Malajube Plajiarized

As my friend Greg has pointed out in his own blog, Malajube's song 'Ton Plat Favori' off of 'Trompe-L'Oeil' bears an eerie similarity to Katie Costello's title track from her 'Kaleidoscope Machine', prompting accusation of plajiarism.

Even she seems to have been duped, as her Twitter update can attest:

I really wish I could say so much, but alas I only have 140 characters. Devastated & disappointed in the person I co-wrote the song with.

It's too bad, because her 'version' has some nice imagery, and is playful and imaginative.

The fact that citizens have actually Become Big Brother via blogs, YouTube, Twitter and the web in general does have its perks, such as everyone being accountable for their actions, as was the case here.

I find it a fun story to follow because in this case, a talented artist from NYC was ''duped into stealing'' from a very successful - albeit regionally more than internationally, although their touring schedules attest that they do have a decent following in the States and Europe - Montréal band, a rare recent occurrence of New York wanting something Montréal has (apart from water and electricity), and not the other way around.

Congrats to Big Brother for helping Malajube get the cred they deserve, and good luck to Mrs. Costello in her future endeavours; hopefully she can pick her friends more soundly next time.

Hockey (Jerseys) In Africa

Peek at them here.

Some are quite obviously bootlegs, others are real and pretty.

All are a good cause.

Annual Ballot-Stuffing

It's time, once again, to vote for the Best Of Montreal, a yearly event taken in charge by the Montreal Mirror, the city's last worthy cultural English-language paper.

Please, take a moment to vote for me and my peeps, it takes 3 minutes, you can win prizes, and I'll even show you the complete link: http://www.montrealmirror.com/bom/

The only rule is: one entry per (valid) email address, and at least a vote in 25 different categories. If you don't think you can come up with 25 answers, here are some hints (the copy/paste functions comes in handy, you'll see), all in the order in which they'll appear:



Montrealer closest to sainthood: Sébastian Hell, or Leonard Cohen
Montrealer closest to hell: Sébastian Hell
Most desirable man: Sébastian Hell
Most desirable woman: Tasha Cyr, or Jessica Kaye, or Kelly Kay, or Amber Goodwin, or Erin Ross
Best sports personality: Jaroslav Halak, or Joanie Rochette
Best Montreal weirdo: Sébastian Hell, or Rick Trembles
Best politician: none, or the one of your choosing
Best local radio host: Kimberly Sullivan, or Claude Rajotte
Best newspaper: La Presse
Best terrasse: Foufs
Best musical act: Dead Messenger
Freakiest local act: Nutsak, or American Devices
Most pretentious local act: Rape Faction (it's the one they want, I swear!)
Heaviest local act: Priestess (for the music), or Sébastian Hell (for his weight)
Best hip hop act: Murder Face
Best country/folk act: Swift Years
Best singer/songwriter: Sébastian Hell, no question
Best local actor: Claude Legault
Best local actress: Elisha Cuthbert
Best dance company/choreographer: Genevieve Leclerc
Best local living author: Leonard Cohen, or Louis Rastelli
Best cartoonist/comic artist: Rick Trembles
Best festival: UnPop Montreal
Best comics store: Astro
Best pub grub: Madhatter's
Best late-night eats: Al-Tayib
Best Chinese: Tchang Kiang
Best poutine: La Belle Province
Best smoked meat: Schwartz


Thanks for your 3 minutes.

It's Too Late To Apologize

If the shoe fits...

It started slow, then built up to something really nice. It didn't take too long. A castle made of Trust.

But I stayed at that pace, and you wanted more, bigger, faster. Your expectations were enormous, and I really wanted to fulfill them, and if I'd tried harder, I probably could've, but I got cocky.

I basked in the glory of ''Public Me'' and let him come into our home, or whatever it was that we had, and I thought there was no problem big enough that Love couldn't take care of, that Trust couldn't cast aside, and I thought you'd feel the same way. For a long time.

And it was a long time, really. You were patient, you were vocal enough. I just thought I could have it All, whenever I wanted it. But you had your own version of time as well, and sometimes our times didn't match.

It could have ended then and there, peacefully, and I'd be here apologizing. Not to make it better, not so you'd come back - more to let you know: I understand.

And it would have been nice. Memories are meant to be remembered, to be a place to go back to and reminisce about and to want to revisit.



---


But for girls, I guess, when shit goes South, you just can't let it go. You blame yourselves and try to find a way to blame others, to not have to bear the weight of The End on your own, not understanding that The End can be nice, good, mutual, respectful; Trust and Common Sense and Intelligence makes way to Illusions and Deception, and that's when you cross the line, open emails, open mail, stalk, sift through personal files...

And you're just more pissed off when you don't find anything substantial, or anything more than circumstantial. But it's Too Late, because now you've crossed a line I can never forgive.

It wasn't your fault to begin with, it was circumstance, happenstance, lack of chance... but now it is, and there's no going back.

I almost want to not say I'm sorry for playing it too cool, for not being showy enough, for not spending every waking minute with you if you so desired, for a lack of consistency in the frequency of the display of affection. I almost want to tell you off instead, call you names, and shut the door on you forever.

But that's not who I am.

Video Of The Week: Queens Of The Stone Age

Undoubtably, Queens Of The Stone Age are one of my favourite bands of the last decade.

While they started off as from the remains of Kyuss, which were a lot more metal-oriented, QOTSA were more into making a poppy, very heavy sound - one that has gone less and less pop with every recording since Songs For The Deaf, which included the hit single ''No One Knows''.

Most songs are built around a catchy guitar riff and a sing-along chorus - provided you're willing to sing along to some off-the-cuff lyrics.

I chose this song for this week because it's been in my head since Sunday, probably because I'm one of the few idiots who can manage to catch a cold in near-summer weather.

Bon appétit.

Murphy Strikes Again

Ok, so this winter was a little less bad than they normally are, but I still managed to go cold-free, flu-free, back injury-free and even indigestion-free for all of it, despite not being among the sheep who were vaccinated.

So Saturday, as it was 25 degrees (pretty much 80 for my American friends), I went out wearing jeans, shoes, a t-shirt, a hoodie and a cap - and I caught a cold. What. The. Fuck.

April is the worst tease of all the months - 25 in July won't get you a cold, and 25 in September is a miracle. Winter's Hell, and Summer is what Life is about. The in-betweens are rainy, either brimming with promise (Spring) or announcing a slow and painful death (Autumn).

So my throat's killing me, my nose is running a marathon and dripping more than Meat Loaf at a concert - while everybody else is having a good time.

History Lesson: Easter

Let's see if I get this right: today, we celebrate Jesus coming back as an egg-laying rabbit by eating chocolate.

Makes sense.

When God invented Mankind roughly 3000 years ago, he probably showed Adam and Steve Eve how to make chocolate in the first place - and not that cheap drugstore hollow-egg type either, probably the Swiss or Belgian melt-in-your-mouth goodness, and they, in turn, after being kicked out of Paradise City after eating an apple (the original Devil's Food!) and appearing as a burning bush to Moses to atone for it, taught the bearded man how to make it himself, so he could feed the Jews while they walked in the desert for 40 years (that's what happens when your GPS has Snoop's voice, you concentrate more on smoking weed than where you're going).

Fast-forward a few hundred years to Jesus being born, the child of a member of The Carpenters and a virgin, and Santa Claus is the doctor that birthed him - hence the red suit, it's the Blood Of Christ (actually the placenta, but back then they couldn't tell the difference). Then he pissed off the Italians by tossing Ceasar's Salad, and in the Gladiator Arena, Julius Ceasar rated it ''two thumbs down'' and Jesus was to be executed. He was sentenced to be nailed to a cross and to carry it himself to Auschwitz, where there were already two thieves who had stolen the best crosses.

To make sure no one would conduct an autopsy, Jesus' body was then put in a cave where a family of bears lived, and a large rock was put in front of the cave to prevent anyone from going in there to graffiti. Unbeknownst to everyone, Jesus was part-caterpillar, so he made himself a cocoon in the hopes of turning into an angel and flying home to God; unfortunately, his DNA muted with the bears', and he became the Easter Bunny instead, with superhuman strength to remove the rock from the cave's entrance. At this point, Jesus had no idea of the date, and went door to door asking people for candy and chocolate, thinking it was Halloween, and that's why every car dealership has amazing sales during Easter weekend.

Of course, I'm cutting corners here, it's pretty difficult to narrow down a thousand-page book into a few paragraphs, but the main plot lines remain unchanged.

Tune in tomorrow, when I reveal how Saint Peter, Jesus' best buddy, made it all the way to Italy 450 years later, only to be crucified there, upside-down, by order of the Pope, while Catholics roamed the sewers.

Video Of The Week: Forest For The Trees

This was originally intended to be my Video Of Last Week, since it's a song I sang at a benefit show on the 21st, but Desert Owls released their video, and I had to bump this one.

Forest For The Trees, essentially, is Karl Stephenson, the man who co-wrote Beck's ''Loser'' and co-produced his ''Mellow Gold'' record. He recorded his own album with the royalties from the Beck song and record, and put himself in an institution upon its release.

The whole record is great, look for it.

Funny. Not.

I think Jaroslav Halak will have to change agents soon... Allan Walsh keeps sabotaging his client's season (and, perhaps, careeer) by tweeting bullshit.

First it was cute plays on words, like ''Halak it A LOT!'', then he attacked Carey Price's record saying Habs' management should play his client more... and now this...

And he dares call himself a professional? Fuck that. And I would actually WANT for Halak to sign for 6, even 10 years. Asshole.

April Fools?

Ricky Martin has contacted an influent gay website called Queerty to say he never actually came out of the closet, that it was just a hoax, probably perpetrated by hackers. His lawyers have apparently scheduled a press conference later today.

Which one is true, and, more importantly, why is it so important, ten years removed from the time when he mattered even a little bit?

But Anna Paquin would be bisexual - she apparently said it in an ad. Some might say we all are, to a certain degree, even if that degree is nearer to 0 for some more than others'... others, again, might not care.

And the blog I read the most often made an April's Fools joke about former hockey almost-star Pat Falloon making a comeback. But at least he admits it's fake, we'll see how the rest develops.