Under the Knife

Razorblades and steak knives
Perform surgical renditions
Of all the inner coverings
Having this one violated
calls for a conflictive vocation

So skin me like you can
Then steal away my strength
Blood flows through my veins
Just like the rivers in your arms

With my performative intentions
You seem to always mention
The truest of my goals
To sit on the pedestal
looking down from above

There is a complex ever present
That I seem to always mention
Taking away from substantial things

I want substantial things

I want

I want substance

Brian Gillis
July 16th 2008

An Experiment in Suspense

Upon close inspection, Highsbury Manor would have looked deserted on the fatal evening where this scene unfolds. The surrounding property was uninhabited wilderness, and the face of the house was desolate and silent. One window at the highest point of the house was illuminated, a solitary candle being the only source of light on the entire property.
Clenching her fists in the corner of this room, Margaret Mandible stared at the darkened recess of the stairwell that taunted her across the attic floor. The prospect of what she would have to do if the figure of her assailant appeared in the light of the candle paralyzed her with fear. Slowly backing toward the window, she unholstered the revolver her former employer had supplied her with at the beginning of the macabre night. Having thought earlier that she could never push herself to use the fatal weapon bestowed upon her by the maniacal man, the slender handle and cold trigger were the only strands of hope left on her otherwise tattered rope of survival.
When her back reached the frame of the attic window, Margaret glanced out and caught a glimpse of a pair of headlights entering the vast property gates, steadily making its way up the driveway towards the house.
Electrified by the prospect of aid, Margaret began slamming the glass with her hands, and screaming as loudly as she could muster,
'Help me!!! Help me!!!'
Upon realizing that she had momentarily let her guard down, Margaret quickly spun around to behold the dark silhouetted figure of her pursuer awaiting her discovery with pistol drawn.
The screams were drowned out by the relentless thundering of the murderous shots, eight in all. The silence after the last was pierced only by the caw of a recently landed crow, and the continued clicking of an emptied gun.
The single candle illuminating the attic window of Highsbury Manor was abruptly extinguished. As the approaching car came to a halt in front of the house, the driver opened the door and turned the headlights off, allowing the entire property to once again be enveloped in darkness.

Brian Gillis
July 16th 2008

Battle for Haditha

“Battle for Haditha”, Nick Broomfield 2008

This film initially came to my attention through a BBC interview in which director, producer and co-writer, Nick Broomfield was being lambasted for his apparently uneven portrayal of the infamous massacre at Haditha. His defense and ability to thoughtfully counter his directorial decisions were enticing enough to warrant a look at yet another recent picture attempting to deal with the omnipresent fallout of the American invasion of Iraq. Through powerful archetypes and a message that emerges heavy-handed although ultimately effective, acclaimed documentary director, Broomfield has put in his word on contemporary Iraq and it emerges as a more moving and thought provoking one than any of the fictionalized or documentary efforts recently available.

The characterization of the film is the most stunning accomplishment with Broomfield managing to create sympathetic vehicles for his message on both sides of the conflict. What is most striking is the creation of probably the most suitable conclusion one can possibly draw from any work attempting to get behind the inhumanity of modern war; the resounding feeling that both the Kilo Company Marines and the Iraqi civilians are at the bottom of a chain of events that are impossible to psychologically justify.

Although certain actors’ performances in the film weren’t as strong at times as the fake documentary styled film necessitates the main players in the story were extremely well written and cast. The civilian Hiba effectively represents Mother Iraq as she is presented attempting to throw a circumcision celebration while encountering American checkpoints, covering herself from Al Qaeda and thinking about the child starting to grow within her. She is thrown into terror in witnessing the planting of a roadside IED down the hill from her home and becomes at a loss of what to do. The family attempts the only possible action in attempting to remain neutral and go ahead with their party. Hiba’s father-in-law maintains that they cannot tell the Americans of the bomb for fear of retribution from the Iraqi extremists and they can likewise do nothing to reason with the men apparently ‘fighting for their home’. Although her family is left with no options they are wiped out by the ensuing conflict even though the terrorists themselves escape retribution. Hiba and the one daughter left in her family are left no longer complacent to foreign intervention but emerge in hatred of the occupying forces by the film’s conclusion. The Americans for Hiba are no benign force any longer but a harmful blight on the nation who only serve to further increase the fear and violence of Fallujah. Her child will be born with this same attitude instilled in its mind; a father shot down in spite of his innocence and the only community with answers being a similarly violent organization.

The main Marine character, Corporal Ramirez acts as a representation of America itself and he behaves suitably as he takes the role of commander, in turns becoming helpful, violent and ultimately confused by the situations all around him. Ramirez tells the other men in Kilo that he enlisted to get away from the problems back home in Philadelphia and only ended up moving from “the murder capital of America to the murder capital of the world [sic]”. He is the United States itself, lost in homeland problems and trying to find reason through a deflected sense of justice in a foreign land. Ramirez rallies the troops with words he hardly believes and breaks down when he knows that the nightmares just beginning to start will haunt him forever. He knows he’s not fighting for freedom but only reacting on a gut level to situations at hand. What haunts the Western viewer most is the inherent goodness which Ramirez strives for but is ultimately deprived of by higher command. Just like his people back home the soldier cannot rectify the war’s ideology with the very human situations which constantly barrage his vision and as time goes on he becomes lost within the violence all around him, unable to maintain reason or rationale.

There is some form of retribution as we see Ramirez ultimately try to help Hiba while she cries over her murdered husband’s body although Broomfield refuses to give us an easy conclusion to the film. The end depicts a Chomsky-esque manipulation of both the Marine and Al Qaeda participation in the bloodbath. Kilo Company becomes exposed as part of a news cover-up of the true death toll and the film ends with CNN coverage which Rumsfeld and Bush refuse to assume responsibility for. Fittingly, the ones at the bottom of command, the everyday Americans become the scapegoats. The only surviving member of Hiba’s extended family testifies to Al Jazeera news that her wound resulted from an American striking her although, in fact, Ramirez assisted her in escaping her burning home where she was already hurt. We are left with a picture that shows the complete failure of the affected population’s ability to take control into their own hands. The Marines go to prison; the common Iraqis are dead, bereaved or disillusioned. The local Sheik and the U.S. Commander-in-Chief enjoy no real victory over the situation but vow to continue their fight against one another.

It’s a film that performs best as an artistic piece delivering message through archetypal symbolism. Even though Broomfield pretty much beats us over the head with his thesis he has still created a picture with relevant subject matter for the current political situation. The ensuing birth of Hiba’s child brings no hope but only the promise of further spite and Kilo Company’s murder counts show the similar disillusionment of common people under higher authorities unwilling to take the onus of responsibility for their wars. Perhaps the most satisfying result of Broomfield’s “Battle for Haditha” is its refusal to provide the black-and-white of most recent Western pictures examining Iraq. We view the credits left with the mix of good and evil of the murderers on each side ever present and the impossibility of anything but violence resulting when situations are hopelessly out of an individual’s control.

Reid McCarter

July 11th 2008

Dead Lip Sucker is Alive!

After much adieu 'Dead Lip Sucker' is back and will be updated every Monday, Wednesday and Friday in order to keep myself on schedule and in an attempt to get the search engines all up on this business.

Wednesday's will review albums, Monday's will most likely be semi-coherent weekend drained personal posts stained with morning coffee and the taste of stale whiskey. Friday's will hopefully soon be comprised of guest writings be it arts reviews, short fiction pieces, poetry or short essays on topics from why gerbils aren't good pets to the meaning of life . . . or something.

Today I have nothing to present save this image of a sea-monster just straight up being hunted by some ill-equipped men with a musket. Honestly, if you shot that thing once it would take five minutes to reload your gunpowder and then it would have swam off to party in Loch Ness or given your dinghy the one-two punch, Moby Dick style.

Reid McCarter
July 8th, 2008

An Eyeful of Mouth, A Mouthful of Eye

It was an eve, just like the rest,

no, nothing was awry.

Not till Peter took his pipe

and placed it in his eye.

With mouth gaped wide

Tom yelled at Pete and said

“Man, your sockets are in for a wreck

Put the pipe in your mouth instead!”

So Pete took the pipe

and brought it away from the eye.

But then the eye began to speak

much to Tom’s surprise.

“I see out of my mouth, and breath from my eye”

was the retort the eye then spat.

“So mind your tongue, you peeping Tom,

or I’ll split your lid in half.”

It seems that Tom had this to say

As he retreated from Pete

“I suppose it’s easier now to have taste in what you watch

And even more so to watch what you eat!”

Brian Gillis

Introducing Foxy Shazam

Dancing. A visceral response to the sonic absorption of music audibly injected to the brain via the ears. This is the effect that Foxy Shazam set forth to cause audiences to do, and with enchanting results for the open minded listener.

Oozing with soulful candour and hardcore punk-like aggression, the band’s recently released LP entitled “Introducing Foxy” is a colourful addition to the otherwise stagnant musical landscape which the screamo era left in its wake. As those who were introduced to that genre years ago (before it was mutilated by extreme over saturation and over production) begin to grow up and broaden their musical tastes, a new breed of punk rock brethren are emerging to fill the void in their ever growing taste for aggressive music. In the forefront of this novel genus are the likes of Coheed and Cambria, the Fall of Troy and incidentally, Foxy Shazam. The sound that these bands produce, although fast and driving, are more influenced by the likes of Rush, Queen and other theatrical prog rock bands instead of the accustomed punk and hardcore staples. However, the latter genre still has an imperative influence on the spastic sound the Cincinnati five piece creates.

Injecting a concentrated shot of spirit into their flamboyant prog-punk, Eric Sean Nally (vocals), Sky Vaughn White (piano), Loren Daniel Turner (guitar), Joseph Allen Halberstadt (drums) and Daisy (bass) mix up the melting pot that has seemed so torpid over the last few years and breaths some fresh life into the musical backdrop that today’s youth thirst for ever more readily. Taking musical cues from Modest Mouse, Al Green, Elton John and the Blood Brothers, the band amalgamates dance friendly, piano driven pop and soul with spastic hardcore and rock music, creating a concoction that is as antagonistic as it is alluring.

Dynamically, the band is very well versed, each member adding a facet of character that compliments the eccentric unit of sound they make as a whole. Nally’s yelping, soul inspired singing and guttural screams compliment the driving instrumentation provided by his band mates, who explore the realms of punk, funk, flamenco, soul and metal, all in the span of the 33 minute record. The uniqueness of their sound, though, derives primarily from the splash of the piano’s keys found throughout the entire record. White’s addition of keys to the sound is eclectic and forceful; reminding this reviewer of an amphetamine induced Little Richard, bordering on boogie woogie, but inebriated enough to be abrasive and abstract at the same time.

All together, the five gentlemen create the most theatrical version of punk music this reviewer has yet to hear. A troop of dancers and actors would not be out of place along side the band during their live performance. From the piano stomping opener of the title track “Introducing Foxy,” to the metal tinged character piece of “Ghost Animals,” Foxy Shazam are on the prowl, and shall be inciting a venue wide interpretive dance pit in a town near you soon.

Brian Gillis
April 22, 2008

Burn Planetarium - Valse Mechanique

Sharp, disjointed post punk. These four words describe the debut LP of Bradford native, (but currently Guelph resident) indie rapscallions Burn Planetarium’s Valse Mechanique. Despite the foursome’s academic obligations, they have managed to hunker down and write a collection of very upbeat dance punk songs that are both anthemic and hook laden.

Utilizing pop vocal arrangements and amalgamating them with quirky, intellectual lyricism seems to be the band’s aural objective, and with very effective results in this reviewer’s opinion. The constantly layered dual vocals compliment the infectious shout along choruses and “oh oh oh “s throughout, allowing singers Ben Landau and Sean Mckee to express their individual manifestos on love, art, and the future existence of humanity simultaneously. Their dense form of songwriting is extremely effectual, for two perspectives are provided vocally for a single song, evoking a dualism that does not allow the listener a moment to breathe while being barraged by the post-punk dance party.

Bombarding the listener right off the bat with screamed “ha ha ha”s is the foursomes method of beginning Valse Mechanique. Shoving their abrasive brand of dance punk in the face of the listener with the opening track “Death Death Death” brought smiles of delight to this reviewer’s oral cavity. Setting the tone for the rest of the record, this track showcases the bands up tempo, driving beats and their well attuned hook writing capabilities. Their utilization of dual vocals is established during this opener as well. The composition of the chorus consists of one singer hitting a higher note and holding it while the other rifles off a line underneath in a lower register, all at the same time, being a motif that the band employs throughout the record.

Subtle drum taps accompanied with clapping hands and a sparse keyboard melody is the ground work laid for the next track, “Frankenstein Kids.” Landau’s declaration of latent inhibitions “the future scares you, rattles the bones, impairs you” leads into the driving verse of the song, showcasing the band’s ability to transition very effectively from subtle to driving aesthetic . Their usage of stop, go, soft, loud dynamics advocates the duality inherent in the band as mentioned before. This dual nature allows the paunchiness of the transitions to ring out proficiently, which is another pattern that is dominant within the record.

Lastly, this reviewer’s personal favourite track on the album is the romper “Skeptics.” Beginning the song once again is the band’s sparse instrumentation, the rattling drum beat and bass line being accompanied by Mckee innocently vocalizing likeable passes at an addressee who is of pseudo-academic inclinations. The first transition implements another guitar line, with singing duties being taken over by the other respective voice, Landau. Imploring “so every skeptic burn,” the song kicks into another hook encumbered chorus, chock full of “who-oh-ohs” and Burn Planetarium ‘s quirky wit.

All in all, this debut is very formidable. Having self created and recorded this album, the band has a final product to be proud of. Weak spots are few and far between, and the shear number of stand out tracks on it induces the talent present within the four young men. Poignantly uttered in my favourite tune, “skeptics, be forewarned” … Burn Planetarium will be entering the stratosphere fast and strong.

Brian Gillis
March 26, 2008

I Luv Myoozyque

I have a story to tell you, but first the history. A little while ago (a month?) my band that I love entered willingly into a battle of the bands, sponsored by Mazda, which offered the grand prize of opening for Sam Roberts. This battle titled the Mazda Muzik Tour (clearly targeted at the morons who find pleasure in fighting the man through spelling) was, apparently, aimed at discovering Canada’s best indie talent (keep this in mind). Grand! we said. What excitement! we offered. Not all of us are #1 Sam Roberts fans to be honest, but we respect the man and what he does, and we would have appreciated the exposure of our music that we care about to a greater audience. To use foreshadowing poorly: this all goes to shit.

As the story goes, my band needed to receive enough votes to be in the top five of our region even to be allowed to play for anyone. Excitedly we encouraged those we knew to vote for us and they—being the good persons they are—did enough to get us into the Big Gig (that title being my own). This was exciting for us, our friends, our family because it was a chance to be recognized. Now all we had to do was wow the audience with our creativity and skill, convincing them to vote in our favour. We prepared a set list and practiced before hand. We cared about this because it was recognition of our efforts, and it would be amazing to play a show with Sam Roberts. Luckily, once we arrived we realised that none of this mattered because we were unwilling to sell our souls—then things got worse.

At this show we suddenly realised we were being used as dancing monkeys to give Mazda “indie cred,” or something equally inane. The first sign was having to pose for a photo in front of a banner with Mazda Muzik Tour scrawled across it. Then it was the type of people we were seeing. Originally there just seemed to be a bunch of really friendly folks working this event for Mazda. They all wore shirts with “Tour Roadie” on the front which was lame, but they were older and so who can blame them. By the end of the evening everything stunk of insincerity and I hadn’t seen any attempt at appreciation of the art that is music. The people had sales pitches and were committed to throwing them around shamelessly.

I will pause here to explain something. I am a whole-hearted supporter of capitalism. I believe in free trade, and I am not offended by a company’s attempts to increase its profits. Here’s the issue though: the music suffers at an event like this. I would love it if companies were sincerely invested in finding talented, creative bands in order to give them exposure to a larger audience, indie or no. However, why would any company other than a record company invest sincerely in independent music?

Anyways, I understand that this may all seem like sore losing, but I assure you it is not. I wish the winners of our round and all the others the best of luck if they are looking for what Mazda is offering. I was just too bothered by the imbalance of product placement to art appreciation. Maybe I was looking in the wrong place though. That would be a fair comment. Should I expect anything more from a company selling cars? Was I fooling myself to hope that Mazda was truly looking for talented Canadian musicians? Probably. A company has to watch out for itself—but if that’s true than my band looking out for itself by avoiding events devoid of integrity is equally fair. We both set out to take advantage of one another, and luckily we both failed.

This is the first year for the Mazda Muzik Tour, and—God willing—it will be the last. I say that from the perspective of someone concerned with the survival of talented, committed and creative musicians. This is meant not as a slight to the winners or participants of this event, but wholly as an attack at the corruption of music by Mazda. They have high-jacked the concept of indie music to sell cars (beware of the term indie in the future as well—it’s a word that sells more and more by the day and means less and less), and they are willing to allow the musicians to suffer. There are other ways to get exposure, and I recommend up-and-coming bands find them.

John Law
March 12, 2008

Of Mice and YouTube Videos

So you try to do something nice and put fancy little videos right onto your page and what happens? They don't link properly. This is going to be a necessary evil but every effort is being taken to ensure that embedded YouTube videos are backlinked to more stable sources from this point forward.

Happy Valentine's Day. Rumpelstiltskin's coming in to check on your gold production so don't let that shit slide. More album reviews to come. The Constantines and the Mars Volta have both done well and I'm going to tell you all about it this week.

Mother Mother - Love and Truth

Not the greatest sound but this song nearly made my heart explode from their live show at Peter Clark Hall, University of Guelph. "Love and Truth" performed in Calgary.

Mother Mother - Touch Up

The only single (and title track) from "Touch Up".

Mother Mother - Touch Up

Mother Mother - Touch Up

Last Gang Records

2007

It's not typical to stumble across young bands with such a refreshingly original sound and mature understanding of their direction. Mother Mother's re-release of it's first, unnoticed album 'Touch Up' includes two new songs not available on their first attempt, and with the support of Last Gang Records (Metric, Death From Above 1979), have managed to piece together an album that is both artistic and technically impeccable. Their creative acceleration and stability can only be attributed to the jazz and/or classical training that all five members of the band possess, although not once through the course of the album is this obvious in the writing but only in each members proficient confidence in their performance.

Perhaps the key ingredient in this tasty, original flavor is the combined vocal talent of three of Mother Mother's performers; Ryan Guldemond and sister Molly along with Debra-Jean Creelman. Not only do the timbres of their voices complement each other in a way rarely seen in similar genres, but their awareness of rhythm in the vocal lines demands the listeners' ear more so than usual. This of course, is taken advantage of by the rhythm section of the band comprised of Kenton Loewen on drums and Jeremy Page on bass. Even with this ability and creativity, the usual traps of abusing these songwriting tactics are cleverly avoided with a pop sensibility, ensuring the accessibility of the music and the end goal of writing for the song and not ego.

The lyrics will sometimes seem like genius disguised as absurdity which allows the listener to either enjoy them at face value or admire the poetry they are actually comprised of. Each song offers its own mood and when the album is absorbed as a whole, not any one emotion or feeling is dwelled-upon. In fact, the ratio of seriousness to humor is so well executed in the layout of and within the songs, it makes it difficult to hit the stop button before the album is through playing.

With a first review, the overall sound is a bit of a sensory overload; however, this album is terribly addictive and only sounds better with each subsequent listen. Mother Mother is truly a big shiny diamond in the rough of the Canadian music industry and worth a listen.

Luke McCarter
February 16, 2008