Live At The Folklore Centre, NYC - March 6, 1967

Music can be a cruel, fickle mistress. How often it breaks your heart, with silly Classic Rock radios who know shit and KISS M&Ms or Mr. Potato Heads.

Yet, every now and then a record of such beauty appears almost out of nowhere and spreads such light on the industry that it give you back faith that music can lead us to pure joy and happiness.

The current object of my renewed subjugation for music is Tim Buckley's Live At The Folklore Centre. Of course, he has been dead since 1975, and has nothing to do with this new release, but it's a pleasure that some people out there took the time to show the world just how special this recording was. Hearing his marvel of a voice rise up from the grave and from Izzie Young's archives is Yyet another proof that 2009 may very well end up being the best year ever for live recording releases.

No matter how much I rant, people still don't get that Tim Buckley is one of the most beautiful forgotten voice of the second half of the 20th century, so this album comes in nicely to hopefully prove my point. At last we have a chance to hear on tape the earliest musical incarnation of his short career. His voice is already near perfect, strong and more developed than in a lot of much older and experienced singers. And the amount of soul in these renditions is simply enough to give one goosebumps.

In 1967, Tim was only 22 years old, yet he had already completed 2 solid albums, Tim Buckley and Goodbye and Hello. He eventually ventured into the near mythical New-York Folk Centre, and on the strenght on his reputation, Izzie Young asked him to do a concert there. A few dozens people were present in the tiny room during the concert, then a Nagra tape recorder, and Tim and his guitar completed the setting. As it turns out Tim didn't even need a microphone to create music magic.

He played from the first album Song for Jainie, Wings, and Aren't You The Girl. Off Goodbye and Hello, he did I Never Asked To Be Your Mountain (which apparently referred to the situation he was in with his ex-wife, Jeff's mother), Carnival song, No Man Can Find The War (written with his collaborator at the time, Larry Beckett), and Phantasmagoria In Two, which is simply one of the best songs of the world, as far as I'm concerned, so you can never go wrong with any versions of it.

There's also the Fred Neil's song Dolphins, which had became a standard in his repertoire by the time he released it on Sefronia in 1973, as well as Just Please Leave Me, I Can't See You, Troubadour, which is absolutely breathtaking, What Do You Do (He Never Saw You), Cripples Cry, If The Rain Comes, I Can't Leave You Loving Me as well as Country Boy. This one might actually be the only one that sounds a little off vocally.

That the recording managed to stay that clear after 42 years is almost a miracle. The sound on that album is near perfection, there's no other way to put it. If I play it in my car I feel like I'm actually there. That's what live albums should be made of. And that's what folk singers should have been all along: men with angelic vocals, wonderful songs and an acoustic guitars.

A wonderful album, one of 2009's best, for sure. Even if it was made in 1967.

Gogol Bordello

I don't care what my boyfriend says (his exact words: "C'est n'importe quoi!"), Gogol Bordello is one of the most exciting bands in years.

I just acquired Live From Axis Mundi which absolutely strenghtens my belief that Gypsies (accordeon, violin and washing boards playing Gypsies, for that matter) have saved punk, the whole genre, from the horrible pop-punk mess Green Day's followers had turned it into. Maybe I should blame Green Day themselves, but part of me still likes Dookie, so I'll just blame everyone who utterly failed to copy them properly.

Gogol Bordello made punk edgy again. Made it arousing and purposeful again, even eloquent again, despite, or maybe because of its use of multiple languages and it's heavily accented English lyrics.

Super Taranta! is already one of my favourite album in recent history, and although I usually enjoy some orchestration differences from the original studio version of songs when they are played live on CD, especially on BBC Sessions (although I must say that their rendition of Alcohol on it is absolutely breathtaking), Live From Axis Mundi is an excellent bargain. The live CD tracks are not the things to get most excited about, but the fact that it holds a full lenght DVD of a New-York gig (their hometown) of very decent quality, as well as some extras and four videos.

If anything, the DVD absolutely reinforced my conviction that we all need to watch out for that Eugene Hutz gentleman. He is, without a doubt, one of the strongest front men to emerge in recent year, if not because of vocal prowess, definitely for the sheer intensity (all right, the whole band is this atomic bomb of energy, like they all forgot to take their Ritalin or something) he puts out on stage and the crazed charisma of his performing. He sings, he screams, he kicks the air, he jumps, he gets the people in the crowd going and they eat it all up with complete enthusiasm. A beautiful performance to watch, and even if I was really lazily laying on the couch, it was hard not to tap my feet and to suppress the urge to start thrashing along.

Eugene is this strangely fitting Ian Anderson and Frank Zappa alloy, but... you know, maniacally speeded up. Yum.

Van Der Graaf Generator

This must have been the last show I saw this summer. It would have been easily the best, but apparently, the Montreal Jazz Festival is not quite clear how important that band is (or had not foreseen the amount of standing ovations the band's music would cause), so they had scheduled another gig at that same venue the same night. Which means that VdGG had to leave, most reluctantly, it seemed to me, after playing about an hour and fifteen minutes. Huge disappointment. I am really not proud of the Festival for that one.

In any case, these guys must be telepathic, because communicating tempo changes and silences lenght that well is pure magic. That was musicianship at its greatest levels. They played Interference Patterns, (In the) Black Room, All That Before, Childlike Faith in Childhood's End, Over the Hill, Man-Erg (incidentally, the guy sitting next to me was sobbing by that point, which, although it annoyed me greatly at that time, at least shows the amount of emotions the band managed to transmit the audience) and encored with The Sleepwalkers.

And the strenght of Peter Hammill's voice was purely ecstasy inducing.

TOO SHORT!

I totally should have gone and seen them in Quebec City.

Tommy Tiernan

Tommy was my favourite comedian, until I saw him live. Sorry man.

Saw him at the Just For Laugh Festival, just had to see him when I heard he was coming back to Montreal.

Maybe it's just this particular show I did not like, too many sex jokes, they just get a little lame after a while. Sure, I had a few laughs, certainly not as many as I expected. And how often does one need to use the f-word to get a point or a gag across?

Next time, I'll buy his DVD, it'll be less expensive.

So, Bill Bailey and Eddie Izzard are back at the top of the list.

You just can't beat a guy who likes prog or that Death Star Cantina skit.

Fleet Foxes

I did see a few gigs this summer, despite not getting down to talk about them. I suppose a few express posts will do.

Fleet Foxes at the Metropolis was one of those shows. I went there, merely liking the band, thinking that LP was a little uneven, but still very nice and showing a lot of promise.

Turns out, Fleet Foxes are a stunning live band.

Those harmonies on that album? Well, they sound even better live.

Never a flat note, a totally tight, professional, energetic band, and apparently very excited about the reception they got here.

I'd recommend them to anyone.

Face To Face

Just got back from visiting my dad. Drove there watching the lovely changing colours of fall and listening to The Kinks' Face To Face on the way, then Percy on the way back. Wonderful albums, both of them, the second, in particular, being quite tragically underrated.

As for my dad, well, he has been cheating the doctor's order. Walking without his cane that is. And showing it off to the nurses. Apparently all stroke patients cheat like that. It's kinda cute actually.

Let's just not tell my mom.

In any case, he has a list of shores lined up for us already again for Thanksgiving weekend, but that's all right. The thing is, my dad had the stroke right in the middle of doing some renovations projects. We had to try our best to finish them. Then some adjustments had to be made to facilitate his coming home. Then my sister had more renovations ideas, which took even more time. Then I thought it would be nice to use the stroke as an excuse to try to have them take some control over the crazy hoarding that has become apparent over recent years in their house.

My parents haven't thrown out anything since the late 70s.

The not throwing out stuff in itself is not a problem. Re-use, recycle and re-utilise, no problem, go ahead. I just think that if you have stuff, you should use it. It you are not going to wear that brown polyester velour ski suit with beige, knitted collar and cuffs, don't keep it. Just give it away, if you have too. Maybe some high school drama class can use it as a costume or something. Do not keep the sweater in which you fits four times either. Do not keep 7 freaking broken irons or 5 also freaking broken hair dryers pretexting "I'll repair them". You won't. Do not keep IKEA ads from the 80s or 93 green flimsy plastic plant pots just in case you need them. You won't. Do not keep the busted out Commodore 64, the chess set with all the missing pieces, or any rusted lamps. Because, no, you are not going to use it.

And seriously, Elvis 8-tracks?

So we've been clearing out wardrobes and the garage, especially. So far, with the help of my mom, who now hopes to see her car finally able to stay inside for the winter, and with my dad in his chair pointing to what is good and what isn't, we have a four-hour per metre average.

*sigh*

I think the garage is scarier than the stroke.

Geese

I heard them through the window. Fall is here for real this time.

Barely October 6th and they're already flying South.

The Aftermath of the Stroke

I haven't been blogging.

My dad had a stroke late July and it's weird how little you care about the futile things when you see someone that close to you fighting to learn to walk again and to gain back control over their emotions. "I can never golf again," was one of the first thing I remember him saying afterward. It made him cry. For the longuest time, everything made him cry. Syaing thank you to the nurses because he appreciated their efforts. Seeing us. Seeing his grandkids, seeing any visitor at all. That may have been the toughest part, and perhaps the one he struggled the most with. He's better now. He can walk short distance with the help of a cane. His arm is still not great, but it moves. It's still not ready to club a golf ball, but maybe next summer.

I have to say, people can bitch all they want about the health system here in Quebec, but man, when people need help, they get help. And it's efficient, quick, and nice help. He's been to 3 different health care facilities since, and there's only one staff member that was a little unkind to him. A reference for doctors: "there's nothing I can do for you" is not an appropriate response to a patient who just had a stroke the day before. Find a better way to formulate it, damn.