Cass McCombs – Humor Risk

Known for taking anarchy to his own terms, Cass McCombs’ newest album Humor Risk is the storytelling after the storm. His lyrically driven style ascends with an airy, streamlined musicality to reveal the artist in a state of well-found retrospect. In comparison to McCombs earlier 2011 release, Wit’s End, the album takes a rosier disposition: the dusty strums of “Robin Egg Blue” or the moveable rhythms in “The Same Thing”. Slow haunts of tracks like “Every Man His Chimera” and “Mariah” provide a detached dose of tragic narrative. A collection of songs that, perhaps, takes McCombs to a more mainstream terrain, Humor Risk is an honest rendering by a voice comparable to some of music history’s best storytellers.

- Laura Phillips

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MACHO MEN

NewVillager is reaching to blend their brand from the pop world into the art world and back again.

Historically, this rarely sits well with music critics, and is ignored by art critics. Tell this to NewVillager and they’ll ignore you; not because they’re deflecting criticism, but because they’re too busy sitting under their emblematic wigwam, plotting their next extravagant display. As evidenced by seeing fans in homemade t-shirts while the band is on tour supporting Metronomy, NewVillager mean a tonne to the special few, and in the end isn’t cult status more satisfying than fame?

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TENNESSEE ROSE

When you’re a touring musician, you have to accept that some nights are going to be worse than others. Such was the case for Caitlin Rose and her band when they showed up in Vancouver on Oct. 8 on tour with Americana icon, Justin Townes Earle, at the Rio Theatre.

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WELCOME TO THE PTERODOME

Apparently in the dinosaur “scene” there’s no such creature as a “pterodactyl.” Paleontologists prefer the term “pterosaur” to described the various species of prehistoric winged reptiles. In the Brooklyn rock scene however, Pterodactyl is very real.

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THE BURDZ AND THE KEYZ

The only other thug I know who got expelled from elementary school is my cousin Andrea. She got busted for bullying some of the girls in her kindergarten class, which brings me to Toronto, ahem, Markham-based hip-hop producer, Burd & Keyz. Burd, real name Andrew Liburd, was persuaded to abandon elementary school while he was still in Grade 7, along with co-conspirator and childhood friend, Durty Keyz. It speaks volumes about an education system which systemically abandons it students, uprooting and displacing them into foreign environments. Hell, my cousin never did recover, nor did she learn to leave her snubnose back at the crib.

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POP-O-MATIC

Eleven nights into their first touring experience I met with the band before their final Canadian show. We talked Mitch Easter, discussed “urban nut” –whatever the fuck that means – brushed upon purchasing pornography, and delved into the band’s tongue-in-cheek fantasies of working with one Brian Setzer, during which I learned to keep personal observations to myself and enjoy the aloof idiosyncrasies of a young band.

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THIS BRIGHT FLASH

A film can tell a story effectively because of its use of audio and visuals. For a musician to pull off a work that fully emotes that of the silver screen, the artist must connect to its audience based on the quality of the journey. For M83’s Anthony Gonzalez, this is the case with his albums, part of a body of work that feels cinematic in its truest essence.

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CLAPTRAP

Just because you disappear into a studio for two years to make a record doesn’t mean your band broke up. It seems that, in the age of twit-mediacy, any sort of “radio silence” conjures such speculation.

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SUPER DUPER MARIO

Being a revisionist isn’t new. In fact, today one can be a revisionist inspired by revisionists of decades past. Mario Hernandez of Kids On A Crime Spree isn’t just a revisionist, he’s an originalist. Hit over the head with a copy of the Phil Spector box set Back to Mono while in Sweden, this Oakland songsmith has made a perfect record for anybody sick of digital interpretations of arch top classics. He explained to ION not just why he made his new album We Love You So Bad, but how he made it with the help of one mic and one Mike.

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MAJOR GAYZERS

The last time I’d heard The Gay Nineties play, it was February in a shitty little makeshift jam space, somewhere in butt-fuck nowhere East Vancouver bordering on Burnaby. I remember thinking, “Whoa, is this what the Zombies would sound like in 2011 if they weren’t doing the Casino circuit?” I spent the next five months in Berlin, oogling at photo shoots of the dapper gentlemen online, and confirming attendance for gigs I’d kept hearing about.

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FLOWERS IN THE DUSTBIN

“Hi, can I please speak to Barry Hansen?” I ask the man over the phone.
“Barry Hansen?” the attendant replies with a thick Mexican accent. “Just a moment.”

A few seconds later, Jamie Hince, one half of The Kills, is on the line sounding pleasant, but tired in his Mexico City hotel room. Since getting married to Kate Moss in July, traveling under a pseudonym has become an unfortunate reality for the British guitarist who has been tracked in his hotel room by tabloid journalists, seeking quotes for their attempts at newsgathering.

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GUELPH CONCERT THEATRE

The first time Ethiopian-Canadian The Weeknd performed for his home city of Toronto, he drew a diverse crowd of hipsters, hip-hop heads, label A&Rs, Drake, and a handful of bigwig record execs, packing them all into The MOD Club on College Street, downtown.

Warner Bros. came away from that debut performance believing they were on the brink of signing a new, young and brilliant Drizzy Drake, but with a bigger voice. Sure, The Weeknd, known by his peeps as Abel Tesfaye, may have been a bit nervous that first go around, hugging the mic, trying to hide in plain sight with his camo attire, but hell, a little grooming and he’d be the next The Dream, right? Not. You know what The Weeknd did in response to Warner Bros.’ savvy offer? He made them fly the questionably-talented Rich Hil, son of fashion mogul Tommy Hilfiger and personal friend of Tesfaye’s, up to Toronto for a day to ‘work on a couple of records’, which have yet to see the light of day.

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[1] Clap Your Hands Say Yeah – Hysterical

Apparently in the age of immediacy, when you take two years to follow up an album, people think your band broke up. Such is the case for Brooklyn/Philly band CYHSY. Guess what?! They never broke up! They just took some fucking time (2 years used to be industry standard) to create a record. Sorry Professor Youtube Tweety  McFacespacer. Sorry they can’t create ART fast enough for you.  Sorry your MTV-ADD-ADHD-OCD-fake DD’s- love- for-Justin Biebs-sense-of-decorum won’t allow you to sit and wait patiently for a new body of work from an artist you used to love fifteen minutes ago… when it was cool.

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CARRY MOONBEAMS HOME IN A JAR

For years now Vancouver (and the surrounding areas of British Columbia) has been a bit of a melting pot in the Canadian musical landscape. Countless bands rehearse, record and perform in the venues in the region and every so often one of them gains popularity and they stretch beyond the “friends and family in attendance” vibe at shows. For each band that makes it big, dozens of others are on the cusp of finding success.

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SKA-NDINAVIAN BABES

Speaking to Razika’s lead singer, Marie Amdam, over a fuzzy phone connection to Norway, it is clear that something is amiss. Having stumbled from bed to make the early morning phone call without so much as checking the news headlines, it only becomes apparent towards the end of our call, that this day of our interview, Norway was on everyone’s lips for all the wrong reasons; a massacre which left 77 people dead – many of the same generation as Razika’s four members.

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GUNS BLAZING

During one of several opening shows for Florence and the Machine last year, Hanni El Khatib shared a revealing moment with his drummer.

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A REAL HORROR SHOW

An ELO record, a Prince record, and a New Order record… what do they have in common? Well, you’re extremely likely to find them sitting on the coffee table at Benjamin Plant’s home, the mastermind behind Melbourne’s four-piece electro-rock act, Miami Horror.

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