More Young Cardinals, One Fewer Old Crow. Farewell Alexisonfire

            After watching countless young musicians mourn the loss of Alexisonfire, and reading new music guru Alan Cross’s ode to hindsight about the situation, I feel obliged to point out that musically, this is for the best. 

            Many of the young fans that are currently eulogizing the band, were under 10 years old when AOF started, and missed the most exciting chapter.  The first album came out with a ton of things working against it.  Appearing on a new independent label, the music was obviously outside the mainstream.  Radio airplay was out of the question, and it didn’t really fit in either typical outsider category, punk or metal.  There were definitely elements that were influenced by hardcore punk, but there were just as many nods to metal, and at the time, you were supposed to be one or the other.

            Then there was the name.  Even people who’d bought the album couldn’t agree on whether it was Alexis ON Fire or Alex IS on Fire.  Yet things aligned in a way they hadn’t for Canadian bands since the early 90’s and this thing easily passed 50,000 copies in a relatively short time.  What caused it?  Some strong songs, the acceptance of both punk and metal fans, terrific word of mouth, and  a pretty cool cover.  Muchmusic picked up the videos, because they didn’t really have a choice.  People were supporting the band so Pulmonary Archery, Waterwings, and Counterparts all got moderate airplay, and the ball was rolling.

            By 2004’s follow up, Watch Out!, AOF were part of the national conscious in Canada.  The album sold 6,000 copies in it’s first week putting it firmly in the top 10, and with good reason.  The songs were improving; and the range of influences shared space amicably, instead of colliding in a circle pit of riffs and rhythms, a common problem for post-hardcore bands.  It showed some growing pains, but mostly consolidated the promise of the debut.

            Unfortunately by 2006’s Crisis, the seams were beginning to show.  Although many international and mainstream critics praised it as their best to date, two glaring problems occurred to me.  First, the first single Crisis was based around a riff completely pilfered from the New Noise by Refused.  When I first played it to Mark Wanka (Guitar/Vocals for Teen Violence, Gran Casino, and a fellow guitar teacher), his response was a disbelieving “they can’t do that”.  The other more disturbing thing I noticed was that despite obvious hooks and anthemic sing-a-long choruses, it became obvious that these songs were more an exercise in balancing two distinct voices than a unified vision.  It became clear that in the process of trying to redefine a whole genre, they’d become so completely entangled in it, that it impeded their growth musically.  They'd become captives in a musical net they'd woven themselves, from the inside.

The side projects started gaining prominence, and diverting time and creativity from AOF.  The impulses that could have help the band grow past an awkward adolescence were acted on outside of the band, to satisfying results, and it became obvious that AOF had become “lifestyle maintenance”, (to quote Lester Bangs), rather than a primary outlet for creativity. 

By the time 2009’s Old Crows/Young Cardinals came out, the splits were even more obvious.  The songs had become predictable in the way they traded of catchy sung choruses and screamed verses.  They were still catchy, and radio loved it, but it seemed like a façade of the original band.  Financially they were doing better than ever.  The album debuted at #2 in Canada, and #81 in the United States.   The tours were even bigger and more successful, which would have made it even harder to call it quits, had the decision not been made before the tour.  Dallas Green had already put in notice that it was his last tour in the band, and thankfully the rest of the members had the good grace not to try and carry on.  Dallas was as essential as Mick Jagger or Paul McCartney, and the band would have been as sad and awkward as an amputee ballroom dancer if they’d tried to perservere.

By the time radio started playing AOF’s cover of Midnight Oil’s the Dead Heart, it was obvious they were kicking at the ghost of ass.  Just hanging around for the paycheques, but not willing to put any real creativity on the line to justify it.  I was more than ready for the announcement they were done, and when it didn’t come, I figured they were done, but didn’t want to close the door behind them just in case. 

But don’t be sad.  City and Colour have grown into a fully fleshed idea rather than a front for Dallas’s quiet bedroom musings.  And having been lucky enough to catch Black Lungs performance at NXNE, I’m really looking forward to their 2^nd album.  We will be left with two bands that will continue to grow and explore new musical terrain, not one formerly influential one sleepwalking for a paycheque.

           

Bird in a Snuggie

     Let me start by saying, I have a ton of respect for Dallas Green (aka City and Colour). To be able to juggle the interests and politics of a band is never easy, but it must be like riding a unicycle on a trampoline to balance it with a solo career that’s both more recognized both critically and commercially.  So it’s disappointing that with each listen to Fragile Bird, the first single from the new Little Hell album, I become more depressed. Not because it’s a bad song, but because it promises so much more than it delivers.


     The opening guitar riff sounds distant and weary, but soon crawls under the ropes allowing it’s more muscular partner to run over you like an acupuncturist on a pogo stick. The rhythm section sit far behind the beat like Big Sugar after a Cheech and Chong film festival, and you’re left hoping Dallas has found his inner James Brown.
     Unfortunately, the production has other designs. When the vocals come in, we are treated to a reverb drenched, multi-layered Snuggie of a track that leaves you toasted in comfort, but completely insulated from any of the pain or desperation the lyrics are trying to convey.
     Thankfully, the anesthetic finally ebbs when the guitar solo kicks in. Sounding like my 18 year old self battling nausea and gravity to find the toilet at 6am on a Sunday morning, it braces itself on the walls, and thumps against a few door frames much like a great Richard Lloyd leads (see Matthew Sweets Sick of Myself).
 


      So who do you blame this on? The album was produced by Alex Newport, (At the Drive-In, the Mars Volta), and I’ve never seen him pull anything like this before. As a matter of fact, I have a friend (Marcus Wanka), who has recorded with him, and the results were quite the opposite (see Gran Casino).



     Regardless of who’s to blame, it’s a common problem these days. With a ransom of possibilities in the studio, people have increasing difficulty focusing on the song and performance. Cool sounds are jammed together to battle for attention like a shape sorter stuffed by a sledge hammer. And the quest for cool sounds seems to have overtaken the need to get the performance right.
     For some City and Colour fans, the departure from the straight acoustic sounds will seem a betrayal. Good riddance to them. Most will embrace the newfound freedom Dallas is testing. Myself, I’ll reserve judgement until I see if he’s got the courage to follow through. His take on Neil Young’s Old Man at the Juno’s was further proof that as a performer, he has the ability to pull scabs off even the oldest wounds. But this song just smothers them with a sandwich sized band-aid.

Love Shines - Ron Sexsmith

It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve written here, partially because of how busy I’ve been with recording and family, and partially because I’ve been sick, (I’m sure the crazy schedule is partially to blame).  I chose the title of this blog in about 2 minutes after discovering my first choice, (Left of the Dial), was taken.  Today the title seems prophetic, but that’s not my intention.  I’ve also made a few more decisions about what this blog should be.  It will now be more specific containing links to referenced places, songs, and people.  The links won’t explicitly tell you what they are, but know that I will only link it if I think everyone should see/hear it. 

Last night I watched a great documentary about Ron Sexsmith called “Love Shines”, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.  As someone who is normally confident and relatively unflappable, I’d had a week where I’d felt completely threadbare.  Like every emotion was resting precariously between my first and second layers of skin waiting to pour out from the touch of an uneven fingernail or a mishandled sheet of paper.  And that’s how every Ron Sexsmith song feels.

It’s put him in a difficult position.  Beloved by musicians, who are often hypersensitive even by artistic standards, famous, respected and broke is a bittersweet place to live, and one that’s all too common in Canada.  He’s won Juno awards, had songwriting endorsements from the likes of Paul McCartney, Elvis Costello, and Steve Earle, and had his songs covered by Elvis Costello, Feist (my favourite thing she’s done), Emmylou Harris, Neko Case and dozens of others.  But the most revealing part of the documentary was his wife talking about how he gets asked for autographs at the laundromat.  He would gladly sign them, but inevitably someone would connect the dots and ask “Why are you at the laudromat? You’re Ron Sexsmith.”  And in true Canadian musician form, he’d have to answer that he couldn’t afford a washer and dryer.

The timing of this documentary was almost mystically placed in my field of vision, because earlier this week Ron had played the Starlight, easily the best live room in Kitchener-Waterloo, but I wasn’t there.  Truth is, between the lessons and recording I’d have had to cancel, and the $25 ticket price, I couldn’t afford it either, but at least I have a washer and dryer.

  The fact that he was playing the Starlight and that the tickets were so pricey compared to a typical Starlight show, brought him to the attention of Mark Wanka.  And to paraphrase, he asked “What the big deal was?”.  He’d heard the name Ron Sexsmith, but was unfamiliar with his music, or stature.  As I explained much of what I’ve just written to him, his face revealed both surprise and confusion.  I could tell he was having difficulty processing both why he hadn’t heard his music, (he’s a big fan of both Costello and the Beatles), and more importantly, why he was playing the Starlight, which holds about 200 people on the best days. 

And of course the answer is that sensitive is hard place to live.  Most people avoid it, or are surrounded by things to suppress emotions.   Television, computers, smart phones are all designed to give us the illusion of being connected.  We can know where people are, and what they had for breakfast within seconds of it happening.  But none has the same impact as looking in their eyes, or feeling a hand on your shoulder.  We crave the connection of songs like Ron’s, but are uncomfortable with the emotions they stir.  The songwriters that remind us of our humanity also remind us of our fragility, which is a hard thing to face.

 
It’s for these reasons this is my favourite song that I’ve recorded at the studio so far, (a question I was asked earlier this week).  And it’s for these reasons, that despite having seen him live and having watched and listened to countless streams of his music, this week I’ll buy my first Ron Sexsmith CD.  Hopefully after seeing this documentary, more will do the same, because people should be seeing Ron with a guitar, not fabric softener.

Shakespeare My Butt

Nostalgia can be a dirty word in music.  I feel like I’m constantly bombarded with “Legacy” or “Anniversary” editions of albums I treasured 10, 15 or 20 years ago.  More often than not the results are disappointing, (eg. London Calling’s bonus DVD for which I bought the album a 4^th time), and I go back to listening to the original. 

So it’s with a little apprehension that I approached a week where I’d see the Pixies and Lowest of the Low both celebrate the 20^th anniversary of their defining albums. But where the Pixies show was a celebration of their past, the Low show was more like a triumphant return.  The energy and playful nature that always rolled off the stage was still there.  The long sets that nobody wants to end are still there.  The raucous fans who you know will be singing Rosy and Grey as they stumble home are still there.  And despite curbing my consumption, the next morning that familiar moss coated the inside of my mouth.  Just like it had for dozens of Low shows from the early 90’s.

For those that weren’t around for it the first time, Shakespeare My Butt had more impact by selling it’s first 10,000 copies than most million selling records could ever hope for.  It was the green light to an independent music scene that had been stuck in gridlock.  All of a sudden, it was a viable option for independent bands to tour, press CD’s (instead of cassettes), and even get played on mainstream radio, (until CFNY was sold in 1994 and Corus circled the major label wagons).  Almost overnight, being an independent musician was no longer Canadian equivalent of the Hollywood wait-staff, slaving 50 hours a week for minimum wage just waiting to slip someone your screenplay, headshots, or in this case CD, hoping for a bigger break.  It was an alternative way to make a living.                   

Yes the original, with it’s limited budget, (less than $2000), has it’s production flaws, but with songs like that, it would have been a treasure even if it was recorded on wax cylinders.  It was literate, melodic, playful and energetic in a perfect balance.  It was both local and worldly, referencing places you only dreamed of seeing, and many you knew intimately.  It was an English, history and geography lesson you could drink to, although some only showed up for gym class.  But it was also an album for a generation that seems to recur.

It was an album made for, (and by) people were educationally rich, and opportunity poor. Struggling against pervading conservative agendas, it was equally at home with young Canadians, Australians, Americans, and Brits.  It was a sing-a-long hand book with anthems about Marxism, serial killers, lack of opportunity, and ways of dealing with all of the above, (usually by getting drunk).    It established a moral code of “Victimless Capitalism”, (the name of Ron’s website, that I’ve repurposed as a chapter title), that many of us still use as a guiding principle.  And it will continue to find a home, on the playlists of those who find themselves in similar circumstances today.

For all these reasons, it’s not just an album I grew up with, it’s an ideal I grew into.  And it took these 20 years to realize it.  And the band performed it from a similar position, matching their 20 year old selves every step.  The only downside was realizing that the band, like the album, didn’t seem to age like the rest of us.  With 4 guys in their 40’s, couldn’t they have at least comforted the rest of us with one thinning hairline?  Ponce de Leon should’ve just picked up a guitar.

The Pixies Doolittle Tour in Kitchener

About a year and a half ago, I started working on writing a book.  However between my desire to always tackle too many projects, and my total lack of organizational skills, the book has been relegated to the bedside coffee jar of my life.  It lies amongst the many pieces of equipment to be fixed, instrument parts and tools to be organized, unfinished remix projects, and a compilation CD I’m trying to issue, (hopefully this summer or fall).

I met with a respected friend who is a music writer, and among some of the great advice I got from him was…start smaller.  He said the book sounds like a great idea, but because my previous writing was confined to many “letters to the editor” of newspapers and magazines, writing a book was like running a marathon.  If you’ve never built the discipline, and stamina, you’ll never reach the finish line. 

Because of this, I’m starting to write on a regular basis.  Mostly in blog form, but I’m hoping to start contributing to some local publications as well.  This is my first step. 

Last night I saw the Pixies. 

I became a Pixies fan when I bought Doolittle in the winter of 1989, (the album they played front to back last night).  It was in my early days of cd’s, (it was probably in the first 10-20 that I owned), and it stood out like a sore thumb.  First it wouldn’t close properly.  Those who own the album on cd know, the booklet was huge, with a piece of art to go with the lyrics for each song (all 15 of them), it was impossible to get it to fit back in the case.  So mine was dog-eared with many bends folds and crescent shaped dents from trying to muscle it back in it’s case.

But where it really stood out was on the cd player.  This was the REAL pop-punk.  Unfortunately, now pop-punk is a filthy word to music fans.  It conjures up images of an inked up boy band, playing instruments, (although quantized and pitch corrected for Top 40 consumption), they have skateboarders in the videos, (never band members), and there is 33% mohawk quota rigidly enforced by whichever major label holds their leash.

No, the Pixies were everything pop-punk should’ve been defined as. Hooks as sweet as the Carpenters, sat in between and amongst Jello Biafra howls, oversized drums, and Dick Dale-on-acid guitar leads.  Tempo’s ranged from lilting, to frenetic, but usually chose to find a sturdy seat somewhere in the middle.  Lyrics went from toddler like innocence, to Robert Pickton gruesome, without advanced warning. 

Like all great albums, it’s rewards weren’t uncovered or fully digested until you’d had a few months to live with it.  And last night they played it all.

They started with four B-sides that were as strong as the album tracks, (Manta Ray, Bailey’s Walk, Into the White and Weird At My School).  Then regrouped and kicked it off with Debaser, (the French short film Un Chien Andalou that inspired it was played before the show), and didn’t let up until the end of Gouge Away.. 

The playing was mostly flawless, Frank’s vocals were effortlessly powerful, and the sounds and mix, faithful to the album.  The concert itself was less joyful than the victory lap “Sellout” tour of 2004 when the Pixies finally got to enjoy the spoils of the ground they broke 15 years prior.  Because of the venue, (Centre in the Square), the constraints of playing the album, and the fact that the Doolittle Anniversary tour was now itself two years old, it was a more subdued affair  on both sides of the stage.  this was more a celebration of the album itself than of the band.  This was their London Calling, an album made when their creativity was at it’s peak, and they had the blessing and resources of a small label (4AD) to follow their vision. 

Most bands don’t get to make that record.  Most bands either have their vision limited by financial constraints, or if the money’s flowing, someone’s tapping the toe of a black patent loafer asking where the singles are.  On this record, there was easily 5-10 singles, although only two were issued..  All the record company needed was a time machine, or (more practically) the patience to let the rest of the world catch up.  Unfortunately, time is something most record labels won’t invest.  It’s much easier to find an obedient crew of 20 year olds, and slap them into the studio where their biggest artistic decision will be…which one is going to Supercuts for the mohawk.