ION Magazine issue 43 featuring Asia Argento

ASIA & DARIO ARGENTO THE FIERY FURNACES HALLOWEEN PLAYLIST FLOSSTRADAMUS KELLY HAIGH

Photo: Thomas Backer

The North Face 485 Collection ®

™

Snow. Wind. Rain. Cold. EgZb^Zg iZX]c^XVa eZg[dgbVcXZ i]Vi l^aa ZcYjgZ i]Z ZaZbZcih#

'&** HE8IED IJH;;J E7AH?:=; 9;DJH;

lll#WdnhXd#Xdb

C;JHEJEMD 9;DJH; H?9>CED: 9;DJH;

IN COPENHAGEN

M AT INI Q U E .CO M

1 - 8 0 0 -463 - 8127

TABLE OF CONTENTS 18 Editor’s Letter Ever hear the one about the guy with a hook for a hand?

20 ION the Prize 22 Of the Month Movies about zombies: domesticated and out-of-control, the most anticipated game of the year and a cat named Dracula.

58 Tales of Ordinary Madness Ever hear the one about the clown who desecrated the ancient native burial ground?

59 Horoscopes Chris Alexander was born with the dark gift to write your fake horoscopes this month.

60 The Perry Bible Fellowship

p.26

CULTURE 26 K elly Haigh She collects dead animals then paints them. If she wasn’t so good at it she’d have been institutionalized long ago..

FASHION 28

36

Cera Neima Jewellery Design Isn’t it about time you threw out your crappy skull rings and got an upgrade?

Possession This month fashion editorial shot by Barbara Cole and styled by Amy Lu.

FILM 28 Asia and Dario Argento Do you think it gets weird on set during Asia’s nude scenes?

p.36

MUSIC 44

48

50 54 56 57

p.50

The Fiery Furnaces Not the kind of scary that their name suggests. They’re actually scary intellectuals who can kill you with their immense brain power.

Halloween Playlist The perfect soundtrack to pick the apple from the tree and take a bite to.

Flosstradamus Flosstradamus’ Day Off. Poster Art: April Leino Album Reviews Five to One: DJ Ayres He wrote his music picks for us on his boarding pass.

Then he called us the next when he realized he couldn’t get on a plane without it.

www.lambfragrance.com

Volume 5 Number 8 Issue 43 Publisher Editor in Chief Fashion Editor Film Editor Music Editor Editorial Interns Copy Editor

Vanessa Leigh vanessa@ionmagazine.ca Michael Mann editor@ionmagazine.ca Vanessa Leigh fashion@ionmagazine.ca Michael Mann film@ionmagazine.ca Trevor Risk trevor@ionmagazine.ca Jessica Grajczyk, Patricia Matos Sam Kerr

Photo Editor Art Director Lead Designer

Fiona Garden photos@ionmagazine.ca Danny Fazio danny@ionmagazine.ca Leslie Ma leslie@ionmagazine.ca

Advertising Jenny Goodman jenny@ionmagazine.ca Advertising Accounts Manager Natasha Neale natasha@ionmagazine.ca Contributing Writers: Chris Alexander, Nojan Aminosharei, Degan Beley, Chad R. Buchholz, Joseph Delamar, Jessica Grajczyk, Sam Kerr, Nathalie Marrable, Patricia Matos, Clayton Pierrot, Dr. Ian Super, Natalie Vermeer Contributing Photographers and Illustrators: Toby Marie Bannister, Elise Beneteau, Trevor Brady, Chad R. Buchholz, Babara Cole, Jason Lang, Clint McLean ION is printed 10 times a year by the ION Publishing Group. No parts of ION Magazine may be reproduced in any form by any means without prior written consent from the publisher. ION welcomes submissions but accepts no responsibility for the return of unsolicited materials. All content © Copyright ION Magazine 2007 Hey PR people, publicists, brand managers and label friends, send us stuff.

High-resolution jpegs are nifty and all, but it’s no substitute for the real thing.

Clothing, liquor, Wiis, CDs, vinyl, DVDs, video games, and an iPhone can be sent to the address below. Hey wait, do they even sell iPhones in Canada yet?

We don’t care. Just make it happen.

3rd Floor, 300 Water Street. Vancouver, BC, Canada. V6B 1B6 Office 604.696.9466 Fax: 604.696.9411 www.ionmagazine.ca feedback@ionmagazine.ca Cover Credits Model: Asia Argento Photography: Clint McClean Photographer’s Assistant: John Hern

EDITOR’S LETTER ION THE PRIZE OF THE MONTH ION MAGAZINE 12

Nightmare on My Street Words Michael Mann Photography Toby Marie Bannister I was sitting there writing the editor’s letter when I felt my stomach rumbling. In my haste to get to the kitchen, I didn’t notice my laptop’s power cable messily strewn across the laminate floor. I briefly stumbled but my cat-like balance kept me from falling to my cheap yet durable floor. The laptop wasn’t so fortunate and it hit the ground hard.

I tried to boot the machine up and all I got was that weird command line screen where you have tell the computer what to do with backslashes and esoteric strings of letters. With deadline fast approaching, I needed to get this thing fixed and hopefully salvage all the files I’d accumulated over the last four years. I hit the bricks but it was well after eight and nary a computer repair shop was in sight. To make matters worse, a suffocating fog moved in and I could barely see the end of my nose. As I carefully inched my way through the ungodly fog, I broke out in a sweat as I couldn’t stop thinking about all the Facebook friend requests I must be missing. It felt like I’d been walking for hours, and I was about to give up. Then the fog parted and I came upon a store.

Occult Supplies and 24 hour Computer Repair read the sign in the window. I entered and there were various items like shrunken heads, eyes of newts and severed hands in jars of formaldehyde all over the place. The shelves there were filled various evil texts like The Necronomicon and The

Catcher in the Rye. Behind the counter is one of the weird kids that I went to high school with who dressed in black and hung out by the tennis courts.

“Sure, we’ll take look at it and get right back to you,” he said.“We’ll even give you a loaner laptop so you can work on the editor’s letter in the meantime. There’s just one thing that’s kind of weird about it… no matter how hungry you are and no matter how much your stomach growls, don’t eat around it after midnight.”

“Sure thing,” I replied, stuffing the rather clunkylooking machine in my knapsack. “See ya tomorrow…” I said, as I ran out the door.

The loaner was slower than evolution. I couldn’t type a complete sentence without getting that spinning color wheel. I decided I couldn’t work on the cursed machine anymore. Frustrated, I did what I always do when I’m working and hit an impasse; I make nachos then go to sleep. I noticed it was well after midnight but I figured what the hell.

I’ve never been very good at following rules so why should I start now?

I awoke with an artery-blocking mixture of sour cream and six kinds of cheese on my shirt and the feeling that I was not alone in the room. In the corner there stood a solitary figure in a purple robe.

“Guy, you really picked the wrong place to break into. I own nothing except a large stack of

promo CDs that don’t even have the album art. If you leave right now, I won’t call the cops.”

It was then he drew a giant metal hook and came at me. I reached for the nearest object, the laptop, and used it to defend a blow that surely would have given me an unnecessary new orifice. With the hook now firmly stuck in the laptop, I was able to wrestle it away from the figure in purple. I pulled the hook out of the laptop’s casing and just starting wailing on my attacker. I hit him.

Then again. And again. Then everything just went kind of black. I open my eyes and it’s morning.

“Oh thank God, ” I thought. “It was only a horrible dream! This is what happens when you eat spicy food before you go to bed” I returned to the store the next day and the clerk smugly said, “Sorry, but we were unable to fix your computer. You lost everything and it’ll cost more to fix it than it would be to buy a new one.

That’ll be $200 for diagnosing the problem“ “Nooooooooo, ” I screamed to the heavens as I handed over the loaner. He immediately flipped it over and there was a giant gash on it that could have only been made by a giant metal hook.

“Sorry,” he said again “but there’s no way I can give you your damage deposit back.”

“Noooooooooo!”

GROGGY Photography Fiona Garden The prize this month is an assortment of clothing from Groggy. You’ll find this casual yet playful Canadian brand, featuring fun pieces for both guys and girls, at your favourite boutique or skate shop. The fall collection offers hoodies, jackets, tops and bottoms in a variety of bold colours, patterns and cuts, perfect for mixing and matching your way to fashionable individuality. Whether you’re on a hot movie date, rollerskating, skipping across campus, or just making out with your hand at home, staying cute and comfy is a piece of cake in these clothes.

To enter, go to www.ionmagazine.ca Styling Shiva Shabani for NOBASURA Model Abbas at Richard’s Models Illustration Elise Beneteau Necklace - Surface to Air / Jeans - Corpus / all at IE www.illustratedexample.ca

ION MAGAZINE 13

EDITOR’S LETTER ION THE PRIZE OF THE MONTH ION MAGAZINE 14

DVD planet terror

DVD fido

game halo 3

A biological weapons scare turns a small town in Texas into flesh-eating zombies. The only people who can show those zombies than you don’t mess with Texas are a group of misfits who don’t get along with each other. Starring Sayid from Lost, Frederico from Six Feet Under and Rose McGowan from your dreams, as well as a morgue full of fun cameos like splatter effects king Tom Savini, Fergie, Bruce Willis and, of course, Quentin Tarantino as a charming character called “The Rapist.”

It’s a crying shame no one went to see director Robert Rodriguez’s tribute to exploitation films because it’s totally on point and more entertaining than any exploitation film ever made. The music is perfect, the action is intense, the kills are creative and Rose McGowan has a machine gun for a leg.

What more do you want?

Who knew zombies could be so wholesome?

Fido, Canuck Andrew Currie’s follow up to the Delicate Art of Parking, is a colourful tale of coexistence between the living and the not-so-living in an idyllic time (think 1950s Americana). Young Timmy and his family have adopted a zombie as a pet, housekeeper and friend. But once the head of a zombie wrangling company moves into the neighbourhood, you can bet your flesh that warfare erupts. Comedian Billy Connolly plays Fido at the centre of this skewed, picturesque film, while Carrie-Anne Moss is the blissful firecracker of a housewife and mother, who also happens to be a crack shot at killing the undead. And thankfully she’s not in Matrix gear.

Finally, the game you’ve been waiting for since you bought your Xbox 360 a year ago. The Covenant controls the earth and you’re the final hope for humanity. This would be a rather daunting challenge if you were anyone but Master Chief, a genetically altered and cynbernetically enhanced killing machine. So grab your shotgun and start wasting everything in sight in beautiful next-gen graphics. If the action gets too intense, swap it out for a flamethrower and begin torching Elites.

If that doesn’t work, reach for your gravity hammer and wail away on some Brutes. After you’ve saved humanity by finishing the single player campaign, it’s time to start the online play, the real reason you bought this game. It doesn’t even matter if you suck at Halo (like us) so long as you excel at talking smack (like us). The best part is these people have no idea where you live.

contributor CLINT McLEAN

scent l

Pet dracula

Clint is a Toronto based photographer who shot Asia and Dario Argento for us this month. We asked him for a brief bio and this is what he sent us:

Gwen Stefani adds another dimension to her superstardom and ventures into the world of celebrity cents with the launch of L, a L.A.M.B. fragrance.

The style icon and avid designer’s genuine interest and success in the fashion industry certainly affords her latest endeavor a little more of a serious whiff than, say, other pop-princess-branded toilet waters. An amalgamation of rosy bouquets and rich musks, L promises to capture the essence of classic Hollywood, coupled with Gwen’s contemporary style. The bottle is pretty sexy, too.

Cat names are usually kind of run of the mill, but in Dracula’s case, it is befitting of him. Check out the dark shading of fur on the side of his face— so mysterious! Ears pointed upright—dangerous! Even the little cape is appropriate. Actually, Dracula looks a little freaked out. Maybe it’s the fish tank or the pumpkin-orange walls, but this cat is gonna pounce. And you can bet he’s going for the jugular. Send your animal pictures to pet@ ionmagazine.ca. If we use them, we’ll give you a prize that pales in comparison to having your pet immortalized in print.

SWM seeks same but female and any colour. Me: I am skinny and often sleepy. I like ice-cream and puppies. I like to cuddle and my mom says I’m a good kisser. You: Don’t mind if I eat in bed and also shouldn’t mind if I keep food in it or scream and make me cry if you see mice in the bed. If I do cry, just hold me and rub my back like you’re supposed to do instead of saying you are tired of dating a child because children are a gift from God and it’s my bed anyways. Even though they’re a gift from God I don’t want a child because they’re heavy and it’s hard to get shirts over their big heads.

ION MAGAZINE

www.clintmclean.com

15

CULTURE FASHION

FILM MUSIC ION MAGAZINE 16

The Silence of the Hares

Kelly Haigh Words Degan Beley

Before today I didn’t know that it was possible to have a favourite taxidermist. In the space of a few minutes, though, I learned that Rowland Ward is artist Kelly Haigh’s favorite preserver of animals AND was able to see an exquisite specimen of his work up close.

As Kelly shows me around her Vancouver salon where she works part time as a stylist, she points out (with one arm holding a Chihuahua named Francis) the differences of technique and artistry in the stuffed creatures. Frances growls nervously.

There is an assortment of fox heads, cat heads and an odd badger head mounted on the walls— some with ribbons tied around their necks—and the Rowland Ward pride of place, a grey hare with dark eyes and a befuddled expression. It’s a sunny day and light is streaming through the windows, but the sparkle is missing from their glass eyes.

“The thing about the dead animals,” she tells me, “is that you wouldn’t know they ever existed.

It’s not like us where we have headstones…they don’t get a graveyard. This is sort of proof that they were here. Otherwise you wouldn’t know.”

Sharing wallspace in the salon is a large collection of her paintings, beautifully contained in large gilt frames that would be suitable for a museum.

The whole thing looks kind of like a museum, actually...part natural history and part fine arts.

Which is not surprising as Kelly admits she is obsessed with natural history museums and graveyards when she travels. She once got lost visiting Prague and couldn’t find her hotel and had very little money because she had just bought an antique fox. But instead of panicking and finding the embassy, she took her new friend around the city and photographed it in the graveyard and other scenic locales.

“I’m also obsessed with foxes,” she says grinning, and there do seem to be a lot of them in the salon—both painted and stuffed—but it’s the grey hare that Kelly brings me back to. Under it (she likes to have the taxidermied animal match

the one in the painting) is The Last Supper, a painting that depicts a child bringing a bunny a handful of flowers. This is to be his last supper, apparently, because although the child is wide-eyed and dressed sweetly in pink, the rabbit is hanging from a tree by a noose and the skies are black with smoke and clouds. It is sweet and creepy at the same time, like sweetness gone sideways or an edge pushed just a little farther than we’re used to seeing.

When asked what inspires her to paint scenes like that, she replies, “Life is like that. Coming to work, I come through the really poor areas and there’s so much sad, sad stuff. I figure if you can try to see prettiness in the ugly and bring a bit of ugly into the prettiness, it softens the blow a bit.”

Central to almost all of her images is a child or delicate female figure with luminous eyes and often surrounded by candy canes and lollipops, balloons or carnival tents. That’s the sweet part.

But there is also blood.“Blood is very pretty to me,” says Haigh,“I love the way it goes into driblets and streams.”

Of course not everyone has the same opinion, but Kelly tells me that she only has one client who asks her to turn around a particular painting of a dead deer. And one eight year old girl who came in with her mom sat there “with a horrified look on her face and asked ‘how come all of these paintings have blood in them?” to which Kelly gave a reply certain to shut up even the most inquisitive eight year olds,“blood’s pretty and it’s inside all of us... It’s like a magical thing and I like it, ok?”

The artist herself may have been as horrified as this little girl when she was her age, at least for a time. She tells me a character-forming story where, at age 10(ish) on her grandmother’s farm she was allowed to pick out her very own kitten, but when she went back to the barn with her grandmother, its head had been partially smushed in by the garage door. Her grandmother thought it not right to let it suffer and “she handed me a hammer and I

just stood there bawling…I couldn’t do it.” To this day she doesn’t know what exactly happened to her kitten. It hasn’t turned her off pets either (Frances is still growling from her lap); but only a year after that incident she skinned her pet hamster when it died.

Another telling experience comes from Kelly’s obsession with severed heads. Even aside from the wall mounts, animals in her paintings often have their heads missing or separated from their bodies and she tells me that this is a direct result of her dad’s stories when she was a child.

“He was a long distance trucker and he used to sit down on my bed and tell me the stories of all the horrible car crashes,” she said, eyes shining.

“And once he tripped over a body by the side of the road and it had no head!!!” The joy she seems to be having in the retelling of this story would be the equivalent of several years of sleepless nights for me, but no matter. For years she recounted that every road trip she would be “looking out the window, trying to see a severed head.”

Her new body of work will not feature severed heads, however, but rather serial killers. She has just bought a book on Jack the Ripper, as well as a stuffed terrier from 1910 and she thinks she would like to paint a series of the prostitutes that were killed, except alive with their pets.

I imagine that a mind that can dream up paintings of bird fetuses nesting in hair and mask-wearing mice dancing around a severed cat’s head must really shine at Halloween, but surprisingly, it’s not a big holiday for her. She prefers to turn off the lights and watch TV on this haunting day.

Although with dead animals and creepy scenes decorating the walls, maybe you don’t need a special occasion.

See more of Kelly Haigh’s artwork online at www.dollinthefamily.com

ION MAGAZINE 17

CULTURE FASHION

FILM MUSIC

Canadian Gothic Cera Neima Jewellery Design

ION MAGAZINE 18

Blood red and caked with dirt, her object of desire lies helplessly on the table. Long pale fingers reach from the shadows to caress its form. As if on cue, the wind begins to howl and the walls creak as a hammer is raised. A final moment, the fateful blow and then there is eerie silence.“Don’t you just love hessonite?” hisses the stunning femme fatale. She drops her burnt leather gloves and wipes the dark smudges from her face.

Intense. Gothic. Vintage. Fascinating. These are all words used to describe Cera Neima and her impressive jewellery designs. Signature pieces vary from an elaborate silver ring, overlaid with 24k gold to classic bronze shield earrings. Neima’s line showcases strong Middle Eastern influences, with it’s dark jewel tones and hammered finishing. A garnet rosary pendant, brass earrings with glass beads and brushed gold cuffs are named favourite among her followers.

“I design what I like, what I would wear,” states Neima, all whilst buffing and polishing without pause. “It’s incredibly selfish of course, but why not be excited about what I’m creating?”

Born abroad and raised in Vancouver, Neima’s obsession with all things ornate began after raiding Grandma’s jewellery box, at a time when accessorizing was not fad but sophistication. “One look at those vintage baubles and I was addicted; no hope of rehab or recovery,” Neima confides as she finishes up with her hessonite (more com-

monly known as cinnamon stone or garnet).

“Jewellery used to be a personal investment, passed down for generations.”

Rather than buy prepackaged pieces to assemble, Neima starts from scratch. Each design is unique, boasting countless hours of work.There are sketches to draw, metals to buy, gemstones to bargain for, prong settings and jump rings to make before even beginning. “All very well to labour on a gothic cocktail ring, alive with pyrope and tsavorite (red and green gemstones), but if there’s no one glamorous to wear it, what’s the point?” Fortunately many want to wear “it” and it’s not just a mature demographic clamoring to get their hands on these one-of-a-kind creations; 20-somethings with an eye for high fashion are pushing and shoving for a taste.

Inspired by her recent trip to France and fresh off the scene at New York City’s Fall Fashion Week, Neima’s status is rising rapidly, with orders flying in like frenzied broomsticks. “Windows!” she exclaims suddenly, green eyes flashing wickedly, “My new collection is going to be based on the elaborate shape of cathedral windows in Paris and the dramatic frames of the Taj Mahal.”

It’s this enthusiasm that keeps Neima frighteningly serious about her work. A fully certified metalsmith and gemologist, she’s an expert in the art of soldering, stone setting, wax carving and casting. No bones about it, this vixen does it all.

Model Dani Griffiths Styling Emilia Pelech Hair & Make-up Dana Allan

Words Nathalie Marrable Photography Trevor Brady

ION MAGAZINE 19

POSSESsION

Produced and Photographed by Barbara Cole www.barbaracole.com Fashion Stylist † Amy Lu www.amylu.ca Hair and Makeup † Ivy Lam www.artistsbytimothypriano.com Prop Styling and Off Figure by Rodney Smith www.judyinc.com Model † Emma MacDougall, Ford Models Father Figure † Yanis Ertmanis Priest Robe † Lucian Matis

ABOVE: Blouse, Vest and Skirt by Lucian Matis LEFT: Dress by Lucian Matis †Earrings from Gypsy

Jacket and Leggings by Lucian Matis † Shoes by Dries Van Noten at Specchio † Gloves Stylist’s Own

Above: Dress By Lucian Matis † Rings From Gypsy † Shoes By Dries Van Noten From Specchio Stockings Stylist’s Own. Right: Blouse By Lucian Matis † Necklace By The Beadery

TRAUMA AN INTERVIEW WITH Asia & Dario Argento Words Michael Mann Photography Clint McLean

I’ll just come right out and admit that I’m a huge fanboy of Dario Argento. This man has given us so many demented, violent and beautiful films, that I put him up there with David Cronenberg. So when I was sifting through the descriptions for the 349 films screening at the Toronto International Film festival this year, it was his latest, The Mother of Tears that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. When I got an interview confirmation with him, I started taking deep breaths into a paper bag to avoid hyper-ventilating.

CULTURE FASHION

FILM MUSIC ION MAGAZINE 30

My fascination with his films began with his witch movie Suspiria (1977). I’d seen a lot of horror movies before Suspiria so I knew this one was different. The graphic murders, the epic score, the amazing cinematography, this movie stayed with me and it immediately became one of my favourite horror movies of all time. Not long after that, I learned he produced George A Romero’s zombies-in-a-mall classic Dawn of the Dead (1978), another one of my favourite horror movies. Following this, I saw Inferno (1980), the sequel to Suspiria. Though not nearly as popular as Suspiria, it’s just as good if not better. Not only that, it promised a third witch movie to come that would complete The Three Mothers Trilogy. But it never came.

After this I discovered his giallo classics The Bird With the Crystal Plumage (1970) Deep Red (1975), Tenebre (1982) and Opera (1987). Giallo is Italian for yellow, the colour of the covers on mystery pulp novels that inspired the films. They’re essentially slasher films with an element of mystery. Watching Dario’s giallo films for the first time is like eating the most delicious piece of candy you’ve ever had in your life, only to have a razor blade hidden in the centre slice your tongue open.

He’s been consistently directing and producing films since Opera; recently, he’s been doing episodes of Masters of Horror. While there’s been the odd gem along the way, nothing has done it for me like his earlier work did. But there was always that nagging question: when will he complete the trilogy?

That question got answered this year in Toronto.

The Mother of Tears is a definite return to form for Dario. A third witch, Mater Lacrmarum, has awoken causing an outbreak of violence across Rome.

It’s up to Dario’s daughter, Asia (ah-zee-ah), and her modest magical abilities to stop this all-powerful witch before she brings about the end of the world. The gore is out of control, the nudity is gratuitous and the dialogue is hilarious although this is likely unintentional—even the biggest Argento fans will concede that dialogue has never been one of the man’s strengths.

A few hours before the interview, I learned that this was about to get sweeter as I’d also be talking with Asia. An accomplished director in her own right, most notably for the J.T. LeRoy penned, The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things (2004), but bet-

ter known as an actress who has appeared in xXx (2002), Gus Van Sant’s Last Days (2005), Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette, (2006) Catherine Breillat’s The Last Mistress (2007) as well as a handful of her father’s films. She’s also universally regarded as one of the most attractive women on the planet.

I set up in the lounge at the Intercontinental Hotel on Bloor and immediately clued in that my time with the two was going to be brief, as a television crew was setting up to interview them after me. They walk in and we politely exchange greetings. I remain relatively composed and don’t embarrass myself by screaming, “Holy shit, it’s him!” and getting people to take pictures of us flashing gang signs together. They sit down on the couch on which they’ve been doing interviews non-stop for the past two days. I direct my first question at Dario, who’s sitting furthest away from me, “Why did it take so long for a follow up to Suspiria and Inferno?”

“Because the idea needed to be good. It wasn’t automatic.You do a film and then you do a few follow ups? No, you must wait for the right idea and then you do it,“ he replies in a thick Italian accent.

Factor in the noisy room and I already know this one is going to be a pain in the ass to transcribe.

“Stylistically, do you feel The Mother of Tears is a departure from Suspiria and Inferno?”

“Yes, I think I try to do some new style, my style.

Of course the film has a lot of special effects.

That’s the only things that are different.”

Visually, Dario’s movies are a cut above most other horror movies. So I want to get him to talk about how generic looking horror movies are today—ideally get to him to trash someone. So I ask him “How do you feel about the way horror movies look today?” He doesn’t understand that one so Asia translates it into Italian for him.

“Today, the audience loves horror movies. People love horror movies.“ At about this point it started to sink in that we’re hitting a language barrier and this interview isn’t going to go the way I want it to. I came armed with a list of 100 convoluted and nerdy questions but I quickly learned that they don’t translate well into Italian. So I started firing some questions at Asia.

“Asia, when did you see Suspiria?”

“Around six years old. Oh, I loved it. Because it was like a fairy tale; a mean fairy tale. For me,

ION MAGAZINE 31

CULTURE FASHION

FILM MUSIC ION MAGAZINE 32

I wasn’t so shocked by it because I really saw it like Hansel and Gretel. It was just like all these really mean fairy tales that I loved as a child.” She goes on to say that she saw Inferno at about the same time.

Sticking with Inferno, I ask if she thinks it’s underrated.

“I don’t feel that. It’s a movie a lot of people are obsessed with and it’s one of my favourite movies he’s ever made.“ “Do you feel your father’s contributions to the slasher genre are overlooked? I mean movies like Deep Red came out years before Halloween.”

“My father is not a slasher filmmaker. You can’t compare those beautiful movies to Halloween.

Halloween was scary but my father’s movies are profound.”

“Dario, what scene would the average moviegoer would find most offensive about your latest film?”

After a lengthy translation where I have to reword the question a couple of times, I get,“I don’t know exactly. Maybe the episode of the Father Johannes, maybe.” An exceptionally bloody exchange where a priest (Udo Kier) is minced with a cleaver. He then adds,“All of the ending, really.”

“Well why do you like to shock people?”

“Ah why? Because this is my profession.“ I was expecting bit a longer of a response. So there’s an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds while I gather my thoughts.

“Why did you get a special thank you at the end of the Rodriguez/Tarantino joint effort Grindhouse?” I suspected it was for two reasons. Firstly, Dario’s movies played on a lot of grindhouse double-bills. Secondly, the ending to Death Proof ends the way his movies end, very abruptly.

He responds with “I did?” Then he speaks some Italian to Asia and she reports back “He didn’t even know.” And we all share a laugh.

Switching gears, I ask Asia how she responds to claims that her father’s a misogynist. His films are notorious for showing an abundance of beautiful women getting violently murdered. The Mother of Tears is no exception. There’s also a rather gratuitous shower scene with Asia and a random lesbian sex scene.

“I don’t think so. He makes women look very powerful and very beautiful. He said something I loved once: he kills more women in his movies

because they scream better and they move better.

Women know pain more genetically so they can express that better than a man.”

“Dario, Do you think people over-analyze horror movies? It’s like the Scream mentality, should we not just sit back and enjoy the ride?”

Asia translates to Dario and he says “Sorry,” with a shrug. Asia, sympathizing with my pain, giggles and tells me he doesn’t understand.Their publicist is telling me to start wrapping it up now.

“What makes monkeys so scary Dario?” referring a rather menacing simian that chases Asia around in The Mother of Tears. Oddly, Dario lights up when I ask him about this.

“Monkey is pure energy. It’s something of pure energy. She’s screaming. The energy is unbelievable!”

“Claudio Simonetti, who did the score for Suspiria, provided the score for this film. How important is he to your work?”

“He’s very important. The score is very good.”

“Have you heard the “Phantom” remix of his Tenebre soundtrack?”

Asia, also a pretty accomplished DJ, replies for him. “The Justice thing? I told him about it but I don’t think they even say anything on album that’s it’s taken from Tenebre. Do they say they sample it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should sue them then,” Asia replies with a laugh.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

And with that my time was up. I thought I did a good job at the end encouraging them to launch a lawsuit against a French dance act. Unfortunately Justice, do credit Claudio Simonetti in the liner notes on their album so their lawsuit will be a frivolous one.

When you get to meet one of your heroes, naturally, you want to have an engaging conversation.

You want to show them you know their work and tell them what their work means to you. You want them to know that you’re not just some writer looking for the three quick quotes that’ll allow you to write your article so you can get paid. That obviously didn’t happen here but the fact that I had such a macabre experience trying to chat with him is perversely reassuring. It’ll haunt me just like Suspiria did and I couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

Dario Deep Red (1975) A psychic reads the thoughts of a killer in the crowd of her live performance. So the killer does what killers do … kills her. A music teacher witnesses this murder but can’t for the life of him remember what the killer’s face looked like. The teacher’s inability to remember naturally leads to everyone around him dying a violent death. Considered by many Argento connoisseurs to be his finest work.

Argento’s Magnum Corpus Inferno (1980) The amazing sequel to Suspiria that wasn’t nearly as popular. Turns out there’s another witch coven in New York City and this time it’s up to a man to take care of business.

Features one of the most tasteless murder scenes of all time.

A man tries to kill a bunch of stray cats by sticking them in a potato sack and throwing it in a pond. Then rats come and attack the man and start eating him alive. A man nearby at a hot dog stand hears his cries for help and rushes over, only to stab him.

Tenebre (1982) In Argento’s triumphant return to the giallo genre, an American author is in Italy to promote his latest pulp novel titled Tenebre. The autograph sessions get put on hold when a vicious serial killer strikes and appears to be inspired by the book. The police are clueless so they enlist the help of the author to help solve the mystery. A lengthy scene with a vicious dog that can leap over giant fences needs to be seen to be believed.

Opera (1987) One of Argento’s best looking films and a great introduction to the Giallo genre. At an operatic performance of Macbeth, circumstance forces the understudy for Lady Macbeth into the spotlight. Sadly, being in the spotlight means it’s only easier for the vicious killer who’s on the loose to find you.

His trademark move is tying up the understudy and performing gruesome murders in front of her.

The Stendahl Syndrome (1996) A top notch Asia and Dario collaboration. Asia Argento is on the trail of a sadistic murderer. Then she becomes a victim of the maniac she’s pursuing. To make matters worse, she suffers from the Stendahl syndrome, a bizarre affliction that causes her to hallucinate when in the presence of great works of art. Even more bizarre is that graffiti can set it off. Graffiti isn’t art!

ION MAGAZINE

Suspiria (1977) This is the first Argento film you should watch. A young American ballerina starts attending a prestigious dance school in Germany. She learns it’s tough to practice pirouettes when corpses keep piling up around you. Some investigation by her reveals that the school is home to a coven of murderous witches. If the first horrific murder doesn’t haunt you for life, the score by Claudio Simonetti’s band Goblin will.

33

CULTURE FASHION

FILM MUSIC ION MAGAZINE 34

FORTUNATE SONS FLOSSTRADAMUS Words & Photography Chad R. Buchholz We left for Seattle on Monday morning at 4:00 am to catch our 9:00 am flight to Chicago, where I was headed with two of my roommates and my girlfriend on an opportunistic ‘vacation’ to go hang out and stay with friends of my friends, Flosstradamus.The whole premise for all of us going is somewhat complicated, but my girlfriend offered to pay for half my ticket (to keep an eye on me, I think), and the promise of a half-price flight, celeb hosts, and a reasonable excuse for negligence of responsibilities had me counted in.

So yes, Flosstradamus are from Chicago.

There’s two of them: Curt as Autobot and Josh as J2K, or, lately, Young Josh. They’re DJs, basically; music re-visionists, at times suitable; party starters and, more importantly, party maintainers.

It’s been some kind of year for the boys. Front cover of URB’s “The Next 1000” issue, slots at Coachella, Lollapalooza, and the Neighborhood Festival, consistent Pitchfork attention and mixtape gold status on their recent (albeit heavilyedited) compilation for VICE. They played Norway in August, even.

But this story is about Floss’ downtime, on a break in their hometown Chicago, America’s second city. Central hub for North American continental and eastbound international flights.

Purveyors of heart stopping deep dish pizza. Sox and Cubs. Juke. Most expensive smokes in the US besides NY. According to Curt, “8 people live here,” though I never found out exactly what he meant by this.

Floss, along with Kid Sister and The Cool Kids, are the city’s preeminent party figureheads; young, successful, and slick in a scene where getting noticed for being young and slick is a noteworthy feat. One of The Cool Kids, who I never met but whose bed I borrowed while we were there, lived at Curt and Josh’s house right up until our last night in town. When he moved out, he left my girlfriend and I bedless. Vyle, rapper and sometimes Floss collaborator, occupied the last

bedroom, but he was on his way out as well. No strife, I don’t think, but more Curt and Josh were sick of coming home from weeks on the road to a total dump. The dish situation was so bad when we showed up that Curt just put everything that was in the sink in a box and threw it in the alley.

Any mess that Curt and Josh cleaned up when we arrived was quickly and effectively replaced as the four of us from Vancouver, and New York DJ duo The Bangers got in and set up shop on every couch, table, and spare foot of floor. Nine of us in a hundred year old house with a broken air conditioner. After trying to sleep off five consecutive hangovers in the wet dog humidity of the Midwest I’ve come to understand why America loves air conditioning like it loves freedom.

Six days in the city and I didn’t really talk with Curt or Josh about music, at all. They were on vacation in their hometown, a week off between incessant touring to hang out with friends and play their monthly residency at Subterranean.

We went thrift shopping, ate good Mexican food and hung out at late night softball games with a bunch of skids. We drank massive amounts of High Life and sat around the illegal backyard fire pit at their house until 4:00 every morning. We went skateboarding, swam in Lake Michigan and lit fireworks in the middle of the day.

The only time we really ‘went out’ was their night at Sub T where the guys eschewed their typical role as shit hot remixers and connoisseurs of the new realness to, as Curt put it, “Play nothing that we normally play.” This meant a load full of old G-rap classics, sing-along techno, and general good vibrations. For one moment they dropped the music so Josh could announce “I hear Vancouver’s in the house tonight!” to the 395 bemused Americans packing the place, while the five of us who knew what he was talking about yelled and splashed beer on each other in the corner as Curt dropped it into “Regulate.”

The stage was a mob scene of weird drunks

wandering behind the tables trying to knock shit over and steal beers, barefoot girls hopping around the bar sticking their ass towards anything gyrating, and at least one couple straight fucking in the backstage room. It felt like a house party in a different town where you happen to show up with a couple of the coolest kids in the hood.

Besides backstage sex, Juke (Chicago’s version of hyphy or crunk or whatever) and Kanye, mopeds are a fixture of the Chicago scene. Hollywood Holt’s “Throw A Kit” pretty much sums up the whole deal (YouTube it, please). The chorus “Million-dollar, get that / Got it from Curt and Pat” is a reference to the moped shop Curt started with his friend Pat back before Flosstradamus grew wings. Curt himself owns six of the little beasts. Tearing through North Chicago at 2:00 am on a Saturday morning with a courier bag full of beer and no helmets on the way to the shores of Lake Michigan made it into the hazy mental scrapbook of “Summers of Yore.”

And then it was over. On a plane and back home with no real story except for this one, but that’s all there really is. Curt and Josh are dudes, in the sense that they’re easygoing, easy drinking, backyard bonfire loving 20-something year olds.

Once you get to know them, the fact that they also happen to be internationally recognized party-starters takes a back seat to the fact they’re down with buying 30-packs of High Life on the way home from the bar and rolling on 50cc rather than 22 inches. The whole ‘famous DJs’ role has them sort of nonplussed; the fact that these days a couple of kids from the midwest can get paid to fly around and play and make the music that they love for throngs of sweaty partiers has them more inclined to shoulder-shrugging than ego-boasting. “I would probably still be selling mopeds, but then this DJ thing started working out,” Curt said to me Saturday morning over some Dunkin’ Donuts, as if it didn’t really matter either way. “It’s all good, I guess.”

ION MAGAZINE 35

CULTURE

FASHION

FILM

MUSIC

ION MAGAZINE

36

ION MAGAZINE 37

CULTURE FASHION

FILM MUSIC ION MAGAZINE 38

FURNACE FACES The Fiery Furnaces Words Nojan Aminosharei It’s just past noon in New York, which means it’s too-damn-early-o-clock in Vancouver, as far as I’m concerned, and I’ve just rolled out of bed with the help of two alarm clocks and a jittery lack of faith in the snooze button. On the phone, from three hours in the future, I have Matt Friedberger, the y-chromosome in brother-sister indie-rock combination, The Fiery Furnaces. Matt, his publicist tells me, is an “early kind of guy.” Judging by my hot mess, I am not. Sitting there with my Nick Nolte hair, torn underwear, and a shirt covered in what appears to be a permanent sprinkling of Pringles dust, I’m thankful to greet Matt over the phone, and not in person.

What I’ll come to realize later is that he probably wouldn’t care anyway.

Everyone seems to have a different take on Matt and sister Eleanor’s stylings. If hyphenated, the collaborative definition of their scavenged genre would reach from my house to Matt’s and halfway back. Blues-rock, experimental pop-rock, vaguelyfolkish-symphonic-sometimes-cacophonic-rockopera-like-that-episode-of-Clone-High-where-theyall-get-high-smoking-raisins—the inability to pin them down can be exhilarating or frustrating, or both. In 2004, while some heaped praise on the band’s sophomore album Blueberry Boat for its frenzied instrumentation, tongue-in-cheek vocal narratives, and general exuberance, others, like Rolling Stone, referred to it as “a stitched-together, underedited collage of half-finished tunes, random guitar blurts and keyboard flotsam.”

The Furnace’s fifth full-length, Widow City, is released this month, and much like Blueberry Boat, it comes laden with the siblings’ old aural idiosyncrasies. I ask Matt if tensions are ever high in anticipation of a new release, and he sounds genuinely casual, almost flip, about critical reaction to his band’s work.

“I was reading in a book the other day,” Matt recalls a piece of nameless Russian literature, “That if everyone likes it, then it’s not good. If everyone hates it, then maybe you’ve got something. But if everyone either hates it or loves it—that’s what you

want.” He adds, as a pragmatic footnote,“Of course, that’s from the director’s perspective. Obviously the producer wants all good reviews.”

“You’re very lucky just to have people talk about you,” he says indiscriminately about the reviews of fans and critics alike. In fact, when it comes to criticism, he almost flourishes under the scrutiny of commentators toiling to map the topography of he and his sister’s revolutions and missteps. He admits that sometimes a favourable description of the Furnaces’ work “sounds horrible,” but that a negative description will hit a chord with him.“Now that sounds interesting!” he says of the convoluted criticism so, often a staple of their critiques.

Speaking with Matt informs your understanding of his music. Detractors often call his instrumentation, with its turbulent transitions and expressive jags, unfocused. But careful examination of Widow City’s composition reveals deliberate and evocative crafting, not just jerrybuilt noises. Words and motifs piled onto one-another and tangled into a narrative always vigilant of where next to weave.

And in a way, that’s how Matt talks, except, of course, with a casual Chicago accent. He sometimes speaks in circles, travels within earshot of verbose, but then turns a corner into an analogy that aptly, sometimes perversely, illustrates exactly what he’s saying. He explains, for example, the arbitrariness of how people attach their own meanings to what they listen to, “Like when a child has a toy and anthropomorphizes the batteries in it. So he feels bad for them when they’re ‘dying.’ Or he feels bad for the pennies that get lost under the couch.”

Our discussion is sometimes punctuated with the question, “Does that makes sense?” and it always does, somehow, much in the “Huh? What?

Oh. Yeah. Yeah,” kind of way. Again, it’s the same reaction I have to the combination of sounds in the Furnaces’ arsenal, or to the singsong lyrics Eleanor crisply burrows into my brain—where a split-second moment of insight ignites in the air between the headphones and the ear just before everything clicks.

Noting Matt’s language, I’m reminded of an English teacher who once told me that a person’s wordplay reveals a lot about their upbringing. With this in mind, I ask Matt where he and Eleanor inherited their lyrical sensibilities—where they got the urge to hoist their songs onto a narrative backing—fully pushing for an author’s name or a distinct period of literature.

“Telling stories is just a part of rock,” he insists.

“It’s not necessarily any outside of rock and roll influence.” As for how he and Eleanor came to mesh musically,“I’m older than her, you know, so I’d play records in my room, and I played them loud. So she had to listen to them too.” The siblings’ influences expectedly rake the annals of old school rock and roll legend, particularly The Who, whom Matt cites by name and specificity of measure.

“With all the rock influences and the interest in being experimental,” I ask, “Do you ever get the urge to play straight-up pop? Like, just turn down the lights and play some acoustic Rihanna?”

“Hmm, no.” Between question and answer, there’s a brief silence informing me that I’ve either asked something profoundly stupid and implausible, or sewn the seeds of an all-Rihanna cover album the likes of which will bring us crashing to our knees.

Matt knows what he likes and what he’s good at. When we first began the interview, I asked how the previous night’s practice went, to which he quipped that practice is always relatively stress free because,“Nobody’s telling me what to play, so I’m playing what I’m good at.” And that’s what he’ll keep doing.

With Widow City fresh into the pool of distribution,The Fiery Furnaces can look forward to another series of raves and rants from indie rock followers.

And judging from Matt Friedberger’s impenetrably relaxed manner, fans can look forward to the virtuoso siblings staying their jagged and surprising trajectory unhindered by criticism, praise, or slovenly pantless interviewers. But we’ll have to test that last one in person next time.

ION MAGAZINE 39

CULTURE

EVERYTHING’S GONE GOTH

FASHION

An All Hallow’s Eve Playlist Words Trevor Risk Photography Fiona Garden

FILM MUSIC

Goths are everyone and everywhere. They are filling our printer ink cartridges, taking over Disneyland (see: Bats Day), and they’re hosting prime time hour-long leftist pseudo news programmes on the CBC. If they ever change their mild and accepting ideology, the dark underdwellers could stage an overwhelming social coup on our unsuspecting Docker khaki day-to-day existence just by sheer numbers and smarts. You just know those guys at the flea market who hunch over the table showcasing an arsenal of blades and other torturous weaponry are just dying to show off the super sweet moves they perfected in the basement. To help you prepare for the zombie apocalypse, here are a few spooky choons that may help you convince our future maestros of magick that you’re hip to their movement and can join them in rolling some twelve sided dice or taunting a BDSM victim with a hand puppet.

Sisters of Mercy “Lucretia” The (literally) translucent ambassadors of coolas-fuck dark wave know how to layer strings over bass guitar better than anyone. This is the song that those pussies the Pixies were trying to write when they penned “Gouge Away.”

ION MAGAZINE 40

JJ72 “Long Way South” Mark Greany sounds like a woman, but might be one of the only good looking male goths. JJ72’s minor chords and smokin’ girl bass player makes you wanna paint eyeliner on your nether-regions even if you just got back from the hockey game.

Arbeid Adelt “Ik Sta Scherp” Belgians are like Germans but nobody suspects them of aural tyranny. That’s why when they drop intense night-screaming tunes that lurk behind every corner, you’re smacked in the face and wake

up ten days later in Slovakia with a backwardstalking moustachioed coyote licking your feet.

Shakes “Sister Self Doubt” Can’t arpeggiate your Juno synth? Having trouble synching up Reason 2.0 to your sound card?

Goths can fix that, and roll their eyes at you so hard that you’d think they were almost teasing you in a friendly manner.They’re not.They actually think you’re a dork for not knowing how.Your black house-cat “Mitt-Mitt” will rub up against them the entire time they’re at your flat.

The Raveonettes “Attack of the Ghost Riders” Black Rebel Motorcycle Club are NOT the new Jesus and Mary Chain. BRMC have a stupid name and are just San Francisco hipsters who wear sunglasses inside. The original Jesus and Mary Chain aren’t even the new Jesus and Mary Chain. They blew that title when they had Scarlett Johansson (the Heather Locklear of our time) sing for them at a dusty festival in California. The Raveonettes win with their ice creamy chord progressions and the fact that they have a blonde betty in the band instead of looking like a motley crew of Ric Ocaseks who smoke too much. Add two parts reverb, mix in one hundred and ten decibels of distortion, plate and serve.

Siouxsie and the Banshees “The Killing Jar” Goth chicks were sent from hell to tease us with their buttermilk complexion and sexy undergarments. Their serpentine dance moves leave us mouth-breathing and spilling our Coronas all over our Phil Collins tour T-Shirts. Siouxsie is a stone fox who somehow pulled off wearing Nazi paraphernalia far better than a certain prince from across the pond. Make sure you memorize a few of her tunes and the name of her drummer (Budgie).

Drop a few Siouxsie facts and you’re guaranteed a look of lust from a goth siren. Also, make sure you get the version of “The Killing Jar” from one of Siouxsie’s greatest hits collections. It just rocks way harder.

Vitalic “Newman” Remember that nightmare you had where you were blowing WAY too much into your Nintendo cartridge and the NES became completely pissed off and came to life and chased after you wielding the spread gun from Contra? Vitalic remembers.

My Bloody Valentine “You Made Me Realize” The act of shoegazing isn’t just for bands in the goth community. It’s for ordering a meal, public speaking, and proposing marriage. The band name alone is perfect enough to make you wanna carve an upside down crucifix into your forehead.

Covenant “Dead Stars [Version]” So you wanna pick the apple from the tree and set it free? You wanna feel drums and synth in your feet, head, and ass? Just trust me on this one.

New Order “Everything’s Gone Green” New Order used to be Joy Divison. Big deal. Ian Curtis killed himself successfully on his fourth try.

Who gives a care? Bernard Sumner can handle anything. The only man who can write heart-dripping pop songs and dark anthems on the same record. This is the soundtrack to lopping off the heads of the un-dead while still falling in love with a beautiful raven-haired heroine. Play on repeat, and buy a weird, white guitar afterwards.

ION MAGAZINE 41

FASHION

April Leino

CULTURE

FILM

MUSIC

ION MAGAZINE

42

POSTER ART

Most young girls enter life enamored with the idea of riding horses, being housewives, and colouring pretty pictures. Only the latter activity is acceptable as an adult, as the first two are out of the question based on mental maturity and the women’s movement respectively. April Leino isn’t trying to be part of some sort of poster scene, as she explained to me on the phone from her Vancouver home. “I like reading children’s books, as that’s my reading level. The illustrations in it are just wholesome and inspire me. I just like illustrating bands and events. I mean, printing posters isn’t really an ‘artform.’ Oh, and you can’t tell over the telephone, but I’m using finger quotes for ‘artform.’” When asked why she started the craft, April responds with,“My boyfriend Shane forced me to,” letting out a belly laugh. Okay, so maybe she does need to read Our Bodies, Ourselves. Check her twee blog at aforestofapples.blogspot.com

ION MAGAZINE 43

ART FASHION

FILM MUSIC: ALBUM REVIEWS ION MAGAZINE 44

The Flying Club Cup Beirut Ba Da Bing

Bitchin’ The Donnas Outside

How to Build a Lighthouse Kevin Kane Bongo Beat

Let’s Stay Friends Les Savy Fav Sony

Gulag Orkestar stole and broke my

Girls who can play even one note

heart, but perhaps you and I have

of music will always have a place in

When it comes to the Grapes of

clever you become with each album:

As much as I love making presumptu-

grown apart. There are still some

the pop lexicon. One could rhyme off

Wrath, I knew about the band before

Let’s Stay Friends bears curious ini-

ous declarations and standing behind

endearing qualities present but some-

a list of sub-par female musicians

I knew about the book. This uniquely

tials. Okay, so I’m easily amused. It’s

them regardless of their ridiculous-

times I just feel like yelling,“Shut up!

who have a shit ton of money due to

Canadian admission gave rise to

just that these guys haven’t released

ness, I’m not going to tell you that this

Your voice is grating when it warbles

their doe-eyed gazes and short skirts

the ubiquity of jangle pop that Kevin

a new album since their collection of

is the Album Of The Year or the Perfect

on like that!” Did I used to search for

(starting with the Smashing Pumpkins’

Kane begets on his new solo album.

singles, Inches, came out in 2004. But

Fall Soundtrack or any bullshit like

instrumental tracks? It’s hard to re-

D’arcy Wretzky). Thankfully KISS inad-

The lore of GOW left an indelible

how we’ve missed your book-smart

that. It might be, to me, but it might

member.“A Sunday Smile” makes me

vertently trained the Donnas to pull

impression on the Canadian indie

lyrics and maniacal shouting, Tim

not be to anyone else. It is, however,

think of the true romance of “You’re

our pants off with guitars and cow-

circuit of the late ‘80s/early ‘90s.

Harrington! Les Savy Fav hasn’t lost its

the masterpiece of McCombs’ young

So Cool” mixed with Brian Eno’s “Deep

bells despite being phallically chal-

Former Grapers frontman, Kevin Kane,

charm, abrasiveness or smart, lyrical

career, distilling his ethereal but often

Blue Day” which helps a little… until

lenged. Allison Roberts is the coolest,

has scrapped together some of his

twists since a brief hiatus in 2005

indulgent dream pop into something

your singing starts within 10 seconds.

hottest guitar player in the history of

leftover moves for this latest solo of-

threatened fans into thinking LSF were

so much more focused, measured,

Leave that singing to Antony and the

post-Frehley world of cock. Meatloaf

fering, How to Build a Lighthouse. The

done for.“Raging in the Plague Age”

and devastating. Dropping The Writ

Johnsons! “Le Banlieu” is like those

(yeah, I know) producer Jay Ruston

opener “Last to Know” starts off with a

and some of the slower numbers

answers any questions regarding the

times you forced yourself to dance

boosts a record with average song-

palm-muted intro and a harmony that

could have easily been on a John

seriousness of the man’s intentions

because you know I like it but you’re

writing to a full sonic attack mostly

drifts off into a hookless wasteland

Hughes soundtrack, and “Patty Lee”

and his ability to live up to the poten-

drunk, it’s the end of the night and all

due to the honest drum production

that never quite breaks. Only “Arnold

was kind of creepy in the beginning,

tial ‘genius’ suggested by previous

I can focus on is the piano player. I

and guitar treatment. The Donnas

Layne” has the chuztpah I expect from

evoking Scissor Sister-like vocals atop

efforts A and PREfection. Indeed, The

think I love “Cliquot” the most. I don’t

are probably the only girl band who

Kane (too bad Syd Barret penned it).

the band’s typical trickling-guitar-

Writ is perfect.

know if it’s because it makes me think

don’t use keyboard and screaming as

I believe in the power of Canadian

meets-dance-beat-drums sound. But

you may prefer men or because of the

a crutch, and for that they deserve a

pop music and everyone from Avril

wait—what? Chicks singing on “Kiss

★★★★★ –Chad R. Buchholz

mix of lilting melodies and perky ac-

high five and six pack of men ready to

to the New Pornos must stand and

Kiss is Getting Old” might throw you

cordion and trumpet sounds.

service them backstage at any show.

give credit to this man, his craft, and

for a loop, but the rest of the song,

“Cherbourg,” wails “it’s been a long

Some say their message of partying,

what he has done for indie music

and the album for that matter, is pretty

time since I’ve seen you smile” and

drugs, and men are forced, but the

in this country. This record, however,

solid. It’s just a bit less of a party al-

I’m pretty sure it’s because you can’t

Donnas certainly party harder than

just won’t do it. While I’m off brush-

bum, but surely that won’t be the case

win me over with fun instruments like

any Blue Ribbon boy you know. They’re

ing up on my Barret and Steinbeck,

live when Harrington glues a parrot

accordions anymore. It’s tired. I just

still the second best band with a lead

Kane has time to brush up on writing

to his shoulder and rubs his sweaty

want something epic and passion-

singer named Brett Anderson.

better music.

body all over you making it the best

ate—something with a spark! Having

★★★✩✩

★✩✩✩✩

more people singing with you can’t force that. I’m sorry. Maybe it isn’t you, maybe it is actually me, but I just don’t feel it anymore.

★★✩✩✩

–Natalie Vermeer

–Trevor Risk

–Joseph Delamar

Oh, Les Savy Fav, how increasingly

moment of your life.

★★★✩✩

–Patricia Matos

Dropping The Writ Cass McCombs Domino

Spooky Sounds of the Night

Remember that scene from The Deep

Limo, Prom Night Sounds, Don Reid

I don’t mean to place undue stress on

End of the Ocean, where Michelle

Productions release a sophomore A-

this particular album, but I’m calling

Pfeiffer’s youngest son gets kidnapped

Bomb in Spooky Sounds of the Night.

bullshit on indie music culture. Your

and then shows up at her front door

The classic sound bite of,“Quick! Hide

friends like your songs, I know, but not

nine years later, oblivious to who she

this bottle in your purse!” is replaced

everything has to be recorded and

is, and offers to mow her lawn? (If

with blood curdling screams and

distributed so the entire world can

not, then you’re a bad mother and

sounds from beyond the grave. This

be mildly impressed by your owning

Oprah is ashamed of you.) Under The

Rubik’s Cube of terror will take you

of a harmonium. Maybe this is a bit

Blacklight, Rilo Kiley’s major-label

to new depths of fear and will close

harsh, but I don’t care because if you

debut, plays like that scene, except

darkness around you. Not since

are reading these words I am a Music

I’m Michelle Pfeiffer, and Jenny Lewis’

1985’s “We Are the World” have there

Critic. Anyway, about halfway through

offer to mow my lawn is just a thinly

been so many openly denied cameos

this album my first impression was

veiled euphemism. Nevertheless, after

on one album. 50 Cent as “Opiate

(and I am quoting) “I’m not buying

three years, Rilo Kiley has returned to

Zombie”, Britney Spears as “Bald

this David-Bowie-Without-Hats-British-

our doorstep as a big-label pop band

Witch Losing It”, Insane Clown Posse

Isles-Dwarf-Cavorting-garbage.” Not

and damned if their new family hasn’t

as “Why Can’t We Get Any Work?” to

that it’s bad, exactly. It’s just sort of

rubbed off. Jenny’s voice has caught

name just a few. In a Ouija board

an average album with lots of sound

up with the crop of her skirt—once

interview I asked the producers:

and no memorable melodies (plus

clandestinely flirtatious, she now sings

Dr. Ian Super: Are you from “the

“Poseidon’s beard”? NO). I mean, that

boastfully, unabashed by songs of

other side?

Wolf Parade album was super catchy,

sexual conquests and carnal prowess.

DRP: No.

and the last SunRubd album had

Their lyrics, once lonely and wounded,

Dr. Ian Super: Are you happy with the

one pretty great song (the first), so I

sometimes palpably bitter, are now

Spooky Sounds of the Night album?

can see why this album happened,

resolutely playful. This is the same

DRP: Yes.

but it’s just “not bad.” And with all this

band, carrying the same baggage,

After that they just went on to ask me

Myspace-age band-bombardment

only with a better grip. The entire

about Zuul the minion of Gozer and

and literally everybody I know having

album, crisp and commercial, is like

who the Key Master was... weird. This

written a song at some point,“not

a wink to fans telling us that they’re

is a must have cassette as it turns

bad” is the new “bad.”

moving on to more up-beat pastures.

Halloween into Hallo-yes-please.

And if your indie cred or the slim-fit-

Find online or at a dollar store.

★★✩✩✩

tedness of your jeans demands that

★★★★★

you disown this lively and unfamiliar creature, then, frankly, you’ve learned nothing from Michelle Pfeiffer’s plight.

★★★✩✩ –Nojan Aminosharei

Following the runaway hit Lurching

–Dr. Ian Super

Random Spirit Lover Sunset Rubdown Jagjaguwar

–Clayton Pierrot

FIVE TO

ONE

DJ Ayres Here’s another 5 to 1 where we at ION bug a hyper cool DJ performer to scribble down his or her favorite five tunes to bang out at the club and tack on one classic that always make us feel warm inside. This month we’ve got Superfriend DJ Ayres to make a playlist on his boarding pass. Ayres is a sweet southern boy who is now

his tunes, the whole time only stop-

ION MAGAZINE

Under The Blacklight Rilo Kiley Warner

ping to take a photo or two with a fan.

45

based in Brooklyn. How sweet is he?

Well, when he arrived at the club and we approached him about this, he sat down with his laptop for almost an hour in the corner tracking through

TALES OF ORDINARY MADNESS HOROSCOPES COMICS ION MAGAZINE 46

A SUBURBAN HAUNTING Words Sam Kerr Photography Jason Lang Rick was not hit by lightning, but it was close. He went to a beach party in the suburbs with some of his friends from that part of town.

The guys met at a secret spot down where the beach crosses over onto Native land.A good spot because they could enjoy the ocean without worrying about cops crashing their party.

Ten friends set up around a table to play centurion. Centurion is a game where players take one shot of beer per minute, every minute, until they can last at the table no longer. The urge to urinate claims many a participant.

Rick has a small bladder, and 30 minutes into the game he is the first to quit. The other players insult Rick for his poor showing. They throw empty beer cans at him and question his manhood. When Rick flees beyond the reach of empty beer cans the drunken players pick up small rocks and throw them. Rick opens into a full sprint down the beach, dodging pebbles like a DDay hero avoiding enemy fire. Clear of their range, Rick stops at the only cloud-covered corner of the otherwise sunny beach. He removes his shorts and begins to pee, the relief spreads upwards from his strained bladder. A few droplets of rain bounce lightly off the back of Rick’s neck. His gaze shifts down towards the ground; Rick is pissing directly onto an ornately carved stone. A bolt of lightning hits a tree three meters away, and Rick faints.

Rick wakes on his friend’s couch, hair wet, head bleeding, and room spinning. “He’s alive,” announces one of the drunks standing at his side. Rick sits up and asks for a glass

of water. He puts his hand down on a nearby laptop for balance. Rick’s finger touches the keyboard and there is a loud noise and a visible spark. The lights go out, then they come back on. A drunk grabs the laptop and glances at the monitor.

He sees a Facebook page. There is a message in the inbox.

Feeling sick, Rick stands and heads for the toilet. He opens the bathroom door and sees three crows perched around the sink. The crows don’t move or caw, they sit motionless, their eyes fixed on Rick.

Rick backs out of the bathroom in fear, and rushes back to the living

room. The drunks are frantic. The Facebook message had been sent to each of them. It had come from Rick’s account while he had been unconscious. It read: Ten trespassed One defaced Dishonored it is My resting place Repent you must Indeed make haste Or Ten will share A great disgrace Pale faced, Rick steps forward, “Guys, I think that we pissed off an animal god, or some shit. There are

three crows in the bathroom right now. I don’t know what they are doing in there but they look mad and it is freaking me out… When I was passed out I had a vision; it was terrifying: animals everywhere could see the colour of my soul, and they hated it. They hated me. To all of them, I was an enemy.”

The room is silent. A cat comes to the window and hisses at sight of the ten friends. The hissing does not cease, the cat spits and swipes at the glass furiously. In the distance a wolf howls. Rick looks around at his friends, “So what the hell are we supposed to do now?”

HOROSCOPES: Chris Alexander Being a namby pamby even Steven has caused you no end of internal struggle, hasn’t it my level-headed beauty? October will see you tip the scales slightly in favour of your basest of instincts. Love will be found in prison. Money will be stashed under floorboards. Go to it, Libra! — LIBRA Sept 24 - Oct 23 ARIES

March 21-April 20

Dearest goat head, when was the last time you were truly good to yourself? It’s no secret that you are one of the hardest working signs in the Zodiac and also the one least likely to act in his or her own self interest. The time is now, my friend, to pat yourself on the back for a myriad of jobs well done and do whatever the fuck you want. Visit a porn theatre without a raincoat and masturbate like no one’s watching….in other words, let loose.

TAURUS

April 21-May 21

Leo

July 23-Aug 22

The myth of the Lion being a brave, ferocious and fearless leader is just that: a myth. Any National Geographic special will tell you that the so-called King of Beasts lives exclusively to sleep, eat and fornicate. So, please, don’t feel the need to perpetuate stereotypes—if you want to be a lazy, gluttonous, horny slob this month, by all means…indulge.

VIRGO

Aug 23-Sept 23

Listen up, my horned, steam-nosed, red-flag- chasing friend: you’re doing just fine. October sees you celebrating all the bull-ish activities that bring such a broken-toothed smile to your cantankerous puss. After a solid month of literally, and figuratively stealing candies from screaming babies, prosperity will no doubt be yours. On matters of love: who needs to earn it when you can steal it?

Sweet Mary Mother of Moses, man (or woman, if such is the case).The world is a big, bold, beautiful, frightening, and yet tremendously exciting place.

Why, then, do you opt to consistently wallow in the dankest chasms of Velveeta-coated misery?

You make Poe look like Pikachu; make Byron almost Barney-esque…in short, you’re a miserable motherfucker. Do something about this grave situation post haste….

GEMINI

scorpio

May 22-June 21

cancer You don’t have it. As you were.

June 22-July 22

Oct 24-Nov 22

A family member is giving off weird signals, saying strange things and torturing small animals. But never fear, Scorpio, when the time comes, you’ll know what to do…as always. Aim for the head.

Sagittarius

Nov 23-Dec 21

Like your bi-species Astrological icon, you are a walking contradiction. And much like that aforementioned bow-wielding centaur, you have the capacity to be a genuine horse’s ass. However, the first step to fixing problems both personal and social is to admit your faults and to swim upstream from those impulses that make you

so reviled by so many. If; however, you CANNOT repair the various damages you do, may I suggest a quick, painful self impalement on a picket fence? The choice is yours.

Capricorn

Dec 22-Jan 20

Money. It controls the world like a giant, green and fetid heart sustaining and tormenting every function with its manipulative powers. But you, Capricorn, are bigger than that. You have found a way to sink your talons into society’s hairy chest, to rip that pumping monetary muscle clean out and crush it into a bloody pulp. Good for you! Oh, and good luck with that whole homeless thing…..

AQUARIUS

Jan 21-Feb 19

This is the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius! The Age of Aquari-ussssssss…Aquari-usssssss!!! Everybody!

PISCES

Feb 20-March 20

My dear Pisces, you may smell like fish but never fear, I KNOW that you absolutely taste like chicken.

That’s your secret. If only more people were aware of the sweet, succulent, Swiss Chalet goodness beneath that scaly exterior. Your task this month, should you chose to accept it, is to show the world your true flavour, be it KFC deep-fried, or Kenny Rogers wood roasted.

ION MAGAZINE

Like Faye Dunnaway in the last reel of Polanski’s Chinatown, life is always bitch-slapping you and asking you if she’s your sister, or your daughter, or….you get the picture. You exist in a shadowy realm of dualities, Gemini, and the coming months will see you able to perfect the role of both throat slashing serial killer and third world saving Missionary. Celebrate your innate fucked up-edness, revel in your madness. Be both her father and her lover.

Chris Alexander is a Toronto film critic, music composer and media personality who knows far too much about horror and vintage exploitation movies to be considered even remotely healthy.

47

TALES OF ORDINARY MADNESS

HOROSCOPES

COMICS

ION MAGAZINE

48