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Wednesday Wadio: Strange Advance’s ‘We Run’.


in Wednesday Wadio

One of the reasons I try and keep this site afloat every week is that you never know who is watching, and who is going to pop up. My site in this format has been around 1.5 years now, and has a Google PR of 5/10 which is above average. So I get a lot of search engine traffic for a lot of the strange topics I’ve covered. Once in a while, I get a cool comment or email from someone who stumbled into this shit show by accident. Yesterday, however, I got the best email yet.

Drew Arnott fronted a Canadian synth band called Strange Advance in the eighties, and I featured their song “We Run” as one of my top 10 favorites from that decade – in an article that still pulls a lot of natural search engine traffic, and is one of my favorites. Here is what I wrote about the song that I chose as #4 back in October 2004:

Bryan Adams wasn’t the only Canuck rocking out hardcore in the eighties. Darryl Kromm sounds almost as if he’s fighting back vomit during the entire song, but I like the 2nd synthesizer that comes in mid way, and the eerie high-pitched “hayaaa hayaaa” vocals that get layered in at the end. I don’t know much about this band, and I don’t think anyone does, but I love this song. And Bryan Adams.

Drew actually emailed me yesterday to correct one of my ‘facts’:

On the one hand, I’m glad you liked ‘We Run’. On the other hand, I’m not sure I feel good about setting the record straight. In fact it was I who sounded like being on the verge of vomiting. Darryl is a much better singer and knows the value of Gravol. I was down at Bryan Adams studio the other day. He’s rarely in town, but if I see him I’ll pass on your kind words.

Will Bryan Adams become a Pye In The Face fan? Absolutely not. But this is still a very cool development, and I am glad that Drew reached out. He wrote me again this morning after I inquired about what he’d been up to, and how happy I was that new Canadian bands are making a dent in the American market (Sloan is opening for the Stones, for example):

Well, we’re not up to much. Had a couple of offers to tour but Darryl isn’t into it. I have a studio and I write and produce local artists. This year I’ve gotta get off my ass and actually put something out! Someone offered me a deal and I guess I’d better do something about it. Thanks again for the kind words re: We Run. One of my favourite things about it is the strings. Michael Kamen (Pink Floyd etc) played them. He actually brought in a string section but when we got back to Canada, I preferred the rough tracks he laid down on the Fairlight. Nice to see so many great Canadian bands happening out there. A while ago, I saw Stars, Arcade Fire and Broken Social Scene all in one month. Pretty hot.

So it looks like Drew may be on the verge of a comeback. Strange Advance won’t be touring any time soon, but it’s still nice to know they’re out there. Somewhere. Still strange and still advancing. I have added the song to Radio Pye and you can hear this classic for yourself by clicking the ZAP button on the left.

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I Can Almost See The Finish Line From Here.


in

This has been one of the busiest work weeks of my existence. Midnight oil, multiple client meetings – and it’s not over yet. Friday is chock full of phone calls too. But the end is in sight. I can almost see the trophy, and it’s made of Mousakka. I have a lovely little list of weekend plans, including but not limited to – getting all Greek, a deep conversation about squirrel fishing, hot chocolate and perhaps even a new desk if the GoonSquad will allow.

My phone has been ringing off the hook with aggrivated clients like it’s my job. Actually, it is my job – but the way things have been going I’m starting to feel like P-Diddy had his digits been published on the PETA website. I’m not sure if I like that reference, but it’s late and I’m going to stick with it.

It’s been a busy 7 days, but one of the more eventful of my knucklehead life. I don’t usually call my shots, but things are getting interesting again. Although, it’s probably just the medication.

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Wednesday Wadio: Inspiral Carpets ‘This Is How It Feels’.


in Wednesday Wadio

“Behind the Roses and Mondays, Inspiral Carpets were always imagined as the third of a triumvirate…”

So maybe I’m feeling a little Manchester tonight, again. Back in the early 90’s I didn’t really like this Carpets‘ song. I much preferred ‘Joe’ and ‘Commercial Rain‘ or anything off of ‘Revenge of the Goldfish’. But this is the only one of their songs that has really endured for me. Classic Manc from that period, with heavy multiple organs fluttering over a 3-part harmony (which I think is all the one singer, Tom Hingley). Drop an ‘E’, get in line at the Hacienda and click on Radio Pye.

‘This is How it Feels’ is “distinctive and specifically northern in flavor”. The Carpets early songs, all pretty much backed with organs, influenced The Charlatans and many other bands from the era – “it’s worth noting how ubiquitous Hammond-style keyboards became in British music over the next few years — most notably with Portishead and PJ Harvey.” I remember I had this song on a little tape I would listen to right after I’d gotten my driver’s license. As I clutched the wheel white-kuckled, I’d bop along and carefully try not to hit any Concordians.

“Hardly bandwagon jumpers, they were playing their psychedelic punk pop in the mid-eighties way before anyone was putting the ‘Mad’ into Manchester.”

Their popularity was helped along early on by a crappy T-Shirt that became all the rage in the English city. It was simply a cow’s head with “Moo! Cool As Fuck” emblazoned underneath. Incidentally, this was also the name of their greatest hits album that was released in 2003. The band flared up and died out very quickly, enjoying a lifespan of about 6 years and 4 albums, but they remain a fun timecapsule of the era. And thank goodness I wasn’t old enough to be able to afford bell-bottoms at the time.

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Let’s Talk About The Greek Salad I Had Today For A Second.


in Consumables

Between getting my tooth fixed, and running reports, I’ve had little time to come up for air today. But perhaps I can take just a moment just to talk about the amazing salads coming out of Emilio’s at the moment. Coal miners are dying, a mummified woman was found in front of her TV, Lou Rawls shuffled off and Alito’s on deck – but none of this will ever interest me as much as a South American Fire Anthill-sized mound of feta cheese. Except maybe the fact that The Shield starts tonight.

Did a loose, giant Greek mouse make this salad? I don’t know. I can sort of picture one, with a moustache and a bottle of Ouzo – sneaking into the kitchen and getting all crazy with the fromage, before then sodomizing anything with a pulse. I mean, this was truly remarkable. Like a remake of Close Encounters with Dreyfuss using crumbly white goodness to sculpt that mountain in his house instead of mashed potatoes. Just like that.

Whoever was working the lunch shift today obviously had no idea how much feta costs. And I sincerely hope they don’t read this site and get clued in all of a sudden. Because I hear I’m big with the Brazilians. I would instead encourage them to think of it as a sort of condiment. Emilio, when you throw the 5 bags of ketchup in the bag, go ahead and fire in a $7 block of my own personal dairy crack right on top. No, it’s fine. Grows on trees and costs less than matchbooks. There’s a good Emilio.

I need to go home.

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You Can’t Handle The Tooth.


in

I thought I was out of the woods with this whole dentistry dilemma. However, I’m here at the office friggin’ partying and moving stuff around and assembling new furniture, and in my ultimate wisdom I thought it would be a good idea to eat a Jolly Rancher. My new crown popped off like a dandelion head, and my Saturday night has taken a turn for the even worse.

Can I just go back to having to work on Saturday night, without the Medieval torture aspect? And I just ordered a calzone, too. Just as long as no one shows up wearing chainmail and intending to burn my genitals off with a hot piece of iron.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: A Little Weisz Lie.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Have you ever seen a ghost or an angel?
Do sexual fantasies consisting of Michael Landon diddling Della Reese count? I didn’t think so. The only thing that will make you look like more of a crackpot than admitting you think you saw a ghost… Is telling people you’ve seen an angel. Hang a crystal mobile off of one ear, and a dreamcatcher off of the other, and start cruising communes for good Cat Stevens bootlegs. Incidentally, I saw something mighty strange at my Grandfather’s house in Parry Sound about a year after my Grandmother died, circa 1981. Janet and I were sleeping in G’Ma’s old room which had twin beds and cluttered medical supplies that had never been thrown away. Piles of white boxes filled with dialysis bags. When I saw… whatever it was, I scooted off the end of my bed and jumped in with my parents on the pullout couch in the living room. I totally threw Janet under the ghost bus.

Soup: What is your favorite board game?
I think this quizzlet woman has Altzheimer’s. Another repeat question. Balderdash is the best board game ever created. Don’t however, play with unfunny, unimaginative people. If some new people, male or female, have entered your social circle, somehow arrange a game of ‘the dash’. You’ll separate the wheat from the chaff pretty quickly. “I can’t think of anything! Is the answer to any of these questions Dave Matthews Band?!”

Salad: What was the last movie you saw that made you cry?
I saw The Constant Gardener last weekend, and that was pretty rough. Probably only because it’s my imaginary girlfriend, Rachel Weisz, who gets the chop in the first 10 minutes. Sorry for the lack of a spoiler alert. It’s not like I told you that Rosebud is Citizen Kane’s childhood sled, or anything.

Main Course: What would you do if you had 3 months off from your job?
I would develop several of the 800 domain names I’ve purchased on impulse, devise some revenue streams and generate more of a supplemental income. I have the skills and the know how, I just don’t have the free time. I’m lying – I actually could find the time if I really wanted to. They say you can make time for anything. Unfortunately, Celebrity Big Brother 6 started last night, so I’m pretty much booked for the next 60 evenings. You know what else is sad? Constant Gardener because Rachel Weisz gets mutilated in a car wreck.

Dessert: What kind of shoes are you wearing today?
Black dress shoes. I have a great Kiwi brand triangular sponge that I can whisk over them for a quick shine here at the office. I can also use it to disguise myself and stay out of sight under my desk when I don’t feel like participating in client meetings. Remember – irregular patterns.

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Foggy Odyssey Photos.


in Pye in the Face

If I learned one thing from looking at the XMas photos I got from my sister today, it’s that I am a prime candidate for a face tuck. Regardless, my love/hate relationship with the gym is my problem. These photos are still keepers. Keep a lookout for Mamma Pye loving all the attention in the North End, an impromptu Guelph reunion getting all kinds of boozy in Burlington, Billy Frasier restraining me in an attempt to keep me from getting rolled by 6 teenagers and a chick, and a cat that only looks weirder than my hairline.

A grand time, and I wish I could get up there more than once a year. They say it’s easier to get into the NHL than it is to get an advertising job in Toronto. Still, Hal Gill has a job, eh?

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Thank God That’s Over.


in

Due to my sick day yesterday I’ve come skidding, and not springing, into 2006. My body seems to be severely punishing me for recent revelries, and I feel like I could sleep for a week. I’m going into hiding for a good long while. Not here on the blog, but in the real world. So if you know me socially – don’t look for me. I’ll be holed up as pennance, spending my weekends being nerdy for at least a month. If I’m not back in 30 days, just wait longer.

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Reppin’ C-Town To The Fullest.


in



Finally, C-Town gets their props in the form of Wedding pictures from Doug and Cara’s ceremony out in Whistler. Big up, big up. If you’ll remember, my camera mysteriously broke and no one else bothered to send me any snaps. Wicked thanks, by the way. Here is a little sample, and there is another one in the gallery here. Doug is a lucky guy. Cara is… um… lovely.

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New Year’s Eve Ripcord.


in Heartwarming

My plans were just canceled for me – long story – and I’m pulling the ripcord as I do every year and just going to Sidebar. If you’re wandering, lost and alone, without any plans – please join us. I will be attending a little suaree at 80s Katie’s beforehand, but will ultimately end up singing Danny Boy somewhere in the Combat Zone and possibly even getting contact burns around my mouth.

The details as I understand them are a $60 fee to get in with champagne and food supplied. There’s a DJ I think, and 2 separate groups holding ‘parties’ – neither of which can manage to fill the place. Sometimes stumbling into a big room full of people you don’t know and making some new friends is a lot fun. Sometimes, it leads to social diseases. Regardless – I’m going. I’m pulling the cord and just committing. I will definitely enjoy not seeing you there as you do something far more interesting.

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This Is My Space. That’s Your Space Over There.


in

Because I don’t already have my pants down around my ankles in terms of anonymity, I added a MySpace link to my disturbing little profile in the top navigation menu. Feel free to click through and add me if you’re a fan of the blog – or just watching in sick fascination like a school bus driving past a car accident. While we’re on the subject, here is a list of things I promise you will NOT find on my MySpace profile:

1. A fucking annoying hip hop song that starts five minutes after the page loads and sends your coworkers jumping underneath their desks like Slick Rick just drove past the office.

2. Animated gifs of the Napoleon Dynamite dance (sorry Damaris).

3. Photos of me with my shirt off standing beside a mediocre car. I don’t own a car, and my pale, gym-shy chest currently looks like the midsection of a narwhal.

4. A link to my band that sucks monkey cocks. Although, if I had a band, admittedly it would be called Monkey Cocks. MySpace has become this malestrom of mediocre talent that was never meant to see the light of day. “Dude, I did a search and can see that you like the Magnetic Fields. So I think you might like my band, Indifferent Potato. It’s actually just a squirrel I found in my backyard being recorded as I rode over it with an electic lawnmower, but I think you’ll get the vibe.

5. Pink on black anything.

So click on through and make yourself a new MySpace buddy. Some people wear their MS friends total like a badge on their sleeve. These people also usually spend Friday nights playing Unreal Tournament. Maybe we can join the same clan or something.

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Monday’s Quotelet: Hare Today, Hippo Tomorrow.


in
I don’t have the energy for Wadio today, and half of you aren’t even working. So let’s move up the quotelet we didn’t have on Monday, and get right on with our young lives.


Casting issues would eventually shut down Disney’s 2007 update of “The Tortoise and the Hare”.

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Actually, Matthew Perry Has Always Frightened Me.


in

Has rap gotten extraordinarily awful, or have I just gotten old? It’s a question which has plagued me for years. I’ve even written about on this very website. There’s nothing about bling, oversized baseball hats, expensive cars or beats that sound like they were made on a rusty Speak N Spell that appeal to me. “I’m a player, a smoker, a deadly loan broker!” If a rap song doesn’t contain a creative sample I wonder, how much of this is dumb luck or crack debts being repayed? And it kills me – because I used to be a huge hippedy hopper, albeit a subtle one. So where’s the real disconnect?

There’s still a slim enough chance that some of you haven’t seen this that I feel comfortable pointing it out. And I read a great quote written about the silly short that makes me feel a little closer to some answers.

“People aren’t forwarding this video because it’s a parody of what’s bad about rap; they’re sending it around because it’s an ode to what can be great about it. Instead of aurguring a new day for SNL, maybe it points up what’s missing in mainstream rap is an awareness that it’s OK to be goofy.”

The greatest moment’s in rap’s golden age were all silly – sometimes intentionally. The first big rap hit of all time featured fairies, keopectate and woody chicken. Phife busted off on your couch and made it Seaman’s furniture. Biz Markie picked boogers like it was his job. Is this what I miss so much? Can I not truly enjoy a rap song anymore unless someone rhymes “birthdays” with “worst days”?

Hip hop the hippie to the hippie the hip hip hop, a you dont stop the rock it to the bang bang the boogie say up jumped the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie the beat, indeed.

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