Songs & Cigarettes

Beginnings

2011-02-22T18:01:00.000-08:00

Hi ya.

We've officially launched Songs & Cigarettes INC, my friends. You can head over there right now and check out the latest in PodThrash, articles from our ever-expanding contributors, featured videos, artists, and plenty more. It is a collective and one that I hope you find yourself distracted by.

Now, as mentioned, eventually we're going to make the jump from this thing to the new site. In the meantime, there's plenty of time to run the course on the old homestead, right

Now, before anything too pressing jumps into my head, it'd be great if you could take all of two seconds and vote for me RIGHT HERE. It's an unbelievable opportunity and as a result I'm trying rally an army of fine folk to vote on the daily for me. The voting process is all done through IP addresses too -- so no worry about the tedious email jargon. Just click to vote and come back tomorrow to keep those numbers climbing. Tell some friends too. It'd much obliged. Really.

Finally got myself a suit all ready to go for Thursday's gala of the nation's most eligible. Should be one hell of a goddamn week.

New Yorke shuffle.

2011-02-19T11:37:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a big day.

Normally I'd be my usual cynical, charming self about this but, hell, it's practically spring outside. Who could be cold when it's so close to warm?

Dance as you see fit, Mr Yorke. You've earned it.

The big to-do

2011-02-16T20:14:00.000-08:00

Can we talk? Let's talk.

It's been one of those running by daylight and crashing by night kind of weeks. Strangely enough it seems that was across the board to most I've bugged in the off chance I can catch my breath -- which, judging from the state of my apartment, are few and far between.

Without going into too great of detail on the state of disorder my once proud bachelor kingdom has become, let me just say that the sink is full, the bedroom littered with clean laundry that has yet to find its home, as well as an ever growing army of post-its, reminders, and similarly cluttered crap. However, it is a good busy. Hell, it is good to stay busy, right? Movement is progress, the crumpled fruits of labor are surely a sign of character.

One hell of a year and we're only at dawn.

Sorry, had to.

A face for radio and a voice for print.

Let's talk some music, huh?

After reading up on ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of The Dead for a few weeks I've been readily skeptical of their most recent endeavor, Tao of the Dead. First, I'll admit I haven't payed that much attention to the Texas act since their 2005 release of Worlds Apart. That album, aside from their going standard of excellent cover art, was kind of stuck in an endless cycle of over production and the less than adventurous (although the intro was awesome, that much is memorable). Being their third full-length since Worlds Apart, I expected much of the same; another buzz band fallen by the wayside as a result of too much studio time and big label pressures. But, as I've become quite accustomed to, I was wrong.

While the album is not mind-blowing by any great stretch, it is the lean closer to the speakers with a furrowed brow kind of intriguing. Cutting down to their comfort zone of a four piece -- not to mention recording the entirety of the effort over an impressive 10 day stretch -- there is a hulking appreciation to Tao of the Dead.

Oh, and the album art is as expected; unexplained, fantastical and second glance worthy -- much like the band itself.

Again, I tried not to like the album. Been listening to far too much of the southern shake, rattle, and roll to take on anything else (or so I thought, ugh, hoped). The biggest track has to be "Pure Radio Cosplay" which fits into the whole steampunk feel of the album; there is simplicity but with subtle hints of thrill that gives the song a hint of well needed "pop".

Of course, I'm not going to say it's a takeover your headphones kind of release. "Weight of the sun (Or, the post-modern Prometheus) is a bit contrived near the middle of Tao. Maybe it's the attempt to pseudo-reference Mary Shelley that gets under my skin (did you read it or did you watch the awful Kenneth Branagh screen folly?), but to such an ailing attempt at rebellion leaves the listener with nothing to do but shrug. Evidently, the anthem-like track just seems like more of the same "meh" factor they were so notably criticized for in the past. Further, the 16 minute finale to Tao is more of the same. Candidly, I'm confronted with recollections of Playstation soundtracks from the early bits of my adolescence (Squall, Tifa and the crew if you catch my drift). Put simply, the epic parts are lost amidst the devolved sound; they just don't seem to push the proverbial envelope far enough to pull it off, leaving the listener with little more than a 32-bit remembrance of the easier days.

Although, not bad in retrospect. Not too bad at all.

Ladies, gentlemen, shells and belles

2011-02-14T20:28:00.000-08:00

It's too damn cold for romance.

While the bickering between the relationship devoted and the fist-shaking singles of my Twitter feed was entertaining, it seems there are an awful lot in the state of singledom that would not haven chosen the extra bed space. As such, opportunities of this appropriateness are few and far between when discussing a surefire method of recovery for the relationship weary, right?

Ladies, gentlemen, shells, and belles, this is The 40.

The most essential feat of this test is going a staggering 40 days without hide nor hair of your foregoing romance. Afterwards, if there are still stomach churning sensations, this might not be one to walk away from. Of course, in expecting the opposite, find a new battlefield to fight for.

NOTE: Can we take a moment here? You're in the heart of a ramble right now. It's late, I'm tired and there's been an awful lot of busyness happening otherwise. There. Full disclose and all.

Okay, so it follows the same day count as lent. Let's be sure to not confuse the two, shall we? There are no biblical nor holy matters here, friends. Just pure and simple solitude.

You will not speak to your former flame, squeeze, nor mate for the duration (unless back against the wall kind of trapped): Not intended to be cruel, but totally calculated. You have spent a prolonged period entrapped in a drug much more potent than anything some lackluster rock star could put in their nose. Cold turkey is required immediately.
No one on the internet cares. Please stop (unless uncomfortably candid about it -- that's gold): Although generally entertained, the great audience of the internet will not stop for you or your romantic fall from grace. Well, that is unless you go bat shit crazy and take to posting extremely personal comments bordering on libel. That sort of thing we do, in fact, care about reading (like, a lot). Of course, you know, not recommended.
Facebook creepery should be done in limitation: Like a methadone clinic, the power of the book should be visited to simply ease off that potent ex-partner's itch. John Frusciante of that band I never liked once yelled to the crowd of 90s Much Music attendees, "Take drugs one day then go two days without them." While controversial -- given he is a recovering heroine addict and worse in RHCP -- the same can be applied here. We are not nearly as intrepid as our 140 character personas might present, a day to day strengthening of our newly independent muscle is required.

Now, let's get to the nit grit of it all. The 40 requires an awful lot of self-control. While you are sure as hell going to succumb to the weight of the dreaded "how r u?" text from a pseudo-worried former flame, it is by week three that you should be well on your new path of right-on-ness. As with all addictions, odds are the first week will be a crapshoot of failure, a crushing blow to your already bruised self-esteem. However, this is quintessentially the hard part.

After a few weeks, some worthy distractions, passing your mobile device to the nearest and trusted during a jaunt on the evening streets, and a drive to stay busy, productive, and above all, in a perpetual state of moving forward, the rest comes easy. We are sure to relapse again, perhaps while experimenting with vastly different stimulants than our aforementioned ticker tantalizer, but the methodology of recovery remains the same.

Then again, without becoming one of those self-fulfilling prophets of self-help type, I'm sure as hell no source of wisdom. Figure out your own goddamn formula.

Not my best, I know. It's Monday, you guys. Give me a break.

One hell of a goddamn kind of day.

2011-02-12T15:44:00.000-08:00

A tough Saturday to top.

Four cups of coffee, two hour brunch (Nirvana, you do nothing but good), a twist of hilarious proportions in print, and an afternoon seated between the beat of them.

Glory, good goddamn.

You can catch our latest episode of PodThrash over at Songsandcigarettes.com. Full on launch is set for two weeks.

Alright, time to hit this damn town.

Ain't nothing but the wolves

2011-02-10T20:42:00.000-08:00

Rarely one to watch music videos, music television (save for my Shore, duh), or anything visual outside of the mildly entertaining iTunes beat waves, I am now a member of the converted.

While we are but two weeks out from the launch of Songs & Cigarettes INC, I have found myself far too easily distracted by a little short film from longtime runnin' southern psych rock band, Spindrift.

After hearing their previous work, one would be hard-pressed to not assume they actually would find themselves in a place like this

Being the first to admit that I had heard hide nor chord of this weary looking bunch, it's a damn shame. They're menacing, beat to hell, and with an act that has, at various points, included a stand-in spot from Frankie "Teardrop" Emerson of The Brian Jonestown Massacre fame, well, they've been around the bend and through the thick of it.

The video -- while terrifying -- is the first of a series of releases that the band is promoting through IFC (Independent Film Channel). The band's appearance in Tarantino's Death Proof is as good of indication as any of their darker southern feel. Taking note of 70s exploitation films, the first video from the IFC series -- "Theme from Confusion Range" is haunting. With a nod to the classic thrillers of old, the film does not fall into the overt graphic nature contemporary cinema often guises as horror; rather, it is strictly a narrative coupled with a desert sound that is nothing shy of foreboding.

Being the first single from the Spindrift's forthcoming album, Classic Soundtracks Vol. 1, there is no denying the sheer drive-in quality of their sound. Inspired by classic and current cinema, the band promises a varying range of sounds that are sure to croon, curse, and -- as the case with the aforementioned track -- scare the living hell out of you.

You can check out the video for "Theme from Confusion Road" HERE.

Also, the video includes what could be the craziest pair of Dandelion Dukes I've ever seen. Certainly offered little in terms of mobility, if the poor girl's fate is any indication.

Otherwise the weekend is but a day of work away, friends. What trouble will we find ourselves in next? Will the unrelenting sting of this cold lessen our already weary nights out? Can we expect the kindness of an overcrowded bar on the Ossington strip to keep us sheltered for the hours before they turn on the ugly lights?

Time will tell, but here's guessing it'll be goddamned to happen.

Approximately active athletics

2011-02-08T18:06:00.000-08:00

I just got back from my first experience with an athletics club. Frankly between the swank, shine, and low-lighting it was not my scene by any stretch. Sure, it's in Yorkville but it reminded me of just that very kind of glimmering esthetic. It's a great hood but, hell, not for me; I go to dive-bars, drink, swear, and stumble. I'll stick to my gym in the Annex, thank you kindly. Besides, where else are you going to find a safari themed cardio room from the early 80s?

It's devastating to consider that this time last year I was in the midst of a mean kind of workout routine. Of course, I was also living with my (*cough*) roommates back home -- unemployed and unguided. It's a worthy tradeoff in my books.

Here was my weekend in all of two photos.

King Shit. Best nickname ever, you guys.

After burning my mouth on the strawberry chocolate chip cupcakes, coating perogies in homemade chili, and drifting toward the dessert selections, it only makes sense I'm back to trying out this whole gym thing.

This isn't gym music but it's one to listen to nonetheless:

I do believe, or from here on out anyways.

2011-02-07T21:00:00.000-08:00

Guys, I've been lost.

Better yet, I've been running around non-stop for the past week. With a weekend of excellent music, dodgeball (duh, dum dums), and a whole new batch of the music I didn't shut up about from last week, well, it's been tiring. Luckily, I no longer feel like I've been hit with a car after my nickel-and-dime exercise routine. This is progress, right? Sure as hell better be.

Back to my usual comfort zone now; the sleepytime is steeping, the wind is howling, and the apartment is quiet save for the hum from my dying macbook. I'm amazed it hasn't bit the proverbial dust yet and pray it holds through the winter. We're going to make it, baby.

After some modest searching I've finally found the album that I needed. While 2011 has some fitting music to sooth the frigid cold and raised shoulders of this snow laden urban jungle, there's been a spark missing. There hasn't been anything challenging enough. Not like the Lucero epidemic that took over in 2010 but something that takes time to appreciate. Like a cheap wine. Luckily, fortune favors the shameless, and I had one fall on my lap just under a week ago. The album is, at its simplest, the embodiment of the decadent south it was bred in. A seemingly innocent carnival ride through the heat, blood, heart and grit of the austral.

Their album art is generally done by the same artist

and generally as bat-shit crazy as the band.

Enter, Go Go Boots. The latest from Drive-By Truckers (hitting shelves a week tomorrow), it's another beautifully crafted album from the Georgia-based (albeit half Alabama grown) six piece that details hard living and dying as told from some of the most well-versed southern bred crooners around.

Comparing the album to a film noir (or "R&B murder album" as they've so endearingly promoted it), it follows suit with the same themes of the majority of the band's eight previous studio efforts -- namely the aforementioned trails and tragedies of the south (a theme I can't let go of, sorry). While the songs are definitively different from one another, the album doesn't come off as jumbled as one might expect; regularly changing singers, mood, instruments, and tempos has allowed for a different side of the band's usual grittiness. Running at a draining 66 minutes in rotation, there is a lot to go through here. While tracks like "The Weakest Man" are nothing shy of surefire country, the devastating heartache of "Where's Edie?" -- one of two from Go Go Boots originally written by the late Eddie Hinton, who has remained a huge influence on the band since his death in 1995 -- is beautifully brought together under the voice of bassist, Shonna Tucker. Although the roots of their heritage are easily found without much digging, the album is difficult to pinpoint a single genre. Essentially, it's a hell of a ride.

I should say that the album is not completely under the title of sad bastard music either. Just the opposite, it is more accepting of the shit we find ourselves in -- no matter how dire or likewise dear. A track like "The Thanksgiving Filter" tells of a rag tag kind of dysfunctional family just surviving another year of turkey dinner. Detailing the arguments of American politics, a soft in the head uncle, and lines like, "Wonder why I drink and curse the holidays? Blessed be my family 300 miles away" just go to show that Drive-By Truckers are candid in their crooning.

Plus, there are two songs that literally scare the shit out of me.

The first, "The Firepoker Poker" a slow and swooning track that is catchy as hell to the unassuming ear, tells the story of a preacher who hires an old friend to kill his wife; evidently, the deed ends with the preacher himself finishing her off with, you guessed it, the fireplace poker. Of course, it wouldn't be the great tragedy without another twist.

Secondly, the menace of "Used to be a cop" details the life of a broken man with little left to give. It actually reminded me of the beyond disturbing film, "Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer" (if you haven't seen it I wouldn't recommend -- low budget, creepy as hell). I get started getting wicked uncomfortable after paying attention to the track. Mind you, it is an amazing tune. Production wise the layers run so smoothly into one another it couldn't be more fitting. While the narrator's neurosis takes the better of him in plain sight, so then does the track slide smoothly by the listener. Looking closer and listening bring about very different perceptions.

"Used to have a wife but she told me i was crazy, said she couldn't stand the way i fidget all the time. Sometimes late at night i circle round the house, look through the windows and pretend that she's still mine"

See what I mean? Creepy as all hell, huh? The strangest part is realizing after a few plays just what the songs are about because, as mentioned, they're really amazing tracks all the same.

Anyways, the Georgia gang write their stories in song. Some remind of home, some of warmer times, some of harder, and of things we'll just never understand...and sometimes that's not a bad thing.

Check out The Go-Go Boots Episodes on YouTube as well. Made by the band the short videos offer a look into the processes of the band's formula.

A cold hard fail

2011-02-02T19:58:00.000-08:00

I expected a blinding apocalypse of snow and judgement; served colder than justice to those comfortably adapting to their resolutions of a new year. This, this was not the storm I wanted.

Hell, I stayed up into the wee hours just to catch the onslaught of flurries that were too readily promised by the soothsaying shamans of meteorology. After wearily taking to bed and settling for a read (Less Than Zero has proved to be a very, very strange one FYI) only hours later to be rushing to my window at dawn like a child on Christmas morning I was met with, well, nothing out of the ordinary. A sight of snow not unlike the days prior.

Where was my whiteout? My very own himalayas of overnight snowfall?

I'll be goddamned if it wasn't disappointing -- a sentiment I shared with most across this city.

The fact is we wanted to see something monumental. Christ sake, in this city it only make sense that Torontonians were prepared for the worst. Evidently it's kind of what we (official status notwithstanding) are used to. We've seen glass on the streets, a history of follies in sport, status, and city hall, and not to mention era after era of muttering "Man, we didn't see that coming".

Were we over prepared? Over hyped? Less than critical? Isn't there someone we can blame? Oh, okay, we can blame the media (for something new). Nope, scratch that. Social Media is the culprit. Trending witty names like snowpocalypse and Snotorious B.I.G. across the rivers of news and feeds had us all grabbing for canned goods (maple beans, dum dums -- protein will decide our future!), loved ones, and booze while the great storm approached. Then, it snowed a bit.

Expecting this...

and getting this...

This...

And this...

It was one of the few times I actually looked forward to a winter morning.

Well, to hell with it. I'm okay with a little less blizzard. Certainly makes the walk an easier trek.

Here, winter music:

Trouble, truth and just about getting away with it

2011-01-31T20:49:00.000-08:00

It has been one awesome week for music. From a couple trilling about their adventures seaside, a group that remains bright with an unmatched neon love of synth, and a return to form and function from an aging bunch of heart-on-their-sleeve wearers. But first, there is a weekend to look back on with haze.

Rejoice! Recap! Etc!

A night from Distillery to dancing to karaoke mayhem.

*all photos provided by one, Bill Zane Malszecki*

More shake your face.

This was after watching a dude get dutty on the couch with a lady of questionable moral standards before said gentleman retired to the nearest corner of the bar to empty his stomach and stroll into the cold night air. It was inspiring, you guys.

And now, the 3 a.m. karaoke session....

So, these were more than likely all taken during one song. Fortunately said track was brought to you by the one and only (a surefire karaoke best of), Juan Bon.

And finally,

Beautiful.

Now on to the music.

THE BEST ALBUM ART OF 2011 ALREADY?!

Not likely, but hilarious nonetheless.

Currently letting my sleepytime tea cool, listening to the latest from Tennis. Comprised of a married couple singing from the deck of their boat, Cape Dory (of which is album's title is taken from), the act is nothing shy of brilliant. If they were what one would have hoped from Best Coast, Tennis is their smarter sister-act -- with plenty more substance than the somewhat dumbed down stylings of the pre-adolescent lyricists. One can hear recollections of Heart with a stronger mid-80s pop influence sliding through each track. Like some sleepy stadium band, too relaxed to leave the comfort of their dock.

Of note, the title track is a calming jaunt that one would be hard pressed to not think of more summery times. Then again, maybe my beach upbringings are getting the better of me.

Cut Copy's 2004 debut, Bright Like Neon Love, remains a staple among a number of close compatriots. Their follow-up four years later was somewhat disappointing though; In Ghost Colors was essentially more of the same -- which did little to explain the lengthy gap between each effort. However, with the release of their latest, eloquently titled Zonoscope, there is a change in beat and form -- although not too drastic to stray away longtime synth swayers.

The album art, featuring "New York engulfed in a waterfall" is fitting for the gear-heavy band. After all, the album has a natural flow unlike anything they've accomplished prior. Simplified is the post-punk busyness, leaving the listener with a near-perfect transition into spring.

I want to get into the Get Up Kids' return to stereo but am pooched (this tea is relentless). It's the same old with a darker yadda yadda yadda. I like it just fine.

Motor city girls

2011-01-26T21:03:00.000-08:00

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Well done, "Wayne".

So, it's been a strange week already. Without going into too great of detail, I'll say that 2011 is going to be an era of ever-changing -- for better, worse, or bizarre.

While we've got more excitement than ever with the relaunch of S&C INC. I won't bog you down with the dutty details just yet. Instead, let's talk distractions.

EPIC MEAL TIME

Of Canadian YouTube celebrity, these Montrealers are three-kinds of bat shit crazy. In the above episode (if you were foolish enough to not watch it, dummy) they reinvent sushi for the modern gluttonous male. Hilarity ensues.

An object of beauty by Steve Martin (seriously, same dude)

Recommended and all too quickly pushed to the middle of my read pile, I am now officially head-over-heels for this book. It is eloquent, blunt, and a strange story of love, New York, art, and the strange personalities that take to personal drive over and above all else. There's an underlying sense of tragedy cast in the seemingly simple (oft complex) plot. It's a beautiful book and I'm a goddamn fool for not diving in sooner.

The Kobo

I won one of these monsters a week back at a dinner for The Walrus Foundation. Being someone who is rarely fluent in anything tech oriented, it's been a struggle. However, after taking it out of the box it does come uploaded with some excellent reads; classics, yep, but that's a welcome change from time to time. Also, I generally underline and crease pages (This should be a hint to never lend me a book, by the way) so in losing that time honored tradition, I'm a bit frustrated with the Kobo. Anyways, here's guessing I depress myself beyond measure with The Dubliners and come around on it.

Of course, that's a completely ridiculous criticism. Watch, I'll be the first to open a Used E-Reader Store by 2012. Hold on to your butts, Dragons' Den. I'm coming to you with that lil' song and dance soon enough.

NEON NEON's Stainless Style

Music wise I've reverted back to the usual suspects. Not only is this an amazing album cover, but basing an entire album (and notably the only one they will ever do together) on the life of John Delorean? Amazing. Of note, check out "Dream Girls". Motor city girls and cars.

Yeah, the same guy who made Doc Brown's car.

Wintered and weathered, etc etc

2011-01-24T20:58:00.000-08:00

Glory, good goddamn.

I'm hurting like hell after an epic return to the world of dodge ball. Although an excellent bit of fun (AND EXERCISE?!) to end a torrid weekend, today I feel like I've met the business end of an economy-class vehicle.

However, more importantly I've still got it, you guys.

Not the album cover, but an excellent find nonetheless, right?

At current, I'm nestled in a housecoat and finally getting around to the emails all too quickly neglected in the face of weekend warriordom. At first listen I'm trying out The R.G. Morrion's album Farewell, My Lovely. Although the initial description I've come across seems all too quick to draw comparisons to Crosby, Stills & Nash (forget that quivering voiced national treasure), they're a thoughtful act -- plain and simple.

The only issue I'm having is there aren't any discerning qualities about them. They're good, sure, but the songs flow so similarly into one another that one is left with a state of all too calm. The music is hibernating; a slow, unchallenging pace of fault line sitting.

From the band's previous effort

So far, the track "I won't waltz" is all that has stood out for me. A somewhat stirring sound with an intriguing cajun flair of brass inkling through the backdrop; one can picture the song amidst the after hours of a post-war Louisiana watering hole on a cool kind of eerie summer night.

Or not. Maybe that's just me and the winter.

It's unfortunate the album doesn't match up otherwise. Ending with an ode and proposal to the actress, Clea Duvall (Of Carrnivale fame for you HBO fanatics), the album finally shows some character in that it's a strange and -- taking from the flat pronounces of love strewn prior -- abruptly out-of-place finish.

Again, it's good but it's too easy.

Here's where I went on Saturday:

PUT YOUR FIST UP AND SHAKE YOUR FACE

Oh, that's how you say bestie.

Hey, that guy is a partner in S & C INC.

Always, you guys. Johnny Bon, you know.

There are few things sweeter than an evening of good old fashioned Korean karaoke. Whether attempting to woo the jammed room of a dozen raised arms by crooning to Doobie Brothers (sans shirt, the way it was meant to be sung), saluting our love of confusion to "The Star Spangled Banner", or thawing out the coldest of them to the greatest love song ever written by a lady-man-lady, "Always", it's rarely anything less than chaos.

Yeah, so what if Crossroads: The Best of Jon Bon Jovi was the first CD I ever bought. I also had an unimpressive collection of Bush X AND Bush cassettes.

Roll with 'em.

Keep warm.

2011-01-17T19:04:00.000-08:00

We are at the cold bitter heart of winter now, my friends.

Today, is oft considered the most depressing day of the year; at least according to a somewhat marketing inclined study (that may have been built off more opportunistic grounds than, say, quantitative) anyway. As expected, the waking hours were nothing shy of gloomy and brutally cold. For those that have had a prolonged stay in this great city, it's a going standard that when something should be bad it goes notably worse within the fine confines of the GTA. We've glass in our arches at the best of times -- be it wind or war related, winter or summer set.

And now, converting my apartment into some menacing cave of layers, heat and alarming warmth, I sit comfortably draped in a curiously oversized housecoat against a low-lit lamp like some fairy tale beast.

Well, to hell with the dreary and dead, we've got the rest of the work week to turn out hair gray over that sort of thing, right?

Stay warm and watch this.

S. Carey (or Sean, when his eloquently simply stage name is expanded), is one of the multi-instrumentalists of Bon Iver; that is, he is a backing voice and beat behind the winter worn crooner, Justin Vernon. Carey's debut album, All We Grow, is a slight stray from what his act with Vernon has done in recent time. That's not to say it is off the beaten path or a significant change in formula, form nor sound, but it is a subtle change.

I'll continue the comparison between Carey and Vernon simply because it is fitting for the season and my aforementioned state of hermit-dom. Where Vernon relentlessly grabbed us by heartstrings and dragged us through a whiteout of an emotional breakdown in his epic For Emma, Forever Ago, Carey in kind tunes the mangled tangle of strings while offering us an extra pair of gloves and a candid, earnest set of memory and tale.

The album is layered, slow, and something one may feel themselves falling gracefully into. I'd pick out specific tracks but the just shy of 40 minute album strikes me as best heard in a single bound.

Have at it and enjoy.

The trapeze act was wonderful

2011-01-16T20:16:00.000-08:00

"Miss, I believe that guy stole your drink."

Not exactly my most choice words of being identified. What's more, these words spoken curtly from a barista I had relied my morning coffee on for months prior to the current lodgings, were reminiscent of a judge condemning the accused: the worn wooden counter like that of the cold, hard justice of the stand; the customers giving horrified glances, sharing similarities to a jury out for blood.

If it's any consolation, said lady ordered the same thing I did (Americano, duh) and no one was moving when the order was up; mine was served afterwards of the same order, unbeknownst till too late. A simple mistake of common proportions without any lasting scars. Of course, she was none too pleased -- which is expected from the old, right?

Put simply, I was scorned. Snakebitten. Shunned by the very residents of 'Lil Poland I once proudly considered myself a member of.

Well, needless to say my prodigal return to the coffee shop of my long haired summer of 2010 days was less than stellar. Of course, a lack of sleep and inkling of the Saturday night's last calls still ringing quietly in the wasteland between my ears didn't help my case. I was a ruffian in the midst of the elderly and the caffeine starved -- it was a doomed endeavor from the starting line.

Anyways, enough about my Sunday morning trials. Let's talk music, folks.

Just got a pre-release of the latest from indie music's favorite beard, Iron & Wine. Having been plagued by nostalgia even today when listening through his 2004 effort, Our Endless Numbered Days I was skeptical this time around. Three years after the release of ...Numbered Days, Iron & Wine's mastermind, Sam Beam -- a soothingly voiced soothsayer of modern times -- released a bolder and larger record curiously titled The Shepherd's Dog; with political tones as well as some of the most jaw-dropping lyrics of yearn and loss (listen to "Carousel" if you don't believe me, dummy), Beam had turned his once one-man-and-a-guitar into something much larger -- and likewise, emotionally heavier.

Although never released on a full-length, Iron & Wine's "The Trapeze Swinger" is, undoubtably, one of the most beautiful, sad bastard songs written in anything I've come across.

With the release of Kiss Ourselves Clean, Iron & Wine has ventured into a territory I never would have expected: the synth, the pop, and the catchy. Even stranger, it works -- and well. Beam's political stances remain evident (if not more so than ever before), but he's become less operatic and, put simply, more accessible than ever before. There is a return to form with picking ballads like "Godless Brother in Love" (recollections of "Naked as we Came" are hard to ignore -- tried it already, trust me), while the saxophone and buzzing vocals of "Big Burned Hand" sounds like something from Eels (the other big beard of today's old-man indie).

With a release date of January 25th, Kiss Ourselves Clean has set the proverbial bar of music pretension very high for the year ahead. While the album name is something to marvel at (and not to be taken literally), there are few acts today that can bring such a level of affection to one's earbuds -- particularly if shared between two sets of ears.

Wink, wink, etc.

A naysayer in the court of common courtesy

2011-01-15T13:06:00.000-08:00

Freshly cut and stumbling through unplowed Toronto streets. There are few things I look forward to more than a haircut in recent time; it's become a world of awesome I've spent the vast majority of my life not heeding enough attention to.

A beer, a cut, waves of interesting and equally friendly folk, and a shop that seems out of another era of defining cool.

For those that are feeling the Saturday afternoon wane, I recommend keeping your balance. I've already witnessed a half dozen bails that are of inspiring embarrassment. Normally one would laugh at such public follies unless, of course, they understand that karma is -- in fact -- a she-devil of a circumstance. Hell hath no shamefacedness like that of karma's scorn.

Now, check out our latest episode of PodThrash and appreciate our plans for surviving the apocalypse. True, it is a chance for us to get away with wearing weathered leather suits but, you know, there's more to it than that (kind of..). And, for those that haven't yet and are sick of hearing it, subscribe on iTunes today -- need to rally the troops on this one.

For now, I'll be plugging away feverishly on the latest schemes for the re-launch. We have an exciting new designer onboard as well as an artist putting together a few mockups for the official Songs & Cigarettes INC logo. Very exciting stuff.

Oh, and this....

Tread carefully, friends.

Honey and the hornets' nest

2011-01-11T20:45:00.000-08:00

How it is this late and I'm still wide-eyed and feverish is beyond me. Interestingly, my Sleepy Time tea (a surefire prop in most evenings narratives) has proven ineffective against the weight of overbearing excitement for the months ahead.

Oh, and don't knock the tea until you've tried it. You'll drool over your words in a wonderful haze of drowsy glory. Do I have to up the dose? Is this how drug addictions happen? What happens when I go cold turkey and try to sip more than my body can handle when I relapse? Do I go comatose?!

Man, can't handle all this pressure.

So, while I've remained modestly bleak on the forthcoming announcement, the secret is good as out at this point, my friends: I started this thing in the later parts of 2007 as a means of continuing to write while working a collar-required gig in the homeland. Since then it has not only given me opportunities beyond anything I could have imagined (TIFF, a column for a mag in NYC among other writing jobs that I wouldn't have caught any eyes with otherwise, and, above all, too many open bars to remember), it's time to grow.

Next month I'll be launching Songs & Cigarettes INC. alongside the likes of Neil, Aislinn, and Tim Shitty -- each of whom has undertaken a specific pillar of strategy, and role you'll be seeing plenty of in the future. As such, I'll be overseeing the site's main editorial content, video, photo, and whatever else our list of awesome contributors has on their kooky minds. I will say that I'm most excited about these folks that will be kicking in content for the site -- really, some amazing minds and menaces onboard so far.

It has been a longstanding realization that I am surrounded by much more talented folks than this feeble mind could ever hope. I figure it's about time I stopped hoarding them to myself.

I can say my coy corner of critique and comment will be moving to the site as well, but the main focal point will be these brilliant folks. Also, we'll be ramping up PodThrash's weekly activities on the site with plans to make a much bigger splash in the near and precious time.

Alright, so keep coming back here till we make the jump.

Hey, anyone have ideas for a Toronto venue that will host our launch? Drop me a line and we'll get this thing rollin'.

Now if you excuse me, I've another cup of tea to make.

Cold kind of lovin' eyes

2011-01-09T18:56:00.000-08:00

As per going standard I'm in recovery from another onslaught of a week.

The new site is going to be up soon for us to test out, while the www.songsandcigarettes.com domain will remain a skeleton page until we're ready to do things righteous. Really excited to see what the next week or two brings -- the fruits of years are just about ready for prime picking.

With the beginnings of a fresh year, it's our inclinations to reflect upon the last that all too often take up any room for future endeavors. As intrepid as we may present ourselves, heavy are the days of should, could, and would have. Rarely are we measured by the times we regretted not doing something -- it's the regrettable actions and affections that we find our character tested. The ever-changing will sure as all hell continue, with minor lessons, scars and laugh lines picked up along the way. This will be a a year like any other, my friends -- we'll go in blind and come out in a haze.

Or not, it's late and I'm in the midst of a flurried kind of state. So 2010, right? Right.

So, today was largely dedicated to finally sifting through the albums I missed in 2010. So far haven't really been blown away, unfortunately. Here's a bit of a look so far at what my catch-up has entailed thus far.

Never much understood the whole fascination behind The Black Keys, specifically; the latest effort, simply titled Brothers, feels like they just jammed in a garage for an afternoon with neither rhyme nor reason. Where their previous record, Attack and Release, had a certain charm of menace to it (see "Strange Times"), the essence is lost in this attempt. After hearing praise for them at near nausea it was maybe too grandly built for what I had in mind.

I will say the album art is noteworthy (possible the only memorable part of the album, in fact).

I'm feeling similar vibes for Crime and Stereo's 2010 release, I was trying to describe you to someone. Recalling my first listen of The Troubled Stateside the band's early days in 2006, there was a unsung lash of romanced angst that hit on point with my long haired, studious self. However, they've done away with the power chorded touches with a stronger focus on production quality. Put simply, it's not resonating so well thus far. Don't get my wrong, the editing is beautifully accomplished but the glory days of past tracks like " I Stateside" are long since forgotten.

The album art reminded me of 90's sci-fi videogame art too.

Well, kind of.

Alas, one cannot be excited for anything further as CiS met their demise in the summer of 2010. Although a long time coming (The album prior to their latest was cryptically entitled Crime in Stereo ...Is Dead) it's just another casualty rung out in the minefield. Bit of a damn shame that is though.

Make Do and Mend, on the other hand, have been all too played in past weeks. With comparisons to A Wilhelm Scream (without the oft busyness they're maniacal six-stringing might bring), MDM candidly speak of the pains today's scene brings in the fittingly titled End Measured Mile; particularly in the track "Oak Square" where the band vents of their friends growing up while they struggle with the balance of making music -- and likewise making rent.

Now there’s something to be said for a firm lack of common sense,

'cause god knows getting in the van isn’t paying rent.

And now my older friends are all getting married with kids,

and I’m just stoked to play a basement.

it might not be for everyone, but a tried and true attempt is worth the shot. The album is far from flawless (a term I use sparingly as is), but aside from a couple time fillers there is some excellent sound here.

Whew. I'm working on a piece for the re-launch as we speak. Let's just say last night's adventure on the city was a baptism by fire into a culture I was completely ignorant of prior. Working title so far is "A straight man's guide to having a good time in gay town." Needs work but keep an eye open.

Like I said, wild weekend.

On an unrelated note, we played that slap hands game last night for way too long before the bar. As you can see, the three of us are now blood vessel bros forever. Still, wasn't really worth it -- hurt like hell too.

Just wrapped up another episode of PodThrash. Get on it that iTunes subscription.

Hard workin', fast livin'

Arizona.

2011-01-08T14:32:00.000-08:00

What a weird goddamn day it's been so far.

I've been following the shooting of US Congresswoman, Gabrielle Gifford, throughout the day. To be frank, the message has quickly shifted from the details of the tragedy to the political hearsay of those itching to leech for any attention, self promotion, or ungrounded finger pointing.

I'm not delving any deeper on this. Recommend looking into it all the same - certainly an event of note.

At this point jumping to anything else would be nothing shy of inappropriate. So we'll leave it here for the day. Updates on the project coming tomorrow, promise.

Hammer, sickle, crowns and bones

2011-01-05T19:55:00.000-08:00

After a spellbinding 20 minutes an entire nation exclaimed "shit" in beautiful harmony. That's nationalism at its finest, you guys.

We'll let the underagers of Canada's hockey rest for another year before crippling them with pipe dreams glory and nightmares of carrying a boulder of guilt for the remainder of their lives. Anyways, who can ever complain about the underdog, right?

Let's get off this damn bandwagon; it's far too crowded anyways.

A well-needed email from Real Last Name

Awesomely, I've received some great interest from folks that picked up on the call to arms. Twitter, you damn done it again. I know I promised a taste by the New Year, but let's hold off and do it righteous. I'll say February but, if you've learned anything by reading this thing, I'm not exactly the most reliable judge of timing.

So, let's watch this and relax, huh?

Quiet Life - Jim's Wedding Band from Ben Fee on Vimeo.

The fine folks at Riot Act Media sent me the full-length of these Portland crooners, and I am so far from disappointed it's inspiring. They've got this mountain-a-billy sound that I haven't come across in recent memory; I'd go so far as to compare them to early Kings of Leon, but they've got a better handle on things than those drunken southerners ever did.

With a name like Quiet Life, they're not at all what I expected. Going in with an ungrounded sense of cynicism (a result of a fairly anticlimactic stint as a music columnist in my romantic glory days), I didn't stand a hope in hell of not knee-slapping my way through the 10 track effort. While the track "Cave Country" bring recollections of a slow and easy summertime amidst greener sights, the raw grit of "Sweet as molasses" shows what the four-piece (with a roving cast of guests) can do without the rhythm and rhyme of the three chord standard.

Of personal preference, "Nighttime" stands up as a kooky jaunt of music hall menace. Sweet words and an all too familiar talk and tumble of the come-out-at-night-types. For a slower, soulful touch check out "No surprise" where frontman, Sean Spellman (1/2 of the Spellman brother power in the band), repeats "just tryin' to figure it out" to close out the heartfelt track.

Aren't we all, Sean. Aren't we all.

The album is called Big Green, at 33 minutes of rotation it's nothing shy of pleasant. You can catch them at Horseshoe on February 3rd. Sure as hell I'll be there with boots on.

End Measure Mile

2011-01-04T18:00:00.000-08:00

Hell of a break that was.

Just shy of two weeks off; one of which I spent off the proverbial grid in the heart of the homeland amongst tradition, holiday, friend, fault and adventure. It was amazing and after returning to the booming metropolis of Toronto, this city hasn't got shit on some of the nights I've had back home.

So, happy New Year. I've been straying from the usual over thinking that comes with this time in the cold -- working on the super secret project discussed at nausea, if you must know. Of course, all minds -- feeble and great alike -- cannot resist the moments of weakness when one's thoughts wander to the wayside. Serenity now, my friends. Serenity now.

I will say this, candidly and without any further elaboration, it was a pretty goddamn good year: this time last year saw me going nowhere at an alarming speed, too fast for trouble, too slow to see ahead, and slurring my way through a few too many blurry nights. There's been the hearted, the heated, the has been and the ought to have, and one hell of an adventure through it all. Well on the cusp of trumping this Millennium game with the year ahead.

Now, for those of you mouth-breathers not on the PodThrash wagon, click HERE and subscribe to us on iTunes. It's free, duh. Also, be sure to email Neil@SongsandCigarettes.com to get your grubby hands on some free stuff from the desk of doom.

I will compile a list of 2010 enjoyments in the soon time -- trust me on that. However, instead of carelessly through out Top 5s and a annual Best Of like last time around, I'll just shout-out to some happenings that made this year just fine.

In more pressing events, I'm gathering writers, designers, photographers, videographers, and genuinely rad individuals. Drop me a line in the comment box if you or someone you know fits into any and/or all of the aforementioned. Will reward with movie trivia knowledge, hugs, and kisses.

Oh, and a pretty rad job opportunity. That too.

Enjoy this one, y'all.

Give me the fevers

2010-12-20T18:52:00.000-08:00

I won't write a best of 2010 this time around. Too much to go through and rarely does much justice.

I will, however, make note of some parts that mattered.

For now, let's start where the status quo started a shakeup, huh?

Holding off on the latest from The Gaslight Anthem for something changing to occur, it happened in the height of a heat wave with a bit of the hearted kind of hurt. Relying on the kindness of a patient friend (and a month spanning stint on his couch), there were some defining parts of the album that haven't lost any of their nostalgic twists just yet. Best laid plans and all that -- hell, the album is just that much closer to the mark.

Tell me about the cool.

Oh, thee oh so protective

2010-12-19T20:05:00.000-08:00

As a picture of Sunday decadence I am currently an hour into reading -- what currently stands -- as the most awful blog I've stumbled across yet. Self-indulgent, serving et al., it's got me distracted beyond anything else this hellish landscape of the internet has offered as of late. Plus, the dude is one of those whiney, NYC hardcore, nocore, cynics that rags on his noticeably younger flings and flaws. I'm literally stuck till I calm down enough to exit the window.

For fear of spreading this thing, I'm not sharing the link. I'll play subject zero so long as this disease stays grounded.

Anyways, weekend was livelier than tonight's calm entails. Friday brought our fifth episode of PodThrash which took taken leaps and bounds in our audio equipment -- with improvements still required, duh. I'll spare the details but, after a brief run-in with a rogue heater, I'm without heat in my apartment and the wires from said machine are now burnt to glarly proportions. Of course, check out this week's episode (up Tuesday or Wednesday) for a more candid (albeit colder) description at http://www.songsandcigarettes.com

Now, into the holiday junk, shall we?

Rarely one for festive cheer, my heart has grown three times its size in a mere 24 hours. Attending the first Christmas party of the season with the best and brightest, it was an evening of wine, food, gifts, and a two hour stint in the hot tub that led to blurry, blurry hilarity for everything to follow. Of course, the realization of waking on a hardwood floor with but a towel for comfort is rarely a treat to start the day. Surrounded by the red eyes and smiling faces of said crew, it was well-worth the wooden slumber -- or lack thereof.

This was maybe round 3 of 5. Foolishly succumbing to the perils of fast-food (in a Wal-Mart no less, don't ask) I was doomed from the start. A noble attempt nonetheless, but history is not written by the losers.

The cheer is in full-swing. Plus this is likely the earliest I've managed to get gifts for the whole fam from the heartland -- which is impressive in my books.

Plus, come on. That's the best secret santa anyone could have asked for.

Sleep it off

2010-12-14T19:41:00.000-08:00

Well, that's the last time I take drowsy cold meds before dark.

Let's see here. Last I recall was popping two of these bad boys and making my way through all of a half article from the Globe & Mail and I'm out. Waking up at 7 pm and feeling understandably confused, I took to the internet to confirm I wasn't waking in the midst of a zombie apocalypse.

Although I've missed the aforementioned end of the world, RYAN REY-REY DS AND SCARLETT JO-JO broke up. It sure feels like the world is ending if we can't believe in true love, right? Right.

Oh, and no the Leafs are winning too. What year is it?!

I've too much more to say, but round two -- coupled with my sleepy time tea -- is kicking in.

See you when I see you.

Oh, hey, new PodThrash coming up tomorrow too. Expect to hear from you guys after this one.

Colder than hell, couch-bound

2010-12-08T20:12:00.000-08:00

Well, PodThrash is underway and onto 200 listens a week -- which, ugh, is crazy. Get your friends on board, email us, and we'll be sure to payback in hollers, howls, and/or hugs. We're having a hell of a lot of fun with it so far, hopefully you kooky kids are too.

Otherwise majority of time, energy, and distractions are toward the big move with Songs & Cigarettes. I can say that it isn't going to be simply a blog such as the one you're scrolling through at current. We're gunning for a bigger announcement and plenty more bells and whistles to slap you in the senses with. Also, the launch party will be happening in '11 at some point.

So, let's see. I've been swamped so far this week and required a night in to have a real meal . Reeling from the Cottage (or more endearingly referred to as "Condo") Pie from WAY East Toronto that made its way into my system last night -- along with a few glasses of scotch that are generally vastly out of my financial sight -- it was one of those "lay on the couch and catch up on your magazine pile" kind of nights.

I was trying to remember the name of this movie for at least the past week. Thankfully it was found, and remains a timeless reminder of how clueless Hollywood was, is, and will continue to be.

Obsessively uninspired with the same old music from the fall. Gotz to getz me on some new shiz, son. Ya herrd? Recos welcome, encouraged, and will be reciprocated in high-fives and closed-mouth kisses.

Anyways, might make this short as I'm watching a movie that is sure to cause significant night terrors and/or flashbacks of bad droning 80s synths. You know, as opposed to good ones.

Sleep on it.

2010-12-06T19:58:00.000-08:00

I took a week off and woke to snow. It's time to take to the warm and get back into it, right?

Currently in the hunt for a gallery/venue/dive-bar to host a launch sometime fresh into 2011. Otherwise knee-deep in the same old kind of trouble and tribulation.

Let's dig into some news, huh?

PodThrash episode 3 is recorded, after some errors Friday night that might be in connection with too much of the good stuff and a lack of attention to detail. However, Sunday afternoon we regrouped and, like our forefathers from the trenches, fought on to victory. 35 minutes of glory, in fact.

As always, check us out weekly at www.songsandcigarettes.com (with more coming on that. Trust.). Episode 3 should be up mid-week.

Otherwise taking a hell of a long time compiling my 2010 Best Of; it's going to be tough but I've got a few that are dead set in stone already. Normally I'd consider this a good thing but, in retrospect, I spent way too long listening to the same records over and over since moving back to Toronto -- alarmingly so.

Without offering anything in terms of much, I'll say that instead of going to the gym this evening I opted to do laundry and scrounge through the many empty cupboards of my modest one-bedroom for scraps and/or remnants of food. Mission accomplished.

Tomorrow the folks over at Burner Magazine are having a shaker that I'll hopefully be alive enough to stumble into. If you haven't checked out their stuff, please do; I've yet to get my grubby paws on an issue (this will change tomorrow, god willing) but the site along has me sold. An unsung project from the looks of it.

What the hell am I listening to these days anyways?

Oh, right. The folk opera re-imagining a greek tragedy in depression-era America, where the devil builds a town of sin in the heart of hell. Justin Vernon (Bon Iver, duh), Ani DiFranco, the smoky rasps of Greg Brown, and a 22 piece orchestra backing it up. Amazing. Easily one of the best and craziest thought out albums I've come across in recent memory.