Used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that
Last night I went to see Broken Social Scene or BSS, as I am prone to calling them, play in Prospect Park. I felt mited, tired and wasn't drinking so didn't mix it up much. Though I did enjoy eavesdropping on the three dudes sitting behind me as they talked about the upcoming "Hands" (!?) and Architecture in Helsinki show in Central Park and whether or not it was worth the trillion dollars to buy tickets on EBay and fly out to see Sleater Kinney in Portland now that they've "broken up." I had a sudden flashback from many years ago of holding up Call The Doctor in front of my friend Don's face and saying "THIS is the future." It was in a way. But not for me really. I could never take to Sleater Kinney again quite the way I did with that song.
But back to the show. The Hidden Cameras were breezy summer twee bubbling with songs about sex, casual or otherwise with glockenspiel and synchronized dancing. Soft Communication award for sartorial excellence goes to the butchy Hidden Cameras drummer* (who was really quite an excellent drummer, which is why I focused on them in the first place) clad in a white pants/vest/tie look and seemed to be going for an interesting Brideshead Revisited type look. Excellent summer style, in my opinion. Kudos!
BSS were great. There were fewer folks there than usual which is fine with me because now it was much clearer who was doing what. And now that I've experienced Feist and Emily Haines, I finally got the chance to see Amy Millan from Stars as their chanteuse for the night Millan won me over with her shaggy haired rock star moves and her rapport with Kevin Drew which was like violent fraternal twin brawling with the biggest grins you've ever seen. I've never caught Stars live (hope to change that at Siren this year) but I always pictured the woman behind that cool, intimate voice as being a remote little thing who barely moves. Not so Miss Millan, who was working it like a toddler in front of So You Think You Can Dance? and only stayed completely still for a weirdly affecting performance of Anthems For a Seventeen-Year Old Girl. Affecting in that, for the first time (I've seen Haines do it previously,) it made me want to be a 17-year old in love so that song could be truly, truly mine and I could go to sleep thinking about hands brushing, the smell of shampoo and all that heart quivering emo jazz.
Yeah...I'm a sap. But it gets worse!
Weirdly crushing confession #5. I came to terms with the fact that I have a mad, wanna do ya celebrity crush on Kevin Drew which is weird because he's far removed from my fair-haired type (let's see Drew is...brunette, has no ass, smoker, sloppy, never met a hairbrush, sweaty***) and I think it must be some crazy onanistic thing where I wanna be him, hence the crushing.
Huh? Sexual narcississim much? Well, he does stuff onstage that I wanna do, namely wander about playing various instruments, messing with vocal pedals until he gives people ear-seizures, bumming cigarettes from the crowd, guzzling booze, singing soaring lines over an excellent brass section and lovin' life. It may be that as soon as Drew gets off that stage and goes back to his (surely) messy room back in Toronto that that person doesn't exist anymore. But that man, the one co-leading the pack singing about never coming back and the shit tasting good and the cause, the cause, I’d like to be him. And drunkenly walk up to a foggy mirror in a tiny bathroom, pointing at my reflection and telling myself nice. fucking. job. rock star.
I got to see Almost Crimes, which was the song of theirs I first saw them play which made me go gaaah. It wasn't as transporting but there's no way it could be. There were great renditions all night, some faves being Ibi Dreams Of Pavement, Fire Eye'd Boy (which if I had mind control powers I'd make Prince cover. For real, how good would that be?) And the got to give it up groovetastic Hotel but still, I never lost my mind. Perhaps the moment has passed me.
It doesn't matter really 'cause I'll see Canning and Drew and whoever is in their band of merry wackos next time they’re in town. Always and forever. Like I said, I'm a sap.
Band to see live: Broken Social Scene
* Man? Woman? Still not sure. Who cares? I'd say gender is irrelevant, a white summer suit works well on both.
** Hilariously, ass part aside, this reads like a description of me...hmmm...I hate myself, word?