Movie Review: "Nutshimit: On the Land"

The small audience at the Cinematheque Theatre on Saturday night could be heard murmuring as they watched a caribou get shot, gutted, and then have its brain scooped out with a spoon. The only objection that the aboriginal girl on screen had with the gruesome process, however, was that her grandmother wouldn’t let her eat the eyeball.

“Nutshimit: On the Land” is a documentary that spotlights the Mushuau Innu people of Labrador, one of Canada’s few remaining semi-nomadic hunting bands. The documentary, directed by German filmmaker and photographer Sarah Sandring, focuses on an Innu grandmother as she teaches her grandchildren traditional stories and practices. The film was screened as part of the 9^th Annual Winnipeg Aboriginal Film Festival, an event which showcases indigenous films from across the world.

The rustic culture that Sandring reveals in the film is a far cry from what many city dwellers are accustomed to. The audience’s squeamish reaction indicated that much. When one of the teenage boys in the film fixes his eyes on the black rectangle in his hand, it is hard to believe that he is holding a rock and not an iPhone. These cultural differences permeate the entire documentary, from the language – the film is told using subtitles, as the whole cast speaks in the traditional Innu tongue – to the names of the children, like Thunder and Sage.

And it is this distinct, ancient culture that “Nutshimit: On the Land” strives to maintain. The film, which was commissioned and partially funded by the Mushuau Innu Band Council, stresses the need to preserve the peoples’ traditions and language. At one point, the Innu grandmother, wrapped in a shawl and red headscarf, shuffles across the rocky terrain teaching the youth rituals like the hanging of the caribou antlers. Later, she shows them how to cure a toothache with a chokecherry. Her passion for the traditional lifestyle is obvious, and so is her desperation to see it carried on by a new generation. The film is bookended by the words “to the Innu youth,” a dedication which, after watching the film, feels more like a plea.

The simple beauty of the Innu people is matched by the film’s visual style. Sandring’s photography background is evident in the stunning shots of the snowy Labrador landscape drenched in the glow of a burning, northern sunset. It’s gorgeously unrestrained.

Actually, the only thing constrained about the film is its length. The boundless beauty of Labrador – and the long history of its people – is in stark contrast to the film’s 51 minute duration. The unembellished excerpts of aboriginal life are fascinating, and more detail would have been welcome.  In fact, when the film ended, the only complaint that rose from the audience was one man wishing that he could have seen how the Innu grandmother cooked the caribou brain. However, given that Sandring’s last documentary, “Burmese Nights,” was only 12 minutes long, he should be happy that the film’s as long as it is.

And what’s there to be unhappy about? Over its 51 minutes, the documentary manages to inform, entertain, and overwhelm. In one scene, the Innu elder tells her grandchildren not to forget what they’ve been taught. “Nutshimit: On the Land” may be rooted in stories from the past, but it leaves you thinking about the future.

 

Book Launch: Matrix of the Blended Family

On November 30, first-time author Gina DeBrincat launched her book Matrix of the Blended Family at Aqua Books. Although she may be new to the writing business, her experience as a mother, wife, and member of a family that she says is more "puréed" than blended has given her the insight necessary to tell a personalized story of life in a blended family.

The atmosphere at Aqua Books on the night of the launch was very much like DeBrincat's book itself - intimate, personal, and family oriented. The author was constantly surrounded by friends and family eager to show their support for her work. Even an old teacher of DeBrincat's showed up. There was love in the room.

DeBrincat's book addresses the issues that a blended family might face, and provides techniques that can help the family survive. DeBrincat says the idea for the book came after much research and reading about family life. She noticed that there was a void when it came to the accurate representation of the blended family and its struggles. Given her own experiences, this was a void that she felt she could fill.

The book is structured in sections, using the metaphor of the changing seasons to represent the different stages in the life of a blended family. The book begins in autumn (the death of the traditional family and the ideals that come with it), and moves through the seasons, ending in summer with the portrayal of a successful blended family.

DeBrincat says that the purpose of the book - and her purpose as a writer - is to help people by creating a connection with them. This attitude is carried into other aspects of her life as well, such as her music. She and her husband play African influenced music, further adding to her cultural diversity.

The first-time author is already working on another book. It revolves around the relationships between mothers and daughter. DeBrincat is co-authoring the book with another writer. The other writer will be writing the daughters portion, while DeBrincat is working on the mother's perspective.

I wasn't able to stay for DeBrincat's reading, but when I left the wine and laughter were still in ample supply. Good signs for the success of any reading. Or anything at all for that matter.

Low-resolution photograph of the launch at Aqua Books. Thank goodness I remembered to take this or I might have had to forge something in Microsoft paint.

Raising Musical Awareness (?): The Witmark Demos

“Come you ladies and you gentlemen and listen to my song. I’ll sing it to you right, but you might think it’s wrong…”

During the second coming of the personality profile assignment I was reminded by a classmate of a certain musical passion of mine: Bob Dylan. I’ve written about a number of other artists and albums (the number 4 to be exact), but not Dylan, and jeez louise that’s just not right. He is this blog’s namesake - as well as this man’s namesake - after all. He’s earned himself a little recognition. So, to right a wrong, here is a quick look at Dylan’s latest release, The Witmark Demos: 1962 – 1964.

The Witmark Demos are volume 9 in the ongoing Bob Dylan bootleg releases – a series of compilations which began in the early 90’s and have been neatly compiling Dylan’s outtakes and live performances. The album is comprised of 47 tracks and stretches over two discs.

The album is rough, sparse, and intimate, pulling you through your headphones or speakers and placing you in the room with Dylan. That is the album’s strongest trait, and its greatest allure.

When Dylan says “Jesus Christ, I can’t get it. I lost the verses,” at the end of the first track, “Man on the Street (Fragment),” it is as if the words are directed towards the listener – there is no response from anyone who was with Dylan, no acknowledgment. These simple mistakes and musings – although I’m sure they’ll become tiresome after multiple listens – provide Dylan with a vulnerability that is missing on a lot of his albums (besides, maybe, Another Side of Bob Dylan). The same can be said for the rhythmic slap of Dylan’s foot against the floor on the previously unreleased “Ballad for a Friend.” An honest sound that would most likely have been eliminated from a studio album.

The Witmark Demos contains 15 previously unreleased songs, the other 32 being alternate/early takes of songs that have appeared on Dylan’s albums or other volumes of the bootleg series. The new tracks are uniformly strong, with the somber “Guess I’m Doing Fine” being a standout. The alternate versions of classics, however, are revelatory. Hearing “Mr. Tambourine Man” slowed down to a dirge, accompanied by only a piano is something I could have lived without. The takes of “Tomorrow is a Long Time” and “Mama, You Been on My Mind,” on the other hand, glimmer with a stuffy sophistication.

Essentially, the album’s target market is Bob Dylan fans. If you’re familiar with these songs, the early versions are like watching God make Genesis and all that good stuff happen. If you’re not, then this might not be the best place to start. But whatever, hearing these songs now its easy to see why they found him some famous fans.

Listening recommendations: After: The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan and The Times They Are A-Changin’. Before: Finding a new musical deity.

 

Review - Short Story: "Tree Line, Kansas, 1934"

"Tree Line, Kansas, 1934" is a short story by David Means. The story revolves around two law enforcers - an aged FBI agent, Lee, and his young, upstart partner Barnes - and their five day stakeout of a farm in Kansas. They are waiting for Carson, a dangerous fugitive who has spread fear and lead across the country in a string of heists.

Means' story uses simple language and imagery. The whole thing vibrates with a dusty elegance that is fitting of the story's setting. Lines such as, “look out at a lake on a clean, quiet summer day while the wind riffled the far side and a single boat oared gently, dragging a fishing line,” give the story an earthy, minimalistic feel. It's beautiful in its sparseness.

This barren feeling is a reoccurring theme in the story. One example is Means' decision to fuse the dialogue into the natural telling of the narrative - there are no quotation marks, no new paragraphs. The old voice of Lee cuts through the fat, evocative paragraphs. It's blended into the story, sandwiched between descriptive sentences and complex musings. In fact, the dialogue, once again, resembles the title setting. The voices are surrounded by an expanse of words, just as landlocked Kansas, at the center of America, is surrounded by land.

The story is also streaked with a underlying sense of mysticism and magic. This isn’t a world of rules, it’s one of superstition. Lee relies on the gusting of the wind, gut feelings, and the formation of “a cloud that seems to refuse to achieve its full growth” to judge the state of things. Much of the story is told within the mind of Lee. The authour reveals Lee's mental ramblings and reminisces - the strange thought dreams that we all have, but fail to catalogue. It is these thoughts that form the bulk of the narrative and define Means' surreal style.

This style, and the superstition, often manifests itself as a kind of spirituality. Throughout the story there is a struggle between this spirituality (the land and nature) and brutality (the purpose of their mission). As Lee puts it, they “were preparing for the imminent arrival of God, or gun, his gut told him, in those exact words.” In the end, it is a highly violent combination of these two things that brings the stakeout to its close. Bullets carried on a breath of wind, blood dripping on the wild, overgrown weeds. It is as intensely destructive as it is beautiful.

Ultimately, "Tree Line, Kansas, 1934" is a story that is bursting with beauty and pain, just like the land in which it is set. It burns as slow as the cigarette upon which Lee drags during his retreats beyond the tree line. And at its close you are left feeling the same way. Light-headed and a little dirty.

For an alternate (and more in-depth) take on the story, check out Paul Lagimodiere's blog http://itsalovingbefuddlement.blogspot.com/2010/11/short-story-review-blog-assignment-1.html

David Means is a writer from Nyack, New York.

"Tree Line, Kansas, 1934" can be found in his short story collection The Spot, which was released in 2010.

The story appeared in the October 25, 2010 issue of The New Yorker.

Raising Musical Awareness: Second Winter

Winter is cold, clean, and stuffy. Johnny Winter is burning, filthy, and bursting with lightning-energy. The only thing Johnny and the season have in common is that they are both so incredibly white…

Second Winter, released in 1969, is the third studio album from albino guitarist Johnny Winter. It was recorded in Nashville during the blazing heat of August. It was completed on August 12, just five days before Winter and his brother Edgar performed at Woodstock. Maybe some of the excitement and energy from the festival had already crept into Winter’s music. The album is electric and manic, turning fairly traditional blues into an amplified onslaught of sound and intensity.

The album’s first track, “Memory Pain,” (originally a Percy Mayfield tune) is drenched in feeling. Winter’s guitar is heavy and stringy – tearing fat, rhythmic holes with every lick. This is rock and roll. His voice growls and howls in guttural passion. The song is barely recognizable from its smooth, Mayfield counterpart. There is no restraint or second-guessing here. Just the blues.

In fact, six of the eleven songs on the album are cover songs. There are two Little Richard numbers (“Slippin’ and Slidin’” and “Miss Ann”), a Bob Dylan tune (“Highway 61 Revisited”), and a great version of Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode.” I’m generally not a fan of cover songs (at least on albums), but Winter’s unusual voice fills them with fresh breath. Each song is infused with so much fury and spit that you might as well be hearing it for the first time.

It is Winter’s own compositions, however, that sell the album. The last four tracks are all originals. It is in these songs where Winter really settles into a deep, ugly groove. The combination of “I Love Everybody” and “I Hate Everybody” is great. The two songs oppose each other in subject matter and feel. Actually, they might have made nice bookends to the album. But whatever. They also give us some insight into the mind of the roaring bluesman…

I ain't tired and no I ain't hungry
But I'm horny as I can be
Been a long time comin' baby
Better come get some of me

An honest man if ever there was one.

The album closes with the monstrous guitar showcase that is “Fast Life Rider.” Endless, reverberating strings bouncing from channel to channel. It’s disorienting. It’s powerful. It’s a good way to finish the album.

Some albums succeed because they transport you places you wouldn’t otherwise go. Jimi Hendrix takes you to the fringes of a drug-addled freak-out, the Beatles take you to some psychedelic wonderland, Bowie takes you to the edge of the solar system. Johnny Winter doesn’t take you anywhere. He just throws you to the ground, pounds your face into the dirt, and tells you to breath. But that’s alright with me.

Listening Recommendations: After a long day and before a long night. Best served on a hot evening with cold beer.

Thomas Steen - A View from Inside the Locker Room

I had the fortune of being stationed at Thomas Steen's headquarters on election night. It was exciting, nerve-racking, and jubilant. Above all, however, it was strange.

Strange to think that this man...



Is now the new councillor for the Elmwood-East Kildonan ward.

I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but sometime between him talking about the pressures of professional sports vs politics and his comparison of the win to having his jersey raised by the Jets, everything became a little surreal.

How could this 50-year-old former Winnipeg Jet be the new captain of Elmwood? Oh - he got the most votes? Fair enough.

Nonetheless, hearing chants of "Thomas, Thomas, Thomas!" in the hockey arena is one thing, but in a campaign office it feels odd.

He told us that running his campaign felt like the NHL playoffs - two months of hard work and pressure trying to beat out your rivals. But who thought he'd win the Stanley Cup?

Mark Zuckerberg = the fictional town of Twin Peaks, Washington

Facebook co-founder Mark Zuckerberg reminds me of the small towns in David Lynch films (e.g. Twin Peaks/Lumberton, PA) - he appears nice enough at first, but upon closer inspection you find a dark, seedy underbelly. Real seedy.

=

See the resemblance!?

At least that’s how David Fincher’s latest film, The Social Network, portrays him. I’d like to be able to say that the co-creator of a website that I spend hundreds of mindless, face-melting hours on is a nice boy, but Fincher’s film simply doesn’t provide this image.

I can safely say that Zuckerberg, or at least the film’s version of Zuckerberg, is not the kind of guy I would have a couple of beers with. He is narcissistic, disloyal, dishonest, and a mega-dillweed (one who has few redeeming qualities and is generally off-putting).

Zuckerberg’s (strategically?) understated reaction to the film tells me that there may be some truth to The Social Network’s portrayal. According to The PR Post blog, Zuckerberg has suggested that the movie is fictitious and fun. This response is fine. It labels the movie as unimportant – something that the public should enjoy, but not take seriously.

My problem with the response: it lacks ultra-poisonous-venom. The film’s characterization of Zuckerberg is ultimately harsh. The only two personal relationships he has in the film – his ex-girlfriend Erica, and Eduardo – are destroyed through his own greed and selfishness. Was this the reality of the situation? Maybe. But if it’s not, Zuckerberg should be Viking-furious. His cold reaction when Eduardo confronts him about being cut out of the company, his late-night beer-fuelled blog (although I certainly have nothing against those) about his ex-girlfriend – these scenes are very critical of Zuckerberg. They make him seem heartless. So, why hasn’t Zuckerberg defended himself? I understand the advantages of keeping cool in the eye of the public, but these are strong accusations man! At least the film version of Zuckerberg has some balls.

However, even though the movie may hurt Zuckerberg, it won’t hurt the website. Too many people rely on the website (or are addicted to it) to stop using it just because its founder is an asshole. It’s like if a heroin junkie found out his or her dealer was really mean to his dog. It sucks, but it’s not going to stop them from buying the opiate.

Strange analogy.

Buyer Beware: Working it all out

As I sit hunched over the keyboard, out of breath from typing too quickly, stuffing ripple chips with onion dip down my throat, I ask myself one question: am I out of shape?

My slowly clotting heart screams yes.

Luckily, a few of my classmates and I analyzed local gyms for our Buyer Beware project. That means I can make an informed decision about what facility would be best suited to me and my struggling cardiovascular system! Yippee!

I shall sum up our research in a few words:

GoodLife Fitness – Beautiful, expensive, pushy/friendly staff (is that possible?), evasive, and somewhat sinister. The clients smell of polo, caviar, and fine leather. Not for me.

Anytime Fitness – It’s called Anytime for two reasons: It’s open 24 hours and there are no staff there at anytime. In reality it is staffed from 11a.m.-7p.m. most days during the week, but not at all on weekends. Notime fitness? It also only has one location – on Ness. Not for me.

Shapes Fitness Centres – locally based, universally rude. Not for me.

YMCA – cheap, warm and fuzzy, a ton of extra services provided in membership (pool, classes), friendly staff, website that is so politically correct it is funny. For me.

In short, if you are rich enough to throw money around carelessly, go to GoodLife. If you live on Ness, have an erratic sleep cycle where you want to work out at 3:32a.m, but can also be up during the day to go and buy a membership when the place is staffed, go to Anytime. If you’re anything else, go to YMCA-YWCA. Don’t go to Shapes.

Other facts worth noting:

-         YMCA is the only chain gym we looked at where you can cancel your membership without a fee. GoodLife charges you $99, while Anytime and Shapes lock you into a contract in which you can’t cancel (unless you move far away/die).

-         Shapes and GoodLife do not provide prices online or over the phone (at least in our experience). YMCA lists prices over the phone, but not online. Only Anytime provides prices online and over the phone.

-         YMCA had the cutest girls working (I assure you this in no way influenced our decision to rate it highest).

-         GoodLife’s downtown location makes you feel like Tony Montana. The sprawling windows overlooking Portage and Main – the world is yours.

Katz and Judy let the (verbal) fists fly

I don't mean to steal the thunder of the Fight Blog, but the Mayoral debate Wednesday morning seemed more like two boxers trash-talking one another than two respectful, professional candidates discussing election issues. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised had the whole thing bubbled over into a battle reminiscent of the 2002 press conference brawl between Mike Tyson and Lennox Lewis.

Warning: offensive language and bountiful stupidity...



It was just like that!

Well...maybe not quite. But for two reasonably intelligent individuals who are extremely passionate about Winnipeg, Katz and Wasylycia-Leis sure don't get along. However, I'm still not entirely sure why...


Katz believes crime is a problem in the city. So does Wasylycia-Leis.


Wasylycia-Leis says green initiatives such as composting, recycling, and rapid-transit are of great importance. So does Katz.


Actually, the only area that the two seem to really diverge on is property taxes. Wasylycia-Leis says raise em' two percent to eliminate the infrastructure deficits and more. Katz says that will hurt the most vulnerable and that a property tax freeze creates business, jobs, and promotes future economic prosperity.


And so the tactics continue. But I suppose that is to be expected. After all, boxing is the sweet science.

Raising Musical Awareness: I Am What I Am

Does modern country music make you want to vomit? Do songs like Brad Paisley’s Water (a #1 country hit) make you question the sanity of all mankind? Do you long for a time when country music addressed the important issues, like, say, hard-liquor abuse and endless lonely torment?

If so, apply George Jones’ I Am What I Am directly to the forehead…

George Jones is a clear-voiced, booze-guzzling legend and this 1980 record is considered by many to be his comeback after years of heavy alcoholism (I think it still sounds pretty wet). It is a well-known and revered record among lovers of classic country, but hey, I’m a 19-year-old Winnipegger living 2177 kilometres from Austin, Texas – this stuff is foreign to me.

Country music has never been a big part of my aural diet. It just doesn’t suit my palette. I have to be in a certain mood to listen to it, and that mood doesn’t overwhelm me very often.

I Am What I Am, however, has somehow found its way into my CD collection and, from there, into my musical awareness. It straddles the line between sappy and sentimental as perfectly as any album I’ve heard.

The album’s most famous single (and perhaps Jones’ most beloved song), “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” epitomizes this delicate harmony.

He kept her picture on his wall
Went half crazy now and then
He still loved her through it all
Hoping she'd come back again

Kept some letters by his bed
Dated nineteen-sixty-two
He had underlined in red
Every single I love you

I won’t ruin the pay-off in the chorus; you should just hear it yourself. Unforgettably melancholy. The songwriters, Bobby Braddock and Curly Putman, push the tune to the edge of saccharinity, yet Jones brings it back to reality. His voice is pure and full of truth. In the hands of a less capable singer this song could have been corny. Instead, it’s the greatest country song of all-time.

Tracks like “I’ve Aged Twenty Years in Five,” “If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will),” and “I’m Not Ready Yet” also fall into the category of the heavyhearted, drunken ballad.  Along with “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” these three songs form the sorrowful backbone of this gloomy album.

As pieces of music these songs are impressive, yet it is their miserable honesty and semi-confessional nature that makes them memorable. I’m not a world-weary drunkard. Nor am I an abandoned, lonely lover. For whatever reason, however, I have a visceral response to these songs. Jones captures a feeling in his voice that music listeners, of any age or level of sobriety, can engage with.

The album’s final track, “Bone Dry,” is an upbeat number that addresses the horrors of alcohol withdrawal. It’s a weird song. The lyrics are dark and humorous and it seems like George is trying to make light of his dangerous past and move on. Well, at 79 old George Jones is still singing. He must have done alright.

Listening Recommendations: Autumn, through a stereo on the porch with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red pressed to your lips.

Born Under Beer: An Excerpt

For a creative writing class at the U of W I wrote a short story that was conceived when nostalgia got drunk and seduced a parallel universe. This is an excerpt from that story...

7:13 AM

The fire was no longer crackling.  The sun was beginning to scatter a bright, kaleidoscopic orange across the snowy trees.  Owen’s mind was wrapped in a wet sock.  It rolled lazily behind curtains constructed from winter fleece and glasses of beer.  Yet, just as the sun remembers the landscape which it abandons to darkness, Owen recalled the events of the prior night.  He lurched off the sofa, looked out the window and, upon discovering the driveway void of any Jeep or any friends, dashed to the door and spewed vomit onto the alabastrine snow.  Before he had recovered from the vile discharge, Owen was putting on his boots and starting down the winding block road in search of the lost boys.

He moved as quickly as his tormented and tired body could, trotting down long stretches of icy road and labouring up hill after icy hill.  He moved like syrup over the cold highway, every stuttering step drawing him towards the Knotty Girl motor hotel.  It might have been 15 kilometres from the cabin, but it was the only place that sold alcohol out here.  Owen prayed to Jesus and Buddha that he would find his friends there. 

However, before he had slipped halfway to the unlikely asylum, Owen was diverted from his course by a foreboding beacon.  Through rum-soaked eyes he spied a single, deep tire rut that ran for fifteen feet alongside a branching road.  The detour had no sensible explanation, yet, obeying a “hangover hunch,” Owen turned down the road.  He was unfamiliar with the area, but was sure that this new path was cutting back behind the cabins and funneling down towards the lake. 

After weaving through the sparkling woods, the thin road blossomed into a large, open expanse.  Owen was blinded.  When his eyes adjusted to the unexpected blaze he saw that he was standing at the crest of an inoperative boat-launch.  He could see the tracks clearly now.  His mind paralyzed, he drifted down the gentle slope until he was standing, once more, on the vast, frozen lake.  Looking out, he could see the tire marks going and going and going and going.  Then, with the ambition of astral pioneers, they shot through the heart of the rising sun and were gone forever.

The Reawakening of a Mummified Sports Fan

I have watched a frightening amount of sports these past few days. I received a free ticket to the Tampa Bay Lightning/Chicago Blackhawks exhibition game on Wednesday, and then of course there was the Blue Bomber game last night.

Attending these events must have snapped something in my frontal lobe. How else can you explain my sudden desire to watch the Professional Golf Association’s Tour Championship before I went to work today? (Furyk is looking strong out front, but Goosen’s big 66 today could give him the momentum he needs to win it all tomorrow). And boxing? Why do I care that Sugar Shane Mosley was robbed of a victory last week when he fought Sergio “The Latin Snake” Mora? I don’t know, but I was pretty upset watching a rerun of the fight tonight, I’ll tell you.

Now this could be a slippery slope. Hockey, football, golf, and boxing are alright, but what if I start watching poker? Or bowling? Or darts? It is a scary thought.



Sorry all you Wayne Mardle fanatics, but that looks terrible.

Anyways, as long as I’m on this athletic high I figure I’d better share my opinions on a few sports matters in the city…

The NHL in Winnipeg:

Going to the NHL pre-season game on Wednesday got me thinking of what it would be like to see top-level hockey in the city again. When the Jets left for the desert I was too young to really care. All I cared about was the guys with fun names like Teemu Selanne and Tie Domi. However, listening to the crowd on Wednesday it was hard not to imagine how great it would be to see all those fans cheering for a team of their own. Verdict: The talk of getting a team increases almost daily it seems, but things still look uncertain. I'll be optimistic and say that the hockey gods will show pity on us.

The Winnipeg Blue Bombers:

I really don’t know what to say after last night’s game. The Bombers have 331 points for and 334 against…and they’re 3-9. They’re a better team than last season in almost every aspect, yet they have a worse record. At this point it seems like someone on the team must have angered a higher power. We’re not getting any breaks and with the Lions playing better the possibility of a crossover spot in the playoffs is getting slimmer. So things, like, seriously suck man.

Dancing Gabe:

Saw him at both the Blackhawks game and the Bomber game. An underappreciated legend. I gave him a high-five.


I guess that’s it. Hopefully next week I’ll be back to watching Jersey Shore like a normal human being.

I Couldn't Beat the Tweet...

After a long, brave battle against the website on September 16, 2010 Dylan Hughes' privacy finally succumbed to Twitter.  Dylan's privacy had been in critical condition following the creation of his blogspot account and was very weak when twitter came along and crushed it forever.  Donations are being accepted by MANS (Manitoba Anti-Networking Society).

Here, There and Everywhere - My Life with the Beatles: The Conclusion

That first experience with The White Album marked the moment when the Beatles became an inescapable fixture in my life.  The following year, grade five, I did a biography project on John Lennon.  And I quote (my 10 year old self)…

“John Lennon created the Beatles with Paul, Ringo and George, they made great music together. He was a person that cared for other people and expressed himself by making different political statements.  His songs will live forever in all our hearts and minds.”

Cute right?

Wrong! That project was the earliest manifestation of a dark obsession that would haunt my musical world for the years to come.  From that point onward it was the Beatles.  The band monopolized my listening.  It was a Beatles dictatorship.  I couldn’t get away.  It was Beatles, Beatles, Beatles here, there, and everywhere.

My fascination lasted from the final years of elementary school clear through the strange adolescent days of junior high and on into high school.  It was a magical and sinister period.

Finally, however, the day came when I was prepared to stop worshipping at the alter of Lennon.  New prophets had made themselves apparent and I was more than happy to follow them into the wilderness.  So I threw my proverbial Jumanji board into the river and walked away……but I didn’t get very far. 

Here are some photos from my trip to Europe this summer…

So I had a relapse. Whatever.  Maybe I’ll never kick the habit.

I’ll leave you with the closing lines to 10-year old Dylan’s project…

“The Beatles can not and will never be replaced by anybody.  Let’s just Give Peace a Chance and work together to a great and much better world.”

Smart kid.

Here, There and Everywhere – My Life with the Beatles: Part 1

It was the year 2000.  The future had finally arrived and unfathomable change was imminent…

Well, I was 9 years old and couldn’t have cared less.  My life revolved around 3 things: Hockey, Pokemon, and Jolly Ranchers.  I cared more about N64 than Y2K.

However, despite my childish ignorance, the magical transformative power of the new millennium found me just the same…

The change occurred on a rainy spring day out at the cabin.  I had been stuck inside all day and was bored out of my tiny 9-year old skull when my father, probably in a last ditch effort to amuse me, brought out his compact cassette collection.

Now these were the days when Destiny’s Child ruled the airwaves and All-Star by Smash Mouth was widely considered the greatest song ever recorded (well…at least I thought it was).  I knew good music.  Dad’s tunes could stay in the sixties.  This was the year 2000 after all.

But I’d humour him.  He pulled a tape out and put it in the cassette player.  This thing looked boring.  The cover was almost entirely white and it simply said “The Beatles” in black lettering along the top.

What the @!*#  did I ever see in Limp Bizkit?  By the time the second track, Dear Prudence, was finished I had already (whether I knew it at the time or not) altered my perception of music forever.  To quote the late Dennis Hopper, it had “enlarged my mind.” 

Yeah man, like, totally man...

Raising Musical Awareness – Radio-Activity

I’ve always found it strange how things become popular.  There are certain people, movies, photographs etc that somehow manage to bury themselves deep within our cultural fabric.  Well, at least our pop cultural fabric.  They become iconic.

However, for every Pierre Trudeau there is a Joe Clark.  For every John Lennon, a Ringo Starr (I do love Ringo, but you get the point).  The same goes for music albums.

In this feature (hey - maybe I’ll make a little series depending on how much fun I have writing this one) I won’t be talking about Dark Side of the Moon, Sgt. Pepper’s, OK Computer, or Thriller.  This is for the Ringos…

Now Kraftwerk is by no means an unsuccessful, unpopular band.  They were electronic pioneers.  Don’t believe me?  They released an entire album dedicated to computers in 1981.  Now that is forward thinking.  It even has a song about pocket calculators!

But Radio-Activity is Kraftwerk’s forgotten baby.  It’s like Pepsi Blue - nobody talks about it anymore, but it’s still awesome.  However, upon listening to the album it is easy to understand why it doesn’t get the same love that other Kraftwerk releases do.  It’s weird.  And for something to be weird by Kraftwerk standards it has to be pretty weird.

The album revolves around the double-meaning behind the word Radio-Activity.  Is it activity on the radio, or is it ionized particles melting your torso?  I don’t think the band even knows. 

But wordplay isn’t the main attraction here.  The reason for listening to this album is its sound.  It is otherworldly.  This is the band at the pinnacle of their experimentation with melody and song form.  Hell, five or six of the “songs” on this album could hardly be classified as songs at all.  Take the album’s sixth track, News, for example.  Is it a song?  Maybe not.  But is it interesting, hypnotizing, and slightly unnerving?  I’d say so.

And that’s the way it is with this album.  Not everything is great, but everything is interesting.  There are certain tracks that are downright unpleasant to listen to, yet they are all rescued by a sense of invention and avant-garde challenge.  Radio-Activity is in the air for you and me…

Listening Recommendations: At night, through a pair of headphones, before imminent nuclear holocaust.

(Tom) Waiting for a Good Ad...

It became apparent while working on my first CreComm advertising assignment, "Good Ad, Bad Ad," that poor, mediocre, lifeless ads greatly outnumbered their better counterparts. But Mr. Waits, like any good preacher, showed me the light...

The advertisement in question (pictured above) is for HMV and appeared in the July, 2010 issue of MOJO magazine.  There were a number of aspects of the ad that attracted me to it originally, yet another, more subtle factor made itself apparent during my in-class presentation of the piece - it taps into that intellectual, artistic snobbery that is the defining characteristic of any good music lover.

Now before I offend any raging Captain Beefheart fans I want to confess that I myself often fall into the category of the pompous music listener.  And this ad compliments that.  The Dylan Thomas quote in particular gives the ad a level of sophistication (real or otherwise) that many may not associate with the relatively "big box" image of HMV.  A bit of high brow literature for those music fans who may have a bit of a high opinion of their musical taste (or themselves).  Ah, nothing like exploiting the artistic ego...

A Man and His Blog

My name is Dylan and I am a man.  I am a man of many passions.  I will discuss those passions...RIGHT HERE!