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The Danks — Are You Afraid Of The Danks

Scott Bryson — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 12:52:49 -0500

Since the first time I saw The Danks live, I've been saying they're Canada's answer to The Strokes. Are You Afraid Of The Danks? is the proof. Put on this disc and you'll be transported back to 2001, to the first time you heard Is This It.

On the first few listens, you'll be so caught up by the wave of energy that you'll barely notice there are vocals accompanying the music. By the time the lyrics start to take form — and they eventually do poke through — you'll be inexplicably addicted to the pace.

Half of this Charlottetown foursome are also members of Two Hours Traffic, but there aren't many points of similarity between the two bands. If they all showed up at a family reunion, The Danks would be the angsty loner cousin that pushes kids like Two Hours Traffic into the pool.

Are You Afraid Of The Danks? is non-stop, hook-laden revelry from start to finish. It's the first indisputable pop hit of the summer — a must for every road trip.

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The Mars Volta — Octahedron

Kate Harper — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 12:42:16 -0500

Octahedron is The Mars Volta's attempt to experiment with quieter, more acoustic elements and prove they aren't all about the weird, squeal-y noises. It ultimately fails because it lacks any kind of focus.

"Since We've Been Wrong" is a strong opener that recalls Led Zeppelin's "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You," and "Teflon" — which isn't nearly as toxic as its namesake — revisits the loud, drugged-up, out-of-it Mars Volta of old.

"Halo Of Nembutals" does a good job aurally illustrating what it's like to be on barbiturates, since it moves from fast to slow and practically stops at one point. "With Twilight As My God" slows things down even more and is snore-inducing, but things get a bit better by "Cotopaxi." That said, it's not anything new either, since the usual weird time-signature-shifting Mars Volta are on display once again.

By the next track, "Desperate Graves," things are back to boringly quiet. From there it's "Copernicus," which just sounds confused and is laced with electronic instruments and beats.

The Mars Volta are at their best when they're doing loud, modern prog laced with strange effects. If they'd done that and scrapped the quiet bits on Octahedron, the disc would have been much better.

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Glastonbury 2009 Diary: Part 3

Jonathan Dekel — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 12:32:33 -0500

Saturday, June 28, 2009
Pilton, England
Glastonbury Festival
Hospitality Campgrounds
10:30 a.m.

I awake in a bath of warm sweat, again. It's even worse today than it was yesterday.

I run outside my tent in my underwear only to see that two older ladies are sitting in front of me having some tea — how civilized. I want to ask them if they have any Grey Poupon, but instead settle for a simple "Good Morning, it's hot outside, eh?" and hope their laughter was not aimed at the lower half of my body which is suffering both from shrinkage (as in laundry) and the ill effects of yesterday's shorts and Wellies fiasco, which has left my legs all cut up.

Luckily, there is nothing I particularly want or need to see 'til 4 p.m., so I take a little "me" morning. Shower (yup, they have showers here!) and a nice breakfast all to the groovy sounds of the Easy Star All-Stars doing a reggae/dub version of the entire Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, which they've lovingly dubbed Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Dub Band. Their morning Pyramid stage performance is loud enough to hear all the way from my tent and is a perfect hangover relief.

I make a note to downlo... er... buy the album for future Sunday morning use.

Pyramid Stage
Tom Jones
4 p.m.

How can you not love Tom Jones?! He's so damn affable and charming. If I ever had my own sitcom, I'd want Tom Jones to play the knowledgeable yet slightly raunchy grandfather.

Other Stage
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
4:30 p.m.

Karen O comes out in some sort of Indian chief outfit as imagined by a third grade arts and crafts class. How, um, original?

4:45 p.m.

The crowd goes mental for "Zero." Karen dons her "eye" leather jacket, it's just like the video. Ooooooo...

5 p.m.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs throw a massive inflatable eyeball into the audience. They then dedicate "Maps" to MJ (amongst others). P.S. How good is "Maps"?!

Other Stage
Bat For Lashes
5:30 p.m.

Boring. All the songs sound the same. Time to get my drink on.

Other Stage
Glasvegas
9 p.m.

Since leaving Bat For Lashes I found the Orange Chill Lounge VIP area is giving out free beer. Where has this been all my festival?! I'm "well sauced" as the locals say, and have gathered a group of Black Eyed Peas fans to see Glasvegas. I promise them they'll love it.

9:01 p.m.

They don't love it.

9:02 p.m.

They leave. I stay and wait for "Daddy's Gone." Song of the year, anyone? Plus, the sound in the field is massive, perfect for the Scottish band's MBV inflections.

9:20 p.m.

Still no "Daddy's Gone" and I gotta get going to Blur. Ah well, next time.

Pyramid Stage
Blur
9:30 p.m.

Pretty much the show I came all this way to see. The big reunion!

Aside from several "warm up" gigs in smaller venues, the Glastonbury closing set is the full original Blur line-up's first in approximately six years. There must be over 100,000 people here. I can't see the end of them. I'm gonna try and stuff myself into the crowd to get a bit closer.

9:40 p.m.

"All These Things That I Have Done" by The Killers comes on and the whole crowd sings along to the "I've got soul but I'm not a soldier" part. It's a nice primer... even for a Killers song.

9:50 p.m.

The screens show the moon (beautifully placed behind the Pyramid stage) and then they're on. They open with "She's So High" and then "Girls & Boys" and the hits just keep on coming.

10 p.m.

Damon Albarn looks a bit older and scruffier then I last remembered (he has a gold front tooth?!) and starts a sentence then stops in the middle.

"Has he taken 'shrooms?!" the man beside me asks.

10:10 p.m.

After running around like a mad man and trying to jump into the audience, Albarn keeps repeating how much "fun" he's having, as if it's surprising him.

"I'm happy we decided to do this gig" he says.

The others stay relatively quiet.

10:30 p.m.

Guitarist Graham Coxon plays the intro to "Tender" and it inspires a mass crowd singalong. One hundred thousand people croon that bit that sounds like an old gospel tune ("Oh my baby, oh my baby...") It's beautiful and powerful. Albarn smiles and lets it go on a bit longer then he should.

10:45 p.m.

The man beside me faints (yes, same man). Ah, what do I do now?

10:46 p.m.

The woman in front of me takes off her shirt. My eyes are torn between the fainting man and the topless woman. Is this a morality test?

10:50 p.m.

The man sits up and stares at me crying. I offer water?

11 p.m.

He's decided to sit down for the rest of the gig, probably a good idea.

11:25 p.m.

The band does a crack version of "To The End" and as they finish Albarn sits on the drum riser and starts crying. There are burly British men crying all around me.

Not doting on their lead singer's beleaguered disposition, the band break into "This Is A Low," one of my top two or three Blur songs, and Albarn wipes his face and gets to it. The chorus is breathtaking as the masses bellow the elongated "looooowwwwwwwwww." Now I'm tempted to cry.

11:30 p.m.

The band are off. The crowd once again sings the refrain from "Tender." Of all the songs the multi-thousands could have chosen to sing, it's nice to see that's the one everyone picked up on.

11:35 p.m.

Band returns and promises to play heavy songs.

11:40 p.m.

A riot breaks out with "Song 2." There's red fire coming from behind me and people bumping into me from all over. It's like a football riot. Ah, the English; you cry, you fight.

11:48 p.m.

Last encore. They better play "The Universal."

11.51 p.m.

There it is!

Midnight

The exiting crowd sings "Tender" again as they walk away. I've got a ride to blag and a flight to catch tomorrow.

Goodnight, sweat lodge. Goodnight, overpriced warm beers. Goodnight, drunk and high punters. Goodnight, amazing bands. Goodnight, fear of mud and trench foot. Goodnight, Worthy Farm. Goodnight, Glastonbury.

Another festival down and, in my memory, another superhuman feat completed. I have the scars, burns and guide book to prove it.

The Evaporators/Andrew W.K. — "A Wild Pear"

Ian Gormely — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 11:26:41 -0500

A Wild Pear is the new split seven-inch single by Nardwuar-fronted garage rockers The Evaporators and hard-partying motivational speaker Andrew W.K.

The EP is littered with references to the obscure past. The title is a play on A Wild Pair, the title of the 1968 split album between The Guess Who and The Staccatos (who eventually became the Five Man Electrical Band).

The Evaporators side features an original cut and a cover of The Hou-Lops "Oh Non." Meanwhile, W.K. pays tribute to our country by knocking off covers of The Leather Uppers "Don't Sell Hot Dogs Tonight" and Subhumans classic "Oh Canaduh."

Like much of The Evaporators output, the circus around the music is more interesting than the actual music. But the band are always improving and this release is no different.

W.K.'s half, on the other hand, reveals a new, stripped down sound from his over-the-top albums. It better suits the source material and acts as the perfect foil to The Evaporators' sound.

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Little Boots — Illuminations

Ian Gormely — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 11:24:07 -0500

Little Boots, a.k.a. Victoria Hesketh, already scored a pair of hits in the U.K. But despite her debut album Hands already getting a release across the pond, her label, Warner, in all their infinite wisdom, have decided not to release it in North America until 2010. Because everyone loves waiting to pay for an album they can get for free (albeit illegally) on the internet now. Whatever.

In lieu of deciding to pursue one of those two actions, the curious can sink their teeth into this five-track EP. "Stuck On Repeat," the debut single from the former Dead Disco singer and the smash "New In Town" (both co-written by Lily Allen collaborator Greg Kurstin) are included, as are three non-LP tunes, including a cover of Freddie Mercury's "Love Kills."

Unfortunately, the latter songs just don't live up to the promise of Little Boots' singles. Where the singles sound like euphoric club smashes, the rest ride on the coattails established by her hits.

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Offspring Can Still Draw A Crowd

Steve McLean — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 10:02:48 -0500

I was probably one of only two people at the Amphitheatre who was there primarily to see opening act Frank Turner (the other being my friend Michael, who was putting up the British singer/songwriter at his house for the night), and the two bands that followed didn't sway my opinion.

Turner's Love Ire & Song (which was recently picked up by Epitaph) features brilliant, literate songwriting when it's at its best, and it often is. The two intimate performances I caught with Turner fronting a pick-up band in Austin, Texas during the South By Southwest Music Festival in March were among my favourites of the week and made him the talk of the fest for many of my cronies.

Some sort of no-compete clause meant Turner couldn't play a club show in Toronto despite holes in his schedule that would have allowed it, so the nine-song solo acoustic opening set on this tour was the best I was going to get on this side of the border.

Turner's first Canadian performance opened with Love Ire & Song opener "I Knew Prufrock Before He Got Famous," and most of the set's highlights came from the album — with the notable exception of "Nashville Tennessee."

I knew some of my western New York friends were probably responsible for Turner getting "really wasted" the night before when he played Buffalo, N.Y.'s tiny Mohawk Place. The 27-year-old mentioned his wild night before striking into "The Real Damage," a song about being so drunk that he lost an entire day.

The heart-tugging "Long Live The Queen" was great, as was "Photosynthesis" and the set-closing "The Ballad Of Me And My Friends."

Seeing Turner alone on a huge stage didn't match seeing him in close quarters with a band. But although no-one in the sparse early evening crowd seemed to really get into his performance, he received warm applause and hopefully convinced a few folks to seek out Love Ire & Song and look forward to Epitaph's September release of Poetry Of The Deed.

I've never developed much of an appreciation for Pennywise's southern California hardcore punk over their 20-year career, but it was obvious many in the crowd had. "Bro Hymn" has been adapted as a post-goal song by the Anaheim Ducks and Philadelphia Flyers, and you can't deny its infectiousness.

"Society" was my other favourite song from the loud, big bottom-ended, testosterone-filled punk set by the jeans, black T-shirt and baseball cap-clad quartet. Others were just as happy throwing down to "My Own Country," the mosh pit-activating "My Own Way Of Life," "Fuck Authority" and "Perfect People." There was also a sped-up cover of the Beastie Boys' "(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party!)" that couldn't hold a candle to the original.

I listened to Smash quite a bit when it came out in 1994 (though I'm not sure how well it's aged) and gave The Offspring's subsequent four albums a shot, but admit to not knowing last year's Rise And Fall, Rage And Grace.

But even though the lawn section behind the seats was closed for this show, I was somewhat surprised The Offspring could pack the rest of the Amphitheatre — and that people of all ages were so passionate about them.

The crowd rose in unison and stayed that way for the rest of the night when The Offspring hit the stage with "Stuff Is Messed Up." Things hit another level a few songs later when lead singer Dexter Holland picked up a guitar for the first time and the initial Middle Eastern/surf guitar-influenced opening riff of "Come Out And Play" took hold.

The rest of the band members (who aside from lead guitarist Noodles were pretty anonymous and added virtually nothing visually to the performance) evacuated the stage after seven songs and left Holland at a piano that was wheeled out to centre stage. He played a bit of the Charlie Brown Christmas theme before he got more serious and performed "Gone Away," a semi-ballad that brought some lighters out in the audience.

Holland then strapped on an acoustic guitar for "Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?" and was soon joined by the rest of the band. A muscular version of "Gotta Get Away" and "Half-Truism" followed, and the crowd sang along to the "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La Da"-like tune of "Why Don't You Get A Job?"

It was then time for a very brief intermission, complete with cheesy music, a hotdog graphic on the light board behind the drum kit, beach balls in the stagefront pit and a juggler and a guy on a pogo stick on stage.

After that quick breather, The Offspring returned with "Americana" and "All I Want" before Noodles went for some easy cheers with the many drunks in attendance by proclaiming that "the beaver in Canada fuckin' rules."

"Pretty Fly (For A White Guy)" had the 99 per cent Caucasian crowd trying out dance moves. It wasn't pretty.

A 60-minute set was followed by a heartily embraced three-song encore that included "Want You Bad" and ended with "Self Esteem." There were people jumping and pumping their arms everywhere, and it was almost like the clock had been turned back 15 years to when Smash became the biggest selling independent album of all time.

The Offspring aren't an important part of my life, but obviously still are for the 10,000 who came out and played on Thursday night.

Sonic Youth Are Underwhelming

Shehzaad Jiwani — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 16:11:32 -0500

It's hard to criticize one of your favourite bands.

Even for jaded rock critics, it's tough to remain objective when a musician you respect and admire takes the stage. And when we do summon the willpower necessary to do our jobs with integrity, it can be painful — no one wants to bash a group they love.

This makes it hard for me to express my disappointment with Sonic Youth's set at Massey Hall earlier this week. Having never seen them live and given the intimate setting of Toronto's most prestigious venue, I was expecting nothing short of a stellar set from the legendary noise rockers. I wanted to love this show. However, due to the weak setlist and the band's overall impersonality, it was largely a bust.

Let's start with the pros. Watching the band — which, as an added bonus, now features ex-Pavement bassist Mark Ibold — is like watching a skilled magician. Everything Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo do with their guitars is mystifying, yet they make it appear deceptively simple. The duo are never ones to show off, tand their nonchalant demeanour makes them that much more impressive than other guitar heroes.

It's impossible to leave Massey Hall without admiring the impeccable sound after having attended a show there. This was especially notable for Sonic Youth, whose cacophonous noise was never once lost in the mix, and whose individual members' contributions were easily discernible through the speakers. The older tunes — particularly the surprise closer, "Death Valley '69" — were revamped with searing feedback and pounding drums, which made them sound brand new.
Too bad they only played three of them. Here come the cons.

My biggest gripe with the gig was the fact that the group decided to play their new album, The Eternal, almost entirely — at the expense of pretty much any older material whatsoever. On the one hand, it's admirable a band with nearly three decades behind them can stand so confidently behind their most recent work. It certainly helps that The Eternal is as good as it is — otherwise this would be a flat out bad review.

However, given the ticket prices and the choice of venue, you would expect the New Yorkers to pull out some deeper cuts. I'm not saying they should have played "Teen Age Riot" and "Bull In The Heather," either, but the complete lack of anything off Goo and Dirty was a shocking choice on their part — especially when you consider the one Daydream Nation cut was "The Sprawl." If you're going to play an oldie, pick a better one than that.

This wouldn't have been such a bummer if not for the complete lack of engagement on the band's behalf. They said maybe 20 words total to the audience. Hell, they didn't even break a sweat at any point during their set.

The lackadaisical manner became infuriating when drummer Steve Shelley fudged a transition during "Mission Control." This isn't just nitpicking — I'm a drummer, we all fuck up sometimes — but the guy has played slight variations on the same beat for a quarter of a century. For a band of this calibre, a drummer of his stature, a concert at this level and on a song so recent, a mistake like that is inexcusable.

From a technical standpoint, their performance was certainly enjoyable. There were never any boring moments during the set — even the 10-minute album closer "Massage The History" was thoroughly entertaining — and, from musician's standpoint, it was delightfully bewildering to watch the influential group showcase their instrumental prowess.

It's just disappointing to see the quintet so nonplussed at such a high profile gig after releasing what is arguably some of their best music in over a decade. Instead of appearing reinvigorated by the new material, Sonic Youth just seemed to be going through the motions. Maybe this was tolerable if you'd seen the band before, but for someone who hasn't, this was one of the biggest letdowns of the year.

Mos Def — The Ecstatic

Ian Gormely — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 15:27:31 -0500

A decade and some change on from his classic debut, Black On Both Sides, Mos Def has become known more for his acting chops than his ability to drop rhymes. Chalk that up to a pair of dodgy-at-best follow ups and uninspired guest verses on tracks like "Drunk And Hot Girls" from Kanye West's Graduation.

But The Ecstatic should reinvigorate all the good will the Brooklyn, N.Y. MC engendered following the one-two punch of his Black Star collaboration with Talib Kweli and his solo debut. It's a surprisingly unified record of lyrical rap with only a trio of guest MCs, including Slick Rick and Kweli.

Most impressive is the production (courtesy of Madlib, J Dilla among others) that both sounds retro while still looking forward. References to black history coupled with positive rhymes have become the rapper's MO, but they never come off as tired here.

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Violent Kin — Bitter Blood

Bianca Marcus — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 15:10:14 -0500

Their old group The Blood Lines may have disbanded, but brother-sister duo S.J. and Maygen Kardash are continuing the family theme with their new project, Violent Kin. Their debut album, Bitter Blood, draws on more influences than its simple "pop" tag on iTunes suggests, combining electro with garage rock, acoustic and even funk.

The album's title track is its strongest — think baroque-sounding '70s rock, a la Jack White's The Raconteurs. Boy-girl harmonies and bird noises(!) sweeten the track's repeated refrains.

"Feverish Cold" is gorgeous and melancholy, with echoed drum rolls on timpani, synth-produced wind sounds, and the occasional bell. "Blue Eyes" and "Call You Out ****" feature danceable choruses sandwiched between serious verses. Funky guitar, bass and drums on "Bury Your Secrets" complement layered vocals and dreamy keyboard riffs.

"Let Go And Let God" hearkens back to early '90s lo-fi with its distorted vocals and fuzzy guitars. The track also features a chilling brass solo. The band continue the '90s feel with "No Security" and "Please" — both reminded me of Nada Surf with their poetic lyrics and tender vocals. The record ends with "Electrons," a slow jam that leads to an instrumental climax with a bluesy guitar solo and
more brass.

Bitter Blood is an admirable first record that oozes with sibling synergy. It'll make you want to hit repeat over and over.

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Glastonbury 2009 Diary: Part 2

Jonathan Dekel — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 14:45:45 -0500

Hospitality Campgrounds
Pilton, England
Glastonbury Festival
10:30 a.m.

I awake in a bath of warm sweat. It seems in my hurry to buy an economy tent the previous day I'd forgotten to get one with some sort of window or breeze system. The forecast once again calls for rain, and yet, judging by the 40-degree Celsius weather in this tent, the sun has once again proven the dour weatherman wrong. Small victories. I'll take 'em.

Unfortunately, since the mud from yesterday still hasn't dried, the great boots vs. running shoes debate is conceded to the Wellingtons and, since they lack any cushioning, my feet are already hurting. I decide to go with shorts to compensate (big mistake).

Other Stage
Metric
1 p.m.

The walk from the hospitality camping area to the media/VIP lounge is surprisingly far. I'm told it used to be a 60-second stroll until this year. Evidently, since the area is downhill from the stages, it would suffer from yearly mudslides. And no one likes angry, muddy media and VIP. Well, no one who runs festivals, anyway.

The media/VIP area is, however, conveniently located between the two biggest stages — the Pyramid and Other. As my rather shoddily highlighted schedule alerts me, most of the bands I'm intending on catching today are playing one or the other (no pun intended). Score.

After a hearty six-pound British breakfast (I tried to take a picture but my camera decided that it was too disgusting to even capture on digital film) I continue my patriotic duty by catching Metric.

I've never seen the band outside of Canada, or even Toronto, so I'm a bit skeptical as to how they will be received by an English audience. Will they heart Emily Haines as much as Canadians do, or will they simply see the band as a second rate Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Y'know, all the girl-fronted posturing without any of the bite?

Rather surprisingly, there's a decent turn out, especially considering they're scheduled the same time as The Big Pink — one of those British hype bands I've never heard of but seems to be all the rage with the local kids. I'm later informed the frontman is Lily Allen's A&R guy. Is being an A&R guy for a MySpace phenom what passes for hype-worthy these days?

Anyway, Metric do their Metric thing. Haines jumps up and down (I must say she's looking a bit older these days — could be the daytime show) and generally trying to hype up the crowd. Though why she keeps talking about things that are big "in Metric" is beyond me (and apparently the audience, as the between song goodwill banter seems to be going over their heads).

Some songs work, like a massive "Monster Hospital" and the live drum-bolstered "Help I'm Alive," while some, like closer "Stadium Love," fizzle with a lack of recognition.

"It's always been a dream of ours to play Glastonbury!" Haines says before Metric launch into "Gimme Sympathy." Well, dream accomplished. But maybe next time aim for a smaller stage where the band's enthusiasm could translate a bit better.

Pyramid Stage
Eagles Of Death Metal
2 p.m.

I manage to catch the last 20 minutes of the Eagles Of Death Metal's set. They're playing "Cherry Cola" (written about a high school friend who now lives in Toronto).

Lead singer Jesse Hughes's mom is here with his kid. Awww.

2.10 p.m.

The guy standing beside me asks if this is Spinal Tap. I say "Yes."

Pyramid Stage
Spinal Tap
3 p.m.

The real — well, kinda — Spinal Tap arrive onstage for the one and only show of their world tour. The guy beside me looks confused, which is really the only way you can look when you're watching Spinal Tap.

3:20 p.m.
Inflatable Stonehenge?! Midgets?! YES!!!

3:30 p.m.
Is that Jarvis Cocker playing bass on "Big Bottom"?! The post-modernism is hurting my brain.

3:40 p.m.
I realize no one I've spoken to here has seen This Is Spinal Tap. What is wrong with you people?!

Media/VIP Area
4:15 p.m.

I make my way over to the Other stage to catch Pete Doherty. As I'm walking through the intermediary area, I run into the members of Metric heading in the same direction. Haines, bottle of champagne in hand, agrees to a quick walkthrough interview...

Me: So how did it feel up there?
Haines: Amazing.

Me: You mentioned it's always been a dream of yours to play Glastonbury.
Haines: It's always been a dream of Metric to play here. But it was too sunny. We wanted it to be more muddy.

Me: Maybe next time…
Haines: People always ask us why all Canadian music is so good, and the reason is because it's so cold. Canadian music all sounds very cold. The best music is made in the cold.

Me: Well, shouldn't Greenland be making the best music then?
Haines: I just met Pete Doherty backstage.

Me: That's nice.
Haines: It was an important moment in Canadian music history.

ME: Ah, right.
Haines: Very important. I've got to go now.

With that she entered the backstage area screaming, "I'm not press! I'm not press!"

Other Stage
Peter Doherty (as billed)
4:50 p.m.

Wow, there are more people here than there were for Spinal Tap on the main stage. I suppose just because he's been bested by Amy Winehouse and Peaches Geldof as the Brit paps' new main squeeze, doesn't mean the public has lost its love for the former Libertine.

Looking a bit more fit than previous years, Doherty runs through what is ostensibly a greatest hits set. He plays several of the bigger Libertines hits alone on acoustic before bringing a full band on for some selections from the Babyshambles catalogue and a couple solo numbers. He even manages to play "For Lovers," a song he released several years back with the cleverly named Wolfman, his roommate at the time. Classy.

There are no tumbles or, if I understood him right, any slips of the tongue. Just good songwriting. This pleases the fans and angers the media. Hopefully, he'll find the time to actually make his way over to this side of the pond sometime.

Media/VIP area
5:30 p.m.

I'm thinking about heading to see The Gaslight Anthem at the John Peel Stage. However just as I'm about to head off I run into Alex Kapranos from Franz Ferdinand, an old friend from my years living in Amsterdam.

Kapranos: Hey there, Jonathan. Didn't know you'd be around.
Me: Neither did I.

Kapranos: You gonna come to the show tonight?
Me: I dunno. You're up against The Boss.

Kapranos: Yeah, but he's gonna play for four hours, I think he'll run long...
Me: Touche. Perhaps.

I make a note to go see Franz when Bruce starts getting tedious.

Now, what band was I gonna see? I forget.

Pyramid Stage
Crosby, Stills And Nash
6 p.m.

Oh man, I forgot how much I love CSN&Y, and CS&N ain't bad either. They play "Woodstock," they make old people jokes... hell, they even make some political statement about some guy who researches UFOs being deported.

Gotta love old hippies. So cute. I wonder if my friends from the train came down from the hills for this?

Pyramid Stage
Kasabian
8 p.m.

There are about twice as many people here for Kasabian as there were for CS&N. Once they get started, I understand why. Kasabian may be unremarkable on record, but large festivals are meant for non-ironic lalalas and nananas, and that seems to be Kasabian's forte.

The crowd goes ballistic for the hits and new single "Fire" — with its gospel chorus — igniting a huge dance party, while closer "L.S.F" leaves the audience singing it's gibberish chorus well after the band finish.

I also forgot how good "The Doberman" is. That Spanish horn at the end is just mind-blowing.

Pyramid Stage
Bruce Springsteen
10 p.m.

Alright, I've got a plan. Stay for the first three songs, then run off to Franz.

10:05 p.m.

Hey, it's Max Weinberg! Shouldn't he be on Conan? Is CoCo here?!

10:15 p.m.

Bruce just finished his first song. I don't remember each song being 15 minutes long?! Maybe it was just that one.

10:30 p.m.

Nope, it's all of them.

10:45 p.m.

OK, getting a bit boring now. Sorry, Boss fans.

11 p.m.

He plays "The River." It's the first song I recognize and it's a great rendition. On the screens, smoke is rising from Bruce. Smoke!

11:15 p.m.

On to Franz...

Other Stage
Franz Ferdinand
11:20 p.m.

On my way, I hear Springsteen made a cameo with The Gaslight Anthem during their set. That would have been awesome to see. Damn you, Kapranos!

I also realize Jarvis Cocker is also playing at the same timeslot. OK, OK, I'll stay till "Take Me Out," then on to Jarvis.

11:45 p.m.

Alex does a "shamon motherfuckers!" tribute to MJ, I almost forgot. They play "Take Me Out." This may be the gazzilionth time I've heard this song, but when they get past The Strokes part and into the jumpy bit, it's still irresistible.

John Peel Stage
Jarvis Cocker
Midnight

I made it for the last song! Trifecta! It's not a Pulp song, though... boo.

My feet hurt, I'm sitting down.

Pyramid Stage
Bruce Springsteen
12:15 a.m.

I've willed my way back here and lo and behold, it's all the hits!! "Born To Run," "Glory Days," "Thunder Road" and "Dancing In The Dark" to close! Worth it!

Shangi-La
DaDa Tent
African Express
2 a.m.

Acting on a tip, I make the hour long (or so it seems) trek to the afterparty area lovingly dubbed Shangi-La. Supposedly, Blur's Damon Albarn will be performing with his African Express improvisational group.

2:10 a.m.
We — the media — are ushered into the backstage and told we could get five minutes with Albarn.

2:15 a.m.
The band start playing. Still no Albarn.

2:20 a.m.
We are passed a handwritten note by the publicist:

"Damon has left. Sorry."

2:20:01 a.m.
I'm going back to my sweat lodge/tent. 'Night.

Bibio — Ambivalence Avenue

Scott Bryson — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 13:48:22 -0500

Ambivalence Avenue begins promisingly, opening with a lo-fi, crackling pop number reminiscent of Woods' latest, Songs Of Shame. Things begin to drastically and repeatedly change from that point.

Stephen Wilkinson, the man behind the Bibio moniker, proceeds to take his music through a series of genre filters, and touches on soul, funk, hip-hop and techno. Taken alone, the majority of the album's tracks are enjoyable, but Ambivalence Avenue is noticeably disjointed. A couple of its songs are so cut up they're barely listenable.

On the whole, Ambivalence Avenue does well in summing up the trajectory of electro-pop's Looper. It moves from the playfulness of Up A Tree (including similar sound bites of kids in conversation), to the polished groove of The Snare. There are also a few chunks of creepy outer-space loops that would fit well in The Flaming Lips' Christmas On Mars. Don't expect anything approaching a straightforward journey.

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Sled Island 2009 Recap

Trevor Morelli — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 13:39:46 -0500

CHARTattack's Trevor Morelli checked out Calgary's Sled Island Music Festival from June 24-28. Here's his report:

Final Fantasy's Owen Pallett may be a man of few words, but it was the fans at Calgary's third annual Sled Island Music Festival that were left speechless after his show.

With handmade "Sold Out" signs plastered all over the doors, the Central United Church once again provided the perfect atmosphere needed to kick off such an ambitious and diverse festival. I strolled into the church shortly after Slim Twig hit the stage, and ironically, the singer himself was not unlike a crazed street preacher.

Although I had no idea what he was saying, our curly-haired hero pranced around and howled at the top of his lungs over a wall of reverb and pure noise. Judging by the crowd's reaction, I'd argue most people were just as weirded out as I was, but it was entertaining if nothing else.

Shortly after setting up his own gear, Pallett got back on stage to tune his various instruments. Quiet fell upon the audience, only to turn into laughter moments later.

"That wasn't a song," he chuckled with the crowd. "If you don't like the show, at least you can't accuse me of being lazy."

Over the next hour, Pallett amazed Calgary with both his sense of harmony and his unreal technical wizardry. Pallett kicked off the set with "The Sea" from 2005's Has A Good Home, and easily entranced the crowd with his loops, overlays and symphonic soundscapes.

Pallett's never one to shy away from experimentation, and mixed cuts from his 2006 Polaris Music Prize-winning He Poos Clouds with newer tracks like "Keep The Dog Quiet" and "Midnight Directives."

If there was one disappointing thing about this gig, it was that we didn't get to hear any infamous Final Fantasy covers, like his takes on Bloc Party's "This Modern Love" or Mariah Carey's "Fantasy." Guess I'll have to stick to YouTube for those tidbits.

Things got a little more sketchy on Friday night. Downtown Calgary's Olympic Plaza is normally a hangout for drifters and other nomadic types, but was transformed into a Bonnaroo-style outdoor festival for a night. Plenty of cops patrolled the area, making the site more "safe" but ultimately sketchier for fun-seekers.

Warm summer air greeted Holy Fuck, who were more than happy to shoot back some of their own audio cocaine into the audience. I don't think I've ever seen a lyric-less band come across as this intense.

One memorable track was LP's "Royal Gregory", which easily ripped through the ear canals and got people bobbing their heads to its infectious, hammering beat.

By the end of their 45-minute set, Holy Fuck had the crowd wrapped around their pinky finger. Closer "Lovely Allen" provided enough catchy hooks, pop beats and knob-twiddling to earn a roaring applause upon its conclusion.

Apparently, this was the point in the show where the sound guy took a smoke break. Liars were next, but the P.A. music kept vamping well into their show.

After the third tune, it was obvious the music wasn't stopping and I didn't have the patience to unscramble the band's already complicated songs. Getting hit in the shoulder by a frisbee soon after was a sign that the rock gods were telling me I was wrong.

The Breeders looked like war horses emerging from battle, and they executed a set full of fuzzy, grungy '90s nostalgia. Sweatpants were the wardrobe of choice for singer Kim Deal, who seamlessly lead the band through catchy tunes like "No Aloha" and "Huffer."

"It's beautiful here in Calgary," Deal said, breaking the ice.

"Our gear didn't arrive here," she continued, meant as a lighthearted comment rather than an excuse.

Deal didn't let the setback ruin the moment in the slightest. With enough rented Marshall stacks to power a jet engine, the Boston/Dayton, Ohio band continued to entertain the Sledders, tossing in more well-known songs like "Bang On" and "Metal Man."

"Cannonball" showed up around the halfway mark and instantly earned an earthquake of cheers and whistles. Heads bobbed along as Deal screamed, "Want you/Coocoo/Cannonball!" into the microphone during the chorus.

"We're classy. We know a Beatles song," joked Deal before launching into a powerful version of "Happiness Is A Warm Gun" near the end of the hour-long set.

As the sun went down on another great year for Sled Island, The Breeders reminded everyone exactly what Sled Island is all about: exposing yourself to original artists who are more interested in advancing music than fattening their pocketbooks.

Royal City — Royal City

Kate Harper — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 12:56:01 -0500

Royal City's new compilation of alternate versions and unreleased songs begins with a track called "Here Comes Success," which is probably the best way Aaron Riches and company could have begun the disc.

The band eventually became not only well-known throughout the Guelph, Ont. Music scene, but throughout Canada as well. Royal City, which also formerly contained or featured collaborations from Jim Guthrie (now of Islands), Feist, Owen Pallett, Gentleman Reg, Bob Wiseman and Nathan Lawr (now of FemBots), among others, released three critically acclaimed albums over their relatively short career. Those were a very successful four years — perhaps not in terms of sales — but nowadays Royal City are celebrated as one of the most important groups in history of Canadian indie rock.

This compilation flows as if it's a fully-realized, complete record that just never hit stores. "Postcards" sounds like it belongs on a Guthrie album, while the screamy bits on "Here Comes Success" betray Riches' punk and hardcore roots. "Bad Luck" and "They Came Down" show Riches' fascinations with country and folk music and how he tried to integrate both styles into Royal City's music. Some of these tracks are probably almost 10 years old, but they don't sound it and come across as if they could fit into the scene no problem today.

More than anything, this disc shows how much Canadian indie rock is indebted to this band.

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Glastonbury 2009 Diary: Part 1

Jonathan Dekel — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 12:40:52 -0500

Intro And Warning

London, England
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Pub

It's an uncomfortably warm day in London and I'm sitting in a pub in the Queen's Park district of London. Across from me are my hosts, Mark and Lucy. Both are in — or have worked in — the music industry, and as such are grizzled veterans of the Glastonbury Festival.

As anyone who has been to a multi-day festival can attest, once you come back the whole experience comes together in your mind as a mishmash of singular songs, the sub-human conditions endured as well as the super-human feats of strength and agility you performed in order to overcome them.

I have been to several major festivals around the world. I've survived the mind-melting heat at Tennessee's Bonnaroo, the adventure of the Netherlands' Lowlands and even the humidity of Japan's Fuji Rock (I even have the commemorative fan to prove it!). But according to Mark and Lucy, I ain't seen nothing yet.

"I went one year and the mud was so high, it went up to my shooolders," Mark explains in a Northern English accent. "You could get trench fooot!"

"Oh, Marky, don't be so over dramatic." Lucy interjects, in a way only people who've suffered each other for years can.

"You won't get trench foot," she tells me. "But he's right about the rain and mud. I had a friend who had someone die right beside her. In his tent. Drowned in the mud.

"They had to send divers to see if anyone was alive."

Ten minutes earlier, I was quite excited to go to Glastonbury. Now I'm not so sure. Three days — the festival grounds open on Wednesday, but the good music aspect of proceedings only starts Friday — of mud, warm beer and Englishmen... what exactly had I gotten myself into?

"Don't worry, Jonathan," Lucy says, noticing my befuddled look. "Half the fun is in the journey. You'll have the best time ever."

Two days later, I would find out exactly what she meant.

London, England
Friday, June 26, 2009
6:30 a.m.

I awake with a sense of dread. This is not only because my jet lag is still bothering me and I'm — quite unsuccessfully — trying to get over the ill-effects of North By Northeast the previous week, but something else, something I just can't put my finger on just yet...

I decide to check my phone (17 messages?!) and discover Michael Jackson has died. For a while, I wonder why so many people felt the need to tell me this, knowing full well that a) I'm in the U.K. and b) I've never been a full blown MJ fan. Don't get me wrong; I dig his music and have done my share of "Billie Jean" karaoke, but in an homage to the man himself, I've kept my MJ appreciation private.

My curiosity piqued, I turn on the television (BBC 1) where I'm greeted by a rather chirpy British man (as chirpy a British man could be being both British and awake at 6:30 a.m.). He's talking to an old friend of Jackson's. I catch the last couple of sentences and manage to make out he's died of a heart attack.

With this, the chirpy Brit turns to the Glastonbury report. My ears perk up. The screen flashes to a rather unjoyous looking fellow. He's standing at a high point overlooking the Pyramid Stage — the main stage of the festival where the headliners play — dressed in wellingtons and a rain coat. My stomach tightens.

"It looks like it's going to be another muddy year..." he begins and I can hear Mark yelling "I told you so!" from his room upstairs. Fuck!

London, England
Paddington Station
2 p.m.

After a spirited discussion with Mark and Lucy, I decide to acquiesce to their expertise and purchase some camping upgrades. This cuts significantly into my Glastonbury time, but then again, I don't want to die of a mudslide in my tent.

I arrive to catch the train at 2 p.m., which should — assuming it takes about 10 minutes to set up my tent — get me into the thick of things around 5 p.m.

As I begin the trek to Castle Cary (the journey also involves a double-decker bus trip, which takes another 30 minutes or so to get you on site) I squish up against three hippies. They're seemingtly oblivious to their potent mix of body odor and patchouli, and they explain to me what makes Glastonbury so special to them.

"Well, it's right spiritual ain't it?" the one with shorter dreadlocks says in a Cockney accent.

"The site is built on ley lines and has healing powers!" the female of the group confirms.

"We don't even go for the music. We go for the good vibes," the longer dreadlocked one interjects. "We hang at the stone circle, walk amongst the Green Field. It's great, innut?!"

They all nod in unison.

I ask them how they can avoid seeing music? Isn't Glasto a "music festival?"

"This is your first time, isn't it?" the female says. "The farm is so bloody massive, you could be smokin' a splif in the hills for three days and not even hear a single note."

Bloody 'ell.

Somerset, England
Castle Cary Station
4:30 p.m.

As good an argument as dreadlocks made, I've decided to skip the spiritual side of the festival. I'm here to cover music (CHARTattack is, last I checked, a music site after all) and, despite an email from Lucy reminding me that this was more about the adventure than the bands, I would like to spend as much of my time here enjoying it with mass crowds of up to 80,000 [the festival attracts roughly 190,000 people] all singing along. That's something I just can't even conceive happening at, say, Virgin Festival Toronto.

Pilton, England
Glastonbury Festival Site
5:45 p.m.

It's sunny! It seems the rain of the past few days has gone away and left the area a muddy, but manageable mess. I arrive, put on my freshly bought wellies, unpack my tent in the hospitality/press area (six minutes, boo ya!) and head out to the Park Stage where a "surprise guest" is scheduled to play.

Along the way, I manage to catch a bit of Friendly Fires set. I remember seeing them with White Lies at Toronto's Lee's Palace earlier this year. The attendance then was maybe several hundred people, but here they're playing to several thousand, who are happily dancing their asses off as Ed Macfarlane, FF's camp lead singer, awkwardly sashays across the stage. They also have horns with them. Nice touch.

Park Stage
The Dead Weather
6:45 p.m.

That was a long walk. Those hippies were right — I hate when that happens — this place is massive!

I arrive into the Park area, which consists of several stages and a large tower. After wandering around for another five minutes or so, I find the stage and get close to the front barrier just as The Dead Weather take the stage.

Jack White, being something of a folk hero 'round these parts, immediately riles the crowd as the band, which also consists of The Kills' Alison Mosshart and two of Jack's Raconteurs buddies, launch into their set with the added boost you can only get from playing in front of countless thousands of people.

Having seen them a couple weeks earlier at Toronto's Horseshoe Tavern, I'm glad to report their brand of dirty blues translated even better in the open air. The crowd, despite not recognizing a single song, go mad and feed off the fuzz emanating from guitarist Dean Fertita's white hot riffs. It's the perfect soundtrack to the hazy fog that surrounds the park and, all told, it's not a bad start to my festival experience.

The Queens Head
The Rumble Strips
7:45 p.m.

After The Dead Weather finish, I try to run over to the Q magazine sponsored Queen's Head stage, which, despite boasting several big colourful screens, advertises itself as a tent where bigger bands play intimate sets.

I just miss The Virgins, a guilty pleasure of mine, and grab a (semi-warm) beer as I await The Rumble Strips, an English band I saw a year earlier in New York on the recommendation of Amy Winehouse producer Mark Ronson. He would eventually go on to produce their upcoming album (Canada's own Final Fantasy provides the string arrangements) and his influence is evident on the new songs the band play during their second Glasto set of the day.

"We played a gig at the John Peel Stage in front of 5,000 people earlier today. They don't know what they're missing, eh?" bassist Sam Mansbridge says with a laugh before the band launch into single "Girls And Boys In Love."

The set is a fantastic mix of Britpop, horns and boyish charm. The band members look like they're having a blast and lead singer Charlie Waller puts in one of the better vocal performances I'll hear all weekend. Look out for these guys.

Pyramid Stage
Neil Young
10 p.m.

After the Strips, I decide to try to pick up some grub. As I stand in line for a veggie burger, I see the first of the many Jackson tributes that will randomly pop up during the weekend.

A huge screen — presumably meant to simulcast shows playing on other stages — has started playing the extended music video for "Thriller." People slowly start flocking to the screen until, eventually, the whole area in front of it is full of bodies grooving to the song.

I decide to split and get a good position for Neil Young, who's headlining. As I walk towards the Pyramid Stage, I'm surprised at how large it really is. The size of everything here is on a different scale than any festival I've seen before. There must be at least 70,000 people here.

As Neil opens with a blistering "Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black)," my Canadian pride meter goes up just a little (though he never does get around to playing "Helpless", alas). Stopping intermediately to make a quick quip ["Are there any alcoholics in the audience? This one's for you!"] or to say thanks, the rest of the set sees Young running through his bag of standard ticks — one note solos, anguished vocals, grumpy, determined faces — while maintaining a sense of grungey ordered chaos.

Although a 10 minute "Down By The River" tests the audience's patience a bit, Shakey wins 'em back in the end with an anthemic "Rockin' In The Free World" [A song I've heard so many times it angers me to hear Young include it in the set in lieu of, say, "After The Gold Rush" or "Only Love Can Break Your Heart," but the English do love their anthems!] and a stirring encore of The Beatles' "A Day In The Life," complete with string busting, guitar kicking outro.

Thinking I saw something kind of special [Young would bring Paul McCartney on stage to play it the following night in London – damn] I head into the night excited for what tomorrow brings.

The evening ends at 2 a.m. as I narrowly avoid tripping over several tents the way to my own. Good night, Glasto. One down, two to go.

Jay Reatard Not Big Enough

Cameron Gordon — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 11:53:25 -0500

Jay Reatard hit Toronto with far less fanfare than his previous few visits to the city, all of which were tempered by low ceilings and punching audience members and, um, private parties for Fred Perry. Seriously.

It's too bad because with a new album on the horizon and a stat holiday only days away, it was the ideal environment to get heated and showcase some new tunage, which is exactly what Reatard and his bandmates did at The Mod Club. They tore through their customary half-hour set, but there wasn't much on the platter besides pure sonic fury and some badass headbanging. Luckily, these Memphis goofballs specialize in both.

"Blood Visions" led off the set and with the stage awash in strobe lights and split ends, the three-piece band did their darndest to fill up The Mod Club. The venue looked positively cavernous given the lax attendance and that the boys are more accustomed to playing rooms half the size.

There was nary a pause between songs as the band tore through 14 tracks, a mix of live favourite and sneak peeks at Reatard's upcoming Matador full-length, Watch Me Fall (slated for an Aug. 18 release). While the new disc promises to be a somewhat more subdued affair, new tracks like "Ain't Gonna Save Me" carried forth the traditional Reatard bluster and then some. The output was no less torrid, even when his Flying V guitar was swapped for an acoustic.

While the new material certainly inspired some less than stellar slam dancing from attendees, it was really older tracks like "Greed, Money, Useless Children" and "It's So Easy" that really set the crowd off — a odd mixture of girls and guys that strangely saw the former take the aggressor role in the pit.

"Let It All Go" capped the set and with extended feedback freakout and usage of stage props, and it was perhaps just that song that topped the four-minute mark. To punctuate things, Reatard wheeled a road case out on-stage (featuring a Grifers label — perhaps a reference to the defunct 1990s indie rockers?) and proceeded to shred atop the box, completely unself-conscious and/or self-aware.

It wasn't exactly the most dangerous performance given the tepid crowd and oversized room, but Reatard definitely showed some gamesmanship by keeping his temper in check and simply focussing on "the rock," which isn't a bad approach at this stage in the game.