The crowd at White Lung had dreads and goatees and no eyebrows and ear spacers and studied the guitar parts and knew all the words.

White Lung at the Shop under Parts and Labour, April 1, 2011.

Start drinking at 4:30 with belated Thanksgiving dinner and the night feels like forever. It feels longer at 2:30 when the N20 passes you at Hawks and Hastings. The driver shrugs and you realize you’re not sleeping till 4 and thank God that you’ve got your shitty job and you’ll sleep past noon and when you show up fifteen minutes late they’re just thankful you’re there.

When Defektors start, I’m already hung over, apathetic, and unaffected. Everything came off more angular than the last couple blues-sick sets, but I’m still worried about TV, Death and the Devil.

I got a copy of their self-titled pre-LP cassette. (Jeremiah: I haven’t forgot that I didn’t pay, Justin: I haven’t forgot that I didn’t get my change.) It’s halfway between current life and the singles. Defektors have always reminded me of mid-west post-punk and it sounds like the album will be equivalent to Dow Jones and the Industrials’ half of Hoosier Hysteria: enjoyable, but a step down from superb singles and comp tracks.

After breaking up and getting back together and saying that “White Lung is Natasha, Anne Marie, Grady and [Mish]”, and breaking up again, White Lung now have ex-Cheerleader Camp boy(!) Kenny playing guitar louder than Natasha did. “One of the bands at our practice space have amps that go up to 20. I used that as inspiration.” Tighter, fuller, but maybe not yet comfortable with the new dynamic. Kenny is playing what he’s supposed to without owning the parts yet. Natasha was such a big part of the their sound that they almost feel like a different band, and they’re missing the danger of everything breaking down and the girls killing each other. Let’s see what happens when they release their next record.

Maybe Random Cuts wouldn’t be as good if Justin’s back-up band had more blood / less plastic / iPod. Would the songs lose something if Gradin’s singular vision were being interpreted live? (You do have to wonder about the singularity though when he hands one the “girls” the mic for a song.) Maybe I wouldn’t enjoy it.

I started buying CDs / records / tapes to hear songs that I loved live. Opposite, Random Cuts, optimally, should be listened to recorded. The live show is by design an inferior reproduction. The songs are still great, but it’s definite generational degradation.

Maybe it’s an evolution of lo-fi, coming from a city that out of necessity embraced “mid-fi.” Vancouver, for all the feedback, dissonance, and noise, hasn’t adopted the beyond fuzz that engulfs Times New Viking, Wavves, and a whole Pitchfork playlist of inbred, watered down imitators. Look at Grotesque Modern, Nominal, Hockey Dad, any label that put out anyone from the Emergency Room, even Cassette or Die and Isolated Now Waves, who work so frequently with lo-fi media, you won’t find much permanently submerged past the red.

With Random Cuts, the record is the definitive document, and life can’t duplicate it, but tries anyways. It’s a damned effort that agitates and engages more than the songs might conventionally. Real world creative distortion.

Saturday night the singles were highlights, catchy radio hits in the punk-friendly fantasy of Rock n Roll High School, thirty years later. Everything around Random Cuts blurs, punk-flavoured pop-rock, but only compared to Mutators, Sex Negatives, et al. It might still scare your parents.

Note: Defektors are now on the black list. White Lung is still on watch.

Good reviews suck.

When you’ve finished fellating that band, please mention what they’ve accomplished and how. High school English stuff. A band can get a second chance if you make a case for them. Maybe an insightful description and a couple things I might have missed?

The beef: reviews that you know will be gushing, irrespective of merit. I can’t trust some sites / papers / etc, because I can expect every review to be the same regurgitated press kit fawning about oh my god they’re just so great. Always positive reviews are valueless. Obviously you’ll like most of the records and shows you spend money on, but reflect on your relevance for a sec.

You can be attached to your subject. Lester Bangs’ dissections of Lou Reed are good reads; that’s because and why he was a good writer and critic. You don’t have to be that good to matter, hell, I’d be thrilled if you only heard of music last week, but please say something past it’s intense and this and this happens and it’s really good, this is how good it is.”

Go ahead and plug your favourites, everyone does, but that stops short of journalism and criticism. I’m not going to pay attention.

I’m guilty of it all, so I’m going to self-correct.

No more reviews of B-Lines or Nu Sensae. They all boil down to Ryan was psychotic and Daniel was manic, or they were alright, but the crowd wasn’t feeling it.

I’ll write about something like Good Burger a couple weeks ago, but in general, no more reviews until I can say something relevant.

Defektors (post-punk anthems vs. too blues-rock) and White Lung (the sound was terrible) are on watch.

Thanks.

Since I started my summer project a guy at work called me a lying fag, and today a car full of gelled up guys screamed something undecipherable out their window as they drove past me. As soon as I start writing stuff down every muscle-head fuck decides to cool down. So what have I been doing?

Correction: What did I furiously write about one night when I got home fuzzy and wanting to get shit done? THESE DON’T COUNT FOR KEEPS.

Critics at the Hotel and Defektors at the Astoria, July 3, 2009

Unbelievable performance by Andrea and Justin, accompanied by Keith Wecker on sax and switchblade, and Daniel Pitout on tap shoes / one piece. It was an endurance contest, lost by the people who wandered in off the 100-block of East Hastings. Hopefully it shocked and confused a couple people into thinking.

After the performance the listening station was put to good use, scratched to death records spinning with Grotesque Modern labels. I grabbed the Critics 7” and book. It looks amazing and sounds great, but $25 is a lot of money, especially when I already have a few of Justin’s art books.

The record itself is audio collage. It’s gutsy to put something like that out, especially when I can’t even find where you could buy it online.

Once the buzz died down and beers finished I headed up to the Astoria for Defektors, whose set I barely remember. More fresh in my memory was the terrible jockey, playing ironic hit after ironic hit. It was shit. Defektors’ new stuff splits between the same old stuff (redundant), same old stuff (rad), and almost radio friendly stuff I’m not sold on. However, their upcoming Nominal LP sounds like its going to kill.

Defektors, Nu Sensae, and Random Cuts at the Rickshaw, July 16, 2009

Showed up just in time for Random Cuts, the mostly friendly Just Gradin project I’ve heard. It’s the mannequins? Noisy and no wave is there, but it’s fucking pop music. It could be on the radio, if the radio had taste.

Nu Sensae played a good set, but listening from the balcony is weird. They sounded a lot better with Mika Miko, even though a busted pedal cut the set short. It’s a blender of threatening progressions, nuts drumming, solid hooks, and dangerous repetition. How can you lose?

Mika Miko, Audacity, White Lung, and Nu Sensae at the Biltmore, July 22, 2009

For the moment, I’m out of shit to say about White Lung. The guitar was a little louder, so I liked them a little more. I wanted to go home, put on Local Garbage, then try liking Magazine, which I haven’t done yet. Maybe they need the Hockey Dad sound (Adam Locke-Norton)

The Audacity play bullshit beach fun, getting me in the mood for Black Lips. Fun, but stupid, like a good jam from near Disneyland.

Mika Miko tried wearing my suspenders but didn’t “get” them. I never realized how few of their lyrics I know, even though I can gibberish my way along to them. The songs from We Be Xixu actually made sense in a Mummy’s Curse style, oozing the most palatable horror skeeze.

Black Lips, Deerhunter, and the TVees at the Commodore, July 23, 2009

Fuck the TVees, fuck $9.50 doubles, fuck no drink specials, fuck the jockey playing Styx and AC/DC. TVees play boring fashion mod, except they’re too old to be cute about it. The vocals are gross and the energetic bits are all bland as shit. I’d blame my cynicism on my Mika Miko hangover - it made work fucking unbearable, doubly ‘cuz I had to work with all my least favourites - but I saw them at Pub 340 like a year ago and they were exactly as boring / forgettable.

Deerhunter is cheesy as shit. Chris Vincent pointed out the brodeo, fucking indie as shit, exactly what you’re supposed to like says Pitchfork. Cryptograms and Fluorescent Grey are great, I like Microcastle and Weird Era Cont’d. Some of it just doesn’t work live. They kept some songs nice ‘n’ short, they stretched some that benefited from it. It was good, but it felt so fucking exactly what it was supposed to be. This could be on the Fox. I liked it, but after a few songs it started feeling gross. I needed Black Lips to kick the shit out of them.

They did. I don’t know if Black Lips made the night - the rowdy crowd had a part - but those songs they played did a lot. I was worried it’d be boring, ‘cuz bands with big reputations usually don’t live up to them (Fucked Up). They weren’t super crazy or anything, but they were fun, and didn’t leech energy out of the room (Fucked Up). It was a shit load of fun. I can’t imagine any band holding my attention any longer than that set. Including Black Lips.

Nobunny, B-Lines, and Dead Ghosts at Pat’s Pub, July 29, 2009

Last night I caught Nobunny, B-Lines, and Dead Ghosts boiling at Pat’s. Dead Ghosts are shitty slop, even when they’re not sloppy. They’re lots of fun, and you can hear the harmonies they’re trying to hit, and being so far off just makes it better.

B-Lines didn’t have the best set, but I got excited for the new songs: Psychedelic High School, World War IV, Hastings Strut. Crazy Glue was better than usual too. End: trashed drum kit, get glass ready to cut Nobunny.

A friend quipped: can’t tell if all the AmApp underwear on stage was a Nobunny gimmick or if they were just that fucking boiling. Nobunny came out in the same underwear I woke up in, plus a wig and trademark bunny mask. As much as his records are Joey Ramone wishful thinking, he was channelling way more James Brown and 50’s rock n roll. Chuck Berry Holiday felt like a perfect finish, except for how early it came. I like I am a Girlfriend better, but it left us hanging.

Don’t repeat this.

B-Lines, Mode Moderne, and Sex Church at the Astoria, and White Lung and Needles and Pins at the Biltmore for Music Waste, June 12, 2009

Friday was disappointing, but no one’s fault. But people are at fault.

I started out at the Biltmore unable to tell between covers and Needles & Pins songs. Every song could only be more obvious if they used 12 bar blues and stole Ramones chords. Recommended for fans of Jawbreaker, Screeching Weasel, and going to high school in the 90’s with a scratchy voice.

I didn’t want to miss B-Lines, so I jetted after one White Lung track. It sounded good, but I’ve seen them so much lately, so I didn’t feel bad about jumping on my bike and taking a turn for the worse.

I’m arriving at the Astoria, taking forever to find a spot to lock my bike, and Adam says Sex Church just started. B-Lines were scheduled to be on in fifteen minutes. I’m going to say as little as I can about Sex Church, because I have a lot to say, but it needs to settle a bit before I drop it. Suffice: Wish I was at the Biltmore.

They played a short-esque set, a genuine shock. I thought B-Lines were next, but no, onstage was Joy Division Mode Moderne, who are in league with Sex Church. I enjoyed their first show, even if they played way too long. Now they still play too long, my patience has evaporated, I can enjoy only fleeting moments, and they’re finding their way onto otherwise good bills (see: this show, Jay Reatard (Sex Church only), Fresh & Onlys) despite being grown-ups aping a band that we can all go home and enjoy on our record players or iPods or cassette decks. Originality is over-rated, but isn’t it embarassing when your set is followed my a New Order song and everyone laughs? I’ll be impressed if Phil (nice guy) hangs himself, but until then I’ll be trying my best to miss their sets.

Roll in broken glass, smeared with blood, smashing bottles, half-undressed, microphone unplugged, scream your eyes out, I dare you, I’ve already seen Ryan Dyck do it this week. B-Lines didn’t play their best set ever, but even pushed an hour past their slot they filled the dance-floor with guts, energy, and guts. The Straight figured out how cool it was (and made Mode Moderne kind of look like bitches), now they just need to get that 7” out and quit finishing with Social Retard.

Whatever at Funky Winkerbean’s for Music Waste, June 13, 2009

No Gold didn’t play, and I didn’t pay attention. See you next year!

Hive Dwellers and Chain and the Gang at Little Mountain Studios, and White Lung at the Biltmore, May 30, 2009

Gotta catch up so I can start writing down Music Waiste (see: The Buzzer)

Above is my second birthday dinner, May 25. I’m old enough to be those places you’ve seen me. The first birthday dinner was a disgusting free Denny’s meal.

That Saturday was overshadowed by action, but Glory Days was the first show I’ve been legal for.

White Lung played the set I’ve been waiting too long to hear and Mish was messed up for it. Aside from finally sounding right (like Local Garbage), everyone thought Grady was leaving for the washroom, and this girl came onto the stage, started grinding on Mish! Everyone laughed, Mish tried for a minute to go along with it before finally collapsing in hysterics and throwing the hooligan off stage.

The evening got crazy, vandalism, excesses, clearing the stage during My!Gay!Husband!, and “bitch, get off my drums!” But even before the Biltmore I caught Calvin Johnson at Little Mountain.

I missed Rose Melberg but made it for Ian Svenonius fronting Chain & the Gang. It’s jazz cabaret, filled with tension threatening to split at the seams, out comes fifteen seconds of a lost Nuggets classic. In front we’ve got a hilarious white Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, spoken-word rambling and anti-patriotic howls. I don’t know how the half-improvised in-song banter would translate to vinyl, but the songs stand up on their own, even if the bass player was leaning against the wall. The set crescendoed and ended with Deathbed Confession, dragging on, intense, and funny.

Chain & the Gang reconfigured themselves and out comes Hive Dwellers with Calvin Johnson dancing in front. Musically, it was unimpressive, but Calvin’s lyrics, vocals, and moves can’t not entertain. Put him in front of any band and you’ve got a winner, even if I won’t buy the record.

May 30th was memorable.