3 Concerts to see before I die. Done. Now what?

You're only three years old and you already know how much of a music nerd I am. Even your kid song selection in the car is curated. But other than attending a concert, there are few things I love more than having hypothetical discussions about which dead person I would like to see in concert. No, not zombie concerts, although those would certainly be a hit these days. Resurrected artists that I didn't get a chance to see or bands that will never ever get back together. Just like the Taylor Swift song, only with real music. Like Jeff Buckley before his untimely death. Like the Beatles on that rooftop. Like The Band's Last Waltz.  That's why when Tal came in from Israel and we spent a few hours over some beers catching up on over 2 years of bromantic separation and he popped the question, imagine my surprise when I was speechless. "What are the 3 concerts you need to see before you die?" he said as we planned in anticipation of the weekend at Osheaga. Rising to the occasion, I immediately referred to that section of my brain that takes up the space that would normally help me get a normal job. Much to my surprise, I simply could not think of a band that I have yet to see live. Not one. Instead, we started discussing the epic shows that I had seen. Prince in a club with less than 2000 people, playing the hits until 3:30 in the morning. The Police reunited from the third row. Twice. Arcade Fire at Club One, opening for Mike Evin with about 50 people in the audience. And so many more. I felt like an old man with the best behind him. What would I tell you when you started going to concerts on your own? That I had reached my peak before 30?? Depression settled in.

Days later, some names came to mind. Charles Aznavour, possibly the greatest crooner of all time. Phish, just because. Sigur Ros. But more importantly, I realized that one of my most cherished values, especially when it comes to the things I love is living in the moment. Mostly, I try not to miss an opportunity when it arises, leading me to attend quite a few concerts on my own or with your trooper mom. We try to do that with you too, having refused long ago to put an end to life as we knew it just because you came along. No "child friendly" restaurants for you, just friendly child at our favourite dives and diners. That meant many evenings with you in a bucket and then high chair at our friendly neigbourhood Kaizen, to the growing delight of our favourite waiters. You came along and therefore you come along. That won't change any time soon, I just hope it keeps getting better. 

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.

Ain't it just like the present to be showing up like this?

Something about those words from Bon Iver's Blood Bank makes me pay attention every time I hear them. But tonight at Metropolis, when Flume came on and 2000 people, including your mother and I, were brought to complete silence, a community was at once forged and made to listen.

Achtung, My Baby.

As I spend more and more time these days counting my gray hairs and the others that simply refuse to stay on my head, it should come as no surprise that the sands of time are sifting past me. Still, I simply cannot wrap my head around the fact that it has already been twenty years almost to the day since U2 released their incredible, career changing Achtung Baby. All I keep thinking when reading reviews of reissues and listening to some of the outstanding covers on the tribute album, AHK-toong BAY-bi Covered, is what album will be covered and lauded 20 years from now. Far from being one to decry the state of music today - I actually think that we live in a time of incredible creativity and innovation in the arts - I have trouble putting my finger on the albums that are shaking the earth enough to make a 20 year mark.

Foreground Music

Most music, even some of the best, can play in the background and serve its purpose in those moments that require it to do so. Every so often, a song peeks through the ranks of a playlist to elicit a smile or maybe even a look of disgust followed by a quick track change. Then there's every song on Bon Iver's self titled album.

Sunday in the Parc Jean Drapeau

Discovery of the day: Typhoon

Most deserving of future fame: Frightened Rabbit

Best live act: The Tragically Hip

Most outrageous act: The Flaming Lips

Love (Comes to Town) is in the air.

Everyone and their dogsitter lived and breathed U2 this weekend. And that wasn't by any means a matter of choice. The city was sweating everything U2 out of its pores. The street signs mentioned them by name. The traffic advisory screens shouted "Traffic congestion due to rock concert". Namur metro was renamed. Businesses within 1KM of the epicentre were closed due to the virtual impossibility of getting in and out of the area as of 11:00AM. I've all but given up on large concerts (other than festivals, that absolutely define our Montreal summers). Nonetheless, the feeling of being completely taken over by music is unique. The fact that I had to bring you in close to my chest so as to not have you wake up to Sunday Bloody Sunday from a whole 6KM away is truly powerful. I look forward to the day where we can truly share and appreciate not only the air that we breathe but also the massive current that only an onslaught of rock & roll can deliver.