20 years of the New Pornographers' Mass Romantic

When history is written about the New Pornographers’ 2000 debut Mass Romantic, it usually revolves some incredulity: how did this happen?!

How did this band that wasn’t supposed to be a real band become, for the next decade and beyond, one of the leading lights of Canadian music and the broader international indie rock scene in general? How did this many talented people with parallel careers continue to be a functioning band? How did this album on a tiny Canadian indie make such an impact?

I don’t buy any of that. Everything about Mass Romantic’s success makes total sense, for one simple reason. It was too good to fail.

This was a new band, but not new players. Most were closer to 30 than 20; the two principal architects were (gasp) over 30. There was a decade of experience, friendships and overlapping circumstances that brought that group of people together to create a pop masterpiece. Lots of things could have gone wrong along the way, and certainly afterwards. 

But there is an air of inevitability around Mass Romantic. This was a record that had to happen, and it had to happen with these people. And because it did, it ushered in a new era of possibility in Canadian music. There’s a reason that Kevin Drew, when applying for a grant very early on in Broken Social Scene’s career, described his project as “Ontario’s version of the New Pornographers.”

The first New Pornographers rehearsal took place in 1997. Carl Newman, who worked at Scratch Records and already had two bands on the go—the arch Zumpano, signed to Sub Pop, and the grungy, bombastic Superconductor, a favourite of Guided by Voices—invited a group of friends and acquaintances to form what Western Canadians call a “fuck band,” effectively a social club that might play the occasional gig. Newman claims he had no grand designs, but take a look at who got the invite.

Neko Case grew up in Tacoma, Washington, where she played drums and sang in a band called the Propanes. She was such a local light in the scene, known for go-go dancing at other band’s gigs, that local Sub Pop band Girl Trouble wrote a song about her called “Neko Loves Rock’n’Roll.” Tacoma was a popular destination for Vancouver punk bands, which is how she met Dave Carswell of the Smugglers. She moved to Vancouver in the early 90s to go to art school, temporarily joining Cub as a touring drummer. She then co-founded a punk band called Maow, who recorded early demos with Carswell and John Collins.

Collins played in the Evaporators, a long-running band fronted by Nardwuar the Human Serviette (at that point still primarily a CITR DJ, with little profile outside Vancouver). He also subbed in with Superconductor on occasion. He and Carswell were working on the second record by Dan Bejar, who called himself Destroyer. Both Collins and Bejar were also at that first New Pornographers rehearsal, along with keyboardist Blaine Thurier, a close friend of Newman’s, and drummer Fisher Rose, a friend of Bejar’s.

Their first gig was at a vintage clothing store, the Good Jacket. A few other gigs followed over the course of the next year, and a four-song demo was cut, with two songs by Bejar and two by Newman: “Execution Day,” “Breaking the Law,” “Mystery Hours” and something called “Letter From an Occupant.” The demo was sent to Sub Pop, who ignored it. It was sent to Matador, who rejected it (though A&R rep Nils Bernstein was a big fan). Then “Letter From an Occupant” was selected to be on a compilation put out by Mint Records in April 2000, curated by the Good Jacket, called Vancouver Special. (The album also featured an early version of Black Mountain, called Jerk With a Bomb, and an early version of the Organ, called Full Sketch.) The comp got a lot of attention from campus radio, but the New Pornographers track was far and away the standout.

An opening one-note guitar riff doesn’t necessarily sound promising, until Case starts singing and the drums drop out to just a four-on-the-floor bass drum and fills. The chord progression follows a classic '50s pop pattern of I-VI-IV (the same pattern as Arcade Fire’s “Wake Up,” incidentally, although totally different rhythm and feel). The melody is instantly catchy, and Case’s delivery—Newman instructed her to “sing like a robot,” with Shocking Blue’s Mariska Veres as a reference point—is instantly compelling. Then the pre-chorus hits (hanging on just the IV and V), Case holds longer notes, and the song opens up wide. The chorus itself is wordless, impossibly high ooos sung by Newman, an insanely catchy hook in a song already full of them. 

But wait! There’s more. The punchy first bridge finds Case hollering, “WHERE HAVE ALL SENSATIONS GONE?” followed by Beach Boys in a blender, unintelligible male vocals muttering about something or another, perhaps cowering in the presence of Case. Then another chorus and a monstrous second bridge, a cacophony of collapsing drums, and what sounds like an insect crawling over the strings of the lead guitar part, while Neko repeats “the song, the song, the song has shaken me” like a mantra. It sure as fuck has.

But what the hell is this song about? What is a “letter from an occupant”? Why will “the eventual downfall” be “a bill from a restaurant”? Is this all just a shower of “yeahs” and “whatevers”? These questions dogged me for years, as I attempted, poorly, to sing this song at the top of my lungs. Not only do I not have the range (uh, who does?) but the album had no lyric sheet and I sure as hell couldn’t figure them out apart from random phrases. Turns out some of the actual lyrics are: “The tune you'll be humming forever / All the words are replaced and wrong.” Huh.

The title phrase (“ ‘For the love of God,’ you said, ‘not a letter from an occupant’ ”) is paraphrased from something Newman heard a landlord say once. There is definitely a power dynamic at play, the lyrics a litany of disappointments: “What the hell have the 70s brought me?” “Where have all sensations gone?” “I’ve cried five rivers on the way here / which one will you skate away on?” That last one is a brilliant twist on a line from Joni Mitchell’s Blue, which makes me think the whole song is a jaded GenXer’s complaint to a bewildered Boomer landlord who fails to grasp the reality of economic anxiety. Or something.

The lyrics were beside the point, though: with a melody like that, with a vocal performance like that, with a band performance like that, with production like that--does it matter what the song is about? Countless examples from pop music history would suggest it doesn’t.

Obviously intrigued by that one song, Mint Records asked for more material, and the rest of Mass Romantic was the result. Recorded by Collins and Carswell, and with drummer Kurt Dahle replacing a missing Fisher, the album was released seven months after Vancouver Special. 

Newman has often said that he felt immense pressure to live up to not just the single, but to other work by people in his own band. In February 2000, Neko Case released her second solo album, Furnace Room Lullaby, featuring an all-star cast of Canadian indie rockers and alt-country players, not to mention amazing songs and, of course, the arrival of a major vocalist and serious artist. A few months later, Destroyer put out Thief, a record that was leaps and bounds ahead of anything Bejar had done before, and he too was getting noticed in international underground circles. Newman knew he had to make a record at least as good as those two. By that November, he had.



If there was any concern about living up to “Letter From an Occupant,” the opening title track put that to rest. It opens with a descending riff played on a tinny keyboard and slashing guitar chords, set to a clipped shuffle. Once again, Neko takes the lead, with multiple harmonies joining her at the end of each line. The bridge has intricately layered Beach Boys harmonies (no blender this time) for eight glorious bars, reappearing again before the coda (again, no shortage of hooks here), which has a different descending riff while first Newman and then a chorus of voices sing about “this boy’s life among the electrical lights.” With that, you can hear floodlights being turned on, the music nerd universe’s attention suddenly directed toward this ragtag group of Vancouverites who, after a decade in the trenches, are more than ready for prime time.

There was no shortage of ambition. During recording, there were two key reference points: one was Neutral Milk Hotel’s In the Aeroplane Over the Sea; the other was the dense pop symphonic concoctions of ABBA. Everything needed to be over the top. So much of Mass Romantic sounds like pent-up teenage energy, of people who’ve been waiting in the wings for too long and finally get a chance to shine. Maybe they were nerds too smart for their own good, maybe they were weirdos never accepted by cool kids, maybe they were not only Canadians (which no one in the world cares about) but Western Canadians (which no one east of Thunder Bay cares about) and goddammit, they were going to set off fireworks that could be seen far beyond Rocky Mountains and national borders.

And so the music here demands to be played loud, full of big riffs, fuzzy guitars, layered harmonies, piano parts that never miss a chance to glissando, ugly synths that sound like creaking doors, galloping drums, saxophones (anathema in the zeitgeist at the time) and choruses revolving around phrases like “salvation holdout central.” Then there’s “Mystery Hours,” a song of constant bluster, where the verse chord progression sounds like trying to maintain balance during a log rolling competition, until the chorus repeatedly pummels you over the head while Newman threatens to sing way out of his range and yet gets there every time.

That song is followed by Bejar’s “Jackie,” a respite at a slower tempo, featuring these incredible opening lines: “Jackie, you yourself said it best when you said / ‘There's been a break in the continuum / the United States used to be lots of fun...’ " To hear that line in a pop song in the same month that a contested presidential election was galvanizing America was a weird, seemingly prescient thrill at the time (Haha, end of empire! Take that, exceptionalists!)—except that it can now be argued that the outcome of that (actually stolen?) election started a 20-year-old march toward what now looks like a looming civil war. A break in the continuum, indeed. Oh yeah, and there are also songs on here titled “Fake Headlines” and “Centre for Holy Wars.” So there’s that. Does hope still grow “greener than grass stains” these days? I don’t know, I mean, grass stains are usually more dirt brown than green anyway. I digress.

The album was a hit right out of the gate, exceeding any expectations in terms of sales and press. Someone told Newman after a gig at a Manhattan club that, “Canada is cool now. Because of you guys and Peaches.” It was picked up by Matador in 2001. More great albums followed. They toured the world.

Part of the initial appeal to international media was patronizing, to say the least: “How did a band this good come from Canada?” (It’s not our fault you didn’t pay attention, you Canuckophobic fuckers!) When it came out in November 2000, Mass Romantic ended a year that also brought us the Weakerthans’ Left and Leaving, the Dears’ End of a Hollywood Bedtime Story, the Be Good Tanyas’ Blue Horse, Kid Koala’s Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, Godspeed You Black Emperor’s Lift Your Skinny Fists, Tegan and Sara’s This Business of Art: lots of wheels in motion there for the explosion that followed shortly thereafter. (Yes, I'm writing a book, about this and more.)

One could easily argue that there is no Broken Social Scene or Arcade Fire without Mass Romantic, made by the first-ever Canadian band to erroneously be called either a "collective" or a "supergroup," a trend that plagued others in their wake. The question was no longer, “How did this come from Canada?” It became, “How come there are so many great Canadian acts right now?”

The band is still going strong today, even though Case and Bejar are now only tangentially involved in touring. (Bejar actually quit right after Mass Romantic came out, though he showed up for the occasional gig and continued to contribute a couple of songs per album until 2014. Todd Francey joined in 2000; Kathryn Calder in 2005; Dahle left a few years ago, replaced by Joe Seiders. Auxiliary players have come and gone.) Their 2019 album was one of their best (and, sadly, highly underrated). The New Pornographers’ story is far from over.

There were loose plans to celebrate the anniversary with some shows in 2020. Even Bejar was in. Then, of course, suddenly no one had any plans at all. All we can do now is turn it up, annoy the neighbours, do some air drumming, sing really terribly, and hail the New Pornography that got us here.

The songs are still shaking me.

2020 odds 'n' sods

Before posting my top 40 of 2020, here are 10 other records I enjoyed this year that deserve to be in the time capsule: mostly either by promising newbies or vets who continue to surprise. 

Destroyer – Have We Met (Merge). Come for John Collins's impeccable and interesting production, which is an '80s throwback that improves considerably on the original era. Stay, if you like, for Dan Bejar, who's more miss than hit this time out; some of his weaker lyrical moments prevent me from loving this more than I do, because musically it's one of his strongest. 

DijahSB – 2020 The Album (independent). "It's time for me to become a household name," this Toronto rapper told Xtra recently. Why not? This is a bright, bold, funky record with serious flow, an album made for the dancefloor that never falls into trap. Musical positivity abounds, even when the lyrics are brutally honest about the chronic pitfalls of poverty ("I'll Pay You Back on Friday," "Broke Boi Anthem." 

 

Dana Gavanski – Yesterday Is Gone (Flemish Eye). Here's what I wrote earlier this year: No wonder this odd little record is so fascinating: it was born in Vancouver, Montreal, the Laurentians, Banff, Toronto, and Serbia. Gavanski packs a lot of work, discipline and experience into her debut album, which fits into a lineage that spans Nico to Aldous Harding (and FWIW I’m not a fan of the latter). It’s unassuming at first, with subtle arrangements and Gavanski’s deadpan voice somewhat off-putting. But the intimacy and delicacy of the instrumentation ultimately draw you in; every tiny production decision here is very particular and deliberate, creating a world you want to inhabit on a lazy afternoon. Fans of Jennifer Castle should be paying attention. 

 

Magnetic Fields – Quickies (Nonesuch). With 28 songs in 47 minutes, there's not much time to dislike anything here—though there are definitely a few duds—and Stephin Merritt is up to many of his best tricks. Who else could spin a relationship metaphor from "Kraftwerk in a Blackout"? And I'm kind of surprised that "The Day the Politicians Died" ("billions laughed and no one cried... celebrations spread worldwide") didn't get more play in this hellish year.

 

   

Jon McKiel – Bobby Joe Hope (You've Changed). If this record sounds like a long-lost '60s pop gem, that's because it kind of is. McKiel lives in Sackville, N.B., where he bought an old analogue reel-to-reel tape recorder from an online seller. The recorder came with some tapes. On one of those tapes were isolated tracks: instruments, vocals, and even one complete song. McKiel took the tracks to Jay Crocker, a.k.a. Joyfultalk, and chopped them up into pieces from which McKiel then wrote his own songs, collaborating with an artist he never met and never will. The result is hazy, psych-folk pop rich with mystery.

 

 

Terrell Morris – Lavender (Blakk Velvet Arts). Multi-dimensional Toronto R&B/hip-hop, silky singing voice, decent rapper,  but most important a breadth of styles heard over the course of this album. Opening track "Winterfall" ("Fuck I hate the winter / damn I love the fall" speaks to me) spends half its running time with Morris accompanied by only a solo alto saxophone. The more contemporary "Roxy" features a video co-starring 2019 longlister Sydanie. "Play the Fool," primarily a solo acoustic guitar track, puts him in Bahamas/Kiwanuka territory. "Got the Love" is a Kaytranada-esque pop song. "Renaissance" is in super-smooth Sade territory. Fans of fellow Torontonians Junia T, Keita Juma, Charlotte Day Wilson, Daniel Caesar et al should be tuning in. 

 

 

Sneaks – Happy Birthday (Merge). "Tell me, do you want to go out tonight?" HELL YES O GOD PLEASE MAKE THIS LOCKDOWN END. (Safely and scientifically, of course.) Sitting somewhere between early Solange and Le Tigre with some 80s Detroit techno in the mix, this DC artist's fourth album ("I'm not overrated / I'm not underrated / I'm just slightly sophisticated") would have sounded great after last call at your local, but in 2020 it became a soundtrack to driving around desolate streets late at night remembering what was. 

Charles Spearin and Josefin Rusteen – Thank God the Plague is Over (Arts and Crafts). So, yeah, about that title: this was recorded in a 16th-century chapel in a tiny Italian town ravished by the Black Plague, and the titular phrase was 400-year-old graffiti on the wall. Spearin (Broken Social Scene, Do Make Say Think) and Rusteen (a Swedish violinist who's played with Ane Brun) improvised in this chapel every day during an artist's retreat set up by Feist, on nyckelharpa and violin. There are ghosts in this music, and two strangers who don't speak the same language found common ground among them. 

 

Tricky – Fall to Pieces (False Idols). I only check in on Tricky every few years, but the success of Backxwash (with whom I'd love to hear a collaboration), the continued influence of Billie Eilish, and other elements in the zeitgeist made me realize how much we still hear 1995's Maxinquaye every day, in different ways. What I hadn't realized is that he lost his 24-year-old daughter in 2019, and wrote a memoir about his tumultuous life later that year. This new record is very much a 21st century blues album, particularly the raw "Hate This Pain." Most of it is sparse, lovely, and features Polish vocalist Marta. It's his 14th album. I don't claim to be intimate with every minute detail of his discography, but I'd hazard a guess that this is one of the best. 

 

William Tyler – New Vanitas (Merge). I'm not going to the U.S. anytime soon. I'm not going anywhere soon, for that matter, except the furthest reaches of my imagination. For those journeys, Nashville guitarist William Tyler makes great driving music. It's vivid and meditative music, but always seems to be in motion, full of changing landscapes and small details spotted at the side of the road. And whereas someone like Julianna Barwick--whose music served a similar function for me this year--seems to reside in fantastical places, Tyler sounds rooted in the natural world, or at the very least in the quotidian corners of your neighbourhood you never noticed before you were forced to explore them when the world collapsed around you. 

 

 

2020 best reissue: Beverly Glenn-Copeland

Beverly Glenn-Copeland – Transmissions (Transgressions).

Is it a comeback story if no one knew who you were? Are you a late bloomer if you've been performing for 50 years? No, the incredible story of Beverly Glenn-Copeland is one of a new generation's discovery of the right artist at the right time and place.

Here's the short version of the story: a Philadelphia woman attends McGill as one of the first black students and certainly one of the only out lesbians there at the time, records two self-titled albums: one for the CBC in 1970 and one the next year with some of the top players in Canada, including guitarist Lenny Breau, and recorded by future Rush producer Terry Brown. Does some session work, including with Bruce Cockburn in 1980-81 (among other things, on the phenomenal "Tokyo," one of the greatest singles by Cockburn—or anyone), and lands a 25-year gig on Mr. Dressup. Moves to the woods near Huntsville, Ontario, in the 1980s, discovers early computer music software and releases Keyboard Fantasies in 1986, selling only 50 copies on cassette. Lived a life of obscurity for decades, identified as trans in 2002, and through a weird fluke and Japanese interest in Keyboard Fantasies, ended up becoming a minor underground sensation in the late 2010s, sparking a documentary, tributes, and international gigs and press. That all leads to this career-spanning compilation. 

Among others, a really lovely long-form profile ran in the New Republic.

Before Copeland's renaissance, I was aware of the name, if only because I'm the kind of nerd who reads Bruce Cockburn liner notes. I inherited a bunch of '70s vinyl years ago from a family friend, which included Copeland's second album. It didn't do anything for me when I got it, nor when I revisited it over the years: it's lovely but very earnest folk-jazz that I pegged as a post-Yorkville curiosity. Likewise, when Keyboard Fantasies was first re-released, I listened and heard only the kind of '80s new age that seemed oddly in vogue with people 20 years younger than me, and I was mystified. For all I knew, which was not much, this story could be the new "Lewis"—and if you know that somewhat regrettable obscure Canadian reference, more power to you. As Copeland's profile increased, I didn't pay much attention.

This brief yet comprehensive compilation, however, is a game-changer, and the strongest testament yet as to why Copeland deserves to be heard. First, is the voice: rich with operatic gospel tones, seemingly effortless and never show-offy. It's such a beautiful and warm instrument. With that comes a sheer force of personality that carries the listener through those Joni-esque early folk recordings to the lilting '80s synth lullabies of "Ever New" to the trip-hop of opening track "La Vita" to more recent recordings, including a rousing singalong version of "Deep River" recorded in the Netherlands.

That's why this compilation works so well: by spanning such a broad stretch of time, the track list's musical diversity reveals a complete portrait of a complex artist. Whereas certain albums sound dated as a whole, individual tracks illuminate steps in a journey (and I now love the two tracks here from Keyboard Fantasies). Without this curatorial vision, would I ever have become enraptured by the world of Beverly Glenn-Copeland? Possibly, if I had the chance to see him perform live, or finally got around to watching the doc (which I haven't yet). But this comp is revelatory and endlessly rewarding.  

This week, the Polaris Heritage Music Prize inducted three records: Buffy Sainte-Marie's It's My Way, Main Source's Breaking Atoms—both selected by a jury of critics—and Keyboard Fantasies, which won the public vote. All three choices seem rooted in a deliberate attempt to broaden the Canadian canon, which thrills me to no end (I say this having been a founding juror in 2015, when I considered it part of the mandate). But I'm always skeptical of public votes on prizes, because it's all too easy for an artist's fan base to vote early and vote often, so depending on the rabidity of the fan base (Rush) and the hustle chutzpah of the artist (Peaches), it can be relatively easy to win (not that either of those two didn't deserve it; they did).

But how the hell did Beverly Glenn-Copeland win the public vote? There's no marketing machine there. It's not a nostalgic favourite; the album only became widely available relatively recently—an album, I'll remind you, that only sold 50 copies the first time around. And finally, two years ago the number of people who knew his name probably numbered in the low hundreds. From total obscurity to winning a public vote previously won by Neil Young, Arcade Fire and Alanis Morrisette—that's quite a leap.

It says a lot that this music, this man, strikes such a chord right here, right now, with healing music in a world of pain. 

Runners-up for best 2020 reissue:

Prince – Sign O the Times (Warner). I mean, come on. On the one hand, it presents a good argument for record company interference: the 1987 double album is flawless; a triple album would not have been. But the "fat" sure is fascinating, even if we've already heard the best tracks trickle out over the years (and the mythical Miles Davis collab is not one of them).

Pylon – Box (New West). I'm not a big enough fan that the B-sides and early demos mean a lot to me, but the fact that the first two records, from 1980 and 1981—the missing link between the B-52s and R.E.M. in the lore of Athens, Ga.—are once again widely available is thrilling enough. The band that once blew away Gang of Four and turned down a tour with early U2 can now once again prove what all the fuss was about. Still pinching myself over the fact that I got to see the Pylon Re-Enactment Society perform at a street festival in Athens last year, a teenage dream come true. Only question: where is 1990's Chain, the record they made after R.E.M. lured them out of retirement?

2020 vision on 2019's missing greats

Every year there are tons of records I miss, only to discover later—usually through the help of reading other people's year-end lists, or various wormholes I find myself falling into. Now that I'm no longer writing a weekly review column, that list is larger than usual. Here's 10 records that I wasn't aware of, or that hadn't sunk in, when I wrote my 2019 best-of, which you can read here. Best of 2020 coming soon.

 

 

 

Bon Enfant – s/t. In the shittiest year imaginable, this French-Canadian slice of psych-pop brought rays of sunshine and escapism. A windows-open, first-day-of-spring classic. This list is in alphabetical order, but Bon Enfant would be at the top even if it wasn't. I've written about it here and here. 

  

Kaytranada – Bubba (RCA). This came out in mid-December 2019, after most year-end lists were published. Why such a summer dance record would come out in December is a mystery to me, but it didn't seem to affect this Montreal DJ's upward trajectory. I wrote about it here and here. 

Lankum – The Livelong Day (Rough Trade). A traditional Irish band from Dublin who approach their material like a Gaelic Godspeed, full of drones and tension and explosions. Some incredible interpretations of traditional songs ("Katie Cruel") alongside originals ("Young People," about a suicide epidemic). This is music for life during wartime. Or, say, a pandemic. "I've been a wild rover for many's a year / And I've spent half me money drinking strong ale and beer / But now for the future I must take better care / In case that misfortune might come to my share." So stay at home and drone the fuck out with Lankum instead.  

 

Also: holy cow, this video.

Lightning Dust – Spectre (Western Vinyl). Fifteen years after Josh Wells and Amber Webber were a huge part of Black Mountain's debut album, their own project put out what might be the best record they've ever been involved in. I don't know why I first heard it and thought merely, "Oh, that's nice." The more I dove in, the more I fell in love—especially during isolation times. I wrote about it here and here.

 

Little Scream – Speed Queen. This took a while to sink in, but when it did—after seeing her live show at the Wavelength anniversary—I couldn't stop listening to it. I've written about it here and here. 

 

Little Simz – Grey Area (Age 101). A fantastic rap record by this 26-year-old London woman, moving through rock, reggae, funk, disco and even orchestral flourishes ("Venom"). She slays on the mic, with charisma not unlike Haviah Mighty, but it's the music here that really gets me: sparse, lots of live instrumentation, and thriving on raw energy. I'll admit that most UK rap is a mystery to me, with rare exceptions, but this transcends many barriers. 

Mdou Moctar – Ilana: The Creator (Sahel Sounds). I've never been a blues guy, never need to hear a rock guitar god record again in my life, and if I ever crave electric desert blues I'm happy to cling to Tinariwen's 2017 album Elwan. But hoooooollllly shit, I was not prepared for Mdou Moctor, to whose game I'm coming to quite late, despite that Purple Rain-remade-in-the-Sahara shtick from five years ago. This record is fiery and entrancing and a total trip. He was on tour and due to appear in Toronto in March, with Les Filles de Illighadad, no less, when the shutdown hit—dammit! A new record on Matador is expected next year. 

 

Junius Paul – Ism (International Anthem). This Chicago jazz bassist appeared on Makaya McCraven's 2018 album Universal Beings, and this late 2019 debut solo outing compiles recordings made with others dating back years. He's a monstrous bassist surrounded by equally killer players, and this double album shifts between funk, bop and abstractions, sometimes all in one track ("Paris"). Lots of bang for one bass. 

 

Wilco – Ode to Joy (dBpm). I haven't followed everything Jeff Tweedy and company have done in the last decade—Tweedy interests me more as a producer than as a songwriter these days—but his excellent memoir sent me back to this one repeatedly. Yes, it's a largely acoustic, middle-aged band record riding a bit of an endless bummer, but hey, that's where I'm at. 

 

 

Yola – Walk Through Fire (Nonesuch). This was almost a year old (released in Feb 2019) by the time I heard it and was completely blown away. I mean, just the first song ("Faraway Look"), on the first verse and the transition to the first chorus on is such revelatory ecstasy that it's hard to imagine the rest of the album matching it. And yet she pulls it off, again and again. Yola is a British soul singer, with a huge voice, recording in Nashville with Dan Auerbach, who gives her a lush 70s country-pop sound that matches her songs and skills to perfection. These songs are so good and timeless that I can't believe they're not all covers. And "Ride Out to the Country" became a personal fave at a time in 2020 when no one was allowed to do so.

 

2020 old friends: Regina Gently, Minotaurs, Ropes

Some lovely old friends put out lovely records in the not-so-lovely 2020, and flew under the radar. They each warm my heard for very different reasons.

Regina Gently – Don't Wait To Love Me (Cadence). Gentleman Reg is known to Canadian audiences for being the Zelig of the early 2000s indie boom for his role in Three Gut Records, Hidden Cameras, Broken Social Scene and familiar opening act for Sarah Harmer, Stars, and many others. He reinvented himself as drag performer Regina Gently in the 2010s, with a project called Light Fires, which can now be seen as growing pains that led to this fully formed electro-disco tour-de-force. He's always had a way with a great pop hook ("Good people / fucked over / again"), and here he has the production skills of Matt and Mark Thibodeau, whose vintage analog synths give this music a muscle that demands they be heard on big speakers, in DJ sets alongside early '90s house-influenced pop classics. Closing track "Do I Have To Do Everything My Fucking Self?" is a spoken-word piece lifted from Regina's one-woman drag show of the same name. The time for modest moves is over. All hail the new queen. 

 

 

 

Minotaurs – Higher Power (Maxilicious). Speaking of early 2000s MVPs, Nathan Lawr spent time in Royal City, King Cobb Steelie, Feist, Fembots, Constantines and more while also putting out a series of solid solo records. His Minotaurs project focuses on his love of Afrobeat filtered through psychedelic modern funk, as filtered through someone schooled in straight-up folk-rock songwriting. Lawr and his guest singers (Jessy Bell Smith, Steph Yates, Misha Bower) are hardly slouches, but it's the band performances and production that are the real wow factors here: this record sparkles with life, with a big, bold brass section, colourful keys, great guitar tones, and of course a killer rhythm section. Recorded live off the floor, with energy that's evident on every listen.

 

 

 

The Ropes – s/t (Wolfe Island Records). Hugh Christopher Brown and bassist Jason Mercer have played together, on and off, since high school when they co-founded the Bourbon Tabernacle Choir. They're now neighbours on Wolfe Island, outside Kingston, and formed a piano-based trio with drummer Pete Bowers, and featuring Brown's consistent primary musical partner through the ages, Kate Fenner, on many tracks. As a huge fan, I've long been waiting for Brown--normally heard on clavinet, organ or guitar--to turn to the piano for more than a song or two per album, and this doesn't disappoint. There's a rich, 70s Van Morrison feel to much of this, which feels a lot better than listening to Mr. Lockdown lately. At least half these songs rank with the best Brown has ever written, particularly "Esselen." This was made by old friends, and it sounds like it. For anyone who's ever been a fan, it feels like a joyous love letter.   

FLIP THIS: Playlist for Nov. 3 2020

Made this week during high anxiety. Much love to all my American friends, who fight the good fights every day. 

Spotify playlist is here. All YouTube links below. Mix, match, borrow, make your own. Music heals. 

 

1.  Curtis Mayfield – "If There's a Hell Below We're All Gonna Go." Among the many things I love in these lyrics ("educated fools from uneducated schools") is the fact that he delineated between "whiteys" and "crackers."

2. Angelique Kidjo – "Born Under Punches." From her amazing reimagining of Talking Heads' Remain in Light. "All I want is to breathe."

3. Arcade Fire & Mavis Staples – "I Give You Power." Recorded during the 2016 election.

4. Peaches – "Flip This." Released this summer. Kick a column, make it crumble.

5. The Comet is Coming – "Summon the Fire." No lyrics required.

6. Weaves – "#53." Hope to have the chorus of this song in my head in January 2021. Buy here.

7. Steven Page – "White Noise." Written after Charlottesville. "As an immigrant and a Jew, I'd be more than glad to replace you."

8. International Noise Conspiracy – "Smash It Up." Metaphors only, please.

9. Bodega – "How Did This Happen?" How indeed. (Buy here)

10. Queen – "Another One Bites the Dust." Looking forward to watching the Senate races.

11. Leonard Cohen – "Everybody Knows." The boat is sinking. The captain lied.

12. Amiri Baraka – "Who Will Survive America?"

13. Gil Scott-Heron – "Whitey on the Moon." For Elon Musk and those who want to market moon water.

14. Geoff Berner – "Why Don't We Take the Billionaires' Money Away?" Entirely valid question, should not be considered radical. Buy here and don't give your money to billionaires.

15. Bruce Cockburn – "The Trouble With Normal." Had this song in my head ever since the election of Rob Ford.

16. Buddy & Julie Miller, the McCrary Sisters, Steve Earle – "Let It Rain." Released in the spring of 2020 at the height of the BLM protests. Worldwide pandemic won't slow us down. Thank you, Nashville.

17. Sarah Harmer – "New Low." Every day. Buy here.

18. Arcade Fire – "Intervention." I can taste your fear. Who's going to reset the bone?

19. Handsome Furs – "What About Us." An army of thieves, lies and deceit so hard to believe. Read Sarah Kendzior's Hiding in Plain Sight.

20. EMA – "Aryan Nation." Tell me stories of famous men, I can't see myself in them. Buy here.

21. Brad Mehldau – "The Prophet is a Fool." The emperor's new clothes.

22. Damon Locks & Black Monument Ensemble – "Rebuild a Nation." From an album of beautiful, choral uplift, released in 2019. Buy here.

23. Handsome Boy Modeling School, Roisin – "The Truth." You can't hide.

24. Stars – "No One is Lost." Put your hands up if you ever feel afraid. Buy here.

25. U.S. Girls, Alex Frankel – "Overtime"

26. Melt Yourself Down – "Every Single Day"

27. James Brown – "Funky President (People It's Bad)" Stock market going up, jobs going down. 

28. Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings – "People Don't Get What They Deserve." Buy here.

29. Tune-Yards – "Bizness." Don't take my life away. 

30. A Tribe Called Quest – "We the People." Simple voodoo, so maniacal.

31. Beastie Boys – "So Whatcha Want." Where'd you get your information, huh? You think you can front when Revelation comes? I think I'm losing my mind this time. 

32. Ministry – "Thieves." Tear this MFer down.

33. Spoon – "Shotgun." 

34. Le Tigre – "Keep on Livin'." Don't let them bring you down and don't let them fuck you around.

35. Thompson Twins – "Lies." They won't forget ya.

36. Jimmy Cliff – "The Harder They Come." The harder they fall.

37. Janelle Monae – "Turntables." Got a new agenda, got a new dream, I'm kicking out the old regime. 

38. Max Romeo – "War Inna Babylon"

39. The National – "Fake Empire."

40. Karen O & Willie Nelson – "Under Pressure." One of the greatest goddam covers I've ever heard in my life. More on this later.

41. John Lennon – "Starting Over." Because despite my despair, I'm an optimist. 

Samples and stifled creativity

This man should be a household name

Backxwash won the 2020 Polaris Music Prize for her album God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It. In doing so, the Montreal-based Zambian-Canadian trans rapper/producer, whose album draws heavily from a metal influence, vaulted from obscurity to national headlines in the space of six months. It’s a Cinderella story, and more power to her. 

I’m not going to retell her story here. It’s a great story. You can read about Backxwash:

In Exclaim here.

At NPR here.

In Complex here.

At Bandcamp here.

In Cult MTL here. 

In Keep MTL Weird here.

The album was one of three I didn’t want to win Polaris this year, but I’m in the minority, and many people genuinely love the record. I'm not going to tell them they're wrong; art is subjective. Polaris has been controversial since its inception, as it should be. Every single year there are howls about who won and why, for wildly different reasons (Too mainstream! Too obscure! Too new! Too old! “Why does my favourite genre never win?!”). Although Polaris is not supposed to be political, it inherently is, because it’s decided by journalists, and journalists love stories. That’s not to denigrate any of the winners, including this year’s. I’m a big fan of 2/3 of all Polaris-winning records in the prize’s 15-year history, and you and I will disagree over which ones “deserved” to win or not. Hence the inherent fallacy of arts prizes in general.

This year part of the controversy is that Backxwash had to take her album off streaming services because she samples Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin liberally. As a result, the album is only available on Bandcamp as a free download. 

Michael Rancic of the web mag New Feelings (an essential read and welcome addition to the landscape of Canadian music criticism) argues that copyright laws around sampling are a farce that serve to further marginalize independent artists who can’t afford sample-clearance fees, that creativity is somehow stifled because of these legalities. The article brings up a lot of great points.

You should read that piece first: it’s here. 

There are many terrible things about copyright law: how it largely benefits the wealthiest rights-holders, how the rules keep changing to benefit baby boomers whose work from decades years ago was about to enter the public domain, etc. And when Rancic writes about AI scouring the internet for random sampling “violations,” that’s terrifying for a few different reasons. 

But the fact is, whether anyone likes it or not, once you’re in the public eye you can’t sample easily recognized works from popular music without expecting legal repercussions, and that's been true for 30 years now. 

Backxwash made her record when, it’s safe to say, she had no expectation of being featured in national and international press and being interviewed on CBC Radio’s flagship mainstream arts show next to Natalie Portman. Once the album got long-listed for Polaris, the vultures came circling. She could have removed the samples and kept the album on monetized streaming platforms. She chose not to, arguing that the samples were used for very personal reasons and she felt they told a story related to the lyrical themes of the album. That’s fair. I get that. But keeping them on there is a conscious decision to marginalize her own work, financially speaking, in the face of a legal reality--a reality worthy of debate and discussion, but a reality nonetheless.

There’s a precedent here in Polaris history. The Weeknd was an unknown artist in 2010, when he released what he billed a “mixtape,” House of Balloons, exclusively online, for free. It was inventive, fresh and fascinating, and it too made the Polaris shortlist that year, alongside Arcade Fire, Destroyer and Ron Sexsmith. It featured unauthorized samples, including Siouxie and the Banshees, Beach House, Cocteau Twins and Aaliyah. The attention and success of House of Balloons led to a major-label deal and a re-release that cleared all samples (and added songwriting credit); the Aaliyah sample was the sole exception. The album still did very well, and the Weeknd is now an international mainstream star. 

Even if House of Balloons had never been legally cleared for official release, it could have been seen as a loss leader: a stepping stone, using samples and given away for free, on the path to bigger things. 

Somewhat similarly, Kaytranada became a name in the industry with an unauthorized Janet Jackson remix in 2012 (streamed 10 million + times on his Soundcloud). That opened all kinds of doors for him, including a Juno nomination before he put out his debut album, 99.9% (which won the Polaris, and I’m not aware of any sample issues that album had). 

Small, uncleared sample snippets appear all the time in songs of varying levels of visibility. Earlier this year I asked Dan Snaith of Caribou which rapper’s voice appears all chopped up on his track “Sunny’s Time”; it’s from his new album Suddenly, which was also on the 2020 Polaris shortlist. He wouldn’t tell me, because he didn’t clear it. He did, however, clear the old, obscure soul song that provides the hook for “Home” (and I doubt anyone related to the original artist got royalties, because of crooked old publishing deals). But the “Sunny’s Time” sample is twisted beyond recognition. Is that “fair use” but the melodic hook on “Home” is not? Are both further examples of pillaging African-American artists? These are questions I don’t have answers for. “Fair use” is wide open to interpretation. But that’s where Backxwash got burned. 

Backxwash’s samples in question, Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin, are easily recognizable. Other samples on the album are not. Were I in court, I would argue that sampling Ozzy Osbourne’s voice--from the song “Black Sabbath,” howling, “Oh god, god, please god help me”--on the title track is fair game. It’s a small component of the original song in question; not the melodic hook, not the chorus, not a defining feature. Repurposed in Backxwash’s music, it’s incredibly effective. The last 10 seconds of the same song samples the opening of “War Pigs” straight up. It doesn’t add much to the Backxwash song, it’s more of a quick nod to an obvious influence. It’s superfluous. For all the legal hassle, it could easily be cut. Or simply re-sung by anyone who can do a passable Osbourne imitation; it's not like there's a copyright on that phrase.

The Zeppelin sample is on Backxwash’s “Adolescence,” the drum break from “When the Levee Breaks,” which you’ve heard even if you’re not a rock fan. Beastie Boys, Eminem, Dr. Dre, Ice-T, Neneh Cherry, the list goes on. But who’s done it since 2000? It’s a cliché at this point. Apparently Beyoncé used it on “Don’t Hurt Yourself,” from Lemonade, but it’s cut up, used only on the chorus and hardly recognizable (I didn’t even realize it was there until researching this). It’s bare naked on the Backxwash track. Small wonder that lawyers came calling. The entire track is less than 90 seconds long. Is it really that important to this album? I would argue the sample is a red herring, drawing unnecessary attention when there’s a whole lot of other things to discuss in this artist’s work, including her other, more creative samples.

There’s a rich irony here, too, in that Zeppelin--and many white musicians of their generation--often lifted African-American songs verbatim and claimed all songwriting credit (see: Zeppelin vs. Willie Dixon, or Beach Boys vs. Berry, or Gainsbourg vs. Olatunji, or, or, or...). Should anyone care about ripping off Led Zeppelin? But the principle holds. Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards deserve credit for “Rappers’ Delight,” which their lawyers quickly sought and got, back in 1980. Rick James deserves credit for “Can’t Touch This.” Clyde “Funky Drummer” Stubblefield should have died a multi-millionaire, instead of having his friends hold fundraisers to pay for his kidney operation. That most people don't know his name is a crime against music.

There are many creative reasons to use samples of popular songs. In 2020, I’m not convinced using them as a hook for your own song is one of them. That was different in hip-hop’s infancy, when sampling records birthed a whole new genre of music made by disenfranchised people, and necessity birthed invention. By the time of its Golden Age, I loved A Tribe Called Quest, but “Can I Kick It” bothered me just as much as “Ice Ice Baby,” because it seemed like a lazy shortcut. Ten years after that, the electronic artist Mr. Scruff lifted Moondog wholesale and made a mint licensing the track to every ad agency, which was just as bad as ’80s novelty act Jive Bunny and the Mastermixers, who simply put a medley of ’50s hits to a dance beat (a big hit at weddings). I was a huge fan of DJ Shadow’s Endtroducing until I actually heard his source material, David Axelrod et al,  and realized how much he lifted straight-up. Obscurity worked in the crate-digger’s favour back then. It’s still an impressive record, but now I admire its Kid Koala-esque technique rather than its originality or composition. (Kid Koala's first tape, which freely sampled Bjork, Ryuichi Sakamoto and others, was never sold commercially but it landed him a record deal and is available, PWYC, from Bandcamp.)

It’s now 2020. Home recording equipment and software has never been cheaper to obtain and easy to use, especially if you’re not recording acoustic instruments other than your voice. It’s not impossible to make great music, even award-winning music, out of nothing. 

Not being able to sample popular records in no way impedes someone’s creativity. It should spark even more creativity. Dig deeper.

Let’s give Backxwash the final word, in an interview with Erik Leijon for Complex Magazine: “I was experimenting to go sample-less, but as I started making these beats, they sounded cool, but the idea of the sample is telling a story, and I miss telling those stories ... With the samples, I’m connecting to those sounds. But [the sampling controversy has] changed the way I approach music. The other day I did make a beat with a Diamanda Galás sample. If I use it, I’ll just have to approach them and see how much they want for it. Now I’m going to look for more obscure sounds and field recordings and friends. That’s how I’m going to do it.”