In Corb Lund news, which there’s always lots of, the country singer will be presenting an award at the Calgary Junos this weekend in the dance category.
“They like to mix shit up like that,” he said the other day in the spring sun on his cabin porch north of the city. CBC’s The National had a film crew out there, where they pushed the limits of human imagination by having Lund wear a cowboy hat while on horseback, play his guitar fireside, and demonstrate various firearms. Uh, that should clear up a few Alberta stereotypes out east.
The two-man crew also interviewed me as an “expert” too early in the morning at the Empress, where I made fun of radio country music in general, stuttered, and said “you know” too much. Argh.
Given that the main Lund interview turned out to focus on the shitstorm in the Middle East—his Juno-nominated new album is a catalogue of the perils of war—it’ll be interesting to see how his gun demonstration is edited by MotherCorp into the four-minute piece. Well, at least they didn’t get us to blacken some of our teeth out and drink moonshine in a DIY tarp hot tub in the back of a pickup truck. Check Friday’s The National at 10 p.m. on CBC to see how it turned out, my hillbilly comrades.
My Name Is No Longer Earl
Speaking of which, that dying thing called “hot country” saw more proof of its demise as Big Earl became 96.3: Mo’ Joe—sorry, Capital FM. But it is roughly another Joe FM, which is actually okay by me because I really needed to hear Honeymoon Suite the other night after I had a stroke. Tragically, my favourite station—Cool 880—is switching over to a news format. It was, honestly, one of the only radio stations where you were guaranteed to hear a good song at any time, the kind of music hip club DJs play now and then with unneeded irony. Expect more changes in local radio as they struggle to complete with built-in car USB ports.
I Want To Live Like C’mon People
Sitting at last week’s C’mon show at Filthy McNasty’s, I realized I’d forgotten how Filthy’s is actually a brilliant small-sized venue: just a perfect little Kleenex box with a stage at the front and a bar at the side. As usual, C’mon tore the room to fleshy strips, Ian Blurton tossing shotglasses at the wall and twice knocking over his rare and expensive Herzog amp head, jumping into the crowd and spraying beer all over everybody. That is a rock band.
Also of note: The Pawn Shop has confirmed that it will sometimes allow you to not have your ID scanned into the for-profit, centralized BarLink database—if you ask. Given there’s no proof the system actually prevents or solves crimes after it steals your address, photo, and signature, it’s nice to see Big Brother getting a little weaker.
As far as Monday’s Black Mountain show at The Starlite went, I was about to pull something from my 1965 medical encyclopedia on the joy of sex to serve as a review, but I’ll suffice to say that the stoner-god show was just a little better than intercourse. Ladyhawk, whose singer is a charming, fuzzy Ewok, was also in top form in the sold-out room.
It’s going to be an incredible year for concerts, my friends.
