Memorable moments of the day:
1. These chickens, whom I visited today, are the most beautiful chickens, probably the healthiest chickens, that I have ever seen; green tailfeathers on a chicken is new to me, and they were plump and slow and dignified and gorgeous. They are also the only chickens I have seen, as far as I recall, that had feathers on their feet; I did not realize before today that chicken footfeathers were a thing, though this perhaps is simply a matter of not being very observant. Or being distracted in my past chicken encounters by their behaviour (#ChickenAttackSurvivor, #Can'tFindthePhoto).
I do not want to name the artist on whose property these chickens live, but I am happy to know she does not plan to eat them. These are rescue chickens, and a rescue rooster (their eggs can go fry, tho', ha, ha). Actually, the person who is looking after them has a remarkable new album coming out, more on which sometime soon, but she may not wish to be known by her devoted chicken husbandry (if someone looks after chickens, but they are a woman, what is the word for it? Can women practice husbandry, or do, uh, "chicken ladies" [sorry] have their own gendered term that I don't know? Poultrywiffery? And why IS it called husbandry, anyhow?).
2. Flash forward a bit, because points 1-3 are in sequence, the top three high points of the night: immediately prior to leaving for Black Mountain at the Rickshaw (where I stayed from about 10 to 1045), I enjoyed the hell out of dancing to the Butthole Surfers' "Goofy's Concern" as rendered by Crummy. It was the dancin', rockin' out high point of the night, at least in terms of my body's responses to it -- I am surprised to discover that I *can* dance like this, actually (which is to say, "with such vigor;" I lay no claims to skill. I am not entirely sure what all is in the caplet I took -- mushrooms, but maybe also herbal stimulants? Blue Meanies are a hell of a dancing aid, though). This will console me that I never really saw the Butts (did interview the Butt who wrote this song tho'. Nice guy! Here he is doing an alternate version of the song: know this one, Bert?).
I guess it is a left-handed compliment that Crummy is #2 below chickens, but you beat Black Mountain, like. So there's that.
Actually, re: dancin', my heart was beating with such vigour after that song, I said to Bruce Wilson (who had miraculously re-grown a full head of hair), "If I fall down clutching my chest, call 911?). Got a laugh. I'm hardly even sore today (a bit hungover though).
3. The sittin' down listenin' high point of the night, meanwhile, was Black Mountain doing "No Hits." I do not connect with their new stuff at all, and seeing it live didn't really change that -- not sure if it's me or them. Maybe they're just a band I have trapped in amber, fossilized for me forever since 2008, forever to dwell there, like I did with Husker Du post-Zen Arcade? But I still loved "No Hits" (and the other songs I recognized: second most-danced-to song tonight was "Wucan"). Does it really matter that I still don't like their new stuff? It loses some of its grungy patina, for me, but who the hell am I, anyhow? They still have a huge audience and a huge presence, so my reaction is seriously not important.
I didn't get any photos worth a damn but this is available for license to Pabst Blue Ribbon, if they want to pay me, for advertising purposes. I guess they'd have to clear it with the band.
In fact, it was amusing to see the guy who had been talking to his buddies during the first couple of Black Mountain songs getting irritated with the drunk guy pictured, who was dancing with his Pabst can in the air, asking him to tone it down, because he was getting "distracting." I realized at that moment that I was on the side of the drunk guy, mildly amused by him, even.
The girls who raised their let Bics in presumably ironic salute? Not so much. It was not, really, my audience, nor did I care for how packed it was, or how warm the air was (Green Auto had been nice and cool: better for dancing). But goddamn that "No Hits" tonight was great, though. It seemed like practically ten minutes from the "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun" playbook, intercut with a bridge that took a few phases, climaxing into something very pounding and staccato, before veering back to psychedelic texture. It was magnificent, and the Blue Meanies worked well for just sitting there listening. Excited for anyone seeing them again tonight at Green Auto -- should be a hell of a show.
Which is where I went back to, after "Wucan," though we now depart from both temporal and heirarchical sequence, as points 4 and onward, below, could be as easily scrambled any which way, as all of which follows was great:
4. I began to worry almost as soon as I got into position: What the fuck is that on the back of Bruce Wilson's neck? Is this a disfigurement? It's totally unnatural: is he a reptile of some sort?! BRUCE WILSON IS AN ALIEN...! (no, wait: he's wearing a bald wig, a skullcap. Those are folds of fake skin. He still has hair under there. Whew!).
(Judith Beeman would ask me later on social media "what's that on his head," and I told her it was a whale placenta. Not sure why).
Bruce was pretty cold up there, without a shirt, he told me later. But colder is better from an audience point of view: you pay more attention. I always run classrooms I work in cold, if I can have my way -- so much so that I've had students ask if we can turn up the heat.
If it is not clear, Bruce Wilson is one of the most compelling performers to watch in Vancouver. I liked the songs, but he's so gripping in his lithe, sinewy physicality that he counts as his own distraction from his own music, which I have nothing articulate to say about, though it too was compelling. He just has this remarkable way of seeming entirely, completely tensed, like his BMI must be a negative number or something. Does he do tai chi?
One of the songs had to do with being star-fucked, I think. Interestingly, even though I could make out few of the lyrics, and remember no other lines now, I took this as a riff on being "star-crossed," as they say in Romeo and Juliet, and not on actual starfucking, as discussed by the Rolling Stones, despite the latter being the only previous reference to starfuckery I have encountered. I will be curious to hear that again.
5. After Bruce played, it was Caveman & the Banshee, the presumed banshee of whom got down on the floor and spent some time amusing Hamm and I with her antics.
A bit later in the set, while she was still performing, she came over to where I was sitting in back and sat on my arm, briefly, while continuing to sing. Her bum rubbed my elbow. Later, walking out into the alley, I passed her, and called, "Do you know NO FUN, the Beatles of Surrey? David M. of that band had been the only musician who sat on me before tonight."
She giggled happily.
Caveman and the Banshee ended their set on a cover of Iggy Pop. I felt like it was evidence of how well I was on their wavelength that, even though scarcely a note had been played, when she said they were going to do an Iggy Pop cover, I thought, "They're going to do 'I'm Bored.'" Which was exactly what they did.
6. Then came Crummy, and then a trek to the Rickshaw, and then I came back just in time to see the whole set from We Found a Lovebird (the Television comparison actually mostly suited the song "Details," and it was Terry's guitar that put me in mind of that band -- compare with "See No Evil," say -- though I couldn't tell you if that was the Verlaine or Richard Lloyd role that he was summoning). There was some great guitar interplay between Terry and Larry tonight, much of which did not in fact remind me of Television; there were also elements of the Paisley Underground and/ or shoegaze in what they did, I thought, lots of tingling, shimmering detail. They'd be a terrific band to put as an opener for the Dream Syndicate, if the Dream Syndicate ever come back to Vancouver, though of course you would have to put the New Modernettes on the bill, as well (may they please put out that album soon?).
Anyhow, I enjoyed their set and was glad to take it in. I recorded clips of "Chet" and "Signal Hill." Hamm, at one point, seeing me in the audience, said, "I thought you left!" and I commented, "I came back! I just missed you."
Sorry, Hamm! Wayne McCarthy tells me the Space Family Band were terrific last night. Of course they were! But I saw them a few months ago, and I haven't seen Black Mountain since 2008, and had been gifted a ticket, so... I hope you understand! I will see you again ASAP.
BTW, Wayne also recommends the Dead Bars/ SLIP~ons gig next Friday at LanaLou's -- says Dead Bars are great, and of course, he and I met because I complimented him on his SLIP~ons shirt. I am past due for another SLIP~ons show. Apparently that will be Lana's birthday gig!
Oh, and I made another new animal friend yesterday, too - a Kentucky rescue dog named Tucker. Hi, Tucker! Nice to meet you! (He lives with those chickens).
A rich and varied day, in any case, punctuated with transit. No gigs for me tonight, I don't think, but I wonder if there will be any tickets at the door for Black Mountain? (Firefighter benefit, befitting McBean's new LA home, discussed here).
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