Bad cellphone photography by Allan MacInnis
My life has gotten gig-intensive again. Gnick Gnash and the Minus 5 last weekend, then Dead Bob on Monday, and I (sorta) took in *two* last night, somehow. And I might have two more this Saturday -- the Rocket Revellers are at the Heatley and Never Plenty, who I really dig, is part of a bill at the Rickshaw. They're terrific, a must-see (wrote about them here). More to come about them, possibly later today.
As for the two shows I saw last night, turns out that Art D'Ecco remind(s) me of 1980s movies where there is a scene where live music is happening and people with expensive haircuts and nice clothes are playing some variant on new wave that involves a saxophone, if you see what I mean. The saxophone player may or may not have a headband, but he will definitely have a suit jacket on (or possibly leather?) and may be played by a young Jason Patric. There could be vampires, or else maybe significant interest in the love life of a young Molly Ringwald, or maybe Michael J. Fox is in it, but the saxophone is kind of obligatory.
You feel like you've seen that scene in a few movies, right?
Well: sorry, Art D'Ecco, it ain't your fault, but I never liked those kinds of movies, nor do I generally like the music that was being played in those scenes. Understand that in the 1980s, I was pretty invested in an oppositional cultural movement, hardcore punk, and that anything that seemed "actually popular," commercially successful or radio-friendly put me off (I even stopped buying some bands' records at precisely the moment they started getting noticed, like the Replacements, X, and Soul Asylum, all of whom had some degree of mainstream attention and all of whom I jumped off-board from at precisely that point).
And yes, sure, there are some albums from that time (say by the Tom Tom Club or, like, even Cyndi Lauper) that I now realize are absolutely delightful, that transcend and school my objections, but I still have a mild hurdle to overcome when it comes to anything remotely 80s'-new-wavish. (And as for film, I didn't like The Lost Boys much, never saw Sixteen Candles, and spent most of the 80's re-watching either The Thing or The Evil Dead, movies in which NO SAXOPHONES ARE PLAYED).
NONE OF THAT IS ART D'ECCO's FAULT, it's just the "confessions of the asshole writing this," so Art D'Ecco fans have a basis to dismiss my opinions here. There is no denying that Art D'Ecco (the band, not the singer; I refer to them as an entity, with no idea what the proper procedure is) have charisma and talent and that they performed with commitment, creativity and style. It is not a bad thing that I thought, say, of Brian Ferry and Sparks while listening to them (though the comparisons are pretty superficial and possibly transient). They even did one particularly glammy song I kinda liked, which turned out to be (to my surprise) a new one, "I Feel Alive." Also, I shot one video of them in their incarnation last night, "TV God" -- studio version here -- so my friend who gave me the ticket would be able to see what she missed... There was exactly one false note (D'Ecco was a bit "How the fuck are you Vancouver" during some of his between-song shouts, suddenly getting more Guns 'n'Roses than Flock of Seagulls, if you see what I mean... I'd suggest something dryer?). But they are a real band, worthy of real attention...
...just not from me; they join Destroyer and the New Pornographers on the shortlist of "bands from here who I begrudge nothing but care not at all about"). I only saw about half the set (and Dour's, who were more on the Joy Division/ Cure end of the 80s spectrum, despite being maybe half my age; I guess I'm not entirely clear on young folk's attachment to music of this time?). Dour was down a member (the bassist had to have an operation, I was told, so one of the guitarists was subbing in), but it didn't sound in any way lacking, to me, just also not really my cuppa (tbh I never really did Joy Division, either!).
I had joined the Rob Frith table (he texted me when he saw me enter to invite me), and sat and chatted next to his friend Ian (of Penticton radio show Sound Explorer, who loves Art D'Ecco). Ian recommends Trespasser, which I did not end up buying, but I bet Robert Dayton has it!
There was also a Doug at the table, who Rob knew, but I did not interact with him at all; apparently Doug has a Youtube channel called Noise from the Cranium (which featured Rob on a show about the rare Beatles demo). So be consoled, Art D'Ecco, because, as far as I can see, those guys ate you up!
As for me, when Rob Frith suggested we split early to see his son's band, the Vicious Cycles MC., upstairs at the Penthouse -- which is where Tyrant Studios is -- I was, like, "Yeah!" And no progeny of mine are in that band. We ended up in an uber (Rob does not *bus*), made it to the Penthouse yappin' about some band or other, and got there -- having to declare at the door whether we were there for strippers or music -- in time to see a bit of Zafirios, who I have seen in a few contexts now and was glad to see doing his originals; I've generally only caught him/ them at tribute shows. I do not feel obliged to really attempt to evaluate Zafirios, however! But I took a photo.
...and speaking of photos, here's a funny story: at the Godspeed You! Black Emperor show the other week -- see here and here for my writing on that -- there was a guy waiting to interact with Efrim, at the end of the second night, I think mostly to show off his GY!BE tattoo (his first of many, as I recall). I had been chatting with him and so snapped his photo. I think his name might have been Jason?
Well, I had no idea when I took that shot that he had been the cover model for the new Vicious Cycles album, Get Wrecked. Ben (said Frith progeny/ VC's drummer) laughed about it when I came into Neptoon, while Rob Wright (no, not THAT Rob Wright: the VC's bassist) commented about it on Facebook. Sure enough, that's the guy!
Looks like a GREAT album cover to get signed by the band, dunnit? The thing is, though, I'd been riding for free all night. I'd been comped into Art D'Ecco, and Rob (Frith, not Wright) comped me into the VCs, so I had hit no bank machines, had no cash. But of course, their merch table was cash only, and though there was a bank machine in the building, I really didn't want to do those stairs again (I was still winded from coming up!). I lamely explained this to Rob Wright, promised (he does actually know me) that I would e-transfer him tomorrow, and (borrowing a Sharpie, too) commenced getting scribbles on the cover: Rob first, then Norman, then Nick (the only VC who had been at the Minus 5, unless I missed someone. You got good taste, Nick!):
But where's Ben? (Well: I do sometimes see him at his dayjob...). He wasn't manifesting, but on the way up the long flights of stairs to the music-level, I had seen Billy Bones, the VC's singer, on the way down, where (I learned later) he was going to meet his wife and mother (who had come out from Saskatchewan for the show! Billy would introduce her from the stage later in the night, and I would offer her my seat, though she declined). So if I wanted Billy's signature (and I did, I did) I would have to go downstairs anyway. I wonder if there were actually more stairs involved in the experience last night than there were at the Railway?
Possibly. Several flights, like this one. Hey, look, that's the ATM, too! Highest charge in town?
This all matters to the evening's most surprising moment: how I gave money ($10) to a stripper for the first time in my life, tucking it into her garter. How did I end up there?
Well, on the way back up, since I no longer had an excuse of not wanting to traverse the stairs, I of COURSE hit the bank machine, wincing at the $4.75 fee, then promptly brought Rob at the merch table his $30 (running into Ben along the way and getting his signature too, between the... what's that part of the bike called, anyhow? I dunno from bikes). Rob (W) got me change from the bar -- a ten back from two twenties. I took a couple of photos of Billy at the piano, singing a new song to his bike called "Scheduled Maintenance," which involved him apologizing that he hadn't changed her oil or greased her chain in too long -- it was a funny song! But then, as Ben kicked in with a hammering beat, I had an unpleasant surprise: my phone died!
How was I gonna go through a whole gig with no battery?! Added to which, I had to text my wife to let her know when I'd be home (come to think of it, I haven't greased her chain in awhile, either!). So now I was desperate: how could I get some charge on my phone? (I had no cable with me).
While Billy and the sound guy sorted out some microphone issues (we could barely hear him on the first song), I commenced my Quest for Power.
Bartender upstairs: "No, sorry, try downstairs."
Stairs again!
Bartender downstairs: "No, sorry, try the DJ" (points to far corner). I begin to head towards the DJ booth then realize: IT IS ON THE FAR CORNER PAST A NAKED WOMAN, onstage: a cute brunette with a slightly evil glimmer in her eye, who was sticking her thigh into men's faces (and one maybe-woman's? Or possibly gender-unspecified, but she/ they were RIGHT UP FRONT at what my buddies used to call "gynaecology row," AKA, "the meat seats." Nice to see that the audience for strippers has varied a bit; the stripper seemed to appreciate it too, but maybe because, y'know, money is money? She did seem to linger a bit, though).
Anyhoo, it just felt like it would be gauche to march right by her, so I cooled my jets, sat down, and -- I mean, I probably watched her a bit, but, like, only to be polite (I sure didn't take her photograph. I wonder how strip clubs handle cell phones, these days? I literally have not been in one since I got mine).
(not my photo; go here!). I have no idea what the expression on my face might have been, viewed from the stage. I was sitting at a distance, probably thinking about the Vicious Cycles, when the stripper made eye contact with me and smiled (again, slightly evilly; she looked like someone out of a Jim Thompson novel, maybe, who had a bottle of gin in her purse, a boyfriend in prison, and a profitable hustle in mind): "I know YOU want to put something in here," she called to me (she meant her garter belt).
I laughed and shook my head.
Then began to feel guilty. I had that $10 in my pocket, after all. I'd considered tipping anyone who, like, gave me a charge. So finally -- she had moved on to sticking her thigh at someone else -- I went, "all right, all right" and walked over to her.
"Stick it in there!" she said, holding her garter belt open.
I did as I was told, and she snapped it shut in a way that must have been just a little painful (paying for her sins, maybe?). It was definitely decisive-seeming: THIS IS MY MONEY NOW. In the process, my fingertip briefly touched her thigh (accidentally, I swear!). Afterwards, it smelled vaguely of sandalwood. I mean, you would sniff it too, wouldn't you? (I hope I do not end up in the proverbial doghouse, here).
But the best part about the whole thing was: I now felt totally empowered and entitled to walk over to the DJ booth and get my phone charged for a few minutes, long enough to run back upstairs to dance around to "I Love My Bike." (I was glad to get one song's worth of dancing in but I think the majority of the evening's exercise was stairs, alas). It's off their first LP, which is my second fave so far (I'm a Bad News Travels Fast man, mostly, perhaps because that was the album I first interviewed them about; we did chat about their next album, too, which is maybe a bit more playful and self-aware, and certainly has a richer palette, but somehow didn't grab me as much?).
Then it's back downstairs to the DJ booth, where I retrieved my phone and peeked briefly at the CCTV images (I guess for security purposes) on the monitors in the booth of the people getting private dances (do they know they're on TV?). Then I ran back upstairs, powering up on the way, and danced to my favourite Vicious Cycles song ("Just a Ratbike," also a song Billy sings to his bike) and shot a handful of photos. I also managed to text my wife, before it all died again!
I enjoyed much of the set but have nothing cogent to say about it. Billy got up on several surfaces -- tables, what-have-you. He had great interest in the ceiling, for some reason. I would have loved to have gotten video, but I must have only gotten, like, 4% worth of charge on my stripper-adventure. What you see is what I got, kinda. Tyrant Studios, meantime, was small and intimate and fun, very much like the front area of the vintage Railway Club -- seats and tables on the margins, small dance area. Stage was smaller, though... Norman was kinda tucked in the corner...
It's just as well that my battery was dead, though, because I noticed that Rob (F), who'd been drinking wine, had nodded off at the table where he was seated, and I probably would have taken his photo, which would have been ungrateful of me (if funny). Thanks, Rob, for getting me out of Art D'Ecco and into the Penthouse, and thanks to (I guess she'd want to be named?) THE GREAT Judith Beeman for the Art D'Ecco ticket: I appreciated the chance to experience him/them, even if he/ they ultimately wasn't weren't my thing. (Note: Art D'Ecco is a he, as far as I know, I just don't know if he's Alice Coopering his band -- if they have the same name, like? Art D'Ecco feels more like a bandname than one dude but it is definitely his stage name, and the band seems to vary around him. Some people have said they liked his previous band better, but I never saw them)....
While I am thanking people, though, thanks are also due to Aaron Chapman, who has a Vancouver Vice walking tour this weekend, though it appears to be sold out? I should go on one of those someday. He is also apparently going over to Victoria with Art D'Ecco to see them tonight.
The upshot of the night is that I came away with this nifty signed record. Ben even asked the spelling of my name, and then (unlike some people I could mention) followed up by spelling it correctly (I've told people A-L-L-A-N and still gotten an ALAN or an ALLEN or once an ALANN: What the hell?). There are two colour variants for the vinyl and copies at Neptoon and elsewhere. Great, fun band! Haven't spun this one yet, but soon, I promise.
Now as for THIS weekend...
