The last of the 2007 lists are being released this week: Eye Weekly’s Cross-Canada critics’ poll and Idolator. I found that this year I really had nothing to say to sum up the year when it came to trends and whatnot; as I get older, I care less and less about what’s supposed to be cool and why.
Which is part of the reason why I’ve already whipped through two readings of Carl Wilson’s absolutely brilliant Let’s Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste, which simultaneously convinces me that all other music writing is futile, and that quality music writing and criticism—at least the kind that Wilson aspires to and achieves in his book—is all the more important in a culture that is fine with simply declaring “it’s all good.”
But if I’m disillusioned by music writing, the music itself rarely let me down. Picking a Top 40 was easy, and half of that list are records that either I or everyone else wrote about excessively--check the uniformity between the Eye and Idolator polls, excepting the noble Canadian slant of the former--so much so that I don’t want to do so again here. My most predictable 20 favourites of 2007 are as follows, in alphabetical order:
The Acorn, Arcade Fire, Battles, Common, Julie Doiron, Feist, Handsome Furs, Iron and Wine, LCD Soundsystem, Miracle Fortress, Joel Plaskett Emergency, Radiohead, Rihanna, Spoon, Bruce Springsteen, Mavis Staples, Linda Thompson, Tinariwen, Amon Tobin, Weakerthans.
You know those album titles, you’ve probably already bought those records, and you love them as well you should. If you haven’t, just like Humphrey Kadaner’s Springsteen marketing campaign, I’ll give you a money-back guarantee.
But, as always, there were plenty of others that were either right off the radar and/or otherwise grossly underrated. So this is my other top 20, once again in alphabetical order:
Antibalas – Security (Anti). Where one of the greatest live bands working today stopped being a retro tribute band to 70s African funk—not that there’s anything wrong with that—and entered the 21st century with their most varied album yet.
Apostle of Hustle – National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts). I quite like the rambling mess that was Kevin Drew’s solo album (much, much better than the rambling mess that was the last Broken Social Scene album), and of course Ms. Feist finally conquered the world like we all knew she would. But this was the most satisfying album from the BSS camp this year. Sadly, it’s also the one that seemed to get the least attention. But that's merely comparative, and unfairly at that; now they can fill Lee's Palace, and for anyone who could consistently count the audience members on one hand at Andrew Whiteman gigs in the late 90s, his success is all the more sweet.
Devendra Banhart – Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon (XL). Don’t write him off just because he’s crackers; this was tons of fun and gorgeous when he let it be. Review here.
Mark Berube – What the River Gave the Boat (Kwalu). Rainy days and Mondays don’t get this Vancouver piano boho balladeer down; hopefully the indifference of audiences outside his hometown won’t either. If Hawksley Workman weren’t such a drama queen. Review here.
Bishop Allen – The Broken String (Dead Oceans). America’s most underrated pop band, reviewed here.
Bonde Do Role – With Lasers (Domino). The most fun you could have in 2007 with your pants on. Or not. Next year: Thunderheist.
Buck 65 – Situation (Warner). The most fun this underrated master has had in a long time; apparently it was a laborious birth process with midwife/DJ Skratch Bastid, but you’d never know it. Review here.
Budos Band – II (Daptone). Some of Amy Winehouse’s headlines pointed people towards Sharon Jones and her Daptones, and hopefully those Sharon Jones fans dig even deeper to discover this powerhouse Afro-funk band from the same New York scene.
Mark Davis – Don’t You Think We Should Be Closer?/ Mistakes I Meant to Make (Saved by Radio). This is the singular most baffling obscurity of 2007: these songs sunk deep under my skin the second I heard them, and Davis’s deep, lonesome baritone has been haunting me ever since. This would even give Nick Cave the chills. Five-star reviews here... (except that Eye Weekly's site is still broken).
Deerhoof – Friend Opportunity (Kill Rock Stars). “+81” was the single of the year—all year. Seriously, since this came out in January 2007, I’ve been singing various hooks from just that one song constantly around the house, and the rest of the album is just as solid. Reviewed somewhere on the broken Eye Weekly site.
Friends in Bellwoods – Various Artists (Out of This Spark). I hate most compilations, especially scene-based compilations, and yet nearly every track on this two-disc set makes me feel ecstatic to be alive in Toronto in 2007. Focusing mostly on melancholy pop but including plenty of oddball electronics and weirdness, it’s padded with equally strong acts from Montreal, Ottawa and small town Ontario—but this is one for Toronto history books. Kudos to everyone in Ohbijou and nascent label impresario Stuart Duncan for pulling this together. Interview here. Stuart Berman’s Eye cover story is here.
Heliocentrics – Out There (Stones Throw). Why go cratedigging for obscure reissues of 70s jazz/funk/soul, when this album by DJ Shadow’s backing band bring together the best of that decade with the least embarrassing elements of 90s acid jazz and trip-hop—and please understand that my fingers are quivering as I type those terms.
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists – Living With the Living (Touch and Go). The living embodiment of the not-so-missing link between Strummer and Springsteen, and unlike those two, Leo is getting better as he gets older.
Lightning Dust – s/t (Jagjaguwar). After you get over the mass disappointment of the new Black Mountain (due out on January 22/08), go back and listen to Josh Wells and Amber Webber’s sparse and ghostly side project, where Webber is given full space to shine. Review somewhere in the gaping abyss of the Eye Weekly site.
Corb Lund – Horse Soldier! Horse Soldier! (Stony Plain). Full disclosure: I was paid to write Lund’s bio, but if even if I wasn’t I still would have gushed excessively about this record. His last album was on autopilot—it really did sound like he’d rather be playing cards—but every song here sounds like a brilliant short story set to folk melodies that have survived centuries, played by a kick-ass Albertan traditional country band. Howard Druckman gave it five stars in Eye; I would have done the same, and I’m shocked that I haven’t seen this get more press.
Paul Macleod – Bright Eyes Fade (Busted Flat). Next to Mark Davis, this is the other great mystery of Canadian pop in 2007. Paul Macleod has been one of my favourite songwriters for the last 15 years, and this is his finest studio outing to date—not that there’s that much competition, with only one other CD and an EP released in that time frame. The only time I saw him live this year—because, to my knowledge, he didn’t leave his hometown of Kitchener-Waterloo to come play Toronto—was at one of the Rheostatics’ farewell gigs, where he opened the show and helped sub in for an ailing Martin Tielli. That night he said something about the Rheos being our Beatles—but he himself has no shortage of songs that can stand beside either band’s canon. Do whatever you can to hunt this down—not because this man badly needs a break, but because you deserve to hear him.
Nifty – A Sparrow! A Sparrow! (Blocks Recording Club). The album begins with the dramatic opening theme of some B&W 1940s melodrama being sliced up with Matt Schmidt’s plaintive vocals over top, and that’s one of the more predictable moments here amidst the shuffling sub-aquatic techno, Scott Walker-esque bizarro balladry, Asian strings, analog synths, Glenn Kotche/Steve Reich-ian bell compositions, finicky electro funk and all points in between. Thoroughly satisfying.
Ghislain Poirier – No Ground Under (Ninja Tune). On the follow-up to his masterpiece underground breakthough Breakupdown, Poirier uses his new Ninja Tune platform to invite even more MCs into his bass-heavy beats borrowed and twisted from club culture around the world, and yet his instrumentals easily stand on their own. DJ/Rupture seems to be missing in action, while MIA still mystifies me herself; Poirier is the go-to guy for beats from the global pillage.
Secret Mommy – Plays (Ache). Lots of sample-based musicians are finding that live musicians are more fun to fuck with (see: Amon Tobin; ignore: Cinematic Orchestra). Vancouver’s Andy Dixon tempers the usual giddiness of his found sound plunderphonics only a tad, and comes up with a wonderfully disorienting glitch-pop album. Interview here.
Tunng – Good Arrows (Thrill Jockey). Between this and the Linda Thompson album, it was a good year for traditional British folk music—though Tunng’s electronic textures, glitchy interludes and bouncy pop songs were more Beta Band than Incredible String Band, and all the better for it. Live review here.
-end-
Showing posts with label Secret Mommy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Secret Mommy. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Friday, December 28, 2007
Secret Mommy
Following up our slice-and-dice composition stories of late, this is a discussion with Vancouver musician Andy Dixon. For the past four years, Dixon has creating playful sound art as Secret Mommy: first by plundering pop songs beyond recognition--not unlike the early work of John Oswald--and then by working with thematic field recordings. The Hawaii 5.0 EP was constructed of sounds from a Hawaiian vacation; the Very Rec album was composed from sounds of various sports, such as tennis balls and sneaker squeaks.
For his 2007 release, Plays, Dixon assembled several of his musician friends--he himself plays in a Vancouver band, Winning, and his label Ache puts out other artists near and far (they released the vinyl for Konono No. 1's Congotronics album and Death From Above 1979, as well as 7" singles by Matmos, Four Tet, Hot Hot Heat and Hrvatski). Inviting them to improvise, he then assembled melodies from the raw material, treating the music just as he would any of his field recordings or plundered pop songs. Much like Amon Tobin's Foley Room (discussed at length at this space here and here), it's not a coincidence that the result is a Secret Mommy album that functions as much more than simply a nifty gimmick; indeed, it's one of the finest electronic albums of the year, on both an emotional and aesthetic level. (Like all of Dixon's work, it's not a dance album--just in case you think "electronic music" is code for "house.")
As we discover in this conversation, Dixon is using it as a springboard into other projects: The Secret Mommy (live) Orchestra, and his new solo project--one where he's extremely hesitant to label himself as a singer/songwriter.
Andy Dixon, Secret Mommy
November 1, 2007
Locale: phone conversation from his Vancouver home
Was all your previous work solely from field recordings?
No, it was mostly sample-based. The first couple of records were Top 40 style. Then the middle area involved more field recordings, especially Very Rec. But it depends on your definition, because I also did specific recordings of tennis rackets and balls.
I guess my general use of the word means non-traditional musical properties, which I guess is wrong.
Right. I was distinguishing between studio recordings and an environmental one. It was definitely non-conventional instruments, sometimes in the studio and sometimes not.
Did you also add any musical instruments to those tracks?
Just peppered through a bit. Mostly I tried to get melodies out of non-conventional instruments, but once in a while I’d use a guitar riff somewhere, or my friend Pierre would play a bit of cello just to give it a bit more emotion (laughs).
This album is obviously very emotional, then.
Exactly.
Is it a mix of the two approaches? Or is it all culled from the musicians’ sessions?
No, it’s all culled from the hours and hours we did. We recorded non-stop for two days, but probably not more than five hours total.
What kind of direction did you give them?
It depends. There are two songs on there that were actually based on a riff.
Of yours?
Yes. Just to break the ice initially, because everyone was sitting around scratching their heads. So I said, okay, I have this guitar thing so let’s start with that. That’s the very first thing you hear on the album, actually. That song was the only one based on a predetermined guitar part. Then there was one other song where I wrote a riff on a ukulele during someone else recording something. But generally it didn’t matter. I just wanted sounds. I purposely picked people with all calibers of musicianship. Jesse Zubot is a Juno Award-winning fiddler, and then my friend Matt played trumpet in my high school band.
What made it on to the album? Other than the riffs that you directed, are there melodic motifs that remain intact? How finely did you slice and dice?
Not really. I sliced and diced a lot. Even the riffs that you hear are made by me. Or I liked a run that Shane did on the clarinet, three notes in a row, and then I’d put that at the beginning of something else.
How much melodic intention comes from you as opposed to the players? Is it an issue in sharing songwriting credit? It sounds like you are constructing every melodic motif.
I would do that case by case, obviously, depending on how it works. But I did not share the SOCAN stuff, for reasons I just outlined. Every one of them is an amazing musician, and I’m not trying to undermine that. But I literally pieced every note together to make the melodies. I consider them tools.
I’m assuming you’re paying them as session musicians then.
Well, that’s another thing that’s probably different than what Amon Tobin did. Everyone that played is one of my closest friends. It wasn’t an issue. We didn’t talk about it. I’ve come to function under the assumption that I’m never going to make any money anyways. It was more like a friendly jam session. Everyone was just hanging out drinking beer.
Yes, but what about the millions of dollars you’ve made as a result of this album?
Well, don’t tell anyone about that! (laughs) People are starting to question my Hummer and my mansion. Maybe I’ll rethink this if something did happen and I made money; then I’d share the wealth. But there’s no money to even debate right now.
But you then assembled the Secret Mommy Orchestra. How did that work?
I brought back a handful of the people who recorded it and we now play live. We had to figure out the parts that they technically played at one time that I then chopped up. It’s confusing, but fun. I like that chicken-and-egg thing.
How many people in the band?
Five. I play guitar and percussion and laptop. Then there’s Greg Adams, who does all the male singing on the album, and he plays guitar as well. Meredah Anderson plays accordion, Sarah Jane Truman plays flute and bells, and Shane Krauss who plays clarinet.
You’ve played in “rock” bands before, and Secret Mommy was obviously designed as a sideline to all of that. Are you interpreting earlier Secret Mommy material as well, or just this record?
I am interpreting it—but no one else is. The laptop might grab from that catalog while I’m flipping around in there, but the four other people are playing the new material.
Are you sticking to the compositions, or are you stretching out?
Compositionally it’s not there at all. We do play a song from Very Rec, but it’s a medley of that and a song from Plays. I like the live performance to be something different, even if just to illustrate that I am playing the laptop and not just pressing play on an iPod.
I’m trying to remember now if it was just the first Secret Mommy record where you plundered pop songs.
The first two, actually. The first one was Babies That Hunt, and the second was Mammal Class.
How did you approach those in terms of licensing?
I didn’t. That was the thrill of it. I wasn’t an electronic musician at that point. I was a punk musician. I was in an obscure art/punk band playing guitar. I started to get glimpses of stuff like Kid606 and Lesser. Something about it jumped right out at me—probably the punk spirit of it. I think the spirit of punk is—or it used to be—taking a non-commercial approach to music. That’s what I equated it with. We were all big on anti-corporate music, so when I heard Kid606 I was really excited and inspired and started doing my own collage. I sent it to this label in San Francisco and they put it out. That was before I ever played a show or even thought of it.
Did you get tired of that kind of pop plundering? Why did you shift?
I don’t usually analyze these things. Maybe I felt like I had done what I needed to do. But Hawaii 5.0 is a missing link there, because there is a tiny bit of that in there. There’s a 50 Cent sample at the beginning. Then on Very Rec it just wouldn’t make any sense to include that kind of stuff.
On those early records, if you hadn’t dropped major hints in the song titles, I wouldn’t have known what you were plundering.
The titles were fun. On Mammal Class, I did put in the names of everything that I sampled, and obscured it slightly by removing the vowels. But it’s pretty obvious! For me, I’m functioning under the idea that I’m never going to make any money. If EMI or Universal knocks on my door and tells me I sampled whatever without their permission, I’d invite them to take the money I made on the album—which is nothing. If they want me to stop selling it—fine, I don’t care. It’ll be on the internet.
Were you familiar with John Oswald [of Plunderphonics] when you started doing that?
No, actually. When I did the album, I didn’t know much about electronic music at all. I had a couple of Mouse on Mars records that I loved, but I was still kind of against the whole thing in a way as a hardcore punk guy. Then I sent it to Orthlorng Musork, which is owned by Kit Clayton, and he liked it and put it out. I was thrown into this scene that I didn’t know very much about, which was quite thrilling. So [John Oswald’s] name came up, and I’d never heard of Matthew Herbert at the time. People kept telling me I did stuff that sounded like them.
I was thinking that this approach is kind of the reverse of dealing with session players in Motown or Nashville, where someone comes in with a song and get the people to play it. And maybe a guitar lick that some session dude comes up with on the spot becomes the most identifiable part of the song.
How does it work with that?
Well, usually they’re either on a payroll, or they’re being paid for that one session with very clear terms in the contract excluding them from songwriting credit. One the other end of the spectrum, you have Miles Davis albums where he gets all the songwriting credit, but everyone on there is equally responsible for those improv compositions.
I play in bands too, and we always split everything evenly for SOCAN. I would never say, ‘Oh, I wrote 80 per cent of that song.’ We’re a band and a unit and any money that could be made, in my opinion, should be split between us. It’s a different process to me [than Secret Mommy]. I curated this whole thing. We weren’t a band. I got some people together and it was my idea, as opposed to everyone’s thing.
What is your band history?
When I was 11, I was in my first punk band called DBS. We played for almost ten years, and we were on Sudden Death, which is Joey Keithley’s label [of DOA]. We broke up in 1997, maybe, and then I was in Red Light Sting. That’s about it, and now I’m in a band called Winning.
So the orchestra has only played BC?
Yes. We’re going to do a European tour, and we’re thinking of breaking up the flight and making some extra dough by making a pit stop in Montreal and Toronto. That would be in April [08], but nothing is set in stone yet. I’d love to do more, but getting across the prairies just sucks.
What about new material? There’s been a Secret Mommy album every year so far.
There is some, but I don’t know what I’m doing and there is no big picture. I just finished an album that I’m going to release under my own name. It’s different than a Secret Mommy record, and now we’re interpreting live versions of those songs with most of the same people as the Secret Mommy Orchestra—which includes two members of Winning as well. The album is being mastered now. I feel like I’ve painted myself into a bit of a corner as Secret Mommy, and I’m not sure if this is a new direction—if Secret Mommy is a band now and if we should write songs together. I don’t know.
So this is your confessional singer/songwriter phase?
Kind of! In a way. It is singing and songwriting, but I’d certainly stay away from that term (laughs). You’re not that far off, though.
-end-
For his 2007 release, Plays, Dixon assembled several of his musician friends--he himself plays in a Vancouver band, Winning, and his label Ache puts out other artists near and far (they released the vinyl for Konono No. 1's Congotronics album and Death From Above 1979, as well as 7" singles by Matmos, Four Tet, Hot Hot Heat and Hrvatski). Inviting them to improvise, he then assembled melodies from the raw material, treating the music just as he would any of his field recordings or plundered pop songs. Much like Amon Tobin's Foley Room (discussed at length at this space here and here), it's not a coincidence that the result is a Secret Mommy album that functions as much more than simply a nifty gimmick; indeed, it's one of the finest electronic albums of the year, on both an emotional and aesthetic level. (Like all of Dixon's work, it's not a dance album--just in case you think "electronic music" is code for "house.")
As we discover in this conversation, Dixon is using it as a springboard into other projects: The Secret Mommy (live) Orchestra, and his new solo project--one where he's extremely hesitant to label himself as a singer/songwriter.
Andy Dixon, Secret Mommy
November 1, 2007
Locale: phone conversation from his Vancouver home
Was all your previous work solely from field recordings?
No, it was mostly sample-based. The first couple of records were Top 40 style. Then the middle area involved more field recordings, especially Very Rec. But it depends on your definition, because I also did specific recordings of tennis rackets and balls.
I guess my general use of the word means non-traditional musical properties, which I guess is wrong.
Right. I was distinguishing between studio recordings and an environmental one. It was definitely non-conventional instruments, sometimes in the studio and sometimes not.
Did you also add any musical instruments to those tracks?
Just peppered through a bit. Mostly I tried to get melodies out of non-conventional instruments, but once in a while I’d use a guitar riff somewhere, or my friend Pierre would play a bit of cello just to give it a bit more emotion (laughs).
This album is obviously very emotional, then.
Exactly.
Is it a mix of the two approaches? Or is it all culled from the musicians’ sessions?
No, it’s all culled from the hours and hours we did. We recorded non-stop for two days, but probably not more than five hours total.
What kind of direction did you give them?
It depends. There are two songs on there that were actually based on a riff.
Of yours?
Yes. Just to break the ice initially, because everyone was sitting around scratching their heads. So I said, okay, I have this guitar thing so let’s start with that. That’s the very first thing you hear on the album, actually. That song was the only one based on a predetermined guitar part. Then there was one other song where I wrote a riff on a ukulele during someone else recording something. But generally it didn’t matter. I just wanted sounds. I purposely picked people with all calibers of musicianship. Jesse Zubot is a Juno Award-winning fiddler, and then my friend Matt played trumpet in my high school band.
What made it on to the album? Other than the riffs that you directed, are there melodic motifs that remain intact? How finely did you slice and dice?
Not really. I sliced and diced a lot. Even the riffs that you hear are made by me. Or I liked a run that Shane did on the clarinet, three notes in a row, and then I’d put that at the beginning of something else.
How much melodic intention comes from you as opposed to the players? Is it an issue in sharing songwriting credit? It sounds like you are constructing every melodic motif.
I would do that case by case, obviously, depending on how it works. But I did not share the SOCAN stuff, for reasons I just outlined. Every one of them is an amazing musician, and I’m not trying to undermine that. But I literally pieced every note together to make the melodies. I consider them tools.
I’m assuming you’re paying them as session musicians then.
Well, that’s another thing that’s probably different than what Amon Tobin did. Everyone that played is one of my closest friends. It wasn’t an issue. We didn’t talk about it. I’ve come to function under the assumption that I’m never going to make any money anyways. It was more like a friendly jam session. Everyone was just hanging out drinking beer.
Yes, but what about the millions of dollars you’ve made as a result of this album?
Well, don’t tell anyone about that! (laughs) People are starting to question my Hummer and my mansion. Maybe I’ll rethink this if something did happen and I made money; then I’d share the wealth. But there’s no money to even debate right now.
But you then assembled the Secret Mommy Orchestra. How did that work?
I brought back a handful of the people who recorded it and we now play live. We had to figure out the parts that they technically played at one time that I then chopped up. It’s confusing, but fun. I like that chicken-and-egg thing.
How many people in the band?
Five. I play guitar and percussion and laptop. Then there’s Greg Adams, who does all the male singing on the album, and he plays guitar as well. Meredah Anderson plays accordion, Sarah Jane Truman plays flute and bells, and Shane Krauss who plays clarinet.
You’ve played in “rock” bands before, and Secret Mommy was obviously designed as a sideline to all of that. Are you interpreting earlier Secret Mommy material as well, or just this record?
I am interpreting it—but no one else is. The laptop might grab from that catalog while I’m flipping around in there, but the four other people are playing the new material.
Are you sticking to the compositions, or are you stretching out?
Compositionally it’s not there at all. We do play a song from Very Rec, but it’s a medley of that and a song from Plays. I like the live performance to be something different, even if just to illustrate that I am playing the laptop and not just pressing play on an iPod.
I’m trying to remember now if it was just the first Secret Mommy record where you plundered pop songs.
The first two, actually. The first one was Babies That Hunt, and the second was Mammal Class.
How did you approach those in terms of licensing?
I didn’t. That was the thrill of it. I wasn’t an electronic musician at that point. I was a punk musician. I was in an obscure art/punk band playing guitar. I started to get glimpses of stuff like Kid606 and Lesser. Something about it jumped right out at me—probably the punk spirit of it. I think the spirit of punk is—or it used to be—taking a non-commercial approach to music. That’s what I equated it with. We were all big on anti-corporate music, so when I heard Kid606 I was really excited and inspired and started doing my own collage. I sent it to this label in San Francisco and they put it out. That was before I ever played a show or even thought of it.
Did you get tired of that kind of pop plundering? Why did you shift?
I don’t usually analyze these things. Maybe I felt like I had done what I needed to do. But Hawaii 5.0 is a missing link there, because there is a tiny bit of that in there. There’s a 50 Cent sample at the beginning. Then on Very Rec it just wouldn’t make any sense to include that kind of stuff.
On those early records, if you hadn’t dropped major hints in the song titles, I wouldn’t have known what you were plundering.
The titles were fun. On Mammal Class, I did put in the names of everything that I sampled, and obscured it slightly by removing the vowels. But it’s pretty obvious! For me, I’m functioning under the idea that I’m never going to make any money. If EMI or Universal knocks on my door and tells me I sampled whatever without their permission, I’d invite them to take the money I made on the album—which is nothing. If they want me to stop selling it—fine, I don’t care. It’ll be on the internet.
Were you familiar with John Oswald [of Plunderphonics] when you started doing that?
No, actually. When I did the album, I didn’t know much about electronic music at all. I had a couple of Mouse on Mars records that I loved, but I was still kind of against the whole thing in a way as a hardcore punk guy. Then I sent it to Orthlorng Musork, which is owned by Kit Clayton, and he liked it and put it out. I was thrown into this scene that I didn’t know very much about, which was quite thrilling. So [John Oswald’s] name came up, and I’d never heard of Matthew Herbert at the time. People kept telling me I did stuff that sounded like them.
I was thinking that this approach is kind of the reverse of dealing with session players in Motown or Nashville, where someone comes in with a song and get the people to play it. And maybe a guitar lick that some session dude comes up with on the spot becomes the most identifiable part of the song.
How does it work with that?
Well, usually they’re either on a payroll, or they’re being paid for that one session with very clear terms in the contract excluding them from songwriting credit. One the other end of the spectrum, you have Miles Davis albums where he gets all the songwriting credit, but everyone on there is equally responsible for those improv compositions.
I play in bands too, and we always split everything evenly for SOCAN. I would never say, ‘Oh, I wrote 80 per cent of that song.’ We’re a band and a unit and any money that could be made, in my opinion, should be split between us. It’s a different process to me [than Secret Mommy]. I curated this whole thing. We weren’t a band. I got some people together and it was my idea, as opposed to everyone’s thing.
What is your band history?
When I was 11, I was in my first punk band called DBS. We played for almost ten years, and we were on Sudden Death, which is Joey Keithley’s label [of DOA]. We broke up in 1997, maybe, and then I was in Red Light Sting. That’s about it, and now I’m in a band called Winning.
So the orchestra has only played BC?
Yes. We’re going to do a European tour, and we’re thinking of breaking up the flight and making some extra dough by making a pit stop in Montreal and Toronto. That would be in April [08], but nothing is set in stone yet. I’d love to do more, but getting across the prairies just sucks.
What about new material? There’s been a Secret Mommy album every year so far.
There is some, but I don’t know what I’m doing and there is no big picture. I just finished an album that I’m going to release under my own name. It’s different than a Secret Mommy record, and now we’re interpreting live versions of those songs with most of the same people as the Secret Mommy Orchestra—which includes two members of Winning as well. The album is being mastered now. I feel like I’ve painted myself into a bit of a corner as Secret Mommy, and I’m not sure if this is a new direction—if Secret Mommy is a band now and if we should write songs together. I don’t know.
So this is your confessional singer/songwriter phase?
Kind of! In a way. It is singing and songwriting, but I’d certainly stay away from that term (laughs). You’re not that far off, though.
-end-
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Polaris, preliminary
Critics across the country are busy assembling their ballots for the second Polaris Prize, which are due this Friday, June 22. The shortlist will be announced on July 10; the award will be given out on September 24, chosen by a jury of 10 that same night.
Last year, you may recall, Final Fantasy scored a so-called “upset” win over Broken Social Scene, Metric, New Pornographers, Wolf Parade, Sarah Harmer, and fellow underdogs Deadly Snakes, Malajube, Cadence Weapon and K’naan.
In preparing my own ballot this year, I easily came up with a shortlist of 20. I was somewhat surprised by the number of roots-related releases on my ballot; while Canada has always excelled in this genre, my own love for this music has waned in recent years—which means that the artists I love in this genre all surprised me with either the depth of their songwriting or slight twists on anticipated arrangements.
Sadly, I’m not surprised by the lack of hip-hop and electronic music on my own ballot. Much more often than not, my own love for those artists doesn’t extend to an entire album—and the whole point of Polaris is to reward the complete album as a listening experience: not scene politics, not the live show, not commercial status.
I do fear, however, that many critics in the pool will feel the same way, and that this year’s final list will be entirely devoid of anything outside the loose parameters of pop and rock. There are myriad reasons for this, among them the fact that this is what dominates the musical taste of editors and writers in this country (I can count on one hand the number of Canadian writers I trust to write about hip-hop), and by extension the publicity machines. The only Canadian hip-hop most critics hear is the stuff that shows up in their mailbox unsolicited, and I’m as guilty as anyone else.
IMPORTANT UPDATE: I have no idea why I hadn't found this excellent Canadian hip-hop site before, but it looks like a great read.
Without a major label hip-hop contender other than K-OS (whose reviews were decidedly mixed on his last album) and Brassmunk (again, mixed reviews), will we see No Luck Club, Omnikrom, Ghettosocks, Politiclive, Birdapres, Marco Polo or Isis in the final Polaris Top 10? Highly unlikely. None of them, except maybe No Luck Club, physically got to as many Canadian critics as Cadence Weapon did last year. I’d argue that credit for his Polaris nod last year was due as much to Upper Class Recording’s mailing list as the album itself.
I’d be equally shocked if a single electronic release squeaks in there. Ditto for anything that could be termed world music, jazz, or roots music that doesn’t have a foot in the indie rock world. I think we should all be paying more attention to David Dacks.
Again, however, I live in a glass house, as my shortlist of 20 will demonstrate.
Unlike Mr. Zoilus and Mr. Chromewaves, I don’t feel like announcing my final choices, but here’s the list I was working with. Five of these made my ballot. Some were disqualified for reasons of length (albums must be either eight tracks or over half an hour), citizenship, or previously released material.
Acorn – Tin Fist EP (Paper Bag). Review here.
Apostle of Hustle – National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts). Reviewed here and here.
Arcade Fire – Neon Bible (Merge). Reviewed here. Transcripts here, here and here.
Awkward Stage – Heaven Is For Easy Girls (Mint). Article here. Full interview here.
Blood Meridian – Kick Up the Dust (Outside). Review here. Article here. Full interview here.
Mark Davis – Don’t You Think We Should Be Closer? (Saved By Radio). Reviewed here.
Angela Desveaux – Wandering Eyes (Thrill Jockey). Review here. Article here.
Julie Doiron – Woke Myself Up (Endearing). Interview here.
Feuermusik – Goodbye, Lucille (independent). Will saxophone and buckets be this year’s looped violin? A very dark horse that just might rally enough support from Toronto critics to squeak on the list.
Great Lake Swimmers – Ongiara (Nettwerk). Interview here.
Hylozoists – La Fin du Monde (Boompa).
Greg Keelor – Aphrodite Rose (Warner). Review here. (scroll way down)
Miracle Fortress – Five Roses (Secret City). A very late entry, but entirely captivating, dreamy pop that sounds like Caribou with better melodic smarts. Review forthcoming.
Phonemes – There’s Something We’ve Been Meaning To Do (Blocks Recording Club). Years in the works and well worth the wait. Though because it snuck out last month with zero promotional muscle, very few critics even know it exists.
Secret Mommy – Plays (Ache). Not sure it’s his best work, but Andy Dixon is certainly this country’s most playful electronic innovator.
Amon Tobin – Foley Room (Ninja Tune). Review here. Article here. Full interview here.
Various – Friends in Bellwoods (Out of This Spark). Interview here.
Various – Jamaica to Toronto (Light in the Attic). Gushing review of live show here.
Rufus Wainwright – Release the Stars (Geffen). Interview in the new issue of Magnet.
You Say Party! We Say Die! – Lose All Time (Paper Bag). Review here. (scroll way down)
I’m going to go out on a limb and predict what the shortlist will be. Votes have yet to be even counted, so to be absolutely clear, this is entirely conjecture on my part, based on big hunches about what will be a middle-of-the-road critical consensus.
Apostle of Hustle – National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts)
Arcade Fire – Neon Bible (Merge)
Jim Bryson – Where the Bungalows Roam (Kelp)
Julie Doiron – Woke Myself Up (Endearing)
Feist – The Reminder (Arts and Crafts)
Great Lake Swimmers – Ongiara (Nettwerk)
Junior Boys – So This Is Goodbye (Domino)
Joel Plaskett – Ashtray Rock (Maple)
Shout Out Out Out – Not Saying Just Saying (Normals Welcome)
Sloan – Never Hear the End of It (Murder)
Trainspotters, take note: this would mean four from Toronto, two from other Ontario cities (Ottawa and Hamilton), three with strong ties to the East Coast (as opposed to none last year), none from Vancouver, one from Edmonton, two female solo artists, two pop acts that use mostly electronics but are still decidedly rockist, two albums that debuted in the top three of Soundscan, two acts signed directly to international deals. No hip-hop or francophones this year.
But I look forward to being pleasantly surprised on July 10.
Last year, you may recall, Final Fantasy scored a so-called “upset” win over Broken Social Scene, Metric, New Pornographers, Wolf Parade, Sarah Harmer, and fellow underdogs Deadly Snakes, Malajube, Cadence Weapon and K’naan.
In preparing my own ballot this year, I easily came up with a shortlist of 20. I was somewhat surprised by the number of roots-related releases on my ballot; while Canada has always excelled in this genre, my own love for this music has waned in recent years—which means that the artists I love in this genre all surprised me with either the depth of their songwriting or slight twists on anticipated arrangements.
Sadly, I’m not surprised by the lack of hip-hop and electronic music on my own ballot. Much more often than not, my own love for those artists doesn’t extend to an entire album—and the whole point of Polaris is to reward the complete album as a listening experience: not scene politics, not the live show, not commercial status.
I do fear, however, that many critics in the pool will feel the same way, and that this year’s final list will be entirely devoid of anything outside the loose parameters of pop and rock. There are myriad reasons for this, among them the fact that this is what dominates the musical taste of editors and writers in this country (I can count on one hand the number of Canadian writers I trust to write about hip-hop), and by extension the publicity machines. The only Canadian hip-hop most critics hear is the stuff that shows up in their mailbox unsolicited, and I’m as guilty as anyone else.
IMPORTANT UPDATE: I have no idea why I hadn't found this excellent Canadian hip-hop site before, but it looks like a great read.
Without a major label hip-hop contender other than K-OS (whose reviews were decidedly mixed on his last album) and Brassmunk (again, mixed reviews), will we see No Luck Club, Omnikrom, Ghettosocks, Politiclive, Birdapres, Marco Polo or Isis in the final Polaris Top 10? Highly unlikely. None of them, except maybe No Luck Club, physically got to as many Canadian critics as Cadence Weapon did last year. I’d argue that credit for his Polaris nod last year was due as much to Upper Class Recording’s mailing list as the album itself.
I’d be equally shocked if a single electronic release squeaks in there. Ditto for anything that could be termed world music, jazz, or roots music that doesn’t have a foot in the indie rock world. I think we should all be paying more attention to David Dacks.
Again, however, I live in a glass house, as my shortlist of 20 will demonstrate.
Unlike Mr. Zoilus and Mr. Chromewaves, I don’t feel like announcing my final choices, but here’s the list I was working with. Five of these made my ballot. Some were disqualified for reasons of length (albums must be either eight tracks or over half an hour), citizenship, or previously released material.
Acorn – Tin Fist EP (Paper Bag). Review here.
Apostle of Hustle – National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts). Reviewed here and here.
Arcade Fire – Neon Bible (Merge). Reviewed here. Transcripts here, here and here.
Awkward Stage – Heaven Is For Easy Girls (Mint). Article here. Full interview here.
Blood Meridian – Kick Up the Dust (Outside). Review here. Article here. Full interview here.
Mark Davis – Don’t You Think We Should Be Closer? (Saved By Radio). Reviewed here.
Angela Desveaux – Wandering Eyes (Thrill Jockey). Review here. Article here.
Julie Doiron – Woke Myself Up (Endearing). Interview here.
Feuermusik – Goodbye, Lucille (independent). Will saxophone and buckets be this year’s looped violin? A very dark horse that just might rally enough support from Toronto critics to squeak on the list.
Great Lake Swimmers – Ongiara (Nettwerk). Interview here.
Hylozoists – La Fin du Monde (Boompa).
Greg Keelor – Aphrodite Rose (Warner). Review here. (scroll way down)
Miracle Fortress – Five Roses (Secret City). A very late entry, but entirely captivating, dreamy pop that sounds like Caribou with better melodic smarts. Review forthcoming.
Phonemes – There’s Something We’ve Been Meaning To Do (Blocks Recording Club). Years in the works and well worth the wait. Though because it snuck out last month with zero promotional muscle, very few critics even know it exists.
Secret Mommy – Plays (Ache). Not sure it’s his best work, but Andy Dixon is certainly this country’s most playful electronic innovator.
Amon Tobin – Foley Room (Ninja Tune). Review here. Article here. Full interview here.
Various – Friends in Bellwoods (Out of This Spark). Interview here.
Various – Jamaica to Toronto (Light in the Attic). Gushing review of live show here.
Rufus Wainwright – Release the Stars (Geffen). Interview in the new issue of Magnet.
You Say Party! We Say Die! – Lose All Time (Paper Bag). Review here. (scroll way down)
I’m going to go out on a limb and predict what the shortlist will be. Votes have yet to be even counted, so to be absolutely clear, this is entirely conjecture on my part, based on big hunches about what will be a middle-of-the-road critical consensus.
Apostle of Hustle – National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts)
Arcade Fire – Neon Bible (Merge)
Jim Bryson – Where the Bungalows Roam (Kelp)
Julie Doiron – Woke Myself Up (Endearing)
Feist – The Reminder (Arts and Crafts)
Great Lake Swimmers – Ongiara (Nettwerk)
Junior Boys – So This Is Goodbye (Domino)
Joel Plaskett – Ashtray Rock (Maple)
Shout Out Out Out – Not Saying Just Saying (Normals Welcome)
Sloan – Never Hear the End of It (Murder)
Trainspotters, take note: this would mean four from Toronto, two from other Ontario cities (Ottawa and Hamilton), three with strong ties to the East Coast (as opposed to none last year), none from Vancouver, one from Edmonton, two female solo artists, two pop acts that use mostly electronics but are still decidedly rockist, two albums that debuted in the top three of Soundscan, two acts signed directly to international deals. No hip-hop or francophones this year.
But I look forward to being pleasantly surprised on July 10.
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