Ronfest: I, Braineater, Daddy Issues, Art Bergmann and the Enigmas (more to come, too)

 

I said I wasn't going to write anything and I'm not, really but thanks, Judith! I think that was Graham and Nick's introduction to Betty, which would not have happened if you hadn't gifted me those tickets. A postie was there, too, as my other gift. 

Videos to be posted tomorrow -- the Engimas, Art Bergmann (solo acoustic), Daddy Issues, and I, Braineater. I may also add comments from friends as I see them. It was a great night! Tried to sneak out early because I am tired, sick, sore... then someone reminded me that I'd forgotten something and I went back in, ended up backstage for a bit. 

Danny Shmanny almost won a guitar that had been stolen from Ron, then given back, but his ticket didn't match, which Dave characterized as someone trying to steal the guitar again!

ARGH!! donated DOA colouring books, Jim donated shirts, and Bev donated a photo of Ron with Black Flag.

It made sense hearing I, Braineater that Jim had done stuff with Tony (RIP) of Deja Voodoo. I arrived late, as they were doing a new song, "Bunny" (or something like that). It's really fun! "Sacred Cow" in the hands of this unit sure sounds a lot like "I Wanna Be Your Dog," though. 

Betty, strapping on a dildo, said her usual "this song is about your father's cock," and then, gesturing at her new cock, said something like, "Do you recognize it, or do you need me to move it closer to your face?" Her hair tonight brought the phrase "Peg Bundy from hell" to mind. 

Art played as quiet as I've heard him, because all these years of punk rock and nothing has changed. It was very moving -- even for Art; one song off Shadowland had him burst into tears, but he sang through them. My favourite was "Children of Kali," which he connected to Luigi Mangione. 

Paul McKenzie explained that if they didn't begin with a certain song, bad things happen -- a genuine Enigmas susperstition. That song was "You're Gonna Miss Me," and holy cow... weirdly, there was a bit of a Tom Jones thing that was happening, but in the best of all possible ways. 

Great night. My article about Ronfest here, links to the Gofundme here (still $10,000 from the goal).

Ronfest, plus Chris Crud onstage: one for the man in orange

So there was this guy at the Residents Faceless Forever 50th anniversary show, see, dressed in an orange jumpsuit or something (I don't know my clothing names: maybe it was coveralls? A one-piece, in any case. It made him look like he was working at an airport, or perhaps a lost member of a European new wave band, all of whose other members would be in orange, as well). I did not know the man to look at him, but he looked like someone possibly attached to the band or the venue, and he was at the tour bus outside the Hollywood Theatre, not seeming a fan, but rather someone who had been working that night in some capacity or other. I was milling around waiting to chat briefly with the band, which conversation, weirdly, would end up paparazzi'd by kids with a cellphone and put online; that conversation was, in fact, when I set up the above-linked interview --  but at that point, they hadn't come out, and while I was waiting, I began a conversation with the man in orange. Seemed friendly enough. I think I showed him a photo I had snapped. 

Later, when I clued in -- probably thanks to Bob Hanham -- who he was, I approached him: "You're Chris Crud?!"  (I knew him by reputation; he's been working sound in Vancouver for decades, both for local acts and touring bands). 

The sound that night had been exceptional, I thought. I told him so. Turns out the sound guy for the tour had gotten stopped at the border, that night, and Crud had been the promoter's emergency go-to, called in at the last minute. They had made an exceptionally good call! 

I had cause to chat with Chris a few more times after that. When Mike Jung of Alice Donut turned up on the first leg of Dead Bob shows here, just as an audience member and friend to the band, I figured Chris -- who, again, was wearing orange, and easy to spot -- would want to know, so I pointed him out. Of course Chris knew him: he'd done sound for Alice Donut, when they'd played here. 

Once you know who Chris Crud is, you won't miss him. It doesn't hurt that he's almost always in the same colour (I haven't asked). I've seen him often, now, become Facebook friends, etc. He was selling or giving away an item of furniture the other day; it too was orange.

I am aware that, in my writing on the Vancouver music scene, especially the punk scene, my never having mentioned Chris counts as a deficit. So sitting in I, Braineater's studio, taking notes for the article on Ronfest -- the Friday benefit for Ron and Dianne Reyes, taking place at the Fox -- I perked up to hear that Chris Crud had actually been in I, Braineater with Ron, as I mention in the story; with Jim and Ron and the late Steve Laviolette, they had opened for Nina Hagen at the Commodore. Bev Davies had dug up photos. I asked her if she had any other photos of the guy operating the drum machine, but either she doesn't, or didn't know what "a guy operating a drum machine" might look like. Isn't the point of a drum machine that there is no guy? Ask Bev if she has a photo of the bassist, she knows what to look for, but it might have been a tall ask. 

Chris was still excited to see Bev's photos. I did tell him (on Facebook) that sadly, there were no pics of him (or at least none that Bev had turned up). It's always thus, apparently. He's never mentioned, never photographed, but always present behind the scenes -- David M., who chastened me in the same thread for never mentioning Crud in my articles on NO FUN, described him as "the Zelig of the Vancouver music scene."

Then Chris looked closely at Bev's photo and commented: 

Wait! There I am… fuzzy though.

Have never seen this… 

 He put an orange heart in his message and wrote his name in orange on the photo: 

Ron Reyes, Chris Crud, and I, Braineater, opening for Nina Hagen at the Commodore, Jan. 23, 1984, by bev davies, not to be reused without permission

What Chris looks like now, with the late Jon Card (not sure who took this). He's the one in orange: 

Cheers to Chris Crud for his tireless work to make the music sound good at show after show, here in Vancouver. Maybe we'll see him at Ronfest? Thanks are also due to Bev for finding this photo, and to Montecristo for running the article. *I will not be blogging further about Ronfest* (but I do plan to be there, health permitting, and will have more to come, at some point, on I, Braineater...!). 

Ford Pier in review: favourite five Ford Pier songs, some bodily functions, and a Minutemen-related mondegreen

Sometimes I wake up at 5AM and need some hot water and a spell of sitting up before I go back to bed. Having just marveled at Ford Pier's exuberance in Dead Bob, this is how I have entertained myself on several such mornings, writing of my top five Ford Pier songs and the stories behind my encounters with them. Some of this may repeat things I've already said, but you probably didn't read that stuff anyways. 

1. "Great Western." This is a sequential list, at least for the first couple of entries, because this was the song that blew the doors off and invited Ford into my life. See, way before I met my wife, maybe fifteen years ago, I was hooked up for awhile with this pretty great woman -- really enjoying myself, and managing not to fuck things up, which I had a tendency to do -- and one day she wanted to play me a song, and so she did. "Listen to the lyrics!" It was hilarious, brilliant, very tuneful. And I asked who it was, and she told me, and I went, "Really?" 

...because I'd seen Ford do solo sets for Nomeansno and Daniel Johnston, a few years before that, and it didn't really take. Maybe it was just me, but he seemed introverted and unfunny, like the only person he was playing for was himself. I'd also seen him in extrovert mode, leaping around with the Show Business Giants and once even with Nomeansno, when he was living out in Toronto, but though it was curious to see such an extreme contrast, the songs he did with them ("Sugartown," say) were not among the ones by the Show Business Giants that sank a hook (sorry, "Sugartown"), so it didn't really change matters. I think when I'd followed Nomeansno through three gigs around Toronto (also Hamilton and Waterloo -- hi to Jillo and T-Bone) I saw his opening set one night then kinda skipped the other two, even, though one night it was because I was down the street watching Tony Conrad, so no apologies there. 

In any case, "Great Western" was my "Clearly I have underestimated this man" moment, a witty, tuneful, crowd pleasing song, vividly realized, taking me back to a very specific bingo hall of my childhood (my mother played bingo there, and brought me, sometimes; trivially, this very bingo hall was documented on film, being used as a bingo hall, by Uwe Boll, in the movie Rampage). Incidentally, "You look like a banana" is a line that would resonate with my wife, later on, when I played the song for her, but I forget the full story as to why. I bought Meconium, liked it -- continued to love "Great Western" best -- and resolved to spend some time on this man's music. 

2. "Lions and Tigers and Bears." So having had that experience, I was primed to actually re-evaluate this man, ready for more Ford. Then he opened for Mike Watt at the Media Club -- the gig where Watt was being accompanied on Hammond organ, singing songs about his infected perineum, as informed by Dante's Inferno. I mean, I'm glad I got to see that gig, and I do have some fondness for that album, now, and listened to it once during a hospital stay and appreciated it more -- "Pissbags and Tubing" in particular is an earworm and is really a song you can relate to when you're on a catheter, though it's not as joyful an experience as Watt's other song about piss, "Piss Bottle Man." (Do many other people have songs about piss? There's a Clash lyric about pissing in an elevator but pissing is not the central topic. I don't think "Pissing in a River" is literally about pissing, or "Piss Factory," either... but is "Piss on You" figurative or literal, or both at the same time? RIP Mitch Funk, Jon Card).  It was curious and entertaining in a singular way but it was not as inviting as Contemplating the Engine Room. Plus there was a Bob Dylan cover in the set, as played on the organ, and SUNG by the organist, if memory serves -- an interminable version of "It's Alright  Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)," which, I dunno, was no "The Red and the Black," if you see what I mean. (I did enjoy Watt's cover of Cobra Verde's "Riot Industry" that night, though -- a connect-the-dots tune that links Watt with Guided by Voices, since Doug Gillard was in that band. Watt's even in the rock video for that song! I asked Watt at the end of the night -- what's this about the blowjob of liberty? And he pointed it out to me).

Anyhow, the opening band that night was the Ford Pier Vengeance Trio. I had seen Ford solo a few times (and maybe even once with DOA, and once backing Daniel Johnston), but this was the first time I saw him with a band -- a proggy, potent power trio. It blew me away. I didn't really know what the songs were about, for the most part -- the lyrics are pretty gnomic on some of the tunes, and didn't necessarily lay themselves out for you on first listen, but it was a stunning gig, with Pier jumping around with his guitar (I reviewed it somewhere and said something about "Pete Townshend on a trampoline"). The band was incredibly tight, and the audience was just GRABBED, which is the best kind of audience to be in: compared to those earlier shows where there seemed a great divide, between Ford and the people watching him (or at least me), where no one seemed to be paying a whole lot of attention, it was like he had decided, maybe with a bit of annoyance, that he was going to reach right out and grab us all collectively by the nuts and just, like, HOLD us that way until he was done, maybe even tug us around the room a bit. And so he did. I described his rhythm section of Bradford Lambert and Eric Napier as "jazzy virtuosos" and while I later wondered whether really "jazzy" was the right word, that was a stunning set. And who can complain about gnomic, hard-to-hook onto lyrics when the headliner is singing about pissbags? ...it was a weird night all around, but I came away a Ford Pier fan. 

So I bought Huzzah! as soon as it came out. And then I bought it again, on vinyl. And then I got Ford to sign it, because, like, he's right there at Red Cat, man. To be honest I still haven't really tried to unpack a lot of it, and have no idea, say, what "Newton and the Counterfeiters" is about -- it would probably require me to read the book, though I doubt that would be sufficient as a decoder ring -- but how many songs can you say that about, that you could put an asterisk besides and down at the bottom say, *"some homework required"? Most rock is too easy, too obvious, laid out there for you like you're a three year old, but there are also songs that are like Joyce's Ulysses, if briefer, insofar as you can feel them going so far over your head that you might as well not bother. 

Again, maybe it's just me -- laziness, a desire for things to come to me, rather than asking me to go to them. But I can respect a song that requires some work, even if I don't always elect to do it. 

But to my great pleasure, there was a song that I connected with lyrically 100% on that album, that just seemed a masterpiece of rock writing, lyrically, that DID come right up to me and stake a territory: "Lions and Tigers and Bears." Which is an ungainly thing, mind you! It's no crowd-pleaser. I associate it with Nomeansno's "Victory," in fact, in that it has a monolithic quality, a towering, demanding intensity to the music, taking it about as far from Meltzerian "mereness" as a song can get and still be rock music... but that quality suits it perfectly, and lyrically, there's no decoder ring, no homework required. There's a rage at aging, a rage at superstition, and a haunted powerlessness that captures how life as a man feels once you round a certain corner. It's not kidstuff -- I doubt I would have gotten it as a teenager -- but from the first time I sat down to it, I was won. Doesn't hurt that I lived in Japan where they cell powdered rhino horn and snakes' blood and all these offensively stupid, dead-animal snake-oils designed to give you a better boner. I have never yet taken anything, animal, herbal, or chemical to help with my boners, but the idea that because some part of an animal (rhino horn, say) or the whole of it (snakes, eels) has a vaguely phallic aspect, it's going to be good for your cock, is, well, dumber, even, than homeopathy, dumb in a cargo cult kind of way (but more tragic, in that innocent, magnificent animals DIE for it; cargo cults are just a good-luck-with-that-buddy kind of thing). It's pre-civilization stuff, something that humanity should have grown out of around the time we stopped living in caves. Add to which, I just really like the words "new age mumbo-jumbo," spat with venom. I had a girlfriend once who was into stuff like sleeping on magnets, hawking mangosteen juice for an MLM hustle, blah-blah (I bought a bottle of that, but just to humour her). Suffice to say, I'm cranky about shit like that, and this song hits me exactly where that crankiness lives.

I could go on: like, rhyming "unscientific lies" with "these animals' demise"... wow.  

3. "Ponce DeLeon Vs. the Risible Shuck of Authenticity". So about this time as a music journalist, as Ford is gearing up to release my new favourite of his albums, Gormful in Maya, which tbh remains my favourite of his, I do a big interview with him when he's set to open for Bob Mould, because a) he's less intimidating than Bob Mould; b) though I do not know him well, I know him better than I know Bob Mould; and because c) a Rickshaw-load of people are going to see him open for Bob Mould, and, what the fuck, we might as well prepare them! So I namedrop his associations with Nomeansno and DOA and so forth, splashin' that stuff left and right, to get people to PAY THIS MAN SOME FUCKING ATTENTION WHYNTCHA, and, like, I'm pretty sure that this actually was one of those few times in my "career" as a music journalist that a piece of writing does a Harry Smith on things, reaches down and tunes the monochord, albeit not the monochord of the universe (cf: Harry Smith) but the monochord of the Rickshaw, which I will happily settle for. Because here's the thing: PEOPLE ACTUALLY LISTEN TO HIM, that night, in a way they sure weren't doing when I saw him in Waterloo. The whole Rickshaw just shuts up and pays attention in a way that radically contrasts with how I'd seen people treat Ford in other opening slots. I caught video of one song that night, "The Dark Women," which is not in fact my favourite song off Gormful in Maya, but it does give you a sense of Ford playing to a large, attentive, and respectful crowd. And tho', like I say, I don't know Ford well, even he remarked on this to me, afterwards -- how closely people were listening. Not to toot my own tiny horn, here, but I think my interview had something to do with that: not because it was so well-done, but because it was so well-timed, every Bob Mould fan in Vancouver went, "So who is this guy? What's this about Nomeansno and DOA? What?" And then they decided that they should listen to him, and they did.  

Were it always that easy. 

Anyhow, let's get back to my penis here (TMI alert! Skip this paragraph if you are not hearty enough for some real medical unpleasantness): I had been having, at that time, a problem (not with boners). See, I had this big kidney stone, and the urologist couldn't reach it, so while we were trying different things, he stuck a plastic tube up my dick (a stent) designed to keep the piss flowing (a common, but possibly unnecessary, thing to do; if you find yourself in this position, ask your urologist if a stent is really necessary). This stent was not all that supple, so basically if I moved around at all, it wiggled and waggled against my waterworks and scraped their walls and caused me to BLEED OUT MY DICK, which alone is startling and unpleasant -- up there on my list of "holes I don't want to bleed from" -- but also, as an added bonus, is REALLY PAINFUL. Men, have you ever bled out your penis? I guess a woman bleeding out her urethra would have the same experience, here, too: For whatever reason, blood and the walls of your urethra do not get along at all. The blood burns like you're pissing napalm (well, maybe not quite that bad, but closer than you'll want to come to that experience, y'know?). And I had that stent in me for motherfuckin' MONTHS. 

Gormful in Maya had yet to be released, that night at the Rickshaw, and I think in fact I had by that point finally had a successful removal of the stone -- there are photos of it on my blog, somewhere back there -- but it was fresh in my memory, and this is where my mind went when Ford sang the opening line of that song that night, which is, of course, "happy days are here again/ I'm bleeding out my ass." NEVER HAS A SONG LYRIC RESONATED in quite the same way. Because lemme tell you, when you're bleeding out your dick every time you pee, over a period of time measured in months, and it burns like hell, every time, you develop a somewhat DARKER VIEW OF LIFE. 

Anyhow: it's a real catchy tune! And I think I understand it, more-or-less. It doesn't exactly invite an unpacking, has a sense of giddy wordplay, like it's off an early Eno record, where some of the lyrics just seem to be there for the sheer exuberant fun of them, BUT (unlike with early Eno, which is ultimately so goofy you just give up and have fun with the words without thinkin' on'em much, yeah whatever Brian, there's a raincoat under a tree, there's a whale without any eyes, sure, whatever you say), you can still feel it cohering, maybe a bit beyond your grasp, but enough that you can feel (I can feel, anyhow) that you are WITH it, that it is a song FOR YOU. (For me), and worth a bit of a stretch to draw closer to you:

Happy days are here again, I’m bleeding out my ass

The author here is posing a paradox for us: is he undercutting happiness, or asserting masochism? Either way, happiness is not simple and comes at a cost. Artists know this. Incidentally, when I shot a clip of this song being performed at the Folk Festival, with realtime ASL interpretation, Ford expressed curiosity what this lyric might have "looked" like.   

Apparently food is the new thing, but I’m sure this too will pass

A good vulgar bit of word play. What seems like food going in might seem like shit coming out. Given that this seems to be a song about making music, we sense here that we have an artist feeling cynical about his art, or art in general, or certainly art that is popular, or the fickle, shallow public's relationship to the same: there has been a flicker of public appreciation for art with content, maybe, for song lyrics that have meaning, but...

A conoisseur’s palate and $2.28’ll getcha a gallon of gas

Which is about what gas cost then, I guess. Your tastes may be refined, but...

So it’s out the cloaca, into the sewer

Unlike "meconium," I knew what "cloaca" are, thanks to David Cronenberg's Naked Lunch, where Julian Sands' character (the one who turns into a horny giant centipede and claims Kiki) is named after this orifice. I am not sure if cloaca are a multi-functional orifice (sexual and excretory) but "asshole of a bug" is close enough for unpacking the line: the artist excretes, and plop, the art lands in the stream, and floats off. 

Out with the older, in with the newer

Which suggests a fair bit of, I dunno, cynicism and despair, cloaked (as it were) with a mien of good-natured playfulness, but wait til we come to the next song in this discussion. 

Ah, hahahaha

I mean, what's the alternative? I love that he writes this out; it's an actual lyrical laugh. The song does have some wordplay for its own sake ("sacred numbers of the zombi cucumbers?") but even that kind of encodes a derision for rock audiences. If you can't find things to chew on in the subsequent lyrics, you're not hungry. 

I'm not going to keep unpacking the lyrics, but fyi, another amusing moment (besides the slightly embarrassed-seeming ASL lady having to sign "out my ass") which ensued from the words to this song: I popped into Red Cat to tell Ford that I had misunderstood the rhyme for that aforesaid line (about zombi cucumbers), which is actually about not having "bent any spoons," but I had, for the first few times I heard it, though Ford was singing, "I've never been Dennes Boon" (AKA D. Boon). It's the only Minutemen-related mondegreen I've encountered to date. Whereupon Ford pointed out, after I told him this, that the album they were playing in the store at that very moment, as I blathered, was Double Nickels. 

How about that. 

4. Make It Look Like an Accident

How many songs about suicide are actually witty? There's this, and there's Rocket From the Tombs' "Never Gonna Kill Myself Again." (Zappa's "Suicide Chump" isn't witty, it's just mean). In point of fact, when I recorded this clip, I was hoping to get the previously-mentioned song on camera; this song isn't quite as immediately attention-grabbing. But when you realize what he's singing about, it's pretty heavy stuff, also off Gormful in Maya.  Someone on Ford's bandcamp describes this collection of songs as "uplifting" but to my mind, this is a pitch-dark album disguising itself with a cheerful grin and the outward manifestations of playfulness.

5. I Can't See You:

Now, my timelines might be wiggly, here, but Gormful in Maya came out during the pandemic, at a juncture when you had these feuding constituencies: the people who, on one side of the divide, believed (possibly because of malign, Russian-crafted misinformation they'd been exposed to on Youtube) that our civil liberties were being eroded by a trumped-up virus to ensnare us in a Commie/ authoritarian-administered subscription-model of vaccine dependency, and those of us who found those other people about as welcome at the COVID-party as an active shooter, a threat to our very survival, so let's shout them (or anyone who we think has been listening to them) down as loudly as we can. I do not know if the extreme apparent timeliness of this tune, capturing this divide, this polarized failure of communication, was actually because that's what Ford was actually, directly writing about, or if the genesis of the song lies somewhere else, but I'll tell you this -- Ford made explicit reference to the trucker's convoy when introducing this song at a Folk Fest tweener, saying -- at least as I recalled it afterwards -- "What I like about that song is, those freedom convoy schmos could sing it, too, and they wouldn't have to change a word."

Yep. If someone asked me, "What's the best song (at least ostensibly) about the pandemic," this would be my pick. 

Ford also told a story that Folk Fest about how Mr. Chi Pig had enjoyed Ford's song "Boyfriend," and that makes perfect sense, too, and that's also a really good song, another wide-open-book of a song, compared to some of these others. Hey, lookie, someone put THAT on Youtube, as well (not I!). 

Honourable mention: "Maybe It Came at the Wrong Time." This is a great, fun song and a treat to hear Ford do with Dead Bob. It's on Organ Farming, but for some reason, save for one song, you can't buy or even stream that album on bandcamp; you've got to buy the record. You can do so easily, at Red Cat.

Meantime, if you've been watching Ford leap around like a madman at Dead Bob shows, and wondered about who this guy could possibly be, he's about as brilliant and under-appreciated a songwriter as we have in Vancouver, even if he makes you work for it a bit. I hope he's having as much fun as he seems to be having (he's also working really hard, but I don't think he'd do that if it weren't fun). Maybe it will turn a corner and people will realize he's a local (hell, a national) treasure? 

Start with Gormful in Maya. It's great. 

Dead Bob, Victims Family, and Invasives: live notes

Historical detail: the Bernard Kliban drawing from which one of the bands tonight took their name

Tonight was Dead Bob!

I wore a mask most of the night, because I have a wee cold. I felt somewhat foolish, the only man in the mosh pit with a mask on...

I told almost everyone who complimented my Mama shirt -- there were many -- that it was the result of a trade with Ty Stranglehold. Someone else told me in turn a story of trading his own tattered Mama shirt for a better-quality Butthole Surfers one (but not from Ty). Responding to one of many compliments, I quipped, "Yeah, I brought my Mama to the show." 

Also, later in the night, when it came time to pester people to sign things, I told everyone who asked where I got my Victims Family reissue that I got it off Phil Saintsbury; I told everyone who asked (mostly members of Invasives, though Larry Boothroyd found the album cover quite compelling) that I got my Desk Job at Castle Dracula off Phil Saintsbury, too. Hi, Phil! 

I chatted with Jorje of the former Nomeanswhatever forum about Už jsme doma, a Czech band that John Wright himself once recommended to me, whom Jorje had seen recently (they're touring!). I have a CD of theirs that I found thrifting, but I haven't heard it yet. Jorje explained that when they started, under a communist Czech government, they were flat-out illegal. 

I did not run into Michelle Strangey, also of that forum, but she was there somewhere (I was Pemmican on that forum). She's going to the island shows tonight, ferries permitting...

I said hi to a guy named Eric who had seen video I shot of Dead Bob (I shot more tonight, but it's going to take awhile to deal with it). I said hi to Emilor of Night Court and Pet Blessings (pictured below with Kristy-Lee; Emilor had been in Rong for awhile); Dave Bowes; Brock Pytel of the SLIP~ons, and a long time ago, the Doughboys; and Jim Nasium from House of Commons, but I did not say hi to Syd Savage of Death Sentence (I don't know him) or Sandy Beach (Spores/ Aging Youth Gang, who only knows me as a Spores fan). Both were in the audience, Syd in a vintage Death Sentence leather jacket. 

I did say hi to the only photographer in the pit, Gord McCaw. You may yet see photos of me in the audience -- I saw him snap some. Gord seemed to be having a good time. 

I spent some time chatting with Larry Boothroyd, of Victims Family; I am a new fan of that band, who apparently have not played here for 30 years or more. Crazy tight, complex, funky, woth witty lyrics and lots of energy. Lots of songs I didn't know, but a few I did ("My Evil Twin," say, or "Supermarket Nightmare"), and I'm really curious to hear one of their newer ones, "First Person Shooter," again (off a split LP with a band called Nasalrod). Amazing that it's all three original guys (Ralph Spight, Larry Boothroyd, and Tim Solyan). 

They did not do "Anti-Satan Song for Mom," their funniest tune (that I know). 

The first opener, meanwhile, Invasives, did "Living Your Life Like It's Somebody Else's," a favourite which I have not heard from them for awhile, plus other great tunes like "Abstract World" and "Borderline Music." Hans in particular sure looked like he was enjoying himself while playing (and exhausted when not!).

Byron seems exceptionally fit, but he's no match for energetically expressive dance when compared to Ford, who, beautiful though he is, somehow manages to not seem exceptionally fit (I asked him how he keeps his figure -- does he eat four pizzas a day? He expends so much energy in a single song that I'd just collapse if I tried to keep up; by any normal biological logic, he should be all muscle mass and sinew, Iggy-style, but he is not. I do hope he was not offended by this observation!). 

In any case, I have never seen anyone jump around as enthusiastically onstage as Ford, in any band, ever, which seems somehow incongruous. And he somehow seems tireless about it, even though, we gather, he was himself fighting off illness.

I told Byron that I was glad he didn't try to leap the barricades this time to solo in the pit. I had visualized spinal trauma. 

At one point, I mis-read Ford's t-shirt as saying, "Rub out the cum." I mean, if you insist... 

Ford's "Maybe It Came at the Wrong Time" remains a high point of Dead Bob's set, the funkiest number they do. I owe him a great debt, insofar as he was the first person to actually play me Victims Family one day at Red Cat -- he threw on White Bread Blues, which is a fine place to start; it was recorded in Vancouver at Profile and produced by John Wright (who also did The Germ). (Which, I learned during chatting with Jorje, was his introduction to the band, but considerably earlier than mine, and not facilitated by a Dead Bob member). 

I told Larry Boothroyd at one point that Ford had tried to sell me a Specimen Jar album he's on, but, as some of you may have just realized, I fucked that gesture up: Boothroyd's project is called Specimen Box. Apparently Ford shares a track with Jello Biafra, whom Boothroyd and Spight play with. I doubt it's still at Red Cat though.  

Dead Bob did most of what are becoming their standards, with Kristy-Lee pulling maniacal faces and occasionally turning her back on us to play a back-of-stage synth of some sort. She played "Take the A-Train" on trumpet, as ever, inserting it through another song -- she seems to be the person most tasked with discordancy -- and I believe played the most variety of instruments in the night, also taking up the guitar.

I am not positive, but I'm pretty sure the name of Wright's previous band never got said once this evening (by anyone on the stage, that is). They were only "that other band I used to be in." There were teenagers there (I chatted with them) who had never seen said band, who were there for their first Dead Bob show. I felt happy for them. 

One worry hung over the performance: ferries are being cancelled due to extreme weather. John Wright led us in a chant to not cancel the 1:00 sailing (there's a show tomorrow in Victoria, and another the day after that, I guess, in Nanaimo) -- they'd done a whole US tour just narrowly staying ahead of winter, he explained, to return to ferry cancellations.  Welcome home (and good luck!). (Update: the one was cancelled, but they have not pulled the 3 or 5 yet. The woman at the Tsawwassen ticket booth said they were very likely going to... but Dead Bob does have a reservation, so their chances are still okay...).

Most unlikely-ly (unlikelily?), I moshed a bit, just past the midway point of the main set, during "The Fall." I think the last time I moshed a bit was at the Circle Jerks at the Commodore in 2008 ("Coup D'Etat" moved me). Cf. "Too Old to Mosh," in the appendices to my post about going to Ontario to see Nomeansno on three separate dates, back in 2006 (that's the Mama shirt Ty got). 

The encore was "Slowly Melting" and "Metronome." I like these mid-tempo songs. "White Stone Eyes" had heavier keyboards than I think I had heard before. They did not do "We Are the Chopped," though that's been on some songs on this tour. The other mid-tempo one, "No Tomorrows," was my favourite Dead Bob song when the album came out, but now I dunno, I think I might go for "One of You," which saw Byron take the snare again. 

Byron took some ribbing from John about having to -- does one "tune" a snare? Adjust it, in any case.

Colin was the least attention-grabbing of the members but damn I love his bass playing. There were murmurs about Pigment Vehicle merch (sometime soon!). My post about Pigment Vehicle in the Nomeansno fan page I belong to on Facebook has generated a ton of likes and comments; lots of people saw them back in the day. I missed out, myself. My wife went to high school with Colin (and Jason Flower and Rob Nesbitt, but they weren't in Pigment Vehicle). 

I stayed so late chatting and getting records signed that I had to exit out the alley in the back, crossing the stage to get there. That was a first!

The alley in back was not as bad as I'd imagined it might be. But it was cold and damp. 

I don't have much else to say, but it was great. See Dead Bob (and Victim's Family and Invasives!) -- tomorrow in Victoria and the next night, I guess, in Nanaimo, if the wind gods and BC ferries consult and decide to permit it. Bob Hanham got me to get him a Victims Family shirt just in case. 

There does not seem to actually be an apostrophe in Victims Family's name, but the temptation to include one is strong. They talk about that a bit here. 

Here are some photos! Have a good night (I sure did).  

VIDEO EVIDENCE:

Invasives: "Just Another Under the Sun"

Invasives: "Living Your Life Like It's Somebody Else's" (missed the first few notes!)

Victims Family: "Asshole with a Microphone" plus... 

Victims Family: "My Evil Twin"

Victims Family: "Supermarket Nightmare" plus...

Dead Bob's first three songs: "Some Bodies," "Just Breathe," "Party of One" (in my notes, this is identified as "breathe some bacteria") 

Dead Bob's last two songs, shot from the balcony: "Slowly Melting" and "Metronome"

Note: my phone has a hair trigger on switching to selfie mode so occasionally you get clips of the inside of my hands or my COVID mask... sorry about that...! 

All photos by Allan MacInnis, not to be reused without permission