I remember how waiting for the ferry was like being in an airport terminal -- the place had a cool sense of excitement and anticipation.
I imagine this being a crazy sort of motorcycle jump onto the ferry or something...
Fancy bright boats all docked up along the far edge of what we all now call Canada's mainland.
It should not surprise you that I loved the colour of the churning water stirred up by what I can only figure are propellers below.
You really can't tell it from the picture here since I just took a quick pic with my cellphone to help remember it -- but I have a strong memory of looking out into the sunny beyond, seeing small but strong and glistening waves flowing in consistently, continuously. My mind starts to drift away since I know I'm on my way for sure again... The music starts to play on in my head like before... ...and I know it's not stopping anytime soon...
I know this might seem like it has little to do with a dude hikin' it and carrying a surfboard. And in some ways that might be true. But at the same time, half of the fun of just heading out and cuttin' cross-culture is the opportunity you have to examine all the things these people have come to love and participate in. While surfing the net the other day, I came across a Facebook group urging electronic music enthusiasts to pen a drum n' bass track that could be adopted as the theme song for Canada's most watched bit of television programming -- Hockey Night in Canada. There could be no real better way to get a grasp of the Canadian cultural landscape, I would like to suggest, than to take a look at the sport of hockey, who gives a fuck and who doesn't and the music that has come to embody it. But as Gary Glitter is released from prison and hockey looks for a way to move beyond ancient scandals and corporate television strives to remain relevant in an internet age:
I say LETS NOT FORGET THE HEY! SONG.
Over the course of this summer I have been fortunate enough to come into contact with much of the music that symbolizes that oh-so-Canadian sport, Hockey. Pierre can attest to me playing the actual 2 Unlimited record ("Y'all ready for this...") over the phone for him. Hitchhiking around and groovin' to the country, you'll often get to connect with older blue collar-type dudes that are into guys like Neil Young or Stompin' Tom Connors (who wrote the famous "Good Ole' Hockey Game" song). And, possibly most importantly, there's been a bidding over the last several months over a beloved piece of Canadiana -- a massive war amongst two of our major Canadian media players for an artistic piece that could make or break these corporations' market share dominance -- I'm talking about the scramble for the "Hockey Night in Canada Song" fumble, of course.
If a song can capture the front page of multiple national papers for days in a row -- and light up the internet's electro-waves with what we are told will be top-notch content as we go to check out email -- you know the music of the frozen water is worth at least writing a blog post about.
However, for me, the reason I have been so touched by Hockey anthems over the past several months goes beyond just abject fascination. See, leaving Toronto to go ramble about in the infrastructure playground all up and down North America, out of nowhere I suddenly came to the realization that, of all the (hundreds of?) people I know in the City, probably only 2 play hockey. I mean sure, we'll go down and dick around at Nathan Phillip's Square on the pond at City Hall, or hit up the Harbourfront Centre -- but I don't know anyone really who has hockey equiptment even. Well -- one dude does, but that's it. And every once and awhile, staring at a blasted rock face with my thumb out like a fish hook, searching for that next ride, my mind will drift off with the wispy clouds and remember early morning treks through dark forests, steaming hot chocolate, arcade games, and then the giant bright arena -- smelling oh-so-manufactured -- smelling oh-so-fresh. I don't think it's something I could "fall in love" with, the way I have with the whole surfing mystique. But I know my grandpa did.
And hour after hour, day after day, working at the burger factory, I just got this weird sinking feeling in my stomach. The "kachunk kachunk kachunk" of the stackers, lining 7 circular frozen discs (patties) on top of each other, sounded exactly like pucks smacking against the boards in the neutral zone. The "kaboom" of the pallets slamming the concrete floor seemed to echo the perfect bodycheck. And I shit you not, there were hockey buzzers that would go off at random, as if the period was over or someone just flicked a nice wrist shot upstairs after deeking out two primo defencemen (I asked, but no one ever seemed to know what the buzzers where actually for -- or else they couldn't understand my question). My hands would freeze up after touching what would soon become Papa Burgers for hours on end, just as they used to turn a nice pink in my hockey gloves (used KOHOs I think they were). Artificial ice and mist lined the machines and certain walls.
This terrible sinking feeling actually had nothing to do with myself. It was more connected to the fact that I knew that the majority of the people around me, largely immigrants and people with little connection to "traditional Canadian" ways, just would have no way of connecting with these images and experiences I was being reminded of. Not that I could not connect with them, but rather that I was just saddened by the difficulty with which I was seeing these gentle and kind people connect with true Canadian culture. I would go for hours and hours just humming different hockey tunes in my head -- tunes I knew many of these new Canadians might never get to know. And that was the big discrepancy of the burger factory: it promised the workers a gateway into Canadian culture, but it worked its crew so hard they had little time to connect with the actual community they were living in. I mean, I was there because I got stuck. It was an accident. But for many of the employees, this was their one shot. To provide a life free of China's smog-filled air for their kids, for many, the burger factory was the key -- the only way. I mean, many of the workers there had been working for a year or two and still couldn't speak a full English sentence. Seriously. I'm not making this shit up. And the irony of it all was that several of the girls and guys I talked to actually came to Saskatoon to learn more English than they would surrounded by bustling ethnic enclaves in a place like Vancouver or Toronto. That was what pissed me off most about the production facility.
And here I want to put in my two cents. I grew up watching Hockey Night in Canada. It has a special place in my heart -- as it does in the hearts of so many other Canadians. To me the day hockey dies is the day they make a reality TV show about its theme song (i.e. today). I don't intend to summon any sort of rallying cry -- but I would like to put forward an idea. There is another way. Let CTVGLOBEMEDIA take over the REAL hockey song... whatever... but instead of the CBC whoring itself out to the whims of modern television culture and making a circus of something that's meant so much to so many for so long (the Hockey Night in Canada Theme Song is unofficially known as "Canada's second national anthem" -- seriously) -- why not adopt a song that's already a "hockey song" and use it as the theme song. And this brings us to Gary Glitter.
Recently maligned by child sex abuse jail time in Thailand, and even more recently released from prison, the glam-rocker Gary Glitter is not a beloved man these days (although cops around the world are interested in face-time with the guy). But the song he released back in 1972 "Rock n' Roll Part 2" has come to not only survive his disgrace, but remains what some refer to as the Rocky Song of Hockey -- and continues to rock arenas around to the globe.
It was first played in the International Hockey League in Kalamazoo back when the organ still ruled the ice. Later on, it was introduced into the professional scene over in Colorado -- as the dude running the show there in Michigan took his secret weapon over to the Rockies. Fans fell in love and have never let go since. I mean the song was in fucking Happy Gilmore -- which is essentially a pop-culture "Ode to Hockey".
It's called "the Hey! song" because that is the only word you can actually decipher in the entire piece. But the raw emotion and throbbing testosterone inducing melodic lines are more than palpable. Beer guzzlers from coast to coast to coast can really relate. Foster Hewitt might actually get to stop rolling in his grave. I can guarantee you that Elliot Friedman would get pumped the fuck up to ask a shitload more kick-ass questions to buff overpaid athletes on steroids. Shit, come to think of it, with the Gary Glitter song firmly in place you wouldn't even need illegal substance -- that's how effective it is. Sports Illustratedproclaims that "the strains of 'Rock and Roll Part II' can turn chumps to champs".
When Gary was sent to prison, the NFL (which, like many other sports out there, has caught onto what Hockey pioneered) told teams to yank to song from their lineups. And for awhile they obeyed. And so it was in the National Hockey League as well: fans without their magic potion, goalies without that ultimate kick to pace back and forth to in their aquarium-blue crease, men losing their drive to score. It just wasn't right. And so the song made a comeback.
These days sports DJs trade tips on the raddest remixes of the tune recorded in a variety of conditions, sift through vintage 45s and gauge crowd anticipation levels -- waiting for the perfect chance to drop this bomb and shatter the arenas under their control. They know the shit's hype.
And much in the same way that the Hockey Night in Canada song has moved beyond, in fact, one corporate branded platform and into the general stratosphere of hockey (Canadians were literally aghast -- LITERALLY! You should have seen their faces -- fuck Afghanistan, fuck Iraq -- our NATION is at stake! they said with their gaping mouths and giant eyes), Garry Glitter’s music has moved beyond him. Now Rock and Roll Part II has transformed into something entirely different – completely apart from literary disputation, international police task forces and sex offense charges. The song has moved into the upper echelons of musical fame and penetrated with tenacious vigour, the sweet hockey consciousness: the song has become hockey.
And so my advice to the CBC is this: pay Glitter a ton of royalties and brand this song CBC -- you'll only be doing yourself a favour. The fans might have something to genuinely smile about. There could be spin-off Gary Glitter memoirs and autobiography cash to get your hands on too.
And please, if nothing else oh powerful CBC execs... If you shut down "the Hey! song" -- please at least use Steam's "Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye". You'll be doing yourself a bigger favour than you could ever understand.
There are a few people out there who know what I mean when I say I feel like the A+W burger factory stole parts of my life away from me that I may not be able to get back. I'm not even sure how to describe it -- it's just how I feel.
So on the production end of it I was secretly satisfied when I heard about some dude who spit on one of the patties there. I don't even think he was fired.
But one of the rad kids I met over in Nelson passed along a pic I thought was amazing from the consumption side of things. She (and the fact it was a girl just makes it even more hilarious) and her buddie got super bored outside the restaurant one day (if you can even call it that) -- and so they did this (possibly the greatest feat of her life... THIS IS NOT A PHOTOSHOPPED PIC):
Picture this: You've just spent the last several months passing picturesque farm after farm, sweating buckets, conversing with people who could never get where you're at (especially since you don't really even want to be there yourself). Imagine getting to a place where you thought that land would swallow you up, and you actually decide to turn around.
And then try to guess what it would look like if you still did find a way to get all the way to that place where the mountain meets the ocean. I'm talking about that lovely land we call "The Coast". I'm talking about what happens along any coast -- breaking waves. Big thanks to my uncle and aunt. And the ultimate relief and satisfaction that took place way back out in B.C. looks something like this. It's where it all started [Blow up the pix... they get bigger]:
And so we climb a mountain.
And this is what was going through my mind: nothing actually. I think the best moments are the ones you can totally get caught up in -- where everything is moving along so well that you know you don't have to think about anything. Except maybe the flying kites in the gusting wind, your friends and family all around you, and the first caress of a peaceful ocean's wavelets. [check it -- this pic gets HUGE!!!!]
When I finally reach the top and see this, Boards of Canada starts playing in my head again. Just imagine the most peaceful, optimistic and beautiful music that you know -- the music just started playing on its own and from here on in it just did not stop.
Man, my whole life I've wanted to return to Osoyoos -- I just remember always having loved it. I figured I'd probably just do the "straight shot" to Vancouver -- heading towards the Canada's surfbum haven, Tofino. But I get a sweet ride -- one of my favourites of the whole trip -- and we go do wine tastings in the Okanogan Valley, and buy fruit from the local East Indian vendors. At first I figure I'll get a little ways West at least. But I end up riding with them all the way into Van.
Not only were they fun, but they have a sweet music collection as well.
"Are you sure you're not driving? You're okay to have another glass?" She asks me. WTF? Cute I guess.
Beautiful small-scale vineyard out in the country.
Oak that wine baby!
Mountains that just jut right up out of nowhere are really something else. It almost seemed like it had dimples, the way the late light shone down.
Dude, we totally tried the most amazing icewine I've ever had at this family-run operation.
It was so bright and homey inside. There was a shiny grand piano right behind me, too, as I recall. We all kind of seemed to be on the same page with what we liked in wines I guess (and I barely even know what I mean... but wine's fun like that).
Cruise missile?
That's so totally celery and carrots in that plastic bag -- since the West Coast is all healthy and shit -- I knew I had to go with the flow.
This contractor (originally from Ontario but proud to live out in B.C.) gave me a ride in his big van from one town to the next. He tells me about the whole culture of guys that just thumb it from Tofino to Nelson, all around the interior and back again. He picks tons of guys and girls all the time.
Those were amazing kettle chips -- organic too I think.
It was SO MISERABLE standing here bored out of my tree for HOURS in the stifling heat. And I never got a ride for this spot. So I had to hike it to an art museum to get some free water, then across a bridge over rushing green water, and up into the small town's Smart Centre-type suburban-style asphalt shopping complex.
So when I finally got that ride and we started cruising out to M83, old Arcade Fire, Hayden and a zillion other great bands, I remember smiling and telling them how "this is totally the type of moment hitchhikers live for". So relaxed. So quiet. Orchestral electronic ambient kicks ass.
Listen to the Octopus Project poolside with inverted florals, it's so rad.
You can see the Thurmond over on the left. Gotta love her rad outfit tho -- simple sparkle.
My whole soundscape in San Diego here has been the Octopus Project (and similar shit).
Fixed gear? You know it. *It is grammatically correct to insert "lol" here
Fruitbooters turn wavechargers. Vibe out to Swollen Members.
Welcome to an indie-rock birthday party. Have a good one Dana.
We've been looking forward to it for weeks and it finally took place last night: The Octopus Project. I was even considering just ditching all my plans and just vibing out in Mexico for another half week or so, but I knew I couldn't miss this. It's something else to just show up somewhere and be introduced to a new "favourite" band. And as you all know (if you know me or have been reading this blog) I've been loving the instrumental electronic music recently. Take it from an indie-rock standpoint -- and a blast of rock out and a dash of class and you have the four piece from SoCal here that call themselves "The Octopus Project. Think Arcade Fire meets Tangerine Dream, or Ratatat goes slick-aggro. Chip jammed out so hard. Yvonne plays a Moog with whole body -- I guess they call it a thurmond. Sending us up and away with the flick of a wrist like a cute space age goddess. Her hands are soft. She totally gets the whole "this music could so rave out for hours on end" thing -- but things it sounds tiring. Totally. The airplanes fly so low over the venue you think you're in for it. San Diego at night -- we go surfing later at 2:3o in the morning at that spot where you'll get beat down if you try it during the day.
The Casbah here totally rocks the same crowd as The Empty Bottle in Chicago (which, if you read it, totally reminded me of California... funny how that works... funny how I eventually made it here)...
Elliot Brood: "Nelson was the best show on the tour". Carefree dancing of jumbled varieties, a band bent on riling the crowd with grinding vocal sweetness. You know you're partying with everyone from oil rig coke fiends to the softest and gentlest of Earth-lovers.
Buttons, trinkets and bumper stickers galore.
Yes the man is wearing a vest on a white sleeved shirt while playing a banjo with punk ferocity.
------->>>Cell pix are great to spark memories. But sometimes it's hard to get them to communicate the way a place really FELT -- you know, like the way the whole atmosphere was at the time. Nelson, B.C. has a reputation (and sometimes the name is enough to explain in all). But my pictures, as happy as I am with them, they just don't do the place justice. How can I really get across the feeling of waking up, hoping down from the top bunk at the super rad White House hostel, making me some coffee (take whatever grinds are there and just leave 25 cents in the jar), and sipping the brew on the deck in front of an Elephant mountain that literally took my breath away. Naw, I just can't capture the beauty. And I can't get across the creativity that seemed to float through the air. It wasn't just hippies that flowed in and out there -- although I saw more VW buses than I could shake a stick at, and pot is sold over the counter in certain locations -- but elderly travelers, all sorts of musicians (bluegrass, folk-rockers and otherwise), vacationing Vancouverites, Toronto knowledge industry workers, and Idaho border hoppers, among others.
While I was there a famous war resister got kicked out, and the story was front page material multiple days. I was glad I wasn't in Vancouver yet, since the grid was down there and, as my buddie Roy told me later, mass chaos and looting ensued (if you were in the right places). I just spent my time hanging out, meeting new friends and moving on from the past -- preparing for the journey ahead. It was amazing. I also engage in some serious "freeboxing". It's the term out here for "digging through the trash/donation bin and scoring free shit".
Here musicians walk along streets packed with musicians.
Taking public transit is like a free mountain tour.
Eating healthy is big out here -- and that's why I love carrot cake (which I believe this is if memory serves).
Nelson from Nelson plays a harsh form of ambient guitarism. How could you not love him?
Everyone loves stocking up on fresh tunes.
Nelson was my first real taste of the West Coast funky breakdown electronic scene. Now I can't wait to party in Whistler one day. In the Kootneys they call the vibe Mountain Chill. Kokanee tries to exploit that vibe in their beer marketing (and I love it :-).
Twins?
I love the random "feet shot".
Giant hairy spider makes a fine pet.
Come check out underground art with us... They throw up rad pieces on aqua exteriors.
Mad stash of lucky clovers. You don't see this every day.
Faces in the stairwell corner.
Travelers feel the love, wearing light shirts and bright colours.
Even lampshades in cafes have a touch of interesting to them.
Spirit bar.
"I like my sugar with coffee and cream" -- lets scratch it up to a Beastie Boys breaks remix -- Nate knows the one I'm talking about.
Sometimes you travel a long ways to chill with friends or hit rad scenes: it's super cool when things work out -- and there's a sweet soundtrack in the background.
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