ISS 9 (2006) AUG 30 - SEPT 20
WHO : The Glim ProjectWHERE: Backstage Lounge
WHEN: Friday, August 18th
WITH: Make The Lion and Mongoose
Their website levels with readers right away: “The Glim Project is definitely a band whose strongest suit is their live show.” The most lethal indication that this is true comes from the small but hugely energetic legion of fans gathered front and centre at the Backstage Lounge last week.
Having been fooled into thinking that the night would come off decidedly more mellow than it did thanks mostly to the sprawling sounds of the openers, Make the Lion, it wasn’t clear how The Glim Project would come off. The opening declaration, however, from the Glim Project’s guitarist and front man would come off. The opening declaration, however, from the Glim Project’s guitarist and front man Lucamus that they would knock the place over, despite the fact that the flu and his body were still duking it out on his vocal chords, removed most doubts that their set would be anything less than high-octane.
A broad range of musical influences in a band is always, at the least, fertile ground for a tense sound. Each musician fights to keep their influences apparent and alive in the group’s sound, not necessarily to diminish the other players, but each ends up playing with an abandon that only comes when you’re sure your tastes are in the minority. In the case of The Glim Project, influences and sounds range on a continuum that includes Axl Rose, NOFX, Neil Young, and Fugazi. While these examples are not entirely different in the larger world of music, they certainly bare out significant differences in the world of rock. The Glim Project represented these differences well.
Repeating choruses and a set verse structure showed up in their songs as often as deviations from 4/4 time that saw the guitars taking a stroll in the land of math rock.
Guitarist Geoff took an academic approach to his playing preferring subtlety to get his instrument’s point across. Lucamus on the other hand, looked for the dips and gullies in the song’s sound and then swooped into them full force with his playing, sounds that were accented with sporadic movements on the small stage. E’s bass playing was dense, and together with his assortment of facial expressions, he continually left a feeling of trepidation in the room. He looked like he was out to punish the riffs he played as he whipped his hair and the spikes on his bass strap flashed. Drummer Marco had his whole body in the act, twisting and pumping over the kit, probably spending more time off of this drum seat then on it. His shirt quickly disappeared and was replaced by sweat. Only his propeller hat was spared the flurry of activity.
The ballad-esque leanings of the fifth song revealed exactly where Lucamus’ voice stopped and his illness began. Without missing a beat, he apologized to us all again during thesong for the being-sick bit. Everyone forgave him and this alone should serve as a stark reminder to all musicians out there that a great live performance is made that way in part bythe kind of relationship, interaction, and connection created between band and audience. Aside from the slightly hollow-sounding declaration by Lucamus late in their set that thisgroup was “one of the best audiences we’ve ever played for”, he maintained an authentic connection with us throughout, acknowledging individual friends in attendance and talking to audience not down to us.
Things really got going second to last song as one of the main thrashers up front removed his shirt and in a frenzy of zeal, threw it into the curtains above stage. It didn’t come down.
Some onlookers might have been convinced that the shirt remained up there due to the great force of energy pushing out from the stage below…well, maybe not, but E’s bass solo in the latter stage of this song was huge.
The last song of the set was introduced as having been supported by CFOX in the form of airplay earlier in the week. One from the energetic legion leapt on stage for this number and belted out chorus lines with Lucamus. More liquid quick solo work emerged from the bass in time with a rapid-fire session of two-pedal thumping from the bass drum. As the show drew to a close things even looked ripe for some instrument and equipment destruction. The members of The Glim Project wisely let any urge wash over the top of them and dissipate. Lucamus had thanked his friends from “the construction site” earlier on for coming out to the show. Obviously they’re employed but perhaps not to the degree that wrecking the stage a la Nirvana or The Who as part of the performance is financially viable.
Possibilities aside, the bands overall presence was great, and they played interesting music. The combination is dynamite and is a tried and true method for success in rock ‘n’ roll. It’s good that the members of the The Glim Project understand this because between their presence and their creativity, the prospect of leaving a lasting musical footprint in the townsand scenes that they tour through relentlessly is well within their grasp. *
www.glimproject.com
Matt Ondown
WHO: The StallsWHERE: The Lamplighter
WHEN: August 23
A scrawny, bulgy-eyed, friendly replica of Pan greeted me at the door of the Lamplighter. “My name’s on the guestlist,” I told him. “It’s Liam, should be under The Stalls.”
“Yeah man! There you are!” He crossed off my name. “Did I spell it right? L-E-A-M?”
“You got it!” I said and walked in. The Stalls were doing their soundcheck. I hadn’t been to the Lamplighter since it was renovated months ago.Near the pool tables, an old guy in a toque and neatly trimmed grey beard marvelled at the number of fingers on his hand. Apparently nobody told him the place isn’t a dive anymore. Nor did they tell the drink specials: I snagged a PBR for $3.
“Just one?” the bartendress asked. I nodded.
“Classy!” I said as she removed my can from the plastic ring with its five cold, refreshing siblings and cracked it open.
“LIAM!” scrawny Pan yelled out. He directed a Rivers Cuomo lookalike towards me. Let me specify. This was not bearded, loony bushman Rivers, nor bowl-cut garage band Rivers, but shy, enlightened and probably brilliant Pinkerton- and Make Believe-era Rivers, minus the glasses.
“Hi, I’m CJ from The Stalls,” he said.
“Good to meet you. So what’s with…”
“Oh they’re having some sound problems. Drummer has no monitor. We were supposed to sound check at 8:30 [it was then more than an hour later]. Now our first song is our sound check.”
“I look forward to it. I checked out some of your music online.” This was true; at www.thestallsband.com, you can download entire sets from their previous shows.
“You’re gonna find we’re a lot less ambient than on the stuff we have on MySpace. Well thanks for coming out,” CJ said as he walked away. Oh yeah, they have a MySpace too (http:
//www.myspace.com/thestalls).
The giddy, angelic tinkling of a glockenspiel drew me from my seat. I expected to see three band members on stage, but it would appear that The Stalls had de-Doorsed themselves with the addition of a bassist. He and Mr. CJ Wallis, both in fleece sweaters, flanked singer/lead guitarist Danny Singh, who sported a smart v-neck sweater. The glockenspiel broke out into “Untitled [Bent],” a relentlessly breaking and swelling wave of a song that features Mr. Singh’s soaring-eagle, ambient vocals.
“You guys are the best!” someone yelled from the crowd.
“That’s our manager,” Mr. Singh admitted.
Mr. Wallis and the mystery bassist zipped their fleeces down a notch for “Teri with an I.” This is the song that played in your head when you first locked eyes with your high-school sweetheart. It boasts tender singing, piano playing fit for the theme of an 80’s sitcom, and brushing, bashing drums that sound like a baby brontosaurus strolling along a china doll beach. Mr. Singh pulled back from the mic but his earnestness came through loud and clear as he repeated, wistfully but hopefully, “you can’t go home.”
The next song was a Pixies-esque surf rock number, complete with their trademarked (and grunge-abused) volume changes. But it wasn’t quiet-loud, it was loud-LOUDER. During the noisy rock interlude, my ears deceived me into hearing a disharmonic choir of devils, angry at their banishment from heaven, from the side of the one they loved.
“I’m told this is our last song,” Mr. Singh said. “Just to make it weird, I visited my dad in the hospital today. I wrote this about five years ago when he was in the hospital for the first time.”
With the precision and pique of Jimmy Eat World, the song crescendo into a tsunami swell and crashed over us in a cleansing surf of rocky relief and joy. Mr. Singh’s vocalsharmonized beautifully with hard-hitting drummer Adam Veenendaal’s. I fancied that Mr. Singh senior would be able to feel the energy being drawn from the crowd by his son.
We all applauded loudly as The Stalls faded out. The DJ faded in with Weezer’s “Say It Ain’t So,” a fitting song to follow up a set shortened by technical difficulties.
The Stalls are a Hubble telescope of a band. They make the distant things seem close but still allow them to glow, fuzzy, with the nebulous mystery of time and space. I look forward to seeing a full set August 31 at the Blarney Stone, and you should too. *
Liam Ford
WHO: The HitsWHERE: Tokyo Lounge
WHEN: September 7
I arrived a little early, as was becoming a habit, and walked into the elevator lobby. “3” was already lit up. “You going tothe Tokyo Lounge?” a girl asked me. I nodded. “Do you know how to get up there?”
I bluffed and she called me on it. “I’ve never been here before,” I admitted.
“Me neither.”
The elevator descended and the doors opened. Two doormen emerged behind him and quickly set up carpets and
cordons. “We’re not open just yet. The bands are doing soundcheck.”
“How much longer?”
“Five to ten minutes.”
I walked around the block. Back at the Tokyo Lounge stood a group of three guys in matching leather jackets, white t-shirts, blue jeans and black Converse All-Stars. The doormen checked ID’s and admitted concert-goers into the elevator lobby. I passed the glock check and found myself in the elevator with one of the greasers. After the silence birthed palpable awkwardness, he asked, “So, who you here to see?”
“The Hits, actually…” My brilliant mind made the connection between costume and performer. “Lemme guess; you’re in the band.”
“Yeah. My name’s Lou. This is our first show here, and a lot of friends don’t even know where the place is. Thanks for coming out!”
I dropped my name at the door. “Ha, Liam!” a girl sitting just past the door scoffed. I wasn’t quite sure how to take that one. I paid a reasonable $5.25 for a Heineken and found a perch on a speaker. Another one of the hoods, minus cow-hide, came up.
“I’m Dusty from The Hits.”
“Pleasure. How’d you get hooked up with Curtis Santiago and the Vendetta Republic?” I pointed to the large hand-painted cardboard sign hanging precariously above the stage.
“I know the guitarist in The Heck, who knows one of the guitarists in CSVR.”
“I checked out your Myspace, some good stuff on there.”
“Yeah all the songs on Myspace are pretty dated. Anyway we’ll be on at 10:30. Thanks for coming out!”
The Tokyo Lounge is a strange room. It’s half underground opium den, red lights and black leather couches, half karaoke bar. The DJ warmed us up with new wave music, cranked
much louder than you’d ever want to hear it.
The Hits blitzkrieged the stage and readied their weapons. “Hello, everybody! We are The Hits!” Lou yelled and then they unleashed a 1950’s, old-school rock and roll, Jerry Lee Lewis-inspired dance floor crasher called “Forget All Your Worries”.
The Hits put on an energetic show. Guitarist Kyle Riot dashed across the small stage, belligerent as a miner in a rock shop, tearing out punky, thrashy chords on the hop, andalmost bailing into a hole in the stage, but returning in time to verbally assault his mic like a relentless, drug-deprived panhandler. Lou wailed out the lyrics, a cross between Mr.
Lewis and a frenzied Jack White. Drummer Dusty provided the necessary rumble and crash that the three-piece otherwise lacked.
“We’re gonna slow it down a bit,” Lou said before their second tune, and rocketed into a song that had a pleasing Butthole Surfers-esque sound.
“You’re too wonderful!” Lou said, and without missing a beat, launched into what could have been The Romantics’ “What I Like About You” covered by Marty McFly at his childrens’ high school prom 50 years in the future. “School’s Out” wouldn’t have seemed out of place on the Dazed & Confused soundtrack, not just because of its titular likeness to Alice Cooper’s masterpiece. “Hate It All” boasted a catchy, bassy drumbeat not unlike Green Day’s “Longview” and ironic, neo-50’s lyrics like “I can’t stand my heart / I can’t stand my soul / I can’t even stand my rock and roll!” complete with drawn-out bAaaaABY!’s.
What I really appreciated about The Hits was their no-nonsense approach to rock and roll. Their brand of music is precise, and jagged, their energy and effect is maintained between brief song breaks, and their look is reminiscent of a young but outrageous Bryan Adams. They take care of business just like BTO; The Hits is a hard working group of good
Canadian kids doing the nation’s fourth favourite pastime right.
After their set, they quickly and quietly unplugged their equipment, wound their cords and cleared the stage for Curtis Santiago and the Vendetta Republic. The Hits play Pat’s Pub on September 15th, and Lou says that they sound much better there. This is no karaoke act, people. These boys will make you wanna get up and shake it, like you did last summer. *
Liam Ford
Who: The MercutiosWhere: The Marine Club
When: August 25th
With: Brodies Donation, Helcion
Nestled in between Pender and Dunsmuir on Homer street, the Marine Club looks a little dodgy from the outside. A mere sign and avaguely associated set of stairs lend little encouragement to concert goers, leading up to a door that requires a buzzer for entrance.
Once inside, things are a little more inviting, with a narrow galley-esque bar, featuring a small stage to the left, and a couple pool tablesto the right. As the show had yet to kick off, I headed to the bar (directly ahead) and grabbed a beer before settling in for Vancouver locals, the Mercutios, and their two openers, Helcion and Brodies Donation.
It took all of five minutes of sitting and gazing around the lifesaver-decked room to figure out that most of the people there (a scant thirty or so) knew each other. My friends and I appeared to be the only ones who were not somehow personally associated with one of the three bands on that night, giving off a feeling of some sort of reunion, not helped by glow of a small disco ball and the town hall-ishfeeling from mismatched chairs and tables.
The handshakes and hugging settled down as Helcion took the stage, a three-piece hard rock band from Summerland, led byvocalist/bassist Jessica who was sporting a Warped Tour inspired outfit, from black eyeliner to the obligatory long fishnet gloves and black nail polish. The band was rounded off by a drummer and guitarist who obviously knew their stuff. Despite being able to play their instruments, the only real spark in their menacing set list came in the form of a Tool cover, and while Jessica was an ominous presence in all her brooding glory, her voice betrayed her when it came to the lower growls, weakening the dark effect. The crowd was enthusiastic enough, though I suspected a touch of bias on their part as they hugged and kissed the descending members.
The second opener was the Vancouver-based Brodies Donation, a band that tended more towards the modern alternative rock side of the spectrum, with catchy hooks brought by a promising guitarist, who managed to pump sheer innovation into his gun-slinging. Any brownie points gained here, however were watered down by the lead vocalist, a large character who, although he boasted a rather powerful voice, missed a dozen keys for every one he hit. Even so, the crowd remained appreciative as ever.
Moments before the combination of a stuffy atmosphere and the drag of waiting for the next set had me sleeping peacefully in my corner booth, the Mercutios finally took the stage. Unlike their warm up bands, the Vancouver quartet held an air of genuine unity, with their collective musical product, like any properly-gelled band, proving greater than the sum of its parts. They simply meshed, resulting in a well-rounded, rock-based set of songs.
Though the majority of the supporters, proving to be friends/families of the first two bands, had snuck off before the last performance like bored relatives at a school recital, thedozen or so who remained seemed entertained enough by the upbeat, original tunes presented to them. The guitar ranged from a bluesy babble in “Son of a Sorceress” to a plain
old solid rock wail, backed by sturdy bass lines and buoyant beats.
Their sound was defined enough, finishing with a nod to Van Morrison through a cover of the epic “Gloria” (helped by Helcion’s Jessica), but unfortunately, it was unable to cut through the dulling fog of the late hour (and lack of obliging family members). Compared to the cheering gusto that erupted after the previous two finales, the Mercutios left the stageto more of a fizzle than a bang, as those remaining politely clapped before quietly trickling back down the nondescript stairs to the street below, proving, yet again, that life neverceases to be more than just a popularity contest. *
Joanna McIntyre
WHO: Josh Martinez and the Pissed Off WildWHERE: Sonar
WHEN: Monday, September 11
After pretending I was getting fitted for a new suit, I was allowed in to the Sonar. The place was quiet, but the lights strobed and Josh Martinez stood up on stage.
“Play Freebird!” someone yelled and I laughed to myself because I was wearing my Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt. The bartended smiled widely, dusting bottles. The room began to fill up.I wondered if these people are the ones referred to as “hipsters.” The only similarity they seemed to share was an undirected enthusiasm—Icould hear their voices above the music, joyful, ecstatic, searching. They asked questions: How’s it going? How are you doing? The girls touched backs and arms with affectionate interest, and did little impromptu dance moves when they left the dance floor on the way back from the bathroom.
A girl sat beside me. We clinked drinks and drank. She came around and leaned on the red brick wall beside me.
“My name’s Pauline,” she said. “If I were a boy, I would have been named Liam.” She explained how the event was a continuation of Monday Night Live, previously held at the Lamplighter, the Pic, and 7 Alexander back in the day. She explained how the crowd was a mostly familial, relocated group of indie hip-hop enthusiasts from the East Coast.
“I don’t care if any more people come, all my friends are here!” she said.
At last the opening act Billy Botox came on. He rapped rapid fire, assaulting the excited crowd in an onslaught of hip hop. “You can’t beat that with a bat!” is an example of hisrhymes. I dug it, as did the two sexy blondes who had their hands in the air, and their asses orbiting their tiny waists throughout his set.
The Pissed Off Wild took the stage while the DJ spun Montell Jordan’s anti-drinking and driving anthem, “This Is How We Do It.” Drummer Kenton Loewen began to drum along and overpower the recorded beat. Guitarist Jesse Waldman (lead for indie rock outfit Ghettoblaster) and bassist Pete Schmitt joined in on the jam.
Josh Martinez then surged onstage like a hyperactive b-boy, wearing a green combat cap and a yellow shirt that read “Pollo,” to throw down some free-flowing rhymes. I washooked, bobbing my head and grooving my shoulders to the funky beat, and they had just begun.
“Namin’ a song is the best part of makin’ em,” Mr. Martinez said. “This one’s Cheeseburger Piranha 49,” (at least that’s what I heard.) Mr. Schmitt, a dead ringer for JasonNewsted, kept the rhythm in his upper body, leering and pulsing like a velociraptor on the prowl. Mr. Waldman looks like what Angus Young would have looked like when he actually
had to wear a schoolboy outfit.
You can tell The Pissed Off Wild are talented musicians. They merge multiple styles fluidly and effectively, combining Wide Mouth Mason-style blues and the pop-funk of Maroon 5 with blistering rage usually directed against the Machine. And they mention Medeski, Martin and Wood as an influence. How many modern hip-hop/rock outfits do that?
That’s enough about the band, because a rock band is nothing without a charismatic lead man. Look up charismatic or compelling in the rock dictionary, and it will make mention of Josh Martinez. Keep on flipping through and you’ll find him in the D’s under deft, and the E’s under entertaining and exciting, and of course the F’s under fan-fuckin-tastic.
“Let’s tell ‘em who we are… really. No, no. I mean REALLY.” Mr. Martinez launched his P.O.W.’s into “Pissed off Wild,” an in-your-face rump shaker with an intro that sounds like Guns ‘N Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle” gone nu-metal.
“How’s everyone smellin’?” Mr. Martinez asked as the band broke into a funked up-version of The Refreshments’ “King of the Hill” theme. He clowned around onstage like a drunken sailor. “How are you Romans doing? I love playing the Coliseum!” This was some sort of inside joke, but I laughed anyway because I felt like I belonged in that crazy
group of kids. They poured through their songs like a maritimer through a bottle of screech.
Like Odysseus, Josh Martinez is a man favoured by the gods. No matter which road he chooses to travel on, either with the Pissed Off Wild, or with his hip-hop duo TheChicharones, or just by himself, he’s going places, and soon. If you hadn’t heard of him before, that’s cool, I hadn’t either. But make up for the time lost. Catch him at the Commodore on September 22 with K’naan and Moka Only before he starts his tour of the northwest, and the fickle winds of the music industry never let him return.*
Liam Ford
The Top Ten Horror Films According to Me
So what exactly is a horror film? Horror films do come in many forms such as slasher flicks, serial killers, supernatural happenings and monster films.
The common element in each genre is their ability to induce a state of fear in the viewer. If we go with this definition, then films such as ‘Apocalypse Now’ and ‘Platoon’ could be considered horror films because from the moment you are introduced to the soldiers who live their days in that dangerous and exotic land of Viet Nam, you are on the edge of your seat. Still, it is more appropriate to label them as ‘war movies.’
Before you read my list, there are a few things you should know about me. I’m not a fan of serial killer movies or movies about gratuitous, cold-blooded murder. There have been exceptions: ‘Silence of the Lambs,’ and ‘Monster’ are two films about serial killers that are well crafted with very strong acting.
And I have a soft spot in my heart for aliens, even if they sometimes kill humans for sport. Also, there are sompotentially glaring omissions in my list.
You will not find such classics as ‘The Omen’ and ‘The Exorcist’ and ‘Night of the Living Dead’ on the list for the simple reason that I have not seen these films. To me, the following scenario is the true essence of seeing a horror film in the theatre. Everything is quiet and tense. Suddenly, something unexpected happens and you jump in your seat as people scream. And then, moments later, there is an undercurrent of laughter and chatter as everyone delights in knowing they’ve been skillfully manipulated by the images and sounds of the movie. Movie magic!
#1 THE SHINING (1980) – Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson), his wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall) and their young son Danny (Danny Lloyd) spend the winter caretaking an isolated mountain lodge. As the winter drags on, Jack becomes aware of an evil, spirit presence in the building. This is the film that spawned the famous Jack Nicholson photo of his crazed face peering through a splintered hole in a door chanting “Here’s Johnny.” Stylishly directed by Stanley Kubrick.
#2 THE OTHERS (2001) - Nicole Kidman stars in this superbly creepy tale. She’s the mother of two children, trapped in a dusty old manor house on the foggy Channel Islands off the English coast. The children have a disease that prevents them from being exposed to direct sunlight. It's spooky.
#3 THE SIXTH SENSE (1999) – The first film by N. Night Shyamalan introduced the oft spoken phrase “I see dead people” to the modern lexicon of movie quotes. With very fine performances by Bruce Willis, Toni Collette and especially the young Haley Joel Osment. This film keeps you involved until the very end.
#4 PSYCHO (1960) - Has there ever been a creepier character than Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) the manager of the Bates Motel? Janet Leigh plays a young woman on the run after stealing $40,000 from her employer's client. Her stay at the Bates Motel is most memorable. And then there’s Norman’s mother. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock.
#5 ROSEMARY’ S BABY (1968) - A young couple (Mia Farrow and John Cassavetes) move into an ancient, gothic apartment in New York City. They are befriended by an older couple (Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer). The level of tension is slowly and steadily increased as Rosemary becomes more and more uncomfortable in the apartment and with
her neighbours. Even her loving husband becomes suspect as Rosemary questions the origin of the father of the child that she carries. Roman Polanski’s American film debut is a masterpiece.
#6 ALIEN (1979) – The first film in the franchise that has spawned three sequels. Directed by Ridley Scott, the exceptional cast includes Sigourney Weaver (left) , Tom Skerritt, Harry Dean Stanton, John Hurt, Yaphet Kotto, Veronica Cartright, and Ian Holm. While returning from a deep-space mission, the crew of a commercial spaceship is awakened by a SOS call. On the planet's surface, they discover the source of the transmission, an ancient, derelict spaceship. Inside this ship are thousands of strange alien eggs. While examining one of the eggs, it hatches and a parasite attacks a crew member. The crew return to their ship and resume the voyage back to Earth. The alien parasite subsequently dies and all seems normal. Unbeknownst to them, an alien is quietly forming inside the crew member that was attacked by the parasite, and when it emerges, there’s no-whereto run.
#7 JACOB’S LADDER (1990) - Tim Robbins stars as New York postal worker Jacob Singer whose days are interrupted by flashbacks to his first marriage, his now dead son, and his tour of duty in Vietnam. His grip on sanity, the line between reality and delusion, grows more and more uncertain. This psychological and supernatural thriller is directed by Adrian Lyne and includes fine supporting work by Elizabeth Pena and DannyAiello.
#8 CARRIE (1976) – Sissy Spacek plays a rather plain, mousy girl who happens to have extraordinary telekinetic powers. When she is pushed over the edge by the abuse of her fellow high school students on Prom Night….well you can imagine the possibilities. This classic Brian De Palma film is based on a Stephen King story.
#9 INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS (1956) – This is the original version, the one that has spawned two remakes, most notably Philip Kaufman’s excellent 1978 effort. The original film establishes a tense atmosphere when it is discovered that normal, intelligent people are being replaced by mindless automatons. These exact duplicates emerge after being grown in alien plant-like pods. It’s difficult to determine who is real and who is a duplicate. Created just after the McCarthy era and during the Cold War, it’s an allegory on group - think and conformity. And it’s just plain scary.
#10 VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED (1960) - In the small English village of Midwich everybody and everything falls into a deep, mysterious sleep for several hours in the middle of the day. Some months later every woman capable of bearing a child is pregnant and the children that are born out of these pregnancies seem to grow very fast. They also have striking blond hair and strange, penetrating, glowing eyes that make people do things they don't want to do. Based on John Wyndham's novel `The Midwich Cuckoos' this film maintains solid tension through atmosphere and story rather than elaborate special effects. Also recommended is the sequel, CHILDREN OF THE DAMNED (1963) – In this film, the inexplicable appearance of a group of children, advanced 1 million years beyond humanity's genetic development, causes fear among the governments of the world. When the authorities try to contain them, the children respond with deadly telepathic force. It’s filmed in the dark, grim atmosphere of post war London.*
Allan Stanleigh
SAINT DISCUSSES... SAFE INJECTION SITES
(Jody Winder is sitting this one out)
I’m curious about what it’s really like at Insite, the safe-injection site in Vancouver’s downtown eastside. I had half a mind to wander in, and see formyself what the entire hullabaloo was about. After all, their days are supposedly numbered and a quick visit might have afforded me a glimpse at what could soon be history. In two week’s time those doors might be closed to curious me and those in need of its amenities and attendants. I decided against my field trip for fear that I might be considered out of place.
Sadly, sociology is a spectator sport and as much of an armchair anthropologist that I am, I do have a certain respect for the next person and though I’m at a loss to describe aparallel in which I might empathize, I think I understand that there’s a very good chance I might not be looked upon too kindly. Somehow, playing the “don’t mind me, I’mma just gonna have a look around” card doesn’t seem like it would fly.
So I’m left to consider the implications of a safe injection site from a safe distance, far removed from the barrio, out by the beach. If need be, an Americano to stimulate and squeeze out some final thoughts is but a block away. …
So, what if a satellite to Insite was situated in a similar proximity to me? I wonder. What I wonder is if my neighborhood would become downtrodden. Would I be pestered bypanhandlers and be sidestepping spent prophylactics any more than I am now? Would I have to walk quickly past parked sedans pouncing in the alleyway whilst averting eye contact with those inside (hey…don’t I know you?) I wonder.
Would it bother me? More importantly would it even happen? I have to say I don’t know on both counts. Honestly, that sort of lechery is quite unsavory and is most unwelcome here as it is anywhere but really are those pitfalls a sure thing when something like a safe injection site is concerned?
I’m not so sure. It seems opponents of the idea approach the notion with some certainty. In the public forum NIMBYism is abound with fears and speculation about just such ascenario as I’ve just supplied. Although I insist I was just being snide it’s important not to discount some very loud opposing voices and rapping on windows to rooms where
support for safe injection sites is being discussed.
Not here, and not anywhere. That is the status quo. It’s misunderstood that somehow a safe injection site condones hypodermic drug use. If those doors remain open, so do our wallets as taxpayers to those incapable of making good decisions. So far, it seems some of the users have no doubt benefited from the site. Numerous overdoses have been attended to at the site and not one fatality has been reported to date. That in itself is remarkable.
As well it’s worth pointing out that contrary to concerns of the common folk, crime hasn’t risen to the occasion in the areas adjacent to the site. If anything, it’s gone down, and the majority of residents and businesses in the area approve of Insite.The dissent is on the periphery. While leafing through various stories debating safe injection sites this became increasingly apparent. Some of the most vehement opponents, primarily those in politics, couldn’t be further removed from the issue at hand.
That’s disappointing. The “War on Drugs” has been carried out with little success for quite some time now. It has to be clear that approach isn’t the solution it’s been purported to be. Sadly, alternatives like Insite have barely been able to find their feet, let alone function to a capacity to fairly deem it a success or a failure. The motives are positive, and according to some twenty-odd peer reviewed pieces on the subject its practices are sound. To close Insite’s doors and write it off as a shame or a sham would be most unfortunate indeed. *
Jeremiah Fedoruk
Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town
By Cory Doctorow
Alan is a middle aged man with two missions. The first is to restore a run down old house in an eclectic Toronto neighborhood. Secondly, he wants to take back the internet and provide free web connections to the entire city. It would probably help if he hadn’t become obsessed with the girl who lives next door, a rather unlikable woman whose abusive boyfriend periodically cuts off the wings growing on her back so she can pass as normal. But don’t think the flying appendages are going to turn off Alan. He knows a little something about what it’s like living strange himself.
Although a human child, his father was a mountain and his mother a washing machine. Things get even worse for Alan when his brothers, a set of Russian Nesting Dolls, show up on his doorstep begging for protection from the brother that the siblings killed long ago as children. You wouldn’t expect to connect so well with someone whose existence is so alien to your own. Even if your mother isn’t a washing machine, and your siblings aren’t an island and some nesting dolls you can’t help but feel that you’ve walked in Alan’s shoes.*
Renee Mallett
West Coast Sinner
Even though summer isn’t yet technically over, I am beginning to experience those pangs of yearning for the long, hot days that are so quickly slipping away. At the first cool night, I start my mourning. Gone are the lasting evenings spent on patios, sipping (or slamming) too many drinks. Slurpees seem ridiculous, and getting dressed requires serious planning – is it warm enough to wear a skirt all day? How about a sweater? Will the clouds burn off, or is that a shower in the distance?
As much as I love the West Coast for all of its beauty and variety, I am one of those sinners that curse my location for eight months of the year. From mid-October to at least April, you can find me daydreaming of brighter days, and planning my summer to come. Give me the light! Even just the glint of it off of the snow would be nice. Unfortunately, thanks to the pushy effects of global warming, Vancouver gets a whole lot of grey skies and rain. I vaguely remember playing in the snow as a child, for weeks at a time. How many snowfalls did we get last year? Two? It is hard to get excited about outdoor activities when you need to turn on your headlights in the middle of the day, and you haven’t seen the sun in weeks. Dare I mention the lakes we laughingly call puddles that set up shop for months at a time?
When people hear me wish for a life in the southern states, or even the warmer parts of Europe, they look at me as if I had just spat in their face. “You live in the most beautiful part of Canada! Why would you ever want to leave?” I don’t want to leave – I just need an extended vacation in the middle of the season we call winter. Too bad my meager wages don’t allot for spur of the moment trips to Southern France or the Caribbean.
Thus, I would like to start a new tradition for the last day of summer – September 22nd. Everyone must seek out a patio, wearing their summer-iest clothes, and raise their glasses in a toast. “To the good times not yet faded from our memories, and to those but six months away, give us strength to survive the rains until the sun shall shine again.” And if that toast should result in another martini, followed by a shot or two of Sambuca, then my work here is done. Making ourselves warm from the inside out is a great way to beat those winter blues.
I love Vancouver – but can’t I be in charge of the weather? *
Carolyn Sapach
Online Dating + You = SEX : The Rundown on the Top 4 Dating Sites
If you haven’t done it, you’ve probably thought about doing it. You have at least one friend who’s gushed about their experience, and pushed you to try…online dating! Once thought of as the losers way to score hot babes (you’ve seen Napoleon Dynamite right?), but now thought to be one of the easier ways to meet people, make new friends, and yes, score hot babes (or dudes). I truly believe that using an online dating service is the easiest way to get laid. I know this because I used them, and have been very successful. Not only did I get laid, I actually made some new friends (honestly, most of the “new friends” were the guys who didn’t make the cut, who I wasn’t attracted to, or who were weird and I was a little scared to turn them down).
So which ones are the most popular, how much are they and most importantly, what’s gonna get you laid?? I drew on my own personal experience, as well as some easy friends to find the top 4 sites. We decided that Lava Life, Plenty of Fish, Yahoo Personals and MySpace are the sites where the most hook ups are happening. I personally have used all of them, and had different degrees of “success” depending at the time what I was looking for. Here is my disclaimer: I am sure that there are a lot of nice people on these sites, truly looking for love and friends, but we are looking at this from a horizontal-mambo mind frame.
Lava Life I think was one of the first dating sites that didn’t make you a loser for using it, and was one of the first one’s I remember hearing about. It’ll cost you anywhere from 17-46 bucks to give it a go, and sells credits that let you do different things, most commonly the credits are used for chatting. It seems that the demographic is typically over 23, and has 3 categories to classify what you want; dating, relationship and my personal favorite, intimate encounters. Now, let’s be honest here, I imagine an intimate encounter means bumping uglies - who wouldn’t make this their first choice? The tactics I found men using were pretty sleazy, bragging about how much money they made, where they’d take you and graphic descriptions of what they’d do to you.
Eww! I am one for dirty talk, but hello… lets not go crazy here, and hello I have only read your profile! You’ll definitely meet someone to do, but I can’t promise the quality here. I am just giving you the honest truth, so I hope you can prove me wrong!
Yahoo Personals seems like the most wholesome and honest of all the sites I looked at. I met a bunch of cool men, and a few ladies too. This site also seemed to have an older demographic. It costs roughly 30$ a month, for unlimited chatting, emailing etc. There are no options for categorizing if you want to date or screw and every person had a picture with their profile. The way people were selling themselves were as low key, laid back people, just looking for a little fun ; pretty honest, pretty non-threatening. Coy emails or “winks” are sent back and forth until someone has the guts to suggest meeting. Pretty harmless flirting can be fun, especially if you start to like them a bit.
Plenty of Fish is pretty much a fuck fest. Horny 20 something’s sending dirty messages back and forth, boldly offering to meet up after 5 minutes of chatting. It is 100% free of charge, and should have a sign on the front page “if you are somewhat decent looking, you will get laid!” Seriously, there is not one person I know who didn’t get a lil’bit o’lovin’ from using this site. The tactics are in all honesty tact-less. Flat out propositions, blunt questions and dirty suggestions. If you haven’t already checked out this site, next time you’re bored, surfs up!!
MySpace is a great place to meet people, make friends, and find long lost buddies. Its free, non-threatening, and just plain cool with all the music, videos and so many other things to keep you occupied. It’s set up where you have your very own page with photos, music, wallpaper, and links to other things you like. It kinda reminds me of a 12 year olds bedroom walls, with posters of their favorite hunk and pics of their bff’s. There is no schoolyard rejection because you can ask anyone to be on your “friends list” and they pretty much accept (well, I do at least). OOOh a quasi-famous radio personality accepted my invitation, but then again, I’m pretty hot…. The way people are connecting is through common interests like music, and movies. If you visit this site, make sure to cruise around and click on random people’s pages. It’s amazing how much free time regular Myspacer’s have, because there are some pretty elaborate pages, and man, some cool shit!
So if we are to break it all down, Lava Life is guido-like sleazy and costly, so you have to have money, or want someone with money to use it. This is probably our best bet for a one-night stand. After your night of jamming, you will likely never want to see that person again or hell, even jam in the first place! Yahoo is probably your best shot at love and a good lay. You have to pay to play, but the people seem pretty nice, and will probably take you out to dinner before they tap that ass. Plenty of Fish is a fuck fest, plain and simple. You want sex, you’ll get it, you want lots of sex, yah, you’ll get it, but if you are a prude, don’t bother trying to talk to the talk, because I guarantee you will be probed to walk the walk! As for Myspace, you’ll probably meet someone who likes to mix and match their Converse High tops too, and (please insert valley girl accent here) “you will hook up because you are like so totally soul mates.”
Whichever you choose, just remember to not give out any personal information, and get ready to have sex with people you probably never ever would consider, unless you were as horny as a teenager on Viagra! Good luck, and for the love of God, no glove no love!! *
Lisa Powell
Art : Jason Willmann (c) 2006
TIL DEATH
Thursdays 8/7c
What a stupid, stupid show. I saw the second ever episode tonight and it's the worst thing I've seen in awhile. It's about middle-aged married couple Eddie & Joy (Brad Garrett and Joely Fisher) and their newly married neighbours Steff & Jeff - clever hey? (Kat Foster and Eddie Kaye Thomas IE American Pie's "shit break").
In this particular episode, Joy wanted to buy new patio furniture but didn't want to go to the trouble of convincing her husband it was a good idea. So Steff told her that when she wants something new, she makes a deal with her husband to let her buy anything she wants, for any sexual favor he wants. Joy calls this " brilliant".
Did I miss something here? Yes I am young, and unmarried but since when don't wives WANT to have sex with their husbands? And since when do they have to convince their husbands that the broken down chairs outside need to be replaced. I thought this was
2006 and not 1930 but hey, who knows? So, Joy tells her husband he can have sex when and where he wants and he says NO and she gets mad...then goes and buys what she wantsanyway. Husbands has no sex and no say. And that's basically the end of the show. HILARIOUS hey?The laugh track is going to bust early on with this one since no real person can possibly find this shit entertaining.In short, it sucks...and Brad looks horrible....Joely too.
Laura V
People who write books… when they really shouldn’t.
So I just moved into a new apt and while unpacking I have the tv on. Well the Life station is a reality show marathon 24/7 and Sexual Secrets : Beauty and the Breast, comes on.
They’re talking about how we are obsessed with beauty. It’s no secret that sex sells. We all know what a wing man is for. We all know who turns more heads. But the craziness is the two (ugly) people who are spouting off ridiculousness in terms of what we as people want in partners.
Beautiful women “marry up”, didn’t you know? They go for men with more money (although not necessarily good-looking) because men like that have better reproductive results…that is, they can send their kids college. Good reason to marry an ugly business man hey?
They say beauty for a woman is successful in the same way money is to a man. Yeah well I’m pretty sure of two things : we enjoy making money just as much as men do. The majority of people don’t judge how successful you are by how pretty you look. Lots of hookers are pretty. Do they have what they want? Not likely. You can look like a supermodel but
will that alone make you a CEO? No.
One of these crazy people is author Helen Fisher says that there are specific things that the sexes look for which define beauty. Ready? Men you gotta have this : a strong jaw, lots of height, heavy brow structure. Just a few things that radiate testosterone and promote you as an aggressive male who will protect his woman. Now for women : small mouth, round face, less rugged nose. And these of course, symbolize fertility. Anyone else saying “ whattttt?”
It’s really unfortunate that people write books explaining this behaviour and trying to make it sound like that’s the way it should be. Beauty is different to everyone yet these people think it means large breasts, being a size 2 and having stick straight hair. “ You can bat your eyelashes and get things you wouldn’t normally get if you didn’t look the way that you
do.” Words from Jenny Lee the “human Barbie” who has had over 30 plastic surgery procedures. Yeah I see her point…wouldn’t you do anything she asked? *
Laura V
OVEN BAKED COOKIE
BIF NAKED
She's crazy! She's smart, political and she's also just very silly and open and doesn't give a shit about anyone's opinion. Who says
sleeved, pierced Vancouverites aren't sexy as hell? *