A Superfries Halloween: Apollo Ghosts & EEEK

When you’re too old to sleep on floors, taking a group trip with your friends to see shows in exotic places like Nanaimo requires lots of planning. Hotels are a tricky choice as they really don’t like when you book one room and ask for 5 cots for your many “children” who you explain to the concierge only look like drunk and unruly adults because they have the “Robin William’s Jack Disease.”

Left with few options for Island shelter for my Halloween adventure, I called a hostel and rented a private cottage in the backyard. That part was easy because I have a really low phone voice and people usually think I’m very important, like a politician or a fireman or a special veterinarian for horses and larger animals.

The hostel is owned by an elderly woman. Early in the day she tried to convince us to let the members of “Loot” (a Tool cover band), into our cottage to use the Piano in our living room. Upon check-out, the kindly host pulled me aside to tell me “Loot“ had over 600 people to their downtown bar show. I guess we should have let them use the Piano instead of giggling, yelling “LooOOOooOOOOooooooT!!!” and locking the door.

The house party show in Nanaimo, although lacking Loot, was headlined by Apollo Ghosts, who are pretty rad. It was at a house that looked way too nice to be having the type of party that isn’t “shoes off.” Smartly, the homeowners blockaded the upstairs and the show was held in a huge two-roomed basement open to a giant yard with a porta potty. I think all parties and nightclubs should have porta potties because most people are scared to pee in them for fear of being tipped, and everyone turns into a super-fast speed pee machine who doesn’t waste time washing their hands or making pouty beauty face in the mirror.

The basement was fully decked out with lights, fog machines, and spooky things that looked like they came from the good Halloween decoration store, where they sell actually scary things like fetuses in jars.

There was a good-sized area for a stage on the big floor with no barrier preventing the fun of audience participation, such as hitting the high hat for the drummer, or screaming and shoving everyone in the band.

I love Halloween house party shows because they are mostly devoid of bar going “sexy” costumes on chicks that walk around like they invented grandparents. My notable costume favorites were: “Waterslide,” “Irish Guy with Small dick” and “Jay Mascis.” I think I saw a sprinkling of Goths too, but they may not have been in costume. I didn’t want to ask if they were dressed up because Goths are creative and sensitive, like a rare butterfly that only grows it’s wings in the dark caves of nighttime.

The first band I remember seeing that night was Warning Sirens. For the actual start of the show I went to the other room to play with the bubble machine that spat out bubbles with fog in them! It was amazing! Made up of two members of Vancouver’s EEEK!, Warning Sirens played their 15 minutes drone set in ghost sheets and it was awesome and haunting, the perfect soundtrack for Halloween or for taking too much acid and having to hike to the top of Candy Mountain through a forest full of fairy’s with demon faces and sharp teeth who don’t want you to get the candy.

Before EEEK’s set, a beautiful large man in a dress made a delightful public speech that involved lots of slurring and hair flipping. It must be so nice for larger gentlemen to be able to enjoy the little treasures of womanhood gifted to them by the acceptability of Halloween cross-dressing. Getting wasted and making tearful, incoherent speeches while your skirt rides up and your hair sticks to your lipstick is an experience I am delighted to share with the male gender.

EEEK! finally took over the microphone from sally-cries-a-lot and started a super good shove party in the front. Their set was a 40-minute aggressive and intimate little slam-dance pit party. I excel during these types of sets that enable lots of jumping, cardio and feats of strength; I’m very fit because I used to own a mini trampoline.

EEEK! – Single Moms
EEEK! – Cascadia

After a pair of bonfire illuminated pantless cowboys explained to me at length the meaning of “the danger zone”, I wandered back into the party to watch Apollo Ghost. I couldn’t see much for reasons involving my costume’s hood and my alcohol intake, but I could see some low ceiling crowd surfing and it sounded awesome.

Apollo Ghosts – Why can’t they all be like you
Apollo Ghosts – Night Vision 

I had a bit of a sad because Slam Dunk, who was supposed to play as well, got stuck in Victoria because of a crash on the Malahat. Their absence was disappointing because last time I saw Slam Dunk I was super distracted as another Winnie alumni (guess who!) kept stagediving, continuously, like 10 times past the O.K stagediving amount and I was scared he would crush me and I’d die on the floor of the Astoria, which is definitely not in the audience of Ellen, where I dream of quietly dying of old age.
Slam Dunk – Feral Child
I’m told there were four other bands but I was drunk and it was my special princess birthday-day and I drank my body weight in baby duck.

So, instead of insightful reviews of the other bands, let me share with you some of the new words I choose to record in my notepad as my feelings during the show:

Sunburnx
Religios golowing
Bi duckis
Alan Man

posted by @superfries

Winnie Went to Bumbershoot!

-Large Urinal in the middle of Bumbershoot Grounds-

Vancouver should re-name the stupid Harbour Centre, because beside Seattle’s “Space Needle” we’re looking pretty dumb here. To compete with the greatness of Seattle landmarks, I suggest the re-naming of the Harbour Centre, a building i’ve avoided since childhood when I confused the revolving restaurant with the Gravitron. I propose  “Deep Space Ocean Tower” or “Sky Disc Future Town.”

At the foot of Seattle’s Space Needle and bordered by the amazing Experience Music Project building was Bumbershoot.  The big-little festival filled with friendly faces, a good and strange line-up, and an outdoor PNE- like market with booths such as “buy-a-blankie to fund Cat Rescues.”

Oh Bumbershoot, such a strange indie/commercialized beast. I forgive “The Shoot” for succumbing to the allure of  dollars that Toyota spent to be everywhere at the festival, mostly because festivals like these are expensive, but also because of the human hamster wheel, shrinky dink station, and the free beer cozy and bandanna I got.  However, I simply cannot forgive the giant rotating cat faces with speech bubbles that they filled with text they probably copied from my Mom’s email forwards 2 years ago. Terrible.

Around the same time I liked Shrinky Dinks (ie: a little bit too far into my teenage years), I liked a certain song called “Lump.”  My Bumbershoot weekend started with a nostalgic little Presidents of the United States of America visit. The Presidents, who are Seattle natives, were probably pretty sure they would never play a fairly full stadium anytime soon, unless they were joined by Superdogs at the Agrodome or something. But the Key Arena was pretty impressively crowded. I have no idea what they played but I yelled “It’s Lump or “Peaches” before pretty much every song, just hoping. The band knew everyone’s plan though, and they saved the two nostalgia gems for the end of their set.

-Lil teens dont need no official bumbershoot gig to play-

Bumbershoot has a really broad demographic. Looking around from my vantage point at the Bud Light corral, the crowd was peppered with 40 year olds sporting faded Pink Floyd Tattoos, pretty people wearing really tight high waisted jeans that look as comfortable as wearing a child’s lifejacket crotch strap, “fancy” people dressed like gay nutcrackers, and kids who were just there to play in the giant fountain water park thingy that was in the epicenter of the festival.

-This couple really liked Bumbershoot and maybe found some drugs-

I fit in somewhere between the child in the fountain and the gay nutcracker, so I felt pretty in my element the whole time at Bumbershoot. The acts were as diverse as the crowd, so I was hoping that there was life beyond my brief scream fit during “lump.”  Saturday evening I was pleasantly and drunkenly surprised with my favorite show of the festival. I found my favorite 45 minutes of the weekend by stepping out of the lovely sunshine and into the “metal stage” a dilapidated ballroom with huge pillars, lasers, and so, so much hair. Valient Thorr is the best. The venue was ¼ filled and the lead singer was a drooling overweight god of a man. He had that amazing “long hair with mini bangs combo” that allows maximum head thrash with minimal hair-in-mouth disruptions.

-Valient Thorr lead singer “Valient Himself”-

After I giggled like a little bitch while getting my Valient Thorr album signed and stared at the lead singers sweaty belly with my gift face on, we moved into polar opposite territory and saw the lovely Shebazz Palace. They are so classy. After white –people-head-banging to metal in the dark, it was quite a departure being in summer sun and standing on grass watching Shebazz Palace do their effortless little choreographed moves. Then I got some dumplings and watched Tennis, a nice lil band with great hair. I am endeared to people who look like muppets.

-Tennis pretty lady Alaina Moore-

A huge crowd formed for Das Rasict, who looked really stoned, which I think is normal, but the first few songs were illegible and a lady was flat tire-ing my foot as I tried to find a spot in the crowd that wouldn’t put me within 1/2 an inch of a preteen who smelled like value village and baby powder. So I left. Overall, Das Racist on the Bumbershoot sound system was like when I sing along to BET, just really wrong. My less grumpy friends stayed and apparently they got way better and the sound improved.

-Tycho leading psychedelic party nap time-

A festival highlight that didn’t include my desire to braid Valient Himself’s beard was Tycho, who played in the heavenly E.M.P venue “sky church” in front of massive projections of frontman ISO 50’s art.  Towering ceilings, hissing fog machines, and amazing acoustics make this narrow venue an amazing place to have my preschool-esque “time out” from Bumbershoot in the cavernous sky church watching pretty pictures and listening calmly.

-Valient Thorr sweaty God of beards-

Later that night, after indulging in the amazingness that is buying liquor at the grocery store, I drank too many energy drinks and champagne  and felt it was the perfect time to sit still and look polite at the Orchestra. Seattle got it so right when they choose Ludovic Morlot to be their new conductor, I want to sit in a rowboat with him while he makes me sandwiches and explains how the little wavy stick controls the musicians.

I like Classical music. I listen to it even when no one is there to hear it and think how smart I must be. The Seattle Symphony cats are pretty awesome, they’re clearly excited about having a full audience, and the prospect of experimenting with tradition for a younger crowd. I geeked out hard when a dude came out to do an electric bassoon piece with looping pedals, It sounded like outer space covered in 4 loko.  Morlot also announced he’s hosting an open contest where young composers will work on pieces inspired by Nirvana.  I can’t wait to get parking lot drunk and go see that too! I was so pumped up by the Orchestra and my love for booze that after Bumbershoot I ended up getting in a beer throwing friendly fire battle and getting attacked by a ping pong machine. Apparently I also “Port Mann Bridged” A LOT, which I explained to onlookers as “my personal version of the Jersey Turnpike.” The USA brings the best out of people, but sadly, my “best” that night colored my interpretation of the final day of Bumbershoot.

-Ping pong machines are not a toy-

The next 12 hours I basically whined, puked, and got stung by a bee.

I just wanted to find a medium sized box to crawl into and cry, so I did the next best thing and sat in the super loud and echoey Key Arena in the early afternoon for Big Boi. Seeing him was cool but the hype man’s voice was overpowering everything else. Some hot bitches from the crowd got pulled on stage to dance during a few songs, like “Tangerine” and “Shutterbug” …and even the lady with the teeny tiny baby didn’t let the little breakable human clutching her get in the way of getting d.o.w.n.

Then on to Yacht…..oh Yacht. I loved the dude when he was a solo weirdo on the stage of Richards. Then he brought his awkward, kinda bookwormy girlfriend into the mix 4 years ago and she was nervous and I really liked her too….then either he got a new girlfriend or the bookworm got  bodysnatched by Annie Lennox.  They grew a full band, called “Straight Gaze” and during their disco rave Talking Heads-ish set I got irritated and left to go get a caricature of myself as a centaur.

Also, there was a Homeless man in a Penguin suit following me around like Pete Tong’s cocaine badger. Somehow he got into the press section of Atari Teenage Riot and stole my beer.

-Superfries 

-photos by Connor Mcguire-

Winnie Goes to Bumbershoot!

Last time I was given a Press Pass I ended up washing my feet in Vampire Weekend’s porta-potty sink and was pulled over by a cop on the way home for going 25km/hour on the upper levels highway and crying.

So this could go either way.

T-minus 2.5 weeks until Seattle’s Bumbershoot. The only Festival hosting the Presidents of the United States of America and Hall and Oats on the same stage. “Peaches” and You “Make My Dreams Come True,” Together. As it was always meant to be.

Festival is September 3^rd to 5^th; tickets still available, $90 for a three-day pass, $35 for a single day.

Other acts include Tennis, P.S I Love You, YACHT, Das Racist and Big Boi. Click here for full line up.

Hall and Oats – I can’t go for that (Fromage Yacht Rock Edit)

-SUPERFRIES

Canucks

Our beloved Vancouver hockey team, the Canucks are one win away from the Stanley Cup finals (the good isht). Winnie’s Superfries puts things into perspective.

I’m probably my Dad’s last choice to share his Canucks tickets with. I always make a bigger deal about getting my White Spot combo than I do the first period. I almost always accidentally kick over my beer under the chair, making a little foamy waterfall that drips down to the next row then innocently look around and blame the person next to me. I also think it’s hilarious to pretend the Sedin’s talk like dolphins to each other and can hear thoughts telepathically with their foreheads.

I’ve always hated competition in most forms. When I was little and forced to participate in a scavenger hunt I would make my own list that usually comprised of “sand, a hair tie, and hugs” and avoid the actual competitive game altogether. I also remember my Dad and Brother’s brutal disappointment when year after year, the Canucks didn’t win and everyone was sad. After the 94’ loss, and the awesome/terrible rioting that destroyed many a Starbucks window, I thought perhaps being a hockey fan sucks, It’s super disappointing and I never felt as good after watching a hockey game as I did after watching a brand new Young Hercules episode.

So years later I was shocked when I found myself super excited during the final in the Vancouver Olympics. There were moving car high-fives, chants, face paint, drinking in alleys, and I pretty much got the week off work. We should do that again. That was pretty fun.

I tried watching the first game in the San Jose series on Granville Street, but found myself unwelcome at a certain bar, and a subsequent Pizza place, who’s patrons and staff didn’t appreciate the festive tones of my official Canucks Vuvuzilla. So for lack of another option I’ll be watching tonight’s game at home, which is beneficial in some ways as I can program my epic hockey playlist and control the button on my fog machine.

The Immortals – Techno Syndrome (Mortal Kombat)

Although I’m comforted by the fact I can select the “Mortal Kombat” song when there’s a power play, I miss DJ Dave, the official Canucks DJ. I’ve been mildly obsessed with him since I came across his blog, where he posts his game playlists, and musings on his day job of being Elvis Costello’s Tour Co-coordinator.

When D.J Dave’s not chilling with Elvis he’s sitting in his little omniscient god booth blasting Cotton Eye Joe or whatever the fuck he feels like playing to close to 20,000 people. He chooses some terrible songs sometimes, with such gems as Madonna’s “Ray of Light,” most of his warm up tracks could be selected from my Tarzan Dan Hot Ten at 10 mix tapes I used to record between my “put your headgear on” time and lights-out time when I was 12.

The Canucks official Intro song personally offends me. They skate out to U2. That’s not scary. That’s not skating out of a plume of fog from a sharks jaw.

But there is hope. DJ Dave takes requests. And he also names “Pump it Up” as one of his favorite songs. Jock Jams for life. I want to hear anthems for pleasant riots, ones that involve hugging strangers and getting beat up for being really excited about my vuvuzilla.

Get your songs played during a Canucks home game by tweeting during the game to @canucksdjdave

-SuperFries

The Teaches of Peaches

Peaches was so fucking good that my friend let some acne-plagued teenager grind her from behind just because she was to focused on enjoying the last encore. That’s love.
I decided 5 seconds into Peaches’ set that it was too good to take notes, plus I drank moonshine for the first time, so I’m not sure how skewed my retrospective analysis is, but let me say this, a Peaches concert could easily inspire a city wide orgy and after attending Sunday’s show at the Commodore I would gladly marry her and/or adopt her as my Mom.

Peaches works with the primary agenda of being fucking awesome and putting on a rad show, but she also works in the context of addressing gender roles, made clear by her album “fatherfucker.” Cause why is saying “motherfucker” so easy when you spill your cereal, but “fatherfucker” is worthy of a bar of soap in your mouth? The presence of gender bending is evident in her prop choices: a laser between her legs, a neon phallic saber, and a blinking light over her cooch.

I’m not really even into talking about male/female power role shit, all I know is that Peaches is hairy and looks like she stinks, but she’s fucking sexy.  So is her female keyboard and guitarist who did a “Hegwig and the Angry Inch” transformation during the show from an Iggy Pop look-a-like into a sparkly-lingerie-wearing bombshell.

The whole show played out like a Broadway musical that your grandmother would hate. There were multiple costume changes, including an elaborate Elvis outfit for the last of three encores. The performance also included a parody on dear old Britney Spears and her disappearance from GM place after claiming there was too much smoke in the air. Peaches stormed off the stage claiming there wasn’t enough pot smoke. She also complained that the crowd at the Red Deer show was more amped to take off their shirts. I’m not sure why, but I was enraged by this fact, I wanted everyone to take off their shirts, and their pants, beat by Red Deer?! What an embarrassment, get naked! Prove our superiority! Make Peaches love us too!  Then I remembered I was wearing a bodysuit which I’d never be able to put back on given my present state, and being nude in the Commodore ballroom when the lights go on and you see all the hideous sweat faces was just not what I envisioned for myself.

Anyways, she played everyones fave Peaches tunes and her stellar new material and it was one of the best shows ever. In conclusion, here is the Haiku that I was going to submit as the review, but I thought I’d get in trouble.

Peaches Haiku

Peaches, Camel-toe
Lazer beam where dick would be
Light saber hand-job

!!!More photos!!!!!!

Grizzly Bear – 5_26_09

So their album is really great and all that stuff, but both times I’ve seen Grizzly Bear’s live set I almost had a little nap between the other concertgoer’s feet.

Maybe it’s just too soothing, or maybe the Commodore’s velvet curtains reminds me of the womb or maybe it was because it was tuessday, but I found myself battling to focus my attention on the stage and not the neon-clad young woman behind me who was whining “I thought you said they were ELECTRO” to her sheepish boyfriend.

They are signed to electronic label “Warp Records,” which I guess could be confusing, if you were really dumb.
It definitely wasn’t a sold out show, but there were enough people there to result in the Commodores infamous “floor of broken glass” from people just dropping their empty cups when they were finished. Grizzly Bear’s Ed Droste seemed pleased with the crowd’s enthusiasm because he said he “couldn’t believe this was a Tuesday night crowd.” Their voices are super dreamy, and “Knife” got people really into the show for a bit, but I still prefer listening to them while eating toast at home.

Another thing that may have tainted my listening experience was the fact I got a nerd injury before the show (some sweet carpal tunnel in my right hand from using my keyboard too much), so at the show I couldn’t really take legible notes, and I couldn’t hold a beer. The only thing I could do was make some left handed stick drawings to give you a feel for the show.

Bonjour? Hello?

Ever wonder why French dance music is so good? It’s not their berets, tight pants, or Karl Lagerfeld.  It’s because the rest of their music sounds like it’s lyrics are from a sexual magnetic poetry kit.

Maybe it started with Serge Gainsbourg’s breathy, “Je t’aime,” which, by the way, is about bum sex. Serge also recorded a song with his daughter about incest.

Even France’s first lady Carla Bruni released her own whispery sex anthem cd’s.

Carla Bruni - Quelqu’un m’a dit

with lyrics like, “You are my junk…. More deadly than Afghan heroin. More dangerous than Colombian white powder”…. “My guy, I roll him up and smoke him.”

Perhaps French dance music is the result of these pent up sexual quivers? With all that sexual poetry music you need something on the opposite end to balance out the musical spectrum.

Take this 1975 track for example, Nanette Corey is a French porn actress who recorded the track “Viens dans ma bouche” which means “come in my mouth” for all you Anglos. 

Nanette Corey - Viens dans ma bouche (come in my mouth)

Here’s some of Nanette’s lyrics translated so you can Karaoke along “en englais”.

“give me…my mouth is for you, love me, come into my mouth”

“when I was little I used to suck my thumb…but I like it better when your thumb is in my mouth”

“come into my mouth…Aaaaah Aaaaah”

There’s even a whole blog dedicated to the genre, “Filles Sourires”.

Maybe France’s short work week results in lots of dirty whispering? If I had more spare time I’d totally lay down some whisper tracks on my Garage Band.