Keep calm and carry on.

Having lived in and around the GTA for most of my life, I have found our city to be mostly calm. Sure, there are big street parties when Canada wins the gold in hockey, big festivals blow throw town like TIFF, NXNE, and Pride. Everything usually ends up being alright. Even when it comes to protests; students gathering in opposition tuition hikes, stoners in Queen’s Park on 420, or members of the Tamil community voicing their discontent with the government, it is for the most part peaceful. So when I see the BBC reporting that there is rioting happening in our fair city, and I can’t help but think: what the fuck?

As many people have pointed out, and many more are aware, these persons smashing store windows and setting cop cars on car are not protesters. They are something much more; delinquents. The sad thing is that they have more power than those carrying out civil, well thought out-protest. Their actions are what draw news networks like the BBC to show the spectacles that are being produces by these vandals. I have no doubt that some people involved in this so-called “Black Bloc” are intelligent people, but the sad truth is that they do not know how to behave intelligently. These establishments they are targeting do not feel the pain of broken windows. Do you know who does? Those that work in the spaces within. I read about the windows of  Tim Horton’s being smashed while customers and employees were still inside. Then this Bloc has the gall to have “medics” to make sure their own people are OK. Do they honestly think that those civilians inside give a shit what the Bloc thinks about globalization now? Not a fucking chance. There comes a point in social movements when only escalation of action will keep people interested in what is trying to be accomplished. When this escalation happens, one runs the risk of alienating those whose opinions you wish to sway. I can say, without a doubt, that the average Torontonians does not care about what the people dressed in black stand for. All they see are smashed out windows and the smoke coming from blazing cops cars with “DIE FUCKING PIG” spray painted on the side. These people have transgressed the line between civil society and hooliganism.

We live in a capitalist world. This is a fact. For many of us, the only way to make a living is to sell our labour potential to companies much larger and much richer than we are. Not everyone can produce everything they need to survive; food, shelter, water, medicine, so we need to purchase these things from others with money. Duh, right? There “protesters” must know what kind of system they are living in and what monumental change must take place for a different sort of world to emerge. This change will not happen with blood running in the streets and smoke billowing from car fires. Only through deliberate, reasoned action, will any change occur. Changes in law and regulation will stop workers from being exploited. It is a slow process and we must be patient. Otherwise all people will pay attention is how much of a nuisance your violent “methods” are. I wonder how many of this Bloc made their own shoes, or their own transport to get into downtown Toronto. I wonder how many of them produce their own food and live in a house that they themselves built with materials they procured themselves. If not, they too are benefiting from a capitalist system.

I can’t really judge from just pictures and video, but the majority of these troublemakers seem to be young people. There are two reasons for this: 1) the older people who want to live in worlds free of oppression and exploitation are ALREADY WORKING ON IT. They know that this sort of nonsense accomplishes nothing. 2) They are bored. Plain and simple. They probably loaded up their iPods with Propagandi and Pennywise [thanks MB] before heading out from their suburban homes thinking they would “fuck shit up” [thanks LM]. Do they really understand what they are “fighting” for? They are perfectly content with picking and choosing the things to be “outraged” by and showing “support” in their own immature ways, all the while using cell phones (wireless technology based on military tech, how’s that for your military-industrial complex you damn hippies?) to coordinate their efforts. These are bored, middle class kids with no outlet for their frustrations. They are privileged positions to carry out this sort of behaviour. Do you think the people who are really suffering from the effects of globalization/capitalism/neoconservativism would do the same? No, they are smarter than that and have far fewer resources at their disposal.

One thing I didn’t like on the part of the Toronto Police was a clip from CP24 I saw on the globeandmail.com. It was of an older man holding two signs (I couldn’t read what they said), being tackled by three officers. Surely that was unnecessary violence.

Ugh, what else could we expect?

Why MySpace Matters

So I’ve blabbed on about how I won’t download music for free anymore and how instituting a pay-what-you-want scheme for music may not work for anyone whose last name is not Yorke or Reznor. Stealing or buying it is not the only way to access to music online.

It has been the case throughout the world, spanning across time, that there was/is an exchange system in place for trading goods and services. In Malinowski’s description of the Trobriand Islanders and the Kula Ring, he demonstrated in a gift-exchange economy there is the “goal” to maintain social relations (this of course is a gross oversimplification and not the whole story, but good enough for my argument here). Gifts are given based on the movement of beads and necklaces in ceremonial fashion as a prelude to regular trade or a part of it. If you are part of the community, you have a certain obligation to participate in these practices (perhaps to gain social capital or out of fear of being ostracized). Today, gifts are given back and forth between friends not only to demonstrate feelings of friendship and love, but also to maintain that connection with other person. If you give a present to a friend on their birthday it shows that you not only are aware of that persons existence, but actually like them, want to make them happy and know enough about them to seek out something they would like. If a gift on your own birthday is not received from a friend who you have given something in the past, their relationship may sour (to varying degrees). The overarching idea between these two examples are similar. What does this have to do with music? Hear me out.

Listen. The purchase of music (and other goods) is an inherently isolated transaction. You go into a store (or webstore), pick something, pay for it, and leave. There is no obligation (or perhaps even an opportunity) to maintain a connection with whomever is selling you the music you like. Sure, you may be a audiophile like myself and seek out those rarities and 7″ singles, become part of the online community of fans, track news and tours, but I’m certain that I’m part of the minority of music fanatics. So where do sites like MySpace come in? Bands create these online profiles and usually upload a few songs to stream. I think of these songs that are just available for stream as a taste. The band offers you a sample of a few tracks from their new CD, and in return they hope that you will buy the full album to get those deeper cuts that don’t usually find their way online. But that’s not all. These profiles have tour dates, merch stores, blog posts, videos, and, perhaps most importantly, access to an online community of fans. All these features are in one place, on one easy to understand page. Fans can comment on songs and share their thoughts on the band. They can also provide links to other bands and artists that are similar. The sites themselves can also suggest new bands that you like based on your listening and browsing history. This creates a whole network between bands and their fans. If tour dates are immediately listed right under the music player, is that not a great reminder that if you like a band, you should go see them when they’re in your city? If you’re someone, unlike me, who is not on their computer listening to music for hours at a time, no one would hold a grudge against you if you forgot to look up the latest tour into. Some bands will even stream their entire albums online, but offer really neat packages, usually limited editions with shirts, autographed artwork and bonus material. Maybe it’s not an obligation, but fans may be more inclined to purchase music from bands that are willing to interact with them online and offer them some cool shit. Bands give a little, and fans give back by purchasing music, t-shirts, and concert tickets. Bands link to other bands on the basis that there is reciprocal linkage and exposure to different fan bases. Labels can then see the online traffic and their bands are getting and be in a better position to promote the music accordingly.

This is why sites like MySpace, Pure Volume, Reverb Nation, Last.fm, Pandora, etc matter. Music may be free, but bands get something valuable in return: listeners and potentially die-hard fans.

Not all free albums cost the same.

Yesterday I rambled on about how I wasn’t going to download any more music for free. That still stands, this is not a retraction. What I want to talk about today is giving away music for free. I do this while listening to a free demo from the band Alkahest. I had never heard of them until Metal Sucks posted an article and provided a link to the download page from the band’s website. I’m listening to it now and it’s pretty good.

Is this the way bands should operate? I’m not so sure, yet. I’ll all for giving music away that you are proud of and want people to hear. I respect bands that are not into it for fame or fortune and just love creating music and performing. But is this the big paradigm shift in music that it is toted to be?

About two years ago on The Hour, George Stroumboulopoulos asked Josh Homme from Queens of the Stone Age what he thought about giving away entire albums on a pay-what-you-want scheme like Radiohead had just done (In Rainbows had been released six months prior to the interview). John’s answer was simple “I think it’s great if you are Radiohead.” George asked what he meant by that. “Well, try that as a new band, you know?”

I think Josh is exactly on point. Radiohead has been, and will probably continue to be one of the biggest bands on the planet. Of course everyone would be interested in what they were doing, because they were already fucking Radiohead. With websites like Pitchfork (among many others) reviewing every album and reporting every little bit of news they could get their hands on, there were already millions of fans just waiting to see what the band would do next.

Radiohead has their own studio. Not just a couple of rooms in a building, but the have their own studio all to themselves known as “the house that Creep built” (Thanks Alan Cross). When their song “Creep” (from The Bends) was released the second time in 1993, it was a massive hit. They were signed to EMI and made fuckloads of money. Having your own studio allows one to record at your own pace, without label executives breathing down your neck, counting every minute as more money spent. To be honest, Radiohead can choose to never release another song again, and they’d be fine (financially). So of course releasing an album with little or no financial investment from a label, at a pay-what-you-want price, recorded in a studio you have full control over is not going to be a huge risk. [yes, they also offered CD versions and the discbox if you decided to pay a certain corresponding amount, but that's another matter] If you’re a new band, and don’t have the built-in audience that a band like Radiohead has, what are you supposed to do? Why would buy their CD at a show for $15 when online it is available for however much (or little) you want it to be? This goes back to a label promoting a band they feel can thrive and wondering if their hard work (and of course effort from the band is the most important part) is going to pay off. I’m not an industry analyst or anything of the sort, so maybe I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.

Trent Reznor did it with NIN’s The Slip, Girl Talk did it with Feed the Animals, Danger Mouse did it with The Grey Album etc etc etc. I’m sure well see more bands and artists doing it. But my main question is this; is this what the future of music is really going to look like? It’s been about two and a half years since In Rainbows, and many other bands are still doing it the conventional way. Labels still exist. iTunes has had more than TEN BILLION songs downloaded from its store. Clearly people are still buying music. Sure, CD sales may not be where they were 10, or even 5 years ago.

What else you got?

Your (copy)rights.

I have decided that I will no longer download music or movies for free, unless explicitly endorsed by the artists involved. If a band gives me some music for free, I will take. Otherwise, I will pay for it.

I have thought about this for a long time, and it has some to a point to where I can no longer justify illegally downloading. I have heard arguments ranging from “I don’t have money to spend on music/DVDs” to “The corporations are evil so they deserve to have their shit stolen” to “Bands make more money from touring and merch sales than they do from CD sales.”

Don’t get me wrong. I used to believe all of these things. Especially the first, as being a student, and never having a “real” job. I have downloaded a lot of music and movies. But no more.

Let’s first focus on the first argument in favour of downloading: I don’t have enough money to buy music, so I just download. The biggest issue I have with this ideology is it implies having access to music is a right. No matter what financial obstacles you may have, you should be able to have new music. This is bullshit. Access to music or art is not an inalienable right. Food, shelter, religious freedoms, free speech, equal access to education and social services are rights. Having the latest Baroness or Jay Z record is not. You can’t walk into a store and start taking jeans with the excuse that you don’t have enough money to buy them outright. The same applies to music. Even what you are taking are physically intangible digital files, the same rules must apply. The creator of whatever music you like invested similar creative energy into the final product as someone who designs clothing. They two things, music and jeans, are not similar, but the are both the end product of someone’s creative vision. Do they not hold similar rights as how each of their creations are distributed to the public?

Second point: corporations are evil. No shit. Corporations have caused some of the most abhorrent work conditions and participated in the most maligned business practices that we have ever seen. I make no issue with this fact. Juggernauts such as Time Warner and Universal Music Group have so much financial wherewithal that it’s quite staggering. They probably could buy their own planets. But that is their goal. They exist to make money. If that means selling music, so be it. They have a global reach which means I can pick up their latest releases from anywhere in the world via their vast distribution channels. Maybe you have an issue with globalization or the commodification of music in general. As long as artists are paid fairly and retain reasonable control over their art, I am fine with the existence of big labels. Artists and musicians create art and music not only to express themselves, but also to make a living. It is a music business. Sure, the way things were done in the past in the industry just don’t work anymore so I wholeheartedly agree that their methods are in need of an update. But musicians are not the corporations. Should these individuals suffer poor CDs sales, and incur the corresponding repercussions (not being able to repay recording fees, or being kicked off entirely), because you don’t like the parent group of a particular label? I don’t think that it is fair.

Yes, bands can establish their own labels. But the majority of those who have their own labels have already enjoyed financial and/or critical success, and/or are still a part of a larger label. The Dillinger Escape plan formed their own label called Party Smasher Inc. after signing to Season of Mist. Even though DEP have their label, their music is still licensed by Season of Mist. Music released on Season of Mist is distributed by Caroline Distribution which was founded by Virgin Records. Kanye West founded his G.O.O.D. Music label after he had signed his first deal with Roc A Fella Records (founded by Jay Z, Damon Dash, and another dude you’ve never heard of) which is distributed by Def Jam Recordings which then part Island Def Jam Music Group and Mercury Music Group which are both part of Universal. These connections are needed to reach the fans. Yes, bands have and will continue to release their own music independently. But if they want to reach a sizable audience so that they can feed and cloth themselves and their families, maybe the need these bigger partners. Can musicians and artists afford to pay for recording, pay for mixing and mastering, pay for artwork, pay for CD pressing, pay for shipping to stores, pay for advertising/webspace, pay for music gear (drums, basses, guitars, keyboards, strings, microphones, patchcords, amplifiers etc etc etc) all out of their own pockets? Not if they want to make a proper living.

Point three: bands make more money touring than they do from music sales. I don’t question that this statement is probably, most likely, absolutely true. But think, who gets these bands touring in the first place? The labels and other tour sponsors. Who is going to pay for a van/bus, gas, food, insurance? That merch money will get used pretty fucking fast if they don’t have financial support. The (good) music labels provide this financial stability for bands so that they can focus on writing and playing music, and not worrying if they can afford to make it to the next gig.  Merch is also expensive to produce. If you want to make t-shirts for your band to tell at your shows, you initially start in the hole. Like every investment, it takes some time to break even. If you don’t support the musicians by purchasing their music, the labels have no incentive to sign, support and promote new music because it won’t be worth it. I know this is a rather capitalist stance I am taking here but it doesn’t make it any less true. Many smaller labels like Relapse, Arts & Crafts, DFA, Ed Banger, and Ipecac (among many many many others), were founded by people who love music, and want to share the music they love. Some have no aspirations of huge financial success. Some are alright with breaking even. But these people who invest their time and their energy into their labours of love deserve to be compensated for their hard work. That’s why music sales are important. They own the rights, in conjunction with their artists, to the music they release, and we shouldn’t be allowed to take it without proper permission or payment.

I still do have issues with copyright. I fucking hate digital rights management (DRM). If I buy something from iTunes, I should be able to play it on any non-Apple sanctioned device that I see fit. If I buy something from the Microsoft Marketplace, I should be able to listen to those same files on my iPod. I think if I pay for music, I should be able to do what I like with the product which I have purchased. I should be able to sample, mash-up, cut up, and recontextualize it however I see fit. If I buy a magazine, I can cut it up and make a collage without anyone getting their panties in a twist. If I go into a book store and set Slaughterhouse Five on fire without paying for it as a part of some sort of creative expression, that’s not right. If I bought it, I can do whatever I want with it. Anything except copying and distributing it without permission, since those receiving copies did not pay for access to said art. Again, access to art is not a right. Creating art is. That’s a big difference. I think licensing fees have gotten out of hand. For Tom Green’s movie Freddie Got Fingered, the Doors wanted almost $400,000 to use a clip of one of their songs in the movie. That’s insane. As an artist, you have the right to decide where your music goes and what it is a part of, but that’s just being greedy. Permission is of course needed to use or reference another’s work. In that terrible song “I Love College” by Asher Roth, he originally wanted to use a sample from “Say It Ain’t So” by Weezer. He approached Rivers from Weezer and asked for permission, and Rivers declined since the Weezer song is about River’s Dad’s alcoholism, and Roth’s song is about drunken college debauchery. Yes, the song was put online with the Weezer sample, but the official album version contains different backing music. I have no problems with this situation. That’s what we need: communication between creative individuals so that more art can be created. What we don’t need more of is a bunch of lawyers and labels threatening to sue everyone over the use of samples.

Fuck, I hate the Doors. More later.

Some kind of instinct. Memory, of what they used to do. This was an important place in their lives.

New York City, New York: March 3, 2010

I had arrived in New York several days earlier, to spend money on all the things NYC had to offer: booze and music. It was nearly dusk when my friends and I wandered into an open-air mall in Manhattan. There had been rumblings in the fringe news networks and online blogs of strange activities and violence east of the city. We disregarded reports of a large group of violent people as merely sensationalism. We wanted to shop and drink. We weren’t concerned with what wasn’t happening in our immediate vicinity.

The pink-stoned terrace the mall was flanked on either side with a row of store fronts. Behind the stores in the south row was another pedestrian walkway, with another collection of stores, then leading to the street with benches and hot dog vendors. A construction crew across the street was busy building what looked like a swanky apartment structure. A sign on the ongoing gentrification of the city.

Walking through the mall, I was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of fear. Almost simultaneously, my phone began to beep and buzz with updates from my RSS feeds and Twitter. My heart skipped a beat and I gingerly took my phone out of my front pocket to see the one word I had hoped never to see coming from a CNN breaking news report: Zombies.

It is as if my mind shut down all unnecessary processes and could now only focus on the task at hand: survival. We needed to get somewhere safe immediately. Almost instinctively, I instructed my friends to follow me into the store directly adjacent to us at the moment we discovered the unbelievable news. It just so happened that what we entered was a jewelery store. This was a stroke of good luck. We were encased in a room of shatterproof glass and direct connections to security services.

The panic had already started to manifest itself within minutes. The screams of horror and the galloping sounds of feet running in every direction permeated our ear drums. I knew that this was not a time to panic. By the time we had the sense to close the door, there were about twenty people in the jewelry store with us. Fortunately, the store was big enough to accommodate all these bodies. I knew that someone had to take charge of the situation. We needed weapons. We needed a way to keep whatever it was that was outside from getting in.

In times when death must confronted with a machete in hand, there is no room for democracy. By the look of everyone’s faces, they knew what was coming. Someone needed to take charge. Every second that passed was one second less that we had to defend ourselves. I began instructing various people to gather materials for weapons and for constructing a barricade. The goal was to put as many walls between us and them. In system where things are very likely to go wrong, having multiple points of failure is extremely advantageous. There were three structures between us and the outside; the store, the small indoor terrace, and the stores on the other side which had one of their two entrances on the street. We needed someone the benches from outside to use as an obstacle for any intruders. We could also the wood to wedge doors and windows shut, as well as reinforce them.

After delegating some more tasks, such as amassing a food and water supply, I began to look for the keys to the store. In the confusion, the store manager had fled out of the mall and, in my opinion, certain death. What I discovered was a complex system of pressure sensitive tiles that opened up a secret compartment containing the set of master keys. I also discovered what looked like a vent leading to an underground room. Perhaps this could function as the stronghold for a final stand.

Without warning, I began to hear a low-frequency rumbling coming from the south. As the sound moved closer, individual footsteps were audible. Armed with makeshift weapons we readied ourselves for the inevitable. What we were confronted with was not the horde, but rather the group of construction workers that had abandoned their work site. They pounded at the glass begging to be let inside the mall. In situations such as this it would be irresponsible to let more people in that you can support, but I noticed that many of them still had their work belts on with electric drills, nail guns, and other useful items. This would increase our chances of survival immensely.

Hours passed and we continued to construct our fortress. Then, blood curdling screams from the outside. They were near. They were would be here soon. We would be ready.

Then my fucking neighbours woke me up with their irritating laughs and I was *this* close to zombie-destroying glory.

England invented heavy metal, right?

On February 8th, I was lucky enough to attend the last show of Decapitated’s first tour since 2007, when their drummer, Vitek, was killed when their tour bus collided with an oncoming vehicle. Their singer at the time, Covan, also suffered substantial head injuries, and was unable to return to the band. Their original bassist also decided to leave the band in 2008, leaving founding member, guitarist Vogg, as the only familiar face left.

I had seen the band play twice before in Toronto, and they absolutely killed it both times. I remember running into strangers in the pit both times with my brother. The crowds were totally engaged with the band on stage and we fed off of each other’s energy. Both shows took place at the Opera House which, if you don’t know, is a relatively small venue with a capacity of about five or six hundred, and where I have witnessed a plethora of amazing shows. The Foo Fighters played an exclusive show there in 2001. They only way you could get tickets was lining up at 102.1 The Edge on Yonge St a couple days before the show. When I heard the announcement after I got home after school, I raced downtown and luckily I was one of the first dozen or so people to get there. It was a terribly sweaty and in-your-face rock show. Seeing Chromeo there was the most unreal dance party ever. I was up on the balcony with my friends Devo and Suzie and everybody was just dancing. I’ll never forget looking down at the crowd and just seeing all that unbridled joy expressed through dance. Anyways…

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

The show took place at the O2 Academy Islington. I had never been there before, so I had a little trouble finding the venue (I walked about 10 minutes in the wrong direction on my way there). I bought a ham sandwich at Sainsbury’s and got in line. The doors opened and I headed inside. This was the first time that I haven’t been frisked at the door. I don’t know if this is standard procedure but I found it quite strange. The venue was pretty small, and I’d venture to guess that you couldn’t fit more than 400 people standing. Supporting Decapitated would be Man Must Die from Glasgow, Scotland, and fellow Canucks Kataklysm. Over years that I’ve been going to shows, there have been very few opening bands that have caught my attention. Unfortunately, neither of these two acts did so. Man Must Die opened up the show to a sparsely filled room. I understand that you want the crowd pumped up for your set and those to follow but asking for a circle pit when there are 5 dudes in front of the stage probably isn’t going to get the blood flowing. Musically, the band was alright, if just a tad generic. It’s always a good thing when an opening band has some good tunes that you might want to look up on YouTube later, but it’s very difficult at metal shows when all you can hear is “This next song is called BRRRRAAGAGHAG WHGAHGA ARRRRGAGAR!!!!!!!” Kataklysm came on next, and I was a little bit intrigued to see what these guys had to offer. I’d heard a few of their tracks before and I used to have their album “Serenity In Fire” which was wasn’t bad. When I got home after the show I got on my computer and started reading some metal blogs and came across a post about Kataklysm where they were described as mediocre. I would have to agree. They’re show wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. Their songs rely on simple riffs, little variation, and absurd song titles/lyrics such as “The Ambassador of Pain.” One thing that really bugged me, however, was the complete incompetence when it came to the guitar solos. I am by no means suggesting that I am a great guitar player, but I feel that when I had my band I could hold my own. I usually wouldn’t solo and I would award that duty upon our other, better guitarist Simon, and instead focus on songwriting. What I heard was from the guitarist of Kataklysm, frankly, embarrassing. If you can’t shred, don’t try. It just sounds bad. Also, a delay pedal doesn’t cover up the awfulness of your solo, it multiplies it.

At a quarter to ten, Decapitated finally took the stage. The room was packed. I was nervous to see how the three new band members could hold their own in one of the best technical death metal bands in the world. Their debut album Winds of Creation is, in my eyes, a modern classic of death metal. The album was recorded when the guitarist Vogg and drummer Vitek were only 18 and 15, respectively. I had seen videos of their new drummer Krimh online, but live shows are a very different beast than the studio. I am pleased to say that they sounded great. Not fantastic or stellar though. There was a certain tightness missing, but that most certainly will correctly itself once they play more and more shows together. One thing that bugged me was the crowd’s response. I didn’t feel the energy was there on our part. The band was certainly giving it their all, but at times the audience fell flat. Perhaps it was because it was a Monday night, but this was the band’s first tour in almost three years! I hope this isn’t an indication of what other crowds in London will be like. I have tickets to see Mastodon in two weeks!

Here’s some video that I shot and uploaded, and was featured on the blog MetalSucks.net.

I’m really excited to see what new music this band will do in the future, and I wish them all the best. They’ve had enough bad luck.

Does whiskey count as beer?

Well I’m back to the grind so I haven’t had too much time to travel around and take pictures of cool shit. I have a veritable mountain of books on my desk that should be read, but I’d rather do this now. I have some other things that I’d like to write about later, but I figure I should write about what’s on my mind this very second so that it doesn’t slip away.

Yesterday, I met my friend in Central London, who had come from Toronto to see his family here. We met in the Covert Garden area, which I quite like despite its obvious touristy-ness. He led us to a pub, down a small lane, called the Lamb and Flag. I had always wondered before why pubs had names like the Lamb and Flag, Fox and Fiddle, or Crate and Barrel until my Irish friend explained the method behind such madness: Due to the fact that many people living in England in past centuries were illiterate, pub owners established a way to distinguish themselves from other taverns without having to put words on the signs that hung above the entrances. The likeness of the Queen (or whatever) was mounted on the outside of the pub instead of writing “The Queen’s Head.” Got it? Good.

Bald Flagman. See what I did there?

Anyways, he and I entered the pub to partake in the ceremonial consumption of an English ale. We talked about London and how I was getting along living in the UK. He then asked me what the biggest differences that I had seen and felt there were? At first I didn’t really know what to say. I then told him that the food was the biggest difference for me. I’ve found that in overall general taste, I don’t really like the food here. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived in North America all my life and I’m so used to my food being pumped with sugar and salt that I don’t know what things actually taste like.

Side note: It’s not really a gripe, but something I’ve noticed in most or all the pubs and bars that I’ve been too is that when you ask for a pint of beer they give it to you quite literally overflowing. The foam always sliding down the outside the glass and when you pick the glass up it drips on your shoes and the floor with excess beer. It would be interesting to find out why this is so?

Anyways, we left the pub so take a walk around and I started to think of more differences between Toronto and London. One obvious difference is that you drive on the left side of the road here. It’s not really a novel idea. Who cares? Just be careful when you cross the street because I often forget which side the traffic is coming. What is interesting to me is how this translates to pedestrians walking on the sidewalks. Are we supposed to walk on the left side like cars do on the roads? What about escalators? Are we supposed to stand left and walk right? When I first got here, I figured that I should walk on the left side, but there were always people coming at me on the same side! There really are no set-in-stone rules about walking on the sidewalk, but what about in the Underground where there are actual signs that tell you what side to walk on because of the high amount of foot traffic down there? In the Green Park station on the Piccadilly line the signs told me to walk on the right, while in the Bond Street station on the Central line told me to walk left! Nothing made any sense! We need firm rules people! Otherwise it’ll be anarchy. Straight up.

We walked up Reagent Street, then east on Oxford, down some random avenues and lanes until we stumbled upon this:

Even if I had been really drunk, I doubt this would have looked any cooler than it already was.

More thoughts later, I need to go cook some dinner.

Love,

Seb

Basically, I got a free lap-dance because I’m just so fucking cute.

I must admit that the title of this entry is only about 74% true. More on that later.

This past Friday evening, my friends and I headed into central London to celebrate the birthday of one of our fellow SAD Society members. We were bound for a small bar/club called Cellar Door. It has quite an interesting location: it’s underground. There’s this cool glass-covered entrance that leads you down, below street-level, and into this innocuously situated watering hole.

This used to be a public toilet. Honest.

The Cellar Door was built in the hole that was made in the ground for a public lavatory, and you can immediately tell, not because it had a funny odor, but that the place is small. Once you walk down the stairs, you are immediately thrust right up to the bar on your left and a selection of chairs and (hydraulic!) glass-top tables on your right. Mirrors adorned every wall to of course give the illusion that the room was bigger than it really was. Illusion. When we arrived, the establishment was so packed that I had to remain standing on the steps until a few smokers left to satisfy their nicotine-based habit. There was a bald dude playing the piano, in the far corner, accompanying a lady in a silver-sparkled corset. More on this later.

Upon eying the fine selection of libations behind the bar, I had hope that I would not run into another Lexington debacle. I asked the barkeep for a dirty gin martini. What I got was the most elaborate preparation of the aforementioned cocktail I have ever seen. First, a pint glass was filled to the half way mark with crushed ice, and its crevasses filled with water. Then approximately 10 green olives were placed into a separate french cocktail shaker. Using a pestle, the barkeep crushed said green olives and then placed the cocktail shaker into the pint glass on top of the ice. Using a jigger, my requested brand of gin was poured (Tanqueray) into the cocktail shaker along with the appropriate amount of dry vermouth (a proper 4:1 ratio). The shaker was then completely filled with ice cubes. The ingredients of the martini where then stirred (purists argue that shaking a martini will “bruise” the liquor, thus suppressing the herbaceous nature of the gin) with a  long spoon. Then using a strainer, the cocktail was then put into the glass and garnished with 3 olives on a toothpick. I’d say this one would be in my top 5 martinis ever. Though you would come to expect such precision in a $14 drink, and seeing as I bought 3 of them, I’d say they with worth the price of admission.

The sparkle-clad performer had a name: Lady Bo Peep. Crooning tunes from the likes of Nirvana and Joan Jett, she paraded around the small stage, capturing the attention the entire bar. Which, to be honest, wasn’t that difficult since there were only about 40 people crammed into that small space, but she did have a good voice and her chest was prominently showcased atop her silver corset. She walked through the bar grabbing and sensually caressing the men of the audience, and everyone ate it up. During the time, I was trying to find a seat, and I just so happened to get one right in the lane towards the stage. I sat there drinking my beverage until I feel a hand groping my head. It was that of Miss Bo Peep. Read, I’ve never been to a strip club, or burlesque show or any sort of locale when there entertainment comes up to you and grinds all up in your business. Well Lady Bo Peep was all up in my business. More vigorously so, I would say, than previous romps in the crowd. It was probably because of my bow tie. Fuck, I looked good.

Yeah, you want this.

I couldn’t really tell you what song she was singing, because A) I didn’t know it, and B) I was too preoccupied with the half-naked chick that was dancing and singing on me. I was laughing and grinning like an idiot the entire time since, well, what does one do in such a situation? My friends made sure to document the event in pictorial form, but I won’t be publishing any such images on my ultra-blog. It was pretty funny. She took off my blazer, took off and wore my glasses (which are currently being held together by superglue, for more on this situation see future posts). So there I was, being gyrated on, breasts in my face, all the while my friends laughing at my (mis?)fortune. She mistook me for a Englishmen, and I Canadianly told her that I was not so. I have to say it wasn’t the most unpleasant thing, but it was a little bit awkward to have all eyes on you when you have a scantily clad woman literally in your lap, and all up in your business. At the end of the song, she leaned in for a kiss, and who was I not to oblige? It was all in good fun. So what I got was basically a classy lap-dance for free. There you have it.

Keep it real.

Come on!

With the semester finally winding down, I have had more opportunities to explore the vast urban metropolis that is London. I recently had dinner at a Nepalese restaurant called Lumbini, in celebration of my friend Adam’s day of birth. I had never had Nepalese cuisine before and I was not sure what to expect. Walking into the restaurant of how elegant it was. I wasn’t expecting such an atmosphere in our little borough in the corner of London. To start I ordered a gin and tonic, and rather than simply handing me the drink, they brought the gin on the rocks along with a tiny bottle of Schweppes Tonic Water (or Indian Tonic Water as it is called here). The server then poured the drink for me, pausing to ask how much tonic I would like in my drink. I found this to be a rather nice bit of hospitality. After looking through the menu, I had chosen a dish called Masso Masala (I think), containing goat. ‘Masala’ means “a mixture of spices”, and also used extensively in Indian cooking. Also, I don’t think I’ve every had goat before and was eager at the opportunity to try a new kind of meat.  Everyone at the table ordered a main dish, and we decided on a few vegetable dishes to share. Once our food arrived each person’s proprietary stance on their food was lost and everything was placed in the middle of the table. Let me say that seven people sharing that variety of food was an amazing social experience. There were dishes with lamb, chicken, goat, tofu, mushrooms, potato, hot peppers all with a vast array of different curries and spices. Plates were being passes back and forth, with everyone delighting in being able to share all the wonderful types of food that were available. Usually at a restaurant you are confined to your own plate and only hear about the rest of the food or taste a small bite. With sharing you weren’t limited to what you could try. That night was probably in my top 5 restaurant-going experiences. I only wish that I had taken my camera to document it properly.

Yesterday, I managed to squeeze 2 pubs and a restaurant into one day. I met my friend Geoff in the Covent Garden area of London, mostly known for being quite a tourist-y location. I had accidentally stumbled upon the Maple Leaf, the Canadian bar I had earlier researched prior to my arrival in the UK, a couple weeks previous during an outing to procure a suitable winter coat. We entered the bar to find it packed with seemly inebriated patrons. It was only about 4:30pm. I was pleased to see a variety of Sleeman’s beers on tap and nary a Molson Canadian to be found. I ordered a pint of the Honey Brown, which turned out to be rather reasonable in price. I had wanted to get some food but the people were like vultures circling around the tables waiting for people to finish up and leave. I think  we got swooped 2 or 3 times. We were standing at the back of the bar, and every time I would turn around to see if anyone had vacated a table more and more Santas would be in the bar. By the time we left, there were probably 25-30 people in full Santa Claus garb, drinking and laughing.

We walked around the area looking for somewhere to eat but every bar we tried to find at table at was bursting at the seams with customers. We finally settled on a small Indian restaurant called Mohini. I had rather good, but unexceptional chicken biryani. The wait staff and their manners left something to be desired, as indicated by the faces made by the man and his wife at the next table when a waiter, not once, but twice came to collect the money for the cheque to find that they had only left the wrappers of the complementary chocolates on the tray. It’s not like it was busy and there were more than enough tables to accommodate the patrons filing in a somewhat regular basis.

The last venue of the evening was an American whiskey bar called the Lexington. Hunting trophies and old rifles garnished the walls, though it didn’t look like a southern hunting shack, but rather a hipster’s apartment decorated rather ironically. The walls were adorned with a bold-patterned felt wallpaper. I quite liked the overall look of the establishment but there was a definite lack of seating. We entered the bar and walked up to the bar, and I asked for a Manhattan; a rather typical American cocktail composed of rye, sweet vermouth, bitters, and a dash of maraschino cherry. I knew instantly that it was not a good sign when the bartender gave me a rather confused look. She turned to ask the other bartender if they had the ingredients to make the drink, they exchanged more confused looks and asked the next bartender for the maraschino cherries. After waiting for a few moments, it was communicated to me that they didn’t have the ingredients. Disappointed but unfazed I asked for a gin martini; what one would think would be available at any bar in London. I was told that she didn’t know how to make that and pointed me to their cocktail menu; upon which the first drink listed was ubiquitous Manhattan. Is that the definition of irony? Perhaps. Dismayed, I ordered a pint of Heineken. Although it looked nice, the Lexington lacked the knowledgeable bar staff that one would expect at such a speakeasy, with a gigantic list composed of about thirty different American whiskeys (including rye, bourbon and single barrel selections).

If you a looking for a pretty good martini, one might want to go to the Huxton Urban Lodge’s bar/lounge. It’s quite a happening place on weekend nights. Also, there I saw a woman at a table take of her shoe, smell her own foot, then made her male companion take a whiff as well. It was strange.

That’s all I have for now.

Love,
Seb

Keep shooting or get shot.

I am the proud member of a select, though not elite, group of people with similar interests and compatible views on life. We all attend university in London and all have a particular affinity for the field of Anthropology. We recognize that the world is not perfect, but that doesn’t stop us from being immensely engaged with it. We strive for “truth”, however vague and contentious a term it may be. We believe that cultural relativity does not equal moral relativity. We understand that we are not objective participants, but that our outlooks are formed through the particular events that have shaped each of our lives. We believe that life is not easily contained in culturally biased surveys or ethnocentric reports. We don’t believe in black and white issues; the world made up of shades of grey. We endeavor to contribute to the knowledge of our world that those that inhabit it, as well as gain knowledge of ourselves.

What do we call ourselves? We are the S.A.D. Society.

So what do we do while on this particular path? We drink. Then, ride merry-go-rounds deep into the night.

Joy.

We are the Social Anthropologist Drinking Society.

It’s times like these that remind me that I feel like I am still 16 years old. I feel nowhere near the 23-year-old that “I’m supposed” to be. I guess that’s not a bad thing.