The importance of being aural

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I’ve been extremely nostalgic lately, iPod blasting out Wire, X, Pylon, Pointed Sticks, Young Canadians, the Germs, Gun Club, PiL, Patti Smith and Joy Division, sharing their tunes with friends, both old school punks and young champions of the genre. I revel in it as much as I ever did and dammit, it’s timeless.

Life, including recording and performing music, was so much simpler then, hence the nostalgia, even melancholy. Just do it was precisely how we did it. These days it seems there is so much more crap to surmount! Why does it have to be so bloody hard to get together to jam, write, rehearse, record, perform? I miss singing, though singing lyrics—singing the way I used to with my previous bands—is not quite what I do with Roderick Shoolbraid and our AURAL Heather duo. My throat slings (spoken) word along with, and in and out of, melody. I described AURAL Heather in our press release as a sublime fusion of music and poetry and dubbed our material spoken word song. Though our logistics are daunting and AURAL Heather is currently simmering on a back burner—as we work to complete our How To Remain video—our sound, once described as “Lynchian,” keeps right on cooking.

Recently, I found myself getting defensive when a friend complained that Roderick’s guitar drowns out my vocals. I sighed. It’s difficult to explain our aural challenges, that what we’re attempting to pull off is a delicate balancing act. Maybe I sighed so loudly because Continue reading →

THE PROPER TOOL from Three Blocks West of Wonderland

poems

It’s the first poem in the collection; a bit of whimsy, hostility, envy.

The Proper Tool

I’m raring. I’m keen. Keen on the job, keen on green
suede, pea soup green suede. Round mountains
of breast meat. The taste of breadfruit. I’m fond
of blue fin, the Nepali coast. On off days I mourn

road kill, vanishing tooth fairies, yell above the wind
in ironwood trees or run over wild boars. I try to decipher
your posture, sagging down pipe. Was it something I said?
Did I wing a wrench into the works of your Stoly-propelled,

part-time life of letters? Did my leaky duck plump
body mangle your shift,
the entire working class hero period?
You don’t know your Gatsbys
from your Kowalskis, pub-crawling from slumming.

I buy jade, Siberian tiger’s eye. Thyme
infused bath bombs. Glass beads. Silk and suede,
green suede, so much easier to stroke than you.
Go saw yourself in half. Go nail

it in, back against the wall. Paint yourself, or it,
black. Into a corner. Weld your metal. Meld
the two halves of your dark side. Screw yourself.
Gather the loose ones. Punch yourself out.

Birthday Girl

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Birthday today, March 8. I’m not going to discuss ambivalent feelings—nobody’s getting younger—but rather focus on the lovely greetings I received from so many people around the world, a veritable deluge and then the boys took me out for dinner at Miksa. I got to eat a cheeseburger and more than one French fry.

I’ve been working on my novel, The Town Slut’s Daughter, actually writing the damn thing so long now it’s celebrating birthdays too. I’m going to make one more serious stab at it, revise it and in the process decide if I’m cut out to be a novelist. I’ve worked in many genres but perhaps I should stick to verse. I cannot recall whether some scenes are based on actual incidents or if I’ve fictionalized them. Like being at the Smilin’ Buddha with her mother. I can’t remember if my mom came to see me play or not. I think she did. I’d ask my surviving sister but we’re estranged. I think that comes out in the story or maybe that should go in another book. Or poem. I have to decide. After all this time I’m still trying to figure this stuff out. Pretty sad.

Preparing to attend the aforementioned Live Video Retrospective and screening Lenore Herb/Doreen Gray’s footage of a Rock Against Prisons benefit from 1979 which includes AKA, Rabid, Female Hands, Devices, Subhumans and my first band, the all-girl Zellots. Bill Scherk is making swag which is what the Double H image is about. It’s a fundraiser so I’m going to donate some Heather Haley merch. See you there perhaps? It should be interesting. I’m bringing a bodyguard.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010
7:00pm – 11:55pm
Little Mountain Gallery
195 east 26th Ave
Vancouver, BC

Here’s Bill’s description: On March 9th, the social forces will be mounting an assault on the staid and the bland. From a Punk Rock Swap Meet to a Celebrity Auction, from an ‘umplugged’ stage to a Grand Slam Poetry Karaoke by some of the big stars of 1979, we are getting the Old Gang Together. We review the fabulous footage by doreen grey from the seminal 1979 gig and plan out the 2010 resurgence of the Vancouver Explosion.

Come on out and celebrate Vancouver’s living heritage with those who made it happen: Rabid, Female Hands, Devices, Zellots, Tunnel Canary, AKA, Subhumans. Special appearances. Door Prizes. Live Webcast and Kissing Booth. Fishnet stockings. Oodles of prime shwag and fixins. Your every 1979 Punk nightmare come beautifully true.

In mourning this lovely morning, missing my dearly departed

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There are so many things I cannot say in this blog, nor in polite company, which is why I write poetry and keep a journal, sometimes on paper, sometimes on my MacBook. Tonight, I set out to write a poem about my beloved friend Peter (Haskell). It’s been two years since he died and that’s about how long it takes for me to assimilate anything but especially death. Even more difficult to assimilate is how he died. A violent death, his family and friends believing he was murdered, the LAPD and the DA’s office calling it self-defense and in any case, tragic would be an understatement. In fact there are no words and I felt frustrated all night, trying to convey not just how I felt about Peter but how to authentically portray him.

Coincidentally, or perhaps not, I had expressed my condolences to the family of our mutual friend Jhim Pattison who died last summer. I managed to contact his sister Marsha at last, to tell her how much he meant to me, that it was a privilege to be his friend, which naturally made me think of Byron and Peter, so intertwined were our lives. I had sent along a Continue reading →

Hangover City-Fractured Old School-Shmorgs guitarist Peter Draper

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The party’s over. Here we sit, post-Olympics, talk of legacy raging as the provincial government returns to the capital for further belt tightening, dickering with The Budget. It was a glorious party and I, to my surprise, swept up. Well, I had to watch the hockey, it’s in my DNA, being a Béliveau.  I do regret missing the revelry downtown after the Team Canada victory last night. It was an incredible game, with an astonishing sudden death goal by the Kid, Sidney Crosby, decidedly a once-in-a-lifetime event. No next time. Boo hoo. I once passed up a free ticket to see Nirvana, to attend the premiere of Tombstone. Gawd. How can I admit such a thing? My only excuse, I’m a serious film buff and by that point, had witnessed enough wasted, wailing rockers for two lifetimes.  “A film is never really good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet.” – Orson Welles. Hmm, I can’t remember who directed Tombstone, and see, I’m not even going to bother to Google it, but he, or she, was no poet. Oh, I have another excuse for screwing up; I just remembered I was pregnant, hormone-addled. I mean, more than usual.

Some people are smugly saying things like oh where are those pesky protesters now? Well, when I was at W2 for the Real Vancouver Writers Series last week we walked by the Continue reading →

The last Real Vancouver Writers Series reading/Doin’ the Cultural Olympiad our way

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Old school. Punk rock. DIY.

Still harbour a bit of a bad attitude and though I’ve watched a little hockey, have largely dodged the Spring Olympics. Oh, I’m sure there is a ton of fun to be had downtown Vancouver but it’s the type of fun that was vitally important to me as a teenager when the rodeo came to Cloverdale every long Victoria Day weekend. My sisters and I practically lived at the midway, chasing boys, drinking bootlegged beer behind the barns and throwing up, rides or no rides, or games in this case.

At the invitation of the smart, discerning and affable Sean Cranbury of Books On The Radio, I did very happily venture down to the city Feb. 17 to read at an exciting new series called Real Vancouver Writers housed at W2, an exciting new arts and media centre across from the refurbished Woodward’s Building which happens to be a few doors up from our punk rock stomping grounds at the Smilin’ Buddha Cabaret. I was ten, I joked. Very appropriately, one of the artists featured in the W2 gallery was Bev Davies with a series of her quintessential DOA shots.

What a fabulous event! I haven’t felt such enthusiasm at a reading since the 90s and the Edgewise, I swear. Talented poet, lovely person Elizabeth Bachinsky graciously hosted the standing room only evening and I had the privilege of seeing all my cool FB peeps/literati in the flesh- Continue reading →

My Three Blocks West of Wonderland interview with S.R. Duncan

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What are the three themes you explore most in the book?

Well, I depict the domestic front, though as Karen Solie-with whom I had the privilege of working with at Banff Arts Centre said-“the work is not domesticated. It reflects the nature of language as both a domestic product and as wild—impossible to fully manage or control.” I take a lot of risks in my poems, have an instinct for the weirdness of language, the sound and rhythm. I’ve written a suite of island poems, others about relationships and family; my life partner, my mother, my father, nieces, nephews and several inspired by my son. I also describe the battle front you could say, a suite of poems inspired by my travels with many alluding to our post 9-11 guilt and angst here in the *safe zone.* I think we’re collectively waiting for the other shoe to drop, a dread summed up with a flying motif and section titles named Sky Watchers, Wax Wings and Hard Landings. In addition, I’ve addressed the classic man against nature theme in Hot Dogger, My Mountain and Habitat. I’m intrigued by extreme sports enthusiasts, adrenalin junkies. My father was an intrepid hunter and fisherman, I grew up in the great outdoors but we never felt compelled to climb for the sake of climbing, just lived in the woods.

In a brief paragraph describe what you think the book is about (assuming there is a theme)?

I think The Theme is simply prevailing. One of the poems called How To Remain moves beyond mere survival, endurance, but portrays thriving, prevailing. Boldly. With panache. Style, grace and good humour. I hope.

Why did you write this book?

Because Continue reading →

Olympics rant postponed, please read about my reading @ Real Vancouver Writers Series

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Well, I was going to rant about the Olympics descending upon us, from the local (Bowen Island) perspective but I haven’t time at the moment, need to get my kid on track with his new Distance Education program and tackle a long-due to flu-list of tasks. In the meantime, I will invite you to come hear me read at Real Vancouver Writers Series at the W2 Culture and Media House. Located across from the refurbished Woodwards Building in Downtown Vancouver, Wednesday, February 17, 2010, 7:00pm – 10:00pm at 112 E. Hastings, a few doors up from 109 E. Hastings, the Smilin’ Buddha, where my life as an artist was begot.

I swore I wouldn’t leave the island for the duration of the Olympics but Sean Cranbury of Books On The Radio invited me and I’m excited to participate and to be reading that night with Teresa McWhirter, Lee Henderson, Elizabeth Bachinsky, Nikki Reimer, Chris Hutchinson, Dina Del Bucchia, Amber Dawn, Donato Mancini, Sonnet L’Abbe, Jonathon Wilcke and Catherine Owen. In addition, I will be live in ‘The Artist Lounge’ hosted by J Peachy on CJSF 90.1 FM on Tuesday Feb 16th at 7pm. Hope you can tune in. The next day, the day of the reading, Wed. Feb. 17 I will be visiting friends Steve Duncan and RC Weslowki on Wax Poetic @ 2pm (PST) 102.7fm CFRO Co-op Radio. I’ll be back to rant later. This is from Real Vancouver Writers Series press release:

“The Real Vancouver Writers Series consists of 4 weekly events showcasing local Vancouver writers, publishers and creative literary artists at the W2 Community Media Arts Centre located at 112 East Hastings Street. These evenings are designed to show the city and the world real and diverse Vancouver culture and real creative individuals in the literary and publishing communities at a time when the eyes of the world are on our city. Countless millions of people will want to know what real Vancouver culture looks like. We are determined to take the opportunity to show the world just how amazing, diverse, talented and fun our literary and publishing culture is!

In conjunction with Books on the Radio and Geist Magazine. “W2 Community Media Arts Society presents W2 Culture + Media House – a 24 hour/day media centre for non-accredited bloggers and journalists to share their perspective on the 2010 Olympic Winter Games in Vancouver with the world.”