doubt broke out a few old favourites somewhere in his set ("Psychic Hearts," at least, surely?). The surprisingly youthful crowd were pretty receptive and willing to listen, too; the room had a nice dynamic to it. All the same, with a long commute home ahead of me, feeling tired and worn out, I opted to buy the album and leave early, better to appreciate his new music from the comfort of my living room, sometime when I felt better. Said my goodbyes to Nathan, made it onto a bus just before midnight, got to Coquitlam by 12:20... and discovered, as I suspected, that I had arrived there forty-odd minutes before the connecting bus to Maple Ridge. I could wait the forty minutes, and then spend another forty on the bus... or I could buckle and take a taxi.

I took a taxi. And in that taxi, I experienced my one small triumph in the day: I finally told a cabbie that I would really much rather listen to his Indian dance music (93.1 Red FM) than the bad western dance music he deferentially put on to cater to my presumed tastes. ("Is okay, we're used to it" - "Yeah, but I LIKE YOUR MUSIC BETTER!" - whereupon he switched back and cranked it).

With apologies to Mr. Moore, that Indian dance music, as we zipped along the Lougheed, was the best part of the night, musically...

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