Sunday, 8 February 2015

Music, Instinct and Shower Singing

                Humming to myself in the shower, as I do, I approached a phrase in which I would have a choice to make. Perhaps it was the muscle memory of my vocal chords or my brain’s well worn circuitry wanting me to follow a certain path that went A D A B. Instead I went A F C# B (don’t actually check this. The notes are merely an illustrative device) and in doing so I realized that what I’d considered to be an original tune was connected to a branch of the great and ancient tree that is popular (not poplar, that’s another thing) music.

                I was operating within the parameters we, speaking broadly in terms of western music (sorry), all know. I hummed the alternative note, leading the tune down a different path but still the progression hinted quite obviously to what I “should have done”. If I hadn’t veered off I would have hummed the universally recognised by now phrase, “oh I believe in yesterday.”

                I couldn’t figure out if it was my natural instinct was telling me to alter my course, or a bit of thran experimentalist like the one that tells me to order the sea urchin instead of the California wrap. Was Robert Frost leaning over my shoulder and if so, wasn’t he a Beatles fan?

                Why didn’t I want to break in to Yesterday? It’s a great song, one of the best. Perhaps I didn’t want Paul McCartney in there with me in my private moment. If Frost was there whispering poems in my ear it might have gotten a bit crowded. Or maybe, and admittedly more likely, I was being precious about this tune and just wanted to own it.

                I’d made a nice little descending, slightly gloomy legato that sounded great in the shower and felt new to me. The "Cute Beatle" might have felt the same feeling on that momentous morning when he sat down with at his piano (I know he played it on guitar back in black and white days but he wrote it on piano) and matched the song’s words to it's melody. It occurred to me as I towelled off my pectorals, that some songs are more like discoveries than creations. This is not to dismiss Macca’s rights to the song, or Jackson’s, whoever won that bidding war, but it’s almost as if Yesterday was so beautiful and simple and above all obvious, that if Sir Paul hadn’t, then someone else would have eventually sat down and tickled that one out of the ivories. Ok maybe not the lyrics.

                As I decided on which cologne suited my particular persona this day I considered other similar tunes to fit my theory. There were others indeed, much to my delight. Immediately, Für Elise sprang to mind, at least the opening notes, e-d# etc… (again, don’t check). I was playing that before I knew what it was, a 3 year old hipster, predating the current wave of bearded omega males by a good 25 years. Or was I? I was doing what every sane person does when they pass a piano on the street, a tinkle, just to see if it works.

                Another example occurs to me now. I remember walking to swimming lessons whistling the chorus of Alanis (then just Alanis) Morrissette’s, Too Hot. This was at least a year before it hit the charts and shattered everyone’s preconceptions of music. When I saw her on MuchMusic with her bright red lips, leather jacket and Lycra cycle shorts, I couldn’t be mad. She, like McCartney was a cutie-pie. That tune was there to be discovered and Alanis beat me to it. I was after all, still preoccupied with getting that maroon badge to sew on my towel. Indeed Canada’s sweetheart had moved her pawn to A4 and cried “King me!” Regardless of her confusion, her subsequent breakdown followed by a Phoenix style return pushed Canadian music's stool into the annals of history. The tectonic rumble, the likes of which happen only occasionally (in those days) was felt the world over when she released Jagged Little Pill. I was there.

                Bands like Nirvana also did this. All Apologies, released amongst a bunch of stuff you can’t hum in the shower, really is one of those earworms you can happily spend the day with. Sitting on the dock of the Bay, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, the list goes on.

                It would seem that today's music scene (this was written in 2015 for those of you reading in the future) is geared primarily around being hummable and repeating a formula. The top bands (I refuse to name them in case it somehow increases their click count) seem totally conscious of their potential to “sell out”. The modern songwriter’s intuition for catchy isn’t being used to make great songs which produce a pulmonary shudder. Instead, these ostensibly innocuous anthems, permeating the mainstream with their tastefully chosen synthesised sounds and earthy ukulele hooks, are used to sell cars to recruitment consultants with deep pockets. Or at least that is what I am currently enraged by.

                As I sip my protein shake and consider my kale chips I wonder if Beethoven would have let Für Elise be used to sell cheesburgers or Volkswagons. Surly not?

Oh and just to complete the idea, click on this little vid.

Friday, 11 April 2014

Vivian Maier Lost and Found: The next Emily Dickinson?

London lives up to its reputation. You get swallowed up here. You get consumed by its vastness, by its meandering twisted ways, roads and crescents. You get lost and found in its museums and pubs. You get occupied in markets and parks and lose time in the bars and theatres and live music venues. You are at once repelled by and drawn to its tourist traps, but mostly you are repelled. These things don't set London apart from any other great city on earth. I suppose its part of what makes them all great.

The last time I stopped through here  I was just a visitor which people like to say is the best way to interact with London. "It's a good place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there." I wandered the tourist trap of Oxford Street and was enticed by a sign which read, "Photographer's Gallery". I followed the arrow to find it was closed for renovations but over a year later when we finally moved here I penciled in a visit and told my wife with all the authority of an insider "I know this really cool gallery. We have to check it out."

The exhibition had promise, Warhol, Lynch and Burroughs, but didn't live up to the hype. First off was Andy Warhol who is consistent if nothing else. His snapshots of what I would sum up as American Moments were about as interesting as staring at a can of tomato soup*. There were a couple of genuinely funny shots. For the first time I realized that he did have a pretty good sense of humour. And in the interest of fairness perhaps I have to thank Andy Warhol for his depiction of absurd everyday things because without it would there be a Martin Parr ( One photograph was taken on the streets of New York during an early gay pride parade which is cool but it was out of focus and crooked, hence I pictured him slurping a milkshake with one hand and with the other taking the half-assed, albeit historic photo. Hearing art scholars lament his influence and tell me I need to understand the context of his work is so patronising and about as original as another dozen cans of soup; they're repeating what they're told. That's just what art scholars do.

Ascending to the top floor, Lynch's black & white shots of factories were tired and disappointing considering his cinematic work with a couple exceptions. I wish I could say more.

Burroughs, don't even get me started. Too late. Have you ever tried to read Naked Lunch? I'm told I need to read some of his other stuff too but it was pretty much impenetrable. And I wanted so bad to like him. I loved Ginsberg and Kerouac but Burroughs escaped me. And like his writing I found the collection of polaroids that took up an entire floor completely gratuitous, self indulgent, and an offensive use of space. Look at me go, attacking another American legend. I guess I'm just jelly.

What happened next is the reason I'm even bothering to mention these guys. Context. You need context. We did the thing my close personal friend Banksy would make fun of me for, we went to the bookshop in the basement. There on a table I saw a beautiful cloth bound book of Vivian Maier's self portraits. I had no context. I knew nothing about her but the cover caught my eye and I paused before I turned open the cover because I felt like I had found something special. I had. And I'd also found a kindered spirit because like her, I've been employing a similar approach to self portraits for as long as I've been interested in the photography as art. Sometimes when I'm shooting part of me is in the frame, a shadow, a reflection or a bit of my foot, and sometimes rather than situate myself so this doesn't happen I keep it, like a signature or proof that I'm there. I do it on purpose sometimes instead of a selfie. I don't want a picture of myself. Besides, selfies are awkward and prove that you're in love with yourself. I looked at the price, my eyes watered briefly knowing she died poor, lonely and unrecognized and that some jackass hipster somewhere was making a killing. A few weeks later my birthday rolled around and for outliving Jesus, my wife presented me the book of self-portraits I couldn't shut up about. It is haunting, almost too beautiful for words. A photo, as they say, is worth a thousand of them, a conservative estimate in this case. I could go on all day but for in the interest of brevity, what I will say is what I get personally from the self-portraits of Vivian Maier. Vivian's work hearkens back to a time without ringtones, before ubiquitous mobile distraction, before the interconnectedness we now share and younger generations take for granted. They are personal, like diary entries I don't know if I should be looking at. They are existential affirmations of the space she embodies and reassurance that she was there. I for one identify. Sometimes the city swallows you up. You become a face in the crowd, alone with nothing but your own perspective.

*As an aside, I did enjoy "Lady Warhol" by Christopher Makos a series of portraits of Andy in drag which we wandered into at MOMA in Sao Paolo, the success of which was mostly thanks to the masterful eye of Makos and some exemplary curation where Warhol himself was the subject.

Friday, 4 April 2014

Selfies You Can Take

Here is a list of people you are allowed to take a selfie with if the opportunity arises:

  1. The Queen (not of Denmark, of England you dweeb)
  2. Pope Francis

That's it. If you've got Obama, Clinton, Helen Mirren or Julianne Moore within reach there are far better things you could be doing with that time than participating in the most socially awkward activity known to man.

Wednesday, 2 April 2014

Tuna "Kick" Casserole

So here is one of my all time favourite recipes. It's a bog standard casserole my mom used to make and one of the first things I ever learned to cook. It is one of those perfect survival foods. It kept me alive during some lean times but just because it's easy on the wallet doesn't mean it's not healthy and delicious. Sure it's a bit rich but everyone should have a little something to grab ahold of.

I'm a compulsive experimenter with food, which has led to more than a few complete disasters. On this casserole though, I don't mess with it too much. The core ingredients and method are always the same but sometimes I spice it up a bit with some capers or chillies or lime to give it some zing. In fact I highly recommend lime zest and some finely chopped dill pickles (gherkins) in the crust.

I get grumpy when I'm hungry, my wife calls it "h-Anger" so this is a great way to shut me up. It also works on kids which I'm told I still am.

The Core Ingredients:
*A note on amounts-This makes enough for 4 hungry adults or 2 with leftovers for a couple days. I adjust by eyeballing everything to fit in the dish I'm going to use and if I go over just spread it between 2 dishes.

500g Macaroni (or if you're in Canada 2 boxes of KD with cheese powder added and some butter obviously)
2 cans (800g) cream of mushroom soup
2 cans sustainably sourced tuna (go on splash out the extra pennies)
olive oil or butter or a mix of the 2
3 cups breadcrumbs
Cheese preferably Red Leicester grated fine, 2:1 with a hard cheese like parmesan.
1.5 cups frozen peas

The non-core ingredients
1-2 Gherkins/Dill pickles chopped fine
1-2 tblspn capers
lime zest
lemon juice
chilli flakes


  • Breadcrumb mix= 1/2 the breadcrumbs+1/2 grated cheese+ a glug of olive oil
add optional ingredients like capers here too, the moisture helps keep the crust from overcooking.

  • Cook the pasta and pre-heat the oven to a medium temp (freedom!)
  • drain pasta and return to pot with some oil/butter
  • stir in cream of mushroom, peas, remaining cheese and breadcrumbs
  • put it all in your pre-selected dish I usually go for the flat rectangular one.
  • Cover with breadcrumb mix and whack it in the oven for about 30 minute or until it's bubbling and crispy on top. Cover with foil if the top browns too fast.
There it is, easy. And what you come out with should look something like this

Oh and here's a link to a suggested cooking playlist essential to every good kitchen. I hope you like Goofy folk, 80's cheese, jazz and 90's rap.

Monday, 31 March 2014


Did you hear about the jellybean who decided to try online dating?

He was looking for his ideal candy-date.

Thursday, 20 March 2014


Welcome to the blog.

I would like to take a minute to let you know what I'm planning to do here. If you like the sound of it you can keep coming back and if it's not for you I won't waste your time. Most of the content is going to be my own original work, apart from the hyperlinks I include. The idea here is Things Worth Shouting About. So yeah I'm going to "shout"  about things that blow my mind, things that excite/frustrate/inspire get the picture.

Things you will find here:
  • Reviews of unfair reviews (shows, books, albums, movies etc.)
  • Photography (landscape, street, nature, abstract)
  • Writing (an autobiographical experiment entitled "Things I Smelled Today", short stories and musings of the stream of consciousness type, and the occasional poem) 
  • Pop culture references you might not get and I'm not going to explain.
  • Politics (mainly it'll be a human rights or environmental issues. I'm an ecologist and I have a heart. I can't help that.)

Things you won't find here:
  • Youtube links to epic fails, Rube Goldberg machines, pets in mirrors etc. Not that I'm above that I just have a place for that. It's called Youtube. I have two channels there if you want to check them out here
  • and here:
  • Rants. I will endeavour to be balanced and fair with my outrage and not be publicly malicious to any attempts at art or creative pursuits however ill advised they may be.
  • Unbiasedness. It's my page. They're my opinions. It's My Shout.

That's pretty much it. I hope there is something here for you to enjoy.