On the hookers of Maple Ridge

So here's a charming new twist. The area where I live - in the heart of a small suburban town, flanked by several retirement buildings and Mom & Pop shops, only a few blocks away from the local high school, and surrounded by homes with families - has become the new stroll for streetwalkers. You see them standing at certain intersections in clusters of two or three in the afternoon, and every couple of nights, as I walk between my Mom's apartment and my own, I'm getting asked if I want a date, or more frequently if I have an extra cigarette to sell, by rather rough looking women dressed in tight skirts or short shorts and high heels, many of them looking like they're kind of in need of a fix - like they're already doing the math in their head, calculating the amount of time it would take to get me off, separate me from my money, call their dealer, and get whatever it is they need into their bloodstream. There have always been prostitutes in Maple Ridge, but suddenly this summer, they've become much more visible and numerous; their appearance has become a regular part of the landscape.

I know that there are people out there who have abundant compassion for working girls. I've interviewed a couple - Chris Walter writes pretty sympathetically about them in his books; Annie Sprinkle used to be one. I realize that most women on the street don't have the best of lives or the largest number of options, that many have experience of poverty and desperation that I should be grateful I know nothing of, that many have addictions to support, and that they face all sorts of safety issues in doing what they do, from abusive pimps to weirdo johns to the Picktons of the world roaming free. The ones who don't have HIV or hepatitis or some other STD probably don't want it; the ones who do have these diseases (or others) probably don't enjoy it. Neverminding their geographical proximity, I live pretty far from the world of such women, but I firmly believe that their trade should be legalized and regulated, like any other victimless crime - because I think these women have the right to sell their sex if they want to, and that men who want to buy it shouldn't be stopped, and that legalization is the key to making it a safer, healthier profession (and reducing situations like the one I'm presently writing about). Prohibition obviously doesn't work - it's not stopping these girls from being out there on my street, it didn't protect them from a trip to the pig farm, and it probably won't help them get them off the street once they're on it. If anything, it makes their work more dangerous, since they have to do it covertly, without the protection of or recourse to the law. Present me a candidate who runs on a reformer's platform for the benefit of sex trade workers, and I'll happily vote for him or her. Whatever can be done to reduce the stigma, the danger, and the health risks these girls face, I'm all for it - legalized brothels in a red light district (at a remove from residential areas) sound like a definite starting place.

But you know what I really, really don't want? Scraggy, impoverished junkie ho's in high heels and trashy costumes approaching me with offers of sex-for-money, or even a hint in that direction, a block from where I live. I really, really do not care for this experience and would like it to stop. What I wish I could communicate to them, what I wish they understood is that what they register as, to me, when they turn their hungry eyes in my direction, is not very different from the homeless people who spare change me; the point is still that they want what money they imagine I have, and they only make the whole scenario that more grotesque and pathetic with the implication that I am desperate, incautious, or otherwise insane enough to want to have sex with them in return. Uh, no thanks! Whatever compassion I strive to maintain for them in the realm of my politics is far from my instinctive emotional response when one of them turns her attention my way. When I hear, "Hey, mister, do you want a date?" - if I could speak with 100% honesty to this request, give them the full uncensored reaction that I feel welling up in me, I would recoil, shuddering, and declaim something like:

"With you? Are you fucking kidding?"

I don't say this, of course - it would be potentially bad for my health, for one, and probably hurt their feelings. I don't want to do that, but nor do I want to just swallow my bile and steel myself and just mutter "no" and keep walking, because the distaste at being thus solicited does not lessen in the slightest, and a polite "no" does nothing to dissuade them from asking me the same fucking question the next night. They're almost as annoying as the two weirdo Christians who lurk in suits in the alleys at odd hours and want to talk to passers-by about God, frankly.

Well, no. I'll give them that - the hookers aren't as bad as those two weirdo Christians (they come off like really slimy Mormons but may also be Christ Scientists, since they do their shtick in proximity to a Christian Scientist church. If they had any idea how creepy they seem they would evaporate in shame; you just don't approach strangers in an alley at night in teams and try to talk to them about God!). Still, I have no idea how to wrestle with the etiquette of the situation - maybe I should ask Dan Savage! - and no desire to HAVE to; I would rather it not be part of my daily life in Maple Ridge, frankly. Part of the resentment and rage I feel is a simple nimby conservatism; this is the small town where I grew up and it really just doesn't NEED this new development. It's not like Maple Ridge isn't depressing enough...

Anyhow, I think I came up with a strategy tonight that might work to get at least a few of them - the hookers, not the Christers - to stop approaching me.* When an obvious workin' girl asked me the cigarette question a short while ago, I said "No, no I don't" in a way that was just a little too loud and a little too firm, as if to emphasize that not only did I not have a cigarette, but that I understood how the rest of the conversation would go if I did, and that I was speaking to the whole implied transaction. She said something in reply - I didn't quite catch it off the bat, but walking away - hearing the clack of her high heels receding in the distance - I realized it was probably "okay, I won't bother you again."

I actually kind of admired the way she handled that, to be honest. I may try that strategy again with the next one... If not I think I'm just going to have to politely explain to them that I am not now nor will I ever be interested and I would really, really rather they didn't bother me, and/or took their trade somewhere further from my door.


*I feel no need whatsoever to be polite to these two Christers - I think the words "fuck off, you freaks" or their equivalent ended my last interaction with them, after which I half-ran home, looking behind myself periodically to make sure they weren't following; their approach was that unsettling. They have, in point of fact, not bothered me since, and only ever solicited me twice - if dealing with them was a regular aspect of this town I would have moved long ago. At least I know exactly what the hookers WANT...

Darren Williams checks in

Received from "sax machine" Darren Williams:

Hey Dr. Allan, 

How hangs it? Just wanted to let you know about a show I'm doing, maybe you could plug it on your blog... 

The Freedman trio is really really great, playing oddball faux jazz on a ukulele, a suitcase (used as drums... seriously) and a bristle from a street sweeper truck (used as a bass... again, seriously) They will be playing music by Lori Freedman and Myk Freedman (no relation) in their own beautifully indelible way. Check it out at:
http://www.liveatrickshaw.com/180/freedman-with-guests/ 

Also, I'm in the opener playing bassoon with our own Peggy Lee and a SFU grad student Nancy Tam, who hails from Toronto/Waterloo... This first gig in a very long time of playing improv solely bassoon. This is also the first time I'll be playing with Peggy Lee, and Nancy, for that matter. Could be awesome. I sent you the flyer for the show (by yours truly - maybe I should go into business for this stuff..?) 

Anyway, I know you're not likely to make the show, but I'd thought I'd take bug and place firmly in ear (yours.) 

I hope this note finds you well. 

Cheers! 

Darren

Gearing Up for the VIFF, plus John Fahey doc

This year's VIFF starts September 27th, and the full schedule of movies playing is viewable online here (note if you're searching by letter that some have more than one page of listings). So far the screenings I'm most excited by are of two very smart-sounding genre films, Antiviral (Brandon Cronenberg's debut, which is being very well-received) and Berberian Sound Studio (a meta-horror psychological drama with Toby Jones, who made a terrific Ollie Weeks in The Mist). Of course, there's also Michael Haneke's new film, the Palm D'Or-winning Amour, but I can't say I actually get excited to see Haneke's films, as they are often emotionally gruelling and rather cruel experiences; though I did see and admire The White Ribbon, I haven't really recovered from the English-language version of Funny Games. 

(Image from Antiviral)

Documentary-wise, for those concerned with what happens when money-men meddle in movies (or interested in the history of Canadian animation), there's Persistence of Vision, about producer interference in Richard Williams' The Thief and the Cobbler. Velcrow Ripper has a new film, Occupy Love. Ripper is always interesting, but I'm not so enthusiastic about the whole Occupy thing, so I'm more excited that there's a new Peter Mettler doc, The End of Time. Mettler is perhaps the outstanding living Canadian cinematographer and documentary filmmaker, whose career extends from early days shooting for Atom Egoyan, his Egoyan-esque, Fred-Frith-scored feature The Top of His Head, to recent, outstanding documentaries that he shot (Manufactured Landscapes) or directed (Picture of Light; Gambling, Gods and LSD; Petropolis). Scopophiles and those inclined to fetishize images should definitely see his new film - it should be eye-opening indeed.

Animal lovers and animal activists will probably want to catch Street Dogs of South Central. There's also the short Facing Animals, and Leviathan, dealing with fishing (made by the people behind Sweetgrass, which some people really took to when it played the VIFF). Quite a few environmentalist docs this year, seems like they're becoming a staple of the VIFF... 

In terms of music-related films, I previewed In Search of Blind Joe Death: The Saga of John Fahey, because I love Fahey's music (see here, or here, or here, for a few very different tastes of his work). I greatly regret missing the one chance I had to see him, when he toured Japan just a year before his death; I was an hour away by train, could have gone... and decided not to. This is the sort of film that is more likely to please a Fahey noob than an old hand - it will serve quite well as a brief introduction to his music, but will not be so satisfying to those who know quite a bit about Fahey and want to know more. The film does have some delightful moments - like Joe Bussard, the 78rpm old-timey archivist, Fonotone founder, radio host, and subject of the vibrant music doc Desperate Man Blues, playing tapes of he and Fahey drunk to heaven and howling out improvised fake blues numbers together - and has some tasty, revealing interviews with friends of Fahey like Stefan Grossman or Dr. Demento (Barrett Hansen). In Search of Blind Joe Death also has its shocks, like an archival interview with Fahey talking about being repeatedly raped by his pedophile father (a bomb dropped very briefly in the film, and not really elaborated on, which may be for the best). It also relates stories of Fahey tracking down Skip James and Bukka White, which are important anecdotes in the history of folk blues, and gives a more-or less accurate overview of Fahey's life and career, which peaked in the 1970's, went into what could have been a terminal decline in the late 1980's and early 1990's, and had an unexpected revitalisation in the last years of Fahey's life (he died in 2001). 

The downside of the film is the over-reliance on cutesy animation, the choice to spend too much time on Pete Townshend (I know he's famous but he simply has too little to do with Fahey or his music!), and, most curiously - especially given that at least some time is spent on the Takoma story - pretty much ignoring that Fahey started Revenant Records in his last years, with money from his father's estate. The Charley Patton box is shown, but without explanation that it came out on Fahey's label, or that it won a Grammy; no mention is made of the equally lovely Albert Ayler box, or the fourth volume of the Harry Smith archives, or any of the other Revenant releases (Dock Boggs, Derek Bailey, the American Primitive CDs - there were several!). They're pretty much all out of print now, I suspect - a blip in the history of recorded music - and didn't get half the attention they merited, but they were such objects of beauty, such labours of love, such magnificent achievements in and of themselves that they could have served to balance out the sadder stories from the last couple of decades of Fahey's life (some of which are also not mentioned, like his struggles with Epstein-Barr Syndrome); I would have loved to know more about them. Those who like his Table of Elements material - and I think Womblife holds up very well, in particular - will further be sad that there's almost no footage of him performing any of that material, though it certainly exists (Jim O'Rourke and Thurston Moore, who played a role in Fahey's later years, are also absent, though mentioned). An interesting documentary - but there's lots left to quibble with, lots it leaves out.  

One Fahey tidbit that I can't blame them too much for not mentioning, but which is definitely of interest to cinephiles- and relevant to my Mark Frechette post below! - is that Fahey was originally going to be the one to score the "lovemaking in the desert" scene in Antonioni's Zabriskie Point. He found Antonioni very frustrating, according to an account of the time he spent in Rome that appears in the booklet for the 2CD version of Zabriskie Point soundtrack (apparently excerpted from Fahey's memoir, How Bluegrass Music Destroyed My Life). One night over dinner, Antonioni was "expounding on the evil and decadence of the United States," and Fahey objected; a heated argument followed, and - as Fahey puts it - "I decked him." As one might expect, Fahey's music was never used; though Fahey's composition "Dance of Death" still appears in the film, Jerry Garcia was called in to re-score the film's centrepiece. By the way, the image above is the cover for the upcoming, limited-edition 4 Men with Beards 6 LP box set of early Fahey recordings, The Transcendental Waterfall. Anyone wishing to buy me an expensive gift... well...   

Also in terms of music-related films, the town's avant-accordion scene should take heed of Soundbreaker: The World of Kimmo Pohjonen... but for now, I think I'm going to leave y'all to explore the VIFF program on your own! 

Mark Frechette in new DVD release?!

Mark Frechette fascinates me. His bio includes involvement in the Mel Lyman "cult" - read the essay on Lyman from Mindfuckers: The Rise of Acid Fascism here - and ends with him dying in prison at age 27, where he was serving time for armed robbery. Somewhere in the midst of all that he got involved with Michelangelo Antonioni, and had a brief spell as an actor; apparently the casting director for Zabriskie Point (a film so hated at the time of its release that it has its own entry in a book called The 50 Worst Films of All Time, alongside MST3K favourite Eegah!) saw Frechette standing at a bus stop shouting "motherfucker!" and decided he was perfect for the lead in the film. Frechette himself was fairly unimpressed with the finished product - you can see him and the future Mrs. Dennis Hopper, co-star Daria Halprin - who is now an "expressive arts therapist," among other things - rather painfully interviewed on Dick Cavett about it, here. (You can also follow that up here, thanks to the energies of fellow bloggers on the sites Classic Television Showbiz and Chained and Perfumed - who collects an impressive amount of cool Zabriskie Point stuff, including the Films and Filming cover below, here). Frechette apparently described the movie as "a big lie and totally alien." That's helpfully quoted in the 50 Worst Films of All Time, which actually is a fairly useful source of information on the movie, despite its contempt for it; more from Frechette, typed out from the book now open on my computer desk (and omitting a snide aside from the author): 

When later asked why he had robbed the bank, Frechette explained, "I am afflicted by a political concscience. We did it as a revolutionary act of political protest. We had been watching the Watergate hearings on television and we saw John Dean tell the truth and we saw Mitchell and Stans lie about it. We saw the American people sinking deeper and deeper into apathy and we felt an intense rage. They did not know the truth and did not want to know the truth. We know the truth and wanted to show it to them. Because banks are federally insured, robbing that band was a way of robbing Richard Nixon without hurting anybody." 

...He later said, "There was no way to stop what was going to happen. We just reached the point where all that the three of us really wanted to do was hold up a bank. And besides," he added, "standing there with a gun, cleaning out a teller's cage - that's about as fuckin' honest as you can get, man!" 

A short while later Frechette was found dead in the weight room of Norfolk State Prison in Massachusetts, a death which was deemed accidental. I hadn't realized that there was much else to his story, but this morning's internet pokeabout netted some interesting fruit. I noticed an Italian film listed as an upcoming release by DVD Beaver, and that the director was Francesco Rosi. Rosi directed the fascinating crime film Salvatore Giuliano, based on a screenplay by Marxist screenwriter Franco Solinas (...who also fascinates me; Solinas wrote most of Pontecorvo's films, a few of Costa Gravas, was involved in projects by Joseph Losey and Nicolas Ray, and also wrote/ co-wrote two damned good spaghetti westerns, The Big Gundown and Tepepa, and one not-so-good one, The Mercenary, which, trivially, features Jack Palance as a character named Curly, some 20 years before City Slickers, and who actually has curly hair!). Salvatore Giuliano is about a bandit who may or may not have been a revolutionary figure; the film probes the question of how to properly regard him by structuring a film around his activities without actually containing him as a character (the film begins with his assassination, and 99% of the time we see him in the film, he is lying dead on the sidewalk). The question of whether crime can have political dimensions had much more currency in the 1960's and 1970's, as Frechette's quote amply demonstrates; it's probably for the best that the Occupy folks aren't going around robbing banks.  

Anyhow, it turns out that Francesco Rosi went on to make a film called Many Wars Ago (Uomini Contro - Amazon link here; the film screened in 2010 at the Cinematheque as Just Another War), and that that film co-starred... Mark Frechette! Yep: he appeared in two Italian movies after Zabriskie Point. I've seen neither, hadn't realized they existed, but now one of them is due out on DVD and Blu-Ray on October 16th. Doubtlessly Frechette will be dubbed into Italian, but hey, it's not really his acting abilities that draw me to him (although I think he does just fine in Zabriskie Point, to be honest). Nice to see that there are still cool new video releases happening; Raro Video joins Olive Films on my "DVD labels to watch" list...

Dear Protesting Muslims of the world

Just so you know, no North American viewers would even be aware of The Innocence of Muslims - which even a couple of minutes of viewing will determine is a ridiculously negligible piece of crap from the lunatic fringe - if it wasn't for your protests, and the attendant media coverage they are generating. By protesting, you are creating curiosity about a film no thinking person here would ever devote a minute of their lives to, as idle news readers Google it to see what the fuss is about; you are further providing American right-wing media material to help propagandize anti-Islamic views. All of this is probably very close to an "ideal reaction" from the point of view of the filmmakers; this is what they wanted you to do all along, dig? There is an idiomatic expression here about "not taking the bait" that you might want to learn; as it stands now, extremists in your own countries and in America are colluding to dupe you, and you are going gleefully along with it.

Oh, and by the way, in terms of American politics, you really don't want Mitt Romney for president (though the people who made The Innocence of Muslims might). Because, uh, do you remember George W. Bush? See, the American people don't, really; by electing a black man president, they have ritually washed their hands and purged their memories, so the fact that Romney comes from the same pack of thieves and warmongers as Bush (also known as the Republican Party) will not stop them from voting for him, if they're convinced he'll make them safer from "the terrorist threat." That means y'all. And that means the more you storm US embassies, the better things get for Romney. I really, really doubt the Republicans and their backers were behind 9/11, but I would not be at all surprised if they helped make The Innocence of Muslims. Along, maybe, with certain friends of yours in Israel, who are  doubtlessly delighted at how you are receiving this film.

I mean, you do what you like, right? But unless you want several more years of Team Bush (by another name), it is really, truly in your best interests to STFU with these protests, and to look very suspiciously at anyone urging you to do otherwise.

Just sayin'.

Morgan Freeman: Undead Undead Undead

...tho' he did play Dracula once in his long career. Pretty special, huh?

But as far as vampire videos go, that's still got nothing on the opening of The Hunger. 

Damn you, Blu-Ray: stuck in video limbo

I find myself in a corner.

Because the only way to get Lynne Ramsay's very interesting, highly visual film, We Need to Talk About Kevin, is as part of a DVD/Blu-Ray combo pack... that's what I got. My review copy of Bertrand Tavernier's Death Watch also came that way. Then when I saw a used Blu-Ray copy of Roman Polanski's The Ghost Writer for $2, I picked that up, since I might as well have it - it's a delightful little thriller, which I already own in DVD format, but wouldn't mind seeing in hi-def if I ever find myself in possession of the technology. That's a total of three Blu-Rays that I own, without a Blu-Ray player or any of the other gear required to make use of them.

It's enough. I suddenly no longer want to pick up films on DVD, because I know that, as fewer films find their way onto DVD, EVENTUALLY I'll get a Blu-Ray player, and should hold out on further purchases until that time. I had sworn that DVD was the end of my particular road, but suddenly the expanse beyond is very much in sight. Beyond the Black Rainbow, written about here at some length by me, is on DVD now, and I definitely want to pick it up, but if I'm going to ever own a Blu-Ray player, what point is there in laying $25 for an inferior format, when I'll want to see that very visual film in the best possible resolution available, and may someday be able to? Even where picture quality is so much an issue - as with the latest instalment in the West Memphis 3 story, Paradise Lost 3, also out now, or Elaine May's wicked, delightful comedy A New Leaf, both of which I'm more interested in for their content than their imagery - I don't want to waste money; if I'm eventually going to upgrade, I hardly have the cash to throw away - it's not like DVDs are suddenly dirt cheap. I will probably snag the upcoming Bresson release about suicide, The Devil, Probably, on DVD, because I've wanted to see it for some time.... but otherwise, I think I'm stuck in a sort of format-shift limbo, unwilling to buy Blu-Rays because I don't have the gear to watch them, and unwilling to buy DVDs because eventually I know I'll buckle to the change... 

The new Bison song

...has been released on the Metal Blade website, and it's so goddamn good it almost makes you cry.

Mark Rappaport vs. Ray Carney

My Lord! This piece of writing by filmmaker Mark Rappaport about his dealings with Cassavetes scholar Ray Carney is rather terrifying and a must-read...

(Filmmaker Jon Jost has weighed in here; there is also this Mubi discussion).

Thanks, Golers!

While I was pretty much wrecked at the Meatmen show at Fortune Sound Club, I ended up waiting outside on the street during a couple of the opening bands, since a friend was supposed to be joining me. She never showed, but a couple of Golers kept me company for awhile, so: thanks, Golers! I won't be at your gig this weekend, but have a good one! 

Korpiklaani's Vancouver return! (Jarkko Aaltonen interview part 2!).

Korpiklaani at the Rickshaw, by bev.davies, not to be reused without permission

So after last year's Straight interview with Finnish folk metallers Korpiklaani (official site here), I had full plans to put up a fuller version of my interview with bassist Jarkko Aaltonen on The Big Takeover website, maybe mixing in some material on Scythia and Arkona, who were also on that bill. But one thing led to another - more pressing commitments, university papers, and so forth, and by the time I even got round to seriously considering getting back to my Jarkko transcription, there was a new Korpiklaani album, Manala, coming out, and were on their way back to Vancouver!

Nuts!

Anyhow, with apologies for the long delay, here are a couple of cool photos of Korpiklaani that bev.davies took at their last show in town, and a bit more of Jarkko. I will likely not be at Korpiklaani's September 9th show, once again at The Rickshaw, but any of you who want an exuberantly fun, internationally-minded, polka-influenced Finnish Pagan metal band to bounce up and down and get grinnin' drunk to should go check it out - this is some lively music indeed (Esteemed colleagues Tyr, Metsatoll, and Moonsorrow open). Official video for the new Korpiklaani single, "Rauta" ("The Steel") - Finnish version here, English here (the Finnish is way cooler... and whatta great bassline...).

Jarrko Aaltonen, by bev.davies, not to be reused without permission

AM: I'm a bit jealous of European folk metal bands, you know? Short of appropriating from aboriginal peoples, we white folks don't have much in the way of our own authentic local Pagan traditions to borrow from. So we end up with The Lord of the Rings and D&D and made-up crap like Wicca and Satanism.

JA: Yeah, but on the other hand, as a sociological experiment, it's a fine piece of art. You take people away from their roots and see what they come up with.

AM: Yeah, right. Like global capitalism.

JA: ...and extreme Christianity, as well!

AM: Good fun. So, like, I should get clear on this - how do I properly pronounce your name?

JA: Yark-ko. It's pronounced exactly as it's spelled. When there's a double consonant, it's pronounced like a double consonant.

AM: Mm. The Japanese do a similar thing. "Yark-ko."

JA: I know it's difficult - it always seems to be really difficult for foreigners, regardless of their language. English speaking people are not alone with their problem with the double consonant.

AM: Good, then it's not a stupid question, at least. I'd like to avoid those, if possible. I was watching Bill Zebub's interview with you on the Pagan Metal DVD the other day, and...

JA: Yeah, but that guy has made an art from being an idiot. I mean, nowadays if we start getting really really stupid questions, you know the whole idea of the interview is not to be informative but funny. And I don’t mind doing those - it’s another form of interview. 

AM: Right. I wonder if there are any typical misconceptions I should steer clear of, though?

JA: I don’t know if there are any misconceptions as such. The most annoying question that an interviewer can ask is, ‘well, I don’t know anything about your band; can you tell me everything about your band?' So that really really makes me want to point him or her to the left side of the van and tell them to go and read the bio. 

AM: I bet. So let me ask you about a couple of songs... I'm curious about the song "Surma" (off Ukon Wacka, the album Korpiklaani were then touring, further discussed in the Straight article). There's a hint of nu-metal or hip hop in the vocals. Was that a concious decision, to expand the band's audience, maybe? 

JA: If you here something that you didn't expect... you can be sure that it was not a deliberate hint to any kind of direction. I know that in the past few years we have become better songwriters - we've gotten more experienced - but it's not really deliberate; it's just that when you get better at something, you can play with your skills, and then sometimes you come up with something that sounds good to you, even if it's a bit different from what you did previously. 

AM: The version I have of the album also has a cover of Motorhead's "Iron Fist" on it, too... How did that come about? 

JA: We needed a bonus track - that was something the record label demanded, and we were already in the middle of touring, at that time. The album was done, and we were away from the studio, and we just needed one song. Then we were like, "Do we have a song?" "Nooo." "Do we know any covers?" And then I said, "Well, we did play 'Iron Fist' live a few times - maybe ten times, a few years ago, and we all know that, so let's do that." So we went back to the studio for a day or two and did that, quickly. Everybody knew the song, we didn't have to rehearse or anything.

AM: Any reactions from Lemmy?

JA: I doubt that he's ever even heard the song.

AM: Mm. Well, it's great. It's nice to hear that song with a fiddle in it!

JA: Yeah, we think that we have a bit of a different approach to it - it's pretty close to the original, but the drums and violin make it a bit different!

Korpiklaani, by bev.davies, not to be reused without permission

AM: Agreed. So. The last time you were here (and, actually the time before that), you played the Rickshaw, which is notoriously in a very bad part of town.

JA: Yeah, we sort of realized that the last time we were there.

AM: Were there any experiences or stories that came from that?

JA: Well - not really, although - I was in the city centre, whatever it’s called, this sort of walking district there, and I was with a friend of mine, and we were thinking that we need a hotel room so that we could shower and stuff. But we know that we have to get that from closer to the venue, so we go back to the venue, and we start walking this one street [and we’re thinking he’s talking Hastings, here] trying to find a decent hotel that has free rooms. And in the end we end up 200 meters from the spot that we left in the city centre. We were back there! Because as you said, that district around the Rickshaw is not really the fanciest. Not that we were looking for a presidential suite… 

A tip to Korpiklaani or other touring bands coming through Vancouver - cheap rooms with communal showers and toilets down the hall are available a few blocks from the Rickshaw, at the St. Clair Hotel. It has bunk beds and a hostel-like ambience but no hostel card is required and it's clean and safe, at least in my experience. (It's also extremely Spartan and lacking things like TVs, but who needs those, anyhow?).

Tesco Vee, The Fight United, and the fine art of photocopyin' stuff at work

The Fight United by Femke van Delft, not to be reused without permission

Apropos of the Fight United's opening slot for The Golers at Funky's on Friday, here are three great shots (of several) that Femke took of the Fight United's drummer, also at Funky's, back when they had that cool snake graffiti-art behind the drums (actual date Dec. 9, 2011). I reviewed their CD for the Straight awhile back - Todd Serious of The Rebel Spell gave me it at just that Funky's show, and it took me months for me to get to it, but the Fight United were most appreciative, regardless. And apropos of the photocopied insert for that CD, mentioned in the review, here is a chunk from my big Tesco Vee interview, about how he and Dave Stimson used to put together the Touch and Go zine, using photocopies from work... Bad cellphone photographs by Allan MacInnis!:

Tesco Vee onstage with the Meatmen, photos by Allan MacInnis, who the hell would want to reuse them anyhow?

AM: I was reading about how you guys put together the ‘zine, and I don’t know what an IBM Selectric is.

TV: Ah. An IBM Selectric, they were generally, like, a pea soup green, or a red, and they probably weighed sixty pounds, and they had these little interchangeable balls, so if you wanted to change your font, you would pop this little plastic tab and drop a different font ball on there. In the 60s and 70’s, the Selectric was, like, the staple - every office in America had a fleet of 'em. I don’t know where I got mine, but that was the workhorse. There were a lot of cigarettes, a lot of Carling Black Label, and a lot of time spent at my Selectric.

AM: And you would type up the columns and then hand-cut them out and paste them up?

TV: Exactly, you just hand cut’em out and you might steal a graphic out of a Trouser Press or someone might send you a doodle on the back of an envelope and you would use whatever you thought was cool to fill up a page, and I would do half the pages - Dave would go, “how many do you have?” “I have ten.” “I’ll have ten by next week, that’s twenty pages.” And we would get together and buy some beer and read each other’s pages and proclaim it an issue and take it to the printer.

AM: And the assembly, the Xeroxing and the stapling and all that, was done on machines at the elementary school where you worked?

TV: Yeah, it was. It’s funny, because I did an interview with a local magazine here when the book came out, and I kinda admitted where I did it, and I was like, “Are they gonna send me a bill?” Eventually we started going to a printer, but we were so broke - I was a schoolteacher making 10 or 12 grand a year and tryin’ to buy all these records and live. Most of my discretionary income went to vinyl, because we’d drive to Chicago and Ann Arbor and all these record stores. So for the first ten issues or so, yeah, I’d sneak in there at three in the morning. If the toner drum on these old machines was low, the copy quality was terrible, so some of the issues, like, maybe 6 or 7 or 8 - the Anarchy issue - my buddy who did the Photoshopping, he had to take each page and darken it, but you can only darken it so much when it’s a double-sided image or you just fuck the page behind it…

AM: It’s actually one of the great punk rock traditions, though. Fanzines, gig posters, lyric sheets… “My dayjob paid for this!”

TV: Yeah, exactly. My biggest fear was leavin’ one of those pages on the glass - comin’ in the next day and the principal would be, like, “I need to talk to you.” And it would be something really horrible, like Farrah Fawcett with cum gushing out of her nose.

AM: What page is that on, anyhow? I can’t find it.

TV: You know at the end of each issue, we have a top 40 and a bottom 40? It’s one of those. I can’t remember what page, but it’s in there…

Solidarity, photocopiers! 

Iron Sky opens Friday at the Vancity Theatre

The Vancity Theatre website is being presently rejigged, and as I write, does not have listings up for next weekend. A film many of you will have heard of, Iron Sky - the long awaited black comedy about UFO-flyin' moon Nazis, opens there on Friday. It stars everyone's favourite Dracula, Udo Kier, and boasts a soundtrack by Laibach; since, based on the above, I am utterly keen to see the film (and theatrically - not on some jittery streamed screener!), I'm deliberately keeping myself ignorant about further plot details, but do you really NEED to know more, to know you need to see it? Meantime, just in case it doesn't make it onto the Vancity website in the next couple of days, here is the blurb the theatre sent me, describing the film:

***
Largely funded and partially written by scifi fans from around the world, Iron Sky is a pitch black comedy about Nazis from Space.

Cast: Julia Dietze, Gotz Otto, Udo Kier, Christopher Kirby

In the last moments of World War II, a secret Nazi space program evaded destruction by fleeing to the Dark Side of the Moon. During 70 years of utter secrecy, the Nazis construct a gigantic space fortress with a massive armada of flying saucers. When American astronaut James Washington (Christopher Kirby) puts down his Lunar Lander a bit too close to the secret Nazi base, the Moon Führer (Udo Kier) decides the glorious moment of retaking the Earth has arrived sooner than expected. Two Nazi officers, ruthless Klaus Adler (Götz Otto) and idealistic Renate Richter (Julia Dietze), travel to Earth to prepare the invasion. In the end when the Moon Nazi UFO armada darkens the skies, ready to strike at the unprepared Earth, every man, woman and nation alike, must re-evaluate their priorities.

Screening Times

Friday, September 7, 10:15pm
Saturday, September 8, 10:15pm
Friday, September 21, 10:15pm
Saturday, September 22, 10:15pm

***

Swans at the Venue, September 6th

Swans by Femke van Delft, not to be reused without permission. By the way, I think you can actually see video footage of Femke taking this photo, here. 

I found myself leaving a slightly awkward voicemail message for Nathan Holiday of Vancouver noise pioneers Tunnel Canary the other day. Apropos of inviting him to the September 6th Swans show at The Venue, I was midway through describing Swans as the most intense live band I have ever seen, when I realized that saying this would include the unflattering implication that they were even more intense than Tunnel Canary! I backpedalled a bit, though with some reason: you really can't go comparing other bands to Tunnel Canary, who, like kindred spirits such as Borbetomagus, are not really playing anything approximating rock music. You CAN compare Swans to other rock bands, however: and based on what I've seen, they pwn them, every one, are bar none the loudest, most powerful, most "committed" rock band out there (that's actually a word Swans leader Michael Gira used to describe his own band, but it's absolutely perfect - "committed.")

Anyhow, the online portion of my M. Gira interview from last year is here; and my review of Swans' new album, The Seer, featuring brief quotes from both Gira and Jarboe (who is on the album!), is here. Anyone who has not seen Swans yet needs to; at some point in the future, when people look back at this period of rock history, the sheer immensity of Swans accomplishment will come clear, and y'all will be very, very sorry to have missed out. It'd be like having a chance to see Jimi Hendrix or The Doors, and passing it up; the times obscure the magnitude of the choice you make, but trust me, if you get your hands on a ticket, go see Swans. 

Re: Bad Brains, Homophobia, and Dave Dictor: somebody help me!

I've got a massive brain itch that needs scratching: help me!

I vividly remember seeing documentary footage in which MDC's Dave Dictor and others discussed the Bad Brains' homophobia and treatment of revered, departed punk singer Randy "Biscuit" Turner of the awesome Austin punk/ funk combo the Big Boys. I thought, up until this week, that the film where that discussion took place was Paul Rachman's enjoyable documentary American Hardcore, which I caught prior to its release at a press screening; the film devotes considerable time to the Bad Brains, and has some very fun stuff from Dictor in it, who briefly discusses being out and gay in Austin. I was revisiting the film last night, however, and to my surprise - there's not a whiff of it. At first I thought maybe it was attributable to a difference between the press screening and the DVD release - because films do get changed, for various reasons - but Paul Rachman assures me via Facebook that the film didn't deal with the subject. Canadian filmmaker Reg Harkema, who happens to have seen the same press screening of the film I did, doesn't remember one way or the other. But if it wasn't American Hardcore... what bloody movie was it? How many documentaries have I seen that even MENTION the Bad Brains, or have Dave Dictor interviews... let alone both?

If you don't know the story, see here and check out MDC's song, "Pay to Come Along." Some members of the Bad Brains have since distanced themselves from their past erroneous ways...

Mind you, my memory doesn't always serve. I was convinced for years that I'd seen a cartoon appearance of Timothy Leary in a Howard the Duck comic, to the extent of bugging various skeptical comic book store clerks about it, but no matter how many issues of Howard the Duck I thumbed through, I never did find the section. Then I happened to ask a fella named Eamon(n?) who does designs for horror and SF films in Vancouver, and he immediately pointed out that the scene I was looking for was in Cheech and Chong's Nice Dreams. How I got Howard the Duck in there is anyone's guess. Maybe I just READ about the Bad Brains homophobic outbursts on the internet and somehow projected the knowledge backwards into my memories of American Hardcore?

Can anyone help me on this? 

Chris Arnett interview: The Furies and Duvallstar to play Pussy Riot benefit Sept 7th

Arnett meets Duvall, photos by bev.davies, not to be reused without permission

The Furies' Chris Arnett has played gigs with Siobahn Duvall and Duvallstar a few times now, and thinks she's utterly great - but had no definite plans when we spoke for the Straight to repeat the show-stealing collaboration on "Sonic Reducer" a few years ago at Richards on Richards, when they play in the same lineup September 7th at the Pussy Riot benefit at Iron Road Studios. It was a lot of fun seeing them do that song together, and totally delightful to discover that bev had captured the moment. When Chris and I spoke on the phone, we also talked about Arnett's pursuit of a PhD in Anthropology, and, of course, the new Furies' material that he'll be showcasing at the gig. He described "Prince Vlad," mentioned in the Straight piece, as "a recycled Furies tune from - fuck! - 35 years ago, and we never played it live, but we’ve got some recordings of it with Jim Bescott playing. So I’ve re-vamped it, so it’s kinda a riff on Vlad, the vampire, sucking Russia dry, blah-blah… but yeah, just something to have fun with, and it’s just kind of a rockin’ crazy tune. It starts out with this Valykyrie kind of beginning and then fuckin’ kicks off - because I like hard rock and roll and punk, and I’m really lookin’ forward to doing it again." 

The rest of my conversation with Arnett ran as follows:

AM: Been a long time! Do I gather you’ve been busy with your studies...?

CA: Yeah! I went through all my comprehensive exams shit this spring, written and oral examinations, which is a big chore - so I got over that, and I’m at the dissertation stage, so I can focus on more interesting things, like music and writing this dissertation, which is going to be a book - on post-contact Salishan rock painting - rock art. From rock and roll to rock art, it’s something I’ve been interested in for years, and it’s one of the reasons I went back to school, to kind of put all this data together with some rigour attached to it.

AM: Are there letters I should be putting behind your name, at this point?

CA: No, no, not yet. I still got a ways to go.

AM: It’s a PhD you’re working on?

CA: At UBC - the Department of Anthropology. So that’s fun. 

AM: I think you told me when last we talked that the Furies were going to be doing some studio stuff.

CA: Yeah, I’ve been demoing lots of material. I’ve got about 30 songs, but I’ve honed it down to about an album’s worth. The show’s given us a good impetus to get it recorded and out. Hopefully this year - I wanted to have an album out this year, but John (Werner, Furies’ bassist) works long hours in the set industry and Taylor (Nelson Little, the drummer) is the same - they’re both working guys.

AM: What’s the new album?

CA: The working title is, End of the Baktun. 

AM: A "back tune?" Is that something you do on a guitar?

CA (laughs): No, no, it’s a totally esoteric reference to the Mayan calendar. This is what 2012 is about - it’s the end of a baktun, which is 144,000-day period.

AM: I see.

CA: Conjured up by the elites, right? I’ve got a new song called “2012” that we’ll debut at this show, and it’s sort of a comment on the ‘end of the world’ kinda bullshit.

AM: How do I spell baktun?

CA: B-A-K-T-U-N. Maybe put a line over the top of the U.

AM: A line over the U? Okay (not within my capacities). So I guess we say the new album will be out for sure by the end of 2012, if there's a reference to 2012 in the title!

CA: Oh yeah, I want to get it out, one way or another, whether it’s just online - but I want to have a vinyl thing out, with some crazy cover.

AM: Cool. Any other comments on Pussy Riot? (See the Straight link above for more on that)

CA: It’s just so brilliant and inspiring when three young women in the space of a small performance can call so much attention to huge issues.This is something as an anthropologist that I’m interested in.

AM: It's surely the most effective protest against Putin that’s ever happened!

CA: Yeah! And it’s non-violent, y’know? They’re not donning balaclavas and gunning people down - it’s something totally different, and it’s inspiring women there, because that’s a harsh regime - all these state regimes are harsh. They’re confrontational, they’re patriarchal, and women are oppressed. And it’s amazing, in Russia, that they fought a bloody revolution in which millions were killed to get rid of this bloody church, and it’s in there like a cancerous fuckin’ thing… You know what it reminds me of is the Pistols, right when they kinda hit the scene, before punk became commodified like it is today, back in the day. [Arnett refers in specific to the timing of the release of "God Save the Queen" and the mocking Thames performance that accompanied it, which you can read about here]: "Oh my God! The Queen’s Jubilee! This is outrageous!" I remember the furor, even in sleepy Kitsilano, amongst my hippie older friends: “this is shocking, they’ve really crossed the line!” But they set something in motion, and I just love it - and they had the good music to go with it, too!

***

Read my old interview with Arnett about the Furies' backstory here, and - check this out - read Ferdy Belland's "guest review" of the Richards show pictured above, here! See y'all at Iron Road on the 7th!

Metallica by bev.davies

Over Chinese food prior to the Metallica concert, bev.davies explained to me that she likes her name to appear in lower case at all times, just like wendythirteen. Howsaboutthat, I never knew! (I mean, I knew she did it that way herself, but not that she wanted others to follow suit). She says the period between bev and davies is optional but is thinking of asking everyone to follow this format re: non-capitalization. I would like to apologize for having mistyped her name all these years, and to further apologize for not going back through past blog entries and correcting myself. Henceforth, however: she shall be bev.

Anyhow: bev took some very cool Metallica photos the other night. You can check them out - and see Robert Trujillo's white socks - here. For some reason, her favourite of the photos she took - illustrating one of those really upsetting images I mentioned below - didn't get used there, so bev has sent it along. I mean, for anyone at all claustrophobic, spending seven or eight minutes contemplating people struggling inside coffins is not a comfortable experience! I will remember those images (even moreso with bev's help) for a very long time indeed. Creepy shit!

The Metallica 3-D movie shoot: a skeptic's report on The Full Arsenal

I attended the $5 Metallica 3-D movie shoot "concert" last night, more out of curiosity than passion; as I say below, I've never really liked Metallica, but some part of me has heard so much praise for the band that I've always half-suspected I was missing out on something, compelling me to listen to their albums occasionally, hoping I might get them. I wanted to put this feeling to rest for once and for all - to either emerge a convert, or feeling that I had at least done justice to the experience of considering them, so I could think no more on this band.

While I did enjoy bits last night, it is the latter conclusion that I reached, somewhat to my relief - I can ill-afford $40 Metallica t-shirts, which seems to be a key part of what being part of the "Metallica family" is all about; admission to the clan is not cheap. No wonder, either: last night's show was a very expensive spectacle, a celebration of wealth and excess which started at midway to overwhelm the music, almost like they were compensating for some perceived lack (the building of the statue of Lady Justice was, in particular, unnecessary and distracting and kind of silly, with the apparent subtext being, "this band has far too much money"). My friend Blake correctly predicted that they would topple the thing before "And Justice For All" ended, unfooled by the illusion they tried to create that the pieces were at all heavy or dangerous (he guessed it was foam rubber, probably correctly). It's possible I was too busy futzing with my cellphone camera - I kind of hate how compulsively and frequently I found myself taking photographs - to really appreciate the effect. Maybe it will work better in the movie...

There were, however, some very effective and interesting bits of stagecraft, too - the simulated warfare (done with the sound of helicopters, explosions, pyro effects, and lasers) before "One" was rather terrifying and apropos of the song, like the band wanted us to have the experience of being underneath an airstrike. Thanks for that, Metallica - I've always wanted to know how it feels to cringe in fear from falling bombs and napalm, and now I kind of do. If that wasn't taking things too far, there was also a video of people trapped in the enormous overhead "coffins," pounding hysterically, trying to get out, throughout the song "Cyanide," which was rather over-the-top in the "unnecessary nastiness" category; the woman "in" the coffin that we had the best view of did an excellent job of simulating total terror, writhing, screaming, hammering on the lid. How it was meant to augment the song is anyone's guess - it was like Metallica were staging a sort of unsubtle mind-war on their audience - but it was definitely a powerful, upsetting image...

There were ample delays, as warned - including a few unscheduled ones, one of which seemed to involve an apparent spat, though between whom I cannot say: a song fizzled, with Hetfield taking off his guitar rather abruptly and Lars storming off, making exaggerated shrugging gestures, saying into the mike, "I'm only the drummer," to communicate his disgust at something I for one had not perceived in the slightest; his ego, apparently, has become part of the show. (No doubt this scene will be edited out of the final movie, which is fair enough: the world already has one warts-and-all Metallica movie, and as great a documentary as it is, we certainly don't need another). It was odd throughout to watch Ulrich drum, in fact, as he seems to have evolved a very expressive, theatrical style that is all about making his experience visible to distant audience members; while any given photograph of him probably looks cool as hell, such a performance would look rather foolhardy, I suspect, in a small club (though who knows, maybe he's just a naturally expressive guy; he's no more expressive than Bison's drummer, though you get the feeling that Matt is expressing his actual feelings about playing, rather than putting on a show for people. There's something really strange about someone simulating, for show, the playing of intense rock music, while actually playing intense rock music; I bet Ulrich could win an air-drumming contest hands down). Because Lars was the static member, his drumkit turning at times but always being stage centre, he was somehow the heart of the experience; otherwise, the stage was so huge - comprising, basically, the entire floor of Rogers Arena - that it was almost like the band wasn't playing together, each off in their own little world with their own private 3-D movie camera. Not many bands perform on stages so large that you can't keep all of them in your field of vision at the same time, such that you lose track of what they're doing and then have to strain to spot the individual members; there was a bit of a "Where's Waldo" effect, as I tried to see during solos where Kirk was, or keep abreast of what James was doing; the only person you reliably knew how to find was Lars.

Speaking of Metallica's members, it was kinda fun to see Robert Trujillo from Suicidal Tendencies and Infectious Grooves - both bands I listen to much more often than Metallica - down there on the stage as the new bassist, wearing his white athletic socks and high-top sneakers. As Blake observed, he looked entirely like a California skate punk, as opposed to the other members, clad in cool-guy black. It was an enjoyable incongruity. I considered calling out "Suicidal!" but it seemed somehow inappropriate...

Though it sounds like it would have been welcome, I confess - ingrate that I am - that I didn't stick around for the "stage malfunction"/ collapse which supposedly led to them doing a few songs in "garage mode." It's telling that the band would need to create a narrative excuse, at this point - so huge has the spectacle around them become - to simply behave like a normal rock band, low-tech and gritty and real, and presumably no longer standing dozens of yards apart - but it would have been entertaining to see. One wonders what they would look/ sound/ feel like if they played The Rickshaw - if they would actually be vastly more impressive, up there on a small stage, working as a unit, bereft of the spectacle - or if minus the illusion, there's really not that much there to get excited about?

While briefly I did get into the spirit of some of their songs, impressed at the energy they could generate amongst a crowd so large, and appreciating the precision of their music - which sounded great, and involved an elaborate overhead speaker set-up that was much less upsetting to the gut than the low-frequency assault that I was exposed to seeing Slayer and Rob Zombie at Rogers, a few years ago - by the time "And Justice for All" closed, I had had enough. We stuck it out for one more song after that, I think. Still, glad to have gone; it's not every day I get to observe this huge-arena mode of rock, plus I can now safely put Metallica to rest: if seeing them last night failed to really move me, I'll never be joining the gravy train, and can concentrate on other things.

Y'all want to see a truly powerful rock band that doesn't require lasers, pyro effects, or foam rubber to make their point? Where the band is actually playing together because they want to make music together, and not because it provides them (and their corporate controllers) millions of dollars in revenue? Where the music is the thing, and not the aura of illusion, spectacle, splendor, and power around it? Then - REALLY - you should come see Swans on September 6th at The Venue. Now *there* is one powerful, genuine, and fucking HEAVY rock band. Metallica is greasy kidstuff by comparison. 

Odd, long, rather personal dream: disaster in progress

I do not know if this is a particularly meaningful or interesting dream, but I remember a much longer chunk than I usually do, so I'm relaying it.

I was with someone else, who, at different points in the dream may have been a friend of mine, but towards the end, definitely became my father.

We were in a strange town. Someone else was with us, but I forget who. We had been drinking, but ran out of supplies, and came to a grocery store, to buy orange juice and other necessities. The person who was either my friend or father started to flirt with a girl who worked at the store. They began to make out, at the back of the store. I tried to get them apart so we could pay for our groceries and leave, but instead, they actually lay down on the floor, took off their clothes, and proceeded to have sex. Myself and the other person with us tried to run interference, standing between where they were and the customers in the grocery store, hoping no one would notice. I vividly remember as one woman asked me a question ("where do I find the lemonade," or something) and then saw over my shoulder what was happening, her face changing, me still trying to block her view; but she got a good eyeful, then ran to the front of the store to complain.

There was an eruption of activity and store clerks came rushing to the back to stop what was happening and fire the girl who worked there. I shied away from the scene and went to pay for my groceries. The checkout stand was, somehow, outdoors on a film shoot. As I was standing in line to pay, a black actor that I've actually seen in some movies - he might have been one of the assassins in Scanners - was pretending, as part of his role, to stomp a snake to death, after which he was fighting with someone or such. As he moved to another part of the set - basically a big dirty field - I looked to see that no animals were harmed, and was delighted to see this large black snake, a beautiful animal, crawling off on the ground. There was a hole in the ground - almost a tunnel - and it crawled into it and away.

I went to pay for my groceries, putting the basket on the checkout, and was just taking a jug of milk out, when there was suddenly a rumbling and everyone stopped and looked around. We were on the side of a mountain, and very conscious that an earthquake could lead to an avalanche. I began to run from some perceived danger, found myself - still clutching the milk - on a mountain road, and saw that there was a gigantic tree rolling towards me. I leapt into the forest and was running like hell, cradling the milk. The log came crashing into the forest, crushing smaller trees as it came, and rolled closer and closer, huge - then suddenly hit something, bounced, went end-over-end, and came down vertical in front of me.

I remember thinking, as I walked down the mountain, that it was good that I had the milk with me, in case I got lost. I do not, for the record, actually drink milk - the taste of it sickens me.

Somehow after that we got back to the room where my mother and another relative, I think, were staying (there was some weirdness about a TV and a sign in the foyer, and some complication about opening the door, but I don't remember these details so well). I told my mother and the relative what had happened, and that I wanted to play a recording of a song I wrote about the experience, while it was happening. (Apparently I'd had a tape recorder with me and was singing throughout the earthquake). My father - he was now definitely my father - expressed skepticism about my doing this, and I threatened to tell my mother how the story really began, if he didn't let me continue. (For the record, to my knowledge, my father was entirely faithful to my mother for the nearly-52 years of their marriage, right up until his death). He backed off and I played the tape, but towards the end the sound of me singing was overwhelmed with noise and the sound of panicked people screaming and such - the sound of the disaster in progress - and I squatted closer to the tape recorder so I could decipher my words over the screams and rumbles. 

I suddenly looked at the milk jug and felt guilty - we were drinking stolen milk! My father reassured me: don't worry, in this case, they'd understand. If it was a large supply of some massively popular drug, maybe not. "Yeah, like Oxycontin," I said. (I have not actually done Oxycontin). 

He then told me he wanted to show me something. He lifted a flap on some sort of stage or platform, and underneath were several consumer products, unopened, and a note he wrote saying something about not buying things from certain countries, because they contained contaminated metals. There was a list of countries, and some sort of big toy hockey game or such that was among the taboo items, and I guffawed inwardly that my father subscribed to such an absurd conspiracy theory - it was apparently a really foolish conspiracy theory of the sort that flourishes among the deeply uneducated, ill-informed, and disenfranchised, with a smidgen of racism in it, to boot. I felt contempt, but said nothing.

Oddly, on waking, the first thing I remembered about the dream was that my father had been in it; I generally like his visits in my dreams. This is a rather unflattering one, though. 

Why do I dislike Metallica?

I mean, for some people there's an obvious answer to this, but not me.

It's true that I've come to consider the band long after their peak. To recap, I disavowed metal through much of the 1980's and 1990's, siding on the other side of the metal/ punk tribal division, rejecting crossover, and even not enjoying certain albums (now regarded as classics) by SNFU, DRI, Suicidal Tendencies, and Bad Brains because they were "too metal" for me. I was pretty stubborn about this, thinking that these things somehow mattered. Previously, around age 13 and 14, I'd had a brief period of metal worship, getting a key peek at certain artists at crucial moments in their career: I saw Mob Rules-era Black Sabbath, with Ronnie James Dio singing; I caught Priest on the Screaming for Vengeance tour, Maiden on Number of the Beast and Van Halen on the Diver Down tour, AKA "Lock Up Your Sheep." I saw a host of opening acts for these shows like Krokus and Fastway and Saxon and Kickaxe. I'm pretty sure I saw the Blue Oyster Cult twice. I even owned Anvil's first album when it had just come out. But around 1984 or so, with the rise of hair metal and a growing, angry tribal division between punks and headbangers out here in the suburbs, I disavowed pretty much all of that stuff except Motorhead, which seemed okay for punks to like, and the first three Blue Oyster Cult albums, and maybe Alice Cooper's not-so-metal album Killer, which comprised the entirety of my metal consumption from about 1985-2008, unless you count accidental exposure to System of a Down at the Fuji Rock Festival I attended. It's not that I listened to punk exclusively through those years - since I also went through periods of obsession with free jazz, avant-garde music, noise, dub, old-timey, and various varieties of indy rock and pop; but metal remained far from my door, as the music of the unwashed and unenlightened, music for stupid people with too much testosterone. It was only after falling in love with Bison BC - a band I only checked out because I knew of Masa Anzai from the Vancouver free jazz and noise scenes - and then plunging headlong into late-period Motorhead for my first Lemmy interview a few years ago that I began to wonder if I'd been missing out. Sam Dunn and Scot McFadyen's documentaries helped a lot as well, serving as the perfect "noobie's guide" for someone who missed out on so many exciting and creative developments in the metal camp. I've since gone back and listened to Slayer, Megadeth, Anthrax, Sepultura and so forth for the first time, and discovered much that delights me (or at least has held my interest).

The thing about Metallica, though, is that they were the one band friends of mine tried to play me when I was still deep in my anti-metal phase; said friends were convinced, based on their own respect for the band, that I would like them, but I remained resistant. Hell, I even remember one of the guys in my high school trying to convince me to check them out. Metallica may still suffer from the judgments I imposed on them then, which were never a factor with bands like Slayer and Sepultura and so forth, because I was completely ignorant of their music until recently, couldn't tell "Roots Bloody Roots" from "Angel of Death." The "holy shit, this is actually pretty good" reaction I felt when hearing such songs for the first time was totally denied me with Metallica: I already had an opinion in place, blocking the way to the glories beyond. It might just be sheer prejudice and snobbery on my part, a judgment I somehow cannot quite update, but there it is; maybe I don't like Metallica because I am still in the grips of the past. Maybe it's all just me.

That's still not to say that there's not a good reason for my past dislike, however. What leftover anger I have with metalheads is there for cause. Back in the day, the headbangers were too stupid, violent, and reactionary to recognize a potential underclass ally in us punks, and too damn eager to have someone even further below them in the pecking order to beat up on, all the while considering themselves rebels. James Hetfield, whom I know not at all, seemed to me then, as a teen, like the sort of person who I came to hate and regard as an enemy - exactly the type who might have beat the shit out of punks in high school (or at least the one I went to); while he seems a decent (if somewhat, uh, controlling) man in the Some Kind of Monster doc, it's still all too easy to imagine him as a teenager, leaping out of a Camaro with his friends to pummel some kids with spiky hair walking peacefully along the sidewalk, calling them "faggots" as he hits them. (This may seem harsh - Hetfield may well have NEVER participated in any such actions - but the guys who did that sorta thing actually did LOOK kinda like the Hetfield you see in old photos, you know? The association isn't entirely accidental). I can easily insert a youthful version of him amongst the crowd of longhaired stoners smokin' up in a park by my high school, dressed in their long-sleeved Led Zep t-shirts and plaid fleeces, who pelted me with rocks one afternoon when I walked past with dyed hair and a fauxhawk, listening to The Exploited on my shitty little tapedeck. It wasn't just a matter of us punks being elitist snobs who thought we were better than everyone else: we were that, but we also regarded the headbangers as assholes for a reason. Out in suburbia, they were a far greater threat to us, and a far better servant of the status quo, than the cops, and there are prejudices in me against the headbanger-type as I knew them that persist to this day, regardless of how much things may have changed.

This might all be totally unfair to Hetfield, of course, that I lump him in with the 'bangers. I don't know the guy at all, after all. All the same, at least some of his values are revealed in the Berlinger/ Sinofsky documentary, and they don't endear the man to me very much. Nevermind the constant bickering and general dysfunction on display in the film - which takes you past a certain eye-rolling contempt for the band to a place of surprising sympathy, as their troubles mount; the segment that disturbs me is actually when he's seen happily showing off photos of his vacation, hunting bears in Russia, early in the film. While I can have some respect for a certain variety of hunters - people who hunt for food, who are sincere outdoorspeople, who are deep in the lore and craft of it - the idea of rich people going out and bagging a bear for the fun of it, because they can, is kind of incomprehensible and vaguely revolting: buying the experience of killing an animal, for its own sake, seems only a few steps above buying the experience of killing a human being. Like, there could be a Headbanger Hostel movie with James Hetfield on the poster in a leather smock, holding a power drill, and it would make perfect sense (it's actually not a bad idea for a horror movie...).

But you know, I don't think I like Glenn Danzig much as a person, either, from what I've seen, and I still listen to his music, so that really can't be the whole of it, can it? And it's not that I was that keen on Napster; I have quite a bit of sympathy for the anti-file sharing camp, actually (mostly thanks to long conversations about it with Gerry Hannah, in fact). It's sure not that I have rancor for Metallica's "Bob Rock sellout" phase, either; I'm much more pissed off about certain bad Payolas songs than anything Bob Rock did with Metallica, and in fact, I like some of their Rock-era pop songs (such as their rather fresh and engaging version of "Whiskey in the Jar") more than a lot of what I've heard them do on those of their so-called classic albums that I've made myself listen to (Master of Puppets and And Justice For All, neither of which much moved me; yes, folks, I have never yet sat down to Kill'Em All or Ride the Lightning in completion, since I figure if I don't like THESE two albums, why would I like THOSE two?).

Is it, then, that the band's lyrics really don't interest me - that I associate them with a reactionary, conservative, war-obsessed streak in our culture, all too masculine, all too violent, all too unenlightened? That even their best songs, while obviously technically deft, all sort of sound kinda identical? (That would make it hard for me to explain my fondness for several other bands that the same might be said about, actually; it's not like there's a lot of variety on display on your average Cattle Decapitation album). Is it that there's something curiously flat and grim and greyly unilateral about their music, a lack of joy, play, fire, or variety that makes it quite confusing to me why they're so successful? Or do I simply resent like hell anyone who can become rich and massively popular making what I regard as status quo music, while bands I revere and respect (like Swans, playing the far smaller Venue on September 6th) are at best cult tastes, playing far smaller shows, drawing far less attention? I mean, the artist formerly known as Doc Dart of hardcore favourites the Crucifucks - a truly subversive band, compared to Metallica - is living in a boarded-up house outside Lansing, feeding raccoons; Lars Ulrich, on the other hand, owns at least one massive Basquiat painting, proudly on display above his sofa, and God knows what else. Where is the justice in that? Yet I actually like Doc Dart's voice a LOT more than I like James Hetfield's - and for those of you who only know Dart's insane screeching, check out his later pop songs (like this one) for a surprising treat...

Ach, I don't really know, you know? It actually troubles me a bit that I can't get into Metallica, that I can't even understand what other people get out of their music. There aren't many bands I don't like that I've sat down to listen to repeatedly in the hopes I will someday figure it out, you know? It's not like I keep returning to classic Bon Jovi hoping the plank will fall from my eyes. Hell, there's lots of rock and pop out there that I have no trouble understanding, without being in the slightest interested or feeling like I might be missing out. I don't feel disturbed by my total lack of interest in Nickelback, or Lady Gaga, or any of a billion acts; I think I get why people like them, I think I understand the pleasures to be had, and I'm simply unmoved. Yet it actually bugs me that I don't respond to Metallica, like it may actually be a shortcoming of MINE, and not that band's, that's getting in the way. And it's just weird, too, insofar as I've become quite a metal fan lately. I listen to Slayer and Sepultura (and Mayhem and Cannibal Corpse and Cradle of Filth and Arkona and Melechesh and Lair of the Minotaur and Burning Witch and Morbid Angel and Amon Amarth and...), and in all cases I think "yes." I listen to Anthrax and Megadeth and think, "okay, interesting, even if I don't much care." Then I try Metallica and I go, "no, sorry, I DO NOT LIKE THIS MUSIC. I really don't." And then I wonder if there's something wrong with me, if some irrationality or incapacity on my part is blocking my access to a truly great rock band, which people keep assuring me Metallica is.

Hell, I'm willing to work on it. Since it only costs $5, I'm going to go see the band live tomorrow night to see if finally I will get it. I will report my reaction, as time allows, in the comments section below. I would either like to like Metallica, or at least know decisively why I don't, and the chance to see them live and settle the matter once and for all is simply too compelling to pass up. Either I emerge from tomorrow's concert a Metallica fan, or I emerge feeling like I have put the matter to rest and never need listen to them again.

Or else some thuggish metal fan like the ones I went to high school with reads this, takes umbrage, and beats the shit out of me, in which case I may not emerge at all. You never know, at a metal show... There are still an awful lot of stupid, violent people out there...