Girl In The Box

It was shorts weather on Saturday as I made my way to Geary Ave. Unfortunately, there was a long line-up for empanadas at Gaucho Pie. I kept walking along this street past Dufferin. The western stretch of Geary hasn't gone through much gentrification and was anchored by furniture chain store The Brick. Amazingly, there were 3 tiny competitors on the other side.

Passing by a partially occupied loft building for sale, I noticed there were signs for food delivery pickups in a parking lane. Perhaps there was a ghost kitchen around the back? Nothing so grand. In the forlorn back lot, there were two metal trailers (run by Reef Neighbourhood Kitchen) sitting on cinder blocks. Through the tiny pick-up window, I saw a woman making Wendy's food. The other kitchen handled the other 5-6 "restaurants" on the sandwich board, all had some variation of burgers, fries, or wings in their name. What a depressing work environment.

That evening, I sat down at my laptop to watch a show from the Women From Space festival of experimental music. In 2020, they had shows at The Burdock and Music Gallery just before the pandemic shutdown. But this year the festival went virtual. You could watch the show through a Holobox to get that Star Wars hologram effect (or perhaps early 90s video game Time Traveler). But the DIY kit was unavailable at this late date.

Last year's performances started with some unsatisfying noodling but ended strong. It was the opposite this time around. Laurel MacDonald sang over layered sampled vocals and effects, her lyrics inspired by the verses of Montreal astronomer and poetess Rebecca Elson. Perhaps not very experimental with its atmospheric pop vibe, but a fun start. Anita Katakkar and Aki Takahashi improvised with tabla and shamisen and Japanese folk singing for an otherworldly set.

The final 2 acts weren't as fun. DJ SlowPitchSound, synth-player Laura Barrett and dancer Mairi Greig collaborated on an improv set of ambient music and modern dance that dragged even if I have enjoyed their individual efforts in the past. I loved Sarah Thawer when I first heard her on the Tubes. But her frenetic drumming tonight reminded me of those downtown buskers who bang plastic buckets; they don't stick to one thing for more than 10 seconds either. Her interaction with saxophonist Tara Davidson was less a copacetic synergy and more of two people taking solo turns. Unfortunately, I dislike this sort of (often typical) Jazz wankery.