Command & Conquer

Friday night, I was back at The Horseshoe (but only virtually). As part of NAC (National Arts Centre) live stream showcase on Facebook, a sister act named Command Sisters was doing an acoustic set on stage. That was their actual names since several other Command(s), mostly from their childhood home of Alberta, showed up in the chat to cheer them on. Charlotte and Sarah played a few tunes off upcoming their debut EP: I Can Do What I Want Too, Low Profile, Lonely Lullaby. But they were relatively new so their set had numerous covers such as Hey Ya! (Outkast), Blinded By The Light (The Weeknd), and Free Falling (Tom Petty) or songs written during the pandemic (the Christmas adjacent Steal Your Heart, the Tindr diss Someone Else's Dream). On the latter, Charlotte revealed that Sarah finally found her "berta boy" not on dating apps but Zoom.

They both played guitar but split duties with dark-haired Charlotte on vocals and platinum-blonde Sarah doing harmony and guitar solos and fills. Their sound had a 90s RnB feel updated with the hip-hop style of the last several years. Combined with a good set of pipes, they won over some new fans who were watching because of the NAC sponsorship or had stumbled upon the live feed.

The sisters moved to the Toronto suburbs of Scarborough a few years ago but now lived in the East End. The "Legendary" Horseshoe was one of the venue that they frequented regularly for shows. They had met the singers of the B52s at NAMM who still remembered playing there in the 80s. So it was a special moment for the sisters to finally play here even if there was no physical audience. It was a nice sentiment but I've to numerous no-cover shows there so it isn't that hard to get on that stage.

With their musical chops, fashionable outfits, and photogenic looks, I wasn't surprised to hear that they signed with Republic/Universal about 2 years ago. But I didn't find their mainstream sound as compelling. I checked out their official videos afterwards and the electronic pop meets synthesizer rock sounded a bit generically corporate. Compared to tonight's set, sometimes less is more.

Black Swan

On Friday, I enjoyed my first live stream dance recital thanks to Citadel & Compagnie. It was a one-woman show with Syreeta Hector called Black Ballerina. First shown as part of Summerworks, she continued developing it at residencies in Belgium and Canadian Stage. Tonight was perhaps its most complete form with props and multiple steadi-cams.

Once you know that Hector has Black and First Nation (Mi'kmaq) heritage, the premise and symbolism of the piece were clear. The strength of the dance was in its execution. Hector laid on the stage, clad in black sweat pants and a hoodie. Slowly, she rolled and twitched as skittering, moaning noise echoed. At one point, she raised the hoodie's cowl high overhead with an extended arm, turning herself into some giant, mysterious spectre.

We still haven't seen her features. When she uncovered her head, it was with her back to the cameras, to reveal a cascade of long blonde hair. A documentary voice-over narrated about the mimic octopus, a creature that can hide and even resemble other animals, while Hector moved through nascent and tentative classical ballet movements.

Her internal conflict became apparent when she finally removed the wig, put one pink pointe shoe, and one gold sneaker. Hector danced in a stop-and-start manner with a mix of ballet and street, hampered by the mismatched footwear. The recital moved into its most free-flowing acts when Hector replaced that pointe with the other sneaker, and reveled in contemporary and hip-hop steps as A Tribe Called Red and Kendrick Lamar played. At one point, she flashed a grin at the camera. The final act had her return to her ballet roots complete with a soft tutu. Under a spotlight, she moved through various positions while a white powder drifted down to cover her face and torso.

The show was followed by a question-and-answer between the virtual audience, Hector, and artistic director Laurence Lemieux. The dancer talked about growing up in the Maritimes and not being taught (at home or in school) about her heritage or history. This erasure obviously had an effect on her. But I also felt that the looping back to ballet after joyously dancing to Lamar's Be Humble also revealed another conflict. As much as Hector identified with other Black artists, her reality of growing up in Halifax did not overlap fully with living in Compton or other heavily Black (and poor) areas in the U.S. Her "tribe" was as complicated and multi-dimensional as her racial background.

These live streams are becoming interesting. Like acts of faith, the audience was larger than one that would fit in the actual physical space. They also watched from everywhere, including places where these small productions would never tour. As for myself, even though I could attend this performance if allowed, having it virtual was a net positive. Being an old geezer, I often nap in the afternoon nowadays. I woke up only 15 minutes before the start time and would have missed it if I had to travel cross-town. But tonight, I even had time to start dinner before settling down to watch.

Said The Whale

On Wednesday night, I saw a live stream concert that left me disappointed. It wasn't so much the performer but the choice of platform. The set opened with Maggie Koerner growling a bluesy drawl on If I Die. It was a good start but I was nonplussed. This seemed a departure from what I knew of the artist. Then I laughed because all this time my brain fart had me thinking it would be Maggie Rogers.

In addition to the virtual audience, there was a smattering of live attendees since the show was taking place at The Chloe in New Orleans. It was a duo set with Joshua Starkman on guitar, and later on Zack Feinberg to close out the show, to celebrate Koerner's birthday IA good performance with original material like Love Drug and an excellent cover of Funkier Than A Mosquito's Tweeter, but it didn't have the fire of her show in Toronto last year.

I didn't enjoy this concert and my first experience with the platform StageIt. They gave a viewer the option to tip the artist "gift coins" where 10 pieces would be $1. So the chat screen, instead of being full of insightful or appreciative posts like Molly Tuttle's last show, often filled up with different tip amounts.

I don't begrudge paying a performer; artists sometimes put links to venmo or paypal as a virtual tip jar. But I became astonished tonight to see some viewers were contributing hundreds of dollars. I then noticed in the show's description a list of rewards for top supporters. The #1 supporter, if they contributed at least $444, would get a private performance. No doubt this structure was meant to follow StageIt's FAQ that "rewarding top supporters often incentivizes fans to tip who otherwise may not have."

 

It was nice payday for a $1-ticket show, probably worth thousands. After all, I noticed that the #3 supporter tipped almost $400. Yet there were still 2 others ahead of them and another 80 behind. I wondered if they thought getting a sticker and a koozie was worth it. This online platform felt cynical and grubby: tipping without limit, displaying your current rank in the queue, showing the top 5 but of course not their contributions ("Maybe if I keep tipping I'll move up!"), and that bald-faced FAQ.

 

StageIt's monetization scheme was of a kind with paying streamers and youtubers (which can lead to them churning out right-wing and polemical content to keep their fans' "engagement"), loot boxes, in-app purchases, and chasing microtransactions big-spenders. It's nasty business and I won't use them ever again. But they weren't the only guilty party. Koerner anticipated (and incentivized for) $400+ from a single viewer. She should give that private performance to at least her top 5 supporters.

The Devil Wears Stola

On Saturday, I watched my first live-streamed play. Local theatres and dance companies have offered shows during this pandemic time, but they were mostly pre-recorded. Tonight, Factory Theatre was premiering on Twitch a one-person play called acts of faith.

It opened inside of a city apartment with its bay windows and water radiator. A young black woman (Natasha Mumba) proceeded to tell us a joke about Jesus on the cross. This was the titular Faith who grew up in Kitwe, Zambia. At the start of each new scene, she would regale us with another religious joke including several with the well-known "... and a rabbi" set-up.

Faith engagingly told us about her life, mostly between 13-years-old and her current 18. A "miracle baby" who arrived after several miscarriages, she lived with her mother while her father and brothers were off working the copper mines. She became an actual miracle to her neighbours when Faith convinced a snobby class-mate to stop her bullying ways by pretending to channel God's Words. This lie caused the first major rift with her mother.

The second, which led to 3 years of estrangement between them, came after Faith visited her cousins in Lusaka. There, she met "Father Hot Stuff" with his English accent, tousled blonde hair, tattoos, and hip sermons. But Faith quickly found out this holy man had grabby hands. Unfortunately, her mother could not accept her daughter's testimony.

Disillusioned with the church, Faith sat in the back pews with all the "sinners" and away from her pious mother. Things came to a head when Father Cody, after making his Instagram-documented missionary tour through various African cities and always with his arm around a young girl, came to Kitwe. We then found out what happened next, why Faith was now living in Toronto, and the uncanny experiences that followed.

I first saw playwright David Yee back in 2016. Given the magical realist tone of Acquiesce, I wasn't surprised with the seemingly supernatural elements nor the push-pull between parent and child, filial tradition and youthful modernity in acts of faith. But as essentially an oral memoir taking place in a single setting, the latter lacked an immersiveness that would allow an audience to, well, have faith in the material. As such, I felt some details seemed cliché when recited whereas a bigger production might imbued them with more truth.

But Mumba was excellent in her role. She believably combined mischievous irreverence, heartfelt belief, and painful loss. Faith was a woman you were happy to talk to and sad to hear about her trauma. We left her not knowing whether there was a happy ending for Faith, but we were hopeful of a miracle.

So You Think You Can Blanche

With rising cases, Toronto has moved from Red zone into lock-down effective Monday. So on Saturday, I decided to visit a new restaurant called Musoshin Ramen on Boustead. This side street was near the triangular intersection where Roncesvalles merged into Dundas St. W. It was about two blocks north of the more gentrified area of Roncesvalles Village.

The little shop, painted all black on the outside but with a cheery interior, resembled some charming place you might stumble over in Japan. But with current restrictions, we were limited to just a few tables outside. These were all snapped up for lunch time despite the cold weather. During my time there, a regular stream of customers came by to order. I'm thinking the locals were excited for the opening since previously the closest ramen shop was a 30-minute walk away.

I ordered a white miso vegan ramen ($17) with some extra vegetables ($2.50). Let's start with the good news. The noodles had a good chew and I enjoyed the unusual toppings like okra and roasted sweet potato. Typical ingredients like bamboo shoots were also tasty. Now onto the negative stuff. First, my broth came out barely luke-warm. It might be cold outside but not fast enough to cool down it that quickly. It had acceptable flavour but not exceptional despite the oohs and aahs from the table next to me. In fact, this profile recounted how the chef here was trying to perfect her technique using zoom (because of the pandemic) with the head chef in Kyoto. I remembered in the documentary Ramen Heads there were apprentices who worked long hours for months and years before striking off on their own.

Also, I don't know if they forgot my extra vegetables because if not, then the regular order for the vegan bowl would not have much toppings. So it was serviceable ramen (at $19.50) from a somewhat newbie that was 50% more expensive than an equivalent vegetarian bowl ($13.50) from Tondou Ramen. The other choices were more competitive price-wise but the vegan option was definitely not a good deal. However, I can't speak to the quality of those broth or the chashu-pork slices.

The article made it clear that, originally, local chef Yoshida was to handle desserts only and not pulling double-duty here. So I might return to try the interesting cube-shaped milk bread (Shokupan) or desserts (Yogurt Cheesecake, Strawberry Mochi). But Musoshin isn't high on my list for ramen.

I Streamed A Stream

On Thursday, Molly Tuttle was playing live from The Basement in Nashville. Perhaps inspired by her recent album of covers, But I'd Rather Be With You, she had scheduled 3 shows highlighting other people's songs. The first one tonight featured music from her childhood home in the Bay Area of California.

The virtual audience, some of whom were well-known blue-grass musicians, was treated to what someone described as Molly's "Dylan Goes Electric" moment. Indeed, she strapped on an electric guitar and opened with White Rabbit (Jefferson Airplane). It turned out that the singer Grace Slick wasn't the only musician showcased tonight who also attended Tuttle's alma mater at Palo Alto High School. She would go electric for a few more songs but mostly rotated through her acoustic guitar collection on numbers like Didn't I (Darondo), Basket Case (Green Day), and Diamonds and Rust (Joan Baez).

The Bay Area has a strong blue-grass community and Tuttle did a solo set paying tribute to her predecessors and often personal mentors: Diamond Joe (Laurie Lewis), Broken Tie (Kathy Killick), Across The Great Divide (Kate Wolf), Cabin On A Mountain (Vern Williams). Her fingers flew over the fret and her picking hand had "a 140 IQ" as marveled by one awestruck viewer.

Her versatility ran from punk (Rancid's Olympia Wa), to 70s rock (CCR's Lodi, Steve Miller's The Joker), and dreamy pop (Chis Isaak's San Francisco Days). Except for the recent Disco Man (Remi Wolf), I noticed that these selections were decades old. But her bluegrass fans seemed to skew older so they loved these classics.

It was my first time seeing a non-solo Molly Tuttle. Megan Jane on drums and Annie Clements on bass and harmony added richness to the set. Tuttle's complex playing often sound like a full band, but it was still great to finally hear more fullness especially on her songs Take The Journey and the new Golden State of Mind. She laughingly pointed out that she was from The Bay, too, so why not do her own material.

This was an excellent set and I felt, like others in the chat, that it would have been even better to have seen it at that venue. However, these live streams have allowed people from around the world to attend a concert together. Tonight, those tuning in from Europe and even Australia experienced live a magical moment that would have been impossible otherwise.

You Take The Good

Last week saw Toronto moving into the Red zone with new Covid restrictions coming on Saturday. So I enjoyed the little wins even if nothing was without problems. First, the weather stayed pleasant enough to still have lunches in the park. I wasn't happy with the take-out wastes though. For example, my bibimbap from Roll & Bowl came in 3 separate bowls plus disposable spoon and chopsticks. Let's see if they'll re-use their (washed) plastic bowl when I return. I have been looking for exact substitutes of typical take-out containers.

Second, my observations to my former landlady was sound. My knee problems cleared up after I visited Origin Wellness for some massage therapy. Even the usual small twinges I feel walking up stairs disappeared. It wasn't a total cure since now and then, some innocuous movement would still temporarily shift something internal to the "ouch" position.

Third, I had brunch on Saturday with a friend I hadn't seen in a few weeks. It was originally scheduled for the back patio at The Three Speed but they were worried about Covid fines. I didn't think we were at the stage where inspectors would randomly check that social groups were only from the same household. But they felt more comfortable eating at home. I wouldn't normally eat A&W take-out but it was more for the company than the food.

They had some personal good news. Their refugee sponsorship of their sibling was finally accepted. If all goes well, the brother will arrive by next summer or fall. Hard to say how the economy will look then but hopefully a good job in the trades awaits for someone with 25 years of carpentry experience. Their room-mate, a young female refugee claimant, was taking pre-law university courses. Meanwhile, the room-mate's boyfriend finished his year-long Canadian accreditation as a foreign-trained midwife and found work at The Midwives Collective. So amid uncertainty for many people, it was nice to hear about good things happening.

I'm The Squat Man

On Sunday, another beautiful day with bright sunshine and shorts-wearing weather, I sat in Dufferin Grove eating a vegetarian roti from Vena's Roti and enjoying the Fall foliage. I thought about Ottawa and its advantages such as home-cooked meals, spending time with elderly relatives, helping out, and receiving help as well (if my knee troubles worsen).

I would be giving up live shows (music, dance, theatre) and conveniences like local shops and restaurants if I leave Toronto. Selfishly, I thought that it was losing them anyway. The mom-and-pop businesses I preferred were either being gentrified out or their owners were near retirement. But now the pandemic was destroying every else's livelihood too including cultural venues like bars and concert halls. Toronto will always be a vibrant place but it may take a few years to recover and in the process likely become something different. Younger folks will scoff at my nostalgia and older people will claim that Toronto was already past its best in the 90s or 80s.

But with my various strolls I realized I will lose something unexpected: parks and trees. Toronto has intense densification with all the condos in the downtown core. Even its older neighbourhoods teemed with people, even if residential housing are considered low density compared to European cities. Yet there were tree-lined streets and parks everywhere. I haven't touched on the truly big areas like the Don Valley or Humber River. Could Ottawa be less green despite its supposed active lifestyle and bike trails?

I certainly don't recall spending much time sitting around with friends at a picnic. So I pored over Ottawa with Google maps, aerial, and street views. There were a few large, "destination" parks like Britannia Beach and Andrew Heydon even if they were not on par with Trinity-Bellwoods, Cedarvale, or the huge High Park. But generally most neighbourhoods don't have an outdoor space. And in photos, the few that existed rarely had people or contained any benches or tables.

There's a quip that "Toronto goes out for fun, Ottawa stays in" because Toronto people enjoyed living it up at bars and clubs while Ottawans preferred dinner parties. But maybe it's also that there's nowhere to gather publicly in Ottawa. It wasn't just about having less restaurants and cultural events; you literally couldn't even sit outside. During these anxious times, I really appreciate having the option to just sit at a tree, with the comfort of other people nearby (but not too close), and decompress.

In any case, it wasn't all about weighing gloomy options this afternoon. There used to be an old man who roamed around feeding squirrels. Well, I've recently taken over his noble work and make my daily rounds including today. I hope to grow into that role because city squirrels can live into their 3rd decade. Another thing I would miss about Toronto.

I ran into my old landlady by the playground. Since her husband died, she has moved away while her daughter has taken over the house management. She was sad because she was alone most of the day with her grand-kids at school and their mom at work. Unfortunately, she couldn't really live on her own though I would love to have her back in the house instead of all the recent boarders. Also, she thought that her recent health troubles were caused by her late spouse's restless spirit. I reassured her that her knee problems will improve with the doctor-prescribed exercises and massage therapy.

Parks and Recreation

"A city within a park" is the motto of Toronto's Parks and Forestry division. Their vision is to connect all of the city's green spaces. Saturday proved yet to be another hot day so I decided to visit a few more neighbourhoods and their parks. Old Weston Road and St. Clair was a place in transition. Its industrial setting has not been converted to the friendlier open-air big-box mall of The Stock Yards further West. Yet the forlorn building at the corner (housing apartments and Peter Pan K Convenience) and its brethren a few blocks East hinted that this area was more vibrant at one time. Well, people may soon return if perhaps not interesting architecture. Several condos were in development including a complex of condos and townhouses at this corner: 6 "blocks" of housing units will span from St. Clair north to S.A.D.R.A. (Silverthorn and District Ratepayers Association) Park.

This long but narrow park within an active hydro corridor started at Old Weston and ran several blocks to Blackthorn. It nestled between the backyards of modest houses and provided greenery, a children's playground, and even an outdoor calisthenics gym (think dip and pull-up bars). Some homeowners had put in gates in their fences for easier access. Blackthorn Ave led to a bustling St. Clair with businesses like Marina's Casa Da Comida.

I headed south along Hounslow Heath Rd to Wadsworth Park. This area felt more gentrified with couples and their young kids grabbing coffee at Hounslow House, fixing up their front yard, or kvetching by the playground. I kept along Gillespie and then Uxbridge until Pelham Avenue Playground. This neighbourhood on both sides of Davenport must have had a significant Polish population to support St. Mary's (est. 1915). Pelham was quiet though the empty lot at Kingsley and Perth had a condo project in pre-development since 2015. This small park would be overwhelmed if those multi-story buildings (the highest at 16 stories) were built.

I headed back up Perth (past a house with a motorized windmill in the frontyard) to Davenport and then up Wiltshire. This street officially ended at Rutland but a desire path meandered through another hydro corridor, past the ends of several streets filled with new townhouses, and finally exiting onto the parking lot of Tavora Foods.

I was at my main goal: Earlscourt Park. I have passed by here several times including my first year in Toronto yet have never visited the park proper. But before exploring around, it was time for lunch. I thought about stopping at Dairy Freeze (est. 1952) but its patio faced car-heavy Caledonia Park Rd. Tre Mari Bakery (est. 1960) had full curbside tables and a long line-up. I finally chose Frank's Pizza House (est. 1965). They didn't do per slice before COVID, but now you can get one for $3 before 5 pm. I got two and made my way back to the park. Chef Giorgio Taverniti interacted cheerfully with myself and other customers by the open window but apparently he is suffering a double whammy of vision loss and drop in business from the pandemic.

Earlscourt extended from St. Clair all the way to Davenport. Yet it was light on visitors compared to a park downtown. It had a dog park, tennis courts, a soccer field, an ice rink, and even a running track. The community centre housed a swimming pool, bocce court, indoor soccer, and gymnasium. With all that, there was still a lot of grassy fields dotted with mature trees. I chose a park bench facing a small open amphitheatre (est. 2000) for lunch. The pizza slices were delicious, combining the satisfying gooeyness of a cheap joint with a toothsome dough from a nicer bistro.

I debated whether this round amphitheatre, a 2000 Millennium project, had ever satisfied its aim to "showcase the work of many of the community’s artistic organizations and youth endeavours". Certainly within Toronto's indie scene, I've attended many outdoor concerts at Trinity-Bellwoods and Christie Pits but never here. But it seems at least one festival, Brazil Fest, has often showcased dancers and musicians at this venue.

I spent some time relaxing at Earlscourt before wandering through the newer townhouses along Foundry Ave. The "mommy and me" set were out in full force at the Davenport Village Park. I must be a hipster at heart. Because as I gazed upon the few remaining old buildings left intact and hosting gentrified spots like Balzac's Cafe, Century Park Tavern, 30 Powerhouse St., and The Foundry Lofts, I wondered if anything more interesting happened around here 20 years ago.

The final leg of my trek took me through a series of parkettes along another hydro corridor: Primrose, Beaver Lightbourn, Chandos Park (North & South), and Brandon. The last one seemed familiar. Oh yes, I had sat here enjoying a take-out dinner before a concert. I never did go to that show because at the height of summer, the first opener wouldn't start until at least 10:30 pm. And I was getting "too old for this shit".

On the other side of Dufferin St., through a gap between metal fences, which some day may turned into a Green Line path, I continued on through Bristol Avenue parkette and finished at Bartlett. This space was packed with folks picnic-ing and drinking beer from Blood Brothers Brewing. If you're young and have a "personal style", you're not a hobo for boozing in public. But why crowd together when there was an empty park right beside this one? I finished off my trip with matcha ice cream from Knock Out. I enjoyed this stroll through some eclectic neighbourhoods and will return to try Marina's food and also Frank's calzone.

Health Is Wealth

For a few weeks, I've experienced more aches than usual from little things that come out of nowhere. I did hobble about after falling a while back, but recently what started as small muscle ache during a morning run turned into a persistent pain in my calf. I was able to explore Forest Hill but I had to move around with care in my daily activities.

Last Friday, I finally felt well enough to try a slower jog. But on Saturday morning, an innocuous climb up the porch steps suddenly bloomed into a sharp jolt in my knee. This time, using the stairs and even walking became quite arduous. I abandoned any plans to go outside for the Blue Moon Halloween that night and have stayed in my apartment ever since.

My chronic joint troubles will affect my future plans. One, living up several flights of stairs is difficult and daydreams of relocating to a walk-up or above a store seem foolish. Two, vigorous physical exertion is likely a no-go. I haven't felt comfortable with skiing, tennis and other sports for years; smooth or repetitive motions like yoga or jogging are doable, but activities with rapid and sudden movement feel questionable. So although City Dance Corps and Second Sky Circus had recently moved into the glass building (Hamilton Gear Building) at Dupont and Dovercourt, it's wishful thinking to imagine taking classes there.

Finally, my leisure goals may need to change. Clearly from my posts I have exclusively spent time between Toronto and Ottawa over the last decade. Having total aphantasia, I envy the average person who has good, and perhaps even full, sensory (sight, sound, etc.) memories. My recall is limited to a dry recitation, not unlike (ha!) blog posts. I think this condition has also affected my desire to travel. I have no strong feelings about what few vacations I've taken; the "collect moments not things" mantra don't apply. Furthermore, I do not get excited thinking about going to some exotic locale because I literally cannot imagine the place.

Nevertheless, I think I should do more travel, if only before full climate change makes life hellish. But perhaps river cruises and bus tours are more my speed instead trekking the Machu Picchu trails or climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro.