On September 29 I attended a ceremony at Beban Park Social Centre in Nanaimo to be sworn in, alongside 61 others (from 23 nations), as a Canadian citizen. I'd have blogged about it before now but have been drunk out of my mind in celebration pretty much since that day. Well, that's not quite true, but I have without a doubt been flying high.
It feels good to have committed to this. I love living in Canada and foresee that I will remain here the rest of my days, so it felt like the the thing to do. Most important of all, I wanted the right to vote, which understandably is only granted to citizens. With Permanent Resident status I could have remained in Canada for the rest of my life, but could not vote or apply for a passport. It's been frustrating seeing Federal, Provincial, Municipal and mayoral elections come and go (as well as a tax referendum), but not have a voice. Now I have one, I will use it, starting with a Municipal election in November.
Canada is not the land of milk and honey - where is? - but it is a great country to live in. As I can personally attest, it's a place of opportunity, and a country where ideas are listened to and encouraged. There's a high level of civility here; the people are warm and friendly and, certainly where we live, there is a tangible sense of community. I like this a lot. There is also an obvious emphasis on family values, so a greater respect for their elders from youngsters. By and large, teenagers here are very cool kids free of any bad attitude. I also like this a lot.
You don't need me to tell you that from a natural perspective, Canada is simply spectacular. I live next to a mountain and see towering, snow-capped peaks every day. Here on Vancouver Island we have magnificent forests, beautiful lakes, stunning valleys and peaks and head-spinning wildlife. I see Anna's Hummingbirds every single day of my life, bald eagles as a matter of routine. None of this will ever be lost on me. Yes, we love it here.
The ceremony day itself was very emotional. From submitting the application to taking the oath took twenty months, so there was a big build-up. But once it was over, I felt elated. Susan was beaming with pride and her parents and aunty, also in attendance, were thrilled for me. I was clad in my best bib and tucker - a rare occurrence for a scruffbag like me - and felt as proud as punch to 'become' Canadian. I was given the option of taking a holy book to swear upon, but not being a man of faith, declined. I did seriously consider Nick Cave's The Death of Bunny Munro for a time, but wasn't sure that would go down too well. Especially as the author is Australian.
After the ceremony we zoomed off to the Discovery Room, the restaurant for Vancouver Island University's Culinary Program. Here, budding chefs test their skills on willing members of the public, who pay next to nothing considering the high quality of cuisine. This lunch was a treat from Susan's Aunty May, and quite awesome. We sat looking out at the astonishing view of the Coast Range mountains running along the horizon, with Mt. Baker in Washington - over 100 miles from where we were sat - as clear as day and twice as impressive. None of us could do anything but smile, high on the air of celebration and family unity. It's the happiest I've felt in forever, the day feeling like a launchpad to the next phase of our life here.
During the meal, Susan suddenly said: "If I may have a moment, I have a presentation to make," then handed me a gift-wrapped package she seemingly produced from out of nowhere. I opened it up, and welled up at its contents as she beamed back at me.
"I've had this for over two years," Susan said, "and been dying to give it to you! I'm so happy this day has finally come!" There I am above, wearing my fabulous gift! My friends here are also delighted at my newfound Canadian-ness, and have festooned me with gifts and cards. The fabulous Photoshopped image at the top came to me in card form from our friends Jon and Jenny, along with a t-shirt bearing a maple leaf and the legend The Eh Team. Dave and Carla gave me a flashing Canadian flag pin and another specially made shirt with Recently Canadian: Established 2011 on the chest. Steve and Lynn gave me a handmade card that reads: You Can't Spell Canada Loves You Without Dave.
I've been deeply moved by all of this kindness and love and feel like the luckiest man alive to have been granted this new beginning, aged 50. I'm not going to waste it, either.
Although as I type no truly earth-shattering news has broken from anywhere around the world, it is still likely that September 21st, 2011, will be remembered for more than the announcement from R.E.M. that the band is splitting up. Yet this news strikes a loud chord with me as I've been onboard, though as you shall read not always comfortably, with the Athens, GA. outfit for over half my life.
For a long period I was utterly obsessed with R.E.M., possessed of a love and fanaticism so deep that amongst my friends, and further afield, my name became, to a degree, synonymous with the band's. Even today when describing the level of unreasonable fandom I reached, I recall the sad time I ordered an expensive and awful CD from Italy by a band called Flor de Mal, simply because R.E.M. bassist Mike Mills performed handclaps on two tracks. Seriously. It could have been Silvio Berlusconi, MC Hammer, or even you, dear reader, clapping away on this terrible band's excuses for songs, and I'd have never known. That CD remains probably the worst thing I've ever heard, but it had to remain in the collection because of my insane completist attitude when it came to R.E.M. I had to have everything - every note, every collaboration and guest appearance, also amassing over 400 bootlegs of mainly live stuff down the years.
So, as you'll understand, I have previously entertained how I would greet this news when it eventually happened. There was a time in my life, at the height of my fanboy madness, when upon receiving the announcement I'd have probably cried my eyes out, fainted, contemplated ending it all; run amok with a machete; turned to crisis counselling; got hopelessly drunk and called my friends in hysterical despair, or hammered on their doors in the middle of the night, caked in mud and snot, adamant that there was no hope left in this world anymore.
Dropping into the BBC website earlier, as I do a few times a day when working at home, I discovered the news as it was breaking. I read the headline, Rock legends REM announce split, and my instant reaction was, believe it or not, calm relief. There was not, and still is not, any feeling of upset. I'm just kind of glad it's all over because, let's be honest, R.E.M. have been in terminal creative decline since drummer Bill Berry left the band 14 years ago, and should have disbanded long before now.
They hit an absolute peak of genius with the masterpiece, Automatic for the People, and from that point, with the exception of four or five songs on each successive album, I believe they've been struggling. New Adventures in Hi-Fi was quite good, but way too long; Monster was just messy with a glammy cockiness that didn't suit them; Reveal and Around the Sun were, in a nutshell, utter garbage. I have played the latter precisely twice - the second airing just to see if my ears had deceived me the first time around, to see if it really was as bad an album as I initially thought. It was, and has remained unplayed since. Reveal suffered pretty much the same fate in this household, with maybe four spins max, as I desperately tried to find something within to restore some faith.
Up, however, as the first post-Berry era release, is a bona fide stunner. I seem to be the only one that thinks so, but it remains a personal favourite boasting, in my opinion, several of their very best songs. I thought there was cause for optimism for the future of R.E.M. when I heard it, but that proved largely unfounded. To my bewilderment, Accelerate was widely lauded as a mighty comeback, but to these seasoned ears it sounded like a bunch of middle-aged guys trying way too hard to remain relevant and cool, and failing. Collapse Into Now, on the other hand, contains flashes of the great R.E.M. of old, but for me it's too little too late, as all signs of true inspiration deserted R.E.M. many years back. That they swore they would never release a live album, yet released two in the last four years, provided me, at least, with all the evidence I needed that the writing was on the wall.
For a fan as passionate as I once was, it was a sad situation to realize I was becoming worried about the quality of each forthcoming new album - losing my religion, as it were - rather than greeting the news with the gushing excitement and anticipation I used to. It is this emotion, I guess, that lies at the core of my relief at the news the band is splitting up. Their legacy remains by and large awesome and hugely influential, so I'm glad that in calling it a day they can keep it that way without delivering yet more stuff that would surely be pale imitations of the incredible material they were once capable of.
All this latter career anguish voiced, this band will remain a massive part of my life forever. Their music and politics have shaped my thinking in more ways than I can mention. I have so many fantastic memories from the 11 times I had the joy of seeing them play live. Really, I have stories you would not believe, so be sure to ask me one day. I still have, yes, all the CDs, all the bootlegs and self-made compilations of rarities and whatnot (though, you'll be delighted to hear, ditched the Flor de Mal abomination years ago). I don't collect R.E.M. stuff with any real appetite anymore, but would pick up a reasonably priced gap in my collection if I saw one. And I've delibrerately extricated myself from a position of obsession with this or any other band. It's just not good for the old noggin (or wallet). As important as music is, it's just music. There are many more important things in life than music and material goods, and after so many years of obsessing over R.E.M., their product, and too many other things, it feels very good to be able to keep it all under firm control these days. I'm a much happier person for it.
As expected, I've had a few emails from friends today about this news. My witty friend Jon in Victoria, also a huge fan, whose email subject header was the quite brilliant, REM Collapse Into Now, Literally, summed it up nicely in saying, "At least they left us some of the finest music in the history of that there pop." Indeed they did, and let's not forget that the IRS deluxe anniversary reissues series will be concluded, so those releases are something to look forward to. Who knows, there may even be a final album or albums of unreleased material, and presumably some solo ventures ahoy, so in reality R.E.M. and the sum of its parts is probably going nowhere for a while yet! Despite my relief that this chapter of the band's and my life is now over, then, I could only ever be happy about the fact they will remain visible.
All that remains is for me to wish Michael, Peter and Mike every success and happiness, thank them from the bottom of my heart for so many wonderful memories and so much great art, and say in all sincerity that I look forward to their next individual moves - with excitement and anticipation, even. They may come back refreshed and inspired to offer up incredible work once more, but if it's not I'll be the first to say so!
We had friends over for dinner last night and, thankfully after dining, conversation turned to the gargantuan crocodile caught in the Philippines. This led onto chatter about the oddities of nature in general, especially the comical Blobfish, a creature so ludicrous you couldn't make it up. Then this morning the Sympatico website was carrying a clip of film of a creature I had never previously encountered, something so crazy I can barely believe my eyes: the Devil's Flower Mantis. So, take a look at this piece of film and then try to tell me that he isn't the most astonishing insectidude you've ever seen! Look at those legs! What the HELL?!
Last Thursday I had an hilarious exchange with a customer, so simply have to share it with you. The gentleman in question seemed to have stepped straight out of the classic Louis Theroux's Weird Weekends "Survivalists" episode; if you've not had the good fortune of seeing this documentary (to do so, follow the link), it concerns right wing US "patriots" and weapons enthusiasts holed up in a mountain outpost, preparing for the end of the world. It's a blast, believe me.
Anyway, our hero was a Canadian variant with that air of Deliverance madman about him. He was around 35, sporting the obligatory redneck mullet, camouflage combat pants, camouflage ball cap and ubiquitous Harley Davidson t-shirt. He'd been in the store a while, mooching around the Heavy Metal CD section, when he finally walked up to the counter, clutching a copy of Iron Maiden's Powerslave.
"Lou Reed...that's the guy in Foreigner, eh?" said the customer.
"Er, no...that's Lou Gramm. Lou Reed was in the Velvet Underground," I responded, at once smugly amused at this guy's total lack of musical knowledge, and genuinely astonished that, regardless of his musical taste, he had somehow managed to avoid knowing who Lou Reed is for his entire life. How does that happen?
"I don't keep up with the modern bands," he fired back, poe-faced, as I took his cash for the Iron Maiden CD.
"They were around over forty years ago, " I explained, "and you must have heard Walk on the Wild Side by Lou Reed - it's a classic!" I then started with the "doo-de-doo-de-doo-doo-de-doo-doo-de-doo-doo-doo-de-doo" hook of said song, only to have my doo-de-doo-ing stopped in its tracks by an aggressive, "That's cheesy shit!" from our survivalist chum.
"Oh man, it's an awesome song!" I said, in a totally friendly manner, without a hint of condescension, and certainly not expecting what was to follow. Transaction complete, a bag for the CD refused, our conspiracy theorist friend thrust his Powerslave CD right under my nose and roared: "Death to the conventional! This is what it's all about!" He then turned away and marched out of the shop, my parting "OK, you know best, bud!" presumably lost in the cacophony of Maiden riffage that soundtracks his inner world.
So, yeah, Iron Maiden, that most unconventional of bands. Iron Maiden, multi-millionaires to a man, who travel around the world in their own chartered Boeing 757. All hail the underground metal gods for keeping it real. Iron Maiden, whose lead singer wrote (admittedly satirical) books about an aristocratic character called Lord Iffy Boatrace, and who holds the position of Marketing Director of an airline. This will be the same Iron Maiden, I trust, that has been signed to the same major UK label, EMI, for almost thirty-two years. That's really sticking it to The Man. This will be the same deeply unconventional label, of course, that is or was home to the furiously independent, cutting edge, revolutionary acts Keith Urban, Richard Marx, Amy Grant and scores more of their awesome ilk.
It is ten years to the day that I met my Susan. It was at Concorde 2 in Brighton, where I was DJ-ing at a Sparklehorse show; Susan's band, Flophouse Jr, had landed at Gatwick Airport just a few hours before, on the eve of their first UK tour. Just over two years later, we were married.
On August 17, 2001, my wife-to-be's hair was rather less unruly than seen here, and considerably longer, but that beautiful smile was exactly the same. Anyway, it's been a decade full of adventure and drama and the highs and lows that life brings us all, and our love grows stronger by the day. She is my rock and my angel and I love her more than there are adequate words to express. I am a very, very lucky man.
When I was a young lad I was really interested in birds. While the fascination never totally waned, other interests, like music and curry, shoved ornithology onto a distant backburner as I grew older. Since moving to Vancouver Island, however, my interest has been resurrected, simply because of the extraordinary winged life in this part of the world. For example, without any effort on my part I see Anna's Hummingbirds every single day and Bald Eagles most weeks. While these particular birds are dramatic and emblematic examples of birdlife here, when taking a really close look at what else there is, the range of species around these parts is absolutely dazzling.
It's odd, but during the last decade or so I've become friends with several mad-keen birders, perhaps more than one would expect (or, depending on your viewpoint, hope) to encounter in a lifetime. But I'm glad I have because, first and foremost, they are splendid people and, secondly, I've learned a ton about birds from them. Take Charlie Peverett, for example. There is much I could say about dear Charlie, including that he was best man at my wedding, but let's stick to his birding prowess so I can point you to his excellent blog. Then just a year or so ago, Susan and I became chums with Jon Carter and his lovely wife, Jenny, who had relocated here from Lancaster in Lancashire. Jon is a guy who takes birding to a level of intensity I'd not previously encountered, even in Charlie, but from him I've learned so much about what exactly populates our local skies. A link to his fascinating and often highly amusing blog, A British Birder in British Columbia, can be found in the column on the right. Also found there is a link to Northern Rustic, the wonderful and highly photographic blog from Mark Pearson.
I first learned of and met Mark through his music. When I was promoting gigs in Brighton, UK (firstly with Charlie, then Shaun - his cool Gilded Palace of Sin blog can also be accessed to the right), we'd receive CDs from bands and artists far and wide, the senders hoping for a slot at one of our nights. One such was from Mark's great band, Morning Bride. We were smitten with the band's trippy, mildly Gothic, Lee 'n' Nancy-esque folk-rock on the first listen and put them on at our first opportunity. Anyway, Mark and his gorgeous new wife, Amity - Morning Bride's powerhouse vocalist - paid a whirlwind visit to Nanaimo to see us a few weeks ago, as part of their round-the-world backpacking honeymoon. As his blog alone attests, Mark is also a bird-obsessive, and from him I learned something I'd never before heard of, a brilliant but simple technique that anyone, birder or not, can use to coax hidden birds into view.
Susan and I love to visit Pipers Lagoon, a gorgeous coastal Nanaimo beauty spot, so we are always happy to show it off to visitors. When there with Mark and Amity, the former started to make a sound, "Psshh, psshh, psshh, pssh," which he explained birds cannot resist. Birders use it, I'm told, when they can hear a bird, but not see it clearly or at all, in order to get it to show it's lovely little beaky face. And by Christ, does it work! We watched, fascinated, as a Spotted Towhee popped out to take a look at what was making the sound. Mark successfully did this several more times at Piper Lagoon, and many other times elsewhere during the weekend, and it worked most every time. It's called "Pishing," and is a sound proven to be irresistible to most birds (with variations on the theme), largely because it sounds so bird-like.
A couple of days later we took Mark and Amity to Buttertubs Marsh, a bird sanctuary close to our home. Mark took a full two hours to complete the 2km circuit, but more exciting than his noting over fifty species during that time is that I conducted my first successful pish! As Mark ducked into bushes and stared at trees, photographing like a madman with his bazooka-like zoom lens, I scuttled off ahead on my own quest. Upon hearing an avian commotion in a bush, I thought I'd try pishing for the first time. Funnily enough, I checked the track both ways to see if anyone was coming, feeling a little self-conscious that should I be discovered staring into a bush, making a noise like a snake with a lisp, I might be considered a mental case. No one was around, so I pished away like a good 'un. Lo and behold, after just twenty seconds or so, out came a Marsh Wren, like the beauty above, to see what was disturbing his day.
At first so nervy about pishing in public, I now do it whenever the opportunity arises, also passing on my newfound knowledge to anyone who'll listen. Mark, Jon, Charlie and the Birders of the World will be proud of me. Shackles cast aside, I pished my own Spotted Towhee at Pipers Lagoon at the weekend, pishing impressively enough that a curious jogger stopped to ask what I was doing. "Pishing!" I said enthusiastically, going on to explain why, and giving a demonstration. "Ooh, I must try that!" she replied, before running away.
Try it for yourself. You'll be surprised how great it feels to have a good old pish now and again.
Like 'The Things That Happen,' 'Well, Fancy That!' is a new, occasional series for Morrison's Nifty Drivelarium & Gubbins Repository. It will concentrate simply on things that amaze me, things that make me say, "Bloody hell!" It could be anything whatsoever that makes me do so, so expect the unexpected.
The first Well, Fancy That! is drawn straight from recent personal experience. As I may have mentioned I work part-time in a Nanaimo record store called Fascinating Rhythm. Lately I've taken on the garagantuan task of updating all of the LP divider cards for the entire store. They were in quite a mess; lots were broken; others were so faded that the artist or band's name was invisible; some has disappeared altogether. Anyway, when reaching the Easy Listening Male Vocal LPs - in itself a preposterous proposition - I was astounded to find that certain artists are more heavily stocked in our store than, surely, in any other record store on earth. Witness:
So, if you've been scouring the globe aiming to track down that elusive vinyl copy of Rolf's classic 'Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport' album, you now know where to come.
