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AUGUST 2007

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Volume 8, Number 7, Issue #73

CONTENTS

508 - 825 Granville St., Vancouver, B.C. V6Z 1K9 604.734.1611 www.thenervemagazine.com contact@thenervemagazine.com

15 Magnolia Electric Co.

The Don (a/k/a Editor-In-Chief and Publisher) Bradley “Ya? So Sue Me” Damsgaard editor@thenervemagazine.com Wiseguy (a/k/a Music Editor) Adrian “Condo” Mack mack@thenervemagazine.com

Shotgun (a/k/a Film Editor) Michael “Wanna Touch Tips?” Mann mann@thenervemagazine.com

Toronto indie rockers hit us with their rythym sticks (it’s okay, they’re smaller than average) - Samantha Laserson

The Henchmen (a/k/a Design & Graphics) Kristy Sutor, Toby Bannister

14 Bert Jansch

Thish schummer’s hottescht schensation! - Ferdy Belland

Weapons Cleaner (a/k/a Article Editor) Jon Azpiri, Terry Cox

15 Wax Mannequin

Surveillance Team (a/k/a Photographers) Dale De Ruiter, Miss Toby Marie,

The Muscle (a/k/a Staff Writers) AD MADGRAS, Cowboy TexAss, Chris Walter, Stephanie Heney, Adam Simpkins, Carl Spackler, David Bertrand, Waltergeist, Ferdy Belland, Dave Von Bentley, Devon Cody, Dale De Ruiter, Johnny Kroll, Andrew Molloy, Cameron Gordon, Brock Thiessen, Filmore Mescalito Holmes, Jon Braun, Jenny C, Will Pedley, Christina Paris, Allan MacInnis, Samantha Laserson, Jeff Topham, TC Shaw

Chris Adeney is prepared to drive anywhere in Canada to upset and disturb you with his music - Ferdy Belland

10 As I Lay Dying

Plaster Caster (a/k/a Cover Design) Toby Bannister toby@thenervemagazine.com cover photo: Toby Bannister Fire Insurance (a/k/a Advertising) Brad Damsgaard advertise@thenervemagazine.com

The Nerve is published monthly by The Nerve Magazine Ltd. The opinions expressed by the writers and artists do not necessarily reflect those of The Nerve Magazine’s publisher or its editors. The Nerve does not accept responsibility for content in advertisements. The Nerve reserves the right to refuse any advertisement or submission and accepts no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or artwork. Printed in Canada. All content © Copyright The Nerve Magazine 2007. Est. 1999

Jason Molina discusses the Alvin Ailey work shop production of Frank Lloyd Wright! - Jeff Topham

13 Tokyo Police Club

Launderer (a/k/a Book Editor) Devon Cody cody@thenervemagazine.com

The Kids (a/k/a The Interns) Samantha Laserson, Internship available, contact editor@thenervemagazine.com Out-of-town Connections (a/k/a Distro & Street Team) Toronto: Rosina Tassone, Kerry Goulding Montreal: Douglas Ko Calgary: Mike Taylor Edmonton: Freecloud Records, Bob Prodor Winnipeg: Margo Voncook Regina: Shane Grass Vancouver: Mr. Plow, Stiff Josh Victoria/Whistler: Jono Jak, Lindsay

Features

A sensitive portrait - Dave Von Bentley

11 12 12 15 15

Unknown Instructors !!!! !!!!! ####

Sections 06 22 25 18 27 28 30 31

Cheap Shotz Live Reviews Album Reviews Film DVD Books Crossword Comics The Nerve August 2007 Page 5

their sibly be more annoying would be if Lars Ulrich was Worst CD of the rs drummer and his small army of white-jacketed enginee Month fuck the Tool Pro to him helping time their all spend (who Within Temptation by out of every session he’s in ‘cause he can’t keep a beat, The Heart of Everything be, the way) took modern dance lessons so they could Roadrunner tic” y’know, part of the act, vogue-ing during the “drama Well, that’s it. I’ve lost what mock death thralls throughout the rest. feigning and bits little respect I ever had On second thought, maybe it’s Europe I’ve lost respect for Kerrang! Meet Europe’s for. Newest Superstars? On - T.C. Shaw the cover? What the fuck!? Heart Like that other Dutch necessity, wooden shoes, The is, if of Everything is absolutely essential, a must-have. That you. the idea of Evanescence on steroids is appealing to It’s so lush, so epic, so grandiose, I can’t stand to write I about it for another second, no matter how many jokes lemme can think up at this dreck’s expense (which is a lot, tell ya). It’s like this: Celine Dion, flanked by the Vienna Philharmonic and three Benelux Old Farts who grew up with NIN posters on one wall and centerfolds from Restored Armor Monthly on the other, visit their local village’s farmer’s market, cruising for black velvet tunics They and end-table-sized solid pewter wizard sculptures. while then meet a traveling freelance, druid-friendly choir charm simultaneously reaching for the same alpaca-plated amulet. Together, they travel to the home of Njorl, the neighborhood semi-gothic white magick sorcerer/ounce a dime dealer for a quick mint-tea leaf reading session and bag, and spend the rest of the afternoon brainstorming the easiest way to make enough Euros to buy a summer cottage near Monaco and bid on E-Bay for all of Kate Bush’s unwanted unisex ritual frocks. I fuckin’ hate this band. The only way they could pos-

Psyche Night – All Heads, Heed Thee Call

The MySpace garbage-chute finally paid off with PSYCHE NIGHT, the most amazing DJ night I never dreamed of. Tuesday nights at the ANZA Club, sound freaks and riff heads can pop wood to aural opium from music’s magic age. People here sit and listen! The marijuana flows... like wine! And 40+ minutes of live Ash Ra Tempel is NOT weird. All thanks to Brother Joe Turner, audio engineer, studio musician, and member of THE SUZUKI KID, UNIREVERSE, BRETHREN, and JAKALOPE. Says Joe, “PSYCHE NIGHT is an anything goes psychedelic music explosion.

The Nerve Magazine’s “Clip & Save” All-Purpose Liability Waiver

Due to the increasing number of litigious occurrences that are currently starting to bottleneck here at the ever-swamped Nerve Legal Desk (which has ballooned into a flotilla of desks, suggesting an overcrowded ghetto classroom – or a TELUS complaints-only phone room), our legal counsel advises us that some kind of protective legal armor is completely essential in today’s world of petty civil suits, clumsy malcontents and drunken bitches. When we argued that a mere piece of paper was a pretty flimsy defense against hostile adversaries, we were reassuringly reminded that it was, after all, a piece of paper (or, rather, 400 of them) that informed us that someone ALLEDGEDLY hurt themselves almost a year ago and only recently decided to try to grind us for cash, like there’s any around here anyway. So, as the 4th Annual Nerve Rock ‘n’ Roll Boat Cruise is set to sail on August 9th, we’re forced to ask you, our valued readers, to clip out this legitimate and legally binding document (honest, it is!) and bring it to the dock, or you’ll be fucked, and have to watch the boat leave full of ecstatic party animals who assume complete liability for anything that does or doesn’t happen to them. The bearer of this completely legal document (really, it is!) assumes all risks involved with: •boarding a water craft •lifting glass to their mouth •drinking alcohol •listening to loud music •standing anywhere near the stage, the bar or the edges ofthe boat •standing near the Publisher •standing near the Music Editor •standing, in general •falling down •falling off the boat •being thrown off the boat

Name Date

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Last of the Bad Men in Oil Territor If you’re living y in either Calga ry, or Edmon some good ne ton - finally ws! The feroc ious Last of th will be hitting e Bad Men those cities at the end of th also Banff, wh e month (and ich is weird). The Last of th of course the e Bad Men ar Flying Godoy e twins, Art an the Exploding d Steve, late Fuck Dolls, an of d pro-skater the very Jedi infamy, plus Knight of Austr alian proto-pu Birdman’s Den nk, Radio niz Tek. The ba nd is comple Zak of the D ted by Troy aggers and vo ca list Danny Cr year, the Nerve eadon. Last ’s own Ethyltr on wrote of Nowhere is Sa the Bad Men fe album, “(Th ’s ey) bring fort apocalyptic pu h an offering nk rock that of is fueled by

Nerve Nerve

Von Bentley’s

Monthly Weather Watch

Mr. Sun has got his hat on!

CHEAP SHOTZ

SUMMER TI ME FUN #157 Does this W aterslide Stop in Surr ey? Myself, a chick with huge tits, a few memb ers of the Smokes and a ve ry tanned dude recently to ok a trip out to the Cultus La ke waterpark. And what a drea mland it was. Bronze bikini cla d teenage girls and the fat kids were around ev who love them ery corner bask ing in the July he trip started ou at. The t rough with a few of my idiot frien getting busted drinking Pils in ds the parking lot, but that blew over, after we were free to slide the day aw And slide we did ay. , so hard in fact that many of us very bad cases got of ‘Sliders Delig ht’, a common disorder stemm back ing from over-slid ing. After witne a stud in a back ssing wards Budweis er hat give the sign while perfo peace rming some ex treme stunts do chute, it kinda wn the got me thinking : no matter how gold you wear, much or how many po orly crafted “Bad Club” tattoos yo Boy u have, everyone becomes a giggli child when going ng down the water slides. Murderer fist fighters, coke s, d up Surrey rap metal heads - we all become the same when bla sting down tub fiberglass into filt es of hy pools of chem icals and urine. managed to fin I also d the exact pla ce to sit upright particular slide, on one the result: you fly off the slide, full feet into the four air like a big, pin k water bat. Wate slides are a lot like life; if you tak r e the time to fin right place to sit d the up, you can total ly impress the cu teenage girls. An te d that’s what life is all about. Rig - Wally ht?

Psyche means ‘soul’ in Greek myth terminology (I’m big on ‘the soul’) and originally I was going to have SOUL NIGHT or PHUNK NIGHT, so I could play the heavy music from the ‘60s & ‘70s I love so much. Then it just came to me, I should do PSYCHE NIGHT, and that way I can play the best of all genres, really...” What’s the vibe? “Zoned-out relaxation. I’m usually smoking up and drinking a few beers but I have my playlists ready beforehand so I can meet and mingle... I’ve got some movies going on the big screen, and I set up on the couch and coffee table... it’s like your cool uncle’s basement rec room... There’s no cover at PSYCHE NIGHT and I’m not into making money or anything like that. I look at it like I’m building up a surplus of karma to use at a later date.” Turner, a “total Detroit head”, plans to book PSYCHE-related live shows in the future, plus guest Djs too... Freaks, let us stand and rejoice. Every Tuesday, 9pm-1am, downstairs at the fabulous ANZA Club - and it’s FREE!

adrenaline an d delivered wi th necessity… doing yourse You would be lf a real disser vice if you di songs into yo dn’t sear thes ur brain and e make them a would all be way of life. W better off for e it if you did.” endorsement, If that’s not an we don’t know we’re jealous what is. So ha ! ve fun, kids Last of the Ba d Men play at th e Castle Pub in August 31, Ed monton on Se Calgary on ptember 1 (ve Devil’s Head in nue tba), and Banff on Sept the ember 2

Imagine by John Lennon. Because my enemy might becomes my friend after she listen to it. What is a recent guilty pleasure? I have crush on Taylor Swift these days, I dreamed about her every night. I hope she can feels that. What is your biggest pet peeve? There is always a few racists in blues/country bars. The bartenders always kicks them out before I get a chance to kick their ass!! Lucky them.

This month’s guest, Al D! What album is currently on your stereo? The Smashing Pumpkins - Zeitgeist, Deftones - Saturday Night Wrist and Joni Mitchell - Travelogue What book are you currently reading or have most recently read? On Beauty by Zadie Smith What was the last movie you watched? Live Free or Die Hard Name one album, book or movie that you consistently recommend to a friend? Memphis - A Little Place In The Wilderness Name one album, book or movie that you would recommend to an enemy?

Name one bad habit you’re extremely proud of. Sometimes I snake in movie filming set, and pretend to be a stuntman, so that I can eat their free lunch, drink their beer and steal their fruits, sometimes grab actress lovely ass! Nobody catch me so far. If you could hang out with any one person throughout history, who would it be? Buddha or Jesus . What is the one thing you want to get done before you die? Have 3some with Swedish Blonde twins. No, I hope I can record an Industry rock album. My friend Johnny, Brock, Colin, and Louise Burns must be in the band with me. And music will sounds so pissed, darker, sad, depressed, hopeless, and f***ing destroy all!

Homewrekers Tales of Panties and Murder . vs Wife

By Chris Walter

hile there isn’t exactly an abundance of female punk/rock bands around, there are more than there used to be, and when I decided to do a story on the fairer sex of rock, Wife and the Homewrekers instantly came to mind. Somehow, the common denominators turned out to be panties and murder. Let the wild rumpus begin! Homewrekers are: Max - drums A-Bomb - vocals Linz - bass MD - guitar The Homewrekers have been destroying family values and making an ungodly racket since 2001. These girls might seem tattooed and innocent but don’t let their sweet looks fool you - their hometown of Edmonton is new Murder Capital of Canada. When I asked them how they felt about being number one, Linz could only say, “Life at the top can be pretty lonely, especially when those around you are dead. Edmonton: City of Champions once again.” Sensing that they wanted to move on and fearing for my life, I changed the subject by asking if there is much sexism in the Edmonton punk/rock scene. Do boys open doors for them, or do they pinch your asses and tell you that you don’t know how to rock? “In Edmonton, and most other cities we’ve been in,” says A-Bomb “the punk scene has been supportive of what we do without being shitheads and making the brilliant observation that we are all women.” By now, I was beginning to sense that these hellraisers are not prone to verbal diarrhea. Unlike me, they are curt and stingy with the words. I got a bit flustered and, since they mentioned Slayer and N’ Sync on their Myspace profile, asked if they thought Kerry King looks as if he ate Justin Timberlake. “Well, If you mean ‘It looks like Fairy King just ate a big fucking turd,’ then yeah,” spits Max. I gulp nervously and decide not to ask them if they know the lovely ladies of Wife, since both bands seem to have a fixation with panties. Instead, I safely ask if people have preconceived notions of what you should sound like. Do they feel indebted to Joan Jett or Girlschool? “People have a preconceived notion that we are going to sound awesome,” says MD. “We don’t let them down!” What are the biggest obstacles for a girl band? Do promoters take them seriously? Max snorts derisively. “Whether your a girl band or not, most promoters are douchebags.” I move on, sweating lightly. What’s the scene like in Edmonton? Do they get a bunch of rig pigs fucking shit up? In the 80, the pit was ultra-violent. “Of course the pit is violent during our set. People are always pissed off when they realize they just paid five bucks to see the Homewrekers,” says MD, contradicting her previous statement about how awesome they are. However, I’m too polite and too smart to point out the discrepancy. The end is in sight by now, so I wind things down by asking them if they’re friends with System Shit, whom I saw on their Myspace page. Do they know my little buddy Otis from Vancouver? “Their drummer gave us all staph infections,” A-Bomb sneers. “D-Rock is cool though.” I’m sure I’ll get a kick in the yarbles when I ask if there is anything that girls can do better than guys when it comes to rock ‘n’ roll, butLinz just winks. “How much time do you have?” she asks with a grin. Encouraged, I ask why they like to piss people off.

Kim Mitchell seen here in happier days What does it take to do that? “Come to one of our shows and find out,” says the charming but murderous bassist. What do the Homewrekers do when they’re not making noise? “Well, having a band and being nuclear engineers on the side is never an easy task, but somehow we manage,” Max says humbly. Finally, I ask when will the Homewrekers settle down and have babies. “Can you get pregnant from scissoring?” laughs A-Bomb. Wife is: Normal Jolyn vocals and guitar Gash Toupe- guitar Rack One - vocals and guitar Some Old Guy We Found Lying Around - drums

mal Jolyn chuckles cruelly. “We hear that the streets in Edmonton are paved with golden marmalade, so we’re not surprised that they’re murdering each other there, because marmalade sucks. Luckily, Winnipeg is still the Capital of Wife-induced Cock Loss. We get them all. Nobody else gets them.” I press on, asking if they’re angry to lose the title. Do they want to kill the citizens of Edmonton? Apparently, Normal Jolyn is very upset. “We want to get the cocks off those bitches!” she exclaims, pulling a large knife. Her eyes flash wildly. I convince Jolyn to put away the cutlery while I trot out the same questions I asked the Homewrekers. I’m figuring that if the Edmonton girls didn’t kill me, then hopefully it’ll be safe to ask the same things in Winnipeg. Is there much sexism in the Winnipeg punk/rock scene? I ask boldly. Do boys open doors for you, or do they pinch your asses and tell you that you don’t know how to rock? “We’ve never been told that we don’t know how to rock. But regarding sexy, a lot of sexy…oh you said sexist. Yes, doors are opened, asses are pinched, cocks are slapped, and small amounts of cunt are stroked. The boys and girls can’t wait for Wife to drip hot rock juice on them.” I’m relieved to discover that Wife seem more interested in sex than they are in wholesale murder. If the rest of Winnipeg

The cock came from an evil place and was transformed from a journey through the magical land of cocks

Having escaped the Homewrekers interview with my life, I’m emboldened enough to talk to the vicious wenches known as Wife. At least one of them seems to work at Osborne Village Inn Tattoos, and when they aren’t permanently disfiguring innocent Winnipeggers (try saying “innocent Winnipeggers” with a straight face, ha ha,) they’re burning out Marshall amps and scaring the shit out of men in general. Except me, of course - I’m merely cautious. My first question, cocky and dangerous as it may seem, was unavoidable. I wanted to know how it felt to be edged out as the Murder Capital of Canada by Edmonton. Nor-

is like Wife, no wonder they’re ranked second. Moving on, I ask about side-projects, Slattern and DADADA Lazers. Do they rock like Wife, or are they hip-hop projects? “Does anyone rock like Wife?” growls Gash Toupe. “That’s the question you must ask yourselves. Slattern and DADADA Lazers are other bands that are not Wife, end of story.” I check to make sure that the kitchenware is tucked away before asking my next question. Since both bands have a fixation with panties, I wonder if they know the murderous vixens known as the Homewrekers. “No,” scowls Rack One. “Get us a CD and some panties.” Wife, I notice, do a fair bit of scowling and growling. Wife is as arrogant as the Homewrekers when I ask them if they feel indebted to Joan Jett or Girlschool. Gash Toupe laughs evilly. “We are indebted to no one except the blender,” she says, seizing up her drink. Nervously, I move on. What are the biggest obstacles for a girl band? Do promoters take them seriously? “What are you talking about?” barks Normal Jolyn, searching for her knife. “Shut up!” Now I’m afraid again but there’s no turning back. I ask where they got the cock that stands on Normal Jolyn’s guitar amplifier. And while we’re at it, what’s so normal about Normal Jolyn? “The cock came from an evil place and was transformed from a journey through the magical land of cocks,” answers Gash Toupe scratching her butt. “Does it possess magical powers of awesome rock? No, it does not. Normal Jolyn plays very bad guitar all the time. No help there.You should’ve seen Jolyn before she was normal, it was something else altogether. She is normal. That is all.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, I ask Gash Toupe when she will wrestle in Jell-O with Joanne Rodriguez of American Flamewhip. “It’s funny that you mention this,” says Jolyn, answering for Gash Toupe. “Rack One had a real dream almost exactly like this. In her dream, Gash Toupe wore her glasses, terribly high-heeled boots, and shiny shiny panties. JRod-Spicy (Joanne Rodriguez) was a slutty ferocious wee beastie and the battle was beyond comprehension, the outcome of which was unfathomable.” Sensing that I might survive this interview also, I ask the girls what they can do better than guys when it comes to rock ‘n’ roll. Jolyn blows up again. “What are you talking about?” she bellows. “Shut up!” When a Google search fails to turn up a Wife Myspace page, I ask them why they don’t have one. “Wife doesn’t have a Myspace page?” says Jolyn, finding her knife again. “How could that be? Are you on crack? You’re in our top eight, you moron!” Gash Toupe and Rack One pounce on Normal Jolyn and disarm her while I quickly do another Google search. I must have entered some faulty data (www.myspace.com/1wife1). Pushing on, but still fearful for my life, I ask the girls what they do when they’re not making noise. “Well, we’re very quiet and polite, of course,” Gash Toupe says demurely. “We’re accountants, tattoo artists, large machine operators, and waitresses. But mostly we’re ourselves, not to mention, fancy ladies.” When will the girls of Wife settle down and have babies? “The girls of wife have already settled down,” says Margo. “We have two 15 year-olds, one seven year-old and one nine year-old. We have three houses, three husbands, and three diamonds. This is as settled as Wife can get. Talk to us when we’re 120.” Then Jolyn lunges with the knife and slashes me across the forearm. The interview is over. n

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There’s a War On, You Know !

Shearing Pinx

By Jon Braun

was seized by confusion and surprise when I first caught the chaotic guitar noodling and jackhammer drumming of Vancouver’s Shearing Pinx. Impressed that the drum heads hadn’t given out in the first five minutes of their set at Pat’s Pub last month, it gradually dawned on me: this is the updated version of what World War One veterans and widows shunned as “the devil’s music”, but made for escapists and music nerds of our time. The Pinx could be described as progressive punk rock with no-wave influence, comparable to when jazz broke out and other forms of classical music went “avant-garde”, trying to take minds off WWI tragedies, while the old folk just didn’t understand. Today there’s another war and more reasons to freak out. And although the trio was right across the room from me, opening for Marnie Stern, I didn’t catch up with them until they were down south in Atlanta, Georgia, taking their art farther east than they’ve ever been. “You get people that were totally shocked by what they’ve seen, like, ‘Holy fuck that was awesome!’ and they’re really inspired,” says drummer Jeremy Van Wick, phoning the Nerve on a calling card hours before their next show. The flipside, he says, is people telling them, “You don’t even know how to fucking play.” “We’re just doin’ what were doin’, we’re not really trying to shock people,” Van Wick continues, adding they don’t realize how harsh they are and that this is just the kind of music the band listens to and loves. “It’s like anything, if you don’t listen to hardcore metal and you hear it, it’s gonna sound fucked up. But when you develop an ear for it, it becomes palatable… like Whiskey.” Van Wick is originally from Montreal but has been playing noise shows in Vancouver for seven years. He says it would’ve been great to see 20 people in attendance for a show half-a-decade ago. “Now it’s amazing,” says Van Wick, who also plays on the side during Fake Jazz Wednesday at the Cobalt. “We’re getting like 60 people a week not even knowing what’s gonna play and it’s fucked up.You get some dude smashing a hunk a metal, with wailing feedback coming out, and there’s people doing their homework.” The Pinx aren’t quite that Cro-Magnon, nor do they destroy their gear like Cobalteers, which would be kinda costly. Plus, the band has structure, and

OK, OK, listen, I’ll be Dickman, he’s gonna be Throbbin’ and you are a confused young man.... got it? produces rock songs, albeit callous and jarring rock songs. “There’s some political shit, the typical disgust with the world around us,” Van Wick says of the lyrics guitarist Nick Hughes tends to yell in a halting cadence. “There’s definitely a lot of that in our hearts, so that comes through in the music, but there’s some happy shit too.” The band also looks at social problems such as homophobia, sexism and yes, misdistribution of wealth. While Hughes is responsible for vocalizing their angst, he’s accompanied by Erin Ward on the other

guitar, who releases the band’s anger differently. “It’s funny, ‘cause Erin, out of all of us, is probably the harsh one,” notes Van Wick. The co-ed dynamic, meanwhile, tends to produce its own bumps. “You get a lot of that cliché shit where some dude comes up to her after the show and is like, ‘Yeah, you’re amazing, for a girl,’ and she just wants to punch him in the head.” With the growing popularity of noise-rock - thanks to bands like Hella and Lightning Bolt - the Pinx have an expanding date-book these days, tearing it up all over the United States last month for the

first time since forming in 2005, with their second full-length Ultra Snake to come out in September. “Some venues you play, you can see people lose their shit,” says Van Wick of attendees who can’t handle the Pinx sound, reminding him of stories of the great neoclassicist composer of the ’20s, Igor Stravinsky, and people writhing from his eccentric scores. “Which seems insane to us now,” says Van Wick. “That music’s so mellow.” Exactly! n Shearing Pinx play at the ------------------ in Vancouver at the Queeruption wrap-up event on August 7th

A Pandemic in Progress W

Last Plague By Edward Dinsley

Fuck you, Whitey

hat happens when five former members of some of Vancouver’s most prominent bands come together chemically at an undisclosed test site (jam space) in the Downtown Eastside? One listen to the four unremitting tracks posted on the band’s website will give you an idea; this is a sinister, spiteful virus. Last Plague guitarist, Tim McGunness (ex-All State Champion), divulged some crucial evidence regarding the characteristics of the contagion. “Our style is constantly evolving”, the assertive yet accommodating McGuiness explains. “I think we definitely want to keep it in the aggressive, upbeat style. All five of us have such different influences. We just keep it interesting. We’ve all got a different thing going on. It’s really all about making good music.” Armed with material inspired by everyone from post-punk legends Fugazi to math-metal masterminds Meshuggah, McGuiness describes a typical Last Plague performance. “Heath (Fenton, lead vocals) is a furious front man. He’s a 5’7 version of Wolverine. I mean, he just cuts his throat and bleeds over the microphone. Heath’s definitely a great front man, he’s very aggressive. The rest of us are too busy trying to keep our parts tight!” Parts marked with odd time signatures and tumultuous riffing help to keep both band and listener irrevocably engaged. Add a vocal style that cuts through the carrion like a coke-snort in a cathedral and you have a shit-mix fit for a prom queen. According to McGuiness the band also “gets along like a house

on fire”, which is a well-deserved side benefit to the persistence it took to bring the band together. “My thing is to appease everybody,” McGuinness explains. When everybody is totally stoked on what you’re writing or what they’re writing, that’s what makes it a greater feeling. After All State Champion broke up I just wanted to get back on it, but it took me literally two years to find these guys.You persevere.” And persevere is what the five veterans continue to do. Last Plague will be heading into The Hive Creative Labs early this Fall to record their debut full-length album, but the group remains dubious as to the likelihood of a supporting tour. “We’re all in our early 30s now, so we don’t want to tour and go broke again,” McGuinness states sensibly. “(The tour) needs to be financially stable. I mean back in your early 20s you could always come back and live in your jam space and that was kind of fun. But, you know, showering at the YMCA two times a week just doesn’t cut it anymore!” Regardless of the band’s stance on travelling, Last Plague will continue to play locally and work on new and increasingly challenging material. In other words, The Plague has come home to roost in our fair city. To quote the Last Plague website: “… pay attention and get ready for Last Plague. The Plague is healthy. The Plague is good.” n Last Plague appears at Pub 340 w/ Karen Foster, Friday, August 10

The Nerve August 2007 Page 9

MUSIC

ABCs of Apocalypse By Bill Mullan

is for Beatles, obviously. Look no further than the original butcher shop cover for Yesterday and Today, the four loveable moptops smiling away amid chunks of raw flesh and dismembered babies. Dolls, of course, but dolls (and the occasional actual chicken) are all Alice Cooper ever tore apart, and he wouldn’t start his atrocities for at least another five years. Philip Random puts it thus: “With Beatlemania, they invented the whole notion of pop-apocalypse; with “Tomorrow Never Knows” they perfected acid rock (almost before it had been invented) and possibly immanentized the eschaton; with “A Day In The Life” they perfected pop culture, period, or maybe that was “I Am The Walrus”, or “Revolution 9”, or “Strawberry Fields Forever”, or …” If the Apocalypse is a wave (and it probably is), think of the Beatles as the dudes that first truly nailed the art of surfing (with a few moves that still have most of us baffled). But just because you can’t match some master’s moves doesn’t mean you can’t invent a few of your own. Black Sabbath for instance. They revered the Beatles. They just couldn’t imitate them. So they played loud, stupid and evil instead, and helped invent heavy metal pretty much by mistake. The TV war news getting you down? Don’t change the channel. Just crank your sound system, slap on “War Pigs”, consume a stupid amount of drugs and watch it all rip gloriously, superlatively,

hopelessly asunder. Failing that, there’s always the Butthole Surfers, except they never really nailed it on record. “The only reason I even hang onto my copy of Rembrandt Pussyhorse,” notes Philip Random, “Is to remind myself of the Buttholes live at Graceland nightclub, sometime in mid 1980s, the Winter Of Hate perfected in an hour of sheer pagan wank, culminating in a 20 minute strobe and feedback ejaculation that put two band members in the hospital and quickly led to world wide rumours that singer Gibby Hayes had been murdered on stage, and all this without the internet.” Apparently, massive amounts of local psilocybin were involved. But did this incident even happen? This is the perplexing question that David Bowie’s “Five Years” demands we ask. Released in 1972, it doesn’t just predict the end of mankind, it only gives us five years. And then what should happen exactly five years later? Nothing less than the Sex Pistols at number

one (in Britain at least), Johnny Rotten screaming “No Future” ad nauseum for all the world to hear. “Clearly, this was the end, exactly as forecast,” expounds Philip Random in defence of what’s come to be known as the Bugs Bunny/Roadrunner theory of apocalypse. “It’s not coming. It already happened, in 1977. Most of us just haven’t noticed it yet, kind of like Wile E Coyote from the old Warner Bros

cartoon, so obsessed with massacring that pesky roadrunner that he doesn’t realize he’s charged over the edge of some unfathomable abyss. And as long as he doesn’t look down, he’s fine.” n

Jesus Christ! Metalcore Christian Band As I Lay Dying Doesn’t Judge Your Sinful Lifestyle? Luckily I do! By David Von Bentley

lot of people think the metal scene and the Christian community have nothing in common. Well Jesus, I beg to differ. For one, both are full of gay bashing closeted homosexuals who will likely end up on an episode of Dateline NBC’s “To Catch a Predator”. Secondly, if your thought patterns don’t line up perfectly with theirs - Jesusfreaks or metalheads, either one - you will have cancer wished upon your mother’s floppy titties. Thirdly, both communities have an unhealthy amount of racists (please don’t ask me to put a number to a ‘healthy’ amount of racists). Now both camps have the boys in As I Lay Dying rocking their socks, dirty cocks, and heavy metal church parking lots. For it is a Christian metal beast that I bring you, but…!!! Don’t get me wrong here; I’m sure as hell not calling these kids gay, child-molesting white supremacists. In fact, As I Lay Dying doesn’t fit the mold of either your average metal head or God-fearing Christ lover. Turns out they’re just like the rest of us, and all they wanna do is make music with their friends, play shows, and have fun. I caught up with Nick Hipa by phone from his home a couple weeks away from their Vans Warped tour stint starting August 3rd. After a June Euro tour, Nick and the boys took July off. “It was actually just brought to my attention that July is almost over and I’m bummed out,” he announces. As I Lay Dying is preparing to release its fifth full-length studio album, An Ocean Between Us, on August 21, and they’re keeping a tight lid on things. “We didn’t play any new stuff in Europe because we’re a little weary of it being posted up on Youtube two months before the record came out,” says Hipa. Wouldn’t As I Lay Dying prefer a little youth-led, not to mention free viral marketing? Not according to Hipa, who acknowledges the new material is gonna end up there eventually, no matter what. “It would be a great way to promote the album,” he agrees, “And when we’re on this next tour we’ll be playing these new songs… But the tour last month was way ahead of the release. I mean, August 3rd is when we start the Warped tour, footage will surface

but that’s three weeks before the record comes out.” The only new song As I Lay Dying has released at this point is “Within Destruction”, which features a Slayer-chopped thrash riff, modern hardcore cockcalloused throaty vocals and a savage hardcore burst of death metal blast beat explosions. Since the rest of the music from An Ocean Between Us is being held at Guantanamo Bay along with the rest of the CIAtrained terrorists, I had to ask if “Within Destruction” is a good representation of the rest of the new record. “You know,” Hipa starts, “I don’t want to give the lame answer of ‘yes’ or ‘no’…” (thanks) “..But in a way, it is as far as we’re doing something different. Overall all the songs are faster and more intense, but that song doesn’t have a lot of melody or clean vocals. It’s a very straightforward, brutal, fast song. With the album we put a lot of thought to make it pretty diverse and the album itself doesn’t have another song like that.” Since the members of As I Lay Dying are all practicing Christians, I assumed they’d want to me convert from my Scientology roots, but I was wrong once again. Nick explains, “I notice that the most notorious Christian bands are known for being evangelistic. Some Christian people start a band to ‘spread the good news’. I think because of that, people automatically think if you’re Christian in a band, you’re trying to convert them and telling them how to live their lives. So right off the bat people get really defensive about it.” Well, I know I always do. Ironic isn’t it? Me judging them, because I figure they’re judging me and my heroin masturbating ways! “Yeah,” Hipa pipes. “That kind of thing happens all the time. I guess that’s how the world tends to work.” Indeed, that is how the world works. So judge not Nerve reader, that ye not be judged you fucking drug addicts and perverts. n

People automatically think if you’re Christian in a band, you’re trying to convert them

The Nerve August 2007 Page 10

Life Lessons from Unknown Instructors By Allan MacInnis

A chat with Mike Watt, Joe Baiza, and Dan McGuire

“I’m in the big life classroom and what I need is more homework” – Mike Watt, from his Stooges tour diaries.

nknown Instructors’ guitarist Joe Baiza and bassist Mike Watt have a long history together. Even before the Minutemen formed, “I’d see him around at the punk gigs, you know?” Watt relates in a booming, jocular voice (he’d answered the phone “Watt!”). “The scene was so small, and there’s always the same dude showin’ up, but you don’t really know him. And he’s from the next town to us, called Wilmington, and he moves in below me and D. Boon – well, D. Boon’s apartment, where me and D. Boon started the Minutemen. We started writing the songs without amps, and we didn’t have a drummer, so we would stomp on the deck the whole time. He thought it was these two insane guys living upstairs! And it was me and D. Boon!” Watt laughs. “There wasn’t a lot of Latin cats in the early scene, and he was very distinctive in his look and shit. ‘That’s the guy we seen at the gigs! That’s Joe Baiza!’ Yeah, punk was trippy at first. What a coincidence that that would happen!” Joe Baiza offers that Watt was a driving force behind Saccharine Trust’s first show, back in 1980. “We hadn’t played any gigs – we were just rehearsing, rehearsing, practising – all nervous, you know? And Mike calls and says ‘Hey, you guys want to play a party?’” (Baiza does a boisterous and loud Watt impersonation.) “I go, ‘What? Oh, no, no – a party?’” (Baiza exaggerates his own timidity by dropping his voice a notch, then returns to Watt-boom:) “‘With the Minutemen – a backyard party with us!’ I said, ‘No, no, no! We’re not ready to play yet, I don’t think so, Mike.’ ‘You’re not ready?!’ – and then he started layin’ into me. ‘You’ll never be ready! You guys are just scared! You’ll never be able to play!’ – He started giving me all kinds of crap, you know?” Baiza raises his voice to Watt-level, indicating how he rose to the challenge: “‘Okay, then, we will play it! I’ll show you, Mike! I’ll play the party then!’ ‘All right, I’ll put you down – next Saturday!’ or something, ‘All right, see you later,’ and he hangs up. I go, ‘Fuck, we’re gonna do a gig...’ It was good, he kinda pushed us into doing things.” Saccharine Trust’s songs tend to sprawl into edgy, spidery jams more than the tightly-focused Minutemen, and replace Boon and Watt’s working class political consciousness with an odd combination of Old Testament wrath and psychedelic hipsterdom (cf. “YHWH on Acid”), but the band are no less inventive or unique. Alas, SST have discontinued most of their back catalogue, and Greg Ginn won’t re-issue their excellent second album, Surviving You, Always (“He says it costs too much to manufacture it,”

Baiza deadpans – this in the age of the ultra-cheap CD). Their reunion recording, The Great One is Dead, recorded in 1999 for the German label Hazelwood, is in limbo and almost impossible to find, as are most of Baiza’s other recordings with the (jazzier, funkier) Mecolodiacs and the Universal Congress Of. Unknown Instructors leader Dan McGuire – the man who brought Baiza, Watt, and George Hurley together for the project – reports that he has heard Baiza and Saccharine vocalist Jack Brewer joking that they’re cursed, which makes some sense: Baiza had his right hand busted when racists attacked him in Germany in 1997; more recently, he broke his thumb on the job, and worse, has just discovered he has carpal tunnel syndrome, which causes his hand to go numb when he plays. The band continues to gig, though, and will soon be rejoined by vibe player Richie Hass, who is being treated for cancer (and, says Baiza, is “getting better.”) Saccharine fans Nels Cline and Watt are both eager to hear a recording with Hass, and tell me they sound fantastic with vibes. I asked Watt – who produced various Saccharine projects and played bass on their improvised SST release, Worldbroken – why he thought he and the Minutemen became so well known, while, aside from a brief bit of notice granted Pagan Icons, their first EP, when Kurt Cobain listed it as a favourite, Saccharine Trust have mostly been neglected. “I think a lot of it had to do with circumstance,” he replies. “My best friend got killed, you know, and Saccharine didn’t have that. That’s a horrible way to get known, y’know? So I know people are missin’ D. Boon, and I know when they hear me play they hear some of D. Boon a little bit, because his playin’ went so much on me. I don’t think I’m more deserving of it than Saccharine, hell no! Those cats can fuckin’ blow, man!” Watt agrees that the new Unknown Instructors album, which reunites him with Baiza, is a lot stronger than their previous release, The Way Things Work. “The first one is a little more apprehensive,” Watt admits. “We’re totally afraid! You understand, me and Georgie – and D. Boon – we’re from workin’ people. We don’t really come from musical traditions. It’s scary! But in order to learn, you’ve got to

put yourself in challenging situations, so even though you’re going to shit a pecan log, do it!” He laughs. “The really interesting shit is where (guest vocalist, Pere Ubu’s) David Thomas actually conducted us, not just with words and poetry but with his hands. It was the greatest thing ever, it was wild!” The standout track on the new disc, The Master’s Voice, is, McGuire agrees, “The End of the World,” largely due to Joe Baiza’s blistering, overdriven guitar work. “That was the track I immediately grabbed, I was like, ‘That’s the one,’” McGuire says. “That was the end of a frustrating day, so what you hear is everybody just goin’ at it as hard as they can. It’s kind of the atmosphere of what was goin’ down – we were having some trouble with the engineer, George was late, all kinds of nightmarish shit happened that day, and that was the end of the evening. So it’s basically everyone just going berserk, which I personally like.” The “vocals” are more a matter of McGuire – a poet and English teacher – overdubbing recited verse onto the finished jams than singing; he tries to slalom between the music “like a fourth instrument.” The combination of spoken poetry and improvised music lead many people to conclude that there’s an affinity with the Beats, but McGuire disagrees. “Ginsberg is probably the only Beat poet I know very well at all,” he informs me. The lyrics for “The End of the World” (which find him “hallucinating semen lithographs flashing in the tongue of cunts”) riff off Ginsberg’s “Howl,” the only connection to the Beats he’ll credit. “I don’t know what you would call it – it’s not a homage, it’s not a parody, but I wanted to try and take what he did and condense it and say, ‘I can say this in much shorter order!’” McGuire – a longterm Minutemen/ fIREHOSE/ Saccharine Trust fan who, like former fIREHOSE guitarist Ed Crawford, hails from Ohio – is, at age 39, the junior member of the Unknown Instructors. I asked him about the cover illustration, a pooch with its ears perked up, rendered by SST alumni (and brother to Ginn) Raymond Pettibon. “Actually, I think he drew that for the first album, and we didn’t end up using it. He copped that from a line in a thing called Creature Comforts about a large curious

But in order to learn, you’ve got to put yourself in challenging situations, so even though you’re going to shit a pecan log, do it!

Doberman.” Pettibon came up with the caption and the band, liking the invocation to attentive listening, used it for a title. “My friend thinks (the lyric) says, ‘large curious doorman,’” McGuire laughs. “I get that all the time. People are quotin’ shit back to me and it’s better than what it was to begin with!” Unfortunately, there are no plans for the Unknown Instructors to tour. Watt tells me he would “love to” play live with them again, “but there’s a lot of commitments to other people,” including, of course, the Stooges, with whom Watt is currently on the road. McGuire got to see the new Stooges lineup in Detroit. “It was absolutely mind blowing. I mean, I could not believe it,” he enthuses. “You know, they let people crash the stage, and I was very good about it. I let other people cause commotion and just slid up and went up onstage, and I’ve never seen Mike happier anytime in my life. He was doin’ like, Broadway leg kicks and humpin’ his amp, he was doin’ all these moves and shit, but he was smilin’ and he was singin’ the song to me. I’ve never seen him so jacked up. And to see Iggy... I was like, ‘What in the fuck?’ There’s a definition of genius, in this book by F. Scott Fitzgerald called The Crack Up, and he says that ‘genius is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in your head at the same time,’ and what Iggy was doing was exactly that. I’m like, ‘This is incredible!’ - because he was running around all unhinged, but you could tell, he was in total charge of everything that was goin’ on. He could hear every note... I just couldn’t believe it. I was prepared for it to be pretty cool, but I was stunned, it was so heavy. I’m guessing I’d prefer to see them like that than I would back in the day when it was a complete riot/circus. I like seein’ it all tightly wound and put together!” Note: Watt humped his amp in Seattle, too. It was pretty cool. There’s lots more from Dan McGuire on my blog, http:// alienatedinvancouver.blogspot.com. As for Mike Watt, the interview with him will continue in next month’s Nerve, including spiel on the Stooges and the Vancouver punk scene (didja know Watt once played on the same bill with Rob “Mr.Wrong”Wright?). Meantime, check out The Master’s Voice by the Unknown Instructors – it has all the passion of classic freakouts like the October Faction, but, as Baiza says, “We’ve all gotten a lot better at improvising since then!” n

SHOW INFORMATION

The Nerve August 2007 Page 11

There’s No One Like Him, and There’s No Life Like It

WAX MANNEQUIN

mance-artist pockets of Canada’s indie-rock scene, and the unofficial burgomaster of the Hammer’s eccentrically exciting performance artists would seem to be the one, the only Wax Mannequin - aka Chris Adeney - who has been delivering his unforgettably quirky one-man showcase of avant-prog back and forth across Canada and beyond for over seven years and four albums. “This one’s a long tour of Canada,” Adeney remarks on his current jaunt, roaring westward on the Trans-Canada Highway just outside of Winnipeg. “My minivan’s exhaust system blew out at the same time I blew my voice out onstage, but we’re not even halfway through the tour yet, so I have to make sure we both pace ourselves. This way I can bond with my new tour vehicle, my 1992 Honda Accord…the ‘TARDIS-3.’” Wax Mannequin returns to Vancouver in August with an appearance at the Rime, his second Vancouver performance this year. “The Rime’s been a lot of fun for me to play in the past,” says Adeney. “The people there have their heads on straight. Dinner venue by evening, and rock venue by darker evening. And all the Turkish food you can eat. Some places flounder in some limbo state between restaurant and showroom and they won’t know whether to charge cover or tack the cover onto the diner’s bill – but Rime certainly has the right approach to being an enjoyable and desirable venue definitely worth playing.” So how does Wax Mannequin rank Orchards and Ire among his family of album-children he’s released since 2001? “All of my albums are very different Wax Mannequin, seconds before Gallagher smashed his head in with a hammer from each other,” Adeney clarifies. “I’m proud of the new record. I put more work into it, but I certainly had more frustrations with it, as well. It’s a more By Ferdy Belland ambitious recording. I got it to a point where I was People are confused by Orchards and Ire, generhappy with the public response so far.” quite happy with it, but getting it there required a ally,” remarks Wax Mannequin in regards to The decaying brick-and-steel wastelands of Hamlot of ire in itself – a natural creative process for his latest album, “but I think it’s a positive kind ilton ON - aka ‘The Hammer’ - seems to be a fertile me, anyways. Ideally, you don’t hear me struggle on of confusion. I’m still figuring it out myself. I’m very breeding ground for the eccentric exciting perforthe finished product, but hear it how it’s supposed

to be. All that good suffering that goes into it serves to make it stronger, and have more depth, and more anguish. I try to take the musically complex elements normally associated with prog rock and package them in a way that pushes the limits of the pop song – something like ‘Robot, Master, and Lady’ off my new record. There’s something to be said for the archetypal structures we devise for stories and songs. It makes sense to people for a reason. But I like to squeeze the structures sometimes and see what juices I can extract.” When grilled about his songwriting process, Adeney confides, “Ideas for songs keep popping up in my head. I have a whole bunch unfinished that I need to complete. But right now I’m just excited to have the new record out and taking it across the country.” Adeney is one of the hardest-touring artists in the Canadian indie-rock scene. When telling road-tales, some musicians tend to focus on memorable shows, or backstage antics; Wax Mannequin goes for the gold of surreality. “On my last tour, there was a giant sea turtle on the side of the road,” recalls Adeney, “which must have crawled over a kilometer from the lake into Sudbury city limits. I don’t know what it was doing by the road; they’re supposed to just lay their eggs in the sand and get the fuck back in the water, but this one was headed towards land – but instead of made it across to the far side of the TransCanada Highway before it got smacked by a car and ended up dead along the shoulder. It was in perfectly good condition, if a collector had nabbed the shell. I wasn’t in the mood, since the transmission blew in our van and we trying to limp our way into Sudbury, but seeing this sea turtle was quite ominous. We ended up getting towed and getting back on the road, but something like that sticks with you.” n

Seeing that dead sea turtle was quite ominous

“

The B-lines

Wax Mannequin play at Rime,Vancouver, on Thursday, August 9

Your New Old Favourite Band

By Jenny Charlesworth

atching your favourite band call it quits is heartbreaking. Watching your other favourite band call it quits a month later is absolutely devastating – unless of course, members of both bands come together to form a quasi-super group, much like the case of Vancouver’s B-lines… Crowded around an outdated, oversized tape recorder in their basement practice space, the B-lines try their best not to laugh when I tell them they have to talk REALLY loud in order for the tape to pick up their voices. I feel a little ridiculous using such a bulky device; especially since the B-lines are convinced they’re actually talking into an old, portable answering machine. But it’s a fitting scene for a band that considered calling themselves the 2010 Olympics in the outrageous hope people would see their flyers around town and hold massive demonstrations outside their shows protesting the actual games. And while playing under the banner of the 2010 Olympic Games would have garnered the local four piece plenty of attention – not to mention lawsuits - which is important for a new band (the attention, not the lawsuits), they already had it, regardless of the name they chose. Made up of members from the recently defunct, Vancouver punk sensations, Fun100 (Bruce and Ryan) and Fuck Me Dead (Scotty and Norm - band

policy dictates no last names), the B-lines’ reputation was secured long before they’d ever played a single show. “Basically when Fuck Me Dead died, me and Norm wanted to start another band,” recalls bassist Scotty, adding, “It was convenient that both bands ended at the same time. It just kind of seemed natural [to play together in a new project.]” Not to mention, unquestionably perfect for fans so demoralized by the untimely break ups. But as it goes for just about any quasi-super group, the excitement surrounding the band’s formation quickly turned into expectation, with fans wondering if the Blines sound - “poppy punk meets half-ass power pop meets Fun100 meets Fuck Me Dead,” according to guitarist Norm - would be nothing more than the rehashing of past glory; obviously still enjoyable, but not the inventive gem fans were hoping for. “A lot of people liked Fun100 and Fuck Me Dead, so everyone’s excited and we’re just like, woah, are we going to live up to people’s expectations? Are we going to let them down?” remarks Scotty. “I don’t so much care about being better [than our previous bands], I just don’t want to be a let down.” And so far it isn’t. With “less than 10 but more than five” shows (a scientific fact courtesy of Scotty) since their first gig last April playing along side Portland’s Clorox Girls, the B-lines have been

Poppy punk meets half-ass power pop meets Fun100 meets Fuck Me Dead

The Nerve August 2007 Page 12

received with glowing reviews. Fans seem content to draw comparisons to Fun100 and Fuck Me Dead, but are relieved that the B-lines have found a sound all their own. “I was excited that it was something different. I didn’t want it to be the same and I didn’t want to please everyone that liked Fun100 and Fuck Me Dead,” says singer Ryan, indicating that while the B-lines certainly appreciate the attention they’ve received because of their previous affiliations, they have no intention of being known as an “ex-members of” band, doomed to be nothing more than a nostalgic sidebar in the history of “has-beens” punk. And if the blistering five songs in five and a half minutes that adorn their demo is any indication, it’s

likely a fate the B-lines will never have to know. As for releasing some records, the B-lines are eager but will have to wait until drummer Bruce returns from touring with They Shoot Horses… in the fall. While this may be frustrating for fans, as Bruce’s absence means there won’t be any shows either, the time off is welcomed by the rest of the band. Except it’s not really time off, explains Norm, “We’ll still be practicing and working on new songs.” And from the sounds of it, maybe even starting a few side projects. Which means you might just come across a flyer for something like “Discounted FUR Coats” or “Three Dollar Minimum Wage” and an ensuing riot to match. n

Tokyo Police Club One Lo ad Kinda Guys

By Samantha Laserson

t’s a dreary Friday afternoon, and I’ve been waiting an hour for Tokyo Police Club keyboardist/vocalist Graham Wright to deal with his laundry. He finally calls me back while his load dries, and we end up sharing our tricks of the trade. “I don’t really differentiate between lights and darks,” he confesses. “I generally just throw everything in together because I have to pay for coin laundry in the basement, and I can’t really afford paying for two loads.” Indeed, proper laundry protocol can be costly, an issue familiar to most college-types still dependent on mom’s allowance to survive, although it feels strange to discuss life-on-a-budget with Wright, since - with nothing more than a single EP under their belts - the Tokyo Police Club are already playing sold-out shows across North America. Perhaps Wright just hasn’t had the time to unlearn humble, yet. The success of that EP, A Lesson in Crime, has been swift and unexpected, rewarding

the Canadian quartet with considerable attention (including the opportunity to perform hit-single “Nature of the Experiment” on the David Letterman show). Equally, and despite the Toronto outfit’s burgeoning success, Wright confides that a career in music was hardly a priority for these grade-school friends, who were initially bound together by their love of playing music, hooking up in a basement in their hometown of Newmarket, and engaging in “this wonderful, creative, fun thing we were all doing

together.” Wright continues: “There was never really any goal or plan other than to get together, write songs, and have a good time. By the end of high school, it really started to sink in that we were going to have to go to university. We couldn’t actually make careers out of this.” And so Wright and his buddies - Greg Alsop, Josh Hook and David Monks - all subsequently went their separate ways, attending different schools or working full-time jobs, and the Tokyo Police Club was put on ice. Things

I don’t want anyone to ever reach for the skip button when they listen to something we’ve done

changed one summer break when the four friends reunited. Recalls Wright, “We got together and spent a week doing nothing but hanging out and playing music - no jobs, no school, no nothing.” Included as part of the 2005 POP Montreal line-up, the fourpiece played to a crowd that included representatives from Toronto’s Paper Bag Records. “[POP Montreal] came at exactly the time when we had all been away for a couple months. It helped us realize how much it sucked not being able to hang out and play music,” says Wright. Shortly thereafter, the boys decided to abandon their scholarly pursuits by dropping out of school, to “try and make a decent go of it” - and Paper Bag was right there waiting for them. The debut that followed, A Lesson in Crime, is a speedy, seven-track sonic tornado. It’s disgustingly catchy, with lyrics about robots and world domination, played against a sound-drop of fuzzy bass-lines and delay-drenched guitars oozing with garage-punk scuzz. “I’m really happy with the way it turned out,” Wright proudly states, “And in my opinion, I don’t really think there’s a down point on the EP. It sold amazingly well, and exceeded even our expectations.” Responding to criticism that the EP’s mere 16 minutes is too short, Wright notes, “I don’t take that as criticism at all. ‘Too short’ means they want to hear more, and they will,” adding, “We never want to put out anything that’s not absolutely... stellar, and we only had about seven songs that we felt were really up to snuff. I don’t want anyone to ever reach for the skip button when they listen to something we’ve done.” The boys are currently working on their first fulllength which will be released on Omaha, Nebraska’s Saddle Creek Records - Wright and co. inked the deal just hours after we speak. “It will be a logical continuation from the EP,” promises Wright “There’s not really any radical departures from our first EP but at the same time, A Lesson in Crime consists of seven quick, punky songs while the album will be a little more dynamic with more tempo variations.” We can hardly wait. But the bigger question remains: How has Wright succeeded from keeping the stars from his eyes, even with Tokyo Police Club’s vertiginous fortunes and indie-pop ascendancy? “I’m not easily satisfied,” he answers. “I want to keep selling out venues, and I really want to see how far we can push it.” n Tokyo Police Club plays August 31 at the McEwan Ballroom in Calgary, September 2 at the Plaza in Vancouver, September 3 at Bumbershoot in Seattle, and September 9 at the Virgin festival, on the Toronto Islands

The Nerve August 2007 Page 13

MUSIC

Bert Jansch Humble yet Heroic, Four Decades (and Counting) as the UK’s Unchallenged Master of Folk Guitar

We tried... we got nothin’.

By Ferdy Belland

“

It’s been quite some time since I’ve been in Vancouver, I think,” remarks folk-guitar virtuoso Bert Jansch from his London home; it’s breakfast over there and it’s the wee hours of the morning here on Canada’s West Coast, where this writer hunches bug-eyed over his speaker-phone in abject fan-boy awe. “I did the Vancouver Folk Festival. I’m not exactly sure of the date. It was the time when Martin Carthy was on the bill, as well as Davey Graham, and John Renbourn. That’s got to be nearly 10 years ago now. That was the one and only time that all four of us were on the same stage together! I really enjoyed the festival – it was fantastic! I’m looking very forward to coming back… I have very fond memories of Vancouver.” Herbert Jansch was born in Glasgow in 1943, and fell in love with folk music as a teenager after acquiring his first acoustic guitar. He haunted local folk clubs and delved into protest folk (Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger) and country blues (Big Bill Broonzy, Brownie McGhee) before his artistic compass locked hard into the true north of traditional English folk (particularly the repertoire of Anne Briggs) – as well as experimenting with the lush guitar voicings of open-tunings pioneered by Davey Graham. After taking the plunge into fulltime musicianship, Jansch spent much of the early 1960s playing one-night stands throughout the UK’s bustling folk-club circuit, as well as long wanderings across Europe as a busker. Jansch finally settled in London in 1965, where he

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fatefully met a close personal and artistic contemporary in the form of John Renbourn; the two quickly formed a popular duo. Jansch recorded his self-titled debut album in his bed-sit apartment on a reel-to-reel recorder, and the album promptly sold a whopping 150,000 copies – a respectable showing for a British folk album at that time. Bert Jansch inspired many to consider him “the Bob Dylan of England” and features many of his still-classic tunes: “Do You Hear Me Now,” the antidrug anthem “Needle of Death,” and, most notably, “Blackwaterside” – a song learned from Anne Briggs, and literally ripped off note for bloody note by a certain session-recording slut named Jimmy Page, who included it on Led Zeppelin’s first album as the instrumental “Black Mountain Side.” When asked today if he ever confronted Page and wagged a reproachful finger in the guitar-god’s face for outright shameless plagiarism, the laid-back

Jansch laughs: “That’s a nice way of putting it. No, no. I don’t even think like that. I’ve actually only met Jimmy Page once or twice before.” It’s certain that Jansch has tackled that question more than once over the past few decades, and it would seem that the matter is moot to him. Possibly it always was. Although established as a highly admired solo artist in his own right by the late 1960s (Jansch is highly praised by Neil Young, Mike Oldfield, Nick Drake, Donovan Leitch, and – guess who? – Jimmy Page, among others), recording further solo albums and duo collaborations with Renbourn, Jansch’s notoriety accelerated tenfold when he and Renbourn formed the legendary folk-rock band Pentangle in 1968 with upright bassist Danny Thompson, drummer Terry Cox, and the ageless Celtic-folk songbird Jacquie McShee. With Jansch handling most of the writing, Pentangle (along with sibling groups Fairport Convention and the Incredible String Band, who were no slouches themselves) quite simply redefined the boundaries of British folk music, fusing chops-intensive jazz-ensemble techniques into folk forms; odd meter, four-octave vocals, brilliant guitar interplay between Jansch and Renbourn… this was certainly NOT the stuff seen and heard at Kitsilano open-stage nights. Pentangle headline-toured the world many times and recorded six amazing albums before sadly breaking up on New Year’s Day 1973 due to weary inner exhaustion and monetary conflicts with their record label. Jansch and Renbourn returned unbroken to fulltime solo work, while McShee has reformed composite groups under the Pentangle banner from time to time. But as the cranky Scot on the cereal commercial used to say: it’s not oatmeal! Thus, it should thrill many to know that in this day and age of superstar musical reunions, the original Pentangle itself stands to gel together again in full five-pointed majesty for those of us whose folk-music tastes don’t stop with Jack Johnson’s Curious George soundtrack. This from Jansch himself: “Yeah, yeah, of course John and I still talk. We were given an award by the BBC… I think it was a ‘Lifetime Achievement Award’ or something like that. I can’t really remember what the award was for (laughs)… That was at last year’s Folk Awards. There’s talk maybe next year of getting together. We haven’t finalized the Pentangle reunion just yet,” Jansch cautions, “but we do have offers for reforming in 2008. If we did decide to do it, it’d be a lot of work to actually get the band back up to anywhere near where it was when we broke up.” Jansch returns to Vancouver for an eagerly anticipated performance at Richard’s on Richards, that

When I’m performing, I go all the way back. It’s a complete representation of my music, right from the beginning up to nowadays

wonderful old balconied brick venue which seems to stay one step ahead of the hungry wrecking balls of yuppie condo-developers. Jansch has returned to the international spotlight over the past year since the Fall 2006 release of his latest album (on Drag City), The Black Swan, an astounding return to form (granted, a form that has never really weakened over 40 years and over two dozen albums) which has been nearly smothered in gushing praise from major US and UK media.Yet another batch of wistful, emotional, dreamy songs featuring Jansch’s immaculate guitaristry (combining Indian and jazz influences with early/classical folk) and earthy, warm, subdued singing, the album’s success has had Jansch touring internationally at a pace not seen by him in many years. “When I’m performing, I go all the way back, far back. It’s a complete representation of my music, right from the beginning up to nowadays.” Jansch was asked how he grades his latest work. “I like The Black Swan, of course – I think it’s great!” Jansch beams. “Some albums have different qualities to them, so to rate them…? I don’t put them on a scale, so to speak. For example, Rosemary Lane is one of my favorite albums, which goes a long way back. One of the reasons I very much like The Black Swan was when Noah Georgeson took hold of the production, he added a lot of, I don’t know, I suppose you could call it ‘Americanisms’ on it that wouldn’t have been there otherwise. He introduced me to a lot of American music of today, which I hadn’t heard before. Up until now, I’ve only been listening to people on my side of the ocean. Noah introduced me to Devendra Banhart and Vetiver and quite a few American bands like that.” So is he still discovering new music to enjoy? “Oh yeah! Hundreds! Shit, the British equivalent of that scene for me, over here – I just did a show with Beth Orton and Burns Butler. Burns isn’t on The Black Swan, but he’s on Crimson Moon and Edge of a Dream. There’s also a local guitar player here called Paul Wassif, who I work with quite a lot. He’s been playing the shows with me as well. He’s on The Black Swan and on Edge of a Dream as well.” The inevitable question comes – any new music on the boil? “Oh yeah. With me, it’s a slow process, but it’s a continual process. I have my own studio here at home, which is really helpful, ‘cause it makes me learn the science of recording, as well. I’ve been into computers for over 20 years now, so digital recording isn’t exactly a new experience for me, but each year it seems to get easier and easier to record. But I do it at my own leisure, you know? The albums may take a little bit longer to appear, but I get them exactly as I want them. Sometimes I’ll take a portable recorder with me on tour, but I’ll only record bits and fragments here and there. Usually if you’re on the road, there’s too much going on and there’s not enough time to actually sit down with it. I usually collect the ideas myself, in my head, as I’m going along, so when I get back home I work with the best ideas.” Bert Jansch plays at Richard’s on Richards,Thursday, August 30, Bumbershoot in Seattle September 1st.

MUSIC

1500 Words (1450 too many) on

Magnolia Electric Co.

You get this look when you pull your mud soaked Hummer into the car wash at 5 minutes to close.

“

By Jeff Topham I think music writing is a pile of shit,” says Jason Molina. “It’s like writing about a painting. The value in writing about a painting is that there maybe someone in the world that can’t see it. So describe it and get the hell out. Sure, music writing’s important because you’re putting the name of the band out, and you’re putting an individual stamp on it saying, ‘I really like this.’ But you can do that in 50 words or less.You really can.” 34 words: Jason Molina and Magnolia Electric Co. are for real.You really should hear this stuff. They’ve got a new box set coming out, and they will be in Vancouver on Aug 31st. Go listen. Still need more convincing? To Molina’s chagrin, I’ll reluctantly continue. I don’t usually write about music. It’s hard to write something for your eyes that belongs in your ears - and musicians are usually assholes. But I dig this dude and his music, and this magazine, so I took the gig. The day before my arranged phone interview with the Magnolia front man from London, England, I get some guidelines from his PR guy. “Molina has no interest fielding questions about books, TV, movies, favourite bands, or personal life.” Nice. I ask him about it anyway. “Yeah, I employ that list to screen out idiots.” 1 point Molina. 101 words of personal testimony on Magnolia Electric Co.: Last year I worked as a journalist in Accra, Ghana - a hot, sweaty and dirty West African city. The nights were so loud. Boom boxes full of Ghanaian hip-hop, Christian marching bands, gun shots. It was at night that I really missed home. I missed my girlfriend. I missed my regular life. My iPod saved me. On a playlist called Sleep to be Sane there was a track that cut through all the shit especially well. Each night a devastated voice made an aching plea to be understood. “31 Seasons in the Minor Leagues” from Magnolia Electric Co. It always worked. When writing about music you should also reference other bands, to not only help people better understand the subject, but to also show how hip and knowledgeable you are. 22 names I have seen in relation to Jason Molina: Black Sabbath. Ryan Adams. Jeff Tweedy. Hall and Oates. Will Oldham. Neil Young. Uncle Tupelo. My Morning Jacket.

Lucinda Williams. Johnny Cash. Ladyhawk. CCR. Bob Seger. Built to Spill. Camper Van Beethoven. Scout Niblett. Iron Maiden. Lou Reed. Metallica. Steve Albini. Cat Power. Bruce Springsteen. It’s a list that looks more like a summer music festival in Norway and I’m not sure it’s gonna help you much. Molina is also weary and wary of comparisons. “So I have a new record come out, and they use all these contemporary bands as a reference point. All these stylistic references. And the first thing I’m gonna say is no, I have my own experience with all of their reference points. This doesn’t match up to what I thought. What’s interesting is when they use literary references or artistic movements, not just five bands that fell out of hat.” 43 literary, artistic words about Magnolia Electric Co.: Their last record, Fading Trails, might sound best on a transistor radio while riding in the back of Georgia O’Keefe’s ‘46 Ford pickup. It’s the kind of music John Steinbeck would listen to on a hot California night, sitting on his front porch nursing a bottle of Jim Beam. Even Molina’s own references derail an attempt to get a handle on his music without listening to it. Consider this excerpt from our conversation regarding Magnolia’s appearance at the recent Quart festival in Norway. A shindig whose diverse line-up also included the Roots, the Beastie Boys, 50 Cent, Chris Cornell - and the Who... “I’m really a big fan. I walked away so excited - there was a halo over my head. They’re still great. The songs are great. And there’s no show, really. It’s the guy who does the windmill trick with the guitar, and that guy who flips the microphone around, but those songs are beautiful - if you just sat down with an acoustic guitar and did those songs, not trying to scream like Roger Daltrey, you would end up with a body of work that would probably stomp on Dylan’s whole catalogue. That stuff from the Who really seems like true folk music to me.” Huh? Rewind. Did the oft labelled ‘lost son of Neil Young’ just suggest the Who is more folkier and stomps on Dylan? Tricky isn’t it? But that’s the point.

“I think that you have to be willing to listen to stuff on your own and not be sold on the writing. For anything. A movie. Art. A book. Anything.You have to do it on your own, because you’re not going to have someone there to tutor you as you go through it.” You’ve got to listen to Molina’s songs for yourself. And he’s sure got a lot of them - seven albums in the last two years alone, including a new box set called Sojourner. Not a greatest hits package(“What hits?” he says) or even a retrospective of 10 years of work under a variety of names, the impressive Sojourner set is three whole new albums and an EP. He definitely doesn’t see it as a business move. “I’ve always stood up and said I’m not trying to do this to be popular. I just write songs and I hope that someone wants to hear them. That’s it. And maybe this box set is my last gasp at putting together what I think a band can really do when you don’t have the pressure of marketability, or a single, or of what’s coming next. This was something I really thought the fans deserved at this point. I exhausted myself doing this, and so did the musicians who helped me out on it.” 54 words on Molina’s lyrics: There seem to be a lot of wolves. (Beautiful and dangerous.) The moon is prominent. (Lonely light in the darkness.) There are miles of long roads of regret and sweeping landscapes of beautiful pain. And it’s nice to find a troubled troubadour who doesn’t seem to have a political statement carved into his guitar. “I’m not a topical song writer; I don’t open up the newspaper and see what’s happening in Darfur and decide I have to write a song about it. Because however tight I might be with it as far as emotional and human connection, it may be something I really have no experience with, other than academic, and that is not something that I want to put into a song. My life is writing songs and trying to be a decent member of my community, as upstanding as a human as I can be. And that’s pretty much it. It’s not just a story. It’s emotional ground.” By this point, I’m way over Molina’s 50 word cap.

I think music writing is a pile of shit

I should just get the hell out. But I’m gonna spill just a few more to further demonstrate the depth of Molina’s commitment to producing good music. On the road 200 days a year, the guy hears a lot of sound. “One of the great things about doing this and traveling around the world is that I get handed all these demos. Only a handful of them end up being something that I put my 100% backing on. But there are people that hand you three songs that are as good as anything I’ve ever heard. Jesus Christ! What is this person doing living in the middle of nowhere making no records?! So he takes it on himself to help get cosmically good stuff out there. He recently convinced his label, Secretly Canadian/Jagjaguwar, to sign Vancouver-byway-of-Kelowna rockers Ladyhawk (“They just blew us away... they’re something from another planet”), and to ink a deal with freaky Portland songstress Scout Niblett: “I was absolutely blown away. I said you have to tell me how I can put the record out - tell me where I can go to a record pressing plant. It’s like a fucking comet falling out of the sky.You watch it, and then it’s over, and you’re like, “Shit, I wish I could see that again.”” (59 words) So if you’re looking for a comfy slot to slip Magnolia Electric Co. into, you ain’t gonna find it. And Molina doesn’t give a shit. He’s miserably happy just to play with his weepy guitar and ride out his lonely trainwrecks for your listening pleasure. Live or on record – it works either way. “When it gets right down to it, the delivery on the recordings is the best I could do. I’m not going to force myself to have the onion under the eye and make it all weepy. But I really gave you the most raw version of the songs that I possibly could do. Can I do that night after night? I don’t know. I try, but I’m not an actor.” 17 final words from Molina: “Good is good. Shit is just shit. Everything in the middle happens on a daily basis.” n Magnolia Electric Co. play at Richard’s on Richards in Vancouver on August 31, Bumbershoot in Seattle on September 1st.

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Short Ends Hookers, Monks and Monsters. Oh My! Movie Pick of the Month

Showgirls: The Fully Exposed Edition Dir: Paul Verhoeven Showgirls:The Fully Exposed Edition isn’t that special edition that came with its own shotglass. The curious viewer is still treated to a handful of delightful extras, including a friendly, droll commentary by writer and Showgirls enthusiast David Schmader and “hidden” video commentary from the girls of famous strip club chain Scores. (“I like her hair.” “Is this a real club?”) The aforementioned girls, Nelsa and Heather, also provide a helpful featurette on how to lap dance. The pornographically hilarious/hilariously pornographic tutorial provides such valuable tips as “Spank Yourself” and “Warm Up First.” Nelsa even lets us know that, while the girls of Scores wear long dresses to appear elegant, the DIY lap dancer isn’t bound by the confines of propriety. Phew! This is more empowering than that fixyour-own-bike workshop! Heather helpfully sums up that if “you learn how to do a good lap dance, anything you want could come true [sic].” Thanks, Heather—I’m tearing up those grad school applications right now.   Elizabeth Berkley stars as Nomi “NO, I’M ALONE” Malone, an ambitious, talented, and functionally retarded dancer who hitchhikes to Vegas to Make It. Taken in as a roommate by Molly, costume designer and all-around moron, Nomi starts off hustling at the Cheetah Club. Naturally, she quickly moves up in the Vegas dance scene despite carrying herself (on and off the stage) like she’s starring as Maria in a backwoods meth lab’s production of West Side Story. Kick! Head snap! Pivot!   Despite the Eszterhasian subtlety of Nomi’s name, she’s not alone on her Orphean voyage through the Vegas underworld. Along for the ride is Gina Gershon as Cristal Connors, a sometimes-Southern belle serving as Nomi’s mentor, nemesis and primary source of homoerotic tension. (A Joe Eszterhas movie without predatory lesbians is like Christmas without awkward family drunkenness) Barely getting out alive is Agent Cooper himself, Kyle MacLachlan. Turns out he ends up in a whole other kind of Black Lodge, by which I mean Nomi’s vagina. Filling out the cast is a motley crew of every kind of misogynistic archetype in pop culture history, from the lecherous producer to the gang-rapist pop star. Even the bit players have significance, either serving to remind the audience of Nomi’s beauty or shout out predictions so ham-fisted, we had to invent the term “five-shadowing.”   For all its unintended hilarity, Showgirls translates rather well to DVD. There’s a lot of visual interest, and the sets, costumes and neon lights make for a glitzy-looking 2 ½ hours. (Not faring so well is Berkley’s Nomi, looking like the lovechild of a blow-up doll and a fetus in drag.) The dialogue, acting, and stereotypes beg for multiple viewings, making the Fully Exposed Edition a great bang for your so-bad-it’s-good buck. Best viewed with a healthy sense of irony and those like-minded film enthusiasts you call friends. -Robyn Dugas

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The 36th Chamber of Shaolin

Dir: Liu Chia-Liang I had no idea Shaw Bros. films were so awesome— until now. Hong Kong choppy-socky skipped my radar completely. NO MORE!!! The 36th Chamber of Shaolin (1978) is a manic, 116 minute Kung Fu training video. Fights last forever, the choreography (extremely “choreographed-looking”, who cares?) is jaw-dropping, acting varies from intense to superintense. Plot: in 17th Century China, San Te (Gordon Liu), hides with other anti-Ching patriots inside an “ethics” school. But when the ruthless Manchus come to town and a rebel attack fails (a lone madman leaps from a building with a huge axe!), the Ching generals go kill-crazy. San Te is convinced that only by learning the secret martial arts of Shaolin monks can the townspeople defend themselves. For the next hour, San Te endures Shaolin’s grueling 35 chambers of fight training, smashing everything with his head, kicking pots through rings of fire, packing buckets of water up a hill with knives that stab him if his arms give out.... don’t forget the swords, staffs, axes, sledge hammers, and San Te’s specialty, the three-part staff (big nunchuks), making a noise like a cash register. WHOP! WHOP! BAP! WHOOSH! CCCHING! And that’s only when people move their arms. This ridiculously thorough DVD keeps the rad English dubbing (plus original Chinese language for you purists) and has tons of features with... the WuTang Clan? Whaa? There’s more Wu here than Liu – Gordon Liu, that is, star of the film, or Liu ChiaLiang, director! But the RZA lives up to his Rap-Fu associations and pricelessly reminisces about the Deuce: lil’ RZA, ten years old, sneaking into a scuzzy grindhouse for his Kung Fu fix, paying the local glue-sniffer an extra dollar to buy him a ticket (‘cause they’re rated R), waiting for the porn double-bill to end. His words of wisdom are many: “Seeing Shaw Brothers was like the difference between Corn Flakes and Frosted Flakes.” Fucken’ A rights. Now I know. Packed with commentaries, interviews and baaad-ass trailers. A must buy. -David Bertrand

car-salesman face, is featured prominently as a Washington douche. Don’t forget poor Harold “Odd Job” Sakata, parodying himself, and billed in the credits as “Harold “Odd Job” Sakata”!! Terrible. But The Happy Hooker Goes Hollywood (1980) is well worth your time! It features Adam West. It features Adam West naked! West having sex with Xaviera (Martine Beswick), twice! It features Adam West poolside, smoking a cigarette while Beswick rubs hot oil on her lips. It features Adam West’s ass, and Adam West getting two blowjobs! Plus there’s Adam West in drag (!!!) punching out a cop with a Batman style orchestra flourish (‘ZAP!’). Earlier, West shouts, “Yowza!”, then dances, doing some bizarre uncoordinated white man’s disco snake. Xaviera, jerked around by West and other Hollywood sleaze, shoves a grapefruit in West’s crotch while a saxophone HOOOOOONKS!!!! Phil Silvers as Jewish movie mogul WB Warkoff declares: “I think women should be felt and not heard!” then snaps his fingers and two bubbleheaded blond twins burst out in giggles! The only Happy Hooker film where Xaviera actually shows tit. Interesting post-script: Noted film guru and occasional Nerve contributer Kliph Nesteroff considers My Pleasure is My Business (1974), a sex farce starring the real Happy Hooker, Xaviera Hollander, to be “the worst Canadian movie of all time”. -David Bertrand

Red Dawn

The Happy Hooker Trilogy

A cheap pack of flicks based on ‘70’s novelty celebrity Xaviera Hollander—“the Happy Hooker”—and her bestselling memoirs about the working girl life. The Happy Hooker (1975) is decent and surprisingly PG, like the original Valley of the Dolls—skirting around the exciting subject matter instead of relishing in it. Acting is stiff, there’s heaps of unintentional cheese, and Lynn Redgrave is quite attractive as our leading lady, except for a brothel scene where pale lipstick and awful swooped bangs leave Redgrave looking like the reanimated corpse of post-makeover Breakfast Club Ally Sheedy with a collapsed jaw. The Happy Hooker Goes to Washington (1977) features Joey Heatherton as Xaviera, a real snooty, uppity madame. Ms. Hollander has a naked white woman table in her office, Clockwork Orange style, with a haircut that matches her own! Almost everyone is ugly in a bad ‘70’s way, the constant barrage of sexual puns are unbearable, and George Hamilton, with his blood-boilingly obnoxious

Escalade with suicide doors that runs on Remy Martin XO, so I’d just pull up to the stop and shout this out the power windows). Then the DVD showed up in the mail so I thought I’d give it a second viewing. The story goes, an idiot and his daughter happily live and work at a food stand on The Han River in Seoul, Korea. Then a gigantic mutated mudskipper shows up on the shore and starts eating people. This culminates with the daughter being captured in the beast’s gullet then stored at its secret lair to be devoured at a later date. To make matters worse, after this all happens the idiot and the rest of his family are quarantined where they encounter a bureaucratic monster of Gilliamesque proportions that’s scarier than the beast itself. With no help coming from the government, it’s up to the family to escape quarantine, elude the authorities and locate the daughter before she gets eaten. South Korea can’t win the Winter Olympics to save their lives but they can churn out a damn fine film and I take back pretty much every bad word I’ve hollered about The Host at all you poor people who ride the bus. This film is beautiful to watch, the story is absurd—in a good way— and the monster is just plain awesome. Who wants a realistic looking monster anyways? Morons who waste time doing photo-realistic paintings, that’s who. When I see a monster movie I want a big rubbery looking creature that’s going to fuck shit up. And that’s exactly what you get with The Host. It’s a shame we don’t get more of it but to be fair, I don’t think you can neglect that for a movie of The Host’s scope, it had a relatively modest budget of around $10 million. If you’re one of those five people who went and saw this in the theatre or the 200 people who bought a bootleg in Chinatown and weren’t blown away, I highly suggest giving this one a second shot because The Host is sure to be a classic. The moral of the story is: don’t attend early morning screenings of subtitled monster movies, it’ll skew your judgment. -Michael Mann

The Host

Dir: Bong Joon-ho Prior to viewing The Host at a brutally scheduled morning screening at the Vancouver International Film Festival, I had read about a hundred glowing reviews of the film and listened to numerous respectable horror filmmakers tell me it was not to be missed. Then I saw it and thought the CG was ho-hum, the characters were annoying, the political message was heavy-handed and the film dragged on after the monster’s initial appearance. Consequently, I called The Host “overrated” to anyone who would listen to me at the bus stop (I’m rich and drive an

Dir: John Milius Alright... what if the Commies launched a full-scale, mid-eighties invasion of America? It’s a prick-tease premise, but when Red Dawn was released in 1984, Reagan’s anti-Red propaganda was louder than Jesus. I bet Ron loved Red Dawn. What the hell, it’s a Peckinpah man-building look at small-town kids in a world gone to shit; teenage guerrillas fighting in the New Mexican hills, deprived of family, training or communication. Switch Commies to Yankees, and Yankees to Iraqis, I bet you paint a fine picture of today’s average Shi’a militia. John Milius was always the strange meaty blockhead of the New Hollywood—his prior film was Conan the Barbarian!—so violent rah-rah-rahing is standard issue. Red Dawn, a bloodbath, actually made the Guinness Book of World Records for having the highest rate of on-screen violence (2.23 acts per minute!). It’s also the first ever PG-13 release. Out of heaps of soon-to-be-big ‘80’s actors—Charlie Sheen, C. Thomas Howell, Lea Thompson—only Patrick Swayze really comes through shining; the rest seem lost adrift from bad direction. Scatterbrained plotting helps the “world’s fucked—deal with it!” scenario, but logic gaffes are

plentiful. And what asshole thought kids should run around screaming their high school sports team (“Wolverines!”)? Hard sucking. Military realism and desolate landscape photography are top-notch. And there’s something amazingly satisfying about Jennifer (Dirty Dancing) Grey sneaking a basket of explosives into an enemy tank—reversing that famous “Chinaman hat explodes helicopter” scene in Apocalypse Now (also a John Milius script). Harry Dean Stanton plays an all-American apologist for child abuse, saying to his kids: “I was tough on both of ya. I did things that... (pause) that made you hate me sometimes. But you understand now, don’t ya? Boys... AVENGE ME! AVENGE ME!” Says Milius: “I’m a militarist, and an extreme patriot at times. I believe in all that rugged individualism hogwash”. There you go. -David Bertrand

Silk Dir: Chao-Bin Su Silk is a by-the-numbers contribution to the Asian horror genre about a team of researchers studying a child ghost named Yao. The Mulderesque Dr. Hashimoto (Yosuke Eguchi) and his team of science hotties are bringing sexy back to paranormal exploration. Take that, Ghost Hunters! They’ve trapped the young spectre using the newly developed Menger sponge, an all-purpose bouillon cube of “human protein.” It defies gravity! It traps ghosts! It prevents unwanted pregnancy! But like all great scientists, Dr. Hashimoto is getting a lot of guff from the government that funds him, both

for his lack of results and his unfortunate limp. Team Hashimoto enlists Tung (Chen Chang), a coldhearted yet sensitive assassin (or something) to help them understand Yao’s motivations. However, Tung is distracted because his mom’s in a coma and he just can’t seem to make things work with his florist girlfriend. What starts out as a competent—if a little silly—Ringu knockoff quickly goes off the rails and lands firmly in the middle of a Very Special Episode about how it’s really, really not OK to make fun of people with Multiple Tumour Syndrome, OK guys? Except for a scene or two involving skeletal

readjustment, Silk is about as scary as losing the remote when a bad commercial comes on. The glossy production values and mostly decent acting are no match for the “Nuts to you, logic!” approach of the script, which I suspect was written after a drunken round of “Asian Horror Cliché Mad Libs.” -Robyn Dugas

Dorm Dir: Songyos Sugmakanan Changing schools can be tough. I remember a classmate back in elementary school who would cry every time his mom threatened to transfer him to a private Catholic school (no shame in those tears). But changing schools is especially tough when the new school happens to be haunted by the ghosts of former students and caretakers. Such is the predicament facing Ton Chatree, the unfortunate student in the award-winning Thai horror/coming of age film Dorm. When his father pulls him out of his comfortable city school and ships him off to boarding school, Ton struggles both to swallow his resentment and adjust to his new surroundings. Whether the school is truly haunted, as Ton’s new classmates claim, is not immediately clear, and director Sugmakanan does well to create this uncertainty. Unlike more conventional supernatural thrillers, Dorm’s success does not rest on how many times a spooky-looking girl appears from out of nowhere, or how often a door gets slammed behind someone. Whether the jarring under-use of such tricks is due to a scarcity of creepy-looking Thai actresses and the prohibitive cost of CG door-slamming effects, or whether it’s the director’s

unconventional choice to rely more on story than effects, is anyone’s guess. I assume the eventual Hollywood remake will feature Dakota Fanning in the role of the boy ghost. Dorm’s greatest asset is its story, but to discuss too much of the plot would be to give away its secrets. It will invite obvious comparisons to The Sixth Sense, but it’s no knock-off. The best way I can describe it is it’s a coming of age tale with supernatural elements. And Thai-pop ballads set to baton twirling. Now when was the last time you got to see that in a film? -Steven Evans

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WORLD WIDE WEB

AL D TV S ometimes, the music industry is a shitty place to be. When the bands are egotistical, moneyhungry whores, when the promoters are predatory, bottom-feeding scam artists, when the bouncers are mean, the drinks are expensive and even the most die-hard groupies won’t come across, it’s as if all around is darkness and the only light comes from pairs of ravenous eyes, sizing up your tender, juicy, exposed throat. And then, there’s the third horse in a two-horse race; the “warm personality”. Meet Al Di, host of the oddball rock ‘n’ roll web show, AL D TV. My first exposure to Al D was through his eclectic website, which features archived episodes of his show and meandering blog entries (“The Diary of Al Di”) written in his endearing style of semi-broken English and outgoing earnestness. For artists, plugging their newest product and reinforcing whatever image they’re grooming is a necessary part of the business, but guests of Al D TV invariably loosen up. His passion for rock ‘n’ roll in all its various forms and his crazy sense of humour makes his guests comfortable enough to let their images down for a while and be themselves. As a result, most - if not all – of Di’s guests can be seen collapsing into a fit of helpless giggling during (but most likely, throughout) a one-to-one encounter with Di. Part of it might be his personality; totally “on” at all times, Di gives and takes with a rapid-fire pace, his staccato vocal delivery and enthusiastic response to everything constantly challenges his guests to either

Al Di, Al the Time

involve themselves or appear as total losers for not being able to get along with the guy. Still in its infancy, Al D TV has only been “on the air” since the beginning of May but, partly through Di’s industry connections (and partly because the show is predictably unpredictable), he’s already managed to talk to such diverse artists as Sam Roberts, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Fall Out Boy and Lamb of God. So, since this is The Nerve, it seems the natural thing to do is to turn the tables on Al D, and find out if he’s just as engaging in the role of interviewee. Judge for yourself as we Q & A with the Nardwuar of the Far East: Nerve: You have kind of a reputation going now, in only three months… Al Di: Before I do this, Al D TV, I was like an Asian music journalist. I wrote for some Asian music magazines. Oh, is that right? So, I was, like, a ‘four-anda-half-year-old’ music journalist (laughs). So, what…? More serious, like…kinda dry…? Yes, I was a contributing writer for Chinese Rolling Stone magazine. Oh, you mean it’s called ‘Rolling Stone’ and it’s the Chinese-language version? Yes, yes, it’s like the Chinese edition. Uh... do you make it back and forth from here to there, or are you here now? Oh, I’ve been here in Vancouver for over four years now.

I was a contributing writer for Chinese Rolling Stone magazine

Do you get homesick, or do you like it here better? When I’m sick, I miss my home (laughs). Really, I don’t miss my home too much because I’m a workaholic. I work… uh, very much; I work every day. But when I’m sick, I miss my home because I miss my mother who cook, uh, soup for me (laughs)! How do you manage to get people to be on your show when you’ve come out of… kinda… nowhere, as it were? I interviewed a lot of bands in the past, so I kind of have a reputation in the music industry. So, even though the show is only a few months old, they know who I am and they trust me. Were you part of thinking up some of the sillier bits, the kind of light-hearted bits… were you part of devising the format of the show? Yes, yes… my friend Colin Askey is producer of the show, and I am the coproducer. Where did you meet, you guys? Oh, we met in school.Yeah, I and Colin, we were classmates, from a school called Pacific Audio Video Institute. He’s a filmmaker, so he knows how to do editing. Well, tell me if I’m wrong here, but that’s almost the way some bands start up. Yeah, you are totally right, T.C.… (laughs) So, what’s the next step for AL D TV? We, uh, want to do a lot of stupid things and make people laugh, and meanwhile, we want to show how the artists really are, you know. Our show is not

all to help musicians sell records; we want to show musicians’ personalities. That I gathered from the website, and I think that’s kinda real, kinda genuine. And there isn’t a lot of genuineness in this industry. How do you feel about being genuine in a plastic industry? I think it’s pretty cool because I’m a foreigner, I am not a Canadian, but I love Canada, I love Canadian music. English is not my first language, but I do try my best to promote Canadian musicians, Canadian artists. I think I’m proud of myself to do that, you know? n

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LIVE REVIEWS attribute to AO being a little more refined. A few times, I had difficulty identifying what song was being played. In spite of this, one thing I really enjoyed seeing was how many younger kids came out to the show – it’s refreshing to see a whole new generation digging a band that has been around for 25 years. Speaking of being around for 25 years, I was expecting the guys to look way older, and while understandably not as energetic as the ‘Creeps, they were by no means lethargic onstage. Predictably, “Bloodstains” was saved for last, which made for a great ending, with the exception of everyone being kicked out the instant the band played the last note. Overall, this was a great show at a sub-par venue, and hopefully, the Balmoral will get their shit together in the near future. - Simon Illrote

DEFTONES

The Hits / Vultures / The Hotel Lobbyists / The Pack

PHOTO: CHESTY SPARKLEHEAT

Richard’s on Richards,Vancouver. BC Saturday, July 14, 2007

Commodore Ballroom,Vancouver, BC Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Having waited patiently for just over ten years to finally see the Deftones, it shouldn’t come as much of a shock that I was pretty stoked for this show. It’s not that the band hasn’t played Vancouver in the past, but since the option of suffering through a Monsters of Mayhem, Misfits of Metal, or Minotaurs of Megadoom show just to see my beloved Deftones seemed out of the question, I would finally have to wait until they headlined a show in a reasonably sized venue. And what a pleasant surprise it was when it was finally announced that the band would do just that – and not only one show, but three in a row; all selling out within minutes, accordingly. If you’re wondering what could possibly be appealing about the Deftones, you wouldn’t be alone. During the late ‘90s, the band was unfairly associated with the nü-rock (bowel) movement, sharing festival stages with the likes of Korn, Limp Bizkit, and whoever else was promoting rape-rock and NBA meets PDD fashion and lyric sense. Though the Deftones were musically superior to many of their “peers” – most of their fans were simply drawn to the giant riffs and mosh-pit friendly choruses.Yet somehow the Deftones made some cross-over success into the less metal-friendly indie underground. Even Stuart Braithwaite of post-rockers Mogwai championed them as “the only American band worth listening to”. Take that, cynics. Anyway, by the time we arrived at the Commodore on this insanely hot July night, Die Mannequin had already wrapped up its set and From First to Last were busy doing their thing: waving their sweaty locks around, doing that Fall Out Boy guitar-throw-around-and-jump thing, and commending the audience on its truly awesome display of rockingness (which was funny considering the lifeless dance-floor). I figured a crowd waiting to see the Deftones would be getting all over these guys, but tonight’s punters were not wasting any of their energy on this lowly opening act. Arriving on stage to the humming electronic sounds of M83, the crowd instantaneously awakened from its drowse. The Deftones started off the show with two tracks from their near-classic Around the Fur (“My Own Summer (Shove It)” and “Lhabia”), and what followed was an enjoyable, yet calculated and predictable set. The full dynamics of the band’s accomplished sound was limited to the front half of the Ballroom, and often the group

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LIVE

seemed like it was going through the motions – perhaps realizing they had two more nights in the same sweaty venue, having to trudge through the same incommodious heat. Petty grievances aside, there were plenty of moments worth my decade-long wait and zero dollars spent. While there was only one track played from the band’s mediocre selftitled album, they covered their entire back catalogue handsomely. The songs lifted from White Pony and Saturday Night Wrist (most notably “Digital Bath” and the still jaw-dropping “Cherry Waves”) showcased how expansive and proficient these guys can sound, and how shamefully out of their league they’ve become. But honestly, the crowd tonight – and I’m sure the crowd to follow in the days, weeks, years to come – will consider these stellar moments as mere wanky interludes before the fuck-yeah burners like “Rats! Rats! Rats!” and “When Girls Telephone Boys” (though equally as brilliant). And why not? The band can generate a mass-frenzy as easily as it can impress the chin-strokers; it’s just a shame more haven’t caught on yet. - Adam Simpkins

Agent Orange / The China Creeps The Balmoral,Vancouver, BC Friday, July 20, 2007

Regretfully, due to circumstances completely beyond my control, I ended up missing the first two bands, Juicehead and Loose Tooth. Unfortunate, yes, but considering that I’ve never seen Agent Orange play live, not the sort of thing I was going to let ruin my evening. So the China Creeps were roughly halfway through their set when I arrived at the venue, and there was every indication that this was another high-energy solid set, the kind I’ve come to expect from them. While definitely not groundbreaking by any means, it’s my opinion that there will always be room for no-frills straight-ahead old-school-inspired aggressive skate punk, which is what these guys competently provided. Furthermore, they got everyone ready for Agent Orange; a band widely credited with creating the genre, or at least being instrumental to its emergence. One thing I wasn’t too impressed with was the staff intervening when some kids tried to skate on the dance floor. Lame. Finally, Agent Orange took the stage, and it was clear just about everyone in the room was pumped. One regrettable detail I couldn’t help but notice immediately was how poor the sound was, something I found far less noticeable during CC’s set, something I’ll

Vancouver Folk Music Festival 2007

Lee “Scratch” Perry with Dub Is A Weapon / Los Rastrillos Commodore Ballroom,Vancouver, BC Saturday, July 14, 2007

I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, actually. I expected something else, really (like, erm, actual Jamaicans, for a start, doing oldtimey stuff like “Train Number One” and “War Ina Babylon”), so forgive my bias. Warm-up band Los Rastrillos completely captured the crowd’s attention with a highenergy set, packed with musical highlights, including a wicked three-piece horn section and interchangeable drummers/singers taking turns at the front line. Their Latin-but-notnecessarily-Mariachi-tinged reggae won the crowd over bigtime (and sold them more than a few CD’s to boot). In a word, they were

RODNEY DECROO

Jericho Park,Vancouver, BC July 14, 15, 2007

“All music is folk music, I ain’t never heard no horse sing it” – Big Bill Broonzy First off, contrary to those who haven’t looked at the price of concert tickets lately, the fest is a decent bang for yer buck. There’s no corporate sponsorship, no ads anywhere on site. It’s all low-key community and roots causes and it’s not in your face. I’ve had a mostly love relationship with the event ever since I first started going over 10 years ago. At first I griped to all who read or listened that the lineup is always weaker than a Britney Jeopardy score. Too much World Music. Weak! And worse it’s liked most by the weakest hippies of all, the ones who dress like they’re from anywhere but here. With African pill box hats! I can’t trust any whitey wearing one of those. So I obviously know squat about World Music except I know that every time I passed a tent stage this weekend and I couldn’t understand the words ‘cause they weren’t in English, I thought, ‘How the hell do we know what they’re even singing at us?’ it could be totally offensive for all we might know. But festers are dancing and happilly digging it. Because they understand music of the world, okay. I don’t. Ahh, but the atmosphere here is the mellowest, friendliest, safest (I’m talkin’ familywise here) and coolest gathering I ever known

PHOTO: ?????????????????????????

Deftones / From First to Last/ Die Mannequin

Allow me to sum up Vultures in one word: boring. If sounding like mainstream radio is your aim, don’t bother starting a band, okay guys? There’s nothing here you haven’t already seen and heard at the mall. I also got the impression that these guys think they’re way cooler than they actually are. Worse, they brought along their own detail of squealing skanky Robson St. sluts, who were even more of an ear-sore. Thankfully, they also left when the band did. Once the Hotel Lobbyists took the stage with their trademark brand of indie psych-rock, the show recovered rapidly. They went through their set, tight as fuck and with a synergy most would envy. It’s also nice to see a band that’s not afraid to rock out, but doesn’t overdo it. Sadly, this was the Lobbyist’s last performance with Dave Nova, who expressed his ambivalent feelings about the matter by breaking one of his guitars in the most spectacularly untheatrical fashion possible. No big show, no axing the floor with it, just a casual toss and the head broke off. Inspiring. Hopefully they can find someone who can fill his shoes. The real highlight of the show however – and it renews my faith in music fans that so many people were genuinely stoked on them – was the Pack. It’s nice that these two girls were able to blow so many people’s minds. I was expecting much of the audience to be deterred by a blues duo amongst these other bands, but it’s a credit to their talent and musicianship that anyone who didn’t already like the Pack was a convert by the end of their set. Just awesome. Finally, the Hits took the stage. Whoever first made the comparison wasn’t far off: think the cocky swagger of the Stones meets the three-chord simplicity and speed of the Ramones. They played decently, but the Pack are a tough act to follow, and unlike them, this band could use a bass player. Regardless, they rocked hard, and technical difficulties aside, you could tell they were having a good time. - Simon Illrote

in this town.You can lay yer blanket down claiming a wee patch of fest real estate and leave your crap there and it’ll still be there when you get back hours later. Nowhere else. Course the view is too good. In fact it wastes some of the performers who have to stand and play to it because it humbles them into realizing how weak their act really is in the face of God. The Wailin’ Jennys? First off, bad name.Yes, they sing nice but like any mediocre outfit their most memorable song will always be a cover. Sunday night there was a big-ass collective by future folk music of the future types with tricks and video and turntables and a long cyber/ethno trance jam that was 30 miles an hour down a dead-end street, my friend. There was Los Munequitos de Matanzas, who came across like a mediocre wedding band in whatever country they come from. But really, what’s wrong with me? People dig it! The vibe is brilliant no matter what’s goin on onstage. Even when a typical blowhard folkie like Martyn Joseph (from Wales) tries to sing in a shot, old amateur rasp, “put that CNN camera in my face sir/and I swear I’ll break your head”. Sarah-Jane Morris I heard hyped earlier as having the spirit of Janis Joplin. Right there I heard a big ‘Oh puleeeze!’ sounding outta me. She did sing a song about Janis Joplin, and she did a Joplin cover, and she told us she thought she had the starring role as Janis in a Janis bio-flick they were making, only the part was offered instead to Britney Spears who turned it down so it went to Rene Zwelliger. What the fuck?!? Holy weak mainstage act, Batman. Until the Be Good Tanyas came on! But they were cut short, real short (there is a strict curfew). The Tanyas were pissed! There was talk of “Lame” and “Riot” from the members onstage.Yeah!!! Best thing I saw was Geoff Muldaur, who is the funniest best blues/folk/jazz singer/ guitarist. And Ivan E. Coyote accompanied by Rae Spoon whilst Ivan spoke out great stories like always. Now that was top notch stuff. And Rodney Decroo, he who thot he was gonna have to earn a living selling stocks but found music and got a shot on the main stage inbetween the acts where he sang ‘Fuck’ in a sad song about his war vet dad. Folk music, folks. There was a tangible blush from the crowd. - Phil Oats

“Mexellent”. And then, the main event! Or, rather, not. Instead, we were “treated” to a prolonged set by Dub Is A Weapon, the five-piece from Brooklyn (!?), spiritual home of reggae, no? Despite the presence of certified JA percussionist Larry McDonald (and before you say anything, it doesn’t really matter where a good dub band comes from, ok?), it was really the Dave Hahn Show, since every instrument on stage was filtered through echo pedals situated right in front of him (What a drag for the other guitarist, I’d reckon). For my tastes, it was, at times, overblown and out of control, even for dub. When Perry finally came onstage (looking like a cross between Flavor Flav, Mr. T. and - being only 4’11’’, I’d say - Gary Coleman), the unpredictable 71-year-old gave me the impression that he was winging it, basically. Among the “songs” he performed, two were improvised Bob Marley covers with half-remembered lyrics and the original numbers, as best as we could figure out, were sing-song improvisations about loving pussy, “championship piss” and, aw, I don’t even know what the fuck all else, honestly. But there he was, THE MAN, all the way from his home in Switzerland, blowing kisses to the crowd, charming the pants off of everyone in the room, and I gotta say, working hard, keeping us all in his spell until sometime after two in the morning. So, considering the old man’s extra effort, plus the chance just to see this bonafide, full-on legendary figure of dub in the flesh, I’m glad I was there. - T.C.

Stephen Stills

Commodore Ballroom,Vancouver, BC Wednesday, July 11, 2007 You know what’s missing most from rock today is balls. Balls without the help of guitar pedals or boss threads. Stills is from the rock has balls ethos when guys behaved like guys and sang like a gang. Stephen Stills is underrated. He’s also overrated. It’s an unfortunate dilemma. But he’s got cohones. Ya see, the guy rocks like a mofo. Always has. Ever seen him? The guy can’t stand still on stage. Never could. He’s a freakin’ guitar on legs. Always has been. Not the greatest songwriter, and he’s been the first to admit it (“I ain’t no Dylan, you know.” Creem Magazine circa 1974). But he’s on some pret-ty good records. And he’s a pretty good singer. Basically a blues singer. Stills has had Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton and Jimmy Page play on his solo albums. Who else can say that? He’s always kicking ass, our Stephen Stills. But he’s also overrated because he’s onethird of Crosby Stills and Palmer... uh Emerson Lake & Nash... anyway, a totally overrated supergroup. Two good records, and one had Neil Young and both were over 35 years ago. That’s what I call overrated. I mean, does anybody remember these aces, After The Storm, Live It Up? No way, since 1977 CSN has been serving up yacht rock.Yet when CSN play a show, it’s a big ticket. Stephen Stills plays at the Commodore, and you didn’t even know, did you!? What can he do? It’s not Stephen’s fault. Or maybe it is. Either way, how to beat this

LIVE REVIEWS and Oldhamless, however, they appear on the whole to have no ideas to speak of, just simple rhythms (which mostly fail to exploit the two drum kits) and pretty, sucky tunes utterly lacking in imagination or vitality, smacking of the worst of ‘70s instrumental music. Tortoise make music for stupid, pretentious people to fuck to. Whatever good they are capable of, they clearly lack the vision or the courage to pursue it in a sustained way, and their horrible judgment when it comes to most of what they play vastly overshadows any claims to merit they might make. Why they have a following is beyond me; don’t people have any taste? Fond of Tigers are another matter. I don’t know if they’ll get the attention they deserve, but it’s exciting to see a unit emerge from the Vancouver avant-jazz scene that I really like (their lineup includes Jesse Zubot, J.P. Carter, Stephen Lyons, Morgan McDonald, Shanto Bhattacharya, Dan Gaucher, and Skye Brooks). They haven’t quite figured out how to get small yet, how to get really quiet – there is work they need to do, on the subtler end of the scale – but in their more overwhelming moments, their music commands and richly rewards attentiveness, providing an angular and abstract, but coldly groovy, tapestry of ever-shifting iterations, which layer and build into structures colossal, shimmering, and complex. I would guess a shortlist of influences would include the Mahavishnu Orchestra, King Crimson, Supersilent, Bitches Brew-era Miles, and American minimalism; they probably own a fair number of Sonic Youth albums between them, too, and I would guess at least one member of the band has Roof’s The Untraceable Cigar in his CD collection. I like ’em a LOT, and they could teach Tortoise a few things about having two drummers. Nice to see the home team win for a change. - Allan

The Tragically Hip / The Sadies

Finnegan). And by the time they get to Canada’s backup national anthem, “Courage”, he’s smoked at least two packs of imaginary Player’s Lights.  At some points the show feels so rehearsed, it must be a spoof - Tragically Hip: The Musical. As the near-capacity crowd handle the lyrics, Downie (looking appropriately Oliver Twisty in a cap, white dress shirt and tweed pants) high-kicks his way through “Springtime in Vienna”, and rises from the dead during a jam-bandy “At the Hundredth Meridian”. At times he seems angry that the crowd is still scrambling for these old sonic pucks he’s firing over the glass. Maybe it’s an act. Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter. The floor is all fists and lighters; the upper rows squirm with delight. Nobody cares that he purposely fucks up the intro to “Blow at High Dough”. And during a surreal encore of “Grace, Too”, Downie even mimics an ape - a sarcastic performing monkey, dragging his knuckles and peeling a microphonic banana - before yelling and screaming and dying in a hail of suicidal mime bullets. Spent, he throws a sweaty towel into front row, “For the ladies...” he says gracefully, and retires to the dressing room. The Tragically Hip win - again. And it’s all as comforting and patriotic as a fresh honeydipped and a double-double. - Jeff

Warped Tour

Thunderbird Stadium,Vancouver, BC Tuesday, July 3, 2007 The cool thing about being old is that you don’t much care what anyone thinks, so when the opportunity arose to review the Warped Tour, I jumped on it with little apprehension. For years I’d wondered what this “punk” circus must be like, but not badly enough to part with my own hard-earned funds. It was easy to imagine rabid 14-year olds running wild with Dad’s credit card at the merch tables while aging punk rock stars urged the masses to “rock.” Surely, this orgy of consumerism must be a spectacle to behold. Now if I could just get over my pathological hatred of crowds and people in general, I might even have some fun. As the girlfriend and I set off in the car, a low grumbling issued forth from my stomach. There was always the possibility that Warped could finally ruin punk rock for me in a way that not even Avril Lavigne has been able to accomplish. Now I was a little scared. We arrived at Thunderbird Stadium and - having never been there before - parked 10 miles away and walked up behind the place rather than in front. The sun beat down upon our heads but I knew not to bring water because the greedy bastards at the gate confiscate it so you have to buy theirs at four bucks a bottle. I vowed not to drink any water no matter how thirsty I got. I’d show them! A female security guard frisked me so poorly that I could’ve been concealing a bazooka in my shorts. Wait… Once inside, we saw several stages, big and small, sprawled across the landscape. Noise blared from massive speaker columns but none

TIGER ARMY

PHOTO: TAUNYA FLORKO

dilemma… I’ll tell you what you do.You do what Stephen Stills is doing right now.You go on tour with your own band, the rhythm section of Joe Vitale and Kenny Passarelli who have played with you since your solo albums in the ‘70s.You get a guy to play the organ and hammond.You know that this band, when the need arises pull off killer vocal harmonies too. Yes, you take this band out on the road, no big props, no big label, no fancy lights or smoke. You show up and rock like a shit-house door in the wind! Show everybody who might need reminding that you play low buzzard stink funky honky guitar like Billy Gibbons o’ ZZ Top, and scorching histrionic guitar punishment like Ritchie Blackmore of Rainbow, and rude gut fling lixx like Jimmy Page of the Firm.You can blow the aging classic rock fans’ minds with a flick of your wrist and digits.You pummel every song, even “Woodstock”.You slur and slang into the microphone between songs.You come across like the Jeff Bridges of rock. Hey, that’s a cool thing. This is all good stuff. Song selection? Well, I think the set should have been 100% completely Stephen Stills solo stuff. He’s made about 10 solo albums. He’s been playing the same old CSN/Y hits forever with CSN/Y. So he coulda filled that show without ever resorting to predicable CSN or CSNY hits. I seen Crosby Stills & Nash, now I want to see Stephen Stills. Where was “Black Queen”, or more than one Manassas song? Where was his funky take on disco, “Can’t Get No Booty (But I Try)”. Or maybe a Buffalo Springfield tune other than “For What It’s Worth”. Of course I did miss the way-early acoustic set. But hey, I can be hypercritical, cuz Stephen Stills is one of a few great ‘60s rockers still rocking out not on the casino circuit. “Southern Cross” opened the electric portion, beefing up what was originally a mellow soft rocker. Manassas’ “Isn’t It About Time” was a corker, in fact it was filthy! My personal highlight. We got a taste of the “Jet Set/Rocky Mountain Way” edit, and the encore was “Dark Star”, another formerly mellow easy rocker now beefed up to matter. Because that song always had too much of a monster riff to be played by an acoustic guitar. Anyways, Stephen Stills, he came and he rocked. That rockin’ music he made at the Commodore - it eats today’s rock for breakfast. - Phil

of it sounded of any interest to an old punk like me. Sure enough, there were the corporate merch tables I’d pictured so clearly in my head, and there were the 14-year olds with dad’s credit card. Everywhere I looked, aging punk rock stars urged kids to “rock.” We walked around in the blazing heat and I became more and more discouraged. Why had I come here? What had I expected to find? This festival was for young people and I was so far over the hill that all I could do was bitch. Already I’d seen enough and it was time to go home. Maybe I could find a nice game of lawn bowling on TV. “Let’s scram,” I said to my girl. “I feel weird looking at all these kids wearing T-shirts of the bands I grew up with.” In a way, though, it was cool that those old bands were still relevant to the youth of today. I felt somehow vindicated, that we’d been right all along and now the rest of the world was catching up.Viva la punk rock, muthafuckas. But my girl wasn’t about to give up so easily. “Look, there’s a lower level we haven’t seen yet!” she said, pointing to a sign. We walked around a corner and down a ramp and sure enough, there was another circus as large as the first one. Now I really felt sick. After consulting a massive sign displaying the band schedule, we wandered over to watch Vincent Black Shadow and I was reasonably impressed. The singer was a tiny little girl, but with pipes like Patti Smith on ‘roids. While the

cover of “White Rabbit” was good, their original songs gave her a better opportunity to show off that enormous voice. Despite myself, I felt a tiny ray of hope. Maybe it was possible for an old fart to have fun after all. After Vincent Black Shadow, we decided to wait half an hour to see Tiger Army. I’m partial to the new album, which had just come out. A large crowd began to gather and a MILF standing in front of us turned to me and said, “Hey, my daughter got kicked out of school for reading one of your books!” And then she thumped me on the chest, directly on my large, fresh tattoo. “We’re even now, lady,” I said, grimacing in pain. At that moment, Tiger Army ambled onto the stage, bursting into their first song without delay. Nick 13 grinned out at the crowd and a refreshing breeze swept across the sweaty punks in the pit. Charisma just oozes from the man and you can’t even hate him for it. They blazed through a few songs from the new album before the bass player stopped to urge Vancouver to “rock.” Nick doesn’t come across as a people lover, and I could easily imagine him ordering the bassist to take over pandering duties. Ah, yes, the joy of being on top. Then, as the sun beat down, Tiger Army broke into the magnificent “Forever Fades Away” and I realized that summer had truly arrived. - Chris Walter

REVIEWS

Tortoise / Fond of Tigers The Commodore,Vancouver, BC Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Seeing them live, I finally feel confident in my judgment, long suspected: Tortoise blow. Pastel waffle mush, or as my buddy Michael Carrothers said, “New Age Porn music” – a designation which, actually, out of my abiding love for Annie Sprinkle, I must say, is vastly unfair to New Age Porn. Truth told, they DO have moments on record that sustain interest and provide pleasing texture – I mean, that’s a pretty cool reinterpretation of “It’s Expected I’m Gone” on the thing with Bonnie “Prince” Billy, and the take on Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” is pretty surprising, too. Live

GM Place,Vancouver, BC Thursday, July 12, 2007

I swear on the ghost of Pierre Trudeau – there is actually a dude in the arena parking lot washing back a box of Timbits with a Molson Canadian. Twenty minutes later, as the Hip launch into their one-millionth performance of “New Orleans is Sinking”, he will be the most Canadian he has ever been. Up on stage, Gord Downie, the veteran captain of Team Canada rock, is still throwing hard elbows in the corners. Skating through new tracks like “The Lonely End of the Rink” and “The Kids Don’t Get It”, Downie plays like a fresh-legged rookie. But with the rest of the Hip’s dog-eared catalog of hits, he seems to have to work extra hard to keep his head in the game. Mime seems to help. “Long Time Running” features some expert skeet shooting. “Fully Completely” sees him scouring pockets for missing things (i.e. his mind). There’s a lot of patting and smoothing animals in “Ahead By a Century” (I like to imagine a beaver and/or Mr Dressup’s

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ALBUM REVIEWS

CD SPECIAL Jandek

Manhattan Tuesday Corwood Damn, man – along with my last order, I sent the Man from Corwood a New Creation CD, a Minimalist Jug Band CD and two copies of the Nerve Magazine with my articles on same (promoter Gary Topp in Toronto made sure he got a copy of the Jandek article I did for the Nerve awhile back). I was so excited to see if he’d include a note or some such in the package, but – nope, nada, nothin’, just the CDs I’d asked for (and some packing material).You gotta admire it: the man will not be provoked into revealing himself, perhaps because he all too well realizes that if he so much as farted in my proximity, I would describe the smell in print somewhere. “JUST THE MUSIC, man, that’s all you get.” But hey, you know, I don’t mind, because Manhattan Tuesday, the new CD, is feckin’ GREAT. It was the first time that the guy most-of-us-whodon’t-use-his-name-out-of- somepossibly-misguided-sense-of-politeness just think of as Jandek played with Loren Connors on guitar, for one, who provided understated electric textures alongside the drums (Chris Corsano) and bass (Matt Heyner). His fifth live gig, recorded back in 2005, it’s similar to his Toronto show (like you were there!) in that it has a dreamy, undersea feeling, produced in part by the fact that Jandek is playing a Korg synthesizer, which he plays in a fairly conventional, I-can-actually-play-thisinstrument, organ-like fashion, creating something moody and understated and generally much more agreeable than his limited piano tinklings (cf. Glasgow Monday). He’s also clearly thought out a fairly coherent piece of poetry to recite (or occasionally howl) while his fellow improvisers go to work – it reads like a depressive’s take on the Unabomber Manifesto (“Man can have his needs so easily met /Because his superior intelligence has created efficiency Bad Brains Build a Nation Oscilloscope No one holds their breath longer than I do when the hardcore icons of yesteryear release a new album but guess what, muthafuckas, the Bad Brains are back! Bassist Daryl Jenifer might argue that they never went away, but Build a Nation is easily the best thing they’ve done in decades. Everything you loved about the Bad Brains is here: the impossible time signatures, HR’s passionate vocals, Jenifer’s menacing bass lines, the quickness; all delivered with amazing style and originality. Sure, Build a Nation is drenched in Jah imagery that I don’t understand because I’m an uptight white guy, but that just adds to the Bad Brains mystique and makes the music even more appealing. There is exactly one slow number too many for my tastes, but clocking in at 35 minutes, there are also enough fast songs to leave you gasping for breath. Highly recommended. - Chris Walte Bad Religion New Maps of Hell Epitaph For years, no decades, I’ve sat on the fence about Bad Religion. I loved How Could Hell Be Any Worse, but then they released Into the Unknown as a sophomore album and never fully recovered me as a fan. That said, BR has always been a guilty pleasure. New Maps of Hell is the 14th full-length album (!) from Bad Religion and incredibly, they show no sign of flagging. In fact, NMOH is as punchy and anthemic as, well, all hell, and I daresay at least as good as anything they’ve ever done. Sure, I know that BR are part of the corporate machine they used to rally against but indisputably they are masters at creating snappy punk rock with grandiose social messages. I’m going to finally

OK but what now?/ What does one who doesn’t care do?”). Favourite line: “The train must leave without me.” Not bad! Anyhow, I LOVE that Jandek is playing live now, because, like it or not, working with other musicians in a performance setting cannot but sway him towards deeper and richer musical waters; I still enjoy his solo acoustic/electric rambly stuff, but it’s nowhere near as fresh or exciting an experience as hearing the Man from Corwood working with OTHER PEOPLE, particularly since a lot of his solo recordings start to sound really, really similar (compare, say, The Rocks Crumble, from 1983, with What Else Does the Time Mean, from 2006 – that’s one hell of a timespan to be so, umm, consistent in). In fact, if you got tired of Jandek discs at some point, decided that you had heard everything the man was going to offer, barring weird but not necessarily dynamic departures into spoken word or solo bass or whateverthehell variations on “the Jandek recording” he came up with for awhile, this is the place to re-excite yourself about the man from Corwood. I like it better than any of the other live recordings I’ve heard, for overall mood and focus. It is something “other” than the Jandek record. It is something very new, and very cool. Now if only the Seattle gig were available – that was one kickass rock concert he put on... - Allan MacInnis stop waffling and admit that I dig this album. Anyone who has a problem with that can meet me behind the Cobalt and we’ll settle things mano a mano. - Chris Walter Baroness / Unpersons A Grey Sigh In A Flower Husk At A Loss This here is a rare split album between two of Savannah, Georgia’s finest. Kicking off the affair with two lengthy cuts is Baroness, whose previous output totals two indie EPs. Throwing a graciously scaled back death growl over monstrously fuzzed out riffs and fabulously executed progressive rock patience produces the thickest sludge possible without a cement mixer full of molasses and flour. Black Sabbath, I hardly knew ye. Definitely looking forward to hearing more from them. The closing half of the record is provided by the confused stonermetal/jazz-fusion of Unpersons. It’s kinda hard to get into a groove with them being as they rarely rest on a cord structure for more than a couple bars, the “cuh-rayyyyzee” vocals border on distracting, and the sounds they use are not all that captivating. It looks like they were going for a harder Les Claypool and found… well, what you’d expect, I suppose. Regardless, Savannah certainly appears to be a hotbed of upcoming heavy, heavy rock. - filmore mescalito holmes Mark Berube What the River Gave the Boat Kwalu Vancouver has no shortage of secondgeneration hippies and beatniks looking to make an impact on the world through wise words and subtle sounds. The truth is most if them are either totally self-righteous or totally self-indulgent and, therefore, basically annoying

as fuck. It’s no small wonder that so many people hate poetry. However, when you do come across a person who isn’t simply talking (or singing) to hear their own voice and they have any sort of talent behind their words, it’s totally captivating. Mark Berube is one of these people. What the River Gave the Boat is his fourth album and it serves as a good example of how to blend intelligent lyricism, interesting musical arrangement (not your typical boring folk bullshit), and effectively understated delivery into something even some redneck from Manitoba might pay attention to. - Devon Cody

are surely a prime example of this rough, punk/rock hybrid. Naturally, Gearhead wants to compare them to the New Bomb Turks, but other than the occasional vocal inflection I just don’t hear it. The guitars are more trebly than NBT would approve of and, well, they just don’t much sound like them. A closer match, I’d say, would be Billy Reese Peters, who favour a rawer, garagey sound. Again, I have a hard time finding fault in any Gearhead releases and Terminal Breakdown will definitely spend much time on the sound system as we become acquainted. Rawk! - Chris Walter

Birgit True Stories I Made Up Zip This has to be one of the weirder things given to me for review. Okay, so Birgit Schuurman is Dutch, but her album sounds like it’s aimed at the Asian market, and her look is all sultry western burlesque bombshell. Kind of an everyman’s Geisha fantasy with extra sauce in wolf’s clothing. Although True Stories I Made Up’s predominant sound is Harajuku mall music, there are moments of Kelly Clarkson and Justin Timberlake. Given that last sentence you’d expect brilliance of Gwen-Stefani proportions, but really it all just sounds confused, and it’s difficult to work out who exactly the intended audience is for this weirdness. She sums it all up well in the track (and single) “Guniang” with the lines, “I thought you were Asian, but girl you’re Caucasian, you better put on your dress”.Vocally, there is excellence, and were she to enter an Idol contest, Birgit would make the final 10 hands down. Kudos then for not doing that, and for putting out this instead. - Stephanie Heney

Brant Bjork and the Bros Somera Sol Duna I was a serious devotee of Brant “ex-Kyuss drummer” Bjork’s first solo Dave Grohlifying effort, Jalamanta (1999), a funky, riffy, mellow jazz R&B noodle, but only grazed the next handful of albums. So Somera Sol caught me off guard: there’s still them chunky lil’ semidistorted spliff-smooth pentatonic headnodders, but the tight production and overall slickness is bumped way up, particularly the big’n’poppy drumming of Alfredo “ex-Kyuss drummer” Hernandez. Brant’s gentle vocal croon and spacey desert hippie musings are also (for better or worse) given the boost. See “Lion Wings”, and its small-man American paranoia: “They want to run our lives/control what tomorrow brings/robots never cry”, capped, inevitably, with holistic dreadlocked rasta scraps, “So spread your lion wings”. Nothing out of the norm for the Bros, really. Very pleasant, very groovy. The hooks start to thin mid-way, and more guest vocals from Mario Lalli (of Fatso Jetson) would be nice – he belts out the horny sax-driven closer, “Blood in the Gallery” with a throat half Mark Lanegan, half actor Wings Hauser puking the theme song to Vice Squad. For an acceptably groovy summertime porch party, it’s sure beats Jack fuckin’ Johnson. - Dave Bertrand

Black Betty Black Betty Twin Earth From the ashes of Sir Hedgehog,Vancouver’s ultimate defunct Wizard-worshipping ‘70s riff revival (waaay before the latest revival, scenehuggers!!!!), comes Black Betty, the mighty duo of Jonas Fairley, Hedgehog singer, on vocals and drums, plus Ana Serena on guitar. Ana looks, for the love of Baby Jesus, like some sun-baked, untouched jailbait from a West Van Catholic school, strapped with a Les Paul, with – by some Cosmological fluke – the chutzpah to stomp a Big Muff, fuzz the fuck out and spear the wand of Merlin through Master of Reality. Fuck! Meanwhile, Sir Jonas, that freak of nature, smashes his kit to rollicking smithereens while effortlessly wailing his upper register Geddy Lee/Ozzy/Burke Shelley howl to the high heavens. It’s a big divider, that voice, scaring away certain would-be Betty/Hog fans. But in 2007, post-Wolfmother, are the masses back on board for balltugging male rock lungs? Oooo... the suspense!!! “Falling” is all sweet breakdowns, catchy chorus, low-to-low vocals tingling the tender bits, pure heavenly stoner groove, while “House of Chains”... pummeling! Pummeling!!! Instant shit-eatin’ grin! Lovers of bad-ass thundering riffola, prepare for erection. Any band that names a song “Womb of the Titan” is a true friend, indeed. - Dave Bertrand

Brimstone Howl Guts of Steel Alive Though not as initially impressive as some of the acts on the current Alive roster (SSM, Black Diamond Heavies, Bloody Hollies), Brimstone

Howl’s brand of down-n-dirty garage punk/ dirty blues/tempted Southern Boy rock is best described as raw brewing thunder that works more on endurance than going straight for the jugular. Hailing from Nebraska, the youthful foursome may appear fresh-faced but the music is far from puerile. Brimstone Howl take the dust-bowls and expanse of the Midwest and transfers these seamlessly to tape: “In the Valley” is harrowing and ominous, “Tomahawk” is primal and delicious, and album closer “One Quick Minute” sums up the Howl’s live fast/die hard temper. And while some critics have foolishly taken issue with the band’s choice of murky production, Guts of Steel would suffer greatly without the excess grease and rust. - Adam Simpkins Buffalo Tom Three Easy Pieces New West I remember the first time I saw the “alternative” genre in an HMV.I also remember removing it years later. That was perhaps my most surreal day as a record store clerk. End of an era and all that. However, events such as this one must have been even stranger for the bands involved; bands like Buffalo Tom, who took a lengthy hiatus around the same time as this “Death of Alternative.” But for some reason, the group is now ending its eight-year break with a new album full of new recordings called Three Easy Pieces. So, have Buffalo Tom reinvented themselves in some less alternative, more modern image? Well, no. These three Boston natives churn out the same brand of safe, melodic guitar-based alt-rock they always have. And fair enough. No one has really expected much more out of Buffalo Tom than some catchy tunes, and that’s exactly what you get with Three Easy Pieces. Though, I don’t think this is nearly enough to spark any alternative revival. - Brock Thiessen C.O.C.O Play Drum+Bass K Drum and Bass duos are nothing new. In Canada alone we’ve seen marginal success and innovation from the likes of the Inbreds, Duotang, and Death From Above 1979; though it’s a limited set-up, the results can occasionally be more dynamic than those from a fully

Bob Burns & the Breakups Terminal Breakdown Gearhead Yes, I know that “rawk” ceased to be a cool word long ago but now it seems to have become a genre unto itself. And if “rawk” is a genre, then Bob Burns and the Breakups

The Nerve August 2007 Page 25

ALBUM REVIEWS formed band. As for this third release from boy/girl combo Olivia Ness (bass/vocals) and Chris Sutton (drums), the songs volley between half-baked and ripe, but played with the same reckless spirit as the White Stripes so that even the mistakes sound intentional. When the two get their groove on, which is more often than not, they sound like a whiter, less inherently funky ESG (“Good”), but can quickly transform into a stripped down version of the Stooges (“We Gotta Right”). Play Drum+Bass is charmingly underproduced, lacks focus, and could have been recorded within hours – in other words, exactly what you’d expect from Camp K. - Adam Simpkins The Console War Shards Independent No matter what you say about the Console War, you have to give them this: they’re ambitious. On the duo’s debut, Shards, these two men from Washington, D.C., try to bring a lot to the table, and for the most part, they pull it off. With a combination of guitars, organs, synths, samplers and drums, they assemble a mid-paced, analog-fueled rock aesthetic that hints at the forward-thinking sounds of Spacemen 3 and C86 (???). Showing a love for complex and unconventional song structures, tracks such as “America” and “Out in Force” seamlessly shift one idea to the next, becoming neither jarring nor awkward. However, the weak point in Shards rests in production. With the Console War recording and producing this on their own - and likely in some basement - the disc has a very crude, DIY sound, with instruments often bleeding into one another and downing each other out. Nonetheless, if you can look past the rough production, you will see these guys are onto something here. - Brock Thiessen

four - I gather they mix a didgeridoo in there somewhere, but I really just don’t care. - Allan MacInnis Down To Nothing The Most Revelation Not bad for modern “hardcore,” I guess. The Most is perfect for spin-kicking fellow moshers in the head but those tough-guy vocals always throw me off. - Chris Walter

Rory Gallagher Live at Montreux Eagle Vision A brilliant compilation of astounding live tracks capturing both the hot electric and cool acoustic sides of Ireland’s greatest blues-rock guitar hero, the late Rory Gallagher. Covering the timespan 1975-1985, these tunes show that not only was Gallagher super-stoked to

Bryan Ferry Dylanesque Virgin Covering a Dylan song is one of the oldest tricks in the book. Over the years, countless musicians have taken shots at old Robert Zimmerman tunes, making the idea and practice far from original. However, given that

be a recurring feature at one of Europe’s alltime best music festivals ever, but he was an offhanded master at either blowing one’s face off with sheer blistering fret board intensity (standing proud alongside over-spot lit blokes like Eric Clapton, Alvin Lee, and Johnny Winter) or in dropping your jaw through filigree finger picking (again, he matches anything Jimmy Page, Richard Thompson, or John Renbourn could pull off). Highlights? The whole goddamned album, end to end, but check out “Laundromat,” “Tore Down,” “Off the Handle,” “Too Much Alcohol,” and his amazing version of Leadbelly’s “Out on the Western Plain.” - Ferdy Belland

back country groove that chugs along your hips like a horny teenager. Other times Jensen is layin’ down some thick garage shimmy that recalls the best of his Montreal forerunners the Gruesomes or, maybe even the first Love album. It’s hard to explain the feel of this record without thinking of deals with the devil, speed, moonshine, lofts of hay and dirty, messy and verrry matter-of-fact up against the wall motherfucker boning. Skip and Seb recently passed through our sleepy city…if you weren’t hep enough to check em out, it’s your loss. - Boy Howdy Kick in the Eye Red Army Overdrive Aftersound The principles here, Marian and Donnie Lochrie, must be sick of the White Stripes comparisons, but they’re unavoidable given the boy/girl dynamics at work here. Kick in the Eye play basic, roots-based rock enthusiastically and without guile making Red Army Overdrive very easy to enjoy. This three-song demo is just a tease from an upcoming album called Sea of Bitterness, which seems like an odd title given the upbeat tempo of these tracks. Unless the remainder of the album is Joy Divisionstyle doom and gloom, they should call it Sea of Happiness. But that probably wouldn’t sell, would it? - Chris Walter Lightning Dust s/t Jagjaguwar Since Black Mountain began, a shower of side projects has been left in its wake. Thankfully, each has gone its own way and avoided simply replicating Black Mountain’s retrorock psychosis, including the latest foothill, Lightning Dust. The duo composed of Amber Webber and Joshua Wells (who in their parent project fill the positions of backing vocalist and drummer, respectively) take a stark, bare-bones approach to their rock ’n’ roll, where acoustic guitars, kraut-styled synths and creeping piano are the instruments of choice. Included in the mix is Webber’s strong vocal vibrato, which casts an air of gloomy melodrama over the group’s self-titled debut and gives it a rather theatric-type quality. She also fills whatever holes this minimal slant creates, making the album sound far from empty. All this makes Lightning Dust come across as one dark, overcast outfit, but an outfit well worth looking into. Happiness is overrated anyway. - Brock Thiessen

and carelessness that the Man himself would have never stood for. - Adam Simpkins Meg & Dia Something Real Warners It’s a sad but self-perpetuating truth that pretty young girls get signed for reasons other than musical ability. And if it runs in the family even better. Hilary Duff, Jessica Simpson and Kylie Minogue have all had extra marketing dollars thrown at them for having a sellable sister to accessorize their career with. So when Meg and Dia Frampton turned up on Warner Bros doorstep, the fact that they could actually sing, play and write songs was likely an afterthought on the way to the stylist. But, if you want doors opened for you and you’re prepared to be packaged a la Mary Kate and Ashley and show a bit of leg, then the opportunities are yours. Meg and Dia’s music is reasonable, solid pop with fine-tuned vocals and enough of a guitaredge to get them on to MTV. Add to that their fine looks and you’ve got a pair of ready made Avrils. Just, don’t call your album Something Real, unless of course you’re being ironic. - Stephanie Heney Megadeth United Abominations Roadrunner Against all odds and finding God, Dave Mustaine – the man who left Metallica just in time – has returned with a new band and his 11th studio album. Surprisingly, they uphold the good name Megadeth with riff after classic thrash-metal riff and some of Mustaine’s most fiercely political lyrics yet. Only the opening “Sleepwalker” really pisses on the old campfire based totally on its obvious, cliché wording. The rest of the album rallies hard against general public apathy, warmongering oil barons, and details with precise accuracy exactly why the UN is a pandering invention of the American big business climate designed to put a compassionate face on the ass raping of developing countries.You have to wonder, though, now that Dave is a devout Christian, when is he going to turn his penetrating glare onto the evils people like Bush do under the banner of his religion.You would think he’s have some motivation into examining that vein instead of the usual rewording of CNN headlines, insightful as they may be. Regardless, the legacy of this legendary outfit has been graciously added to by this release. - filmore mescalito holmes

ALBUM

Deadsure Extra Large Youth Rome Plow Recorded over the spring of 2006 with (guess who?) Jesse Gander at the Hive, Deadsure’s Extra Large Youth proves to be one hell of a powerful swan song to one of Vancouver’s best post-hardcore bands, and the handsome white-vinyl release (complete with traditional DIY brown-cardboard sleeve and silk-screened cover graphics) makes it hard to release from one’s hand... and those of us who love Drive Like Jehu will appreciate the label name of Rome Plow. As always helmed by the shattered shriek of ex-Sparkmarker luminary Ryan ‘Yancot’ Scott and Greg (just Greg), this album lineup of Deadsure (including Hieg Khatcherian, Andrew Morrison, and Andy Ashley) is yet another amazing 2007 Vancouver release and is yet another reason to not bother racing down to HMV to pick up the new Something Corporate CD, as if you needed any reason to avoid that dubious task. Album highlights include “Claps and the Occasional Whoop,” “Business End of Cutlery,” “Bumrush,” and “Backwash Facewash.” But for those precious chosen few who had the smarts to attend live Deadsure shows, every clang and bash and choked yell on this album is a stone-cold keeper, start to finish. - Ferdy Belland Dirge And Shall the Sky Descend Equilibre Music  Postcore, shmostcore: this is art metal, and I have no patience for it. Given a choice between listening to, say, Neurosis, or their electronic side-project made up of sampled insect sounds, Tribes of Neurot, I will choose the bugs every time - and I do credit Neurosis as bein’ one of the better bands of this sad genre. Anyhow, this here’s some sorta digipack reissue of Dirge’s third album, from 2004. Dirge - who hail from France, and apparently have a new album comin’ soon - somehow mistake playing slowly and simply over an extended period for creating mood, alternating quiet “serious” bits with vast humping thuddery that plods on and on at about the same (low) level of complexity and (high) level of predictability for ridiculous lengths (the first cut lasts 24 fuckin’ minutes, and aside from a brief passage of texturally dense and tonally rich guitar wankery/ sampling lasting from around minutes 12 to 14, captures my attention not at all). Lyrics are indecipherable and delivered in a generic growl; the band never sounds like they’re having fun, or like they want their audience to; and the formulaic metalhead nature of the thing so violently bludgeons any trace of expressive intent to death that all I can hear is one big, long, boring cliché. The second track is (WTF?) entitled “The Birdies Wheel,” and is both a little more interesting than track one and, paradoxically, quite a bit more annoying. Dirge will have to pay me to listen to tracks three or

Bryan Ferry has built much of his 30-year career out of others’ songs, you’d expect even Dylan covers to sound unique. And for the most part they do on Dylanesque, Ferry’s new album dedicated to the rambling troubadour. As always, the Roxy Music frontman has made another’s work his own, stamping it with his distinctive proto-lounge-lizard delivery. The result is a slick, sophisticated feel to songs such as “If Not for You” (which finds Brian Eno and Ferry working side by side again) and “Make You Feel My Love”, with little sign of Dylan’s dusty, acoustic qualities. While Dylanesque may not be in the same league as his ’70s material, it shows Ferry’s career is far from over and done with. - Brock Thiessen

The Flairs Shut Up and Drive Pacific Music This CD was almost doomed to a shitty review

from the start, for a number of reasons: 1) I hate bands with chick singers (not because I have any problem with female singers in general; just that, in the music industry, rock bands with female singers seem to succeed on the merits of having a female singer rather than any actual talent, which is bullshit); 2) I hate bands that my co-workers are in (I happen to work with Gillian, guitarist extraordinaire for the Flairs, and this essentially means watching someone else living out my dream while I’m relegated to working in a shithole cubicle job). If you will, imagine how good an album would have to be to overcome these glaring deficits. Wonder no more, my little friends, because this album IS that good. Shut Up and Drive, the first full-length from Vancouver’s own the Flairs shreds like a chainsaw into my asshole. From the crunchy opening chords of “Poison Love” to the final note of “Runaway”, the Flairs bring us the very definition of ROCK, like a Joan Jett and the Blackhearts for the new millennium (which is good, because it means walking corpse Joan Jett can finally retire). If you haven’t had the pleasure of catching their infectious, high-energy live show, make sure you show up for the July 14th gig at the Media Club, to catch the Flairs alongside Crystal Pistol and the Irreverents. - Derek Bolen

Mick Harvey Two Of Diamonds Mute Outside of his work scoring major motion pictures, many people would recognize Australian multi-instrumentalist Mick Harvey as the red right hand of Nick Cave (& The Bad Seeds, the Birthday Party). He’s helped guide the cult hero’s artistic vision for decades, leaving his chops not in question. He proved that point with his last album, playing every sound on 2005’s One Man’s Treasure save for a few strings. I suppose the slow building process was a little on the tedious side because most of Two Of Diamonds was played out live in the studio with his touring band and a couple guests. Works for me, ‘cause the smoky, experimental post-country atmospheres breathed into obscure covers of demos, unreleased, and old school Aussy cuts (like PJ Harvey’s finally released “Slow-MotionMovie-Star” and the particularly poignant “Photograph” by the Saints) is moving enough to make you wanna cough like Doc Holliday. Mmm, tasty. - filmore mescalito holmes

Jason Isbell Sirens of the Ditch New West Isbell split from the Drive-By Truckers last April to embark on a solo career. Sirens of the Ditch is the product of this venture. As talented a musician and songwriter as he is, given the Truckers’ loyal fans, there’s bound to be some hard comparisons – especially considering the fact that despite Isbell taking his talents elsewhere, the Drive-By Truckers still have two of today’s best story-driven songwriters in Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley. It’s pretty safe to assume that Isbell won’t be stepping out from that shadow anytime soon. Sirens of the Ditch, is no slouch effort, mind you. If anything, it may draw criticism for being too slick, with an obvious aim for poppier audiences and a less textured sound given the absence of the three-guitar attack that’s signature of DBT. Also the last three tracks on the album kind of fizzle out, rather than leave you wanting more. Overall though, Isbell deserves credit for creating a package of songs that are more eclectic than his previous band’s material, yet won’t alienate fans coming over from the Truckers’ camp – and I’m sure there’ll be heaps of ‘em. - Devon Cody

Malevolent Creation Doomsday X Nuclear Blast I don’t know why, but those early ‘90s Florida metal bands seem to have something that others don’t. Malevolent Creation is one of those bands, and seems to be doing the same shit as usual, but it’s still refreshing shit, gliding as it does over the usual cum gurgling I have to endure. The musicianship is top notch, but so is the song writing (as far as extreme metal goes), which is usually a difficult task for the basement dwelling kind. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not going to be listening to Doomsday X before my next love making session with the overweight tranny midgets I always seem to end up with, but at least I don’t feel compelled to burn down my house, either. Doomsday X sadly boasts another one of those post apocalyptic covers, with skulls, and scary writing; in extreme metal album world, this shit makes Paris Hilton’s pussy look pink again, but mercifully that has nothing to do with sonic vibrations, which are as solid as they can be here with songs like “Cauterized” or “Deliver My Enemy”. It’s not the Beatles, but Malevolent Creation is pretty good at what it does. - David Von Bentley

Motorama Dirt Track Specialist Last Chance You have to hand it to Motorama - they just keep plugging away and don’t ever give up. Too bad they had to look to Portland for a record label, as there are a good number of Vancouver bands who are far less worthy. But never mind all that crap because Motorama finally have the legit full-length they’ve always been after, and a rockin’ number it is. Down ‘n’ dirty, bad ‘n’ nasty, this is the CD that you wouldn’t take home to meet the parents. Dirt Track Specialist is just certain to say or do the wrong thing and embarrass the shit out of you, but she’s a good fuck. - Chris Walter Napalm Death Punishment in Capitals Eagle Rock Napalm Death has been hailed for years as being one of the best death metal bands ever. Me, I could never get past the fact the singer is nicknamed Mark ‘Barney’ Greenway, and that he belts out these tunes precisely like you’d think a child-molesting purple dinosaur would. Since this is a 28-song live CD (formerly only available in Europe), you hear all the ridiculousness coming from bubby boy Barney’s mouth in its most unpolished glory.You feel like he’s trying so hard that his asshole is about to prolapse and hang between his asscheeks like a pink sock. If you can get past that, Punishment in Capitals demonstrates why Napalm Death is almost legendary these days, pumping out song after song and making each one reasonably distinctive from the others (death metal isn’t known for that), and seemingly doing it with ease live. Twenty-eight songs on one CD is a bit much though, but it’s not that bad of a listen, even with Barney Rubble’s exploding asshole vocals. - David Von Bentley

REVIEWS

The Nerve August 2007 Page 26

Skip Jensen (w/Seb Normal) Canadian Tour 2007 (Advance Copy of Upcoming LP) Recorded in Strasbourg, these 18 songs comprise a cycle that tells the tale of a tormented soul searching for meaning in an otherwise meaningless life. This music is that of all-night juke-joints - bare bones, often just Jensen strumming on a distorted and raw guitar with tambourine played by foot. At times Jensen recalls Hasil Adkins with a demented

Bob Marley and The Wailers Roots, Rock, Remixed Quango Ka-Ching! Nothing signals the onset of summer like the massive glut of trashy beach novels, overhyped blockbusters, and useless remix albums. Quango’s latest, Roots, Rock, Remixed, is no exception: 12 mostly-classic Marley jams “reinvented” by some of today’s hottest producers (at least according to the glowing press release). If by “remix” the producers mean an added synth wave here and there and a trotting house beat laid underneath every track, then I suppose we can’t complain of being misled. All of these tracks, from “Duppy Conqueror” to “400 Years” have been reduced to party jams, lacking any of the heart and soul found in the original analog recordings. Reggae purists will cringe while benighted electro-hippies will probably lap this up as they blissfully devil-stick to the irie island jams. And though the Marley family gave this album their blessing, there’s an overriding stench of profit

The Painted Birds So Much for the Rain Independent Shawn Berke and Dom Fricot are pretty much the Lennon/McCartney of the sensitive-lad indie genre. After a seven year hiatus taking them to opposite sides of the country and

CD / DVD REVIEWS through a number of vastly inferior bands, they’ve reunited once again, along with former Spark That Screams guitarist Josh McNorton and a rotation of various drummers. What does this mean for you, humble reader? A FUCKING KICKASS ALBUM, THAT’S WHAT. The McNorton/Berke/Fricot axis provide considerable musical chops to back up the stellar songwriting, running the gamut from jittery, angular rock numbers reminiscent of Radiohead (“Tease”, “Lights Out”, “Though Every Dog Bark”) to gentle, Coldplay-esque piano ballads (“All I Can Do”, “Sidewalk”), and even a haunting, string-drenched track that wouldn’t seem out of place on an Arcade Fire album (“East of Eden”). In a perfect world, these local boys would be riding the express train to superstardom. Tragically, this is not a perfect world, and instead of reading my review of their sophomore effort a year from now, you’ll probably be reading about some talentless dickhead Nickelback/Finger Eleven clone while actual musicians continue to bus tables and mop up peep-show leftovers as a reward for not compromising their integrity. - Derek Bolen The Polyphonic Spree The Fragile Army TVT The Polyphonic Spree have been written about as much for their myriad members and their novelty outfits as they have for their music. And I’m therefore compelled to mention that for their third album, they have thrown out the hippy Waco cult robes and are now dressing like Public Enemy’s SW1 military crew, presumably a statement about being an ‘army’. Although the songs have a darker subject matter than we’re used to from the Spree, the sound is as uplifting as ever, like Embrace went and cheered up Godspeed You Black Emperor! and if the album is a call to arms, it’s an encouraging one at least. Theatrical and huge in tone, occasionally things go Bohemian Rhapsody overboard, but overall, The Fragile Army is a joy of an album, just with some added political awareness to give purpose to their trademark passion. Maybe the soundtrack to the revolution doesn’t have to sound bleak after all. - Stephanie Heney The Serpenteens The Superhuman Monstershow Blood and Guts The NYC kings of horror rock are back with their second major full length release (despite being together since 1995). Superhuman Monstershow’s 12 quick-fire tracks (four of them recorded live) pleasantly bridge the (not too wide anyway if you think about it) gap between psychobilly and traditional rock/metal. Quite literally, the Serpenteens sound like Ozzy Osbourne singing with Rocket From the Crypt. Track “Wolf’s Breath” is all Slayer, (the fools made a deal with the devil at the crossroads but it all went unfortunately pear-shaped, as contracts signed in blood so often do) while “Make Sure that I’m Dead” is perfect moshpit psycho-punk-pop. Featuring excellent holler back up vocals from the boys in the band, Superhuman Monstershow is raw and ready upbeat vampire-horror fun; don’t be surprised to see them compared to the Creepshow at some point (oh, I just did). As they proudly proclaim: ‘we make monster music for monster people’ and what a treat for said monster listeners it is. - Stephanie Heney Shapes and Sizes Split lips,Winning Hips, A Shiner Asthmatic Kitty

I want to like Shapes and Sizes, I really do. But they make it so damn difficult. In theory, Vancouver-based band’s album, Split lips,Winning Hips, A Shiner, should be great. It features inventive and complex arrangements. It has beautifully mixed production. And it’s swarming with ideas, sounds, changes and general art-rock craziness. But this last point - the overabundance of sonic ingredients - is what makes this album hard to swallow. It seems that for every great idea, a poor one follows. For every admirable track like “Teller/Seller,” a crummy one like “Highlife (I Had Been Duped)” appears. The album constantly throws you in new directions and gives little time to savour the enjoyable moments. Now, some listeners might appreciate all Shapes and Sizes’ relentless experimentation in sound and style, but for me, it comes across unfocused and overly erratic, making Split lips,Winning Hips, A Shiner sound like a bit of a mess. - Brock Thiessen Smashing Pumpkins Zeitgeist Martha’s Music Billy Corgan is a whiny cunt. He has always been a whiny cunt and will be a whiny cunt on his shit-stained deathbed. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t created great catchy introspective songs in the past, but after failing to get an erection

with Zwan and solo album, he popped the cork off the vintage bottle known as the ‘Smashing Pumkins’. Don’t call this semi-erection a reunion, though; former members D’arcy and James Iha aren’t involved (not that they ever were, album-wise), but with or without them, Zeitgeist feels empty and fake. The first half is full of the heavier riffage but without the hooks or sincerity that made Smashing Pumpkins work in its prime. Songs like “Doomsday Clock”, “Shades of Black”, and “Tarantula” are like elephant turds floating down a river; heavy but still shitty. On the second half you get the sensitive songs that feel more genuine, but if you can’t stand whiny cunt’s vocals then this would be even less tolerable to you since it’s the driving force. - David Von Bentley Spoon Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Merge Ever since Spoon’s 1998 debacle with its major label (Elektra), the band has seesawed from a high profile, to relative obscurity, an ubiquitous indie-hit (“The Way We Get By”) only to plummet out of the limelight once again; never completely forgotten, but never really on the tips of many tongues. Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga probably won’t affect this fluctuating and frustrating pattern, despite being the band’s most consistent and solid work to date. Still following the usual influences (Billy Joel, Paul Simon, and Jonathan Richman), Spoon frontman Britt Daniel is able to evoke his ‘70s muses

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while still tacking on thirty years of varying styles and experience - oddly familiar, but with a unique confidence and conviction. Spoon is back on top… for now. - Adam Simpkins SprëadEagle Magnus Bestia Independent I have a confession: I haven’t listened to metal record in years. The last one was likely something by the Hellacopters back around ’99 or so; a fact that makes reviewing a band as loud and full on as SprëadEagle a rather strange experience. However, not nearly as strange as admitting that I am totally taken by the group’s latest album, Magnus Bestia. With a pure, raw sound lying somewhere between ’60s Stooges, garage punk and straight-ahead stadium metal, SprëadEagle turn up the loud, as well as the good. The wailing vocals, scrapping power chords and crippling drums on songs like “Sin Is a Good Man’s Daughter” make this record hard to resist, regardless of your school of rock. Now, you could make the argument SprëadEagle is not, in fact, metal and rather just straight, honest rock ’n’ roll, and you’d probably be right. But no matter the appropriate classification, I am again ready to rock for Satan. - Brock Thiessen Stereo Total Paris <-> Berlin Kill Rock Stars This is the ninth (or thereabouts - depending on whether you count re-issues and re-mix albums) full length release from the wacky duo of Françoise Cactus and Brezel Göring. Sounding like a fun Stereolab or a European Pizzicato Five, Paris <-> Berlin is an entertaining and bizarre electro-sample-disco delight with influences drawing from new wave, rock, punk, low-fi and pop. Most importantly, what they do is silly and yet rather clever. Utilising – and surely making fun of – the very stereotyped Euro bingie bongie sound along with unusual samples and even real guitars and drums, the electro sound of Stereo Total manages to be years ahead of contemporaries like St Etienne and Ladytron simply by not taking itself too seriously, and of course the trademark French and German vocals (hence the name of the album). If you hadn’t yet found yourself a soundtrack for the summer this is it, and you need not read nor listen any further. - Stephanie Heney The Travelling Headcase One Dead Indian THC Touring mate of Skip Jensen, the Travelling Headcase plays some heartfelt acoustic blues. These very somber and reflective pieces recall Jeff Buckley and, especially, Nick Drake. Still unique enough to command his own

Current Top 10 Sellers @ Red Cat Records 1) Spoon - Ga Ga Ga Ga 2) Interpol - Our Love To Admire 3) Feist - The Reminder 4) The National - Boxer 5) Carolyn Mark - Nothing Is Free 6) Pride Tiger - The Lucky Ones 7) 3 Inches Of Blood - Fire Up The Blades 8) Grinderman - S/T 9) Social Distortion - Greatest Hits 10) Arcade Fire - Neon Bible 1) 2) 3) 4) 5)

Top 5 Local (Vancouver) Sellers Lightning Dust - S/T Ray Condo & The Hardrock Goners - Top Hits! Party Favorites! They Shoot Horses Don’t They? - Pick Up Sticks Pointed Sticks - My Japanese Fan 7” The Pack - Tintype

stylistic take on his narcotic presentation of the folk/blues music he’s playing, the Travelling Headcase gets high (no pun intended) marks for his brutal honesty and fine, introspective (if sparse) lyrics. Standout tracks like “Cocaine High”, “The Blues Had Me”, and “Even If” make for some powerful comedown music. This is harrowing/sad and cathartic/joyous all at the same time. The lap steel in “Cocaine High” is pretty sweet. Sticky sweet… on-a-spoon sweet. - Boy Howdy Vapids The Point Remains the Same Independent The Vapids are the hottest thing to come out of Hamilton since Teenage Head and they’re back with another piledriver of an album. From the Kim Mitchell reference in “Parents in Heat” to the “borrowed” Ramones lyrics on “Endless Run”, The Point Remains the Same is as cleverly written as it is contagious. Indeed, Ramones references are common here and the Vapids use the same three chords as the bruthas, but the changes come unexpectedly and the effect is akin to listening to a Ramones album backwards. Don’t let that throw you off because the songs get into your marrow like methadone and won’t come out.Very fun, very heavy, and very pretend-dumb, just like… oh, you know. Available exclusively at Red Cat Records and Scratch. - Chris Walter V/A Jukebox Year Book 2006 Last Chance This punk compilation opens with Scott Deluxe Drake, who sound a lot like the late, great Humpers. After that, we have the Moneychangers who had me twisting to the “Cockroach Blues.” Dang, this CD is more fun than a bathtub full of chocolate. I just wanna jump in and drink my way to the bottom. Oddly, I didn’t much care for the Crack City Rockers, which was unexpected considering the great name and all. They sound like a Portland indie band, not the punk outfit I was expecting. Hmmm, Morgan Grace hurt my ears just a little but 8 Foot Tender was kinda different; lo-fi scratchy record noises gradually giving way to an up-tempo piano-spiked garage rocker. Pure Country Gold, with another noisy

basher called “Setting Sun,” was all right too. More hits than misses. - Chris Walter

Velvet Revolver Libertad RCA People who liked Velvet Revolver’s debut album Contraband have told me that once you are able to get past the high expectations for the all-star group, the album actually proved to be quite good. Now, I’m as big of a fan of GNR and Stone Temple Pilots as the next guy with had a closet full of plaid and ripped jeans in the ‘90s, but let’s face it, Contraband was good in the same sense that a 70-year-old man with a boner is good – it’s nice to know he’s functional, but it’s also totally grotesque. Libertad is significantly better – if you want to keep running with that metaphor, I’d equate it to a 48-year-old man’s boner. Rather than it being a bunch of songs being played by GNR alumni, that STP junkie, and the bald dude with a moustache, on Libertad, Velvet Revolver actually sounds like a cohesive band, not just a bunch of egos. They are still rehashing the same early ‘90s arena rock sound, but at least there are some standout tracks here like “She Mine” and “Get Out the Door”. There’s even the hidden track “Don’t Drop That Dime” that harkens back to the acoustic side of GNR Lies and sounds like a band that’s less into it for business and more into it for pleasure. - Devon Cody

DVD REVIEW Waylon Jennings Nashville Rebel

RCA It starts with a clip from The Johnny Cash Show circa 1970, with Waylon still working a pompadour but getting a little long in the neck. It’s amazing to watch the bass-player fuck up his singing part in the chorus of “Only Daddy That’ll Walk the Line”. Waylon catches it, fakes him out at the end so that he fucks up again, and they all crack up. It’s a glimpse of Waylon on the verge of launching his sustained attack on the establishment. Polite, shy, more-or-less groomed, but THIS close to not giving one goddamned fishy fuck about what you or any other son of a bitch might think of him. Next up is a bunch of songs from Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert, 1974, classic line-up in tow, and Waylon in full bloom, all long-haired and sweaty, playing to a rock crowd who love him. “Honky Tonk Heroes”, “Louisiana Woman”, “This Time”… This band generates such a mysterious sound, with a distinctive pulse in the low end, and a weird

sponginess on top. It’s a sound Waylon pursued obsessively, and it gets under your skin. God only knows what he’s doing to that famous, leather bound ‘53 Tele, pawing at it like a hooker’s ass, making it vibrate. I remember seeing Jennings leaning over and licking his wife Jessi Colter on television almost 30 years ago; just dragging a fat, red tongue across her face. With respect to Ms Colter, any red-blooded man would do the same. She appears with him in the next section, recorded a year later with the same bitchin’ cast of players, and a visible ratcheting of the outlaw habits that saw Waylon and his people floating the South American economy at the time. Recorded for The Cowboy Jack Clement Show, and starting with “Lonesome, On’ry, and Mean”, it appears that everybody here is wasted, down to the zoom-happy camera department and Cowboy Jack himself; a dancing, Slim-Pickens-shaped silhouette that occasionally bandies into the frame. The version of “Ramblin’ Man” will inspire tears among the faithful, augmented by a brief snatch of “Waymore’s Blues”, during which we see Waylon try to explain the song to his wife (and it takes

some ‘splaining, believe me). A concert from 1978 for a record industry crowd is slicker, brighter, more expensivelooking, and covers the hits (“Luckenbach Texas”, “Good Hearted Woman”, “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys”), but it can’t match the evil that spills out of the previous selections, when the band was content to play one chord for five minutes and just snarl. Nashville Rebel is rounded out with a couple of funky TV commercials - one for Waylon’s Greatest Hits (1979) and the other for the revolutionary Wanted! The Outlaws album (1976) - and finally, three videos from the ‘80s. “Never Could Toe the Mark” is interesting, and “America” nauseates for the most part, until the line in the chorus, “And my brothers are all black and white, yellow too / And the red man is right, to expect a little from you / Promise and then follow through, America” - it’s hard to look away from the wrongness of it all. No matter; the rest of this slim and very reasonablypriced package is hard to fault, even if an hour passes way too quickly. - Adrian Mack

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The Art of the Band T-shirt By Amber Easby & Henry Oliver Simon Spotlight Entertainment

This book claims to be a visual history of nearly two hundred of the most important, influential, iconic and ironic T-shirts to come into being in the fifty-odd years that the band t-shirt has been in existence.Yet, the fact that there is not one Kiss shirt found in its pages leads me to believe this book is very far from definitive. There’s neither one Motley Crue shirt nor a Guns ‘n’ Rose shirt to be found either. Sure I was a bit of a banger back in the day, but saying these bands’ shirts don’t deserve a place in a book that makes the aforementioned claim is pure horseshit. I have an inside source with

a certain Vancouver custom t-shirt printing company that has stated that these three bands’ prints far outsell any other. Of course it’s likely that there is a load of copyright nonsense to go through before they’d be able to print these particular bands, but it still reeks of a half-assed effort. The concept of the book, however, is a very interesting one, and it’s probably the strength of the concept that makes the fact that the authors don’t fully achieve what I think they set out to do a little harder to swallow. Don’t get me wrong, as you would expect with any art book, the layout is well done - clean, yet not totally sterile. I like that the shirts were photographed with wrinkles, spots, and in some cases, blood stains. This enhances the sense of history behind each shirt and therefore avoids the potential for this book to simply look like a clothing catalogue. There is also a surprisingly fascinating 10-page forward on the history of the t-shirt, as well as dozens of shirts that will no doubt get your nostalgic juices flowing. Many of the images are accompanied by tidbits of info regarding the shirt’s inspiration, collectibility, or in the case of the Rolling Stones’ lips logo or the Ramones’ seal, for example, how some of the designs became icons in the music world. Several of the shirts are accompanied by more detailed anecdotes from either the shirt’s designer, band members, or high profile fans of the particular band - Jack White, Jello Biafra, and Ian MacKaye, just to name a few of these people. It’s a shame there aren’t more of these quotes because they really give the book substance. Without them, and the forward, the book is pretty disposable. One can’t help but get the sense that the book just doesn’t realize it’s potential. - Devon Cody

Toilet Bowl Soup: Redneck Tales From the Armpit of America By Mike Adams Independent

For a book of only one hundred fifty-five pages of double-spaced large print, this was a real slog. It had all the makings of a wonderfully smutty read – an absolutely fucking great title, accolades from the likes of Hank Williams III, and a very enticing press release that boasted stories of junky amputees, dysfunctional rednecks, Satanism, drugs and violence. Much to my dismay, Adams’ writing is about as easy to read as a PMS-ing female meth-head’s mind. For the most part, he attempts a stream-of-consciousness approach to this collection of short stories (mostly anecdotal), which I usually love, but Adams doesn’t have the chops to pull it off and it comes across a little like prose you might find in a disgruntled teenager’s diary. I hate to slag any writer who raises a big fat middle finger to fickle publishing companies and takes to task publishing their own writing on their own terms, but in the case of Toilet Bowl Soup there’s not much to compliment (Did I mention I really like the title?) Okay, okay, the book’s not all terrible. The problem is, nothing really shines. The highlight of the book is probably the story “The King Cobra Strikes at the Blue Moon”. Actually it’s not so much a story as it is a transcription of correspondence that took place between the author and the Coors Brewing Company with regard to Adams’ accusations that Coors Blue Moon Beer got him too drunk, too quickly to have a mere 5.4% alcohol content. This entertaining prank runs in several installments throughout the book (providing some relief from the less entertaining bits) and the demeanor Adams assumes throughout the prank is obviously inspired by Hunter S. Thompson.

If you like vulgarity for the sake of vulgarity and silliness for the sake of silliness, you might get more out of this book than I did. Or, if you have writing ambitions and want to do it DIY-style, Mike Adams shows you it’s possible even with underdeveloped skills. Now what he chooses to do with the inevitable criticism that is bound to find any writer – particularly independently published ones – will be telling in if he’s truly cut out for the job. Bottom line is: he’s written and published a book, whereas most of us aspiring writers have only done so much as talk about it. I suppose credit is due for that alone. - Devon Cody

Ron Jeremy: The Hardest (Working) Man in Show Business By Ron Jeremy Harper Entertainment

Porn in general seems to be something that people prefer to feign ignorance about rather than reveal they actually know the names and backgrounds of its stars… until the moment of truth, when your girlfriend gets up in the middle of the night to go pee and catches you at the computer snapping off to free thirty-second internet clips – not that that’s actually happened to me or anything. It’s very likely that at least one of the dinks in the ten clips you were rapidly trying to minimize at that horrible moment belonged to Ron Jeremy. This cat has been performing, directing, and producing porn flicks since the late ‘70s and his old balls are still running amok today. If you expect this book to be a candid look deep into the heart and soul of the “Hedgehog” - as he was so dutifully nicknamed by his porn peers - then you may start getting bored around chapter four, “A Star is Porn”. However, if you are wondering why your girlfriend never wants to “try something new” Dr. Ron delivers a quick and easy 6-step program to “achieving successful and pleasurable anal sex” on page 224. At the risk of sounding like a pussy, I actually started getting bored by hump story after hump story from this hairy little man. It was a shame because the book started out pretty good. As it turns out the “Hardest” working man in show business has a master’s degree in special education and worked part-time in upstate New York as a school for the mentally challenged before banking his future on the size of his doodle. He’s even got a funny story about how he used the mentally challenged kids under his care as the pay-off of a practical joke he pulled on a couple cougars he took down. This book lacks the hardcore and raunchy tone that some people might be expecting, in turn it also lacked the honesty and heart you may find yourself starved for in later chapters. It seemed like Jeremy spent a lot of time trying to convince himself instead of the reader that he’s just a regular guy and at times, porn just isn’t all its cracked up

The Nerve August 2007 Page 28

to be. The weirdest part, for me, was how Jeremy seems to have enlisted in some sort of scientologist ideology that being famous is the ultimate state of being one can only hope to achieve, no matter how you get there. Whenever he’s not writing about fucking, he’s bragging about the numerous celebrities he’s hung out with over the years. I think somewhere along the way, this guy lost track of what was important to him and this book was his way of trying to find it again. The lifestyle he depicts in its pages seems so lonely and fucked up that I actually felt bad for the wrinkly old bastard by the end.Yet, despite its shortcomings, it was good for a few laughs, and some pointers (those who have ever experienced the droopy noodle at the end of a late night bender, see page 275. Dr. Ron offers enlightenment with “The Grip” - an industry technique that the Hedgehog swears is foolproof when your little buddy just won’t cooperate). One thing’s for sure, after reading this book, you’ll definitely look at Ron Jeremy differently the next time you download a free thirty-second clip in the dark… or so I’ve heard. - Christopher Petry

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By Dan Scum Across 1. British cigarettes 5. Units of work 9. Old Witches 13. Single thing 14. Nova Scotia hillbilly family name 16. Unit of measure for land 17. Walking aid 18. Beyond overweight 19. Stash on board 20. One of the K’s in KKK 21. Nickname for Hollywood 23. Adopt a term or phrase 25. Speedball’s targets 26. Prostitute’s clients 28. Ed who inspired Silence of the Lambs 29. Rowing device 30. Pilot a car 33. Artist’s rep. 37. Those missing in action 39. Corporal punishment implement 41. Dab with cotton 42. G.G. the Hated 44. Strapped 46. Carling O’Keefe offerings 47. Famous Loch in Scotland 49. Dangerous 51. Pat down 53. _____ Gali 54. One who sells sex 57. Looking good from far but far from good 61. Thermal energy 62. Speeder 63. Gratis 64. Il ____ (Moussolini) 65. Shower feature 66. Thwart 67. Senior Deputy High Representative 68. To load with cargo 69. Trade Down 1. The F-word 2. Meticulous 3. Wild of Porno 4. Putrid odor 5. Egoists 6. Red breast 7. Wooded grove 8. Jam or recording (abbr.) The Nerve August 2007 Page 30

9. Notorious Street in Vancouver’s Downtown East Side 10. Murray of The Dayglo Abortions 11. Propagates 12. There’re 3 in a Tbsp. 15. Kick back 22. Give off 24. Onboard Navigation System 26. The Hoosegow 27. Of the mouth 28. g 29. Amsterdam Grandma 31. Schedule approximations 32. Make a human mistake 34. Resident of Endor 35. Armed forces branch 36. SpikeTV predecessor 38. Nefarious 40. Sexually Deviant 43. Bird’s home 45. Perish 48. Lady’s garment 50. Murder movies 51. Austrian psych pioneer 52. Butt of a joint 53. A spirited horse 54. Univ. degrees 55. Follow behind 56. California College 58. Get bigger 59. Rebel princess of Star Wars 60. Cry out

Last issue’s answers

kingshit.ca

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