The Audience Effect

Your mother and I recently attended a performance of John Logan's RED, playing at the theatre that I am privileged to work at. Her first reaction after the lights dimmed for the last time was that it was the best thing she had ever seen at the Segal. Although my mind was telling me the same thing, my heart angrily pulled me in a different direction. Because of the tug-of-war between an overfilled December schedule and a strong desire to see the show, we ended up seeing the Sunday matinee. Needless to say, the crowd was not one of our peers, which unfortunately had a lasting effect on my appreciation. Between the incessant coughing, untimely laughter and talkback - a woman next to me even felt compelled to answer the actors' questions out loud! - I had a difficult time immersing myself in the art, both visual and spoken, that was on stage. But if there's one thing that RED does, it certainly gets you thinking.

Consume or Create.

The most bittersweet thing about being an art lover is the realization that for every epic concert, stimulating exhibit or enthralling literary journey, there is an infinite amount of great work that one will never have the chance to consume, no matter how much time is devoted to its pursuit. To make matters worse, if you are at all inclined to put a pen to paper or tickle the ivories from time to time, with that time goes even more time that could be devoted to quality consumption. Simply put, how does one choose?

Gray's Anatomy of a Love Song

The love song has gotten a bad rap among purists for far too long. It often seems that love can be chanelled through art only once it is lost. Only then does it make for emotive music, twisted drama and evocative visuals. Your mother will testify to this, as she often does, in response to those who would think that I serenade her to sleep every night. It is true that I am rarely inspired by happiness. The happy cruise, the melancholic dwell. There's something about wallowing that gets the creative juices flowing. But there is no doubt that I am most envious when I hear a truly glorious and uplifting love song.

Guess who's coming to dinner 45 years late?

In case there was any doubt, the answer is me. I cannot believe that I waited this long to see Guess Who's Coming to Dinner but more importantly, I cannot believe how moved I was by this story that could not be more relevant today. 

Sights, Smells & Sounds

Your mother has many talents. I've already let the world know that singing is not one of them. But the gift of transformation is quite impressive. No, she cannot magically morph into a dog or blend into a background, but she does do wonders on situations. For example, this weekend, we were invited to our first Indian wedding. Our good friend who is Indian married a girl who is Lebanese. No need to tell you that great fun was had by all. 

Grace

I've seen the word grace defined so many ways that I often forget what is intended by it. I googled it just now and the first result just may be my favourite; simple elegance. What should be a paradox isn't one at all. Today you and I were privy to two very different examples of simple elegance. For what better way to describe what is almost certainly the greatest album ever put out by an artist who was never to release one again. Now that may sound like the words of a hopeless music geek, but have some respect as we discuss serious matters. The album, Grace. The artist, Jeff Buckley. Our glimpse into it, the almost cliche but always breathtaking hallelujah.

Oh What a Nuit!

Tonight I put you to sleep with hours of discovery ahead of me. Tonight the city wakes from its snowglobed state to treat its citizens to utter artistic delight. Tonight dinner took too long and the adventure was too short. Tonight I fell in love with Montreal all over again. Tonight love was easy. Tonight was white. Tonight was black. But tonight was not grey. Tonight was certain. Tonight was one of those nights when you circle the block one more time to hear the sax solo in Midnight City, even though it's 4AM. Tonight the lyric "City is my church" makes perfect sense.

ourstory:kleztory

A few years ago, your mom and I were going to visit our friend who had
moved to Outremont. As we were driving, we passed schools, parks, police
stations, bakeries, and all I could think was that it all seemed
familiar. As cliche as it sounds, it was the most distinct feeling of
deja vu that I have ever experienced. I couldn't help but feel as though
these were the sights, sounds and smells of my past. But they were not
my own. What I was recalling was actually a collective past. Not simply
because I had grown up listening to the legends of Outremont high and
its surroundings from my mom, aunt and uncle. Those, often tall, tales
certainly left an indelible mark on my consciousness. But what I was
feeling as I drove further down Van Horne than I ever had at that point,
was a distinct feeling that I, not as a person but as a people, had not
only been here before, it was where I belonged. Now this all seems like
a prelude to an eventual move to outremont but that was never in the
plans. Instead, Hutchison street became the symbol of a history that was so
within reach that I had an obligation to myself and to my past to
revisit it from time to time.

Le Best Of

It was a good year. I loved sharing every element of it with you. Most of all, I loved sharing this year's music with you. Some of the songs were ones we danced to at home (The whole Foster the People album). Some were the killer tunes that we blasted while only you and I were in the car (The whole M83 album). Some defined moments, others defied the moments they were serendipitously placed in. But they all played a part in the soundtrack of your life.