i read the news today

It is comforting, sometimes, to be reminded that yours is still in many ways a small town.

At this moment, the city’s attention has been captured by a stray elk spotted this morning near the City Centre building. (Or, as CBC Radio put it, near Art-is-in Bakery, one of several businesses located at City Centre and an apparent Stu Mills favourite.) As I write this, the elk remains at large. And, another sinkhole or road-rage stabbing notwithstanding, it is likely to continue to command the full attention of local media for the remainder of the day.

I like that. Just as I like traditions such as stopping on the western Parkway to allow birds to cross. Or the kerfuffle over the loss of DQ and KFC signs — as though either is a local business. There’s a lot going on in this city. A million or so people live in the area. But when an elk is on the loose… Continue reading

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a bad rap

Some years ago, at an outdoor festival on Randall Island in New York City, I had the misfortune of observing Bo Diddley’s attempt at rapping. Now, as the ads demonstrated, Bo Diddley was capable of a great many things. Hiphop, it turns out, was not one of them. This, despite the fact that Bo’s classic 1955 recording I’m a Man is pretty much a rap number.

Well, yesterday, a rather fun piece in the Huffington Post began to make the rounds on the Facebook and elsewhere. “Worst Rap Songs by White Non-Rappers,” it’s called, a supposedly ‘definitive’ list from Ottawa expat Joshua Ostroff in response to recent rapping missteps by Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber. (Surprising, really, that media are not willing to take those two artists seriously as rappers.) Said list, we’re told, was assembled via the sort of intrepid research that is a few minutes’ worth of combing YouTube. And yes, there are some pretty awful examples of rap among its 30 entries. Continue reading

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murdering the classics

Music. I’ve had people tell me I love everything. And that I hate everything.

Both camps are of course correct.

As a former colleague once pointed out to me, I seem to have rather a lot of “favourite” bands and singers. On the other hand, thanks to the ubiquitous presence of classic rock in all our lives, it’s not uncommon for me to become (mildly) enraged when confronted by a “classic” during an otherwise uneventful shopping excursion or dentist appointment. (The latter can make for an uncomfortable situation.) I am aware that these are songs beloved by one and all, and that they are for the most part pretty harmless. Hell, I’ll even concede that each boasts a relatively catchy tune. How else could it qualify for classic status? But sometimes it takes only one — perhaps minor — detail to turn a song from a joyful to a torturous experience. And given that we’re talking pop music here, that minor detail is invariably repeated. Repetition, after all, is a pop singer’s job. And a pop singer’s job is repetition. Continue reading

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you are there: Polaris 2013

The Polaris Music Prize has never had so much press. Smirking, artists-are-nutty press. Calls-for-revolution press. And from thin-skinned music critics, cries of “Hypocrites!” toward the victorious musical ensemble celebrated Monday evening.

The eight-year-old award for outstanding achievement in the field of musical excellence has arrived.

But then, that is obvious the moment I find my way to The Carlu for the swank gala on a mild Monday evening in September. And let me tell you, gaining entrance to The Carlu is not as easy as it sounds. Or, at least, not for visitors to Toronto. Follow all signs to the venue and you’re liable to be dismissed — held at bay by a velvet rope — and told to try to find another way in. You know how Jeopardy is happy to welcome Canadians to its panel, only to put them in their place by ensuring the Final Jeopardy category is Vice Presidents or The Civil War or Recipes for Grits or something? To an outsider, that’s what it feels like trying to make a gallant entrance to The Carlu. Continue reading

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a walk in the park

Monday, I spent a most enjoyable afternoon at the residence of local singer and songwriter Casey Comeau. During an animated and characteristically upbeat discussion, Casey talked of what she’s been up to since our last chat over three years ago and of the return of an upcoming rare performance with her former band The Halfmilers, this Sunday afternoon at Andrew Haydon Park. We enjoyed a glass of wine and talked of the country crooner’s first decade as a familiar face on the local music scene.

Casey and I have enjoyed a few beverages together. I look forward to our having many more in the coming years.

But, as we all learned with a stunning jolt Wednesday morning, life offers no guarantees. Continue reading

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