Hairiness; much hairiness! Who has time for spring cleaning with all that’s been going on? I’m still recovering from the premiere of Susanne Tabata’s punk rock movie, Bloodied But Unbowed. I couldn’t decide whether, or how to wear the Subhumans-Incorrect Thoughts, Rock Against Racism and Avengers buttons I dug out of my collection. Hey, I didn’t brandish badges then, why start now? I didn’t shave my head or wear a black leather jacket either. I couldn’t afford one! I stuffed the relics in a pocket to share with my Vancouver punk rock homies.
I was delighted to see former band members Conny Nowe, drummer of my first group, the all-girl Zellots-who just happened to be visiting from Toronto-and The 45s Brad Kent and Randy Rampage. Conny’s been playing music, currently in an outfit called Swamperella with renowned bassist Rachel Melas. I marveled at how marvelous she looked as we chatted before the movie started rolling.
I’ve run into Randy a few times over the years but hadn’t seen Brad since I was nine months pregnant, my son, now 15. I’d been walking down the street near 12th and Clark in Vancouver when I heard a voice braying “Hollywood and Western,” the scene of a notorious east end rehearsal space the 45s used. I turned around and there was Brad! The meeting was a little awkward and fleeting but at Thursday night’s after-party, he came and sat with me, gave me a big hug and apologized profusely about breaking up the 45s on the eve of our gig with PiL at the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles. “I’ve been wanting to say that to you all these years.”
My biggest regret . . . Continue reading
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
Ugh. Caniculares dies. Dog days of summer! Staying cool isn’t easy today. I am relatively used to it, having lived in southern California for so long but still, these low 30 temperatures are brutal. One of the worst aspects, besides the fire hazard, is the perspiration. I’m just sitting here and sweating as if I were hiking up a hill. I wash my hands all day, still feel grimy. Think I’ll do my workout after the sun goes down. Fortunately, things usually cool down around here at night. It’s much worse back east, heat and humidity relentless.
I can’t seem to get the video shoot off the ground, feeling vexed that certain aspects are not coming together. I need a costume sewn, was given references to two people on the island but they aren’t getting back to me. So screw the Great Gatsby spoof, I won’t bother with the period piece clothing, will just dress Continue reading