by carl wilson

The Apostate of Husserl, or rather...

Close readers may have noticed over the past year-plus that I am no big Broken Social Scene fan, unlike the 5,000 people I got samwiched by at Harbourfront on Friday night. General verdict: more guitars does not necessarily make more music. To my ears it is an indie version of too-many-riffs arena stylee, sounding a bit more by committee than by collective, on the far side of my preferred songs-to-texture ratio; at best a crack backing band to Emily Haines. I don't fault BSS and their fans - except for said fans' irritatingly high average height - but for me they're more fun to hear about than to hear. (See for example Sarah Liss's blissfully lissfully melodramatic BSS feature in Now last week.) What gets much respect is the warm loving waves they've managed to emanate out to this fair city, far beyond the usual broken inner circle, and Friday night was great evidence for that. (Oh and PS, Jim Guthrie, his ukelele [shades of Stephin Merritt!], Owen [Mouches, Cameras, Final Fantasy] Pallett and the rest of Guthrie's crew owned!)

However, I got to hear BSS member Andrew Whiteman's new project Apostle of Hustle live at Soundscapes on Sunday night, and I'm seriously considering converting to his shimmyshaking faith: sinuous cubanismo textures interwoven into indie rock with nary a shade of world-music blobbism, loops and percussion and horns and touching fragmentary breathy boy lyrics (leggo my emo!) and rhythmrhythmrhythm. I'll surely be writing something lengthier and printier soon.

Speaking of lengthier: Epic Motherfuckin' Literary Lyrics Battle Throwdown is still to come. But I had to get over one (1) case of the howlin' fantods and one (1) case of the late-summer langours first, and now everything has gone column-deadline-shaped (Peter Brotzmann action coming your way), so it will have to wait a couple more precious days.

Which is all right, since the bulk of Blogolalaland seems to have gone on blogiday anyway, half fleeing the Republican convention, half simply fleeing the sad mad whirligig of suppurating summertime.

Nonetheless, I will have some shots to fire at their scurrying behinds.

Live Notes | Posted by zoilus on Tuesday, August 31 at 1:03 AM | Linking Posts | Comments (1)



I thought it was just me, but BSS fans ARE extra tall.

And I am extra short.

Posted by Andrea on September 1, 2004 9:38 AM




Zoilus by Carl Wilson