I see that MySpace has relaunched itself again. Mainly due to its music-oriented community and content, and (before I knew better) as it was somewhere to blog, I hung around MySpace for about three years. Then came the most ill-advised redesign in the history of the Internet and, like millions of others, I got the hell outta there, howling with disbelieving laughter as I fled. I see Justin Timberlake is part-owner of MySpace now, but as I just can't be arsed with any of this (ha!) "social" media bullshit, no pretty boy pop star will ever win me back.
But when I did rule MySpace, I once penned a blog entitled Supernature. As the title may hint, it was all about the incredibly beautiful place Susan and I have been privileged to call home since December 2006. Much of Vancouver Island is just stunning, and nearly six years in we remain in awe of the natural wonders and wildlife of our island home. We don't think it'll ever be lost on us, as living here promotes a heightened sense of awareness of nature in all its glory. It's not a bad state of being, we can tell you.
A couple of weekends ago we travelled to one of our very favourite destinations, not just on Vancouver Island, but anywhere. We had not been to Tofino, but Chesterman Beach in particular, in over four years, so decided to spend our wedding anniversary weekend (or 9th honeymoon, as Susan terms it) in this magical part of the world. All we did for two whole days was walk slowly, hand-in-hand, along the length and breadth of Chesterman, beachcombing, gazing at the Pacific Ocean surf, paddling in its icy waters, and enjoying champagne picnics as the sun went down. After what for various reasons had been an intense summer, it came as a real tonic at exactly the time it was most needed.
If you have not had the good fortune of visiting this jewel of the West Coast of Vancouver Island, I dearly hope you can do so one day. It's just magnificent. Here, take a look for yourself...
I received word last night that an old friend from Brighton killed himself on Saturday. Tragic to say, it came as no surprise.
I don't have a single photo of him.
I spoke to him on the telephone twice in the last few months.
On the first occasion it was like trying to talk someone down from a ledge when they were absolutely determined to jump. I hung up shaking, fearful, and a long way away.
A few weeks later he took an overdose, but pulled through.
The second time I spoke to him he claimed to be making progress, but it didn't feel so at my end of the line.
On Saturday, he only went and did it.
Today, with a single mouse-click I removed him from my email address book.
What did you listen to this summer? Without thinking about it, each summer Susan and I usually home in on a couple of particular albums that enjoy heavy rotation to soundtrack our sunny days, but this year, as summer came and went so quickly, that didn't happen for reasons only the ether can reveal. I have been enjoying certain worlds of sound, however: late 60s garage rock (The Seeds, The Sonics etc.), psychedelic/"sunshine" soul (5th Dimension, The Temptations et al), anything from 50s (lots of crooners and cheesy listening) and, oddly, French pop of the late 60s. (As I've just celebrated one year as a Canadian citizen, I guess I've been subconciously embracing my inner Quebecois.)
In addition to these selections, one musician has loomed large: David Byrne. The older I get the more fascinated I become with this man and his music. While I frequently rediscover artists and bands in a big way, it has been some time since I (re)immersed myself in the work of a particular individual like I have this summer with Byrne. I have listened to all the Talking Heads albums on scores of occasions, yet this year seem to be discovering hitherto unnoticed nuances and sonic treats that lurk therein. "Remain in Light," my current obsession and probable overall favourite, is so dense, complex and utterly dazzling in terms of composition that I am finding it an almost overwhelming listen these days. It is so rhythmically intoxicating and melodically euphoric that it moves me to tears as I dance. Seriously. It's pretty much perfect music to these ears. Then, in terms of simplicity, the devastating little guitar solo on "Mind," from the incredible "Fear of Music," just destroys me. What a band this was.
I could go on and on about Talking Heads songs, or even little moments within them, for pages and pages, but you'll understand this if you're a fan. If you're not, or simply haven't heard much, please get out there and do so. There are only eight Talking Heads studio albums, and five of them of bona fide masterpieces. Then, of course, there is the small matter of "Stop Making Sense," arguably one of the greatest documents of live performance, by any band, ever committed to wax and celluloid. Dive right in.
As well as being one of the most inventive musicians and songwriters ever to walk the earth, Byrne is also a great writer. I'm currently reading his superb book, "Bicycle Diaries," a travelogue examining various world cities through the eyes of an avid cyclist, which he is. From his extensive travel experiences Byrne looks at such as Berlin and Istanbul from many persepectives, making it a fascinating and compelling read. The depth and colour of his writing just adds to my growing admiration for the man, so I'd best reel that in right now lest I pass out from over-fawning.
I only ever saw Talking Heads play live once, at Birmingham Odeon, in England, on the 1979 "Fear of Music" tour. It was extraordinary. In 2012, I may have the opportunity to see Byrne play again. He's appearing with St. Vincent at the Chan Centre for the Performing Arts, at UBC in Vancouver, on October 20, as part of their collaborative "Love This Giant" tour. If the invitation we've received from an associate comes to fruition, you can colour me the most excited I've been for a show in just about forever. Take a look at their performance of the Talking Heads classic "Burning Down the House" in the video above, filmed from the audience in Minneapolis on the first night of the tour, and you may be able to see why!
It might be over two years old, but until last night (as a DVD bonus feature of the awesome Werner Herzog/David Lynch collaboration, My Son, My Son What Have Ye Done), I had not seen this beautiful short film before. It stirred up a wide range of emotions in me, as it surely also will in you.
Ever have those days when, no matter how hard you try (which in itself could be the root of the problem), you either are, or feel, totally out of step with the world? When, regardless of how normally nimble, slinky, or fleet of foot you may be (and none of which I ever am), you become temporarily lummox-like in extremis? Yes, of course you have, so I hope you will sympathize that I just had one of "those" weekends.
On Friday night, when carrying our kitten Reggie from my office, I somehow managed to inexplicably walk into the corner of a wall, bashing my left forearm so hard it made me cry out.
On Saturday, we attended the Filberg Festival in Comox, where within minutes of arrival, simply by turning around after taking a photograph, I managed to trash a jewellery display when stumbling into it. Fortunately, it was a simple set-up of an easel holding the vendor's sign, with a few choice pieces draped about it, but my demolition job still caused a degree of mirth among observers, and a red face for me and my exasperated wife.
A short time after the near destruction of the jeweller's stall, I'd just glugged down a much-needed cold lime drink when the plastic 32-ounce cup that had held it, and its lid, conspired against me, the cup plummeting to the table, sending a ton of ice cubes scattering all over the place. Cue second flushed face of the day, especially having involuntarily shouted, "Oh, bollocks!"
Somehow we got home without further mishap, but later that night I scared myself half to death when thinking there was a large, shiny, black beetle crawling across the living room floor from somewhere near my feet. But, no, it was not a beetle. It was in fact the top of the wiggly-worm-on-a-stick cat toy that I was holding and waving about to amuse Reggie. It appears from this episode that I may have a problem with my nerves, but then after the catalogue of idiocy that preceded it, that should come as no surprise. Then, last night, after a remarkably incident-free day, how I managed to shut my head in the coat cupboard door is anybody's guess. But shut my head in the coat cupboard door, doing my very best to crush my right eye socket, is exactly what I did. A bruise rose up immediately, competing with my loud resigned sighs for attention.
Really, I should have stayed in bed from Friday to Sunday. But I guess had I done so I'd have probably fallen out and crashed right through the floor into the bedroom of our neighbours below, or something equally ludicrous.
Just moments ago I read a "breaking news" headline on the BBC website and feel compelled to share it with (all twelve of) you:
"APPLE'S $8.8bn PROFITS DISAPPOINT"
The opening line of the story reads:
"Apple made a net profit of $8.8bn in the three months ending in June, up 21% from a year earlier but lower than forecasts."
So, are you, like me, utterly heartbroken at Apple's declining fortunes? After all, the company made only $8.8bn profit in three months, the poor things. What a terrible letdown. Shame on you, Apple, for making such a tiny profit.
Having generated a mere 21% increase on the same period last year, how in heaven's name can the company survive? How will they put food on the table, clothe themselves or send their kids to school? They're all doomed! Oh my God, the sky is falling!!
Having spent several transfixed minutes watching an inchworm traverse our Mayne Island cabin picnic table on June 23, I just love this silly little clip of film. Could the original poster to YouTube have chosen any better music to accompany these images? I think not.
