Future Perfect

With the end of decade, I have been randomly sampling posts from my blog. Some interesting feelings arose from reading 10 years of writing. This blog mostly documents food and music and although no one reads it except myself and search bots, I only include personal details obliquely. So when I encounter these tidbits, I try to recall the circumstances. Some came back immediately, others took a bit more work, and a few eluded me completely. I've lived a quiet life, many might even say experientially impoverished. Even so, there were still points of inflection where things could have changed, likely onto a better "alternate timeline". Yet I don't feel much regret because when they involve other people, imagining what I could have done differently seemed disrespectful. People have their own agency and not chess pieces in my Game of Life (to torture a metaphor). I only rue not purchasing a little place of my own since real estate choices were under my control.

The process of gentrification throughout Toronto was documented peripherally in my posts, especially when they described defunct shops or old bands. If I had started this blog 2 decades ago, been a serious critic who attended a dozen show a week, or was a flâneur visiting every part of the city with camera and notebook in hand, progress would have been even more historically evident.

Looking ahead, I feel some ambivalence. First, I love Toronto but it's getting expensive and impersonal. A city of open neighbourhoods has turned into a city of opaque condos. Second, I naturally gravitate to small pleasures. But my aching teeth, knees, and joints remind me daily that at best only a few decades remain, and I should think more about the difference between contented and hermetic.

Fuller House

I was meeting some friends for dinner on Friday so I decided to stay in the downtown core after my yoga class. I headed to the Ottawa Public Library's main branch at Metcalfe and Laurier. It has been decades since I've set foot inside, and I wondered if my childhood memories exaggerated its size. I was pleased to discover that it remained a large and roomy three-level site.

At 5 pm, I walked to Korea House in Chinatown along Bank St. and then Somerset St. It was nice to see a number of lively shops and restaurants. Outside of a few isolated neighbourhoods, Ottawa never felt attractive. But I recently traveled through the St. Laurent, Heron Road, Woodroffe, and Merivale areas and my opinion of it tipped from plain into ugly. This 30 minute stroll moved the needle a little bit back toward the positive side.

At Korea House, you could order the all-you-can-eat grilled meat option ($25) or pick dishes from the menu. Most other tables wanted the table-side grill but we decided to let someone else do the cooking. It was a large order including shrimp tempura, seafood pancake, japchae (sweet potato noodles), bulgogi, batter-fried chicken, and kimchi pork tofu. With the complimentary miso soup, kimchi condiments and pan-fried beef dumplings, we were stuffed and needed some take-out container. All the dishes were good, not too oily and with a bit of a kick.

It was nice catching up including news of other people we may not have seen lately. Not all changes happen gradually so it's always interesting to hear of or tell about unexpected events.

Tapas Fire

After another week of lazing around, I was back on Elgin St. on Friday for some yoga. It was another hard class building up to an arm balance. Although I could do it, I relied on my body sense and familiarity. Which is a face-saving way of saying I don't look too pretty getting into the pose. The yogini instructor, on the other hand, was slow and methodical. This took more work and strength. I'm motivated to practice this sort of "honesty" for 2020.

For lunch, I stopped by the oddly named Pi-Rho. But I realized it was a pun because the small diner was a Mediterranean grill. I had a small panic when I saw that it was a multi-step pick-your-own-options because of my last experience with a similar set-up. Luckily, this place had much tastier offerings.

For my grain bowl ($12.25), I opted for wild grains and quinoa; added eggplant and bell-pepper, and feta-mousse for my dips; included seasonal veggies for protein; and finished off with some tomatoes, onions, cucumber, and a pickled jalapeno pepper. It all came together quite nicely for a good lunch. For me, the stand-out was the combination of the sharpness of the cheese with the earthiness of the grilled vegetables.

Quiet Please

I have been cocooning with family because Ottawa has been in a deep freeze. But on Saturday, with slightly milder temperatures, I decided to work out some kinks at a yoga class on Elgin Street. This road has just re-opened after months of heavy reconstruction. But both sidewalks and street were empty of pedestrians and cars.

This class was in many ways harder than even the vigorous ones I've been in because the meticulous yogini concentrated on weak or underused muscles. I have practiced with them before and I recognized common sequences and instructions. For all of their care and attention to alignment, I suspect there's turnover in the class; people usually tune out (i.e., "familiarity breeds contempt") after a while and then stop coming. The successful teachers I know offer variety, even if most students would be better off focusing on fundamentals.

Afterwards, I wandered to Cooper and Bank, and found myself at J:unique Kitchen. This small but charming sushi spot occupied the main level of an older Victorian duplex. Ottawa hasn't done a great job of preserving its downtown, aside from Parliament Hill and the Byward Market, so it is a pleasure to find these rare relics. With lunch service winding down, there was only myself and one couple sitting by the window.

I opted for the Oshi Set ($18.95) from the lunch menu. The quality was apparent from the first sip of the miso soup. But when the lunch came out nicely presented, I didn't need to taste the not-pink pickled ginger to know this was a cut above most sushi joints. It's a gross generalization but there's a higher quality of care to Japanese-owned sushi places (like the similarly sized Shozan Room in Toronto).

So I quite enjoyed crunchy but not oily tempura, refreshing salad, and earthy edamame. The 3 pieces of salmon oshi, pressed and torched, were enlivened with a thin slice of chili. Unsurprisingly, the fish in the nigiri had actual flavour. Too bad the owners will be on vacation until January. Otherwise I would definitely come back again for dinner.

Return To Innocence

Friday morning, I was at a 9 a.m. show for the final film of the new Star Wars trilogy. Although I'm not a super-fan, this series does hold a special spot in my heart. Almost 40 years ago, Return of the Jedi was the first movie I saw in Canada. It was all rather mysterious since I was struggling with English and knew nothing of the first two films. But it was still magical sitting in that darkened theatre (which has long since closed).

Arriving at the cineplex, I was surprised and a bit dismayed to see many school-children running around; the early time slot was an effort to avoid a crowd. But it turned out to be a school trip and they had their own private screening. I wonder if they'll also look back in another 40 years with fond memories?

My inner cynic doesn't think so. These cineplexes are state of the art but blandly corporate. There's no idiosyncratic details to snag your memory. There's also no sense of ceremony, a feeling of ritual and occasion. This was merely an extension of your viewing habits from home: a half-hour of infotainment clips before the start time, followed by an additional 30 minutes of commercials and trailers.

This 3rd installment suffered from inflation and tourism. By the former, I mean that things have become ludicrously huge. The protagonists are no longer people with special abilities; they have gained super-hero powers. Battles rage not between a handful of ships but hundreds of them. And with artifacts and secret temples we have left sci-fi (even if Star Wars was always more space opera than hard SF) for Lord of The Rings territory.

The original movies had a few set pieces. The new ones visit many planets and locations. But worse, there's no sense of time because characters travel among them with little effort. It might as well be taking place on the Holodeck of the Enterprise. Without the barrier of distance, people become pieces of a table-top game.

But the main stumbling blocks with Rise of Skywalker was "Chekov's Gun" (so many guns) and low-stakes. It didn't matter because there was no sacrifice. Nobody suffered, not permanently, not even for the length of a scene. These movies are probably no longer for me, and I should stop my complaining before I get an "Okay, Boomer".

Business Sense

My company has been in trouble all year. At first, it was a few late pay-cheques. But since August, they have been paying employees at only around 50%. A call to the Ministry of Labour would likely shut it all down. But the rank-and-file has decided to give the execs time to turn it around. It's a bit astonishing that the CEO knows enough deep-pocket friends that can offer short-term loans to keep it limping along while trying to land some multi-million dollar investments. There are people who for various reasons cannot accept the reduced pay after a while. So there has been a steady exodus for last few months. This Thursday, there was yet another group lunch for a departing colleague.

Since I was already in Ottawa visiting family and couldn't attend, I decided to have my own eat-out lunch at Laheeb. This Middle-Eastern grill took over last summer from a medical marijuana dispensary called Dr. Green Thumb. Looking over the menu, I ordered a Mixed Mashawi meal ($12.75) and a side-order of pilaf rice ($6). Being a new business, they enticed me with free home-made samples of hummus, tabouleh, and garlic sauce. It was a large meal with 4 skewers of beef cubes, shish tawook (chicken breast), and ground beef and chicken kababs. They were all freshly grilled and were great. The rice and dips were also tasty. The fries were on the starchy side instead of crunchy. Only the pita bread was mediocre.

All in all, it was comparable in price to the Subway next door yet more substantial and of better quality. Yet that sandwich franchise was full while this place had no customers. Unfortunately, I don't think Laheeb will be around by next summer. First, it's on a cursed stretch of road. No businesses seem to thrive anywhere along Montreal Road, but between Ogilvie and St. Laurent are mostly empty store-fronts. A few attempts including The Garlic King and Kukulkan fizzled after a few years. Second, it's not clear what they sell from their signage. Only the sharp-sighted can spot the tiny "charcoal grill" descriptor nestled near the inscrutable Laheeb name and a stylized skewer. Finally, you can't tell from the menu that you getting a great deal for your meal.

They need to emphasize that, for around the same price as Subway and less than Pilos down the street, you're getting a big entrée. And that meal is piled with BBQ meat, a familiar sight for even the most sheltered Canadian, and not some "exotic fare". Perhaps a sample plate in the display window alongside the fresh kababs to drive the point home. And change that sign.

Send In The Clowns

As part of its grand opening, The Paradise Theatre is showing 7 movies from 1937, the year it originally opened. So I was there for a 6 p.m. show of Stage Door, a movie that underneath its zingers and rapid banter had some clear-eyed observations about the treacherous path for women actors and grabby producers.

After the movie, I immediately jumped onto the subway heading to The Danforth Music Hall for the 1st of 3 final shows for local band Hollerado. New band Luna Li, comprised primarily of young women including lead Hannah Bussiere, was finishing up their first song. Though Hollerado grumbled good-naturedly during their set that their retirement was due to these "young bands taking all the jobs", they are using their last shows to show-case these new whippersnappers. Hollerado has been touring with Luna Li though, so there were some extra connections there.

Luna Li have refined their set to take advantage of these opportunities. The slower, atmospheric songs (Opal Angel) are played first, especially with Bussiere switching between violin and guitar. People are impressed by multi-instrumentalists and their bona fides. The back-half is loaded with propulsive, punchy numbers (Star Stuff) to leave a strong impression. This crowd was about 5 times the size of their biggest solo show and judging by the talk around me, Luna Li won over some new fans.

Tokyo Police Club didn't need the exposure, being more popular than Hollerado. I liked the story-telling aspect of several of their songs. But the nasally vocal delivery and the can-rock feel left me mostly bored. I was in the minority though as people were belting out lyrics to every song.

With old pictures and posters projected behind them, Hollerado launched into an energetic Grief Money. That established the kind of songs they played (Americanarama, Fake Drugs): catchy, fun, full of sing-a-long choruses. No surprise that the confetti guns made several appearances. Their stage banter was equally enjoyable from being too high to remember the lyrics in Victoria, B.C. to standing around awkwardly in front of the stage before the "encore" in a mostly empty bar in Ohio. I came to the show with relatively fresh ears: I missed their start 12 years ago and knew them mostly from Stella Ella Ola and Bossie.

It was interesting to hear someone commented to their friend that Hollerado wrote good but not great songs. Was there a missing ingredient that scuttled their mainstream success? I certainly enjoyed this show more than my first taste of The Arkells at the CNE, who had an equal number of fun as well as corporate rock songs. Yet the latter is now selling out arenas across Canada. Either I have no ear for music or it's a roll of the dice when it comes to fame.

I Would Like Fries With That

Two decades ago, I spent most of 1999 eating junk food. My evening meals were rotated through the franchises at a mall food court (except for McDonald's) and my Sunday dinner was at Harvey's. This ended at Christmas, when on a trip to visit family, I was bluntly told by my grandma that I was getting fat. Since then, I have rarely eaten fast food. But with 2019 signaling the end of this decade, I decided on Sunday to indulge in an "unhealthy" lunch.

GL, shortened from the mouthful Globally Local, is a new vegan spot near College and Bathurst that offers vegan fast food. It looks to have started in London, Ontario. Looking over the menu, I opted for the Preposterous Burger combo for $11.99. Mine came with fries and a drink from the self-serve fountain.

The soft bun, mustard, ketchup, and pickles got that burger flavour down pat. But the patty was a slight miss. Though it was juicy and substantial, it didn't have a firm chewiness. I'm not sure what the problem is. For example, a falafel ball will give a nice crunch. The root beer was flat and not that tasty. I forgot that soft drinks from a machine, unlike a can, are combined from streams of water and syrup. Coincidentally, the fries were reminiscent of Harvey's: thicker cut, starchy on the inside, and coated with a thin batter to get more crunch.

GL offers other items including fried chicken and tacos. I hope it'll last out the next decade. My local Harvey's only made it halfway through the aughts before closing.

Hot Fire Below

With a nippy December Saturday evening outside, I debated if I should simply stay home. But I finally got enough impetus to bundle up and headed to Longboat Hall, the basement venue of The Great Hall. It turned out to be a good decision because it was a rare show where all the performers were excellent. It was also due to the venue, which at least for tonight, had a great mix on their sound system.

In fact, I only caught the final EDM song of Armen Bazarian. But it was catchy enough that I wished I had arrived sooner. It was only the 3rd live show for Acapulco Gold. With their brown suits, suspenders, and mustaches, I suspected I'd knew their sound. Yup, once they started their set, the 70s Fleetwood Mac folk-rock aesthetic was enjoyable. I loved it best when the leads harmonized wistfully on numbers like Sunset and How To Get To You. Unsurprisingly, they ended with a lovely cover of Bobby Charles' I Must Be In a Good Place Now from 1972.

What a revelation the band For Jane made on me. I saw them earlier this year, but the weak set-up at The Monarch Tavern didn't do them justice. They played hook-friendly power-pop that got the crowd dancing throughout their set. It seemed to be mostly new material that was a departure from the quirky, DIY vibe of their EP Married With Dogs. Natalie Panacci usually sang lead but sometimes Julia Wittmann stopped crafting catchy riffs on her guitar to do vocals. The groovy bass lines kept everything tight. They also played a 70s cover: Blondie's Heart of Glass.

Nyssa almost never speaks during her set. Tonight, she made a small speech halfway through thanking the audience for giving her a chance to do her most favourite thing in the world: performing on stage. It was obvious as she prowled around, being some combination of Elvis and Lou Reed, that she loved being up there. The great sound tonight highlighted how many of her songs (#1 Girl, Cowboy) were dance bangers. But she also had long story-telling numbers (Hey Jackie, Misty Morning). Often as Nyssa stood there posing, the spotlight lit her up dramatically highlighting her ash-blond shade, silver glitter make-up, and white patent shoes. Her Christmas covers were also left-field but compelling: Nick Lowe's Lately I've Let Things Slide and The Replacements' Can't Hardly Wait.

The between-sets music tend to be forgettable background played by the sound engineer. But tonight, it was fun and high-energy due to the DJ Pat O'Brien of funky band Jaunt. It was no surprise then that the mostly retro songs were high on groovy bass, punchy horns, and snappy guitars.

East of Eden

I found myself early Saturday morning at St. Lawrence Market. Though I've lived in Toronto for decades, this might be only my second time here. After wandering around for a bit, I finally found Scheffler's Delicatessen. Despite the sticker shock, I got 100g ($35) of Iberico Ham as an early Christmas present for a family member who raved about it after a recent trip to Spain.

I grabbed 2 bagels with cream cheese ($2.86/each) from St. Urbain. I hope that the original location in Montréal is better because these were underwhelming. But I had a number of errands to finish elsewhere before 11 am. It wasn't just to take advantage of the 2 hour travel limit of a TTC transit fare but also to get to a movie at the Paradise Theatre.

I had spent many evenings at this movie theatre at Bloor and Dovercourt as well as The Royal on College St. After the Festival chain of repertory theatres closed, The Royal and The Revue stuck around due to neighbourhood support. But The Paradise has been shuttered since 2006. After laying derelict for more than a decade, construction started up a few years ago. A passion project of mogul Moray Tawse, he has likely sunk tens of millions into its full renovation.

Stepping inside the main entrance, everything was both 1937 retro and spanking new. The seats were rich leather and shiny wood. This might be a problem because people were already dirtying up the seats in front of them: cross-legged sitting and muddy winter shoes were the culprit. The screen here was never large and the architects didn't expand it. In fact, they shrank most things including reducing seating to 200 from 600 to get more leg-room.

The movie itself was the excellent drama Marriage Story. I could see it on Netflix but there was something wonderful about seeing movies on the big screen. In fact, I intend to see many movies here, as well as live shows, and visit the restaurant when it opens. Mr. Tawse will likely never make back what he poured into this place, but hopefully my patronage (and optimistically the rest of the neighbourhood) will cover operating expenses.

What's Up Doc?

On Friday I went to the Comedy Bar for an early show intriguingly titled Forever Jung. The premise was that a stand-up comic does their bit, then they get some analysis from a therapist regarding their problems. So the emcee started the show reading "real problems" submitted by people. These absurd quips played to a mostly quiet room. The performers uncomfortably felt that lackadaisical non-response all night except for Ivan who was guffawing at the front. Though to be fair, I think they just had a crowd that was more smiles than chuckles.

Three of the five comics (Jen, Jacob, Deanna) either grew up in a smaller town or had family there. So there was quite a few jokes that played up the differences including various hoser accents. Saira poked gently at the still sensitive boundary of race and visible minorities. There were some dating (Jordan) and marriage (Jen) jokes, that perennial topic of stand-up comedy. Overall, I thought there were some funny bits but nobody had a full and confident set of dynamite material.

Unless he hid his credentials well (for professional or ethical reasons), I don't think the therapist, who fell backward into a garbage can and found a psychology textbook, was a real one. So the one-on-one session post-set was more of an improv or comic banter, with the participants trying to anticipate each other and getting some zingers in. It would have been interesting to get some real psychological analysis, although perhaps that might be too much for both performer and audience. Nina Conti In Therapy is a great set of videos exploring that level of honesty and cringe factor. To be fair, she is also doing a bit even if improvised.

Journey of a Thousand Steps

The city was in the midst of a second snowstorm on Sunday. Despite that, I made it to a vigorous Yoga class on Queen. So I wanted to treat myself to a nice lunch, both for braving the weather and going to a rare high-energy class (I'm getting to the age where gentle Hatha is more my style). But the restaurant I had my eye on wasn't open until dinner.

I decided that since I was already out in the slush and flurries, I might as well get some errands done. So it was off to Chinatown to buy some groceries. Then I made my way to College and Spadina to look at some old computer equipment. But apparently Silicon Alley was no more; all the stores have gone under. There was only 1 small one hanging on and the local chain Canada Computers which only sells new gear.

The Chinese dumpling shop Bauza Bauza Bauza nearby was the perfect spot for lunch. I had some tasty steamed dumplings and a warm bowl of 8-grain congee. I decided to stop by a new café/dessert place in the old Caplansky's deli called LeTAO that specialized in Japanese-style cheesecake and chocolate.

Looking over the menu-board, I opted for a slice of the double chocolate fromage ($7.25). This outpost of the Japanese chain does not make anything in-house but ships from Japan. Over the strain of Plastic Love, I took a bite. I generally prefer the milder and less sweet Asian desserts, so this cheesecake was wonderful. The flavours were subtle as you let each layer present itself. A nice break in the day before fighting through the snow to head back home.

Finals

I was at The Four Seasons Centre for the National Ballet's eclectic show. These mix together a bunch of pieces, although sometimes you wonder what the unifying theme is. They don't sell as well as the narrative ballets like Swan Lake and that perennial money-maker The Nutcracker. So although I don't begrudge their house policy, I was amused at my cheap standing-room spot at the back of Ring 3 seeing the empty seats. But I've only been to one show, a contemporary recital, where people were encouraged to move down to the main level from the balcony.

There was no proletariat uprising in Ratmansky's Piano Concerto #1. Accompanied by that eponymous piece by Shostakovich, the dancers moved under a sky hung with red bolts, stars, and hammers (it's not subtle staging). 2 pairs of dancers interacted with the group, sometimes in concert, often in opposition. There was a tone to the group's synchronized leaps and various tableaux that reminded me of the "To the Glorious Future, Comrade" sentiment of Soviet Art. Often, the pairs' choreography are later subsumed and repeated by the collective.

There was nothing subtle either about the use of fencing foils at the start of Kylián's Petite Mort. The program writes coyly about "an allusion" but it was pretty obvious in a piece named after an orgasm euphemism what a group of bare-chested men swinging and playing with swords signified. When their female partners joined, to be encircled and poked by these pointy props, there's no doubt. The pas-de-deux that followed were athletic and sinuous.

The final recital of the evening was Lander's Etudes. It started with rows of dancers at the barre. The stage was dark except for spotlights on their legs as they moved through dance exercises. This theme was repeated as the light came on and a series of mini-pieces played out on stage. Each had groups of dancers move through increasingly difficult techniques (single turns or jumps become double and so on) or choreography culminating with the 3 principal dancers going full-tilt. They were often finally joined by the corps, all executing furious unison dancing. This sort of technically challenging movement, with a hint of spectacle, got huge cheers from the audience. I'd like to see a "sequel" to this 1948 piece that included contemporary movement, perhaps even a (choreographed) "dance-off".

Winter Treat

Friday night, I headed to Chinatown to the Cecil Community Centre. I don't know if this building often hosts evening events but tonight Venus Fest was presenting the second album release of duo Ice Cream.

The venue is a converted church so it was a dramatic view inside the auditorium. The airy space had a large chandelier hanging from the soaring dome. The stage was the converted altar, wide and deep, with steps leading up and a staircase on the right side where the artists enter. There was a large, eclectic crowd for this show.

I arrived just as opener Slash Need was getting into their second song. As their music was thumping EDM, it was a bit muddy for the small sound system. While her band-mates twisted knobs on stage, the singer, in black and white face-paint and wearing a pleather suit, strutted among the crowd shouting (and occasionally singing) lyrics. Several dancers were arrayed at the front to help with the performance. They resembled rag dolls with their burlap bag-esque balaclava complete with painted lips and eyes around the face openings.

Ice Cream came down the stairs to dramatic synth. Amanda Crist was wearing a glittery fish-net dress over a white bodysuit while her band-mate Carlyn Bezic wore an off-the-shoulder orange number. But with their assertive stage movement and dramatic stances, it was clear the clothes were for them and not being eye-candy. The first half was a change from their previous sound. The syncopated percussive synth-pop of Banana Split, 0.22, and Peanut Butter had the feel of 80s Prince.

The band expanded for a few songs with Aerin Fogel (Queen of Swords, Venus Fest founder) adding some alto sax on Modern Life and Not Surprising. The latter half of the set got heavier, more Nine Inch Nails, as Bezic played more guitar including an extended solo. They ended the evening with the growling, industrial Bun Roo. But despite sustained cheering didn't return for an encore.

Hail Seitan

On Wednesday, I was at Lee's Palace for a mid-week show. In the crowd, there was a lot of piercings, tattoos, lacy goth dresses, and black clothes with pentagrams, Baphomet, and other wholesome symbols. The merch tables were likewise covered with similar t-shirts, jewelry, and posters. But it ended up not much different from a folky night at The Burdock.

The most devilish act was opening band Twin Temple. The two leads were dressed in black with blasphemous red symbols. They blessed the crowd with liquid from chalices taken from their altar, dual inscribed swords, and a quick Black Mass. But don't expect loud, raucous noise from this group. Backed by organ, sax, and drums, the world's first (and probably only) Satanic doo-wop band took the crowd back to the sock-hop era with catchy tunes. But lyrics from numbers like Lucifer My Love, Devil Didn't Make Me Do It, Sex Magick, and Wicked made it clear they were about defying norms and "hex[ing] the patriarchy". Even with an abbreviated set, they finished by anointing eager participants with bloody streaks on their foreheads.

King Dude had the deep, growling vocals of a Metal singer. But he was a story-telling troubadour, even if his love songs were more depressing than usual (and included some Satanic/Hell references). His brother contributed on a sample pad, not so much percussion, but occasional subsonic rumbles. The last part of his set was based on audience choices and ended with Lucifer's The Light of The World and the bluesy I Want to Die At 69.

Amigo The Devil came on stage to Ray Parker Jr's Ghostbusters. That was a hint that the set, and the performer, will be goofy and funny. Danny Kiranos, the self-described "fat Dave Grohl", had plenty of charming stage presence and banter. But he backed it up with a big voice and guitar. Though some songs were on the jokey side (One Kind of People, Dahmer Does Hollywood), other songs dealt with heavier topics like depression (Cocaine and Abel) and suicide (First Day of The End of My Life). I laughed at I Hope Your Husband Dies including the sing-along intro of Smash Mouth's All-Star, a quick digression to John Mayer's Gravity, and getting the crowd to turn to the back and belt out the chorus at the chatty bar flies. I was on the fence about Perfect Wife with its over-the-top domestic abuse lyrics. Yes, the husband gets his at the end. But the bros near me (who were not demonically attired) sang along just a little too lustily. I'm feeling a Dave Chappell situation with that song. Overall, I can see why Kiranos' murderfolk has a loud, devoted following.

Fast and Furriest

On Saturday, I was at The Baby G for the EP release of the 80s-esque band Rapport. As I waited for the show to start, I realized that this small venue was so named because it was owned by the same proprietor of The Garrison down the street. Sometimes I miss the most obvious thing.

The first band was Pax. They had a garage-rock, DIY aesthetic fronted by a dead-pan, mumbling singer. The songs were short and punchy. I didn't love their set until the lead guitarist introduced some psychedelic riffs into the later numbers.

Bueller had the best set of the evening: all killer, no filler. Their pop-punk was fast and catchy but showed a variety of sounds. From the snarky Bubblegum to a hint of doo-wop in Only You, they kept things lively. They sang about body positivity (the tongue-in-cheek Beach Bod) and an ode to a departed pet dog "chilling in heaven". With 4-part harmonies and fun sing-along choruses ("I can't wait to be on my own"), I'm surprised they haven't gotten bigger. I wonder if Bueller was just a fun side-project. And I regretted that it's been 2 years since I last saw them.

Headliner Rapport gave us a set of 80s sounds and rhythms, updated for the new century. Maddy Wilde (Spiral Beach, Moon King) was the titular lead, although Kurt Marble (Twist) took over for a few songs. That retro-feel wasn't a total surprise as the 3rd member Mike Perreira is also part of Most People, another full-on 80s dance band. Although there were more hits than miss, the duds reminded me that some of the music from the Yuppie decade was paint-by-numbers dull. But at their best like In The Dark, it was sweet satisfying pop. Also, the mediocre sound system at this venue muddied up the layered quality (the hallmark of 80s composition) of their music. Since Wilde had put out the word that there will be a prize for best accessory or hat, a number of people came with boas, princess cone hats, and other amusing head-gear.

The Personal Is Political

Once again, I found myself at The Burdock for an early show after stuffing myself with a veggie roti at Vena's. I had been anticipating Wednesday's show because Taryn Kawaja was playing. I first knew of her when she joined Ben Caplan's band and had a major impact. I kept missing her rare solo sets, usually played before a Caplan set. But after all this time, she was finally showcasing some new solo material.

Kawaja's short opening set with just an electric bass and her on piano was a revelation. The new songs (Hum, Choreographers, Pilot Man, Again We Are Strangers) were snapshots of a relationship slowly falling apart. It was partly the fault of the woman, at least in her view. But it seemed mostly the man's: taking things for granted, engaging in destructive habits. Kawaja played with the pop structure: changing the length of verses, using near or internal rhymes. Combined that craft with a raw emotionality to her singing, it was a wonderful set.

I highlight Kawaja's skill because head-liner Gabrielle Papillon wasn't quite at that level. I'm mostly over love songs (with rare exceptions like the previous set), so I appreciated Papillon tackling other topics such as social anxiety (I Don't Want To Go To Sleep), Me Too movement (Shout It Out), and being true to yourself (New Age Faces). But her metronomic approach of regular meter and on-the-nose rhymes made them sounded generic. I kept imagining them used as background music to fan-edit tributes of popular TV shows uploaded to Youtube. She could write a catchy chorus though.

This was the second recent show where socially relevant topics failed to engage me because songwriters often treat them as speechifying. This Do-You-Hear-The-People-Sing rallying cry approach could sometimes work. But I think Suzanne Vega's Luka is a better model: using a personal story (even if fictional) to illuminate a larger concern.

Consider The Lobster

On Monday night, to satisfy some out-of-town friends' curiosity, we visited Fishman Lobster Clubhouse. Recently profiled on David Chang's Ugly Delicious Netflix series, it doesn't really need the extra publicity. So even tonight the place was about half-full.

The place is designed to give you a feeling of spectacle. You enter a huge open room, something like a cross between an old-time Chinese tavern (the kind in kung-fu movies) grown to enormous proportion, a fancy banquet hall, and a larger-than-life Texas steak-house. The walls were tiered rows of glass tanks filled with crabs and lobsters. When you order your dinner, they bring the selected crustaceans to your table for approval and with that, the inevitable pics of diners holding aloft their still-living meals.

Our set dinner comprised of a 15 lb lobster mountain consisting of 3 lobsters, a 6 lb king crab, some chicken soup and a dish of snow pea tips. We also ordered some fried noodles for the kids who were only mildly interested in the seafood, though they were keen on the french fries and crispy fish chunks mixed into the mountain.

The top of the mountain was good, with big chunks of batter-fried lobsters to eat. Near the botttom, it was more of a chore with the leggy bits, and felt more like eating chitinous chicken wings. The steamed crab provided a nice change from the fried food.

I knew it was an expensive dinner but the $700 or so bill was a bit of a shock. My portion was about $140. In retrospect, I don't think I would have gone if I had known: not even as a one-time experience. I still eat meat though I'm mostly on a plant-based diet. Yet there was something macabre about the whole photo-op situation. Secondly, eating nothing but lobster and crab for an hour became a chore. Finally, for that sort of price, you can have a fancy 10-course banquet dinner at a Chinese restaurant or visit a higher-end sushi place. Both would give you a wider variety of flavour and dishes.

She Said Boom

On a bright Sunday afternoon, I went to a piano recital at Gallery 345. Instead of yet another retread of Beethoven and ilk, classical pianist Sarah Hagen highlighted women composers in a show entitled Wonder Women. She actually had a hard time researching these composers as for the most part, they've faded into obscurity. So in addition to playing their music, Hagen gave short bios on them before various pieces.

It's no surprise that the patriarchal cultures they lived under limited their opportunities during their lifetime and erased them afterwards. Yet under these conditions, some of these women still created a large repertoire. Most of these works are probably lost forever, such as the other 24 sonatas by Marianna Martines, but Hagen is hopeful they are simply gathering dust in some basement archives at European universities. It was interesting that their families were supportive including Felix who published some of Fanny Mendelssohn's work under his name. It was usually domineering husbands who scuttled their career. It was amazing, Hagen noted, that Germaine Tailleferre still believed in the power of love and romance. The other forces were dismissive critics. Cécile Chaminade was popular enough to have "Chaminade [listening] clubs" throughout the U.S. but the unfair label of "domestic music" has tarnished her reputation. A few like Dora Pejačević and Lili Boulanger probably just died too young.

There were many eyebrow-raising (from a modern perspective) details but Hagen tried to keep it fairly breezy and upbeat. As a performer who also has a comical Fringe sketch called Perk Up, Pianist!, she got lots of laughs with her dry wit. Whether it was Toronto's moniker of The 6 was surely "professed love" of 1920s French music or Agathe Backer Grondahl being from the "Holy Land" (Hagen's ancestral Norway), it was enjoyable listening to her banter.

The music itself was wonderful. I was particularly taken with Hermit Thrush at Morn (Amy Beach), the Largo from Sonata in E-flat Major (Marianne von Auenbrugger), the Adagio from Sonata in G Major (Marianna Martines) and Nocturne Op. 6 No. 2 (Clara Schumann). These gentler passages shouldn't be taken as evidence that women write "pretty music", another biased charge against these composers. Hagen pointed out that some of them were "wicked pianists", among the best in their day, and it came through in some of the more fiendish passages. After the show, I picked up a copy of Hagen's new album, Women of Note, that highlighted Auenbrugger and Martines.

It wasn't all sad stories. Clara Schumann had an equal and loving marriage, though given some of her biographical details, she definitely carried the heavier load. She was also likely the first pianist to play from memory, inspiring (positively or otherwise) Liszt to do the same when he heard about her exploits. The happiest people were probably the Martines sister. They remained unmarried and devoted themselves to music; knew and lived in the same building in Vienna with Haydn and Porpora; and hosted soirées where Mozart would drop by with duet sonatas, specially written to be played with Marianna.

And if the modern audience thought that those sexist days were in the past, Hagen told an amusing story about a recent showcase where she played some of Martines' music. A man accosted her afterwards, disbelieving her about Marianna. His source of knowledge? He was from Vienna and would obviously know.

Hot Pocket

With a rare November snowstorm and cold snap this week, I've been cocooning at home since Monday and bailing on several shows. But Friday night, I decided I needed a change and made my way to Lee's Palace.

It was already about 3/4 full for the first opener Grizzly Coast. It was a standard indie-band setup and sound, though there were some interesting lyrics (High Functioning, Zuzu's Petals). But I couldn't concentrate on them because the lead vocals was off-key. If her lower register wasn't in tune I would have entertained the wild idea that the sound engineer was pranking them by feeding a slightly off-pitch vocal track through her monitor.

The highlight of the evening was Begonia. Fronted by Alexa Dirks with aplomb and charm, it was the balladry of Adele meet the sing-rap phrasing of Lizzo. She already had some fans, both Manitobans and non, but Dirks converted the entire room from the first number The Light. After a couple of catchy songs, she cemented it with Hot Dog Stand, an anti-love long referencing Smoke'n Bob's in downtown Winnipeg. This Toronto show was augmented by the harmonies of Jill Harris and Meg Contini (The O'Pears) on a few songs; both Living At The Ceiling and The Beats were gems. From barn-burner Fear to the closing Out of My Head, Begonia got the crowd to cheer, stomp, and demand an (non-existent) encore.

This was the biggest show for local band Fast Romantics so they brought extra stage lights. It was a good fit for them, as their songs tend toward Arcade Fire-esque anthems and sing-alongs from Everybody's Trying to Steal Your Heart to Get Loved. Sometimes the lyrics can be a bit grandiose and bombastic. It was a strange crowd though: there in full number, yet rather passive (compared to their shows at The Horseshoe) except for near the front. Perhaps the promoter, radio Indie88, got some people curious. But there were obviously fans who knew the lyrics all around me. The next year feels big for them: with several years together and being a sizeable group, they need to break through to the next level of mainstream popularity.

Ja Nein

On Saturday, I was with a packed house at The Fleck Dance Theatre for the final night of ProArteDanza's The 9th! Over the years, I have seen pieces from this dance company set to one of the movements from Beethoven's 9th symphony. But after almost 10 years, it was all coming together as a complete work.

ProArteDanza bills itself as a contemporary ballet company. Throughout the evening, that DNA was evident in the melding of modern dance, sometimes even hints of hip-hop/break-dance repertoire, with classical spins, extensions, and lifts. Their other strength of dazzling speed and pairings were also on full display.

Co-choreographer Roberto Campanella wrote that he took some inspiration from images and videos of families separated by the Berlin Wall. That was made literal in the 4th movement by a video projection of a huge barricade made from wooden chairs that slowly fell apart. On stage, the 2nd movement had a row of chairs with dancers moving and reaching for each other across this artificial wall. At the start of the 3rd movement, these chairs became collaborative and positive props that, in some cases, were linking them together as the performers formed chains by holding on to the chairs between them. This middle part was my favourite portion of the work.

It also highlighted the main theme throughout: both sides of unity and individuality. In unity (and often propulsive formation choreography), they found strength and comfort. But there was also oppression and confinement. In individual freedom, the dancers soared. Yet their movements sometimes became disjointed and staccato. It was as if social isolation caused a breakdown of their mental psyche.

The last section was the weakest, relatively speaking, of the work. But it was due to the huge, cultural impact of "Ode To Joy" in the 4th movement. It is simply too difficult, perhaps impossible, to put your own definitive stamp on such monumental music. The 9th! was one of the most enjoyable dance recital I have seen in a while.

Importance of Being Earnest

After eating a filling roti at Vena's, I stopped at nearby The Burdock for an early show. Belinda Corpuz (actress, songwriter) had just finished her first number. Accompanied by Malcolm Connor on the upright bass, she guitar-picked through a selection of emotional songs from her EP including Waiting, June, and Storm. She did a nice cover of Overjoyed by Bahamas where she noted that she got to strum instead.

Emma Priya (also actress, songwriter) took the stage with a strong, driving number called Patterns. She was relatively new to performing music; she has been doing various gigs including open mics around the city. Her goal for this year was to play a show like tonight. With her band, she did songs called Little Girl (an ode to her younger self) and Beyond Borders (after visiting family in India). This Is Love was probably perfect for her friend's wedding but was too saccharine for me.

Perhaps because of their non-Caucasian heritage, Corpuz's grandmother came from the Philippines and Priya is biracial, there was a willingness to explore stories beyond the usual love songs. But this hasn't quite translated into verses that are consistently compelling. Sometimes there was a bit of an official anthem of WE Day vibe. Hopefully, they will continue to develop their craft.

O Canada

Tuesday night, I was at a packed Lula Lounge for Okan's album release. For the occasion, NYC-based pianist Dayramir Gonzalez played the opening set. Being the first Cuban artist to go to Berklee on a full scholarship, his talent was readily on displayed. His sunny disposition charmed the crowd as he explained the many Cuban musical influences on his playing. It was quite interesting when he talked about turning an 8-beat Afro-Cuban rhythm into a "jazzier" 7-beat line before a song. The only drawback to his exciting set was the muddy mix of percussion (congas and drums) due to the under-powered sound system at this venue. Gonzalez was joined on-stage for the last two numbers by the women of Okan: a complex take on the Cuban classic El Manisero (Peanut Vendor song), and a propulsive composition called Moving Forward that was the best song of the set. Many tonight probably hoped that his first time in Canada will result in more visits.

Okan started their set at the back of the venue. As they made their way forward, they pounded hollow percussive poles into the floor while singing. The band on-stage launched into a bright, complex number that got people out of their chairs. Then Elizabeth Rodriguez (violin) and Magdelys Savigne (percussion) called on the ancestors on the title track Sombras for guidance and protection. Though the Afro-Cuban roots as well as their classical music training were strong throughout their set, living in Canada has brought other influences. Quick Stop, a composition by Savigne that provided quite a work-out for Rodriguez, brought in Balkan and fiddle flavour. Their set was the best sort of "world music": full of vitality, organic, and authentic.

Pearl Sits

I managed to get through a vigorous Yoga class on Saturday despite an ongoing cough and lethargy. Combined with an afternoon drizzle, I decided that it was time to get some warmth-generating food. I headed over to Raku at Queen and Augusta.

This location of an NYC-based restaurant is non-descript with no signage. There is just a small menu set in a wall and a recessed door behind some fluttering drapes. Inside was equally small but more welcoming with a clean minimalism: a few tables and a row of seats by the other wall. There may be smaller diners in Japan itself but even in pricey Toronto, this was a small space.

Since their specialty is Udon, I ordered a wakame udon bowl ($13) and some kinpira gobo ($6). Japanese ramen shops are fully established here over the last 10 years. But I can't think of any other Udon noodle houses except for student-haunt Manpuku by OCAD University. So I used that for my frame of reference, considering that a bowl here is 3-4 times more expensive than the latter.

The gobo combination of burdock root, carrot, and daikon was a nice start. It was crunchy with a rich mouthfeel from the oil dressing. As for the soup, at first I wouldn't say you can tell it apart from the cheaper ones at Manpuku. Definitely, the seaweed and broth were fresher and tastier but it was a subtle difference (though the well-balanced richness of the broth became more obvious with each slurp). I actually didn't like their tororo konbu flakes as much; it was a bit of a gooey mess that was unpleasant texture-wise. But when I got to the noodles, there was no doubt as to its superior quality. Thick, slightly flatter than mass-produced udon, it had a wonderful chew. Each bite was fun and enjoyable. It was even better than most ramen restaurants, though it might be an apples-and-orange deal to directly compare them. Raku is a gem of a place even if it's easy to miss from the outside.

Rock In Peace

On Friday, I headed to Lee's Palace for Death To T.O. This 9th edition of Toronto bands doing covers alternating between The Cave upstairs and Lee's itself. The show was on November 1st instead of Halloween like usual but since that night was rainy with gusty winds, it wouldn't have been as much fun without the sold-out crowd.

Compared to previous years, it was a bigger audience right off the bat. But the show started slow for me because the first 4 bands were a bit hit-and-miss: Beastie Boys (Dear-God) was a little shaggy; Twin Rains/Secret Sign played a pitchy Depeche Mode; Eno was all right but let's face it songs like Needles In The Camel's Eye aren't mainstream; Gorillaz (The Effens) did get audience buy-in (Feel Good Inc., Kids With Guns) but they were also kind of rough if enthusiastic.

Vypers finally got the right mix for Billy Idol. They had the 80s outfit and hair and book-ended their set with the hits (White Wedding, Rebel) so even Eyes Without a Face kept the crowd going. They could have toned down the cheesiness a bit and their late start derailed the rest of the evening with each set playing later and later. And I was so happy at that point that a Dan Burke show was on time. With the venue now fully jam-packed, I decided to stick to the main floor instead of trying to get upstairs for Heart (Hot Garbage) and later, Echo & The Bunnymen (Sahara).

Nyssa as Robert Palmer also covered the hits (Irresistible, Addicted To Love) and the lesser known tunes (Johnny And Mary). Her overt hip thrusts were something Palmer likely didn't do but they got plenty of cheers. Kudos to her male band members for wearing little black dresses. The biggest cheers and crowd sing-along was for Céline Dion (Jessica Upton Crowe) and songs like Power of Love and It's All Coming Back To Me Now. If her covert reliance on lyrics sheet sometimes bordered on karaoke, her big voice (albeit in a lower key) did Céline proud. She even managed a wardrobe change between the penultimate number All By Myself and closing ballad My Heart Will Go On.

The upbeat mood turned into non-stop dancing for Vallens' Madonna. Robyn Phillips was fully committed with not just a blonde wig, but the full pointy-bra Blonde Ambition outfit. Their set included mega-hits Hung Up, Express Yourself, Like a Prayer, and Ray of Light. Beautiful Stranger got a rock treatment for slight break in the frenzied dancing. With the show closing in on 1 a.m., I skipped out on Led Zeppelin (Witchrot) and The Shangri-las (Shrinehouse).

Tuesday Talks

On Tuesday, I went down to The Drake Underground for an intimate show that felt like meeting up with two friends. In fact, many there knew the country singers and they themselves were best friends. Opener Kelly Prescott was the funny friend who, in her words, "overshared". So her solo set had songs about break-up, divorce, and cheating exes. But it wasn't just her banter that got laughs. In Heels, a song about "making up for lost time" after finding herself newly single, the chorus with the line "I'm not head over heels, but I'll be heels over head for you" had people chuckling. Episode was both a "real country" number (with its 3/4 time) and an ode to the 90s when radio played female artists and you got to hear their perspective.

Headliner Jessica Mitchell was the intense friend who might overwhelm you with drama. Drawing from her debut album Heart of Glass, her songs were snippets of heartbreak. Acknowledging that the past 5 years have been miserable, Mitchell told the audience she was in a better place and sang some newer songs with a more positive outlook. It may have also allowed her to pen a personal song that reminded me of Muna's It's Gonna Be Okay, Baby in its biographical details.

It was around 2013 that I first saw Mitchell played at Emma-Lee's Case of The Mondays. But I kept missing her shows in town for various reasons. I recalled her powerful voice and it was on full display tonight; though she did get a little wobbly on notes held longer than 4 bars. And if the intervening time hasn't been great for her personally, Mitchell is finding commercial success with a Tim Hicks collaboration (Somebody Gonna Get Hurt), a song on Celine Dion's new album Courage (The Chase), and a cover by Trisha Yearwood (Working on Whiskey).

Killing Me Softly

On Saturday, I went to an early show at The Mod Club. Both performers did solo sets with just them and an acoustic guitar. First up was local singer Luka. Although the venue was still fairly empty by 7 p.m., it was still his largest mainstream audience. So I felt he missed a good opportunity to showcase his music to a crowd that, being here for J.S. Ondara, was primed for some earnest songs. Luka concentrated on new material for an upcoming album which didn't feel as strong or at least too elliptical to be accessible to a new listener. The tepid claps were stronger for his older songs Love Is The Eternal Weight and O, My Heart Is Full. Also, his usual laconic vocals didn't generate much excitement. A full band or even some back-up singers like Julie Arsenault would have really sold his crooning.

Ondara, as a Kenyan-American, had a whole album about at his new homeland called Tales of America. And over the course of his set, he took us through its promises and often its disappointments. Although his voice is clear and sweet and not the gravel of Springsteen, there was something in his lyrics and his heavy strumming that evoked the latter. He was effortlessly charming, delighting the crowd with anecdotes especially from his touring; from the man who dared him to play Heart of Gold while opening for Neil Young to the woman who worried about his mental state because of all his sad songs. I liked but didn't love his music. There was a sameness in tempo and chorus that eventually zoned me out. But the crowd loved the self-described "folk singer". There were many beatific smiles from his songs and exclamations over his soaring voice.

Frightful

Halloween came early this year because I had a Saturday lunch that was horrifying. I always try to enjoy a meal, at least while I'm there even if a place was not compelling enough to revisit. But that wasn't the case at Masalawala, an "Indian canteen" that recently opened in Little Italy.

It started out pleasantly enough: a bright, cheerful place painted with Bollywood Pop-art. The premise was simple: you pick a bowl ($11.99), select your rice, main protein, sauce, and any additional toppings. There were a few side dishes, too. So I opted for ingredients not usually available including brown basmati rice and grilled tofu. The "Belgian white chocolate" samosas ($2.99 for 2) also sounded intriguing.

The rice was chalky and crumbly because it wasn't fully cooked. The tofu was soft and gooey without any fried skin. I would use firm tofu if you're going to grill. The palak sauce had no flavour and the naan was a sad, tough chew. As I grimly ate my lunch, I noted that the same price gets you a delicious, gut-busting (in a good way) thali platter at Banjara just up on Bloor St. In fact, I've eaten Indian TV dinners from No Frills, mass-marketed for the mainstream, that were tastier. The lone bright spot was the combination fried + sweet from those dessert samosas. But they were imported from the U.K. so the owners can't take full credit.

The signs were there, but I had missed them. Despite an open kitchen, there was no smell of simmering spices. The only South Asian worker was the cashier. I don't think you have to be from some region to cook its dishes well, but places like this really test this theory. If you're really in the mood for "quick bites", then go to the suburbs like Scarborough with its plethora of authentic eateries.

Oh Here They Come

I wasn't feeling great stomach-wise after dinner on Friday; I'm getting sick every which way as of late. So I gingerly made my way to the Burdock for a show, not sure if it would be better to stay in bed. But I was rewarded with a fun night of music.

Opener was a collection of individual performers called Crystal Light Collective. Headliner Most People was mining 80s nostalgia so I couldn't help but notice that these young women sang in a modern way. Tiger Wing channeled Billie Eilish/Alessia Cara through some slow-moving chords. Soft Honey did spoken word, with her own verses were better than a cover of Lauren Hill. Shaemara gave us some danceable EDM. Finally, Janette King (from Montreal) sounded a bit like Ariana Grande for her 10 minutes.

Most People played songs with an 80s bent, helped in part by equipment either from that era (Yamaha DX7 e-piano) or can reproduce that sound (a 2000 DR-202 Dr. Groove drum machine). Add in some fat bass lines and funky guitar and the ghost of Hall and Oates (with perhaps a touch of 90s R'n'B) was strong on songs like Knife (Call Me Up) and Feeling's Right. Edwin Sheard's alto sax on a few numbers (Breathe) was the icing on this confection. Laura Barrett helped on the synth so the lead singer can take front stage on a sweet duet (Need A Little More) with boyBITCH. Did I mention that they were dressed in those iconic bright boxy suits, with glittery make-up, ear-rings, and necklaces?

Two-thirds into their set, Most People went back to an oldie (Falling Apart). That signaled a transition from smooth 80s to a stronger, more "bangers" vibe for the remainder of the evening. Whatever the feeling, the audience (including myself) was there to join in and dance along.

May La Force Be With You

Thursday night, I was at The Drake Underground for a show by Ariel Engle. A recent addition to Broken Social Scene, she is best known to me as AroarA, a duo formed around 2012 with husband and also BSS member Andrew Whiteman. Tonight they are back with some additional band members (including Carleigh Aikins) as La Force.

With multiple projects over the years including BSS and Hydra, there was a fairly big crowd for Engle; the first show on Wednesday was actually sold-out. La Force's music was upbeat, muscular synth-pop. It was interesting to hear her lyrics as Aroara's verses were taken from poet Alice Notley's In The Pine. Engle is a good songwriter herself, given emotional heft to catchy numbers. For the live show, she liked to sneak in lyrical snippets of other songs: Technotronic's Pump Up The Jam in Upside Down Wolf and Sinead O'Connor's Troy in Ready To Run. Engle played several Aroara songs including the sublime #14 ("I was born to be a poet"). Apparently, Whiteman doesn't usually play live with her on La Force so the encore Epistolary Love Song felt special and intimate.

La Force's debut album was released last year, so there were plenty in the crowd who knew the words. But I'm sure all were converts after tonight's wonderful set.

She Blinded Me With Psalm Sense

On Wednesday, I made my way to another new location for me: the Canadian Music Centre on St. Joseph Street. Like last Friday, a beautiful venue in an unexpected place. But in this case, the towering buildings and condos that now loom over downtown Yonge St. and the surrounding area made the smaller, existing edifices looked almost unreal, as if they were mere plywood fronts on a Hollywood lot. The audience seemed split between a who's who of the local indie scene and Jewish attendees.

Tonight, Daniela Gesundheit (Snowblink) was singing Jewish songs and prayers, usually only performed in religious settings at specific times such as Yom Kippur, in a secular environment. The project, called Alphabet of Wrongdoing (her English name of the song Ashamnu), was meant to bring the audience into contemplation about forgiveness given the current state of the world. It also had additional resonance for Gesundheit as one attempt to integrate her heritage in a modern way. So not only her singing in front of men would be verboten for some, but so would her custom (Horses Atelier) ankle-length coat made from prayer shawls. As she pointed out, women are still being harassed at the Jerusalem Western Wall for wearing tallits.

It was a beautiful performance. As a non-Jew, I have not attended a synagogue and heard this music. Not only is it wonderful in itself, but so was tonight's arrangement. The verses and melodies were traditional, but Gesundheit's vocal effects as well as the synth and piano flourishes, and the percussive embellishments by collaborators Johnny Spence, Phil Melanson, and Alex Lukashevsky were no doubt wholly original. From the positive reactions of some Jewish members during certain passages, a novel presentation of familiar material might have re-kindled strong emotions.

There was also audience participation. We were asked to pick a slip of paper and a blindfold before the show started. Before Kol Nidre, we learned that our fortune was on those slips in the form of short snippets taken from the prayers. Mine was all my bones shall say, "Incomparable". When Al Chet (The Great Confession) was sung, two volunteers served as witnesses in lieu of Torahs. Finally during the 3rd movement entitled Goodness Will Pursue Me which comprised 3 songs in preparation of our eventual death, we can choose to don our blindfold in contemplation. It was a night of compelling and wonderful experience.

Play Some More

Tuesday night, I went down to The Velvet Underground to see Jay Som. Opener Boy Scouts played a set of dreamy garage-pop. I enjoyed the vocal harmonies and the sonic layers on numbers like Get Well Soon. It was an understated performance by Taylor Vick but she still resonated with the crowd.

I thought Jay Som was still a bit under-the-radar but it was just a fashionably late crowd. It was sold-out (likely 400 or so) by her set, a big change from the 50-or-so people at her last show here. I've always wondered about what finally propels an artist past a certain level. She was quite appreciative as it seems that similar to Japanese Breakfast the Toronto crowd have embraced her more than other cities.

Jay Som doesn't really play "bangers", her music tends toward slow introspection with a bit of a stoner jam feel. But there was enough drums, groovy bass and wakka guitars on opening songs If You Want It, Turn Into, and Baybee to get loud cheers and dancing. They were listening through the slower indie section and sang along with her break-through The Bus Song. You know you've got fans when they stood intently through the encore for the lovely I Think You're Alright.

Sunny Days

My body doesn't fight off illness like when I was younger. So I was still feverish and coughing coming into the week-end. But with such bright, beautiful Autumn days, I made an effort to spend a little time outside.

Saturday, I went to Pho Linh at College and Dufferin for some pho. Perhaps some fragrant broth will clear up my head? Then it was a couple of blocks East to Arabesque to bask by the window with some parsley fatayar and a Blood of the Pigeon cup of Bedouin-style strong mint tea. It was good these businesses were still around. But I can't help but see that everyone was getting visibly older. As I ambled along College St. I noticed that the short-lived Art House Toronto at Rusholme has been replaced by a café called Barocco x Nino.

On Sunday, I walked around the neighbourhood to enjoy some more sunshine and came back to B x N, which turns out to be a joint venture between Barocco Coffee and Nino pastry. Sure enough, there was plenty of coffee options by the front. The back-half was a display of bite-site pastries, gelato, and a selection of more substantial food like panini. I bought a small Tuscan panzanella salad ($6) and a slice of veggie pizza ($5.50).

Settling into the long bench by the front window, I gave them a try. The ingredients were fresh but both dishes seemed under-salted. A bit odd since most restaurants tend to crank up (sometimes overly) the salt and oil. Their version of the salad had replaced the bread with quinoa and so resembled the one at Donna's. But it didn't have the same exciting flavours. The pizza was ok but was more like crunchy bread. Without top-notch dough, pizza can't excel. As I was eating it, I was reminded of Black Skirt which was here for several years. The chef had ambition to add pizza to their menu but they told me that they couldn't control the humidity and heat well enough to make good dough. Maybe some food for thought?

Lift Me Higher

On Friday, I was at 918 Bathurst for the 14th X Avante music festival. It was my first time here and I was impressed that a non-descript stretch of Bathurst just north of the subway station had a venue this beautiful. Though the festival's aim is to showcase experimental works of, as the director rather snootily called "creative music" (whatever that means), tonight's performers had approachable and fun sets. It felt like an an evening with friends.

Okan played some toe-tapping afro-cuban jazz. Though they were a 4-piece tonight, the core of the group really is the dynamic duo of Elizabeth Rodriguez (violin) and Magdelys Savigne (percussion). The songs were upbeat and got cheers for various solo turns, they also had deep emotional resonance: a break-up song about Rodriguez's previous bad marriage; a love letter to Savigne, her current spouse and musical partner; and a cover of an old Cuban composer. The latter had significance because he was friends with Rodriguez's grandma, who was visiting and seeing her grand-daughter play for the first time. With the soaring cathedral ceiling of the venue and an appreciative crowd, nana Rodriguez couldn't have picked a better show.

I kept missing local performances by Lido Piementa until she became better known. When I finally saw her, it was a disappointing EDM-esque opening set at The Mod Club, though she won The Polaris Prize later that year for La Papessa. Tonight, I witnessed why Piementa is such a magnetic performer. She had a great voice, clean and clear, with power that was used judiciously.

This was a run-through of her next release Miss Colombia though the project has been worked on since before La Papessa. Her bemusement at the Colombian people's anger over Steve Harvey's gaffe in mistakenly name Miss Colombia as Miss Universe in 2015 made her question whether she was still "Colombian". That their vitriol devolved to racial slurs against Harvey and winner Miss Philippines made this a "cynical love letter" to her old country.

Since it was an all-horn arrangement, for tonight Pimienta had assembled an 8-member band to play with her. She also recruited Rodriguez and Savigne for harmony on several songs. With all songs in Spanish, Pimienta had explanations for each number. This played to her wicked sense of humour. Switching between her own voice, an exaggerated "latina" patter, and a "white Becky" drawl, she laid out the motivation of each song: prejudice against Afro-Colombians, "good hair", blue-eye Western beauty standards, or sending money home. The jokes made talking about touchy topics easier.

In the end, the songs stood on their own. Pimienta might self-deprecatingly refer to her "Youtube Tutorial Academy" credentials versus the other "real musicians", but her music was top-notched. The audience loved her set and for the encore, she teased with a song from Miss Colombia 2. That album is probably 2 years out given that the first one is still being mastered.

More Nae

On Friday, I went to a tiny 3-table café at Ossingon and College called Janelle's Kitchen. Having just opened in the last two months for daytime meals, it took over from a long-time Vietnamese jewelry store and next to my old optometrist from decades back. Filled with knick-knacks, magazines, and newspapers, it exuded a cozy homey feel. Looking over the short menu, I opted for a vegetarian quiche ($13) and a cup of green tea ($3).

The slice of quiche was rich and warm, redolent of roasted mushrooms and cheese. It was a tad on the small side, along with generic bread bought from the Brazilian bakery just down the street, and a typical lettuce salad, the dish seemed a bit pricey. Though the coffee machinery was fairly trendy, the tea was simply a PC teabag. I like this place, but at close to $20 with tip I don't think this spot will make it on my regular go-to list of eateries.

She Said She Liked The Ocean

I was at The Mod Club Tuesday for two bands from L.A. I don't remember another year where I've seen so many indie bands from that state including The Marías, The Regrettes, Death Valley Girls, and French Vanilla. I was feeling light-headed and a bit detached throughout the show having gotten sick over the Thanksgiving week-end. In fact, I had to admit defeat and skipped out on the sold-out concert of Big Thief the next night.

Though I was mostly in a daze, I was impressed by both acts. Opener Chelsea Jade, along with 2 singers, sang some high-energy dance songs. I was on the fence with the typical EDM beats but was won over by some sonic flourishes and her interesting lyrics. I wasn't surprise to learn that like local singer Ivy Mairi, Jade came from a folk music background. The set was enliven by some judicious choreography somewhere between modern dance (think Sia's videos) and straight up club moves. Jade already had fans in the audience but converted quite a few more.

MUNA opened with Number One Fan and got the crowd going strong for their entire set. Their cross between indie and electronic pop kept the energy level up. A middle section with songs from their new albums had more of a rock feel with singer Katie Gavin describing it as their "Dixie Chicks/Avril Lavigne moment". But the night ended on a rave-like atmosphere as they did their "Bangers section" and advised their fans to "bring their best dance moves because there's no encore". So the crowd partied to Hands Off and I Know A Place. The show closed with the cathartic new song It's Gonna Be Okay, Baby which chronicled the ups and downs of Gavin's life.

Bring Back To Life

Friday night, I headed to Longboat Hall, the below-ground venue at The Great Hall on Queen St. W. For the first band Pick a Piper from Kitchener, I watched them from the second-level to get a more better view of their knob-fiddling. This EDM-esque band had an interesting set-up including a modular synth and an electronic glockenspiel. All three also played percussion so there were some poly-rhythm passages. But in the end, it was still a bit too four-on-the-floor.

While waiting for the next band to set-up. I was approached by some people who turned out to be Christian proselytizers. It's happened before in various urban situations (street corner, subway) but at an indie music show was a first. At least they weren't just there to preach as they professed their love of Family of Things. This band played an up-tempo set of funky dance-pop with lead singer Brad Barnham often singing in a falsetto. The missionaries weren't the only fans as a sizeable crowd danced during their set.

With the room now hyped and chatty, it was hard for one-woman electronic outfit Petra Glynt to hold their attention. It also didn't help that the mix was muddy, reducing her music to mostly thumping beats. Despite swooping effects and a similar aesthetic as U.S. Girls in their DIY sampling days, Glynt's set wasn't too thrilling. Perhaps a recent and more varied set from L Con biased me in terms of my expectations.

Tonight's Rich Aucoin set wasn't as sonically pleasing as his show at The Drake. With only one 1 backup singer, and no Christine Bougie on guitar and Anna Ruddick on bass, there were less layers. Also, instead of playing his latest album in its entirety synced to Disney's Alice In Wonderland, it was less obvious the work that had gone in for that extra endeavour. But in other ways, this Aucoin show was even more high-energy. By mixing in his old hits, as well as projecting the lyrics to the chorus and "practicing" them on every song, he got full audience participation. Of course, his fans were already primed and ready to dance and sing along. There were plenty of confetti shot into the crowd and the giant parachute made its appearance on Are You Experiencing?

Who Put The Bop

On Tuesday, I went to The Velvet Underground for a couple of bands from the L.A. area. The drawback of an all-ages show is a reminder of how old and obsolete you are. But the enthusiasm of the young, mostly girls, crowd was a nice change from the head-nodding of a typical show. They sang, danced, and clapped along to everything, not only for the 3 bands but even when certain songs played between sets.

The bands themselves were also baby-faced. Hala from Michigan opened the show with bright, cheery pop that reminded me of early Beatles (Love Grows) with a bit of groovy funk (Sorry). At the start of several songs, I thought he was doing a San Cisco cover. Greer the Band continued the very retro vibe with a laid-back early 60s, Beach Boys feel (Song For Me). Being a relatively new outfit, they played several covers including The Strokes' Someday.

Given how loud the audience cheered for the openers, it was unsurprising that it was deafening when The Regrettes took the stage. With the encouragement of band lead Lydia Night, a joyful mosh pit started with the first number California Friends. I read a review panning their doo-wop (Pumpkin) meets girl pop-punk sound (Go Love You). But seeing them live with ecstatic fans who danced all through their set, I saw young people playing infectious music (I Dare You). But The Regrettes do have some bite in that fun: Seashore ("Hey I've got news, I'm not a little girl") where they encouraged their fans to raise their middle fingers during the chorus; and encore song Poor Boy ("Tellin' you to shut your mouth") where Night asked women and non-binary folks to come to the front and be heard and the men to support them by moving back.

L after Love

Sunday night, I was at The Baby G for an EP release. It was sadly a sparse crowd, probably a combination of Nuit Blanche hangover and it being Sunday. Nobody wants to go out Sunday night where the first opener doesn't even start until 9:30 pm.

Isla Craig played with a full band numbers from her album including Who Am I and Bird of Paradise which was an ode to loved ones who have "passed from this realm". She also tried new songs about the "steadiness of the moon" and "riding the waves". Her jammy, stoner music was complemented by judicious use of languorous sax melodic lines.

Headliner Lisa Conway has shrunk her band L Con to just herself though she was joined on harmony by Isla Craig on 2 songs. I appreciate her playing her music "live" instead of just a backing track. But since all her knob fiddling couldn't really be seen by the audience, it's still a bit redundant visually. As Conway pointed out, for someone who doesn't dance on stage, she has been writing a lot of dance-y music. So though the plaintive Distance To The Moon opened the show, the rest of the set from Form of Space to Winner had plenty of bass and beat. But L Con's synth-pop isn't four-on-the-floor club numbers, it was full of interesting off-kilter rhythms, noisy samples, and layers of atmospheric effects. Even a straight-forward ballad Believe contained odd sonic textures. Her lyrics were also repleted with understated and strange imagery. Appropriately enough, Conway ended with a synth version of In The Air Tonight because throughout the set, her lighting collaborators had projected a kaleidoscope of 80s CGI geometric shapes and squiggles behind her.

Use My Walk

Saturday was noticeably cooler than the heat wave earlier in the week. But the bright sunshine kept things cheery and comfortable for a leisurely stroll. After a brief visit to the library at Shaw St., I made my way down College St. through Little Italy. The Royal was hosting the Toronto Food Film Festival. Apparently, Toronto has the most film festivals in the world, though most are local and not internationally known like TIFF. It seems that this one was more than just watching movies; later on, I saw several groups with the festival's pamphlet waiting outside various restaurants.

Once in Chinatown, I did some groceries and stopped at Swatow for shrimp wonton noodle soup and Vietnamese treats at Nguyen Huong Sandwiches. They are still going strong, but who can tell. Over the past year, there have been unexpected closures of venerable, decades-old stores in the area. But new ones, mostly eateries, continue to spring up. I'd bet that the stretch of Spadina between College and Dundas, not to mention just further south and spilling east and west along Dundas, has the highest density of restaurants anywhere in the city. Yet Chinatown doesn't have the night-time cachet of Little Italy or Queen St. West.

There were plenty of tourists in adjacent Kensington Market as I made my way home. After a quick nap, I got ready to listen to some Chopin at Gallery 345. But though the owner still posted on social media about tonight's show, it has been moved to Sunday. I was initially irritated with having made an unnecessary trip to the venue, yet it turned out to be a blessing. Later on around 9:30 pm at home, I was experiencing some intestinal issues. This would have occurred at the three-quarter mark if the concert had gone on. Thinking about the close proximity of the washroom to the stage area, I laughed at the situation. It would have made a perfect scene in some Hollywood gross-out comedy. Well, my stomach problem scuttled any nascent plans to head out to The Garrison's 10th Anniversary or Nuit Blanche.

OK Go

The early show at The Burdock on Wednesday was packed. Many friends of singer Kaili Kinnon were there to support her as she returns to the stage. Kinnon's life has been more or less on hold over the last year due to a concussion. Late into her set, she admitted that as recently as a month ago, she wasn't sure if she would be able to perform.

Though she usually sits behind her piano, tonight she sang standing front and centre. A full band played through a set of old material (Deepest Blue) to mostly new songs (Come Be Near, You Could Be Mine) from her 1218 project: 12 total songs released monthly through 2018. This project was also derailed because of her injury and didn't wrap up until now.

I couldn't quite engage with her music. It was a mix of Jazz and Pop, and not the best bits. So we have the ambiguous idiom of Jazz without the catchy simplicity of pop melodies combined with middle-of-the-road pop lyrics. A cover of Joni Mitchell's Case Of You highlighted what transcendent lyrics could be. Kinnon has a big vocal range, but her tendency toward Shakira-esque vibrato in the lower register grated after a while. She is undoubted talented and well-loved by the crowd tonight and I applaud her commitment to raising money for brain injuries.

Tall Tales

Since stand-up comedy is not recognized as an art form, an advocacy group was formed in 2017 to push for recognition and funding. To that end, the people at Theatre Centre has partnered up with CASC to present a week of Comedy Is Art shows. During the introduction, they also promised to open up their residency for a qualified stand-up comedian who has a "big idea" and is looking for financial and organizational support.

The first show tonight was an hour-long improv session with Tallboyz II Men. A few things stood out: they mostly got their start doing stand-up, and all were men of colour (East Asian, African-Canadian, and First Nations). They were recently commissioned by CBC to do a sketch comedy show a la Baroness Von Sketch.

Unlike their broadcast skits, they didn't touch on any issues relating to race. This was a shame as the gentle skewering of popular (i.e., white) culture with regards to the lived experience of POC made those sketches both funny and biting. This improv show, like most, was hit-and-miss. The middle was strong once they found their rhythm, but the beginning and end were mostly *cricket chirp*. Some highlights included: an extra-hipster podcast where the hosts discussed books, not their content but just their physical form, while live transcript was done on a typewriter; a first date who moved in and the reticent victim who won't kick them out; and a backwards day where among other things, winning teams had scores of 7-9.

If an improv troupe was to be considered for residency here, I'd like to see real experimentation and exploration to expand the form.

Into A Bar

After yoga on Sunday, I decided to try brunch at a new spot called 3 Monks and a Duck. Perhaps the name reflected the ratio of their 70% plant-based menu. Looking over their Asian-inspired food, I opted for the Korean Stuffed Pancake Pocket ($9.75) and a side-order of Fried Hash ($4.95). The hash was good, hot and not overly salted, though my palate couldn't really tell what the Korean chili seasoning was all about. The pancake was a Western take on the Yachae Hotteok, with egg, cheese, and bacon replacing the typical vegetable and noodle stuffing. I've only ever had the sweet kind up at Hodo Kwaja in the Annex. It was nicely pan-fried with a delicious dough. I skipped the bacon but I'm sure the saltiness would be great. The cheese added a nice gooey-ness but the egg didn't do much flavour-wise. The baby spinach and arugula salad gave some veggie crunch.

Overall, this small, hip bar with smiling buddhas sitting by the shot glasses and playable SNES games projected on the wall was a good visit. But with a small kitchen staff, the food can take a while to arrive depending on your luck. Mine took almost 30 minutes because a few tables had just ordered ahead of me. Meanwhile, the next set of customers arriving 20 minutes after myself got theirs a mere 10 minutes after ordering.

Dis-covery

On Friday, I was at The Phoenix for the album release show of cover band Dwayne Gretzky. Yes, a cover band has put out an album (of re-interpreted covers). But then most local bands, even ones doing original material, don't play mid-size venues like The Phoenix. And if they seemed to be play to only 90% capacity instead of a sold-out crowd tonight, that was still at least 600+ people screaming at their performance. It also meant there was a bit more space for dancing.

Usually The Phoenix is Gretzky's go-to venue for the 90s theme shows. Although there was no official theme tonight, perhaps because most of their re-interpretations were from the 70s and 80s, the straight covers drew heavily from that era too. From The Chain and Dancing Queen to Rosanna and I Wanna Dance With Somebody, it was hit after hit. There was a tribute to Ric Ocasek (Just What I Needed) and Gord Downy (Pretend, Bobcaygeon). As for the remade songs, Gretzky's rock version of S.O.S. and the Daft Punk-esque Make It With Chu were the most successful. They are all excellent singers but Carleigh Aikins' take on Piece of My Heart blew everyone's minds; the cheers after her performance was deafening.