This Week In Unnecessary Censorship

When I was in film school, I mostly made my mark as writer-director and editor. The film I submitted as my final project was called Le King, and it was a mockumentary about myself featuring real actors, friends from my real life, and stolen clips from TV interviews and other forms of lost footage put out of context to either show me in a positive or very negative light.

Before settling on that idea, though, I toyed around with other concepts, including cutting/mixing clips from one person to make them say something else (still planning on creating a YouTube channel dedicated to just that), or taking words out to give the impression that someone was saying something other than what they were really saying.

And so I really enjoy when Jimmy Kimmel has his "This Week In Unnecessary Censorship" segments, because his crack-team of researchers can find the best clips to do that with, as seen in last Thursday's show:

Things I Listened To In 2014

I'm too out of it to make a normal ''best of'' list with rankings and stuff. Also, there weren't that many records I purchased that made me want to listen to them all the way through repeatedly. Perhaps it's because Radiohead didn't release anything, or I've become jaded. Or music sucks now. Wait, no, that's not true: Against Me!'s record, from start to finish, made my summer and fall. That, my friends, is how you make music with a message.

What I know for sure is that the song I listened to the most in the first six months - by a fair margin - was totally outside of my usual comfort zone: Lady Gaga's Do What U Want (both the version with R. Kelly and the one with Christina Aguilera, which ended up being my favourite).

But in the past month, The Osmonds' Crazy Horses, from their 1972 record of the same name, has been spinning on YouTube, in my mp3 player and as a ring tone nearly non-stop. I have listened to it more than any other songs - not only combined, but times three. If I end up killing myself, that song may be to blame (you're welcome to put Donny Osmond on trial, though he barely played wheezing keyboard on the track).

2014 also saw me listen to a lot of music from years past, namely Nine Inch Nails' fantastic 2013 opus Hesitation Marks (as well as a lot of their 1994 tour de force The Downward Spiral), a lot of Ice Cube, six or seven Jay Z songs over and over, some Beyoncé from last year, Nirvana's In Utero, Pearl Jam's entire discography up to Binaural, with maybe three songs each off their last four records, Red Hot Chili Peppers' Mother's Milk and Blood Sugar Sex Magik, Megadeth's Countdown To Extinction, some Suicidal Tendencies, and a ton of Montréal bands.

But 2014?

As far as albums go, these hit a nerve a little:

Against Me!, Transgender Dysphoria Blues
USA Out Of Vietnam's Crashing Diseases and Incurable Airplanes (re-release)
Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra's Fuck Off Get Free We Pour Light On Everything
Jack White, Lazaretto (though it's my least favourite of his discography so far)
Caribou, Our Love
Aphex Twin, Syro
Elephant Stone's The Three Poisons
Sacral Nerves's self titled release
Robert Plant, Lullaby... And The Ceaseless Roar
Beck, Morning Phase
Jenny Lewis, The Voyager
Guillaume Beauregard, D'Étoiles, De Pluie Et De Cendres
Jésuslesfilles, Le Grain D'Or
Philémon Cimon, L'Été
Monogrenade, Composite
Kandle, In Flames
Common, Nobody's Smiling

And I don't think the fact that I know people in nine of those acts has anything to do with me liking their music. If anything, it might be the other way around.

I didn't go head-over-heels like many of my friends over Sun Kil Moon, Swans, Run the Jewels and The War On Drugs, though they had their moments.

As for songs, I'm going with these, in addition the the aforementioned Gaga mega-hit, in what is close to a preference order:

Nikki Lane, Right Time
Meghan Trainor, All About The Bass
Kandle, Not Up To Me
Joseph Arthur, Walk On The Wild Side (Lou Reed cover)
Childish Gambino (feat. Problem), Sweatpants
Arctic Monkeys, Arabella
Interpol, All The Rage Back Home
The Pack A.D., Big Shot
Nicki Minaj, Anaconda
Red Mass, Sharp
Queens Of The Stone Age, Smooth Sailing


I have yet to pay attention to the D'Angelo record. Same for J Mascis. I hear great things, though, but I need to get that Osmonds song (and All About The Bass) out of my system first. My cousin had the Hozier CD playing on repeat on the drive home from visiting my dad and grandma last night; I didn't mind it too much.

The Chris Burns Fire Story

In the Montréal indie scene, few stories compare to the time where Chris Burns' place went up in flames. It had everything all of our daily lives consisted of: shitty building ran by a slumlord, not being able to afford insurance, a whole scene banding together to (temporarily) help cope with a crappy situation, from indie newspapers like The Mirror promoting a benefit show, to all the bands that wanted to take part in it, to everyone who showed up, and to everyone who gave perhaps not money but time and/or goods to help Chris and his girlfriend Isabelle get back on their feet.

Chris' story resonated deeply with me, because I lost all of my shit myself once, in a flood after the thawing of the 1998 Ice Storm - I had pretty much the last remaining pictures of deceased family members, hundreds of rare arts books and first editions of classics, four guitars (I managed to save one) and two amps (ditto), and the usual stuff like furniture and electronics.

It took me years to get back to the level of comfort I'd been accustomed to - though on the bright side probably enabled me to rely less on my possessions and afforded me the emptiness I required to spend a bit longer than a year going back and forth between Montréal and NYC.

But back to ''Crispy'' Burns. Here's the video from the benefit show that was held on his behalf, complete with his recounting the fire saga in the middle of a rendition of The Talking Heads' Burning Down The House...

Wu-Tang Clan: Nothing Left To Fuck With

If it ever came down to me chopping my own dick off and jumping off a building in an attempt to kill myself, I sure as shit hope my friends won't pretend they never knew me or do everything in their power to disassociate themselves from me.

I'd understand if they failed to comprehend the reasons behind my actions, if they thought it was a tad extreme and/or bizarre; I'd be impressed if one of them wondered to the media how long it would take me to slice my genitalia off - but I'd like to think that because of what we've gone through together, none of them would feign not having known me at all.

And that's really the one thing that has thrown me off the most about the story of Christ Bearer (Andre Johnson to the I.R.S.), the Northstar / West Coast Killa Beez rapper who either chopped off his manhood and jumped off a two-storey balcony in front of his friends, or was castrated and almost killed by a bunch of thugs who switched sides on him.

I get that RZA produced his record and that he was featured on a few solo songs from members of the Wu-Tang Clan, but that as a whole they may not have all met - or even liked - him. But to go as far as posting this picture on their Facebook page the day it hit the news was a tad cold:

'Cause I don't know about you, but this album cover with a huge 'W' in the middle of their logo and RZA's name on it twice:

Bobby Digital is RZA's 'weird rap' alter-ego

and this still shot:

kind of speak to me as having at least one member's ''ok'' to proceed with saying you're affiliated in some capacity.

In a XXL interview, RZA ultimately referred to him as ''a guy we gave a chance to'', after calling him insane for 25 straight sentences. But he admits he was one of the first people Johnson called after getting released from jail recently. Seems like the love is only going one way on this one...

Just when he needed their help the most, the Wu cut him off.

TMZ reports that doctors were not able to reattach the former Wu member's member:

Wu-Tang affiliated rapper Andre Johnson is just plain Andre now ... because doctors weren't able to reattach his penis.

That's a low blow for me to cut and paste, given the circumstances, to re-post TMZ's lack of tact. I apologize.

Meow Meow

My friend The Big E used to do a lot of cocaine. Then he stopped because of his girlfriend. Then he started again once in a while with his best friend. Then his dealer turned him onto Meow Meow, a.k.a. mephedrone, for ''all the effects of coke on your brain, but none of the physical signs (constant rubbing of nose or teeth, for example) nor hangovers''...

He thought he was incognito, but anyone who knows anything about any substance consumption could easily tell he wasn't just drunk when he was on that shit. Except his girlfriend.

Because its recreational usage is still relatively recent, no one knows for sure what long-term effects Meow Meow has on the body, but some - like John Mann, the in-house chemist at Queen's University Belfast - have suggested that because of its similarities to cathenone, it could very well render impotent.

Looks like one 19-year-old British guy didn't want to wait to find out, as he cut off his own penis after stabbing his mother:

After his mother called emergency services to the house in Haywards Heath, West Sussex, he was discovered hanging out of a bedroom window, blood gushing from his groin. Both were rushed to hospital with injuries described as life threatening after the December 29 attack, according to the Mirror. (...) When the police arrived they found him hanging from a window and then discovered he had cut off his penis.

 Denis Leary used to joke about cocaine being a drug that makes your dick soft... looks like its replacement one-upped it on that level too...

Hey kids: drugs are bad... mmmmkay?

Po Paul And The Arctic 30

About a month ago I wrote about my long-time friend, Po Paul, who was arrested along with 29 other Greenpeace activists and ship crew members. They have now been dubbed The Arctic 30, and here's what Greenpeace had to say about them, followed by pictures of each member:

The courageous crew of the Greenpeace ship Arctic Sunrise protested at that Gazprom rig because they felt compelled to bear witness to the slow but unrelenting destruction of the Arctic. The ice is retreating, oil companies are moving north to drill for the fuels that are driving that melting, species are at risk, including our own. Thirty men and women, some young, others not-so-young, all with a moral compass, actually did something about it. Just as in years past, the resolve and courage required to win a better future for our children requires personal sacrifice, a sacrifice the Arctic 30 are now making. They made their stand in the interests of us all.

They also urge you to sign this online petition.

Vigils and protests took place all over the world, but one held in New Zealand got my attention, where the vigil took place around a mock prison cell, where members of Greenpeace and Amnesty International as well as a few celebrities took turns imprisoning themselves, notably Lucy Lawless (a.k.a. Xena, of whom Po Paul was a huge fan):

All in all, some 250 events were held in 50 countries, almost simultaneously.

All 30 members of the ship have now officially been charged with piracy by the Russian authorities. Most of them are isolated, and were denied contact with other humans for over a week when they first got there; they can now see their lawyers, and other visitors, which is how I was able to get this picture of Po Paul, where he looks like he's aged 20 years in 30 days:

Hang in there, my friend. I don't know for how long, and I'm not sure exactly why (except for the obvious ''disrupting the status quo''), but the fact that your cause is just will could should be of some solace. That, and the fact that everyone who knows you fully supports you.

And even some pretty prestigious people who don't:

We miss you.

It's too bad there were no Americans on that boat; Jimmy Carter would have gotten all of you out by now.

My Friends Are So Distressed

Our friendship started in late 1990, except it wasn't exactly friendship at first: we were sharing a dormitory with 100 other 7th-graders, and his bunk was next to mine. And that fucking Alexandre Paul, known to his friends as Po Paul, was a heck of a snorer. So eventually, I started throwing water at him when he snored - I fought fire with... water.

Maybe the water was an omen.

Anyhow, before the school year was over, we were inseparable buddies, part of a group of like-minded music aficionados, with a tendency bent towards hard rock. Sure, we had our differences - he preferred Nirvana and solo Ozzy Osbourne, I loved Pearl Jam and the first Black Sabbath line-up. Ultimately, though, we could agree on the important things: Guns N' Roses kicked ass.

We also got along outside of school, spending most of our weekends walking day-long treks from my house in the Western part of Montréal, through downtown with countless stops at HMV, Burger King, Sam The Record Man's and Labyrinthe, all the way to his folks' place, in the East end. If the night included a sleepover, we'd watch Saturday Night Live together.

The son of a fireman whose nickname he inherited, Po Paul always wanted to do whatever he could to help ensure he and we would be able to live in a better, fairer, safer, cleaner world, and so it was a match made in heaven when he joined Greenpeace some 15 years ago. From door-to-door canvasser to supervisor to rider of the sea, his ascension throughout their ranks is exceptional.

Then again, he's a pretty awesome guy to begin with.

I'm often asked why Montréal is home to so many activists and great artists, and my answer is usually two-fold and quite simple: it's an awesome place full of utopian potential, yet it was led to being a complete shithole by profiteers who took advantage of the people's good hearts. And so many are fighting to make it - or the rest of the world - a better place.

Po Paul's journey was put on pause recently when he and 11 other activists were arrested in Russia on charges of piracy, for attempting to board an oil rig; they were denied bail and the investigation will last 60 days, though they have yet to actually be charged with anything.

Greenpeace is protesting and appealing, but as we've seen with the Pussy Riot trials and the recent ''anti-gay-propaganda'' extravaganza, Russia - like Russians - couldn't care less about political or outside pressure; they beat to their own drum, and they drum loudly.

Which is the main reason why Po Paul's mom is freaking out, seeing as he's facing a possible 15 years of gulag jail time if he is indeed found guilty. For trying to make a difference, and almost standing in the way of Big Oil.

We'll know in a couple of months whether this farce will taste like Justice or Abuse Of Power, but there are lots of reasons to be scared.

Godspeed, my friend, and best of luck. You've been in our thoughts all week, and we're keeping you there front and center.

Owners Of A Lonely Heart

Life in the 21st century, where everyone in the civilized world has a computer (or computer-like device), the internet facilitates regime change, and people would rather connect with folks at the other end of the planet than their next-door neighbour.

And where half the planet is starving and doesn't have a roof over their heads...

The Atlantic's current cover story looks at the phenomenon of social media and how it's taken over our lives.

Kind of reminds me of a humourous picture that circulates over Facebook every so often...

Weird that I actually had to find this on Facebook, eh?

I, for one, even when I take time off away from Facebook, probably check it once in the morning. I'm glad I only go on Twitter once every couple of months, because I don't want to think about how much time I'd waste online before actually getting anything done if that wasn't the case...

''Introducing'' The Musical Stylings Of Jordi Rosen

I told you about my sometime-bandmate Jordi Rosen a few times already, but I'd like to mention she now has a blog/site - complete with videos and stuff, all as she is nearing completion of her most recent album.

She deserves the attention - and she's just going to get more, so jump on the bandwagon and go listen to her heartfelt eclectic sounds today!

Canadian Splendo(u)r

My friend Yan is a musician, smart, cool guy and an idealist.

He writes about comics on his comics blog, but also offers onlookers a ''daily recap'' into his life. Kind of like following Harvey Pekar, daily, without the images.

This Is Either The Beginning Or The End Of A Beautiful Story

What do 11 years get you?

Probably more good times than you can count on one hand. Hopefully.

But also, inevitably, disappointment. Lies, deceit. Betrayal.

People. Most of whom disappear eventually.

In the immortal words of Andy Wood: ''Time spent laying by her side / And dreams like this must die''.

New beginnings must start with honesty. It's imperative that the foundations be solid, so that the structure built upon it may be stable. A chapter ends and a new one begins - hopefully.

Let's see who makes it to the sequel.

As of now, I have no friends who fit in the categories of ''friends since the 20th century'' and ''whom I have seen more than 20 times in the past 5 years''.

Time to start anew.

Plug: Drummer Jackie Gallant At Monastiraki On Sunday

Jackie Gallant (Lesbians On Ecstacy, American Devices), drummer extraordinaire and Montréal legend with whom I was lucky enough to play in the cover band Loaded not just once but three times last year is playing a solo show this coming Sunday, around 2PM, at museum/thrift shop Monastiraki (5478 St-Laurent).

A sight to behold, for sure. My favourite drummer not named Jack Irons, I tell you.

(terrific photo by Sandra Lynn Belanger)

Mexican-ish Guadalupe

The other night, my friend Mark, who I hadn't seen in months, took me to eat at local Mexican-ish (more inspired by than actual typical cuisine) restaurant La Guadeloupe Mexicaine, pictured above (except it wasn't winter).

By no means am I a food critic, but I've eaten a meal or two in my time, and I've forged an opinion on what I like and dislike and I must say... this fell smack-dab in the middle.

At around $15-20 a plate, it was decently priced (especially when you keep in mind a trio at McDonald's now costs over ten bucks...), but the meals themselves weren't anything to write home about. As a matter of fact, I could probably make myself a meal at home that would be better...

But as an evening to experience in good company with great conversation, I'd do it again. The restaurant was a solid 3/5, maybe 3.5.

It's A Loki World

My friend Kevin Lo from Loki Design was in Europe, working and having fun.

Check out his experience at the Oddstream Festival in Nijmegen, you'll wish you'd have been there, too.

Food For Thought

My friend Marie-Christine started a blog whose purpose is to evaluate the mid-range (think 20 to 100 bucks) restaurants in Montréal. Food and service are each rated on a 10-point scale, and it makes for pleasant reading. And will make you hungry.

Find it here.

A few observations:

1. I can't wait until there are at least twice as many posts.

2. I like the idea of making it a bilingual blog, thus reflecting the City's individuality and specificity - but not the skipping from French to English from one sentence to the next, if only because anyone not from our fair town won't understand what the fuck is going on; it seems this will be fixed in the future, though, so all's good.

3. Every title has the restaurant's name and its website linked it - that is pure fucking genius.

4. The name ''Eating Out'' - so great that it took me an hour to devise a title for this post without incorporating it. It's the easiest double-entendre, but also the only one that works. Kudos.

Writers On the Storm

My neighbour growing up, Siobhan O'Connor, blogs daily and edits and writes for GOOD. A native Montrealer like I, she now lives in New York City, as I once did. Small freaking world - I know. She has written for some magazines I read regularly such as Blender and Vice, and a slew of publications I don't read like Antenna and ReadyMade.

But my plug, today, is for the blog she shares with Alexandra Spunt, No More Dirty Looks, which I fell upon today thanks to this article Siobhan wrote on raw milk being re-branded as a beauty product (rather than, say, food).

Lento's Eleven

First, to fully get the reference, you have to have seen Steven Soderbergh's remake of Ocean's Eleven with George Clooney and Brad Pitt, so if you haven't, get up and go watch it. It's one of the best caper movies of all time, don't worry, it's not time wasted. I'll switch paragraphs to give you enough time.

Are we cool? Good. That scene at the end, where they're all together, maybe for the last time, but you know they have a friendship that is beyond even that - since the Velvet Underground tribute shows I was a part of this summer, it seems I now have that as well. It's a fucking awesome feeling.

What it was was this: a bunch of musicians, each used to either fronting their own projects or being an integral part of a HUGE one getting together to play VU songs, each taking turns singing. When ringleader Allan Lento, who has shared countless solo bills with me over the past 5 years, came to me with the idea, in 2009, I was already in. Time passed, and I thought the project had just disintegrated into nothing, until I got a call to join in on jam sessions in May for a June show.

But now it also included maestro Dave Lines on keys, Jordi Rosen on backing vocals and accordion, Will Austin on lead guitar, Patrick Hutchinson also on guitar, my favourite non-millionaire drummer in the world Jackie Gallant, Ingrid Wissink on violin, Richard Rigby on mandolin, Triangles Stuart on bass, Cassie Doubleday on percussion, and Zuzu Knew on viola and doing projections. And we had a blast.

And then we had a second show, at the request of the venue, but Ingrid couldn't make it, yet Luca Fantigrossi was added on bass and the extraordinary Caroline Glass on viola, wind instruments, and on the receiving end of accidentally spilled drinks.

Essentially, it was a supergroup.

And just like the movie, where Lento is Clooney - the brains behind it all, the one guy who puts the team together - then Lines became Pitt, the too-hot-to-look-at second-in-command who seamlessly ends up taking charge of the actual operation when it's running, the master of ceremony of sorts.

Since then, whenever one of us has a show, most of the rest show up and, each time, it feels like a reunion of long-lost friends. New bands have been started between bands members - Jackie alone now backs 3 groups made from these alliances, and I'm kind of jealous I didn't ask her myself the first time we played together, but I was too shy.

And all of this stemmed from a simple, innocent idea from Allan; all he wanted to do was have a good time with good people playing good music. And in the end, he made us into 13 friends who call each other's names out when we're on stage and we see them in the crowd - just because we're so happy to see one another.

It feels great each time. Thanks, Allan. Happy birthday. From the formerly-Lento's Eleven, now Lento's Thirteen.

To My Friend, Yan Basque

I saw a kid today, he looked just like you, only, obviously, twenty years younger. He was running after a metro, trying to get in the subway train before it left Guy station.

I wanted to stop him, tell him it was too late, not to run uselessly in this suffocating heat, but more importantly, I wanted to tell him, for the future, ''don't sweat the small stuff, don't worry so much, but if you do, meh... chances are you'll be an artistic genius someday anyway''.

Or maybe even just a genius.

You could see it in the look in his eye, even beyond his glasses. You could see the pure, innocent dreams that someone should build upon to create a better world.

All this in a half-second of looking at your 10-year old doppelgänger.

I hope you had a great day.

The Desire Curve

I was out having a drink with a couple of friends - who happen to, indeed, be a couple - and they tend to be a little too open with me. ''Full disclosure'' is never enough for them, they always keep providing more details than I need - on any subject.

Their sex life is one that pops up often. Frequency, duration, length, width, exact number of pulls, tugs and hits - it's like I was there, each time.

Tonight was no exception.

I got an hour-long tirade on her part on how he doesn't provide as many heavy sensations as he used to, and no matter what argument he used to describe the current state of their relationship, it always led to ''things were better before'' and crap like that. Until I came with the killer phrase:

The problem is he's gotten to know you better, and because of that, he cares about you more. Before, he'd fuck you constantly, like each second was going to be his last one on earth, and he really wanted that last one to be with you.

Now, he envisions a future with you. He wants to only provide you with great moments, moments you'll cherish forever, because he thinks it's what you're worth. He doesn't want to risk a half-assed attempt that will disappoint; he only wants to be at the top of his game for you.

It's not that he wants you less, it's that he loves you more.

That's why, sometimes, when you're both too drunk to even walk home, when you get there, he asks you to wait until the next morning: to provide for you and hit you with his maximum effort.

She went to bed thinking she was the hottest female on the planet. He got a guilt-free full night's sleep.

I've done my job, once again.