Records In Review: Bloc Party--A Weekend In The City

Third attempt at writing this. I hate second-album reviews, I do!

In many ways, A Weekend In The City is your typical second album. The instrumentalism is more restrained and contained, the production more polished (the toms don't sound like damp suitcases, and the drums in general aren't wrung through the phaser so much), and the influences worn less on-sleeve. Speaking of influences, the usual suspects are present, albeit with the dubby P.I.L. thang dialled back appreciably, and my ears can detect a smidgen of stadium-era P. Furs on a track or two ("I Still Remember"), which isn't surprising given that Weekend's a record that speaks much more to an arena environment than did its predecessor. More space and sweep, less grunt, scratch and skronk. About half of the record I'd describe as Coldplay for people who have a pulse.

I can't say I'm particularly enamoured of the bigged-up sound. To each his own, perhaps, but one of the things I found most interesting about Silent Alarm was the juxtaposition of the occasional emo/grandiose tendency with an attitude toward arrangement that often surprised you with sonic contrasts between sections (see "Pioneers" below) and between tracks--particularly helpful with a band like BP who aren't really "about" the finer details of songcraft. Here, a lot of that's been ironed out. The emphasis on Weekend is on less detail-driven quiet/loud/louder sectional contrasts, some of which aren't exactly subtle in their execution ("Hunting For Witches," "SRXT"). SA left itself more sonic wiggle room at the micro-level and thus avoided sounding like slush.

If Silent Alarm had a slight emo tendency, its successor has a full-blown melodramatic one that's only barely reined in. The episodic "Uniform" is a case in point and while the individual bits of it are pretty good, the whole is long-winded and not entirely convincing. I never paid much attention to the lyrics on SA, beyond twigging to a few overt political commentaries, but holy crap, Weekend sees singer Kele Okereke morphing into Morrissey v. 2.0 (the upgrade capable of throwing a couple of punches before getting beaten up). A fair amount of languor, and a hell of a lot of insecurity-borne yearning. And I can only ingest so much yearning before my body cries out for a Hives-flavoured palate cleanser. This is stuff that takes itself very seriously indeed. Too seriously.

Objectively, the material's at least as consistent as that of Silent Alarm (which admittedly ran out of gas in the last third). As with the latter, the best stuff is in the middle of the running order. Of the songs in the more reflective and atmospheric vein, "On" and "Kreuzberg" are the best, the former being particularly pretty. "Sunday" is all right but sounds too much like "Kreuzberg," from which it's only separated by one song. "I Still Remember" is currently my favourite track, very simply structured, with a simple but effective vocal melody, and a good fit with the bigger-stage production style without sounding bombastic. "Waiting For The 7.18" is also very good, and probably the most successful example of the aforementioned loud/soft contrast thing. Single "The Prayer" is pretty good and catchy, but certainly is bombastic, sounding as it does like overproduced Killing Joke. You can probably intuit from my language that I don't think there's as much a-list material on offer here as on SA.

I've dithered over this album much more than I usually do, and frankly, if someone came to me with a substantially dissenting opinion I'm not sure I'd put up much of an argument. Some of it's indeed a matter of taste. All I know is, a year and a half later and I'm still listening to Silent Alarm, and after two weeks I've already grown weary of about half of this one. Recommendation: I report, you decide.

P.S. Good review here, even if I disagree with the conclusions.

mp3: Bloc Party--"Hunting For Witches" (from A Weekend In The City)
mp3: Bloc Party--"Waiting For The 7.18" (from A Weekend In The City)

mp3: Bloc Party--"This Modern Love"(from Silent Alarm)
mp3: Bloc Party--"Pioneers" (from Silent Alarm)

It's A Decision I'll Make With My Family

Oh, look: Roger Clemens says there's a small chance he'll come back this year. Just like last year. And the year before. And once more for luck. Perhaps we'll be fortunate enough to get another farewell tour, or at least a couple of "last start" standing ovations.

Brett Favre, it seems, is definitely coming back. A decisive fellow--good to see.

If Favre or Clemens issued a press release and nobody published it, would they immediately cease to exist?

For Hall of Fame talent sans Hall of Fame ego, turn to pitcher Greg Maddux.

Maddux after winning his 300th:

Maddux never returned to the field after the final out was made. Fans hollered as he worked his way down the hallway to a postgame interview, and Maddux practically pursed his lips to keep from reacting. It took a near mugging by a bunch of teammates at his locker to finally make him smile.

[edit]

After the final out, Cubs fans held up a large "W" banner, and a graphic recognizing Maddux's achievement was shown on the center-field scoreboard. But Maddux never came back onto the field. He didn't feel it would be right to hold a huge celebration in somebody else's ballpark...

Cold Fingers

Toward Hanlan's Point (more or less), before the big freeze up...




...and on a cloudy day, after the ice and snow...




...and on a sunny day...




...and again.




Birdie oasis.







Are they ticking?

Hanlan's Point ferry.

The W.L. Mackenzie in the snowy haze.

As always, Success and I separated by a chain-link fence.

Worth Every Penny I'm Paying For It

I've been informed that a number of my posted audio file links have been "disappeared." Don't know why. Will look into.

Update (2/18): now the damn things are back up again. I hate technology.

Net Gains

Claudell Washington has a MySpace page.

As does the supposed son of ex-Meatmen mainman Tesco Vee (via).

Connect the dots, people!

Jays Sign Bill Caudill

For reasons best left to the imagination, I'll be an occasional contributor here:

Drink-Soaked Trotskyite Popinjays For War

Love Day

Hearts 'n' flowers to all y'all.

Wee Redhead

Daniel Cook hits the big time.

For those who don't pay attention to kids' tv, Cook is quite a remarkable kid, mostly because he's so, well, ordinary. As a junior interviewer, he's not easily fazed, but he's also guileless and unpolished--not a "bred" child star or anything like that. You can almost see the wheels spinning in his head when he's asking or responding to questions.

Twin Redheads

Sports shlub ad that's actually funny.

No Outback Here, Eh

Lynne Truss, author of Eats, Shoots, And Leaves, has an interesting column about the authorial search for authenticity. But she made me cringe when she said this:

...perhaps the main point of interest was that Penney had been suffering agoraphobia while working on the book (set in the 19th Century Canadian outback), so her illness would have prevented her from visiting Canada even if she'd wanted to.

Ms Truss would be well advised to brush up on a little authenticity herself: there ain't no outback here. Call it "up north", the far north, the Arctic, or any number of more colourful terms used to describe the remote parts of Canada, but don't call it the "outback"! Ouch.

Boarded Up

Not that the news comes as a shock or anything, but XTC appear to have ceased trading for all intents and purposes. Damn, blast and bugger.

It Came From The CD Rack

Why can't we all share our pain?

1. Your 2-year-old daughter has banged her head on a table. Do you a) comfort her or b) reach for the ff button?

mp3: They Might Be Giants--"The Guitar" (from Apollo 18)

2. Persist with it, it gets worse:

mp3: Metric--"Handshakes" (from Live It Out)

3. The extra-shouty remix is better:

mp3: Modest Mouse--"Dance Hall" (from Good News For People Who Love Bad News)

4. Chipmunks are not the only sciurids:

mp3: Broken Social Scene--"Anthems For A Seventeen-Year-Old Girl" (from You Forgot It In People)

* * * * * * * *

...and for dessert...

Vroom

Not a cycle guy meself, but I have to admit this looks awfully cool.

Records In Review: The Shins--Wincing The Night Away

The Shins debuting at #2 on the Billboard charts--the world is unfolding very strangely these days. The Arctic Monkeys must be due to conquer North America any minute now.

The Shins are a very easy band to like, due largely to the songwriting and vocal melodic dexterity of mainman James Mercer. Their first two albums were strikingly different. Number one, Oh, Inverted World was a sparse-sounding blend of the Beach Boys and a kind of wry Americana of the type practiced by erstwhile touring mates Modest Mouse, while the follow up, Chutes Too Narrow was unabashedly pop, a swaggeringly confident head- and guitar-first plunge into a mop-top retro style--think The New Pornographers, only less muscular and swingier. Both albums clock in at under 35 minutes, but Inverted World feels 50% longer. Make of that what you will.

Album no. 3, a long long time a-comin', is a further move toward a mainstream pop sound, although in many ways it has more in common personality-wise with the debut disc than with Chutes; songs have a more measured pace, sounds are more spread out and the watery keyboards are back in a more prominent position. On this one even more than on its predecessors, songs are often built around very simple and relaxed traditional rock ("Turn On Me") or kitsch ("Red Rabbits") motifs, and often, as with said two, to great effect. Mercer's voice too sounds more relaxed, though his attractive slightly strangulated upper-register still gets a regular workout.

Regular listeners won't find much to beef about the songwriting here, even if one occasionally gets the feeling that the talented Mercer could write this stuff in his sleep. The arrangements are another matter. A number of the tracks, including some of the catchier ones like the aforementioned "Turn On Me" and the single "Phantom Limb" feature uncharacteristically pedestrian backing, with forgettable guitar and dull drum (machine) parts. The bottom-heavy and slightly muddy production doesn't help matters much either. You don't listen to The Shins for their instrumentalism, really, but the band interplay, particularly on Chutes, is usually seamless. This is the first time I'd describe the group as sounding stiff and studio-bound.

The songs themselves feature a few interesting new twists on the old formula. Opener "Sleeping Lessons" is a three-chord crescendo/instrumental add-on piece that's built up from an arpeggiated keyboard pattern; this is a good one, and structurally dissimilar to anything the band has done before. "Spilt Needles" features a chunky, off-kilter drum rhythm of the kind that you'd expect from someone like Bloc Party (slowed down), plus some abrupt orchestral samples--also very good. "Australia" and "Girl Sailor" are more traditional retro Shins fare; the former is considerably better. "A Comet Appears," too, is familiar, bearing a strong resemblance to the band's first indie-hit "New Slang." "Phantom Limb" and "Turn On Me," despite my misgiving about the presentation, are both excellent examples of Mercer's seemingly effortless melodic facility. As always, it's the melodies that see the songs through.

I'm grading this one a couple of notches below its predecessors, owing to the orchestration and production deficiencies, and also because I don't sense the band pushing themselves hard enough. Recommendation: more than enough good stuff to keep Shins listeners happy; for everyone else, not the first port of call.

mp3: The Shins--"Sleeping Lessons" (from Wincing The Night Away)
mp3: The Shins--"Turn On Me" (from Wincing The Night Away)

mp3: The Shins--"So Says I" (from Chutes Too Narrow)

mp3: The Shins--"One By One All Day" (from Oh, Inverted World)

When You've Nothing Else Write About The Weather

Spare a thought for our UK cousins today.

Just look at that snow in London..

And the cold!

Severe overnight weather warnings have been issued for Wales, the Midlands and southern England.

Temperatures could fall as low as -4C (25F) in Wales and the Midlands. Elsewhere, in south east England and western Scotland, it will be -3C (26F).

S'like being in the 'Peg.

Photo Phollies

They say Toronto is New York run by the Swiss.

Yesterday, it was run by Ms. Johnson's Grade 2 class.

Bloody Fools

Vlad: off sick when the class studied Leviticus

Jehovah's Witnesses are back in the news again, for the only reason that they ever seem to be in the news.

The Manitoba Appeals Court--a fine body of persons:

The Appeal Court judges acknowledged the transfusions infringe on the teen's right to religious freedom, but are justified because of the sanctity of life and duty to protect children.

Translation: believe in whatever nonsense you want, just don't expect it to be put into practice viz your kids when it counts.

* * * * * * * *

In the higher profile B.C. sextuplet case, the experts weigh in on the really important issues. Professor Michael Duggan of St. Mary's University College in Calgary on the scriptural interpretation:

Duggan said the blood passages in the Hebrew Bible - Old Testament - often cited by Jehovah's Witnesses as their reasons to refuse blood transfusions are safe cooking instructions that date back to the 5th Century.

"That needs to be said," Duggan said. "The way the Jehovah's Witnesses read the biblical text is simply wrong."

The texts in the Hebrew Bible are mainly taken from Genesis 9:4-6 and from the book of Leviticus 17, he said.

"They speak about the life being in the blood, but the blood they are talking about is the blood of animals," Duggan said.

University of Calgary's Dr. Juliet Guichon on the social stigma:

But the blood battle has the potential to end happily for the parents and their babies, she said.
Ironically, it all depends on how hard they fight the government.

"(It) could be seen as liberating because it takes the parents out of an impossible social situation," said Guichon.

The parents, who risk being shunned for life by the church because their children received the transfusions, can now plead they abided by the blood ban, but couldn't stop the government, she said.

"They can hold their head up among the Jehovah's Witness community and say, 'We protested, we went to court.'"

Innocent Bystanders

Serie A: wholesome family fun

In the wake of recent deadly nonsense, the Italian Football brass get serious about hooliganism of all stripes:

In an interview with La Repubblica newspaper on Monday, Antonio Matarrese, the president of Italy's Professional Football League Clubs association, said matches should be allowed to start again.

"Deaths unfortunately form part of this huge movement which is football and which the forces of order are not always able to control," Mr Matarrese was quoted as saying.

"Football should never be stopped. It's the number one rule: football is the industry... do you think there's an industry that would close its factories and not know when they're going to reopen?"

Sports Journalism

Manning fans are going to have an equally daunting task convincing those of us who feel that his way is selfish, to think otherwise. For all of his stats, knowledge, ability, grasp of the offense, etc Manning didn't win THE big game in college and hasn't won A big game as a pro.


For all of Manning’s famed improvisational skills in play-calling before the snap, Manning loses all composure if the play doesn’t develop as planned after the snap. It’s not just that Manning is not very mobile.

It’s that the offense is based on timing, and any disruption of timing sends Manning into a panic. It also turns him against his teammates.


Congratulations, big fellah.

Be Happy

mp3: Andy Partridge/XTC--"Goosey Goosey" (from Fuzzy Warbles, vol. 1)

I Was A Teenaged Carrot

Actual time-lapse photos

19-year-old Newcastle resident Hayley Davison has been eating nothing but carrots for the past 30 days, so naturally, she's on MySpace.

From her on-line diary, Day 2:

I also was extremely tired today and going to go to bed very early... could this be to do with the carrots?

Her boyfriend pictured here.

(via)

Towers Of London

Since she asked, take:

• three ounces Cock Sparrer
• one ounce Motley Crue
• a teaspoon of the ubiquitous

Mix thoroughly. Final product should be ludicrous but not entirely lacking in charm.

Secular Ontario

The scourge of Ontario municipal councils (see posts zit, zat and zot) finally has a (lame) website up.

Records In Review: The Decemberists--The Crane Wife

Sell-out alert! Condition Red!

The Crane Wife is the major-label debut and fourth album from Colin Meloy and his band of eccentric and anglophilic folksters, and mucho changes are afoot [See here for my enthusiastic review of album number three (the best of the bunch)]. The biggest: The Decemberists have become--cue scare music--a rock band.

Well, sort of. If you just listened to the first couple of tracks, you might think that you'd stumbled upon a long-lost J. Tull or Gentle Giant album, but in fact, production aside, TCW as a whole is a mix of the old, the new and points in-between, and a pretty successful one too.

About said production: gone is the bright, underproduced mutant-folksy sound, replaced by an old-school rock aesthetic that pumps up the (electric) bass and drums big time. I think that the material must have dictated this, given that Death Cab For Cutie guy Christopher Walla remains in the (co-)producer's chair. The driving bottom-end makes the album sound more electrified than it actually is; yes, there's a prominent role given to the (Hammond) organ, but there's still a lot of acoustic guitar, stringed things and accordian/hurdy-gurdy. The sound holds together quite well given the range of material and mood on offer, and is actually very detailed, which you might not notice at first listen because of the (by comparison) thunderous rhythm section. Meloy's voice is pushed back in the mix, and he's reined in some of his particular idiosyncrasies and sounds fuller and better than ever.

The beefier production goes hand-in-hand with a new-found reliance upon the groove (the catchy "The Perfect Crime #2" is a prime example) as well as a confident simplicity, coupled with a preference for internal consistency over showy displays of generic savvy. A comparison of the deliberate three-chord opening track "The Crane Wife 3" with its flamboyant Picaresque counterpart "The Infanta" or the sprawling "Shanty For The Arethusa" from Her Majesty illustrates the latter two characteristics clearly. It's an approach that shifts the balance in favour of the sweep and away from the individual dramatic moments. The biggest beneficiary of this is probably the spacious two-part "The Crane Wife 1 & 2," one of the album highlights and new ground broken for the group.

It isn't all clear sailing, though, for which reason I rate The Crane Wife a notch lower than its immediate predecessor. The long, multi-part suite "The Island," from whence came my Tull reference, is a big surprise with it's '70s lockstep electric piano and bass, as well as wild organ lines, but isn't entirely convincing. It highlights the one principal complaint I have about the record, which is that the playing isn't loose enough for the style at hand or to counterbalance the sonic heaviness. New(?) drummer John Moen and bassist Nate Query both have a tendency to worship the groove too much and aren't given to a lot of interjections or interesting interplay. That said, part II of the suite, "The Landlord's Daughter" kicks ass in a way that the band has never done previously. "Summersong" is another otherwise pleasant one that's a little too stiff and lacking in dynamic contrast for its own good.

His-'n'-her duet "Yankee Bayonet" and infectious single "O Valencia" are both top notch even treading as they do more familiar Decemberists territory. Both have their roots in Picaresque, with the former reminiscent of the folksy "We Both Go Down Together" both in terms of sound and love-beyond-this-life lyrical conceit, and the latter bringing back the loser Morrisey-esque narrator from "This Sporting Life" (with more drama-queen bile) in a driving pop song. Also familiar is "Shankhill Butchers," the one purely folky arrangement here, which is okay but doesn't compare favourably to the gothic "From My Own True Love" from Picaresque. "When The War Came" is decidedly unfamiliar, a ponderous hard-rocker with bagpipe guitar to boot; good, but again a little stiffly executed. The sing- and clap-along folk raga "Sons And Daughters" is basically one big crescendo and rounds off the album nicely.

I realize this review is kind of all over the place...but, this is The Decemberists, after all. Don't blame me.

The Crane Wife is a brave, weighty and surprising record that's lacking just that wee bit of fun and bounce that we've come to expect from the band. Very much recommended, even with its faults.


mp3: The Decemberists--"The Perfect Crime #2" (from The Crane Wife)
mp3: The Decemberists--"The Crane Wife 1 & 2" (from The Crane Wife)

mp3: The Decemberists--"The Infanta" (from Picaresque)
mp3: The Decemberists--"From My Own True Love" (from Picaresque)

Class Identity And Your Entertainment Dollar

Cost of one Toronto Maple Leafs regular season ticket at the ACC: red section 122, rear (corner, not a great vantage point) = $150.70 + service charges.

Cost of one Toronto Raptors ticket, same location = $107.10 + service charges.

Cost of one ticket to a COC performance at the Four Seasons Centre: Ring 3, rear (perfectly fine) = $90 + service charges.

As Opposed To Foster's And Castlemaine XXXX

Aussies to drink dreck.

N.B. Using Xs in a row is a sure way to set off Blogger's spamblog alarm.

Faust: About

Took in the final dress rehearsal of Faust at the COC last night. A very good production and run-through, even for someone like me who doesn't live for Gounod. An effective balance between carefully choreographed and visually rich mass scenes and claustrophobic (psychological) interiors (see the pix on the COC page). One local gent looked very fetching both in fancy dress and as a wounded soldier.

It's the first time I've heard the opera in its totality. In this iteration of the Faust story, the good Doctor really just wants to be young and swingin' again. Inner character stuff is heavily skewed toward the three principals (F., Mephisto and Marguerite) in the libretto; the other characters are there more for purposes of counterpoint (particularly Siebel, the love-lorn villager). I still don't understand why hard-luck Marguerite was imprisoned in a room with a functioning gibbet, or why she was still enamoured of Faust even after he morphed into Rob Zombie, but hey, that's hoppera.

This was my first time up in the nosebleed deck (second row, Ring 5) at the Four Seasons Centre, and both the sightlines and sound were fabbo (not great for those of us lacking a head for heights though--the ring-side mezzanines on the upper two levels scare the bejeezus out of me just looking at 'em). In general I like the hall. It does all of the important things exceedingly well. But, unlike Mr. Packwood in his post today, I do have a few beefs with it. First of all, an opera house with no escalators might look cool, but given that around 70% of the opera and ballet crowd are 60+ I don't know how practical it is. There's also a paucity of drinking fountains and there's no benches in the basement, which is where the coat-check is, so anyone wanting to put on their galoshes post-show'd better learn how to hop. Bathrooms are also a let down quality-wise given the look of the rest of the building; both the Hummingbird's and Roy T's are probably nicer. On the plus side, the seats are probably the comfiest I've ever planted my skinny little ass in (bit short on leg-room) and the building looks way cool at night as you approach eastbound along Queen St.

Manipulation

I'm so ronery...

I want number two. The wife less keen--disruption to an already disorganized life, etc.

Clock ticking.

Your thoughts please.

mp3: The Fall--"Married, 2 Kids" (from Code: Selfish)

That Hampa'd Betta Be Wicka, Mutha!

Christ (pun intended), another one!

Satan's Choice unfortunately ceased trading a few years ago. Sold a slightly different kind of hamper.

T Is For Twat

Further to this, that:

• fart/bodily function jokes--tick!
• fat comic alien more suited to The Hitchhiker's Guide than Doctor Who--tick!
• endless annoying pop-cultural references--double-tick!
• throwaway, paper-thin plot--tick!
• unsavoury seckshewal innuendo--tick!

Not enough Billie either.

Update: good news.

Vegetarian Beef About Fish

I know, I know, labels are meaningless. We're all different, don't try to pigeonhole us. But labels are handy sometimes, when used correctly. So here goes:

Vegetarians do not eat the flesh of any animal, be it mammal, bird, or fish. They may or may not, depending on personal preference, eat dairy and/or eggs. Vegans are strict vegetarians, rejecting all animal products, including honey, leather, etc. (And I respect them enormously for their self-discipline.)

A fish is an animal. Remember Grade 8 biology? The plant kingdom and the animal kingdom? Well, fish are firmly planted (so to speak) in the ANIMAL kingdom. Therefore, vegetarians don't eat fish!

So don't call yourself a vegetarian if you eat fish!! They're animals too! Just because they're not MAMMALS or BIRDS doesn't mean they're plant life. And if someone advised that he/she is vegetarian, DON'T ask them, "But you eat fish, right?"

And calling yourself "pesco-tarian" is just silly. Bloody labels.

God Exists By Two Falls To A Submission

Durham Regional Council has voted, as expected, to maintain the practice of reciting the Lord's Prayer at the start of Council meetings.

Not that it will necessarily do them any good in the long run.

The CityOnLine phone-in show had a discussion of the issue today with Mark Robinson of the Humanist Association of Canada and Bruce Smith (no, not that one, but an ex-footballer too) of the King-Bay Chaplaincy. Not a red-letter day for enlightened debate. Robinson was there more to flog his organization, reiterate that god doesn't exist and that religion is in general backward than to get into any of the legal/Charter issues arising from the case, and Smith...well, at one point he said more-or-less outright that anyone who didn't accept Canada and the U.S. as historically Xian countries was welcome to bugger off. He also made a couple of comments that indicated a dismissive attitude toward other world religions. A few of the callers were very defensive and had mistakenly gotten the notion that this issue was being pressed by Little Brown People (tm) who wanted to force their ways upon "us." One even said--I paraphrase obviously--that it was incumbent upon every newcomer to Canada to find god through JC.

Deep breaths, everyone. I'm sure that a few months ago, most people in Ontario, believers, not or on the fence, wouldn't have even had a clue that the LP was being used in local Council meetings.

Plagiarism, Flattery, etc.

Since someone from Bosnia found this benighted little blog using the search terms "Bloc Party Chameleons," and since my ability to concentrate on anything longer than two paragraphs has deserted me this week, I'll go back to an old hobbyhorse.

I've often banged on about how certain practitioners of the new-wave revivalist thingy have borrowed from Manchester '80s and '00s band The Chameleons. A brief musical demonstration:

mp3: Bloc Party--"Helicopter" (from Silent Alarm)
mp3: The Chameleons--"In Shreds" (from What Does Anything Mean? Basically)

The metrical guitar lines and general energy level. For the BP track, stir in an extra dollop of Public Image Limited.

mp3: Editors--"Fingers In The Factories" (from The Back Room)
mp3: The Chameleons--"Seriocity" (from Strange Times)

The harmonic landscape and vocal cadences, not to mention the vocal timbres when Mr. Editors guy's in the upper range in the chorus.

mp3: The Killers--"Mr. Brightside" (from Hot Fuss)
mp3: The Chameleons--"One Flesh" (from What Does Anything Mean? Basically)

The royalty check is in the post.

A Just World

Colts 38, Pats 34.

This just about says it all.

The evil has been vanquished. Let the scouring of The Shire begin apace.

Big-Game Hunting

Patriots and Colts in a few hours.

Very good and great teams who've disappointed more often than not come the big ones.

Good and flash-in-the-pan teams who've won championships.

Teams who finally got the monkey off their backs.

No point--sorry if you were expecting one.

I Don't Heart The Beaches Doggie Set

Another Saturday walk along the boardwalk with the daughter, another morning of dodging canines of various shapes and sizes.

Beaches res H. Mallick thinks the area isn't kid friendly, but she's off the mark. It's probably one of the most family-oriented in the city. Unfortunately, for an annoying minority, family means avec doggies. I can't count the number of times I've seen by the water or even in the playgrounds people with strollers/tots and dogs off-leash (shouldn't be in the playground on-leash as far as I'm concerned--not sure about the by-laws). And in general, dog owners treat the entire area south of Queen Street between Coxwell and Victoria Park as their personal dog park.

I like dogs. I don't want my daughter to be unnecessarily frightened of them. But imagine how a two-year-old must feel watching friggin' huskies, mastiffs and really big things running toward her at speed.

You may know your dog is safe with kids, or at least with your kids, but I don't, arsehole, and I'm not taking the risk, nor do I see why I should.

If I was the sort of person who was given to threats, I might inform said free-range doggie dickheads that next Saturday morning, I'll be down at the lakefront with my daughter, a latte and a baseball bat. And the latter won't be for using on Rex or Spot.

If I was that sort of person.

Little dogs are alright though.

Even Deader In Don Mills

I've just noticed these guys, so I've put them on the sidebar. Disgraceful what Cadillac Fairview are planning to do with the old Don Mills Centre. Hopefully it's not too late to effect some change.

The Claus That Refreshes

Three-and-a-half weeks late.

Kurt 'n' Goldie were unavailable for comment.

Supreme Being Full Stop

On the heels of this, Durham Regional Council manages the issue with tact and dignity:

Durham's finance and administration committee will recommend to the regional council that meeting procedures be "tweaked" so the Lord's Prayer can be said before the meeting is called to order. Anyone who feels uncomfortable "doesn't have to stay in the room," said region Chair Roger Anderson, who drafted the recommendation.

The decision was hailed by 50 spectators – including one who brought her Bible – as one after another praised the Lord and the power of prayer.

Retired Courtice doctor John Wilson told the committee the 2,000-year-old prayer, "given to us by Jesus Christ," is needed now more than ever as the world sinks into secular confusion, disharmony and immorality.

"The family that prays together, stays together," he added.

But not to worry, anti-theists:

Themes of tolerance, respect and inclusion laced the speeches made to committee.

I Don't Wanna Work

I just want to hang with the tot all day.

This is not necessarily a knock against my job, but I know a hell of a lot of people, far and away the majority (from anecdotal evidence) in my general economic stratum who would rather be home with their pre-school kids than doin' time at the office 5 days/week.

If they could afford it.

Now, everyone bitches about money it's true, but for people in the middle-income brackets it really is a hell of a stretch to go it on one salary, given the cost of housing in the major metropolitan areas and the amount of help coming from the feds, i.e., none. $100 a month (pre-tax) from Mr. Harper? Do me a favour.

But of course this isn't news to anyone, because after all we're in the midst of a child care crisis in this country. "Child Care" is one of those issues, like "Homelessness," that's really an amalgam of a whole bunch of other sub-issues, and the needs and wants of every parent/family are different. Take a look at this article in yesterday's Star:

When Toronto physician Heather MacNeill was pregnant with her first child, she dutifully put her name on the waiting list for a toddler space at Withrow Childcare Centre.

Almost four years later, her daughter Leia, now 3 1/2, is still waiting for a spot in the popular Riverdale-area daycare.

"We did our research and my husband and I really wanted our child to be in a good daycare in our neighbourhood," said MacNeill, who gave birth to the couple's second child in September and is making do with a nanny when she works.

A Riverdale doctor who, it would seem, only applied to one daycare centre is a pretty bizarre example to use for sure, but I'm assuming the point here is to highlight the lack of decent spaces and length of waiting lists in some Toronto neighbourhoods rather than the financial situation of one particular family. But this is kind of the problem in a nutshell: the people who really need (however you define that term) the spaces are either those who can readily afford it or those in a desperate financial bind, i.e., those who have to work because it's the only way they'll ever dig themselves out of their current situation.

Just to be clear: I'm not one of these conservative cranks [scroll down to comments] who thinks that the evil Liberal elite in this country wants to wrench all of our kids away from us and airdrop them into soulless kiddie penitentiaries. But I do think that certain interests have been pushing institutionalized care (like junior kindergarten before it) as the ideal. We're lucky. My daughter's in a great, great daycare, run by a non-profit family services group, and she's thriving. I'm not. Every day your kid does something new or develops some new verbal or physical skill, and we're only there to see it when we're half-awake and rushed in the mornings or tired and rushed at the end of the working day. And I do think it's bizarre that any society would consider laying out a huge whack o' cash to fund an army of professionals to take care of kids when most of us'd rather do it ourselves.

I guess the point to all of this is that I, and a lot of people in my boat, don't really care about an increase in overall daycare spaces or even about the possibility of a partially-subsidized system. What I want is some help--income supplements, major tax credits, income splitting for tax purposes, how about it?--that would at least give me the option of doing what I want.

She agrees with my every word.

Just Macaws

Out in floppy cover in a couple of weeks.

You now have even less excuse. Tightwad.

Noisy Tennant

Watched the second part of Doctor Who Meets Beelzebub last night. It was all right I guess, if a little draggy in places. The story was partly ripped off from this one (which itself was a less spooky-ass version of this).

I seem to be in the minority, but I've been nonplussed by the series remount on the whole. A part of it's an inability to "go home again" to be sure, but that doesn't minimize the show's weaknesses, to wit:

• creator Russell T. Davies, who's never met a fart joke he didn't like or a sci-fi/adventure convention that he didn't want to piss all over. His episodes have generally been plotless shit.
• the unseemly unconsummated lurve affair 'twixt Rose T and The Doc, which dramatically speaking, has outstayed its welcome big time.
• some of the crappiest and least subtle incidental music I've ever heard.
• a chronic inability to establish proper episode pacing: moments of busy-action hyperactivity (today's audiences demand faster movement, doncha know...) sandwiched between drawn-out character-development scenes.

And then there's The Doc. I marginally prefer David Tennant, although I think a lot of this has to do with the fact that I've never seen him before and he's still a novelty. When Chris Ecclescakes was announced as the lead, my first thought was "great choice." I've always liked that particular combination of menace and deer-caught-in-the-headlights nerviness that he brings to the table. But once I'd mulled it over, I realized: I know exactly what we're gonna get from him. And get it we did. The actors who've been most successful in the part have been those (Tom Baker, Jon Pertwee and Patrick Troughton) who either played against type or who had absolutely no idea what they were going to do with it. It's that kind of role. The charismatic Tennant has potential but he's hampered by the series writers' penchant for having him deliver OTT grandstanding speeches about how he's gonna whip the bad guy's ass...instead of just getting on with inventively whipping the bad guy's ass.

I like the show's energy--it's got enough visual and verbal interest to keep you watching for sure--and there's been the odd episode that I thought was outstanding. Billie Piper's been very good to boot, and some of the character-driven stories revolving around her have been well done. It's just that there's so much inconsistency even within individual episodes and so much of it hasn't been able to rise above the level of moderately intelligent eye-candy. Shame.

Records In Review: David Kilgour--Frozen Orange

Reviewing two-year-old albums by David Kilgour: well, let no one say I'm not hep to what the kids are into. Anyway, he's got a greatest somethings record coming out next week, so we'll call it topical shall we.

Frozen Orange is a tasty dessert treat and solo record number six for the former and possibly still Clean singer/guitarist. I had very nice things to say about the previous one. This one's halfway-decent. On its day.

I often describe DK/The Clean's music, from whatever period, as excellent mind-clearing stuff: vignette-type songs, very underwritten, no distractions. A slice from the middle is pretty much like a slice from the beginning or the end. Kilgour's strength isn't his songwriting; it's his ear for arrangement and sonic contrast (and his very nice voice). This was particularly apparent on the mostly one-man-in-a-mid-priced-studio affair A Feather In The Engine, which mixed a few particularly nice pop tunes with a good variety of atmospherics. FO certainly has its moments in terms of sonic interest, but the material's definitely second-tier.

The album boasts full-band arrangements--the chamber aesthetic is still prevalent, though--and a beefier sound than its predecessor. I'm not sure this helps much: the more traditional arrangements show up the obviousness of some of the songwriting. Speaking of which, nothing on FO's going to come as a massive shock to anyone familiar with DK's ouevre. There is more of a lean toward mellow hippy-dippiness in both the music and the, as usual, minimal lyrics, but there's still the spaced-out jangle-pop influence and a lot of three-chorders. Again speaking of which, "Living In Space" sounds pretty much like "Do Your Thing" from The Clean's Modern Rock album (bizarrely, they're both on the new compilation) with a proper ending. Nicely put together, but same old, same old.

"Rocket" (the most obvious bright 'n' shiny pop tune here), "The Waltz" and "A Head Full Of Rolling Stones" are probably the best three songs. The rest ranges from fine to iffy. "Gold In Sound" has all of the attractive DK production characteristics, with little sound impressions bubbling to the surface without disrupting the flow, but the instrumental melody sounds so much like The Archies' "Sugar, Sugar" that it's unintentionally funny. "Frozen Orange" is pretty as an aside. If, after a couple of passes, you can remember one of "Dogs Barking," "Blue Sky" and "Everybody's On A Ride," then well done.

You try to take music like Kilgour's in the spirit with which it presents itself (and I do very much like the fellah), but Frozen Orange, at thirty-five minutes, feels about as substantial as a 20-minute ep. Very soothing music for those long, nighttime highway drives though. Recommendation: middling chill-out music.


mp3: David Kilgour--"Rocket" (from Frozen Orange)
mp3: David Kilgour--"Frozen Orange" (from Frozen Orange)

Tagging Stinks Reprise

Handiwork of the Beaches' disempowered voiceless youth:

The Tea Lady

Marisha, good friend of SitKoB and proprietor of House Of Tea (get your website fancied up kid!), was featured on ceeb radio's Metro Morning the other week. Even though we've moved it's still our one and only. She provides tea for Pusateri's and a couple of restaurants I believe.

Tea is back in again, doncha know. Grrrrrr...

It Wasn't Me

In case you were worried.

Fish Wrappings

The Toronto Sun breaks the big story!

Er...

Yaaaawn...I Mean, Congratulations!

In a vote as shocking as that which elected Paul Martin to the federal Liberal leadership, Tony Gwynn and Cal Ripken, Jr. stroll into the Baseball Hall Of Fame.

No arguments.

Mark McGwire was actively punished and is clearly a no-hoper. Goose Gossage and Jim Rice (never the media's favourite) remain bubblemen. The rest--Andre Dawson, Bert Blyleven, Lee Smith, Jack Morris--are pretty much toast, I think, unless there's a particularly thin year coming up. Tommy John, again scoring only in the 20%-range, has only a couple of shots left.

Tagging Stinks

The Globe and Mail ran this piece today about grafitti's cost to businesses across Canada. In Calgary alone, it costs business $10M a year. But the graffiti-removal business is booming. I'm not so concerned about the business cost, just the aesthetic cost to our neighbourhoods.

Just to be clear: I'm not talking about murals; they're fine. It's those cryptic little squiggles that adorn every square inch of blank wall, every stop sign, every Canada Post pickup box, every Hydro panel, etc., etc. This is not art. This is mindless, obnoxious idiocy.

In Toronto, the city fines businesses if they do not remove graffiti from their property. This is unreasonable because 1) it doesn't work; and 2) the City's own property (park benches, park signs, stop signs, etc.) is covered in tags, and Toronto hasn't done much to keep on top of this. Clean up your own tags first, then bust the businesss owners!

The theory is, if you remove it right away, the little shits will be discouraged and won't do it again. Alas, this is not so. The elementary school in our neighbourhood is bombarded with tags all the time. The janitor vigilantly removes every tag within a day of its appearance, but the tags are newly applied the next night. So keeping the walls clean doesn't work.

The National Post did this multimedia piece before Christmas (scroll down to "Let Us Spray" and click on link). The video tries to be an "edgy", closeup look at at a "graffiti artist" as he "works". The interviewee claims that he grew up poor so he had no voice, but graffiti let him find his voice. Most of the taggers in our neighbourhood are from comfortable homes, so they can't use that excuse. I just hope the little snots grow out of the urge to tag, and soon.

Sid And Nutsy

Was amused the other day to see Sid Ryan's recent defense of his union's Israel divestment/boycott resolution reprinted (with the necessary permissions, I'm sure) in the most recent edition of Toronto Street News, where it rubs elbows with pieces by David Icke, the Save The Males guy and assorted conspirazoids.

There's another particularly good article taken from Cloak And Dagger pithily entitled "Toronto Police False Flag Operation Blaming Teenage Terrorists; Distorted By Mass Media." Quote:

British/Canadian Secret Services give explosives to mind control patsies then arrest these same patsies and claim they are terrorists. Prime Minister Harper knows this and is hiding it from Canadians because he takes his orders from Bush and Rice. All the so-called Toronto Teenage Terrorists received their firepower and explosives from the Canadian/British Intelligence & Police Forces.

It is the Canadian Public who are fooled by the Mass Media because there are no genuine foreign terrorists but merely Bush-Clinton Crime Family mercenaries & mind control MK Ultra stooges out to plug holes in the dykes of their Empire that is super-leaking.

My wife bought the paper for karma.

Meet The New Link, Same As The Old Link

I should have mentioned last week that my buddy Emerson (the musical encyclopaedia) has started up an mp3 thingy at his old Old Punks site: Two Songs Considered.

Make sure you deluge him with emails telling him to post more often.

For That Special Someone

Just a reminder that it's never too early to sign up for those xmas 2007 hampers.

Imagine the looks on their little faces as they open up that box on xmas morn...

Old-School Feminist Rant

Cover story for Macleans' most recent issue (print mag only): Why do we dress our daughters like skanks? Cover photo: 10-year old girl wearing fishnets, denim mini, and pink tank top emblazoned with: Made You Look.

We get the point.

The article suggests that parents weary of the endless battles with their kids, who just want to fit in, blah blah, the usual story. Also points the finger at consumer goods manufacturers for targeting a younger market. There are some interesting points made here, but basically, there is NO justification for buying your daughter slutty clothes.

The Macleans piece references some Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt (targeted at older girls obviously) with the provocative slogan: "Who needs brains when you have these?" I am entirely humourless on these kinds of things, so I don't care if it's meant tongue in cheek.

So here's why you DO need your brains, you silly little "empowered" girls:

• Boobs don't last forever! One day, your pretty little face and body will be OLD (and by today's youth-oriented standards, that means 30). Then you won't be able to trade on your looks, so you'd better have built up a big RRSP or start using your brains.
• Looking for a good job out of university? Guess what: you can't put "nice tits" on your resume as an attribute (unless you're applying to Hooters, in which case I wash my hands of you). Employers still look for legitimate credentials and experience.

One final point: why do you want to dress like a whore anyway? Think of the REAL sex workers out there; how will their clients be able to distinguish between them and the faux ho's?

Here Come The Warm Jets

10 degrees C.

At 8:30am.

The freaky weather's obviously down to these three factors, to varying degrees of course.

Stevie Y

Give it up for one of the greatest combinations of skill and guts ever to lace up skates, Mr. Steve Yzerman:

• 3 Stanley Cups as captain, including '01-'02, when he played the entire postseason as a Long John Silver impersonator
• 155 points in '88-'89
• came back, in his late 30s no less, from this horrific injury

Props.

Mo Beta Blues

A word of warning to anyone who hasn't switched over to the new and improved Blogger: it's not yet able to accept Youtube postings.

For those who care about such things.

Shades of '94

Underachieving in team sports is clearly bad for your health.

It's A Stiff

I was going to say that I'm against the death penalty generally speaking: 25% cuz I think it's a sick and macabre thing for a society calling itself civilized to do, and 75% cuz I think that matters of life and death are too important to be left in the hands of the legal system, if you get my drift.

Generally speaking, I was going to say.

I would have added, though, that I lack, sadly, an argument that can correlate the status of your typical psycho killer, no matter how vicious, with that of a certain ex-bastard who used the full power of the state to murder and inflict harm upon his own citizenry in the broadest of terms. That size matters. That it matters because it changes the relationship between the perpetrator and the society that's responsible for meting out justice.

Instead, I'll just say: let's partay. 'Tis New Year's Eve after all.

Cheryl Lajoie

From her husband Peter Farncombe comes news that the Cheryl Lajoie Award (for School of Social Work students at Ryerson University) is formally up and running. Cheryl, who died far too young in October '04, was a friend and co-op camp colleague of ours who was very active and highly respected in the family and social services world in and around her Riverdale neighbourhood.

The current bank balance will allow the Award, presented annually, to run for six years.

If anyone's interested in prying open their wallets and making a contribution, or just having a look, I've got a pdf brochure (not on-line) available upon request.

Torstar Declares Open War On Beaches!

Hey, no one has a monopoly on sensationalism (keep in mind that these two stories led the last two front pages).

Overreactions to overreactions suck.

I vaguely recall reading something about this in a local Beaches rag a few weeks ago, but the paper copy's gone the way of all recyclables and I can't find any trace of it on-line. You'd think a determination of whether the complaining group was substantial in number or comprised of two guys and their Weimaraners would be in order before unleashing the snotty editorializing about "tony Beaches enclaves" and widespread NIMBYism (a sentiment no doubt completely absent in less tony areas).

I thought The Star was opposed to collective punishment.*

*Bad Taste level yellow ("Elevated")

Beardie Weirdos

...givin' it up for their beliefs. God love 'em.

London

A few days at the in-laws', a few tourist shots:




The girlz in Victoria Park.




That's not The Messiah--it's fucking Hegemony Or Survival!

Some rifle.

City Hall: don't have a clue why I like it but I do.

St. Peter's fiddly-ass Cathedral.

Another view of the fiddly bits.

London Life building, built in 1874. Makes me feel extremely insured.

Say Your Prayers, Councillor

Or not. There's an initiative afoot [oops, link now behind a sub wall--this one'll give you the background] by a tiny outfit called Secular Ontario (comprised as far as I can tell of members of the Humanist Association of Canada) to compel the removal of the Lord's Prayer from the opening proceedings of Ontario municipal council meetings. SO have identified 18 offending councils, which include St. Thomas, Ingersoll and Owen Sound, as well as a number of other townships and counties in Grey-Bruce.

This has been in the air for a while now, and its recent legal origins stem from the Freitag v. Penetanguishene Ontario Appeals Court decision of 1999. Now, I'm just a layman here mind so take my analysis for what it's worth, but it seems to me that the judge in that case made it quite clear that the practice of using a specifically denominational prayer doesn't have much wiggle room wrt The Canadian Charter Of Rights And Freedoms. In the case of Penetang, the decision was easy-peasy, as the practice wasn't even listed in the town's by-laws, making the actions of the Mayor in leading an opening prayer "not law but governmental conduct," i.e., not defensible via Section 1 of The Charter. Owen Sound, viz the article cited above, does have the procedure on the books--passed soon after the 1999 decision--but would still have to demonstrate the necessity of maintaining the status quo and explaining why a "compromise" invocation wouldn't do the trick, which should prove a hard sell.

The Province hasn't derived any official policy changes from Freitag, so it might take further individual Charter challenges to make the towns in question more compliant.

I'm of two minds (at least) about this. It isn't exactly the most pressing issue in the universe. It won't change the composition of local councils and from a practical point of view it won't effect how the pothole at the corner of Queen and Main (N.B. every Ontario town has an intersection at Queen and Main) gets filled. And are wussy, non-denominational prayers any better, from the point of view of the anti-theist? But, as always it's the opposition that gets the juices flowing. Stunning legal counter-arguments from Peterborough Mayor Paul Ayotte:

"These guys need to get a life," [he said]. "The rest of us have rights under the Charter of Rights. I have freedom of speech and of religion."

as well as Ingersoll Mayor Paul Holbrough:

“Our community was settled on Christian morals and values. It’s not like I’ve started this. It’s a tradition in council and our community . . .

Geez, the next thing is they’ll want to cancel Christmas.”

Someone definitely needs to go all secular humanist on these guys' asses.

Big Effin' Deal

But it is. The Deutsche Oper production of Idomeneo goes off without a hitch, albeit with a ton o' added security. No sign of protests by local radical Islamists or Poseidonites.

Audience members were advised on evacuation measures prior to the performance.

Why this hadn't been implemented for previous Mozart stagings remains unclear.

Related: Deutsche Oper gets new head.

Pip Pyle (1950-2006)

I've just heard about the death on August 28th of Canterbury scene drummer Pip Pyle. Independent obit here, and a remembrance by Hatfield And The North/National Health bandmate Dave Stewart here.

Someone's even posted video from the funeral. Youtube, eh?

Pyle was a bundle of energy on the drum kit, always jumping up ahead of the beat no matter what the song's original starting tempo. He wasn't what you'd call a really technical player, but he had a great sense of decorum, whether the music required simple accompaniment or hell-for-leather. He was a very good writer, too: his speciality was the "extended song," some fine examples of which he produced for the Hatfields and Nat Health. He finally released his first proper solo album (loose collection of songs really), 7 Year Itch, in the late '90s and it's got some of his best-realized compositions, a great deal of charm, and some fine-as-ever playing from PP, Stewart and a large cast of characters.

He spent most of his later life, like so many of that bunch, living and playing on the continent, where there's more of an audience for their kind of thang. I regret never having had the chance to see him play.

Third Time Charming, Part The Second

All right, here we go again.

I'll get it right this time.

Records In Review: The Stills--Without Feathers

I can't tell you how tickled liberal pinko I am when I find Canadian indie-rock bands that I really like. Every record I listen to, it's the same old story: "it's okay, but, but, but..." I was starting to think that it's genetic, or perhaps the product of some youthful trauma involving maple syrup.

Enter The Stills. Album number two from the Montrealers is a serious departure from their very good full-length debut Logic Will Tear You Apart, which put an Interpol-type instrumental approach plus a pinch of bar-band attitude to work in dreamy jangle-pop and mid-paced power-pop settings. Drummer and main guy David Hamelin has taken up the vacant guitar position, which won't cause widespread rending of garments among members of the percussion fraternity, truth be told, and has taken over the bulk of the lead vocals. I'm not sure I can really judge the effect the latter has had, as, like the Torontonian in the amazon.com reviews I have a hard time telling Hamelin and erstwhile lead Tim Fletcher apart--it's more in the delivery than the timbre. But more on that anon. Although the songwriting still leans toward the broad strokes and big chords, the band has ditched the Interpol thing, with its pounding 1-2-3-4 drums and ringing guitars, in favour of a style that encompasses folky roots-rock ("In The Beginning"), revivalist orchestral pop ("Destroyer") and piano-bar languor ("Outro"). There's a lot of Hammond organ and galloping dum-ba ba dum-ba ba dum rhythms.

If I was to make a sloppy and unsupportable analogy, I'd say that Logic is to Without Feathers as Modest Mouse's The Moon And Antarctica is to Good News..., in that both bands have gone from a fairly contained sound and static instrumentation to full and at times flamboyant orchestration*; also, there's a similar fearlessness about letting all kinds of styles and generic signifiers hang low and loose. In The Stills' case, the experiment is mostly successful, but there are a few spots on the album where single-mindedness would have been beneficial. The Rufus Wainwrightesque** (Hamelin actually sounds a bit like RW, mixed with The Strokes' Julian Casablancas' croakiness) addendum to the straight-ahead rocker "The Mountain" doesn't really cut it, nor does the showy intro and overripe finale to the otherwise catchy "It Takes Time." Distractions, distractions.

The album is at its best when the songs make sense from beginning to end and when the band let themselves be themselves. The Fletcher-penned-and-sung "Helicopters" is an excellent example and a great piece. It starts out really restrained, with an eighth-note piano rhythm, percussion and plucked string sounds all very reminiscent of the Arcade Fire's mid-tempo mutant new wave, then builds to a great finale of catchy chorus vocal hook and booming guitars. Other really good 'uns are opener "In The Beginning," which maps out the band's new-found rootsy territory very well; "Oh Shoplifter," a booming jangle-pop number arranged around acoustic guitar and handclaps; and "The House We Live In," the pensive and restrained hymnal finale to the disc. I probably lean more toward the guitar-driven material, but "In The End" is a particularly nice piano-based tune, unlike the very pedestrian "Halo The Harpoons." "Baby Blues" is the track most reminiscent of album number one. "Destroyer" makes up for what it lacks in subtlety with vibrancy, a bold brass section and great lyrics.

Both Fletcher and Hamelin are better at writing what I'd consider to be vocal hooks rather than melodies per se ("Destroyer" being a good example from this album, and maybe "Love And Death" from Logic), but for reasons which I can't quite pin down I find that overall the vocals don't match material as nicely on Without Feathers; perhaps the busier arrangements require a busier vocalist. Your thoughts on the matter may be submitted for review by the board.

I can't think of any other relative comparisons that would lead me to pick one album over the other; you'll either prefer the new style or you won't. I suspect that, as a more "adult" sounding record, Without Feathers might not have the same appeal for the younger listener. But, really, who cares about them? As I always say, excellent hearing is wasted on youthful ears. Recommendation: pretty damn good, but could have been better.

*The Stills do it with less, admittedly. Most of the principal arrangement is bass, drums, guitar, keys...just used in diverse ways.

**What gives with all of the whiny bitch Canuck singers? I want real men, damn you!

Records In Review: Editors--The Back Room

I'll start with an admission: my compact disc collection needs another johnny-come-lately example of this particular new-wave revivalist subgenre like I need an aperture in the cranial cavity. Very good though a lot of it's been, I've had more than my fill over the past couple of years.

But, but, but...this record is good. Very good indeed.

The debut disc from this Birmingham-based foursome isn't going to shock anyone stylistically; in fact, the first 8-16 bars of the opening track "Lights" are likely all the convincing you'll need to file The Back Room between the last Interpol record and The Killers' Hot Fuss on your cd shelf (I've done a few reviews on topic, so I won't bore the tits off you by going into all of the influences of the influences--oh wait, here's another). I don't even think it would be unfair to call the record derivative. So, what is so good here? It's useful to define the band's strengths in negative terms: less sepulchral and wearisome than Interpol, less stridently commercial and faux-ennui-laden than The Killers, less young man sturm-und-drangy than Bloc Party. What's left is incredibly tight songwriting, sound and performance, and a record that for the genre is frighteningly easy to listen to. It also ends better than it starts--excellent.

The album's sound is spacious and warm and covered with a modest layer of reverb. The instrumentalism displays good taste, rather than idiosyncrasy: rigidly metrical and ringy upper-range lead guitar ("as was the style at the time"); springy bass, often in the fifths and octaves new wave/disco style; and drums that efficiently hop along on the up-tempo numbers ("Blood")and create good and stuck-in grooves on the mid-tempo ones ("All Sparks"). Singer Tom Smith sounds at times like a composite of others' timbres and mannerisms, most notably the Interpol guy, The Chameleons' Mark Burgess (the breathy upper-range in "Fingers In The Factories"--frightening!) and Ian McCulloch (other comparisons being made to Echo and The Bunnymen in the press are IMNSHO bizarre) ; mostly, though, he's a pleasing if range-limited blend of crooning and declamation. The lyrics sing well but they won't be winning any Pulitzers.

The Back Room's a very strong set, with only the standard-issue misery-guts "Fall" drawing my index finger toward the fast-forward button. My favourite three tracks are one each fast, mid and slow: "Munich," the obvious single and catchy as hell in an Interpol/Killers kind of way, but livelier; "Bullets," the loudest thing on the album, with a chunky groove worthy of the New FADs; and particularly "Open Your Arms," the climax of which'll send a shiver up your spine. If I can't think of too much to say about the rest of the material, it's because it's all really good, from the tough and declamatory "All Sparks" to the dreamy and expansive "Distance."

I'll never say that originality is overrated (promise!), but The Back Room is proof positive that it's not essential. Whether something so easy on the ear will end up having, erm, legs is open to question, but for right now, I'm happy. And that's what counts. Recommendation: high now; in a month's time..?