Forgery League

Friday we went out to the Beaches (or the Beach, if you’re an old-timer in this town) for the Jazz Festival. We’d never been there before, and were blown away - they close about a mile and a half of Queen St, and musicians perform on every block. The music was a mixed bag, but there was always something different around the corner. Samba Squad in particular rocked like mad.

Yesterday we caught Dusk Dances at Dufferin Grove Park. Corpus Dance Projects puts it on every year, staging a number of short dance pieces, each at a different site in the park; the parks themselves change from year to year. Sean and I - not exactly fans of dance - never miss it. This time, there was a set from a Maori group from New Zealand (ahh, so that’s what poi look like!), a lovely aerial duet with live cello, a fun little number that mocked the recent municipal strike, and to cap it off, Corpus themselves performed their signature “A Flock Of Flyers”. Five dancers represent a Canadian Air Force squadron who have been grounded by budget cuts (their motto: “We may not have planes, but we have ideas!”) and perform various manoeuvres under the orders of their leader, Commander Hup.

On the way home, Sean and I spent a long time discussing the purpose of art, and the difficulties of getting a message across in a work - and passing on knowledge in general. Much philosophizing followed… I’ll have to devote another entry to this some time.

Right now I’m just stalling - gotta head out to the bank and it’s pouring outside. Cool lightning tho. :D

Well, at least it’s only for one weekend a year.

The Molson Indy is on, and from our new place downtown we can hear the endless droning of engines circling the Exhibition grounds. Maybe next year we’ll join in the lighthearted neighbourhood protests against it… This year I am told they had a “Wholesome Undies” march, wherein people walked the race route sans outerwear. A couple years back, green mayoral candidate Tooker Gomberg and friends sat outside Mayor Mel Lastman’s house with a sound system, playing a recording of last year’s race. (Mel has since moved to a condo.)

In other news, Sean got me a POD (an all-in-one guitar effects unit and amp simulator) as an early birthday present. Yay! Then he got me to show him a couple of chords so he could see how it sounded, and spent about five minutes rockin’ out before he broke a string. :D

Ah well. It was about time to change strings anyway. Good thing I’ve got a set of electrics around to cannibalize, as every music store in town closes on Sunday.

The best moment from this year’s Pride: we were standing around talking to a trio of babydykes. Midway through the conversation I spoke up, whereupon the dark-haired one with the fetching nose ring blinked… stared, blinked; cocked her head to one side, blinked. I grinned and mimicked her wide-eyed expression. She cocked her head to the other side. Then: “Omigod! I’m sorry, I just saw you and thought you were a cute dyke, but you’re not, you’re a boy!” Supremely flattered.

Then one of them, apropos of some other thread of the conversation, started chanting, “What’s up B? What’s up B?” and the rest chimed in: “I’m searching the city for sci-fi wasabi…” I joined in too. “Obi Wan Kenobi’s waitim fo me!” Squeals: “You’re a Cibo Matto fan?” Cute moment.

My other favorite things about Pride: old people having fun. Radical drag queens with beards and parasols and huge foofy neon skirts. Fifty-year-old full-figured lesbians with nipple rings walking and riding down Yonge Street because they can, dammit. Cute couples of any sort kissing. People in wheelchairs, making themselves visible. People who do something different, just because. Being able to gawk at all of the above.

We returned, intending to catch Merkury Burn’s set at the “Alternaqueer” stage - their lead singer is our next-door-neighbour’s boyfriend, as it turns out. Unfortunately, we only managed to see the final two minutes… looked like a wild time, though, and the mildly gothy crowd there was the coolest - much ambiguity of gender and orientation, not to mention nifty makeup and facial adornments…

At the Village Stage on Wellesley, a brilliant DJ set by Jelo, whom we’d never heard of before, and who singlehandedly restored my faith in dance music. Blocky, electro-ish stuff, with great breaks and changeups - such a refreshing change from the usual mind-numbingly dull house… danced like a total maniac, and Sean got into it too, when he wasn’t waving a camera around.

My only regret: I didn’t get any pictures of Sean and me together. Ah well… I’m sure we’ll do this all again some time.

We uploaded the first ‘official’ Flickershow MP3 today: “Suit Impostor Prophesy”. Yay!

Went out to see a friend’s band the other night. When we arrived, we were informed that we’d missed seeing a girl who’d shown up earlier and looked exactly like Julian. The two were never seen together, so people drew the obvious conclusion. “Don’t go out with her,” Jason warned me, “‘cause she’s actually Julian and it’ll totally fuck up your band’s interpersonal dynamics. Don’t sleep with the Julian-woman.” I reassured him that this would not occur.

It’s nice having a musical crowd to hang out with, yes.

The phone was ringing and I tried to answer it. The phone, a new cordless, would not pick up properly. (This is a normal occurrence for us. I have bad phone-answering juju, no matter what we have for a phone.) Fine. A bit later, my pager went off, showing a number I didn’t recognize.

I pick up the phone and try to call the number. Six digits in (we have big-city 10 digit dialling here), I hear a click and a friend’s voice mail kicks in. “Hi! This is Elizabeth…” then the connection turns staticky. I hang up and try again. Was that the right number? I start dialling. Again, before I’ve finished, it kicks over, and craps out before I can leave a message. I dial again, and again, and keys are rearranging themselves. What’s the 9 doing down there on the left? Argh! I hang up, try again, get as far as the 2 and it comes out as an exclamation point.

Now, this isn’t something our phone normally does. At this point I remember something I’ve read about dreaming: you can often tell you’re dreaming because machines malfunction in strange ways. Aha. I must be dreaming, I reason. I look at the phone, and think: I bet I could fit that in my mouth. And as it turns out, I can.

Moral: Even if you have a lucid dream, it doesn’t mean you’ll be in a frame of mind to think of anything worthwhile to do.

Saw Bullfrog and Medeski Martin & Wood last night. Phenomenal. :D The stage at Harbourfront Centre is a crap venue, particularly when it rains, but it was a fine, fine show.

Sean arrived home from India on Monday afternoon. Plenty of stories. First order of business (after the obvious) was grocery shopping, as I’d been scraping the bottom of the barrel. I don’t think I’ll ever eat barbecue sauce again.

Sean kept watching all the busy, harried li’l North Americans rush about, and whispering, “go! go! gotta make my meeting!” and “deadlines!” and “just a few more years! my life can wait!” with a mischievous grin.

Back at home: “I had the weirdest shit.” In paroxysms of gasping-for-breath laughter.

Curtains are coming! We’re having ‘em sewn at one of the two dozen little fabric shops around the corner on Queen. This neighbourhood does rock.

Julian and I played at a cabaret fundraiser last night (for an Environmental Studies student who’s canoeing to Tuktoyaktuk[!] as part of her Master’s). We actually went on ahead of schedule, proof that the gig was organized by non-musicicans. Good show! Did “Lullaby For Alice” which we haven’t done in ages.

I’ve been starting to work on my own songs again, too, and as usual the stuff I have in mind is inspired in large part by the artists I’m currently obsessing over. This time that means Rufus Wainwright and Sarah Slean, who both mix modern pop with a big dose of cabaret show-tuney sensibility. I’d love to write some stuff that’s as much fun to sing while flouncing around the apartment or on stage… something that merits a video like “Sweet Ones”. *suppresses surge of costume envy*

It’s been an impulsive day. I went out shopping for a mirrored cabinet for the bathroom. A rare item in these parts, it seems: I came up empty-handed.

On the way, however, I happened on an HMV. Now, HMV isn’t my usual haunt for record shopping - I prefer to shop at the little independents - but on a whim I stopped in. For a good while I wandered around from section to section, checking out everything that caught my eye, desperately trying to remember the name of an apparently amazing acoustic guitarist someone recommended. Rather lovely jazzy-bossa-trip-step somethingorother on the store speakers. (Jazzanova, I think?)

I picked up some Prokofiev, since there wasn’t any in my collection yet. Also got the new Sarah Slean album, Night Bugs after hearing bits and pieces on the radio - the harmonies on the poppy closing track, “Bank Accounts”, nearly had me in tears at the listening booth. (So did “L’autre valse d’Amelie” from the Amélie soundtrack, which I must also get sometime.)

Bay station - an older fellow was playing accordion there, something slow and sweet. He seemed even a little surprised when I dropped a loonie in the tray in front of him. Funny: in the days surrounding our move, I was reserved, even distant, shutting myself off from everything while I got my head wrapped around this new lifestyle, living mostly in my head. It feels like I’ve returned, now. I’ve found myself making more contact with people around me, noticing them more, starting up conversations with people panhandling on the street…

(Man! That Sarah Slean tune is still going through my head. And I just realized that one line in the chorus ends with the harmony and main melody a major seventh apart. Yow.)

In the afternoon J came by and we practiced a bit before heading to the Oasis for the weekly open stage. I’d never been there before, and I was immediately impressed - by the comfy surroundings, the smoke-free back room, the diverse tapas menu, the sound, and the diversity of the acts. It was a nice change from the parade of acoustic guitars at other places we’ve been. Oh, there were guitars, including ours, and they made some great sounds in the hands of our fellow musicians. But there were several duos and bands (the stage setup generally includes a drum kit), one woman who sang to prerecorded accompaniment (much better than that makes it sound), and a rather odd fellow who did a sort of stand-up comedy (I had to wonder if it was an act, or whether he was Really Like That). As with any open stage, the acts varied wildly in experience and skill, but regardless, it was always fun.

J and I played two of his: “My Apology” and “Suit Impostor Prophesy”. I played better - miles and miles better - than I’ve ever played on stage before, and stayed fairly relaxed all the way through. Partly, it may have been that I was playing better, but generally, I just wasn’t worried any longer about what everyone might think of us. Before I would have cringed every time I squeaked on a high note or played out of key. Now, I just let it flow - easier now that the music is coming much more from my hands than from thinking about each note. It’s like learning to crawl, then walk, then run.

At this rate, I should be airborne soon. I wonder what that would sound like…

Yamaha has released new 13-, 12- and 10-inch snares (soprano, sopranino and piccolo) for ‘effects’ - especially drum-&-bass type music. Electronic processing creates trends in acoustic instruments! I wonder where else this has happened.