R. Kelly : Like looking in a mirror

Posted on October 3, 2008

Yesterday I was walking down the street when it hit me like a ton of bricks.  As euphoria washed over me like urine rain, it revealed one simple truth : R. Kelly gets me.  Never before had I been able to relate to someone so easily.  Oftentimes, listening to his lyrics are like reading a page from my diary.  It’s like he’s singing what I’m thinking. A perfect example :

Mmmm I wonder how my friends would treat me now
If I wasn’t iced up, with a Bentley and a house

I feel the exact same way! Honest to god, there has been many a night where I’ve sat at home with a bottle of Hennessy and wrestled with the very same conundrum. How would they treat me if I wasn’t extremely wealthy?  I mean, what if I wasn’t black, handsome, or couldn’t sing? What if I hadn’t had a huge hit on the Space Jam soundtrack? Dammit Kells, you know me too well!

Much like R., I too was recently blamed for something I didn’t do. And, much like R., I too was able to escape from the whole debacle unscathed and with my career intact - while at the same time dispelling any further rumours! In case you didn’t know, R. Kelly gives really good interviews. Here’s a short clip for your enjoyment. After seeing this, there’s no doubt of his innocence.  You have to applaud him for answering a question thoroughly, instead of a simple ‘yes or no’.  God knows he’s smarter than that! On that very same coin, sometimes I wonder why he’s an R&B superstar and not a world-class lawyer. He displays understanding of some of the more difficult concepts that make most of the population dizzy. I honestly did not know what the term ‘innocent’ meant until he explained it to me. But again, I can’t be accused of not knowing until it’s proven that I didn’t know in not knowing, right? Yeah.

I have some nineteen year-old friends,

Bruno.

AA Bondy, American Hearts

Posted on September 16, 2008

The first day of fall is coming up pretty quick, which means I’m getting out of this place in as much time. There’s this good little guitar album you should get for some colder weather listening. It’s by AA Bondy, former front man for Verbena, which I think at one point was toted as the next Nirvana. Whatever that means. This album isn’t so much Seattle grunge pop as it is Middle America folk style whatever roots guitar harmonica raspy voice whiskey throat cigarette smoke music.
Black Rain, Black Rain by AA Bondy

Edward H.

Matt Pryor — Still alive, making music

Posted on July 31, 2008

Matt Pryor, of Get Up Kids and New Amsterdams (pseudo) fame released a solo album this week entitled, Confidence Man. Whether Pryor is referencing Herman Melville’s novel on the human masquerade or is simply just a huge fan of the hit TV series, Lost, I can’t be sure. What I do know is, when I was about a decade younger and just discovering delicious delicious alcohol and started having tingly feelings (of the pants variety) I loved the Get Up Kids like any teen should. Then when he was touring as New Amsterdams, I made a trip down to Seattle (it’s this place in America — looks just like Vancouver, but with overweight people) for a quiet sit down show in some back alley pub to see him play.

I don’t write music reviews, so I’m not going to tell you how much he’s matured his sound, refined his voice, improved his composition, or the likely fact that since he has had children he probably doesn’t sleep with tour-floozies surrounded by copious amounts of illegal street drugs and alcohol anymore — because all of that sounds really boring. So without further adieu, a song he wrote to speak out against Obama’s entire campaign and slogan*:

I Wouldn’t Change A Thing, by Matt Pryor

Who doesn’t like politics?
Edward H.

P.S. Matt Pryor is playing at The Media Club in Vancouver on August 11th at 8pm, with a $15 cover.

*Since I don’t actually know this guy, or anything about music or politics, I can’t be certain this is actually what he means, but I think we all know what I’m talking about.

Sam Cooke was havin’ a party, got shot

Posted on July 12, 2008

1950’s & 60’s soul / pop legend Sam Cooke went the way of any self-respecting musician. Which is: exiting this fucking place way too early. While many musicians choose the sissy way of dying young to an overdose, Sam Cooke went the “oh shit!” route and was shot to death on December 11th, 1964 at the age of 33. Some crazed motel manager shot him in “self defense” as he 3-arm wrestled her (stir-stick included) wearing only his shoes and overcoat. And if I know anything about being buck naked in a motel wearing just your shoes wondering where the hell that prostitute went, it means: you’re either Hugh Grant, or you’re training to be the next governor of New York. High five, political humour!

Allegedly having stormed into the front office demanding to know where the cooz he was shacked up with ran off to, he attempted some Bas Rutten type moves on this manager so he could get some friggin’ answers. Dangity dangity dang! Included in my extensive sideroad motel knowledge is how to deal with motel managers: don’t. Of course there’s no way Sam could have known this — Psycho, Vacancy, and that movie with John Cusack playing 7 different versions of himself killing each other at that conveniently-isolated-by-a-storm motel hadn’t come out yet. During the wrestling match between the manager and Cooke, she turned to the gun every motel keeps on the counter (right next to that cute little counter bell. Ding!) and shot him on the spot. Bang! To which the clerk in the office came out saying, “Yes, can I help you with–oh. Oh! Sorry. I thought that noise was the bell. My bad. If you need me, I’m taking a smoke break.”

During the investigation, that bird he was with (later arrested for prostitution) claimed he was going to rape her, and that she escaped (with his clothes?) while he went to the bathroom. Doing my own personal investigation into this case, and at the cost of a few spare dollars, a ruined nose liner, and years of dodging VD (that’s right, I’m willing to put myself in harms way in the name of investigative journalism), I have documented the following facts:

1. You don’t rape a prostitute — you pay them. Sometimes they want lots, sometimes they just say, “Have a good day, sweetie. See you after work.”
2. It’s highly unlikely seconds before raping a prostitute (see item 1) you say, “…just a second, sweets. I’m gunna go hit one more line before I do this. Wanna bump? No? You’re good? Okay, stay right there though. Promise I’ll be quick.”
3. Famous people never ever ever rape women.
4. And finally, a hooker’s wardrobe cannot be confused with normal person clothing. It’s scientifically impossible. Fact.

When I get my hands on a time machine, I’m bringing Bas back with me to rescue Sam Cooke. And  you’d better believe that sports almanac is coming with me.

We’re Havin’ a Party, by Sam Cooke

1.21 giggawatts!
Edward H.

UPDATE: Psycho came out in 1960. So scratch that idea. What the hell was he doing fucking with the help?

Here to make friends? Not me!

Posted on July 9, 2008

I don’t know about you people out there on the internets, but I didn’t come here to make friends. And what do you know — I’m in luck! I think I’ve just found a group of people that I would really like to not make friends with:

Not your friend,
Edward H.

DeVotchKa: What you get when you mix Romani, Greek, Slavic, Bolero, Mariachi style music with a whole lotta drugs

Posted on July 7, 2008

DeVotchKa gets their name from some foreign word meaning “young girl”. Which, considering their European front, probably really means not technically legal, but does anyone really check that folder anyway?

Moving forward. Though their musical style makes them sound like a bunch of foreigners, you’ll notice they’re singing in english. That’s because these four fakers are really just from Denver, Colorado. Posing as traveling burlesque’ish gypsies from over seas, they actually might just be my ex-girlfriend in human form. I’m guessing their names are, Talks Real Loud Gypsy, Spirituality Gypsy, Total Alcoholic Gypsy, and I’m On Lotsa Drugs Gypsy. Gypsies, transforrrrm! Oh great, now they’re going to start chatting my ear off about vintage stores, yoga and dive bars.

Clockwise Witness, The, by DeVotchKa

Downward dog,
Edward H.

America Day, aka 4th of July, aka July 4th, aka not a holiday in Canada

Posted on July 3, 2008

Tomorrow is America Day. For their celebration, I will be rolling down to Yankee soil to… soil… on the USA’s version of Vancouver, “Seattle”. Anyhow, aside from drinking double your weight in light beer, and celebrating your Yankdom with some freedom fries, you could watch this video by Jack English American.

Go Seahawks!
Edward H.

With Love & Rum. Alcoholics: Anonymously.