The land of milk and cookies

Travelling to North America is always a mixed blessing—it is where the biggest and worst excesses of unbridled capitalism can be seen, but it is also home to some of the most amazing cultural phenomena of our age. Just think about musical heritage of the United States... jazz, soul, funk, disco, electro, house and techno were all born within its borders.

So, off to a psychogeriatric conference in Montreal, and my cousin's wedding in Mississauga (near Toronto) before a brief trip to NYC to see world-class emergency psychiatry services in action, I decided to immerse myself in the good (and naughty) things North America has to offer.

Montreal was certainly a revelation: a modern European city located on the wrong continent. Walking the immaculate streets for hours or even exploring its amazing network of underground shopping malls, metro stations and tunnels (designed to protect you from the elements in both the heights of summer and depths of winter) this seemed such a liveable city, and without the neglect of public services and infrastructure that sadly blights Australia.

Interestingly, Montreal was reputed to be second only to NYC in its late 1970s disco scene—also a polysexual, multicultural, liberal melting pot. So when I hit the second hand record stores there were literally thousands of old 12"s waiting for me, often at stupidly low prices. I even scored a pristine, still-sealed copy of the Doobie Brothers' "What A Fool Believes" in a its rare, original dance remix 5:31 minutes version, among about a dozen other fantastic finds.

The city also seems to have an exciting electronic music scene, again very influenced by its European connections. In particular you can't help wondering if Tiga's Turbo Recordings has been so electro-influenced in part because of Quebec's connections to Gallic culture.

Sadly, Liz wasn't able to accompany me on this trip because of her work, but this city is now top of my list of places to drag her. And those wide boulevards, grid-like street network and fashionable eateries will be sure to tickle her fancy. It's like Melbourne, only much, much better!

In Mississauga for the wedding, I am once again reminded of the problems in North America. The recession has obviously struck Ontario (home to much of Canada's manufacturing base, including the auto industry... don't forget how close Detroit is to here) much harder than Quebec. There's also the size of the cars, the endless miles of freeway and the sense of all-encompassing suburbia. Mississauga itself is a rapidly-growing city—700,000 people at most recent estimate—dominated by shopping malls and towering blocks of condos (think Surfers Paradise but without the beaches or tourist trade).

Nevertheless, my family lives just 20 minutes walk from the town centre in a lovely house with a huge backyard in which they grow their own organic tomatoes and right next to extensive parkland laced with bicycle paths.

So Kris & Steph's wedding was beautiful, with the wry and witty Irish-Canadian Father Kelly on marriage duties. The reception, many hours later thanks to a photography session that by all accounts nearly killed the bridal party, was more of a mixed blessing. There were moments of sheer magic, sheer silliness and sheer torture—but has anyone ever been to a wedding reception without all three? Special shout-out must go to DJ Emporium (his name or that of his business?) who managed to bring tiny speakers for a huge hall and deafen us all. :(

But between wedding and reception was one of the highlights of my trip so far... sneaking off to the local supermarket to get a pack of Oreos and carton of milk with my cousin Anna, and then sitting on the grass by the roadside guzzling both. Spoiled for choice (see photo above) we went for the original type. The best of consumer capitalism, I say!

Off to NYC tomorrow, and to see Francois K spin at Deep Space at Cielo, with the legendary dub poet Mutabaruka on live PA! I'll keep you all posted...

Sydney Design 09: Young Blood Designers Markets—Fail!

So, like, designers markets aren't my number one Friday evening pastime, but this one was apparently pretty great last year and so Liz and I trekked to deepest, darkest Ultimo to reach the imposing Powerhouse Museum. Word had obviously got around and so we stood waiting outside, with our friends, in the cold, in a gargantuan queue tonight.

And then as we snaked closer and closer to the entrance... just 10 people from the front... we were stopped.

First it was a 10 minute wait. Then 45 minutes. And then finally "sorry, it's full, we're closing".

So it was back to the Cross, to our favourite wine bar, and some amazing cocktails. Now that was a win.

Lacanian chaos

Zizek! (2005)

Slavoj Zizek the man sometimes appears to be as chaotic and random as this barebones documentary, but behind the frenetically waving arms, scruffy beard and near-comical self-deprecation is a towering thinker with boundless intellectual (and physical) energy. The filmmakers capture some aspects of his thought, and accurately convey his explosive creativity, but it is he and not their film that commands attention.

2.5 stars out of 5


Now, for The Pervert's Guide To Cinema...

'Like a Ginsu knife'

'I went to Chicago because a friend of mine said that I really need to see Leonard Cohen. Leonard Cohen is supposed to be the voice of his generation. He’s a poet, he made music and he did whatever. I won’t deny the brilliance of his poetry. Leonard Cohen is about 75 years old. The cool thing I thought about Leonard Cohen was that he was getting on his knees. He’s doing his shtick. His shtick is he’s doing this poetry with people playing music. The poetry was probably cutting through like a sword, like a Ginsu knife. Just the sharpest-ass shit but the music was like karaoke. He had a tight-ass band but no one went outside the lines. It was like paint by numbers. Staying within the lines. That’s how music has become.'

—Carl Craig, interviewed in Sup Magazine

Crimes against chinstroking

My review of the very fun new Beatfanatic CD.

Beatfanatic — Vinyl Junkie Culture

Sometimes a guilty pleasure overtakes you, when you know something just isn’t that groundbreaking, meaningful or deep but you can’t help loving it. And that’s what the latest excursion by Swedish producer Beatfanatic is like: pitch-perfect euphoric nu-disco mining a largely obscure yet warmly familiar bunch of samples and themes.

Not that the man is anything less than a slick and proficient craftsman, but surely something this much fun must be bad for you.

In both this guise and a myriad of others (he’s also Beatconductor, Discoconductor and Jazzconductor—spot a pattern here?) Ture Sjöberg has produced an accomplished range of re-edits, remixes and recreations over the last half-decade, on labels like Raw Fusion, Soundscape, Spicy and G.A.M.M. And his output has certainly been varied—not scared to churn out traditional soul and funk sounds, broken beats or even slamming house rhythms.

But on this latest compilation it’s all smooth-as Balearic hedonics and he pulls it off deliciously. The CD quickly moves from the bleepy, low-slung "Automatic" to the soaring cheesiness of "Fly Away", before settling through the sweet vocal loops of mid-tempo groover "In This Life". Then it’s the funkified, hip-grinding delights of "A Soulful Mode" and the moody, John Carpenteresque cinematic chill of "In Heaven".

"Sharpskin Boogiestomp" pilfers Vangelis’ legendary "Let It Happen" (a track already brilliantly reworked by Beatfanatic a few years ago) while "Guide" is all nu-soul goodness. "Prince Of Darkness" wouldn’t be out of place in an Idjut Boys set with its combination of blaring brass section and dramatic, cosmic synths. On the other hand, "Berlin Calling" is deep, dubby, melodic tech-house and "Bombay Billie" tips its hat to the late, great Mr Jackson before veering off somewhere altogether different. Only CD closer "Nautonnier" strikes a bland note—a jazzy deep houser that runs too close its early-noughties formula.

If you’ve come to taste the latest masterwork by the likes of Lindstrom, maybe Vinyl Junkie Culture will come off a bit obvious and lacking in chinstroke potential. But an utter pleasure it still manages to be.

Guilty as charged.