I hadn’t planned on doing a zine this time. Too much work, not enough music. None in fact. I didn’t even make the Junos. Just watched a bit of the awards ceremony on tv. Had the weekend of personal life hell instead, while the two wristbands sat in an envelope calling to me.
No, I was just going to pay the Crumpster the money I owe him through my shiny new ‘just put some money in from your Canadian chequing account’ Paypal account, sit back and wait for the envelope, and read someone else’s article first for a change (am I the only self-obsessed Franker’s who does that? Or even the only Franker’s).
But there was a strong sense of ‘the zine must go on’, so I thought I should contribute.
Frank’s guilt. As if I don’t have enough guilt in my life.
Then I thought about all the Mailcomms that would get lost in time forever if I missed a beat, so I hauled myself out of my pre-election lethargy and went to a gig the other night. To have something to write about. D’ysee?
And it wasna’ bad either, cap’n.
But of course work got in the way and I never finished it, so now it can double as the blog post I don’t have time to write.
Also, I finally figured Nova Scotia out that night. As I was sitting watching the band thinking about them all. The Nova Scotians I know I mean.
I know lots of them. I just don't blog about them much.
It’s tribal here. Everyone’s in bands. Of about a hundred.
And there are shifting alliances, but they’re all built on sand. Or rock. Wet, slippery, sharp rock.
And you have to find one. And force it to let you in. Undergo some strange rite of initiation that they don’t explain to you.
It’s extremely irritating most of the time, because I want to join all the tribes. But they keep trying to get me to pick one.
I do hate making decisions.
I have learned that about myself this year.
Anyway, the music I was going to tell you about.
The Windom Earle All-Stars Volume One: A Series of Minor Tragedies. Featuring the Jeff Coll Five, Operation Impact and Windom Earle.
They’re from PEI. That’s Prince Edward Island. Home of Anne of Green Gables. Potato capital of Canada. Great beaches. It’s like being in Brittas Bay in 1952 going on holidays in PEI.
Six of them are in the Jeff Coll Five. Seven of them are in Operation Impact. And three of them are in Windom Earle. Altogether there are twelve of them. It appeared to me that they all spent most of their time on stage during the gig.
They all look about nineteen, but that’s probably just my oldarse inability to age people younger than me kicking in. The lead singer is a wriggly mental stage spider. He has a male co-singer who dances behind him laughing. It’s like watching angry Paul Watts sharing the lead vocals with Dermot and a punked up nineteen year old Jimmy Cake reunion, complete with Lisa in a pink dress, playing drums at the front of the stage.
They’re class.
I bought the album. This album, and The Woods are the only albums I bought since the last Franks. Anyways, A Serious of Minor Personal Tragedies has thirteen tracks, recorded in random bedrooms, cabins, attics and living rooms by Stephen McLeod between 2003 and 2005. As far as I can make out, Stephen is the co-singer. They have a website of course, with most of the tracks on it. www.windomearle.com/music.html. That will save me burning it for anyone.
Touched by a Transvestite is good. Boppy. And Emily’s Song.
According to a zine interview on the site, Beck is their main influence. I couldn’t hear it particularly. I heard a lot of the early Depeche Mode sound; and Daftpunk of course. It’s all about Daftpunk these days, isn’t it?
Back to me
I love writing my Franks. I always make an event of it. Just have a beer. Or tea. Or Tropicana Jungle Mix. Whatever I feel like on the night. Or day. Sometimes I wrote it on a Sunday. When it’s quiet. When the only sound in the house was Bruce going about his gut-bursting with pent up fury laden Sunday afternoon routine.
It was very complex. And completely irrelevant. Even he knew it. That’s why he was so angry, but he didn’t feel any responsibility to change it.
But he’s gone now, so the Sundays are lovely and quiet. Lovely. Particularly for zine writing. Except now I have to go canvassing every Sunday.
Election guilt. As if I don’t have enough guilt in my life.
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