Let's Get Physical

Surrounded by new condos and townhouses, the warehouse at 35 Strachan in the King St area is the last hold-out. It too is destined to be turned into a new development soon. In the mean time, it houses a number of businesses including prop storage for the Clay and Paper Theatre. Thursday night, Maylee Todd took over that space to hold an under-the-radar party for the video release of her new single Baby's Got It.

Looming over the party goers were giant puppets from Clay and Paper. Someone had hung 2 wooden swings from ceiling pipes. In one corner, multi-coloured vaginas were being sewn from felt as merchandise. Men channeled their inner 1985 dude in day-glo t-shirts and shorts, even if they weren't even alive back then. Women mostly went with tight peek-a-boo clothes.  In a large circle of whooping people, dancers strutted their stuff: hip-hop, 80s retro, 70s disco, and even glowing juggling balls.

Maylee eventually started Sweatshop Hop, an old dance/aerobics session that she used to lead, inspired by her collection of aerobics vinyls. Everybody gathered to stretch and dance to her instructions. However, it was clear that Maylee wasn't your typical GoodLife Fitness instructor. Squats became "Shitting in the Woods" and arm workouts turned into "Punch Tall Guy in the Crotch". She simply started making up moves including The Leg Hump. Then everything got sexy: sexy hamstring stretches, sexy splits, sexy bicycle kicks accompanied by mood-setting moans and suggestions.

It was appropriate, then, that when her video debuted it was also sexy: bright red lipsticks, flirtatious posing, and Madonna-esque dancing. A good chunk of people left afterwards, but the rest remained to dance to more music being spun by Circle Research.

Any Given Saturday

The day before the 100th Grey Cup, I went down to City Hall to check out one of the many activities geared toward all the football fans coming into Toronto. It was a sunny but blustery day so I wasn't up for riding the zip-line from City Hall down to Queen Street. But it was fun watching people fly by 700 feet in the air.

The Calgary Grey Cup Committee was serving pancake breakfasts to a long but brisk line-up. I was actually watching High Steppin Daddy sing some country music up on stage when an organizer thought I was waiting in line. So I found myself receiving some pancake and sausage after only a 2-minute shuffle.

I then signed up for the Canadian Forces obstacle course. The flak jacket and helmet added extra weight and stiffness to the challenge. Sadly, over the 30 minutes that I hung around that festivity, I was the only who tripped and fell on the tires. On the other hand, I was one of the few who were able to quickly finish my push-ups and chin-ups. No women could do the chin-ups without assistance, and many of the men struggled too. But it was probably my slight size and weight, which required much less strength, than any boot-camp fitness on my part.


Since that insubstantial breakfast wasn't enough, I headed over to Coconut Grove Roti for an outstanding Dal Puri roti and came home loaded with various tchotchke.

Movember Rain

Cover band Dwayne Gretzky has a 4 week residency at The Dakota Tavern this month. As part of Movember, both them and their fans have grown increasingly hirsute. I dropped by Wednesday day for some singing action.

Opener Danielle Duval was a tiny compact guitarist. Backed by her band, including Gretzky's bassist, she played a driving, power pop reminiscent of Katrina and The Waves on numbers like Ambulance and Imposter. Among the toes tapping for her music were those of TV anchor Peter Mansbridge.

But he didn't stay for Dwayne Gretzky's set, which started off a little shaggy. Even perenially favourite Let Me Roll It devolved into a discordant set of solos. But the early missteps gave way to crowd sing-alongs including Psycho Killer, Blinded By The Light, and Under Pressure. Allie Hughes is taking more lead turns. Along with her usual take on Be My Baby, she cooed her way through The Cardigans' Love Fool and let loose her big pipes on Pat Benatar's Heartbreaker.

Non-Mellow Cello

At the 654th Sunday concert at Hart House, cellist Brian Yoon and pianist Eliza Ching presented a series of cello and piano pieces. 25-year-old Brian is an accomplished cellist who is currently the principal cellist with the Victoria Symphony.

But if the silver-haired set was expecting Yo-Yo Ma's sweet tones and Bach's cello suites, they were in for a surprise. The program was aggressively modern; the oldest piece was Poulenc's Op 143 composed in 1948. They started out with String Theory (2012) full of string effects and strange dissonance with no easy musicality. No wonder as it was the test piece for the 2012 Eckhart-Gramatte Music Composition. Luckily, the follow-up was Poulenc's Sonata with four lyrical movements.

After the intermission, they played Elizabeth Raum's Prayer and Dance of Praise (1997): a modern piece that nevertheless had accessible passages and melodies. Finally, both Vincent Ho's Stigmata (2004) and Gary Kulesha's ... and dark time flowed by her like a river ... (1993) were full of violent feeling and atonal sounds.

Eliza made an engaging accompanist for the manic Brian. The latter reveled in applying a wide variety of techniques: vibrato, glissando, plucked strings, chords, and tinny almost attenuated sounds from his cello. But he also played the warm, enveloping, and dulcet tones that are more typical of this instrument.

Man As Beast

On Saturday night, Montreal RUBBERBANDance group returned to Toronto for a full-length 70-minute work called Gravity of Center featuring their dynamic and athletic combination of contemporary dance and hip-hop/break-dancing.

A light rose up on the stage to finally reveal a group of 3 men and two women who moved en masse along the diagonals. Their movement was ape-like: often dropping down on all fours to lumber forward, sniffing the air in front of them. They would often return to this configuration during the show. This primitive behaviour would play out in other ways: group cohesion versus individual desires, expulsion of weak-willed members, fighting over status or affection. A firm story-line can be welcomed in the often abstruse world of narrative-less modern dance, but this story was a little too on-the-nose. The telegraphed and predictable plot was the weakest part of the repertoire.

But their dancing was as strong and interesting as ever. Though the hip-hop elements were usually subsumed into contemporary dance as quick movements, there were occasions when they came boldly to the fore with wonderful impact. The slide and freeze of locking was used to signal different members arriving at a group consensus as their movements became more and more synchronized. The effect was mesmerizing and occasionally chilling. When the group leader faced off against his rival, their flips, kicks, and tumbles portrayed brutal violence in the most visceral way I've seen on stage. Unlike Broadway's West Side Story or classical ballet's Romeo and Juliet, you didn't have to squint much to see the realism of actual combat.

There was their trademarked group manipulation: dancers were often connected hand-to-foot, arm-to-arm, and every other combination. But I was also struck by segments that "rejected" this close touching: a female dancer who slipped and twisted away from the grasping embraces of her peers; a male performer who seduced his target by moving, but not touching, her body with the nearness of his hand; and various dancers who grabbed their own limbs or clothing to manipulate their own body.

Mo Money Mo Pork Buns

David Chang finally opened a Momofoku in Toronto. A 4-in-1 location, with the prices climbing as you ascend (litteral) the different restaurants. Saturday night, I opted for the "lowest" level, the buzzing Noodle Bar on the ground floor.

All the decorations were various shades of minimalist, Eastern beige with elevated bar counters surrounding a set of communal table. But no matter where you sit, you'll be sharing with other diners so get comfortable. The music got progressively louder as the evening progressed but oldies like Guns N Roses Don't Cry should be mercifully ignored.

For appetizers, I ordered the famous pork buns ($10) and the shiitake buns ($8). Both were the outstanding dishes for the evening. The cucumber added some nice crunch and the hoisin gave everything a slight sweetness. The shiitake mushrooms were earthy while the pork belly was deliciously fatty. If you wanted a spicier kick, the house chili sauce can be squeezed on top. The sweetness of bun has been toned down from its traditional chinese inspiration.

For mains, it was chicken & eggs ($15): a bowl of rice topped with artfully sliced cucumber, scallions, a runny egg, and smoked chicken. The chicken was excellent, crispy and flavourful. But the rest of the dish resembled an anemic bi bim bap; not bad but not worth fifteen dollars. The hanger steak ($18) came pre-spliced topped with brown butter and accompanied by fingerling potatoes. Though temptingly red and meaty, the too sweet miso marinade was a disservice to the steak.

Finally for desserts, it was two jars filled with lemon curd ($7) and rice pudding ($6). They were fine for a spoonful or two but in the end were respectively too sour and too sweet. The lemon curd had a lighter texture which was kinder to a full stomach.

Take Good Care

Thursday night, the Garrison turned into a romper room with head-liner Fred Penner, a well-known children's entertainer. But before the room full of 20-somethings got to experience Fred Penner's Place live, Inlet Sound played a few tunes.

Originally from Montreal and now settled in Toronto, this 5 member band played a mix of pop and folk. With plinking pianos, a small 8-string electric mandolin, and a violin, there was a rural feel to their music. Accompanied by the soaring vocals of violinist Steven Gore and the sweet harmonies of drummer Kate MacClean, Michael Wexler crafted songs with clever and evocative lyrics. They dedicated their closing song, a cover of Bittersweet Symphony, to Fred Penner.

After their set, something unusual took place at the Garrison. People were actually crowding up right against the stage. To cheers, Fred Penner came on with his back-up vocal, daughter Hailey, and his friend John on the trumpet. Although he joked "Pay attention!" (an homage to Scar from The Lion King) throughout the show to the noisy crowd, he had everyone in his palm: clapping, singing along, engaging in silly hand gestures.

With every song, he told a little anecdote about its inspiration: Proud came about from his daughter's first no-training-wheels ride; Celebrate Being was a tribute to his Down sister and other special needs people; and Filling The Void came from a Vancouver songwriter's workshop. Though he specialized in children's song such as Happy Feet, Take Good Care of Each Other, House is a House For Me, and Sandwiches, he also led the happy crowd with more "grown-up" songs such as This Little Light of Mine and his take on a Hank Williams-style hurtin' song. He embellished his big hit The Cat Came Back with segues to other songs (Hit The Road, "Cat") and a Careless Whisper sax solo.

Everyone was grinning ear-to-ear including Michael, Kate, and Inlet Sound bassist Curtis Murphy, as they accompanied Fred for about the last 3rd of his set. It was the most abashedly fun I've had in a while. Despite the late hour and drinking, no one treated the evening with ironic amusement or snark. As for Fred Penner himself, he was always upbeat and charming, although there was a gentle dig at Toronto's buffoon mayor Rob Ford. For his encore, he did have a serious moment. Referencing the current strife in Israel/Palestine, he ended the night singing with the crowd to Bob Dylan's Blowin In The Wind.

Mother Roti

On Saturday, I went to see Dal Puri Diaspora at the Reel Asian Film Festival. Trinidad-Canadian director Richard Fung started this production when during his stay in Calcutta he realized that the double-ply, ground split pea-stuffed dal puri roti of his native Trinidad was nowhere to be found. Was this a Trinidadian invention with no Indian roots?

A sold-out house at the Royal, comprising of large number of Caribbean-Canadians, was treated to a delicious exploration of this search. It was no surprise that the Trini rotis: dal puri and bussupshut (paratha roti) originated from the Indians who came to Trinidad-Tobego as indentured workers about 100 years ago. But the origin story of the dal puri roti wrap, that it was made for field hands, was likely false. Prior to roti shops, it was simply too time-consuming to make and would have been reserved for special occasions such as weddings and temple feasts. It was also industrialization, specifically the commercial pre-made spice mixes, that standardized a common palate for this "home-cooked" taste.

From the ship records and interviews with experts, Fung discovered that Indo-Caribbeans came mostly from the Eastern provinces of India such at Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. It was there that he found dishes in common including dosti roti: two rotis made and cooked together, but separated when served to represent a shared friendship between the diners. In a small village outside of Patna, he finally found a family willing to make dal puri, as it remains a dish prepared at home.

Was it the same? Not quite. The atta flour, made from durum, gave it a different taste from the white flour used in Trinidad. Deep-fried and lacking baking powder, it was also less fluffy. So it might have had roots here, but the Trini roti was in fact a product of his native soil, using the local ingredients.

The film did not just trace the history of the roti, but also the history of South Asians in the Caribbean: how they came, and how they have evolved. As many of them wryly admitted: the food in India didn't taste like "their" food. After 100 years, they were Trinidadians; and so were the East Asians, Africans, and white folks in the documentary. But for all the historical background, it was the visits to all the expert roti vendors that kept you engaged (and hungry).

The roti itself was also evolving. There was now pepper roti back in Trinidad: potatoes, scotch pepper, and grated cheese stuffing, served in slices like pizza. On this trip, Fung found a "Caribbean roti shop" in Calcutta, whose Indo-Caribbean owner arrived via Surinam and the Netherlands. Here in Toronto, most would associated the thicker naan-like shells with roti instead of the thinner dal puri.

The documentary ended with an amusing segment where Fung decided to finally try his hands (and failing miserably) at making roti at home, the relatively simple sada roti meant for breakfast. Throughout the film, the audience drooled over all the tasty cooking and laughed knowingly at the slangs and patois. Most would later head over to the Monarch Tavern for special feast called Rum and Roti.

Since I didn't have a ticket for this after-party, I went to Pam's Kitchen for a goat dal puri roti. It was good but not great. The shell was soft and tasty, but there wasn't enough ground split peas to give it that distinct nutty taste.

Lady Is a Tramp

On Friday, The Bovine Sex Club had a Rock and Roll Burlesque show organized by Vamps Like Us. This tiny bar on Queen is painted almost entirely in black, plastered with band stickers on walls, and have various unidentifiable objects secreted into the chainlink wire mesh hung from its ceiling.

Laura Desiree, a tall Betty Page in a leather corset was the MC. But before she introduced the other girls to shake their money-makers on the tiny red stage, she also did a number herself. Afterward, a procession of burlesque dancers with names like Faye Tality, Dolly Berlin, Fionna Flauntit and Rouge La Rouge shimmied on stage to songs like Helter Skelter and Foxy Lady. Though some stuck with typical glamourous 40s style costumes, most went more bad girls with black tees and sneers. But a tight corset and garters were de rigueur. There was even one male burlesque, dancing to Hot for Teacher, to the delight of the female members. But the suburban bros from a bachelor party who had wandered in earlier were comically flustered at his performance.

All the elements were there for a great time, but the end result fizzled for me. The stage was simply too small for the dancers and their burlesque moves didn't fit well with this type of music. Speaking of which, this was the biggest downer. The anemic speakers only punctuated the fact that these songs, no matter how great they may be, have long passed into golden oldies status. And there's nothing more deflating than reminders of senescence.

Martha Living

Thursday night, Martha Wainwright ended her tour for Come Home To Mama with a show at the Great Hall. Opening were two band-mates, Ariel Engle and Andrew Whiteman (Broken Social Scene), who also have a guitar-heavy duo act called AroarA. Accompanied by a drum machine, the two singer/guitarists traded licks, chords, and verses over songs that had numeric titles such as No. 1 and No. 5. The styles ranged from folk-pop, to indie spiritual, 80s dance, and sing rap. There was even one song with a monotone guitar drone reminiscent of traditional Ethiopian music. It was interesting music that deserves multiple listens.

Martha came on stage wearing salmon-pink denim and a "Rufus is a tit man" t-shirt. A well-seasoned pro, she connected with the audience by being by turn self-deprecating ("Next album is Martha Sings Other People's Better Songs"), teasing ("You came tonight to hear that one song? Well, you're gonna have to wait a little longer"), and philosophical ("I don't mind growing older. It'd be weird to get younger.") With a huge voice similar to her brother Rufus Wainwright, even Top 40 tunes like Radio Star sounded good. But her emotional singing and story-telling lyrics suited best folky numbers like Factory, torch songs such as I Am A Diamond (written by her late mother Kate McGarricle for an unproduced musical about notorious con-woman Cassie Chadwick), and mythic-sounding tunes including Proserpina. No wonder that for her encore she did Edith Piaf's Soudain Une Vallée.

There were a few chatterboxes who had to be hushed for the quieter numbers. But the rest ate up every word, whether it was quietly crooned or majestically soared. And yes, that fan finally got his song (Bloody Motherfucking Asshole) during the encore as the last song of the night. But I'm sure he wasn't unhappy with the wait.

Hallelujah

I went to The Garrison Wednesday night for an installment of Wavelength, the long-running music series. First up was instrumental psychedelic rock outfit The Riderless. Playing extended songs (their entire set consisted of 2 tunes) full of repeating arpeggios and scales, atmospheric chords and synth, this music can be hypnotic. But for all their experimentalism, the reliance on the typical rock vocabulary made it ultimately tedious music.

Next was Fiver, a side project of alt-country One Hundred Dollars' singer Simone Schmidt. Unlike her pseudo solo turn with Evening Hymn, she was backed by a full band tonight (her newest country band The Highest Order is my guess). It was lusher, almost danceable, with a touch of country. But the lyrics to songs like Calm and Collected were too weary and resigned to prompt much bopping (though some tried.) To that end, she debuted a bluesy number where she roamed the stage, sounding like a modern Peggy Lee.

From Montreal, The Luyas came to play in support of their new album Animator. Backed by slide guitar, synth, effects, and an occasional tuba or french horn, guitarist/singer Jessie Stein sang in a high girly voice. Instead of the typical 4/4, they played a variety of odd time signatures anchored by a very impressive drummer: precise and accomplished. This gave their music both a propulsive strangeness and a welcoming invitation. This was music you could dance too, and yet introduced you to unusual sounds and rhythms.

Monster Bash

I headed to Tecumseth, a side street in the Bathurst and Adelaide area, for brunch on Saturday. Beast restaurant is a converted house, surrounded by newer developments. The meal started with a $5 caesar, only because I recently read that this was a Canadian invention. It has been years since I drank this salty alcoholic concoction. The version at Beast came with a single pickled green bean.

Maple-Bacon doughnut

Kalbi short rib with eggs

Though this restaurant is known for its meats, it also has a reputation for fresh doughnuts, too. Rachelle Caldwell (wife of Beast's owner) actually runs a pop-up doughnut shop out the backdoor of Beast. Luckily, they were also available for brunch so there was no need for me to sneak a bite. I got the maple-bacon doughnuts (2 for $5). It came piled with bacon shavings which made it wonderfully smokey and savoury. The dough was soft and not too heavy. Unfortunately, it was a bit too sweet for my palate which diluted a little of the tasty saltiness.

Bloody Caesar

For the main, I ordered Kalbi short ribs ($12). A substantial portion of Korean-style grilled beef came out. It was flavourful, had just the right amount of fattiness, and yielded nicely in the mouth. The potatoes and toast were average: starchy and full, and needed a dash of herbs and spices. The eggs were reasonable except that one of the yolk had bursted, resulting in a cooked center. This is a no-no for over-easy eggs. A minor point but some restaurants would have made another one.

Chicks With Picks

The line-up for the 3rd annual Sheezer Halloween bash Friday at Lee's Palace was all women. This should motivate the young girls attending Toronto's iteration of Girls Rock Camp.

The first band of the night, Pins and Needles, was formed at this year's camp. Given a slightly shaky performance in an online video, I had set my expectations low for this troupe of 14-year-old girls. But aside from the occasional obvious cueing and sync-up, they were good: playing standard pop with a harder edge and some middle eastern influences. Their biggest asset were 3 fine vocalists, with the bassist having the most assured voice.

Next up was Planet Creature who resembled Stepford Wife robots in their costume of preppy grey skirts, blonde bob wigs, and eerie white-blue contacts. With two singers of different sensibilities, they alternated between indie pop and a faster punk-pop. I preferred the harder hitting tunes which seemed fresher and more vital.

Though they cover Weezer (Blue and Pinkerton only), the Sheezer ladies do not wear plaid for their Halloween shows. Previous years included Sailor Scouts and Spice Girls. With Magali being a new mother, they were now a 4-piece. The capacity crowd gave a loud cheer when they bounded on stage in full KISS make-up and costume. For the hour-long set and a 3-song encore, they played all the hits for the sing-a-long audience: My Name Is Jonas, Surf Wax USA, Buddy Holly, El Scorcho, and many more.

Each performer acted differently on stage. Alysa tended to be serious on her lead guitar. Robin was happy and often smiling. Laura was cheerful and a big ham: deploying her bat wings, striking rock poses, even some Gene Simmons tongue wagging. Dana was the anchor of the band. Her intense drumming kept things rocking. Appropriately enough for all the aging Weezer fans, they closed out their set with The Good Life with its plaintive, ironic chorus: "I don't wanna be an old man anymore."

Wham Bam

I dropped by the Comedy Bar Thursday night to see Maria Bamford as part of Dark Comedy Festival. Although there were some funny moments, neither Ms. Bamford nor her openers really connected with the audience tonight.

Rhiannon Archer was the MC for the evening. She did a few run-of-the-mill topical jokes such as having a new boyfriend over or that "misogynist" sounds rather pleasant (i.e., like "massage"). Mark Debonis told stories about Marcello his "dumb friend" and life in Scarborough. Finally, Bobby Canoeuf also talked about relationships ("Take fight pictures so you don't just look over old happy photos and wondered what went wrong") and weird cat behaviour.

Maria Bamford specialized in two things: neurotic observations and funny voices. To that end, she talked in a stream-of-consciousness way, jumping from topic to topic but always returning to not only neuroses but sometimes even mental illness (on schizophrenia vs. her own bi-polar disorder: "I make voices, I don't hear them"). She evoked funny mimicry of her "Life Coach" sister, passive-aggressive mother, cynical father, and various Angelenos friends and neighbours. There was even an extended dig at the culinary train-wreck that is Paula Deen. There were some sustained humorous moments but overall, the audience wasn't fully engaged.