I am returning, sweaty thirsty elated, from the secret Justice after party, which was literally a hole in the wall on Du Parc. One had to walk down a pitch black alley behind an abandoned building, jump, and climb into a different building (there is no entrance or exit door in the whole place), and pass a dark corridor behind a heavy steel enforced door to get into where the party was. O, I met people.

(Drunken picture here with total strangers suddenly acting chummy with me.)

Montrealers are far more cordial when drunk and high.

Before then, of course, was the Justice midnight show. My God. If you only have to see two shows ever in your life, they are Justice and Final Fantasy. For different reasons. I had high expectations, and the Parisian duo did not disappoint. To begin warmup: Phantom II, the Battlestar Galactica drones of Waters of Nazareth, the body popping D.A.N.C.E., Prince masturbating to Numan DVNO and my most fave, Stress! I have footage, but it does not do 'Justice' at all- here, I might wish I did get that $2500 camera.

(Shit non-$2500 cam picture here.)

I am uploading stuff later, after I get my forty winks. You know, my hair smells like cigarettes and pot (o o o, Xavier smoked whatever it was constantly while DJing but I smelled mj everywhere) and is it even worth mentioning the Do Make Say Think set- probably, just that I walked out after 15 minutes of 11 or so people simply reminding me why I quit junior high band. Then I sprinted to the Justice show, 35 minutes away in the rain, and Jesus Mari Joseph...

At one point Gaspard looked up right at me as I did the cross with my arms, and he hit me back. Needless to say, I feel invincible now. The show,

it is worth every drop of sweat and every ounce of bounce.

Eating is an art, too. Here in Montreal, I've been mostly doing groceries and making my own to save $ better spent on alcohol, shopping, and the usual rock debauchery. So a few of the things I love to eat are as follows:

1) Fairmount sesame bagel, cut in half and lightly toasted with Liberte cream cheese and honey drizzled on top.

2) Liberte maple yogurt and/or Dare maple creme cookies.

3) Tuna with hot peppers, dill and lemon on a bed of greens.

4) Rye toast spread with eggplant, tomato, and sweet peppers and havarti cheese.

5) Baraka hummus with tahini.

6) The eggs benedict brunch with niçoise salade from M sur Masson.

7) The 'untraditional' poutine from Café Local on St. Viateur.

8) The after 10 PM $20 special at Café Leméac on Laurier (I haven't tried this yet, but at $20, how can I not?)

9) Tapeo or pinxto tapas...

I don't like smoked meat so much, so Schwartz is not on there, and since I feel the same about foie gras, the Cochon is not on my list, either.

Some good bars to go to in Montreal to meet good people:

1) L'Escogriffe (Wed - Sat)

2) Foufounes Électriques (Wed - Sat)

3) Casa del Pop...

4) Salon Daomé

And, if you go after midnight, the green room on St. Laurent.

I wish someone would have told me this two weeks ago. Hmpf.

We're experiencing the quiet before the storm (ie. Do Make Say Think and two Justice shows on Friday), and people aren't going out much during the week.

The audience at the Bravery were the most enthusiatic and energetic bunch yet. They sang along to every song, jumped up and down, and threw their hands up in the air. There was crowd surfing.

These people were, however, mostly meathead frat boys and really old people. I'm talking about mummy and daddy old- 50 to 60 age bracket. I don't know what happened. Tourists on the St. Laurent strip?

The band itself was ok. I should have gotten the tickets for today's Digitalism show instead with this money.

Regrets.

P.S. What I said about no fat people in Montreal... I stand corrected: there are fat people. One just does not seem them, because they drive cars.

Thanksgiving! Most cultures have it. Canadians just have it before Americans do.

'Serge.' It was so beautiful, we had to name it.

Serge was loved.

Cook A, Dane. Pie maestro. He had made beautiful, beautiful stuffed mushrooms... portobello with four cheeses, shrimp and some kind of sun-dried tomato. All gone within 15 minutes. Here, he is adding to a salad.

Cook B, I forgot his name... Gasp? There were so many people, I couldn't keep track of them. He cuts like a pro. Worked as a sous chef.

A few hungry people!

(Andrew, Stephanie, Gill)

Not one, but six glorious pies. Pumpkin 1 and pumpkin 2 (different recipe), vegan, apple, pecan, and, lastly, the cheesecake. The cheesecake was very unique- entirely different from what I've had in the past, but in a good way. But by this time I had gone over my limit, and had discovered a whole new dimension to my stomach. We had the usual Pinot Noir and Riesling with everything.

Paige. Hello my love.

Before this, I was on the island.

On the left: the Biosphere. On the right: entrance to the rose garden.

Like all good things, the Biosphere needs cleaning.

Like all things, roses soon look nasty.

Montreal.
God, I'm full.

The cold has sunk down into the city and has sunk its fingernails into my bones. In short, I felt like not moving from my bed today. (-10)

But

I went to Hot Hot Heat, because I felt guilty about not doing shows yesterday (ie. Islands, which, as it turns out, Hot Hot Heat went to) (+1). Managed to 'borrow' Gill's press pass (pictured is Andrew's) for the $25 to go back into my pocket. (+10)


Most buses were chillin like a villain at home too, because they were operating only every 20 or 25 minutes (-10). & What did I say the conditions were like? I made it 30 minutes late, but you know how rockstars are... I got there just in time not having to endure bad opening acts. (+5)

(Montreal rarely has separate traffic lights for pedestrians.)

First thing I note:

The very normal audience. Not an indie kid to be seen anywhere. When HHH had their first EP, a select few expat indie kids in Europe were very excited, and the word quickly spread among Livejournal scenesters. No longer! There were many an ugly boy or girl there tonight. (-4)

The new album explains this heartbreaking audience shift rather well. Compared to their older songs, these new ones are bland and if it weren't for Bays' voice, one would find it difficult to distinguish them from any punk rock bands' (yes, Billboard Top 30 'punk' rock). (-7)

Swimming in the big pond mainstream in itself is not all negative; it also reveals the indie snob's transience with 'IT picks' (+1)...

What is, to me, negative is-

youthful arrogance. (-2)

There's probably a fine line between confidence and arrogance in musical showmanship, as there is in life, but Hot Hot Heat- save for quiet Mr. Dustin Hawthorne on the bass- fails to walk that tightrope. Steve Bays, the lead vocalist, actually spasms all over it. We forgive him, though, because of the brilliant melodies and his trademark voice. (+20)

The drummer of a band acts as the heart: HHH's drummer, Paul Hawley, has so much driving energy, it really must be rare for a Hot Hot Heat audience to not nod heads or dance with him. (+12)

The monkey wearing the T-shirt with SECURITE written on it 'warned' me twice and 'the last time' about taking pictures. I point to the press card. He impatiently flips it over, and is not satisfied. In fact, he has no idea what it is. He leaves with a quarter shake of the head. (-10)

Kids 6'5 standing way in front hiding everyone's view. (-10)

^ This 6'5 cracker with the condom on his head. May he be impotent.

Overall score: not good. HHH sounds just like the albums, and though there is that arrogance, it can hardly be likened to Owen Pallet's. It felt like I was at a high school. But if you want to hear how brilliantly Bays sings, once is recommended.

P.S. Went back to Puces for 2nd round shopping (pictures secret) and supporting Jesse.

I am a flake. Flaking out of the Islands (sorry Nick, old sport) and Sunset Rubdown (sorry Gill, Andrew, Jesse, and Everyone in awe of Sunset Rubdown's live performances and yelling it is a 'must') shows at the moment. Sorry, Josh aka Socalled who is also playing tonight ("lookin for a rhombus to put my parallelogram in")... at the Ukrainian?

: [

My official excuse is that I'm knackered.

My unofficial excuse is that things look colourless compared to Final Fantasy. I wonder how long this will affect me? Is there life after FF? And how built up is FF in your, the reader's, mind now?

My other is that I've spent too much money today despite not going to any shows. I've spent the entire day at the Puces Pop, browsing and throwing money at the handmade arts & crafts to take home with me. There were some diamonds there, and I'll be returning tomorrow to comb through it again for the upteenth time... for Paige.

Montreal is raining and chill today.

The Puces Pop at around 2 PM (started at 1).

Jesse and Gill among the indie kids. Jesse told me Florida is even more indie, despite warmer climates. "I can't stand it," he says, wearing aviators perched on his head. He looks a lot like a pilot, doesn't he?

Gill told me an interesting thing today: Montreal boys don't talk to girls; the girls have to talk to them. These boys think they're so cool, but "they just look so-so and dirty." This explains everything. Since my stay here, I've been approached exclusively by old men and construction workers. Until today, when a short black man ran across the road to chat me up for a myspace address. At shows I see lots of couples, but mostly it's the girl who does the talking, the holding of hands, the kissing, the groping, the embracing. The boy is usually looking away or just following the lead. Here is one example at the above Puce Pop... I had thought this boy cute, but out of nowhere came this girl. Observe their body language:

I rest my case.

Now on to the spoils of war. First, the $8 (yes, everything was expensive. Because everything is hand made; these are not plain typewriter pieces with a pin stuck behind 'em!) badges from my favourite booth (I went back on three occasions):

The cufflinks.

A close second:

It's a card with moveable joints to the top right, their card bottom right, a T-shirt with a huge tag top left. The shirt was a bargain, the softest cotton slim-fit types I like, and I want more tomorrow.

Unmentionables (spoon and fork print with lace) and a dress perfect with my purple tights:

This is their maker who said I was cute and asked me to model for her website:

No, I did not sleep with her.

She's from Brooklyn. Moved here before Pop.

Is Montreal better?

Buttons:

The top button reads thus: 1" stories: I told him that I loved him. And then later, I think I might have meant it. THE END.

A 'friperie' is a thrift store.

Du Parc is the long street I am staying at.

Really detailed T-shirt. The bird and things are all handstitched on.

A fun card.

A hairband for my sister.

That's literally a card. On the back is the seller's information stickered on. No queen! Sorry to disappoint.

After all this, there was a fashion show. Jesse and I both agreed the first designer out of the six was the best, and she of course received the prize. Everything else was updated American Apparel or aerobics gear. No taste.

Afterward, I discovered Jesse had waited for me. We both headed back to the house but it was so cold, Jesse forced me into a taxi and back at the house, he was supposed to get his bag and everything back, but instead, stayed and gave me a one audience show! He played at Pop last year and will play tomorrow at Puces and play at Pop again next year. After the first song, I asked him to play his favourites, and he did about four in chronological order. Now, with a cold belgian waffle in my hand, it's almost 12. Islands should be playing in a few minutes on the main. But I'm fine with that. I've finally made a friend.

One thing I notice again and again about Montreal is the innate cool often associated with NY street fashion that a lot of the 20-somethings seem to have here. People-watching could be a legitimate hobby in Montreal. The place is more European in its modes of thought, and clothes are no exception. These kids get pieces from countless hours of rummaging thrift stores and unique gems at vintage places along Mont Royal and Bernard rather than ransack the more upscale boutiques and designer labels of NYC. The finished product? An unlikely but distinct and charming look.

Of course, the biggest thing I've noticed about Montreal is the lack of fat people. Why do I always come back to this? For every one fat person, I see at least three hundred slims or skinnies. A feat, I think, considering most in the know start every day with a toasted and subsequently buttered fairmount sesame ('white') or poppy ('black') bagel and all these frites alors joints that seem immensely popular near the main.

Them riding their bikes everywhere and anytime might have something to do with it.

I haven't been riding a bike here.

(Though on my first night a man tried selling me one for $CA 20...)

But they say walking is good, and I've been walking my feet to pieces up and down St. Laurent from Fairmount & Du Parc (home) which takes about an hour if walking fast, exploring the main and using the metro about.

(A monthly pass for the metro+bus can be had for $65 at the beginning of each month at most cornerstores, or as people here call them, 'depanneurs.')

Last night was Patrick Wolf. The venue as pictured in an earlier entry was Cabaret Juste Pour Rire on St. Laurent & Sherbrooke, which requires taking a bus, or, again, walking for an hour. I did the former on the way there, then walked back to the house after the show to look at the clubs scattered along St. Laurent (Orchid, Coco, Tokyo Bar, House).

If the police had busted in, a lot of people nursing drinks would have spent the night in jail; at 14-18 at most, the Patrick Wolf audience is a lot younger than those at Final Fantasy, and I could certainly understand why. Wolf projects a certain Peter Pan-ness (to be differentiated from just 'innocence' or 'naivete') that a lot of kids at this age identify with, and his songs are easy to listen to, among other things. I mean I, too, had become enamoured of him at a younger age. Cringing on more than one occasion went on due to this one Bishi who opened for Patrick. Ugh. Her horrible horny costume and screeching scares children and little dogs.

Surprisingly for me, since he has mostly used the keyboard of late (ukelele and his laptop in the past), Wolf used a violin on a few occasions (hommage to Owen Pallet?) This night:



(All footage taken by my now domesticated coolpix.)

To me, Wolf and Pallet are the perfect couple: Wolf has stage presence (sprinkled with self-conscious arrogance, which isn't necessarily bad in a musician of this calibre)- Pallet not so much. He prefers the attention to be on other things. While Pallet's instrumentation becomes possessed, it is Wolf's very own body that does this. See below in 'Tristan':



Pallet has technical brilliance and an eye for perfection- Wolf has this eye too, but his ability to use instruments real-time are relatively limited (albeit developed since Lycanthropy). Wolf's genius is in sing-a-song, his ability to compose music that sounds effortlessly complete and at the same time markedly different from anything else he has written- Pallet's genius is in the blood-soaked intricate weaving of tales & concepts, both visual and auditory. Pallet seems older than wolf. And yet Pallet needs Wolf just as Wolf needs Pallet. For all intents and purposes, however, Pallet seems to have superceded his lover.

Again, there are numerous parallels to be made. Pallet had birds fly around at one point; Wolf had stars:



After the crowd roared for an encore long and hard, Mr. Wolf finally came back on stage to do two songs. Then he finished with, of course, the magic position. With his shirt off.



I like this song a lot. Wolf has gotten noticeably brighter since Lycanthropy and I can't help but wonder what Peter Pan will show us next.

O. God.

O. Dear. God.

!!!

Final Fantasy

received two standing ovations from a full- Sweaty Even Though Seated But Exhilarated- house- well deservedly, too. Owen begins with a song about how "all the boys I've ever loved were...," well, everyone in that room, whether boy or girl or both or neither, fell in love with Owen Pallet, aka Final Fantasy. Instantly. Even the floors were sighing with adoration. I'm surprised the universe didn't crumble into stardust. Damn Owen and his effortless charm. Damn his genius, musical and artistic. Damn him and his huge sampler (?: the size of a small refrigerator).


I want to cancel all my other tickets- they pale in comparison. Everything else will, I presume, maybe except for the Justice show. But even Justice... that is a different kind of movement.

If you never read anything here or take any of it seriously, I forgive you if nothing else, you heed the following:

SEE FINAL FANTASY.

Only a fascist would not go. You (points to you) have absolutely no excuse. Call in sick. Tell your friends you've found religion. Quit your job. This is the best thing you will ever do. Ever.

The old album, 'he poos clouds' does not do justice (oh dear), especially if you, as I shamefully did, simply assumed he has a band; but no. Owen Pallet did almost everything in this show on his own, and did it to perfection in superhuman proportions and I sound like a school girl gushing don't I but I don't give a shit because I've been annointed. Yes that's right, you heard me.

Then,

what was so great?

Just a few moments will be divulged here, because 1) I can't begin to tell anyone everything that went on, on the stage or on the floor or in my head and heart; and 2) what did I just say? Go see the show.

First, Owen is not a populist musician. I will be using the term 'populist' to describe a breed of players who, rather comfortably, stroll down the well-trodden path: they know it is easy, and they know it still sells. Mediocrity, however, does not sate us all, does it? Owen uses a projector on set. Old school like short tennis shorts with knee socks, yes, but this was of enormous interest to me because this intentional choice in the visual medium set a very jarring but very real dialogue between what was 'narrated' to us with crude fairytale-like pictures and the cutting edge technology of all the real-time looping and sequencing as well as Owen's own 'voices' that laced those gaps.

Owen is to the left, not shown (but pictured below), because of the limitations of my coolpix. Speaking of which, I am next going to gush about particular 'scenes' also not shown because said coolpix died (ie. no batteries).


Stephanie, the girl pictured, is really the second member of Final Fantasy since she has to tell the story with the different layers of film. Of course, Owen's notes 'animate' these figures which dance within the canvas (and the picture parts need to move since it is music manifest)- that is, until later which I will tell you about shortly.

In one scene, owen plays the piano (beautifully), but on the canvas we see piano keys drawn sideways- a mirror image. Stephanie 'plays' these keys in time to Owen's.

Each song has its own fantasy theme. 'Invocation,' 'illusion,' 'transmutation' and so on; yes, Harry Potter can shrivel up and die. Of special note: 'transmutation' ends with birds (look like seagulls) flying on the canvas. Now, these pictures are entirely 2 dimensional and hand-done, and they are on clear film. Stephanie has to move them about. so at the end, true to the name 'transmutation,' Owen's song turns into these birds that soon after- gasp- fly right out of the canvas and into our faces!

Here, a mirror was used to reflect the birds out into the audience, and I loved every minute of it. My mouth was like this: O

My host dashed to interview the blinding star for the popcast and pimp his press pass to its fullest extent at the afterparty, but I couldn't stand any more of it. The...Unbearable Lightness of Being. I am eating humble pie with no cream, ladies and gentlemen. This is serious. What have I done with my life? Is it too late to start? How many kids are running back home to dig out their violins and blow the dust off the cases?

Owen performed two more songs after the first standing ovation, the last of which was a cover of Mariah Carey's 'Sweet Sweet Fantasy': beyond Vanessa-Mae-crazy violin playing. Did I mention he picks, strums, taps, and jitters along those strings like nobody's business?

He is so 'human' in his manner, unpretentious with his boyish laugh, his carefree attitude even when a bit has not recorded, and how he can engage the audience before, during, and after each song, sprinkled with anecdotes and casual jokes. His relationship with Patrick Wolf may have ended, but this is clear: Owen Pallet ain't a fantasy.

Patrick Wolf has nothing on Owen Pallet.

Actually, Patrick does have a lot, but, still,

Patrick < Owen

I won't say why until I've seen dear Mr. Wolf... tomorrow.

That is odd. Intentional, probably. Wolf and Pallet getting back together, may-be?

Oh, there were two other bands before Final Fantasy: Ohbijou and Basia Bulat. Ohbijou was very pretty in sound (the lead vocalist reminds me of a Bjork, but who doesn't nowadays) except after the first song, they all sound the same. Bulat has energy and a shy but endearing stage presence and all the boys were fantasizing about wooing her. Purchased Ohbijou and Final Fantasy music to take home with me, happily.

My heart is heavy.

In a very good way.

Back bone's connected to the... knee bone. Knee bone's connected to the ankle bone...

Yes, it is the- end of the- second day in Montreal, specifically at Andrew & Paige's.


These streets stretch out forever and a drunken day for someone suffering amnesia with the term 'blocks'... there was a not so funny experience earlier today where I did the flâneur, except I was carrying three (!) heavy grocery bags (among many other things, a jar of roasted peppers and eggplant spread not pictured; hummus and squirrel pictured) for 7 unfortunate hours. However, I pretended I did not have a goal in mind, this I did by not referring to my map as often and only briefly when doing so.

Baudelaire would have been proud.


The squirrel was not harmed during the photo shoot. It could have harmed me, actually. These things are feral. The shape of its tail does however remind me of one particular person; Andrew introduced me to a member of the Wolf parade last night when we ran into the mohawked lad (soon to be touring Eastern Europe, lucky lucky) on Fairmount maybe- we were going for hot bagels. This was past 11 pm, apparently a normal event in Montreal.

Then today there was the Fujiya & Miyagi. En route, was introduced to Nick Diamond from former Unicorns. Are all rockstars Auschwitz skinny? Regardless, we love you to bits, Nick. Fujiya & Miyagi, too: some of us remember Pitchfork pretty much blew that lovedoll up good last time, so I was expecting a stupid crowd, somewhere in the hundreds. This was the venue, Lambi:

Only maybe three dozen heads were there. Most of them are in the picture. Boo.


Besides, smaller crowd means intimacy, baby! Yes, their songs run parallel to each other, meaning they basically sound similar. But boy did they rock it. Seizure lights and everything.

Mar will be spotted at:

oct 2 fujiya and miyagi, lambi

oct 3 miracle fortress, la tulipe

oct 4 final fantasy, ukranian federation

oct 5 patrick wolf, cabaret juste pour rire


oct 6 islands, cabaret juste pour rire

oct 7 hot hot heat, club soda

oct 11 voxtrot, sala rossa

*oct 12 the bravery, le studio

oct 13 digitalism, club soda

*oct 16 spoon, le national

oct 19 do make say think, le national

*oct 20 patrick watson, le national

*oct 21 enon, sala rossa

*oct 22 the new pornographers, le national

And JUSTICE! Can you say victory? It's on the same night at Do Make Say Think and I've got both tickets. Luckily, the Justice is at 00:30, so maybe I can make it to both.

Schedule may shift and/or expand! * have been newly added...