This Saturday night, come out and see the band I'm in, Behind The Garage, when we play @ Mitzi's Sister (1554 Queen St. W.) with The Three Bears, Alain Gratton, and The People of Canada.
The fun starts @ 9pm. No cover.
No..really, you should come to this. And I'm told you should bring "single friends"; by this, I'm assuming they don't mean "a single individual friend", but rather friends who are not betrothed to another. Just saying.
There is a class of person in our online world whose existence, it seems, is defined by stalking news forums and user-comment sections so that they can anonymously spew views which seem crafted to achieve nothing more than outrageous reaction. Within the vernacular of the internet, these people are trolls. I can only assume that, when the internet included more than five people, the term was coined shortly thereafter.
Microsoft vs. Linux, Liberals vs. Conservatives, Anglicans vs. each other, the list goes on. Essentially, wherever there is a potential conflict, a troll will shortly be there to stir the pot and create, as trolls do very well, more anger.
For example, on the Globe and Mail website, within seconds of an article being posted about either the minority governing party or their rivals, the trolls go to town, essentially blaming one side or the other for the fall of society (which, while we're talking about it, I believe happened somewhere in-between John Lennon's assassination and the advent of "grunge" music).
Of course, I'm no angel. Sometimes, I'll go on the G&M comment section and, irregardless of what the article is about, post something wildly accusing "Liberal judges" as the source of the problem (even if the article is about, say, busing rural students). I do this to demonstrate the rash (and frighteningly predictable) mindset of the trolls. Now, whether people enjoy my little play-theatre is another question. Perhaps I'm being a jerk and making things worse...mind you, you could use that phrase for anything.
I suppose I wouldn't have a problem (or a blog for that matter) if people simply conducted themselves semi-professionally in public. I'm not asking for a formal essay from people submitting comments on the G&M - just keep the generalizations to a minimum and leave the partisan politics to...um...the politicians.
So...I'm drumming again. In spades.
This Tuesday (April 17th) at The Cloak & Dagger (College & Bathurst) I'm appearing with a rag tag outfit of musicians for a jam night. My colleagues include Shannon Du Hasky (from the Z-Rays) on guitar, Graydon James on bass, and Nancy Brooks on French horn. If all goes well, it could spring into a regular fixture (!).
The last time I performed live (or even played on a drum kit for that matter) was over 12 years ago...in Thorold no less. It was the end of the band I'd been playing with for several years, a fin de siecle for that part of my life and it was a terrible (nay apocalyptic) gig. It was one of those nights where you grab your gear and run so that you don't have to remember anything about it. We never played again for various good reasons, although it was nice while it lasted 1.
Fast forward: not only am I part of the jam outfit, but I'm also part of a new band called Behind The Garage (appearing April 28th @ Mitzi's Sister).
Weird. But damned fun. Like life.
Come on out and enjoy the drink and songs - I couldn't imagine playing in a better environment with a better group of people. 2
Update: Okay...I looked up the band I used to be in (we were called Spin Tree. We hailed from Burlington.) and found our demo album listed on someone's Most Underrated Albums of All Time list. Wow. I sent him an email thanking him...it's a little overwhelming to see yourself on someone's list with such luminaries as Inspiral Carpets and Arcade Fire.
1. We were a goth band. I can say this now because at the time I hated when we were referred to as a goth band. Okay - we were a goth band with non-goth aspirations. We played with some well-known acts of the day, and got to play at such venues as The Opera House and The Drake (before it closed and became what it is now).
2. Until meeting and playing with Behind The Garage and the jam-band (if you have a band name, let me know - we're dying for one), I'd always equated playing music with friction. This, of course, was an emotional artifact from my early days where there was a lot more artistic conflict - much of it needless. It's 180 degrees different now - everyone I'm playing with is a *really nice person who also happens to be a really good musician*. Am I lucky or what?
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Update: the story is up on the AMW site here.
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For those who have kept an eye on this blog for the last year, you might remember an article I posted, called "Remembering Michael Cahill". It was linking to a front page article in the Austin American Statesman written by Denise Gamino: "A Calendar Book, A Guitar, And A Very Cold Case".
On April 13th, 1979, my uncle, Michael Cahill, had his acoustic guitar stolen from his apartment in Austin. In the midst of the foot chase, Michael was shot in the forehead and killed instantly. His guitar was never found, and - like all murders and killings - the event has permanently etched itself into the hearts and minds of those who knew and loved him.
My family's history is rather odd - not in a depraved daytime talkshow sense - but odd enough. I'm not going to go into details, but I never got to meet or to know my uncle. I was 8 years old and 2,658 kilometres away on the Friday night he was shot. He was in Texas, I was in Ontario. I remember a few occasions being told by my father how much I reminded him of his little brother, especially when I got glasses for the first time.
In any case, the reason I'm mentioning this is that America's Most Wanted is showcasing this story in their next broadcast (this Saturday @ 9pm on the Buffalo FoxTV affiliate, WUTV).
If you'd asked me this time last year whether I would ever be watching the story of a family member on America's Most Wanted...well, like most of you, doubtful would be an understatement. You certainly wouldn't take the thought seriously.
Aside from the abrupt tragedy itself, what makes the story interesting for the outsider are the strange circumstances that surrounded it, the centrepiece being a community art project called The Book of Days. It was a calendar showcasing the works of local black-and-white photographers, among them Berkeley Breathed - who would go on to create the Bloom County comic strip. It seems some of the photographers included in the 1978 edition of The Book of Days, some of whom were friends with my uncle, had also had some of their possessions stolen. Investigators believe my uncle's murderer and the peculiar thief who preyed upon Leica cameras are one and the same person.
To be honest, I have a personal stake in this post: I hope they catch the bastard who did it.
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