Folk in Montreal

Back in June, Vic and I ventured out to the Lachine Canal, out near our first year rez, to check out a very picturesque Folk music festival. With the summer sun behind us and wonderful folk jam sessions and covers of the classics in our ears, we were pretty blissful. Needless to say, I not only bought several CDs from the local artists playing but also joined a mailing list.

PicNic withVic in June, Folk Fest on the Canal

Who knew there were shows happening almost every week? I mean, in Montreal, you kind of expect it, but all of a sudden I had a list covering some 4 months of the cream of the crop in the folk scene. This mailing list led us to Garnet Rogers, which was clearly a hit, and just this past Wednesday, we got to go see Lake of Stew and Old Man Luedecke.

So seeing the Old Man’s name on the set list was a guarantee. A year ago, a neighbor of mine suggested we go check him out, not knowing what to expect at all, and before you know it, we were hooked on his witty lyrics and virtuosic banjo and guitar playing. All alone on stage, he kept things very lively with his energetic time-keeping with the heel of his boot on the hollow stage. Even his ballads were engaging and at time heart wrenching. This show last Wednesday did not disappoint, even though I’d been building it up in my head for months.

But Lake of Stew might have stolen the show. They were a complete surprise. And incredibly impressive. 6 members in total with at least 10 instruments between them, not to mention 5 out of the 6 led the vocals throughout the course of their set. Very old school bluegrass feel, including washboard, jaw harp (the name of which I had to look up – also called jew harp or mouth harp… who knew?), and washtub bass. The variety and the tight harmonies made them instant winners in my book. Seriously, check them out here. Lake of Stew actually just recorded an EP with Old Man Luedecke, which I highly recommend. Quite a stellar combo. Go download it FOR FREE right here. If you’re at all a friend of folk, do yourself a favor and check them out!

Piano Project

Last Sunday, riding high on piano fumes from the night before, I bought a keyboard.

I grew up learning bits and pieces of music theory from my sister, but even then I really just picked things up by ear. Never really did the whole piano classes scene, at least not for any significant period of time.  When I left home for school, I’m sorry to say what few skills I had gathered fell into extreme disuse. So I’ve started a new project for the chilly months ahead. I’m starting from the beginning. After spending the past 2 months waking up to someone banging out the one French Christmas carol they know over and over again on the piano in the apartment above, I’m ready to get my revenge. Haven’t advanced up to Christmas carols just yet, but they’re getting their fair share of chords and scales, lemme tell ya. Keeping myself sane and focused with the few songs I have in the ol’ storehouse, but the point is to really understand this instrument for a change. Learning how to read music without a hesitation. Recognizing key signatures. I’ve got the lingo, but not the know-how. Time to put it into practice.

So far, so good. Slow going for sure, and I’ve actually brought out the flash cards to help with sight reading, but the excitement definitely outweighs the whole feeling-like-a-second-grader feeling, even though I’m still working out a few kinks in “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

Music and Meditation

For the past few years, I’ve dabbled in meditation, usually a form called zazen, literally “seated meditation”. Sounds awfully formal, but I’ve never treated it as such. The point is to take time out of your day to stop. I started more formally, attending a weekly sitting at McGill’s chaplaincy office. I learned the posture, the technique, what to focus on and what to let go of. But what I really took away from this process what that the posture, the setting, all of that is secondary. Breathing, slowing down, not dwelling on small thoughts (and large ones) that end up controlling your emotions and actions – the moments brought about by these means aren’t any more accessible by sitting with your legs folded in absolute silence.

While I have occasionally felt, suffered under, and benefitted from profound silence, I’ve found music to be similarly empowering. The right music, that is. I’m not too proud to admit my soft spot for the top 40s as well as the occasional boy band or an 80s one-hit-wonder. Generally, though, the music that shoots straight through me is instrumental (not that lyrics like “quit playin’ games with my heart” don’t strike a chord…) and in many different genres. Classical, jazz, indie acoustic guitar. Being faced with wordless expression in any form can be striking. Some find it in art. I find it in music.

Which brings me back to the initial spark for this post. Last night, surrounded by an audience of roughly 300 rustling, sniffly Montrealers and a single Italian pianist, I meditated.

A close friend introduced me to Ludovico Einaudi a few months ago. To say that his music changed my life might be a bit extreme, but I will say that it came at the right time and has since been of great comfort. I could go on and on trying to describe his music, but you’re really better off listening to it for yourself. Words only go so far, so here’s the link to one of my favorites.

Sitting in a beautiful concert hall watching his hands float over the keys of the sleek Yamaha grand was an experience I’ll never be able to describe, but I’ll try all the same. The closest I can get with words to the impact of those first few notes, that first impossible trill, was like stepping into a bath with slightly chilly feet. At once shocking and comforting. And once you’ve slid in, you never want to leave. That same warmth radiated from his music. Before long, everything else slipped away. Those silly stressors that stack up in the day. They just melted. Everything slowed and all there was was his music. His crescendoes and pauses. Like breath rising and falling.

Feeling that ebb and flow is what it’s all about, and I’m very glad to have discovered a path other than seated meditation to that same experience.

Tune-age in la Belle Ville: Yukon Blonde and Garnet Rogers

Part of this whole getting-out-more experiment has been to go see more live music, an area in which we Montrealers are spoiled rotten. There is always something going on in this city music-wise. It’s pretty incredible. I definitely take it for granted but it will be a sharp wake up call to settle in another city someday without the possibility of staying out any night of the week and stumble across some amazing talent.

Casa del Popolo has been the site of my most recent excursions into the indie-folk scene. Last Tuesday, Vic and I headed up to check out Yukon Blond, a group I’d never heard of except perhaps in passing. Got there early enough to take advantage of their super cheap $4 pints (Monday and Tuesday special! heck yes! pints in Montreal very rarely get below $6, at least at my preferred haunts), which was a nice way to easy the woes about sticking out like a sore thumb in a more-than-slightly hipster environment. We were lucky enough to run into some friends at the show, another great thing about Montreal. Big city, but somehow small enough to run into people you know everywhere. Again, I’m so spoiled here.

Before I get into the bands themselves, I should tell ya one thing. I’m not a music critic. I know what I like, sure, and occasionally I can single out that particular aspect that draws me in or puts me off, but most of the time, I try to enjoy music holistically.  So this ain’t no music review. It’s an experience review.

That being said, the Dinosaur Bones were up first. Gotta say, my attention wasn’t really grabbed. I got more distracted by the ample amount of flannel and moustaches in the rows in front of me than the music. However, their keyboardist/tambourine-ist was quite impressive. Don’t think I’ve ever seen such energetic tambourine-ing. Seriously thought he might throw out his elbow. That and the bassist whose face you couldn’t see due to serious bassist posture combined with a fair amount of shaggy hair were about the most memorable part about this opener. Their indie music sounded very … typical for their genre. They weren’t bad, by any means, just nothing special.

Yukon Blonde’s vibe was much more contagious and got us dancing. Wind Blows was one of my favorites of theirs. Nice vocals, some memorable tunes. Best part was definitely dancing and bonding with two brothers, friends of a friend, who were relative newbies to Montreal, and who were definitely enjoying themselves, grace à Montreal itself and perhaps a few pints of the local brew. Singing along to songs we didn’t really know, rallying for an encore – it was a lovely evening. Ended up with a CD of Yukon Blonde’s. It’s not too shabby, but live music always gets me more excited than listening to an album at home. [Mind you, I have had plenty of dance fests around my own room. There are two types of people in the world: those who dance in their room and those who lie and say they don't.]

Few days later found myself back at Casa del Popolo for a much different scene, this time to see Canadian legend Stan Roger’s brother, Garnet Rogers. Now, if you’ve never heard of Stan Rogers and you consider yourself a Canadian, that’s just blasphemy. Check out Northwest Passage to redeem yourself ASAP. For all your Staties, educate yourselves, as well. Well worth doing. He’s pretty freakin’ awesome and definitely a staple for any folk collection. He unfortunately passed away at 33 when his plane had complications upon an emergency landing. Pretty tragic stuff. His brother, though, who sang with Stan on the road, has carried on the Roger’s legacy. Thank goodness. He’s got quite a voice, not to mention epic lyrics that tug at your heartstrings. Now, I’m no guitarist, but I can definitely spot a talent in the field all the same. And my goodness, Garnet Rogers’ technical skill is outstanding. From bluesy ballads to upbeat jigs, he’s got it all. It was crazy. Just a guy alone on the stage producing such a rich sound. Here I go rambling. What do I know about tonal richness? Not any more than the next guy. Let’s get back to the experience.

Wondered out to this show after a tip from Vicky and I’m so glad I did. Hadn’t heard his stuff before but knew full and well about good ol’ Stan. I therefore knew I wouldn’t be disappointed if the bros had anything at all in common. Met up with my friend Alex, a guitarist extraordinaire, who I knew would really appreciate the solo guitarist scene. I wasn’t wrong. We were both just captivated. One of his newer songs, Get a Witness, stuck with me for sure, though all of his songs were beautiful and yet distinct. I was more a fan of his acoustic stuff rather than when he brought out his electric, but still can’t complain. He even threw in hilarious little quips and anecdotes between the songs, giving us a glimpse of the crazy touring days with Stan and their relationship in general. It was such a cozy scene, not just a concert. Felt like we were at a taping of Prairie Home Companion. All in all, awesome experience. Makes me really want to explore the folk scene in this city. Got a few more concerts on the agenda in the coming weeks. Will be sure to recount them for all you eager readers!

A must-read: thoughts on The Shining

So I’ve recently finished reading Stephen King’s The Shining for the 4th time, if I’m not mistaken. 4th or 5th. I can’t quite remember.

Brief aside: In case anyone reading this doesn’t already know, I have a bit of an obsessive personality. Watching my favorite movies over and over, reading favorite books again and again – I don’t get tired of it. On the contrary, I generally take even more from things the more I get to know them.

That is absolutely the case with The Shining. Most amazing book I’ve ever read, though I’ve generally found it quite difficult to explain why. No spoilers here, don’t worry. I respect this book, as well as my readership, more than that to give anything away. Gotta discover the mysteries of the Torrance family and The Overlook Hotel for yourself! So instead of detailing the plot, I’ll try to cover the feeling of the book, and the feelings it arouses in me.

Absolutely terrifying to get inside someone’s head, to watch their logic unfold and to see the terrifying results of that logic. You are a part of the whole process. Having been given access to their thought processes, you are just as much a part of their tale as they are. That in and of itself is terrifying. Knowing the words that go unspoken between husband and wife, or between parent and child. You feel helpless. But when you start to recognize similar emotions in yourself, maybe on the second time through the book, that’s when the fear really sinks in. It becomes internalized. You come to know these characters as you know yourself. You’re given a look into their deepest fears, an area so closely guarded by all of us. King breaks down that barrier of self and other in his articulations of the characters’ thoughts as brief parenthetical asides mid-story. It’s not always coherent, but our thoughts never are, even more so with our fears. I find it absolutely amazing that such an absurd and unrealistic situation can come to mean something so close to home. The sign of a good writer – King really draws you in.

Each time I read this book, I find myself understanding the fear of each character to a whole new extent. At the same time, somehow, you are very much able to let these characters go when the book comes to a close. I’ve read some epic novels in the past [such as Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy or the entire Harry Potter series] where it just broke my heart to suddenly come across that last page. You devote so much of yourself to these people, you make them real, and then they’re just gone. Well King has gone a step further. Throughout the whole novel, you find bits of yourself in each these people in this terrifying situation, to a point where it’s just flat eerie. King aptly describes fears and insecurities in his characters that absolutely everyone has wrestled with at one time or another. But he doesn’t let you linger on the characters. Because they could be anyone. Jack, Wendy, and Danny Torrance may as well be John, Jane, and Bobby Smith, or Keith, Marie, and Liz English. That’s what’s so wonderfully terrifying. The people don’t linger, but their thoughts, emotions, and fears do.

I’ve always been a big fan of mystery novels, thanks to my mom and her extensive library of thrillers and chillers. But The Shining was one of the first books I picked up slightly tentatively, knowing it’s reputation and having seen the film and having had it scare the bejesus out of me. I was stepping out of mystery and into horror/thriller. The genre title in and of itself makes me shiver. I like the idea that a book can have that kind of power, that there are writers out there who can choose their words that well and tap into so many different psyches. It’s inspiring, to say the least.

Gotta say, and usually my suggestion is quite the opposite of what I’m about to say, but you really should see the film adaptation by Stanley Kubrick before reading the book. I say this for several reasons. First of all, I believe the book has the potential to ruin the movie. And the movie is really something. Astoundingly complex, as with any Kubrick film, and yet simple and to the point. But, as is always the case, it necessarily leaves out so many of the little details that make this story so wonderfully creepy. I worry that once you get a taste for the detail in the book, the film might seem lackluster. It deserves it’s own spotlight. Secondly, while it is one of if not the best film adaptation of a book that I’ve ever seen, the two are amazingly different. They can really be looked at as two separate entities.  So I suggest you first get the story and the feel from the film and then get the meat to fill it out and make it real from the book.

I am constantly blown away by this book and its ability to be an escape from current stresses, an opportunity to turn inward and examine my own fears, and, quite simply, a riveting story all in one. Can’t get tired of it. Please pardon the rambly tone. I could go on and on about this book, but to really feel it, you’ve got to pick it up and let King make you a part of The Overlook’s story.

Hot n Fresh Happiness: Biscuits

Can’t go any further without expressing my complete and unfailing shock whenever someone (namely, these crazy Canadians up here) stare back at me blank-faced after I mention spending a wonderful afternoon making biscuits. Yes, this has happened more than once, folks. No warm smile creeping up on their face, no eyes tearing up, full of memories of these flaky bits of heaven. NOTHING. To think that there are people in the world that have to ask, “What are biscuits?” makes me feel like I’ve failed as a Southerner, as if our mission is to spread peace largely by means of our usually buttery and always sinfully good food. Hearing, “You mean cookies?” does not help, let me tell ya. And I’m sorry, but calling them ‘dinner scones’ does not give them enough credit. They are in a league of their own.

Anyway, the colder it gets, the more I crave these bad boys. They simultaneously heat up our wonderful but drafty apartment while at the same time making the place smell of yummyness in such a wonderful way as only a great baking sesh can. Basically, it’s a good time. The process is always hectic but oh so worthwhile. The perfectionist side of me has to take a chill pill as flour spills over and the dough doesn’t come to the perfect thickness. Regardless, the end result has yet to disappoint.

Yesterday was the perfect biscuity day. Nice cold Halloween afternoon. I’ve never been much of a sweet tooth, so I thought I’d indulge not in candy but in biscuits. The recipe I like to use, which I’ve typed up below, comes courtesy of Alton Brown from the Food Network, though my sister and I have a few special somethin’s we like to add in, including cheddar cheese, garlic powder, dried parsley, possibly some Old Bay or cajun seasoning. Kind of going for those delectable little Red Lobster biscuits, for which there are recipes, but I’m not a big fan of using Bisquick. I feel like such a little kid waiting for these guys to finish up in the oven, which seems to take a century though it’s actually more like 15 minutes. Always worth the wait, though. And always best right out of the oven. Burning your tongue has never felt so good.

Southern Biscuits

Ingredients

  • 2 cups flour
  • 4 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
  • 3/4 teaspoon salt
  • 2 tablespoons butter [very cold! cut up into cubes]
  • 2 tablespoons shortening [or vegetable/canola oil ... or you can just do 2 more tablespoons of butter]
  • 1 cup chilled buttermilk

Directions

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F.

In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Using your fingertips, rub butter and shortening into dry ingredients until mixture looks like crumbs. (The faster the better, you don’t want the fats to melt.)

Make a well in the center and pour in the chilled buttermilk. Stir just until the dough comes together. The dough will be very sticky. [This is where I add shredded cheese and spices, before you handle it too much. The less, the better!]

Turn dough onto floured surface, dust top with flour and gently fold dough over on itself 5 or 6 times. Press into a 1-inch thick round. Cut out biscuits with a 2-inch cutter, being sure to push straight down through the dough. [You could use anything here, from an actual biscuit cutter to a round cookie cutter to a tin can, if need be!] Place biscuits on baking sheet so that they just touch [or not...]. Reform scrap dough, working it as little as possible and continue cutting. (Biscuits from the second pass will not be quite as light as those from the first, but hey, that’s life.)

Bake until biscuits are tall and light gold on top, 15 to 20 minutes, depending on your oven.

Then sit back and savor!