Music is my safe drive home
Techno Update
Nicole, Peter and Evan Pull an Unnecessary All-Nighter
A Warkworth Holiday
It's all over now, baby blue
There's no place like Weldon
The Do-It-Yourself Music Industry
Don Ross a guest speaker at Fanshawe? Good thing I had my trusty 2 Dundas bus schedule in my purse to take notes on! Hello A&E Journalism found story.
In the past few years, it has become apparent that the internet may be indie music’s best friend. Big mainstream record labels are great, with their contracts, marketing resources, and high-tech studios. But perfecting the fine art of self-promotion and -engineering is the smartest thing that any performer or writer can do during this age of technological obsession. I mean, come on. Don Ross is doing it.
I think for many people, the term “indie music” conjures up the sounds of folk-like plinking guitar melodies or soaring synth and keyboard lines played by 20-somethings in skinny jeans, skinny sweaters and skinny t-shirts in neon colours.
With so many unique artists classified under the indie umbrella, the way most people think of indie music just doesn’t work. The genre is indefinable now. The term “indie” is simply shorthand for “independent,” and refers to an artist or group not signed to a major label, regardless of musical style.
How does 48-year-old Don Ross fit into this? Wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans, the Canadian fingerstyle guitarist gave an interview and performed three songs at
According to Ross, there has never been a better time to be an indie artist. All you need is YouTube, a MacBook Pro with Pro Tools, and a garage. Or at least that’s what he uses.
Downloading music for free from file sharing sites has become very popular and, rather than fighting the seemingly unstoppable trend, artists need to make the system work for them. Yes, it’s a shame that so many people are less willing to pay for music now, but at the very least the downloading provides exposure. Here’s where self-promotion through YouTube comes in.
I love YouTube. It’s one of the things I miss most when I return home to dial-up internet. If people can hear an artist’s music and see an artist’s unique style on YouTube, then the hope is that it will help that artist build a fan base. Since it’s so easy to acquire music now, Ross says that live shows are the new Holy Grail of the music industry. It was once records. You use the internet to draw people in, get them buying tickets to your shows and, if you’re lucky, buying albums while they’re there!
In the past year I’ve been privileged enough to see Bob Dylan in concert from the fifth row, and see The Spades, a young band from my home region, open for Matthew Good at the legendary Massey Hall. Live shows are an undeniably unparalleled experience, and there’s always the possibility that the unknown opening band will become a new favourite.
Back to YouTube, 29-year-old American fingerstyle guitarist Andy McKee, Candyrat artist and friend to Ross, is a perfect example of its power. Two years ago, McKee’s video for “Drifting” was featured on the site and has since been viewed almost 18 million times. Sure, it’s no 26.3 million views in four months of Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida,” but I’d say that’s pretty good for an alternative indie artist!
The other big way artists set themselves apart from the masses and take control of their music is through self-engineering. Here’s where that MacBook Pro you insisted you needed and your family’s unused garage come in.
Ross says the key to engineering your own music is having a good ear. For all you artists graced with natural musical talent willing to put in the extra time, it’s a great alternative to paying techies to do it for you. While fancy, expensive programs and equipment are helpful, if you have the musical and technical skills you can produce fairly high quality material with less extravagant equipment.
If I was an indie musician, I would probably be thinking, “That sounds pretty good, but are there any other benefits? I am, after all, a young starving artist with ever dwindling support from the Canadian government.”
Good news. In addition to having more creative control over your work, you can save money! And in these times of financial crisis I think that’s something we can all high-five over. Saving money is a staple of DIY projects and YouTube is, at least for now, free to use.
Do yourselves a favour, indie artists. Take advantage of technology and the wonders of a DIY music industry. And do everyone else a favour by providing videos with artistic merit so we aren’t stuck watching clips of people’s cats and 10-year-olds singing “I Kissed a Girl and I Liked It.”
How to Procrastinate
- Drink tea or coffee
- Go pee
- YouTube the Viva La Vida video
- Stare out my window
- Check my email
- Write a couple sentences
Truly the Holiday Season
Honey, where's my apron?
And yet, I still love Toronto
It's Friday?!
- This guy has the right idea. I'd stay in an airport too if I was getting free stuff!
- It's been confirmed, the great Hawking has accepted the position of Distinguished Research Chair from the Perimeter Institute and makes his first visit this summer! My dad is going to be so psyched.
- Local young women have taken a cue from Kevin and started booby-trapping their homes as the London Sleep-Watcher continues to creep around the city. It turned into a major topic of discussion in my class this morning because "Oh my god, he wears all black?!" Where's that scary old dude with the shovel when you need him?
- Join JM and I later as we will inevitabley get drunk and simu-blog about the rockin Geminis tonight! Yes, you heard correctly, Jason Priestley is hosting. Thankfully it's only an hour. Damn you AE Journalism!
And then Depeche Mode cried
I, The Untidy
The last time I tried to clean my room, I was reduced to hunching on the floor using a mini screwdriver and tub of Shea Body Butter as hammers to nail a thick, cardboard sheet into the back of my particleboard three-shelf bookcase. Loose pieces of paper surrounded me like forgotten confetti at a giant’s birthday party. A neon orange Post-it (PRINT LAB NOTES; grandfather, John Wayne, circus dancer; H.P. Lovecraft?) clung to my sweating body as I canvassed the rough beige carpet on my hands and knees, searching for more effective makeshift tools. I never found any. I also abandoned the cleaning project.
When I was a child, it seemed that my friends’ parents used bedroom-cleaning as a punishment, to the effect of, “You can’t run around in the field or build that fort with your friends until you clean your room!” My parents were not such disciplinarians, and I’ve never understood the fuss over the importance of tidy bedrooms. Maybe it’s because they remind me of hotel rooms.
Along with rooms in hospitals and insane asylums (though I think they now hold the more politically correct title of ‘mental health facilities’), hotel rooms must be some of the most impersonal bedrooms in existence. And what is the common denominator of those three places? They are public representations of personal spaces.
And so, I feel that there is something fake about pristinely tidy bedrooms. When I encounter them I wonder what the people who live there are trying to hide. I see desktops unblemished by jewellery, movie ticket stubs, CDs. I see floors devoid of stray socks, empty water bottles, newspapers. In a tidy room I see only surfaces and nothing deeper to hint at the person who spends the most private of moments there.
My parents have always urged me to “never judge a book by its cover.” But I still peruse the aisles of Chapters and loudly proclaim that if romance novels want to be considered legitimate literature they should start by banishing those surrealistic, colour swirl covers featuring nipple-bearing characters. And despite my parents’ best efforts, plus fifteen and a half years of education, I can’t help but qualify people based on appearance. Sure, once I start to learn the details of a person I begin to disregard my initial assessment, but the person I only pass in the mall or on the street will always just be “That bulgy-eyed chick with spidery lashes that looked like a Tim Burton character.”
Since I know others also make these judgments, I do not wish people to enter my bedroom and exclaim, “My, this bears a striking resemblance to the Marriot I just stayed in!” I want them to see my room and think, “A very interesting person must live here.” So while I like my room to be tidy because the minimalist aesthetic is pleasing, people can’t see how intriguing I am when all of my possessions are hidden. Yes, it’s problematic to base who I am on what I own, but those are the things I have surrounded myself with and they reflect my interests.
I have also discovered that tidiness is hardly practical. On occasion, I try to cleverly store everything in boxes and binders or behind curtains, like an old-timer hiding her treasures around her house. This keeps my possessions out of sight so that people can’t access them, can’t know of their existence. But like that old lady, I too am helpless to find these items when I need them.
Maybe I’m just defending my dishevelled room so people won’t see it and assume I’m a disorganized slob. Maybe this defence is undermining my argument that “tidy equals fake” by proving that my untidy room is just another façade. And yet, my books are ordered on shelves from tallest on the outside, down to the shortest in the middle. They look good, and the majority of the weight is distributed away from the vulnerable midsection. DVDs and CDs are alphabetical by title and artist, respectively. Shirts in my closest are arranged in order of increasing sleeve length. I like to be in control so I implement organizational structures. That’s just who I am. Being that my bedroom is my personal space, it is a tool of expression, just like the clothes and movies it contains, and I can use this tool in two ways.
I can use my bedroom as a mask. The surface would be white and smooth, the eyes bright yet emotionless, the lips painted red without smudges or bleeding colour. Or, I can use my bedroom as a display window. Various items would be scattered around the room with little title cards saying, “This is her real favourite movie,” and “Who needs this many Ziploc bags and Post-Its?!”
If I want to wear a mask every day, I must take care to never allow it to slide down as my face sweats with the guilt of lying. I must track my lies so that I can retell them, create back stories, so I don’t accidentally say, “I was dancing to ‘Take On Me’ in my underwear last night!” when everyone thinks I’m a music snob who only likes jazz. I’m always in such a rush that if I tidied my room every time someone might see it then I wouldn’t have time to search the internet for synthesizer-laden ‘80s tunes. I try to avoid being fake because, if nothing else, it is a full-time job. I have the attention span of a sugar-saturated youngster raised on video games, and a short term memory comparable to Leonard’s in Memento. Being fake is hardly practical.
Of course, I cannot make so lofty a claim that I am entirely genuine, nor can I say that I have entirely given up on tidying my room. I only hope that my untidy room does not turn into the façade I continue to argue against every time I look around at the personality-bearing array of items.
Vatican wishes White Album 'Happy 40th'
From the Globe and Mail yesterday:
The Vatican's newspaper has finally forgiven John Lennon for declaring that the Beatles were more famous than Jesus Christ, calling the remark a “boast” by a young man grappling with sudden fame.
The comment by Lennon to a London newspaper in 1966 infuriated Christians, particularly in the United States, some of whom burned Beatles' albums in huge pyres.
Concrete Love
Most people would probably think that it's stupid to build a library that looks like a concrete cave from the inside, but I take odd comfort in the gray, industrial walls and ceilings of the D.B Weldon Library. I love sitting on the main floor in the "comfy chairs" near the concrete pillars and looking up at the vast concrete waffle ceiling. I think it would be great fun to sit in one of those waffle sections if the ceiling was a wall or even a floor. Industrialism makes me feel studious. Elated. Invincible. The all-business no-bullshit attitude of concrete structures makes me retaliate with creativity, with words to soften those unforgiving surfaces. Just think of all the ideas that have pooled in the waffle, just waiting to be explored.
Extra whipped cream, please.
Does everyone have a buddy?
Today I went on a field trip. Yes, a field trip. Around my own university campus with my 3000-level Arts and Entertainment Journalism class to look at public art.
At first, JM and I thought we would "get left behind by the group" along the way so we could write the thousands of words in essay due in the coming hours, days, weeks. But we employed the buddy system and took the tour. The pieces we looked at had surprisingly interesting back stories and it was nice to get out of the classroom, despite the numbness in our extremities that occurred. And who doesn't enjoy the occasional throwback to the days of elementary school? But it reminded me of some of the things I hate the most: looking like a tourist and doing group activities.
We were a small group. Maybe twenty people, tops. But as we travelled from art piece to art piece, an amorphous blob of chilly writers led by Catherine Elliot Shaw (the curator of Western's Macintosh Gallery), the only element missing that would have made us look even more like an adolescent tour group was brightly coloured lanyards with dangling cards identifying us as a unit. Or maybe matching t-shirts in bright colours, like they have for daycares. Or maybe a rope for all of us to be tied to so nobody would get lost…
To Speak the Words: 5 years 1 month 5 days ago
Four o’clock in the morning is a lie, an illusion, like infomercials and New Year’s resolutions, for the time looks as much like morning as the softly curving letters of cancer look like a gnawing and malicious disease, or as a draining coma feels like reviving sleep.
My transition from warm containment in the womb of sleep to jarring exposure in the open-air of full consciousness was slow to begin as I struggled to reach the strained whisper I could hear swirling in the ether above my body. After many laboured breaths, I widened my eyes with a pop. My eyebrows puckered in confusion, eyes refocusing to recognize the face mere inches from my own. A face I knew should be familiar before it could be seen by my newly opened eyes. My mother had been whispering.
Surrounding her was not the welcoming reflection of sunshine on bare and chipped white walls, having penetrated my east-facing window. Surrounding her was the absence of light, of colour, that I had seen hours before when I forced my body to rest.
Crouching at my bedside, the side of the bed I had been sleeping in since the last night in my crib, my mother hesitantly stroked my hair as one might comfort an abused foster child. The corners of her mouth were up-turned, not in a smile so much as a grimace, forming a canoe burdened by curvy letters and about to overflow. The empty spaces of our pupils aligned. Hers harboured a story. Not one of birth. Not one of canoe trips on shiny lakes. But on no other morning would this story have shocked me less.
“Grandpa died this morning…”
Watching as the canoe capsized, it was time for my first words. It was time for me to whisper.
"It's because last night on the phone Adam and I said goodbye to him."
Don't Drink the Kool-Aid
Today marks the 30th anniversary of the Jonestown, Guyana cult suicide of over 900 Peoples Temple followers.
RUNNING TALLY FOR THE MONTH
11/04
Obama elected first African-American President of the United States
Matthew Good's Live at Massey Hall released
11/11
Bob Dylan concert
11/18
Jonestown Massacre
11/22
40th Anniversary of The Beatles The White Album (Visit the London Music Club Saturday night for The White Album Tribute Show!)
Who knew November 2008 would be so epic? And it's not over yet...
Disney, you slut! You genius, genius slut...
Love or hate the Walt Disney Company, you must at least acknowledge its incredible, albeit frightening, influence and adaptability. It can be a business genius, moving its pawns about with a maniacal laugh. Or it can be a whore on the corner who will do anything to turn a trick (or rather, an illusion).
It was recently brought to my attention that to accompany the "Anniversary" or "Platinum" editions of its classic animated films, Disney has gotten its teeny-bopper arsenal of musicians to record covers and music videos of famous songs from the films. I believe "blasphemy" is the word you want. Ah, but wait! This whore of a marketing scheme is undeniably genius, no matter how cringe-worthy it feels. In doing this, Disney is further cementing itself as a key figure in children's understanding of history, society and culture by bringing old songs and films to the new generation.
THE OFFENDERS
Watch. Be horrified. Try not to get sucked in.
The Jungle Book
I Wan'na Be Like You - The Jonas Brothers
The Little Mermaid
Kiss The Girl - Ashley Tisdale I don't think cheek counts
Poor Unfortunate Souls - The Jonas Brothers
101 Dalmatians
Cruella De Vil - Selena Gomez This may be the worst
Sleeping Beauty
Once Upon A Dream - Emily Osment
…Plus there are some promises of "All new songs and music videos… And much more!"
Pardon the bias. I'm currently writing a research essay on colonialism in Pocahontas and The Jungle Book. I am NOT enjoying it. I've probably seen Pocahontas once before and I'm adamant about not liking it. I think the songs are sub-par. But I have been finding it quite hilarious. Of course, not the parts that are supposed to be funny if you're taking the movie seriously. It also might be the only Disney movie where the main characters don't get together (or stay together) at the end of the movie. Pochy stands on mini Pride Rock as leaves swirl Cinderella-style down to Smith's ship where he waves at her the way the natives wave to say goodbye. Nothing short of epic, but a seemingly unprecedented finale in these princess love extravaganzas.
Winter Weather
One Year Ago Today
2007
We Do This For Free
You do need to say it
I can't believe it if you don't
Because we're rarely on the same page
And you need to find the words on your own
No one is looking out for us
Or issuing do-overs
Everything that happens here
Goes straight into the books
I know loose ends make you uncomfortable
Well honey closure never was my strong suit
Things sure can get complicated
When there's no one to clean up your mess
Of course it would be great
But it could never work
Life doesn't translate well
That glass is thicker than you think
2008
Painting Lines of Silver
One
(It rolls quickly, no pleasantries, then disappears)
Two
(It lingers, disco ball reflections, then lets go)
One
Two
That's all I give you
Today.