About a month ago I had the terrible misfortune of becoming addicted to chess. That’s right, chess. That game that Magneto and Professor Charles Xavier play in the X-Men movies. I’m not sure how it happened – peer pressure, the prolonged horrors of Semester 3 CreComm, or maybe just an internet pop-up that I couldn’t minimize quick enough. In any event, I very quickly found myself retreating into the two-dimensional world of bishops and pawns whenever I had the opportunity.
At this point I’d like to state that I am not good at chess. I lack the patience and forethought required to truly excel at the game. To give you some frame of reference, I usually play against the computer of this site and I can win on “easy” about half the time. However, I have been forcibly and quickly annihilated every time I have tried on “medium.” Not particularly impressive. Yet my repeated failures have taught me a thing or two…
Two intellectuals play chess in Montreal.
1. Chess is hard: This isn’t a game that can be played without thought. If you are tired, disgruntled, or drunk, you will lose. This is obviously a generalization (who isn’t at least one of those things at any given time?), yet the sentiment remains true.
2. Chess is not relaxing: It’s tremendously frustrating. There is no worse feeling than setting up a perfect game only to blow it all with an imprudent move of a rook. It’s the board game equivalent of auto-failing an assignment you would have received an A on.
3. The history of chess is storied and fascinating: If you are as enraptured by virtuosity as I am, chess and the performances of its finest players will captivate you. It's incredible that a game involving 32 pieces on a board has enough complexity that it can be dominated by one man for over 20 years, and only a handful throughout the entire 20th century.
So, do I feel smarter since I began playing chess? Sharper? More enlightened? Not particularly. In fact, at the end of the day I still very much prefer relaxing with a couple laps on Mario Kart 64’s “Rainbow Road.” The cascading colours, the charming melodies, the perfect numbness.
But that doesn’t make me sound very refined, now does it?
The reign of Jane is over. It's one of those unfortunate titles that - like Linda or Barbara - was once terribly popular, but has slowly drifted into a prolonged obscurity. Not since 1983 has Jane appeared in even the top 300 most popular female baby names. I'm not getting those statistics from anywhere, it's just something I know.
However, there was a time when meeting a girl named Jane was as common as meeting a drunk guy on public transit. Many of these Janes were born shortly after WWII during the baby boomer period. This meant that all these young lasses were becoming young women during the mid to late 1960's. The influence of this bloom rippled throughout the music world, resulting in a fine deluge songs about Jane. (I'd like to state now that I realize Maroon 5's debut album is titled, Songs about Jane. I've chosen to ignore this).
1931 Nobel Peace Prize winner, Jane Addams
(image via beginningofahero.com)
A soothing song that sees Drake questioning the motives and conceptions of a woman named Jane. Very melancholy and pretty. Also, with a title like "Hazey Jane" it's very possible that this song is about pot, although I don't hear it. Honourable mentions to Drake's other Jane tunes, "Hazey Jane II" and "Thoughts of Mary Jane." The guy loved him some Jane.
A classic off what is likely Bob Dylan's most well-known and acclaimed album, "Queen Jane Approximately" portrays a Jane that is intelligent, popular, and narcissistic. I was once nearly fired for playing this song too loudly at work. Numerous customers complained to my manager during the second harmonica solo. This song may also be about weed.
An epic, pillar-shaking opus to the name. Exalted in every way. Definitely about Marijuana. Or heroin. Or the dozen other vices Lou Reed carried. Or maybe just about a Sweet Jane.
When a musician releases two superlative albums in the same year – especially ones titled Burnt Weeny Sandwich and Weasels Ripped My Flesh respectively – you know they’ve reached an artistic zenith that is unattainable to the standard breed. And then, with the release of Chunga’s Revenge that same year (1970), Frank Zappa was in the void.
image via wikipedia.com
I don’t even know if Chunga’s Revenge is good. In typical Zappa fashion it is equal parts beautiful and terrible; equal parts brilliant and overwrought. “The Nancy & Mary Music” is the best example of this. It’s over 9 minutes of jazz-pop free-jamming. It’s hypnotizing and aggravating and genius. It may be the strongest song on the album and I’m pretty sure I don’t like it.
Similarly, a song like “Would You Go All The Way?” has all the garishness and crudeness of a number from The Rocky Horror Show. Yet somehow, just like the tunes in that musical, it remains charming.
However, there are definitely inarguable classics weaved in among the improvisation and tackiness. The two last tracks fall into this category. “Rudy Wants to Buy Yez a Drink” is everything that makes Zappa wonderful. It may be trying to take a stance on the Musician’s Union? I don’t care. It is filled with life and nonsense. The thumping, brassy instrumentation and shrill, wild vocals make it a forgotten minor classic to my ears.
And the album closer, “Sharleena,” exists somewhere between a late-70’s porno soundtrack and a genuinely heartfelt love ballad. It’s the most emotionally revealing song on Chunga’s (outside of Zappa’s guitar work on the title track maybe), even if it is about a groupie. It is beautifully eerie, relatively commercial sounding, and probably my personal favourite on the album.
The cover of Chunga’s Revenge is as accurate a summation of the album as any. Is he yelling? Yawning? For fans of Zappa’s earlier politically-driven or jazz-infused works the album will provide moments of true frustration. For new fans, the striking disparity in this collection of songs, both in terms of quality and genre, may incite anger. However, I’d venture to say that most will find numerous occasions to shout with delight. And anyone who doesn’t is a burnt weeny sandwich.
Listening Recommendations: In small doses twice weekly until you think Frank Zappa is a genius. Or until you hate him. Whatever comes first.
Women are like granite countertops - they're very beautiful. And similar to granite countertops, they have long served as a powerful inspiration for the artist, the filmmaker, and, of course, the songwriter.
The names Roxanne, Layla, and Angie have given life to famous rock songs. However, the influence of the countertop-esque woman extends far beyond the realm of rock and roll, with Carmen and Salome lending their mysterious persuasion as the title characters of famous Operas.
Even among the great, melodious sea of female appellation, however, there are certain names that rise to the surface and appear as the titular theme to numerous songs. One such name is Emily.
Etiquette Aficionado, Emily Post
(image via vasmith.wordpress.com)
The first song regarding an Emily that ever reached my ears (citation needed). The wailing organ, descending piano, and overall sense of strangeness sparked my continued association of Emilys with hard psychoactive drugs.
The most romantic song ever written. And it never mentions the name Emily once (beyond the title), making it the perfect tune to woo any starry-eyed, granite-like gal.
A couple of weeks ago it was announced that legendary Manchester pop group the Stone Roses would be reuniting for two shows in their hometown next summer, followed by a subsequent world tour. I'm a big Stone Roses fan, but whenever something like this happens - a revered band reuniting more than 20 years past their prime - there's as much apprehension as there is excitement.
via imacsonline.com
Now I understand that it's unfair to expect the Roses to resurrect their past greatness in some impossible, ageless performance. It's unrealistic, and if we demanded that of all bands that get back together, we'd be disappointed eternally. However, in the case of the Stone Roses, it's justified.
You see, their last performance, more than 15 years ago now, was abysmal. Like hell-shakingly, mind-bludgeoningly abysmal. In fact, if you've never heard the Stone Roses before don't click that link. It will taint them in your ears and soul forever and make you think less of music in general.
Of course that doesn't mean I've lost hope entirely. It's very possible that lead singer, Ian Brown, was in the subterranean depths of a week long ether binge when that concert took place. If that was the case, let's hope he's kicked the habit come next summer.
Other bands I'd like to see reunite:
Neutral Milk Hotel (split 1999)
Talking Heads (1991)
The Smiths (1987)
Halloween. At a time when many people are flexing their creative muscles in an attempt to come up with an original costume, the TV stations will have resorted to airing the same cinematic swill as they do every year. The Exorcist, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and of course, Halloween. And if we're lucky, Donnie Darko or Scream.
Perhaps I shouldn't say cinematic swill, as all of these films are quite good. It's the monotony and predictability of playing them year after year after year (on a holiday that prides itself on surprise and terror no less) that has generated this blood-curdling disdain in me. So, I offer up five alternate flicks for All Hallow's Eve (complete with a ten word synopsis!)
Via davidlynch.de
Eraserhead (1977)
Some weird shit happens man.Like some seriously weird shit.
The Night of the Hunter (1955)
Serial killer / Reverend chases kids. Lillian Gish has a gun.
La Jetée (1962)
Future Paris. 28 minutes. Told through still photos. Time travel.
Suspiria (1977)
Disembodied eyes, witches, a room conspicuously filled with razor wire.
M (1931)
French. Swedish? I mean German. Anyways, a guy kills childs.
An album, regardless of whether it is a jewel or junk, is simply an opinion. During the recording, it's someone's opinion that decides which studio to use, which songs to play, and which instrumentation sounds best. Maybe even what brand of beer to drink. Afterwards, it's another opinion that deems how the songs should be mixed, which ones should go on the album, and what order they should be in. In my opinion that's a lot of opinions.
However, it does ensure that a great deal of thought is put into to creating the best possible product for the fans. A good thing. Yet somehow, after the fussing and the fighting, the discussing and the deciding, great songs are left off the album, driven into the tuneless melancholy hallways of musical obscurity, only to be brought out for drunken concerts and overpriced compilations.
Unless someone puts five of them on his blog (albeit a melancholy and obscure blog).
David Bowie - Velvet Goldmine
Recorded - 1971
Left off - The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars (1972)
Released - As the B-side to the re-release of "Space Oddity" (1975)
Elvis Costello - Suffering Face
Recorded - 1985?
Left off - King of America (1986)
Released - Re-issue of King of America (1995)
The Smiths - This Night Has Opened My Eyes
Recorded - September 1983
Left off - The Smiths (1984)
Released - Hatful of Hollow compilation (1984)
via gothic-addiction.blogspot.com
Bob Dylan - Blind Willie McTell
Recorded - May 1983
Left off - Infidels (1983)
Released - The Bootleg Series Volumes 1–3 (1991)
Leonard Cohen - Store Room
Recorded - 1967
Left off - The Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)
Released - Re-issue of The Songs of Leonard Cohen (2007)
It's a brave new world of guerrilla marketing and pseudo-event planning. At least that's what it feels like occasionally. Although I haven't been privy to much of this style of advertising myself - maybe that's a byproduct of living in Winnipeg - the words themselves have become common terms, both online and within my own schooling.
When I originally heard about guerrilla marketing, particularly the idea of an outdoor exhibition or performance of sorts, my mind immediately darted to the well-lit corridors of childhood, and to the classic television program , Art Attack.
photo via vtr.com
For those of you who aren't familiar with the show, the basic premise would involve master artist Neil Buchanan (pictured above) producing arts and crafts with the help of his handy PVA glue. The program was educational and entertaining. However, the real reason anyone watched was of course to see Neil's generation of the stunning Big Art Attack.
Although these pieces were produced entirely for the entertainment of the audience, a similar piece could theoretically be created to raise awareness of a product, gain media attention, or launch a brand. A large, outdoor work of art - under the guidance of Neil Buchanan himself - could shake the pillars of the advertising world in an intense and irreparable way. Imagine a monstrous Nike logo created entirely from kabuli chickpeas and stretched across the length of a football field. Or a simple, heartfelt slogan written entirely with the grey hairs of elderly hobos in mammoth proportions in an abandoned parking lot. It's a powerful thought.
Or maybe they're just talking about something different when they say "guerrilla marketing." Who knows.
In recent years, many music-related videos have been removed from YouTube, usually due to copyright violations. Although the site still contains a superabundance of great music, a huge number of songs and performances simply do not exist online anymore, making them nearly unattainable to the nosy novice or eager enthusiast.
That being said, certain videos have managed to survive the great purging and (for the time being) remain at the world's fingertips. Today, I share three of my favourites. You know, while they're still around...
1. Janis Joplin - Ball and Chain Key Moment - 4:34Onward
2. Diana Damrau - Der Holle Rache (music begins at 2:12)
Key Moment - 4:17 to 4:27
3. The Doors - When the Music's Over Key Moment - 7:20 Onward
Two summers ago, when I was but 18 years old, I saw 1960’s English pop group The Zombies at Club Regent Casino. I went with my parents. As I looked around at my fellow concert-goers I quickly realized that there were other zombies in the casino beyond the band themselves. In fact, the majority of the audience was comprised of the living dead (or at least near dead). At 52 years old, my mother was very possibly the second youngest person there. I’ve never felt so alone. Or more like George A. Romero.
Via vivoscene.com
There are three albums that, in my own listening experience, serve as pillars of mid to late-sixties pop, achieving everything that wildly overproduced, narcissistic music should be capable of. The first is Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys, the second, The White Album by the Beatles. Both these albums are privy to much praise from critics and fans alike, and deservedly so. However, these albums have a prettier, albeit shallower, brother in the form of The Zombies Odessey and Oracle. The Billy Baldwin of Pop Operas.
If sound were liquid, Odessey and Oracle would be a heroin bubble bath. There are few albums that are as immediately and consistently beautiful. The band’s layered harmonies, buoyed by lead singer Colin Blunstone’s vaporous vocals, are alone enough to turn one’s blood into ice-cold cream soda. I mean Goddamn, just look at the cover for this thing. It’s more sixties than tie-dyes and chauvinism.
What the Sacrament of Penance is for Catholics, listening to this album is for me. It’s so impossibly innocent that it is actually capable of forgiving me for my sins. That’s a fact. The sparkling production and thumping piano on ‘Care of Cell 44’ and ‘This Will Be Our’ Year are particularly effective at helping me forget that I’m drifting closer and closer towards complete hedonistic insanity every day. Which is nice.
But that’s not to say that the album is entirely merry. The most obvious exception is the exceptionally morbid ‘Butcher’s Tale (Western Front 1914),’ which, as its subtitle implies, addresses the plight of a shell-shocked former butcher who is fighting in WWI. Additionally, the songs ‘A Rose for Emily’ and ‘Brief Candles’ both deal with the pain of loneliness and how difficult it can be to accept.
The album is loosed themed around the seasons. In fact, three songs – A Rose for Emily, Changes, and Beechwood Park – all mention summer within their opening line. Therefore it is only appropriate that the album closes with what is perhaps The Zombies most famous tune (and certainly among the top ten seduction songs of all-time) ‘Time of the Season.’ And it’s only after an album this good that you can get away with asking “What’s your name? Who’s your daddy? Is he rich like me?” Such panache.
Listening Recommendations: For solace on any rainy day or moment of borderline spiritual/emotional desolation.
Back in grade 11, fellow CreCommer Adam Campbell and I produced a video of virtuoso proportions, combining philosophical depth with a rare attention to detail. Needless to say, the finished product was of extreme quality.
At least that's how our 16-year-old selves felt at the time. After taking over a year of schooling under the tutelage of video guru Dean Cooper, as well as film courses at the University of Winnipeg, I have come to realize that the once behemoth greatness of the mock-investigative report show, "The Ninth Ring," has become slightly diminished in my eyes (and soul).
This blog post will - at the risk of my own teenage ego - reveal to the world the stunted masterpiece that is "The Ninth Ring," and also provide a brief and honest evaluation by a fictionalized version of the man himself, Dean Cooper.
1. Poor Audio Levels – The listener’s ears are almost immediately berated by levels that are not only peaking well above zero, but are also inadequately pop-filtered. The rest of the video isn’t much better. Improper miking results in heavy background noise, and the clipped audio during the interview sequence makes the video seem cheap and unprofessional. 2/10.
2. Long Shots – Nothing was shot from more than one angle. And there are two shots that exceed 30 seconds. Good Lord. 0/10.
3. Flat Backgrounds – The interview sequence filmed against that piss-green wall is so bad that not even the decent depth of field exhibited in the outdoor scenes could save you. 1/10.
4. Lack of Foliage in the Foreground – No foliage equals no marks. 0/10.
5. Inadequate Lighting – Most of the shots are too dark. Even the outdoor shots with the host speaking to the camera are marred by shadows across the subject’s face. Honestly, how did you mess that up? 2/10.
6. “Talent” – Perhaps the video’s greatest flaw. Not only are the actors ill-suited for their roles, they strike me as being completely false and pretentious douchebags. I pray these hopeless morons never end up in CreComm. -5/10.
Closing remarks: Do everything better. Overall score: 0/60.
Have your Saturday evenings been lackluster as of late? Been missing that certain spark? Personal soundtracking is an effective and pretentious way to add that special something to your weekend party nights. Without further ado, Uncle Dylan's Five Song Saturday Night Soundtrack.
It doesn’t matter what sort of adventure you plan to embark on, this classic will immediately validate it. The sharp organ, throbbing baseline, twanging guitars – Green Onions will make you feel like a better and more interesting person than you actually are. That false confidence is going to be a great starting point for your special evening.
I’d like to preface this entry by stating that I’m not much of a pot smoker. However, regardless of your vice(s), Bob Dylan’s wild refrain of “Everybody must get stoned!” is an apt and compelling chorus to properly begin your night of decadence and sin. The intoxicated horns, slurred vocals, and manic drums will march you from the pregame right out into the field. And the guy who yells “f*** yeah” around the 4:24 mark is just bonus.
To be played extremely loudat what you deem to be the peak of the evening. But beware. This song has been known to take previously normal humans and make them do strange, ungodly things like break dinner plates over their heads and challenge people to arm wrestles. It also has the words “out of my mind on Saturday night” in it, and that kind of poetry just can’t be left off a list of this nature.
Choose your own adventure! What kind of night has it been? If you’ve got a strapping stud or delicate dame on your arm continue onward. If not, skip to songs 4b and 5b.
When it comes to naïve, drunken love no one does it quite like The Boss. This song is a personal pick and could theoretically be substituted for Born to Run, Candy’s Room, Jungleland, and over a dozen other similarly themed Springsteen songs. Alternately, try throwing on Pink Cadillac for a bit of distasteful metaphoric fun.
You've done it. A perfect Saturday night. Turn this late 90's track on late and loud. Think about the important stuff, like how much better you are than your friends and how awful you're going to feel tomorrow morning.
So the night didn’t turn out quite the way you planned. It happens. Turn on this number, slink into the kind of depression that only the mid-80’s can bring, and be happy that you’re not as lonely, morose, and into Oscar Wilde as Morrissey is.
Now that you’ve driven yourself into a spiritual desolation, the only proper way to close the evening is by filling your empty stomach (and heart) with heap upon heap of greasy food. Whether you’re a gypsy hack or an insomniac, this lonesome ballad will be the perfect accompaniment to your late night food binge. And what kind of pies?
It’s common for artists to draw inspiration from the foggy, purple memories of a half-remembered childhood. These memories are already filled with a lost creativity and emotion that is specific to being a kid – or maybe just specific to having a tiny, toddler brain that is fuelled entirely by the Power Rangers and Sour Patch Kids. In any event, they invoke a different type of imagination, one that is deeply personal and entirely exaggerated. But that’s what makes them such excellent creative fodder. The fantasy is already there, all it needs is extrapolation.
The rural roads and bleached bungalows that provide the backdrop for these nostalgic recollections are warped in a similar fashion. Everything is a little brighter, a little gauzier. It might be that time twists these memories, making them surreal. Or maybe all children are dosed multiple times a day with psilocybic mushrooms. I just don’t know. Either way, creative work generated via the memory of these sentimental scenes is fitting. And compelling.
Neighbourhoods and boroughs, streets and promenades – they’re a reoccurring theme in art. In music, for example, songs like Tom Waits’ “Kentucky Avenue,” John Lennon’s “Strawberry Fields Forever,” and Neil Young’s “It’s a Dream” all ruminate upon locales that are both entrenched and lost in the writer’s mind. Young’s refrain of “It’s a dream, it’s only a dream, and it’s fading now, fading away” perhaps best captures this paradoxical state. Lennon’s lyrics are whimsical, mystical, and nonsensical, oftentimes simultaneously. It’s possible that he may be attempting to recreate his memories as honestly as possible, using language and rhyme that is intentionally strange to incite feelings akin to his own in the listener.
And Tom Waits, well, he just writes. And smokes. And drinks. And other cool things.
“And it was right in the middle of that whole psychedelia. Chocolate Subway, Marshmallow Overcoat. Those kind of names, you know?” – Richard Manuel in The Last Waltz
Although the two band names that Manuel lists in Scorsese’s famous film are – to my knowledge – fictional, he correctly identifies a late-60’s penchant for band names involving seemingly random strings of adjectives and nouns. Chocolate Subway may not be real, but it’s not far off from Strawberry Alarm Clock. And although Marshmallow Overcoat may be an off the cuff improvisation, The Electric Prunes certainly existed. Not to mention Silver Apples and The Peanut Butter Conspiracy.
image via auctiva.com
At the time, I imagine these bands chose these particular names thinking it would set them apart from the great, bubbling mass of experimental pop/rock outfits. Ironically, it helped them fit right in.
That doesn’t mean that the names are bad though. In fact, they’re all super funny and awesome. So much so, that, in a fit wild passion, I decided to devise a few band names myself. However, I quickly realized this was no fun, as it took all the surprise and eccentricity out of the names. So instead, I engaged in my first act of passive creativity. I expelled a few dozen adjectives and nouns onto blank page, cut the page up, and began drawing at random. Here’s what I came up with…
Plasticine Armadillo
Ordinary Tobacco God
The Public Coral Bath
The Porcelain Ninnies
White Rain Dream
Absolute Statue
The Ketchup Innuendo
Steam-Powered Time
Beer Porridge
The Private Coffee Table
The Terrible Letter R
Freedom’s Trenchcoat
Tempest Tub
I also ended up with a few that sounded vaguely heavy metal…
When most people think of Anabaptist culture their minds are immediately filled with images of fierce, disconnected lovemaking on piano benches under the stars. No? Well, then maybe Armin Wiebe’s play The Moonlight Sonata of Beethoven Blatz really is something special.
The play, which is Wiebe’s first, is set on the Manitoba prairies in the 1930’s. The central characters are an eclectic bunch: a lovable farmer with an unfortunate itch, his quirky and wanton wife, a questioning midwife, and the eccentric pianist who is the play’s namesake. Together, the foursome manages to surprise and delight for the play’s entire 120 minute duration.
The Moonlight Sonata of Beethoven Blatz is rooted in classical music. The play acknowledges many of the great composers – very memorably Mozart through the suggestive reference to his ‘Eine Kleine Nachtmusik’ or “A Little Night Music” – and the works of Beethoven provide a score that is both haunting and humorous. In some ways, Wiebe’s play is an exercise in attempting to understand the creative process and its relation to life. The clearest example of this comes when, in the bedroom, Susch and Obrum are making love in an attempt to conceive a child, while in the attached kitchen, Blatz stomps his foot and flails his body wildly, using the rhythms of the couple’s love to breath life into his symphony. In this scene – and earlier when Susch mentions how the music moves her – Wiebe draws direct parallels between making music and making love. After all, as Obrum so gracefully puts it, they both involve “tuning the instrument.”
And the same could be said for any medium of art – even the stage. In this case, the instrument is Wiebe’s beautiful, comical dialogue. And a finally tuned instrument it is. The new playwright’s use of the muddled Flat German is masterful; fluid and precise after years of honing it in his other works such as The Salvation of Yasch Siemens and The Second Coming of Yeeat Shpanst. In his seminar at Red River College, Wiebe himself acknowledged that he has a certain way of “making the language sing.” Well-timed German insults, such as schweinskopf or “pighead,” for example, infuse the dialogue with authenticity and playfulness.
During Wiebe’s seminar, he also mentioned that the play took approximately 15 years to move from inception to the stage. This number is simultaneously staggering and sensible. Staggering because of the commitment it takes to work within a story for that long (15 years would be commendable for most nuptials nowadays), and sensible because the richness of the language demands prolonged contemplation. Wiebe's only falter, for me, is the character Teen, who felt out-of-place, underdeveloped, and demanded a larger role in the play without receiving it. But who knows, with that heavy German dialect, maybe something was lost in translation.
We can read what may be seedling of the play on Wiebe’s website in the form of the short story ‘And Besides God Made Poison Ivy,’ which was originally published in 1996. Like the play, the story uses the same anecdote of the man who, after wiping himself with a malevolent shrub, has his “middle covered with gnauts, the poison ivy itch, front and back, between the legs, all over everything.” As we found out in Wiebe’s seminar, this story was based upon a true incident which befell his grandfather many years earlier. Wiebe uses family and community stories at other times in the play as well, such as the inclusion of the brummtopp at the end of the play’s first act. This adherence to Mennonite tradition and story-telling is what gives Wiebe’s work honesty – a certain truth that transforms a simple story into a breathing piece of history and humour.
And the play is funny. And it is smart. And it is capable, if just for a moment, of taking your earth-cherry-husk of a life and filling it with something pleasant. Yes, The Moonlight Sonata of Beethoven Blatz is lovely.
Product placement in television, film, and music is a polarizing topic. For some, it’s an unwanted, uncalled for distraction that rips you out of the fiction and slams you back into reality. Somehow the appearance of a Coke can or a MacBook Pro feels cheap, as if the creators of the work would rather make money than maintain artistic integrity.
And maybe they would.
Now as I sit here sipping on an ice-cold Dr. Pepper, which really is a fine and tasty beverage, I can't help but think that sometimes product placement can be done right. This is where the integration of the product feels authentic, not overstated or false. I have a feeling that much of the time this is because it’s not a paid product placement at all, but simply a lucky brand being selected as the most fit for the purpose.
Whether or not the placement is paid for, a well-integrated product can be an extremely effective sales tool. In fact, I can say that product placement informs my own purchasing habits more so than most advertising through traditional mediums. Why? Because the product is being recommended by someone – whether they are fictional or real – who I respect, or trust, or maybe just find funny.
So, here are a few placements that actually inspired me to purchase the product…
Canadian Club in Mad Men
The Black and White Cookie in Seinfeld
Wuthering Heights in Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights (I wish I was joking)
It's April. The streets glisten with gray water, the suffocated lawns burn under an unforgiving sun, and the air carries the final exhale of another dying winter. Yet, in this great atmosphere of death, there is rebirth. Cutting through the pestilential ooze of another Winnipeg spring, we can always rely on one ancient form to resurrect the beauty of this rustic province.
I am speaking, of course, about the tree. Often called "the shrub's taller, uglier cousin," trees tend to be nature's forgotten children. We write essays and draw doodles on them. We even wipe our posteriors with them. So, in recognition of their quiet and abominable plight, here is a profile of some of Manitoba's foliage. Ladies and gentleman, I give you...TREES!
The Jack Pine, Height: 15 m, Beauty: Immeasurable
The Jack Pine, or Pinus Banksiana as it's known colloquially, is a common tree found in the northern and eastern parts of the province. Although it may appear gangly and dull at first glance, the Jack Pine makes a wonderful home for a plethora of forest critters, and burns well in a bonfire. It's a cone bearing tree, and therefore is perfect if you enjoy pine cones.
Manitoba Maple (Box Elder), Height: 17 m, Beauty: Seraphic
The Manitoba Maple has the word Manitoba in it. It can be found throughout the southern part of the province, and grows as far north as the top of Lake Winnipeg, where it begins to wither and die because it's weak. It is known amongst children as "that tree that I am definitely going to climb."
Hop-Hornbeam (Ironwood), Height: 12 m, Beauty: Visionary
Known best for having the most badass tree name in Manitoba, the Hop-Hornbeam is a rare tree that can only be found in the southernmost part of the province. It prefers to grow in moist areas because that's just how it rolls. In its spare time the Hop-Hornbeam drives motorcycles and smokes cigarettes.
Eight lines from billboard number-one singles that are as bad as any lyrics in Rebecca Black’s ‘Friday.’ All of these songs went number-one within the past two years. (vulgar language).
"Honey got a booty like pow, pow, pow
Honey got some boobies like wow, oh wow"
Usher – OMG
"Shittin’ on y’all with the boom boom
Shittin’ on y’all with the boom boom"
Black Eyed Peas – Boom Boom Pow
"Counting 1, 2, 3
Peter, Paul, and Mary
Getting down with 3P
Everybody loves counting."
Britney Spears – 3
"I’m just talking true, I’m telling you about the shit we do
We’re selling our clothes, sleeping in cars, dressing it down, hitting on dudes.
Hard."
Ke$ha – We R Who We R
"Imma be your banker loaning out semen."
Black Eyed Peas – Imma Be
"Sipping on, Sipping on sizz. Imma make make it fizz.
Girl I keep it gansta popping bottles at the crib."
Far East Movement – Like a G6
"Oh shit, my glass is empty. That sucks.
So if you’re too school for cool."
Pink – Raise Your Glass
"Got a call from my jeweler, this just in.
Bitches love me cause I’m fucking with their best friends."
Wiz Khalifa - Black and Yellow
You can say what you want about Wiz, but the guy understands the intricacies of the female psyche. There are plenty more bad lyrics I’m sure, but sifting through these songs has sent me spiraling into a musical depression. At least it’s less than an hour until Friday. And then Saturday comes afterwards…
My curly hair often has people asking if I’m Jewish. It’s time to set the record straight. These locks are all Irish.
And it could just be some leftover drops of Guinness in my blood from generations back, but for a long time, raucous Irish drinking music has had a special place in my heart. So, with St. Patrick’s Day just six hours away, I give you three of my favourite Irish tunes…
Whiskey in the Jar – The Dubliners
Although this traditional Irish song may be best known nowadays for its hard-rocking covers by Metallica and Thin Lizzy, the song is still at its most charming when sung by a bunch of wild Irishmen like the Dubliners.
Key Lyric: “But the devil take the women for they never can be easy.” Sorry Girls.
Salty Dog – Flogging Molly
Flogging Molly may be just as American as they are Irish, but that doesn’t mean they can’t barrel through a fierce jig with the best of them. Salty Dog is a short, riotous tune that inspires beer guzzling and pub brawling. What more can you ask for come St. Paddy’s Day?
Key Lyric: “You drank with demons straight from hell, they almost nearly won as well. You wiped the floor with victory then puked until you fell asleep.”
If I Should Fall from Grace with God – The Pogues
The real spirit of the Irish. Shane MacGowan and The Pogues have coined some of the finest drinking songs of all time (Streams of Whiskey, The Old Main Drag, etc.), but it’s this roaring patriotic masterpiece that evokes the true feelings of St. Patrick’s Day.
Key Lyric: “Let me go down in the mud where the rivers all run dry.”
When most Manitobans gaze at the sky on a clear night, they are met with familiar images – the glow of a crescent moon, the twinkle of distant stars, or maybe even the blinking lights of a passing jet. In Falcon Lake, however, a glance to the heavens can sometimes mean an encounter with something otherworldly.
“There have been lots of unexplained sightings in the area,” says Murray Imrie, owner of Falcon Beach Ranch. “I’ve heard stories of lights following people home in their boats.”
The “sightings” that Imrie refers to are supposed encounters with UFOs. That’s right, honest-to-goodness alien life forms playing some intergalactic prank by chasing innocent Manitobans around. Regardless of your views on extraterrestrial life, however, it is difficult to ignore Falcon Lake’s long history of encounters with the unknown.
The most famous of these encounters has simply become known as the Falcon Lake Incident. According to an analysis written by local writer and supernatural expert, Chris Rutkowski, the incident occurred on May 20, 1967, when amateur geologist, Stefan Michalak, allegedly came in contact with an alien spacecraft. In his analysis – found at ufoevidence.org – Rutkowski explains how Michalak approached the craft, thinking it was an experimental American vehicle. Michalak could hear two voices coming from the craft, so he addressed them in six different languages. None got a response. Finally, Michalak went right up to the craft, only to be hit with a blast of hot gas as it flew off.
In Falcon Lake, Michalak’s story is the stuff of legend. Tim Parr, a six-year employee of the Falcon Lake Resort Hotel, recalls when he first heard the tale. “I remember the hotel was decorated with alien stuff,” says Parr. “There was a big blow-up alien hanging from the ceiling, so I asked ‘what’s all this about’?”
Since learning of the Falcon Lake Incident, Parr’s fascination with the case has grown. “Over the past couple weeks I’ve come across some unclassified government documents online,” says Parr, working feverishly to locate the page.
And Parr isn’t the only one who’s intrigued by Michalak’s supposed UFO encounter. Imrie, who gives horseback tours to the site where Michalak allegedly saw the craft, says that he’s taken a number of fanatics to the location. “I’ve taken guys in there who were filming movies, people from the planetarium, all sorts,” says Imrie. He even mentions that he’d shown Rutkowski the site.
According to falconbeachranch.com, the tour – aptly titled the UFO Ride – takes one and a half hours, and costs $75 for two people. Imrie says the popularity of the ride is sporadic, however, he many have at least one potential customer on the horizon. “I can see myself taking a trip up to the site,” says Parr. “With my wife of course.”
And if they’re lucky, maybe Imrie and Parr will have their own encounter with some unearthly visitors. “People are continuing to see these things out here,” says Imrie. “So they must be coming from somewhere.”
“The Dreaming was my 'She's gone mad' album” – Kate Bush.
Fanatical screams, fierce grunts, primal chanting, occultist wailing, old-fashioned crooning, voice modification, and the sounds of donkeys and sheep. After multiple listens, it seems like The Dreaming could just as easily have been produced by a beast from the spiral nebula as a young woman from Kent, England.
Photo via rzrxtion at flickr.com
Kate Bush’s fourth album, The Dreaming,was released in 1982 when Bush was just 24 years old. The album was released more than two years after her previous album, Never For Ever, had entered the charts at no. 1 in 1980.
The Dreaming is aptly titled. Much like a dream, the landscape changes rapidly and without warning. Over the course of the album - and even within individual songs - the tone shifts so abruptly that it feels as if new, subconscious musical tangents are ripping through without Bush’s thought or restraint. No sound ever lingers.
In a way, listening to The Dreaming is similar to reading stream of consciousness writing: it’s wholly inventive, but only partially intelligible. This combination can be both frustrating and rewarding. For example, there are times – particularly upon first listen – where it becomes nearly impossible to stay afloat in the dense, cacophonous sound. The songs are often layered to the point of incoherency.
However, from this wave of oblique audio many great moments emerge, and they drip like melodic ripples down the backbone of the open-minded listener. For example, the distant psychedelic guitar, roaring helicopter, and Bush’s bone-chilling declaration of “I Love Life! I Love Life!” on the track “Pull Out The Pin.” Or her growling assertion – as she plays the part of Houdini’s wife – that his spit is still on her lips as his body hits the water.
These moments showcase Bush’s wild, shrill vocals. Although some may find her voice grating at times, her eccentric style allows her to achieve a level of unfettered expression. You can feel her joy, confusion, or pain in every piercing cry or arsenic-laced roar. On The Dreaming, lyrics take a back seat to the sound. Without actually hearing Bush’s words, you can recognize her emotion, giving the album a style that still sounds exotic today.
Highlights of this otherworldly masterpiece include: “Suspended in Gaffa,” which may be the most accessible song on the album; “Leave it Open,” which closes with a tugboat rush of drowning drums and Bush’s haunting backwards vocals squealing “We let the weirdness in.”; and “Night of the Swallow,” which successfully fuses a haunting ballad with a lively Irish jig.
Listening to the album now, I’m a little unsure how to market it. Usually I’d recommend listening to an album all the way through the first time, but The Dreaming is nearly too much to take in during one straight session.
The conclusion to the album brings back a kind of childhood terror. It makes me compulsively look around the room to ensure that no malevolent spirits have begun dancing behind me. It is reminiscent of Pink Floyd’s “Bike,” which concludes The Piper at the Gates of Dawn. Rather than closing with harmony and satisfaction, both albums introduce a new, frightening riff just as the album is fading out. This approach leaves the album with a sense of irresolution and instability. But I guess that’s befitting of the oddity that has come before. Hee-Haw!
On another note, The Dreaming has some of my favourite cover art of all time. Kate Bush looks beautiful.
Listening Recommendations: In short stints while your synapses are firing at a reasonable rate. Or after ingesting Adderall.
When discussing social media, I find it's helpful to liken it to a cliquey high school. In this case, we'll use the school from John Hughes' Pretty in Pink. For those who haven't seen it (and you've had almost 25 years) the school is divided by wealth. The upper class and the working class. However, in a shocking and entirely uncliched plot, one girl, Andie - played by Molly Ringwald - manages to break free from the oppressive social circles and find love with, get this, a boy from the other side of the tracks.
Andie is Twitter.
Photo via behindthehype.com
Although I am constantly told that it is young people who are using social media - an umbrella term which covers Twitter and Facebook - I have a hard time finding anyone my age (20) who is using Twitter. I've spoken to roughly a dozen of my high school friends - the majority of which attend the University of Winnipeg or Manitoba now - and none, that's right, none of them use Twitter. It's hard to believe.
I attribute this to the fact that, like Molly Ringwald's character in Pretty in Pink, Twitter just hasn't been accepted yet. Despite having been launched over 4 years ago, Twitter is still novel, foreign, and a little awkward to most people. In short, it's still uncool.
For example, when I first started using Twitter in September I was criticized - I mean genuinely ridiculed - by a few of my old close friends from high school. To them, Twitter was a place where you could find out what Shaggy's favourite flavour of popsicle is or listen to Ashton Kutcher chirp about how awesome hot yoga is. I'll admit, at first I was skeptical as well, but the merits of Twitter have quickly become apparent to me. But I'll leave it to the professionals to sing Twitter's praises.
Looking at Facebook on the other hand, all of the students I spoke to had an account and used it regularly. They were happy to talk about it, treating it more as an inevitability of life than an actual choice. It's assumed. In fact, when three members of my current class admitted to not "being on" Facebook, it was surprising. Facebook is just there. It's moved beyond the Molly Ringwald phase and into the Ferris Bueller.
So what does this mean for PR practitioners? Well, most importantly, it means that you can't assume that you will be able to reach a large youth audience through Twitter. Sure, you will be able to reach some people - Creative Communications students, for example - but many, perhaps the majority, are still found other places, like Facebook.
I think Twitter will eventually go the way of Facebook. But until then, it's still just Molly Ringwald getting called a "piece of low-grade ass" by James Spader. But then again, even he loves her...
The question of how to go about publishing a book comes down to one thing – legitimacy. Or at least the perception of it.
Having your work in a tangible form with the stamp of a professional publisher gives the reader – and potential buyer – the impression that your book, at the very least, isn’t apocalyptically awful. Hey, for it to be published someone must have thought it was okay. Even if it was only your aunt Angelica at “We Publish Books Publishing House.”
Furthermore, books released with the backing of a good publisher also receive proper distribution and promotion – essential support for anyone who is serious about making a little coin from their passionate prose. Today's guest speaker at Red River College, Julie Wilson, says as much on her blog.
(abrupt about-face)
But for those who aren’t serious, why go through the trouble? That’s right, in the wise, whiskey-fuelled words of Charles Bukowski, “Don’t Try.” The emotional and psychological repercussions of writing a novel for two years only to have the publisher “put a bullet in it,” as Matt Duggan related, isn’t worth it.
Image via synthesis.net
So, sing your short stories from the bathroom window, tattoo your poetry to your forehead, recite your historical epic to the animals in a pet store – if you want to be published, just do it. Hell, if you’re feeling particularly wild, even upload it to Amazon.
In short, if you’re in it for the fast cars and class A drugs, find a publisher. If you’re just looking for a pair of lonely eyes to flutter on your words, find a more creative means of publication. And who’s to say Bukowski was right? Guy was a bloody drunk anyways. Albeit a published drunk.
I have no acting training, no improv experience, and no familiarity with the concept of an 'improvised radio comedy panel game show' (although I'm not sure that anyone knows exactly what that means). Yet, when friend and colleague Robert Zirk approached me and a few others with the idea for 'Did You Just Make That Up?' - Kickfm's eternally in-production comedy show - I was easily coaxed.
Maybe my judgment was skewed after a night of heavy news release writing, or maybe I was just seduced by the allure of unimaginable radio stardom. In any event, I was genuinely excited to be a part of the program.
Imagine my shock when the first taping - and a handful more - turned out to be tasteless messes of comic putrescence. There was a giant burrito, a hobo clown on a train, and an anthropomorphic baseball bat that had a penchant for little boys. Horrible, frightening material.
Luckily, since those dark days, we have produced sketches that are witty, impressive, and - dare I say - hilarious. However, the humor didn't come easy. After those first few shows I retreated deep into the damp recesses of my home with only a computer screen to light the way. And I watched improv...
Old episodes of 'Whose Line is it Anyway?' became nightly viewing. Excerpts from improv comedy shows on YouTube were like training videos. The videos that I found myself watching the most, however, were from the 'Hello My Name is Show.'
Image via http://ccr.stanford.edu/blog/
The series was created by cast members of the very popular CollegeHumor website, and is based around improvised interviews between a host and a created character. To date, there have been 11 episodes, with standouts including an incompetent Irish actor and an employee of Satan.
Whether you're relaxing after a long week of school, celebrating a job well done, or simply getting severely intoxicated at your cousin's wedding reception, a cold brew can often be the perfect liquid companion.
But the juice of the barley isn't cheap, and on a student's budget value is everything. So, with the financial well-being of my classmates in mind, I give you my top three brews on a budget...
Carling Lager - (12/355 - $16.25)
Photo via www.goethe.es
This beer is nearly tasteless. Why is that a good thing? Because it avoids the urine/aluminum flavour that many other cheap beers fall victim to. And with a recent re-branding that saw the yellow and blue mountain logo changed to a classy silver and blue lion, there's no better time to start drinking the beer that is the staple of high school house parties province wide.
Labatt 50 - (12/341 - $21.25)
Photo via escapistmagazine.com
The most expensive beer on this list, but still a great buy. It's a bottom end brew at most pubs and bars ($4) and has more kick than Budweiser or Kokanee. It's has the sophistication of an export, but the price tag of a domestic. And it's red and green colour scheme also makes it a particularly festive beer for when you want to booze it up over the holidays. And remember, 50 stands for 50 per cent more good beer flavour than the next bland swill.
Lucky Extra - (12/355 - $16.25)
Photo via professionalalcoholic.com
Regular Lucky Lager. Extra is too intense for the internet
The lager, the label, the legend. At $16.25 for a 12 pack and an ABV of 6%, Lucky Extra is the kind of beer that puts hair on your face and then puts your face over the toilet. It doesn't look good, it doesn't smell good, and it sure as hell doesn't taste good, but what it lacks in subtlety it makes up for in sheer power. This brew puts the bang in "bang for your buck." Although it's probably not actually fit for human consumption.
The caterpillar hood, a feathery tongue, a dream dragon, an octopus ride, and a skeleton kissed to the steel rail. Childish babble? Or the poetic genius of a disturbed mind? I doubt even Syd Barrett, founding member of obscure British band Pink Floyd, knows for sure…
Released on January 3, 1970 – just three days before Barrett’s 24th birthday – The Madcap Laughs is Syd Barrett’s first post-Pink Floyd solo album. Recorded at Abbey Road Studios, production on the album began in May 1968 and was not completed until August of 1969, with Barrett spending almost a year out of the studio in between sessions.
The album is a psychedelic love story wrapped around some unnamed muse. The opening track, “Terrapin,” begins with the line “I really love you, and I mean you.” The song is delicate and dreamlike, hovering somewhere in between reality and romantic fantasy. The instrumentation is sparse, with only an acoustic and electric guitar accompanying Barrett’s floating vocals.
The rest of the tracks on the album are an eclectic assortment of acid rockers, freak-folk ballads, and psychedelic pop numbers. This diversity was Barrett’s intention: “I wanted it to be a whole thing that people would listen to all the way through with everything related and balanced, the tempos and moods offsetting each other, and I hope that's what it sounds like,” said Barrett in an interview for the album Lucy Leaves & Other Rarities. He succeeded, with standouts including the charming love song “Here I Go,” the hallucinatory “Octopus,” and the raw “Dark Globe,” which was produced by Barrett’s former band mates David Gilmour and Roger Waters.
The album is also laced with a medieval mysticism, most notably heard on “Golden Hair,” which rings out like a romantic ballad sung by some ancient bard. Songs of a similar theme can be heard on early Pink Floyd albums, such as “Matilda Mother” off The Piper at the Gates of Dawn.
The album becomes significantly stranger with “If It’s In You.” The song appears unrehearsed (maybe unfinished?) and the take is nearly unlistenable. However, it somehow fits lopsided, upside-down into this oddly cohesive album. On it’s own it would be discredited as a throw-away outtake, but with prominent placement on the album as an official track the song somehow becomes something more. A mysterious mistake that gives the listener insight into the altered mind of Barrett and his deteriorating mental state. That being said, it’s hard to completely justify the lack of effort put into completing the track. It is an interesting tune and could have been genuinely good had the proper care been given to it.
The following track, “Late Night,” (also the final track on the album) balances the delirium of “If It’s In You.” The song is among the most heavily produced on the album, with drums, bass, and two sparkling guitars accompanying Syd’s vocals. The track is also the only recording taken from the original May 1968 sessions, which may account for the substantial overdubbing and polish. “Late Night,” when looked at alongside “Terrapin,” acts as a nice bookend to the album, returning to the theme of surreal love. This time, however, Barrett seems willing to simply remember the love, rather than request it.
The Madcap Laughs, as the name might imply, is an album that is strange, beautiful, and humorous. However, the menagerie of melodies isn’t the only reason to lend your ear. Barrett opens himself to the listener, and the result is as maddeningly creative as it is gorgeous. Emphasis on the mad.
“And the way you kiss will always be a very special thing to me…”
Listening Recommendations: For pleasure and inspiration at twilight. Or for extensive study in an honours psychology class.
It was the New Year's issue of The Projector and two twisted young souls, Dylan Hughes and Chuka Ejeckam, were approached to compose a list of alternative New Year's resolutions. They wrote for nights on end, slowly sinking into the black endlessness of the comedic abyss. In all, they wrote roughly 35 resolutions. 18 were submitted to the paper and 10 were eventually chosen to be published. What happened to the remaining resolutions? Well, some say they were so vulgar and tasteless that they drove anyone who read them to madness. Others say that the resolutions developed a mind of their own and began ravaging stand-up comedy nights world-wide. Me? Hell, I don't even want to think about it...
From the depths of obscenity and poor taste, here are 12 of the discarded resolutions...
1. Recapture your youth. Start dating junior high school girls again.
2. Give back to your community. Return all the Christmas presents you stole from the orphanage.
3. Quit drinking so much alcohol...before church on Sundays.
4. Be more frugal. Tip the strippers with toonies instead of fives.
5. Give more to homeless people. Try 5 kicks instead of 4.
6. Go on that trip you've always wanted to take. I hear Sergio sells blotter paper behind the depot for $10 a hit.
7. Eat less red meat. Try human flesh.
8. Spend more time with family and friends. Visit the penitentiary more often.
9. Be kinder to strangers. Wear condoms.
10. Spend more time outdoors. Masturbate on the park bench instead of the bus shelter.
11. Try to enjoy summer more. After all, you're paying her $30 an hour.
12. Get a better education. Leave Red River College and go to university.
Las Vegas, Santa Claus, eight female entertainers, $19000 in toys donated to charity, and a truck called the "strippermobile." Just about anything can be a pseudo-event, but Las Vegas strip club company, Deja Vu, certainly knows how to attract an audience.
In mid-December 2010, Las Vegas residents and tourists were treated to a display of class and goodwill, as a truck carrying Santa Claus and eight of his finest female helpers delivered donations to the Nevada charity HELP, a non-profit organization that assists the poor.
Was it a success? Well, I found out about it from a news organization, news.com.au, which is based out of Australia, so apparently the news was worthy of international coverage.
And why wouldn't it be? The combination of Christmas cheer and exotic dancers is an unusual and intriguing one. The event was timely, occurring just before the holiday season, and classy (well, as classy as it could be with strippers), with all of the ladies wearing long red dresses and leggings.
The event's locality, as well, was fantastic. It benefited a local charity and promoted a local business. Onlookers could be moved by Deja Vu's acts of generosity, and then immediately reward the company with their own acts of generosity towards the club's performers. Tipping with a one dollar bill? I don't think so. They just made $19,000 worth of dreams come true!
Whoever organized the event for Deja Vu, whether it was PR people or not, hit a home-run with this one. Regardless of how one may feel about the morality of establishments where men and woman can go to watch someone shake their jingle-bells, the donation helped a lot of disadvantaged people and, at the very least, seemed sincere. Who said strippers weren't generous?
