The musician and improviser puts her eclectic tastes on display with the first-ever Sound of Dragon Festival beginning May 1.
While East Vancouver celebrated the demise of a beloved venue with abandon, a smaller gathering in the West End launched an unexpected new haven for fun-having. Though it certainly wasn’t the first show hosted by Googly Eyes Collective, Elsethings Arts Festival—a collage of performance, film, art, and cozy hangouts—was charged with expectation, light, and new beginnings.
At a sold-out Wednesday night show, whilst a snowstorm swirled outside, it was obvious just how much frontman Ryan Guldemond of Mother Mother enjoys the drama associated with a perceived apocalypse. Forces both natural and amplified came together in theatrical tension on the Orpheum stage, beginning with a foreboding opener (and new album title) “The Sticks.”
He may have reincarnated himself as a reggae artist, but so far this summer, the rapper is sticking to a more familiar style. Which Snoop will make an appearance at Montreal’s Osheaga Music Festival this weekend?
Being the starving (okay, lentil-eating) writer that I am, gifts generally come from the heart rather than my wallet. Since this birthday mixtape is full of sun-soaked summer jams with only a few weird autobiographical interjections (sorry in advance!) I thought I might share this one more widely.
For many of the musicians I know, band practice is an intimate weekly ritual. One member taps out a rhythm overheard on the bus, while another articulates some severely internet-centric lyric. Sometimes it’s all lighbulbs and fireworks. Other times ideas are ridiculed and abandoned as quickly as they’re expressed.
The Adulthood graciously shared a jam session with me, and even let me point a camera at their faces. When I stopped by, they were jamming out a new song called ‘Til Death do us Part. This is the resulting video/jam/document/thing.
In the labyrinth of jam spaces and studios known as the Secret Location, it seems a noisy cross-genre experiment is born every minute. Buzzing with activity on a recent Saturday afternoon in Vancouver, nearly 100 local bands set aside their hangovers to come down and get photographed for the upcoming Music Waste festival.
Trippiness is a strange musical currency; value is so often predicated on the mind-altering substances consumed by its listeners. Having arrived stone sober at W2 to see Oneohtrix Point Never (Brooklyn-based Daniel Lopatin), this reviewer admits she was only adequately captivated by the synaptic soundscapes on offer Wednesday night. But as someone’s grandma might say: better to be challenged than bored.
You might think it takes a lot of equipment to record and edit vocals, instrumental tracks, field recordings and music videos for half a dozen different bands. But for one Vancouver performance artist with a penchant for singing on her bike, all it takes is an iPhone.
Prophecy Sun is a singer, dancer and creator whose curiosity keeps her moving. “For me it comes down to accessibility,” she says of her pocket-sized piece of gear. “First and foremost, it’s so immediate. I don’t have to worry about getting someone else involved, I can just press record and start doing it.”
It wasn’t so long ago that Claire Boucher—a.k.a. Grimes—released a miniscule run of 30 cassettes for her breezy electro-goth debut Geidi Primes. Just over a year ago, the Vancouver-born, but then Montreal-based artist played to a modest crowd at the Astoria with the help of local jack-of-most-trades, Cameron Reed.
“Cam set up my first show in Vancouver, which was really nice of him,” Boucher recalls of the de facto show promoter, who also crafts glitchy atmospherics under the banner Babe Rainbow. On the line from her parents’ place in town, Boucher reflects on how far she’s come.
Vancouver has a tradition of local forward-thinking record labels, from Nettwerk to Mint to Scratch Records. But the latest imprint to launch in this city has a new, untested idea: Sizzle Teen Records will forgo the CD format and focus on vinyl and digital sales exclusively.
“If you look at the big guys in the music industry, from Warner Brothers to HMV, they’re all pretty much failing,” says label founder Richie Fudalewski. “From our experience, CDs are not worth it.”
Nguzunguzu – The Perfect Lullaby. A labyrinth of stripped-down loops and beats referencing ’90s R&B chart-toppers and Angolan kizomba & zouk in equal measures. Truly the only possible way to enjoy eight hours trapped in a Mozambican airport.
MYTHS – MYTHS. Supercharged electro-noise with a semi-psychotic swagger. First caught them opening for HEALTH and they’ve been terrifying me ever since. “Deadlights” is basically Alice Glass squared.
Crafted by a pair of local boy/girl two-pieces, this split seven-inch pressed on white vinyl has a dark side and a goofy side—both of which may cause you to unwittingly sing in public.
First up is Lightning Dust, one of the many successful side projects spawned by hometown stoner-rockers Black Mountain. Amber Webber and Joshua Wells explore their ‘80s goth-pop side in the moody, half-whispered affirmation “Never Again.” With quiet beginnings, the track swells into several timpani and thunderclap-accompanied moments fit for a particularly tragic scene of a John Hughes flick.
Just over a month after the New Pornographers headlined a free concert in Stanley Park celebrating Vancouver’s 125th birthday, the band’s recording studio and rehearsal space—located on the third floor of the Red Gate—has packed up permanently.
“We’re almost entirely moved out, sadly, but we’ve been there over six years,” says John Collins, bassist and multi-instrumentalist for the New Pornographers. “When Jim [Carrico] found the place we were the first people to get in there—before there was any electricity or water.”
South African indie music has rarely crossed the ocean to North America’s mass markets—but the genre is developing, and the sound is big, bright and bold.
Gazelle frontman, Xander Ferreira, says South African indie music is in a renaissance period: “We believe this is the future for African music, for people to gather a scene here first and then go and take over the world.”
Mbongseni “Bholoja” Ngubane wasn’t always an internationally revered musician. By profession, the soulful songwriter hailing from the kingdom of Swaziland was once a mechanical engineer.
“To me, music is a calling,” Bholoja explained, hours before taking the stage at this year’s Bushfire Arts Festival in Ezulwini, Swaziland.
“It’s not all about being doctors or engineers. I was an engineer, but I’m an artist today.”
If a never-ending laser beam were unleashed inside the Taj Mahal, would it make a sound?
Though they have no scientific evidence to back it up, all four members of Flash Palace are willing to bet it would sound like an intricately woven post-rock jam with carefully hidden Josh Groban samples. At least that’s the soundscape bassist Ellis Sam described while discussing his band’s debut EP Some Misinterpreted Sunsets.
Though Vancouver may be a comfort zone for hometown heroes Black Mountain, the band has proven they’re willing to make leaps and bounds outside that space—and luckily, it’s playing off.
Reached from the Black Mountain tour van en route to Austin, Texas, bassist Matt Camirand opened up about their new album, new tour, and new approach to rock and roll.
Strange Weather, Isn’t It? Is basically a 40-minute I-told-you-so to all those stubborn, rock-centric music snobs who insisted disco had died for good. Although the band has been crafting reverb-soaked funky danceathons since their inception in 1996, !!!’s newest effort feels particularly rife with self-confirmation.
If life is a beach for Wavves frontman Nathan Williams, the last two years have brought soaring swells along with some gnarly riptides.
Back in 2008, equipped with a Macbook and lack of better things to do, Williams unwittingly set the music blogosphere abuzz with a few irreverent bursts of lo-fi stoner pop. His eponymous debut received nods from the scene’s most respected tastemakers, catapulting Wavves into indie fame before the 24-year-old even had a chance to move out of his parents’ San Diego home.
If a university class in concert reviewing existed, I likely would have failed it on Tuesday, Oct. 5. I arrived at the Biltmore at 10:30 p.m.—okay, maybe closer to 11 p.m.—just in time to see more than a handful of blissed-out Drums fans skipping stairs on their way out of the venue. Not a good sign . . .
The Magician is a far cry from the balding “illusionist” that probably showed up at your eighth birthday party. Though he has been known to bust out a card trick or two at his live shows, Nathan Moes (and his new backing band the Gates of Love) are the real deal.
Drawing noticeable influence from Belle & Sebastian, the Unicorns, Ben Folds and the Flaming Lips, the Langley quintet’s follow-up to Moes’ debut EP Who Will Cut the Grass When I’m Gone? is a work of honest showmanship, sans smoke and mirrors . . .
Creative spellers and Milwaukee four-piece Jaill sound like the type of band that “practices” rather than “jams.” Every song on their big label debut That’s How We Burn fits into a cohesive garage-pop aesthetic; the riffs are watertight, the drum licks indestructible. Never mind improvising — everything from lead singer Vincent Kircher’s conversational melodies to the subdued hints of Wisconsin twang — feel polished and calculated . . .
Contrary to what you may or may not have been told, Shambhala Music Festival is not held in outer space. But considering its remoteness, heart-stopping volume and 10,000 sparkle-encrusted attendees, it may as well be.
It’s a place where crystal healings and beatboxing tournaments happen in confusingly close proximity; where entire rivers are inexplicably dyed fluorescent green; and where motorized couches pass as entirely reasonable means of transport. Hosted on a 500-acre cattle ranch near Salmo, B.C. — about an eight-hour drive from Vancouver — Shambhala is a dance party destination for those craving spooky encounters of an electronic kind . . .
At the risk of sounding like a Kool-Aid sipping bandwagoner, it must be said that rumours of this album’s party potential have not been greatly exaggerated. The critically untouchable new release from James Murphy’s electro-punk brainchild is only partially overblown, but probably for good reason . . .
It was daylight outside, but you wouldn’t have guessed it from the subterranean lighting inside the Biltmore Cabaret. Hip-hop wordsmith Shad and I shared a red velvet booth, while his bassist Ian Koiter absent-mindedly grooved in the background.
A few minutes before soundcheck, we were contemplating the finer points of the 1984 video game Tetris.
“I play a lot of Tetris on my computer. It calms me down in a weird way,” he said. “There’s definitely a rhythm to it. I find it relaxing.” . . .
A little internet hype goes a long way.
Of all the buzzworthy artists floating around the blogosphere, this is especially true for Kid Sister. Within two short years, the Chicago MC went from selling baby clothes and stealing microphones at basement dance parties, to collaborating with Kanye West and performing at Coachella’s main stage. All this—plus a BET award nomination—went down before she released a debut album . . .
The third single to follow up last year’s full-length album Humbug, My Propeller solidifies the band’s departure from its faster, more furious roots. Gone are the days of upbeat, angular party songs about scummy men. Instead, the Arctic Monkeys have crafted a croony collection of melancholic commentary on shitty bars, wasted evenings and arguably frontman Alex Turner’s penis . . .
You would think winning the prestigious Canadian Polaris Prize in 2008 might have caused a certain performance anxiety in bedroom composer Dan Snaith—known to his fans as Caribou. Following up a glistening and critically-acclaimed album like 2007’s Andorra stands as no easy feat . . .
Much like its title suggests, Remorsecapade is a portmanteau: a frantic blend of equal parts euphoria and despair, excitement and heartbreak. Hailing from Toronto, the drum and synth duo have injected an unexpected amount of emotional honesty (and intensity) into their sophomore release . . .
Innovation and artistry are often touted as the ultimate pillars of indie achievement—which is probably why it’s difficult (at first) to get excited about a standard, well-executed pop record like Yukon Blonde’s eponymous debut. Like a vintage flannel shirt, the sound and aesthetic are consciously derivative. But the Vancouver-based indie poppers have conjured enough reflection and polish to make their ’60s rock-inspired album a worthwhile listen.
After smashing heads and melting faces for nearly a decade, Vancouver’s hardcore bar shut its doors October 1, 2009.