bad religion creates harmonious anarchy

Bad Religion
September 14 2008
Commodore Ballroom



It’s hard to imagine a 15 year-old frontman Greg Graffin and his school friends deciding to form Bad Religion, the most epic, accomplished and inspiring punk rock bands. How could one envision such libertarian punk fantasies, or such immaculate hardcore harmony at such a tender and suggestible age?

The night kicked off with two nondescript screamo bands that sucked so badly that no more mention shall be made of them. It was a Sunday night, and the angry punks in the crowd kept chugging back more beer, checking the time, and impatiently pushing up closer to the front, waiting for the show to start. There was a definite sense of growing frustration; the Commodore’s decision to downsize drinks from bottles to plastic cups coupled with the fact that it was they worst night of the week in which to hammered was on everyone’s mind. Finally the legendary sextet walked onto the stage, and the body of the crowd converged to a dense square-shaped mass of excitement.

They started the show with a highly energized performance of “21st Century Digital Boy” originally recorded for their fifth album Against the Grain (1990). It’s likely one of the best songs to start out with, not just because it’s infectious and catchy, but we can all relate to Graffin’ lament that “I don’t know how to live/ But I got a lot of toys.” It also brings to mind all of our mothers strung out on valium, an sad image that is surprisingly “effectual.” Selecting from a wide range of singles, and some not-so-common tracks like “Anesthesia,” BR gave a fantastic set list that sampled from the whole 28-year span of their discography.

Three of the six band members on stage were the original founding members, and they were easily spotted. Graffin delivered a vibrant, defiant performance: his iconic finger-pointing and unrelenting stare gave him an edge to his philosophical rants. Arguing for a rejection of consumerist culture and social conformity, usually guys this age come across as being pedantic or just full of it. Even those more sensitive of loud, distorted music should venture into the lyrical world of BR. Songwriter Graffin holds a Ph.D., and his understanding of politics, injustice, and individual suffering is delivered with poetic integrity, and reinvents the idea of social responsibility through critical thinking and non-conformity.




Bass guitarist Jay Bentley seemed to have the most fun on our Vancouver stage. He jumped around and sweated the most profusely, smiling demonically like some intense, disturbing fat kid eyeing your DQ Parfait on the bus. Speaking of which, lead guitarist Brian Baker looked terribly overheated, unfit, and generally sagged instead of rising to the occasion. While performing the quintessential punk song “Come Join Us” off the 1996 album The Gray Race, Baker hogged the one fan the entire time. Come on, Brian.

Overall the show was pretty fantastic. They may be getting older, but better in the same way as a wine slowly ages to perfection. A punk wine.

some freaky ass shit

Yolk of the Golden Egg
Dandi Wind
Summer Lovers Unlimited



Dandi Wind’s new album Yolk of the Golden Egg is a sonic journey that challenges every spectrum of electronica. Caught somewhere between a surreal utopic musical vision, and something that could only have been spawned from a ritualistic love orgy between Kate Bush, Bjork and Aphex Twin’s Richard D. James, the record shows no weaknesses. It opens with “The Battle of Verdun,” aptly catching the industrial bustle of its Quebec recording locale, and moves through what seems like a futuristic, cacophonic scene of torture. Raw, edgy and highly textured, the sounds take detours through the complexity of the psyche in a way that could be likened to the spiritual despair and disillusionment of Trent Reznor, but with more emphasis on a clear articulation of ugliness. Never failing to surprise, the song “Johatsu” sounds like a cracked-out late 80’s dance exercise tape, while suggesting the theme that would should all “surrender to the machine.” The album climaxes with the final track entitled “Dance of the Paralytic,” whose bass-rich beat is juxtaposed against an ineffable wet thumping noise that brings amniotic fluid to mind. While overtly corporeal, the album points at an introspective notion in quoting Dostoevsky and the parable of the old dreamer rummaging through his dreams in vain. While its message is not always accessible, Yolk of the Golden Egg is a worthwhile musical venture for those who want something a little more violent in spirit.

malkin bowl, salkin scowl

Stanley Park Singing Exhibition
August 31, 2008
Day One



It was one of those lazy late summer afternoons that you could eat with a spoon. While most music festivals tend to have an anxious, apprehensive tension amongst the crowd, the grounds were covered by hippies, young parents, and even the occasional punk who were all sitting comfortably on the warm grass.

The Evaporators came on sharply, and started to stir up the crowd with their bare chested antics. Clad in white jumpsuits with red and blue stripes, Nardwar the Human Serviette entreated us to a good larf, exposing his wooly chest, screaming lyrics about homelessness, and countless other acts of unconventional behavior. While the set list focused on their last album Gassy Jack & Other Tales, one could argue that what the band lacks in actual musical talent, they make up for in hilariously eccentric body play. Running through the crowd with maracas and a demented grin on his face, or climbing onto the audience to create a human piano stand, The Evaporators impressed us all with their relentless anarchist spirit.

After the thrash, Deerhoof of San Francisco changed the atmosphere with their quirky alt-rock sound delicately coupled with the little-girl voice of singer Satomi Matzuaki. Rocky but sultry, the quartet rocked out with classic songs such as “Twin Killers” and other tunes from The Runners Four. Their aural quirkiness was matched by their physical gestures, as Greg Saunier and John Dietrich plucked and played in what seemed like borderline seizure-type motion.

Destroyer’s performance was weird and cacophonic, but not in the way that most people enjoy that musical experiment. Dan Bejar’s lyrics of love lost and spiritual confusion were cryptic and challenging, but his voice brings to mind a love-sick, drunken hobo. Coupled with the guitarist’s unreasonable use of tremolo, this act left much to be desired.

While the fest had its share of eccentricity, Andrew Bird and Neko Case had an altruistic soothing effect to counteract it. Bird, the singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist from Chicago Illinois was intoxicating as the twilight began to set in. Singing beautiful things about intuition amidst a backdrop of cello strings and pizzicato violin, Bird was one of the best acts of the night.

Following him was Neko Case, who played songs from her upcoming album due out in March 09. While she belts it out with The New Pornographers, Neko’s performance was humbling and sweet, a familiar country feeling where the singer croons softly and laughs at herself between songs. She sang “I wish I was the Moon tonight” in a way that brought to mind a modern day Patsy Cline. Sad but spirited, Neko’s voice was endearing and humble to the core, and her lyrical component was touching as it revealed the wisdom of an old soul caught in the commercialism of the 21st century.