"But there was nothing about the little, low-rambling, more or less identical homes of Northumberland Estates to interest or to haunt, no chance of loot that would be any more than the ordinary, waking-world kind the cops hauled you in for taking; no
small immunities, no possibilities for hidden life or otherworldly presence; no trees, secret routes, shortcuts, culverts, thickets that could be made hollow in the middle – everything in the place was right out in the open, everything could be seen at a glance; and behind it, under it, around the corners of its houses and down the safe, gentle curves of its streets, you came back, you kept coming back, to nothing; nothing but the cheerless earth."
Thomas Pynchon, "The Secret Integration"
This is Ian Mathers' Tumblr. I live in Canada. I've written about music and other things for Stylus, Dusted, PopMatters, Resident Advisor, the Village Voice, and a few other places. Hi.
So we’ve been having a great long weekend; spent the day at the CNE and a (horrible) soccer game with my brother on Saturday (how bad was the game? the coach has since been fired), and mostly not leaving the apartment since then. But Saturday night I also went to a concert with my friend/ex-housemate from Guelph. We saw Fujiya & Miyagi, a band I’ve loved for some years now, have written about in a few places, and have looked forward to seeing live.
It was a great show! I’ve had a good year for concerts and F&M are one of the bands I’ve been most impressed by; they were even more satisfying than I expected. If you’d told me before the show that they were going to play not one but both of the instrumentals from the new record I suspect I’d have been mildly disappointed by the prospect, but they were absolute highlights (and I really hadn’t guessed that one particular sound on “Rayleigh Scattering” was David Best’s guitar). It was a nicely balanced set, the band played really wonderfully together, the crowd loved them, and every song sounded even better than it does on record.
The only problem, then, was the size of that crowd. Whether it was the long weekend, other stuff going on that night I was unaware of, or what Best seemed to take as just the band’s lot in life when I chatted with him for a few minutes while buying the new record after the show, Lee’s was maybe half as full as it should* have been. I’ve certainly been to outright lacklustre concerts, where the fans were visibly/audibly not enjoying themselves half as much as we were, that were packed to the rafters. When you enjoy a band as much as I do Fujiya & Miyagi and they put on that good a show, it’s hard not to feel bad for them when attendance is just good-not-great; I know I was far from the only person to immediately follow up praise for them with “I don’t know why there weren’t more people here!” (Best, to his credit, just maintained that as long as everyone who did come enjoyed the show, he was happy.) Of course there are other, equally deserving artists even unluckier in that regard than F&M, but I do hope this was just bad timing and they get a bigger crowd next time, because they were fantastic.
*(Longtime readers know I’m a pretty pure emotivist when it comes to aesthetics, so please read ‘should’ in that sense.)
Our third set of quick takes on what’s been vibrating our cones, the August Listening Post also finds long-time Dusted writers Mason Jones and Matt Wuethrich chiming in. This is turning into a regular thing.
As always some real good stuff in here. I write about Cabaret Voltaire, Joe Henry, New Order, Doveman, and Clams Casino.
One of the last lines on Erika M. Anderson’s debut as EMA was “if you won’t love me, someone will." One of the last lines on The Future’s Void is “who can judge us, who can love us?" The distance from one to the other, both bigger and smaller than it appears at first, is as good a way as any to sum up what Anderson has accomplished here. But there’s a reason written-down song lyrics tend to make lousy poetry; performance is what gives them their heft. The line from Past Life Martyred Saints’ “Red Star” is sung with the bruised doggedness of someone who isn’t so much convinced she’s telling the truth as she is willing to make it the truth by sheer force of will (that the sentiment expressed is-or-ought-to-be such a basic truth just makes it a little more heartbreaking). “Dead Celebrity,” on the other hand, ends The Future’s Void calmly, maybe even a bit distantly.
For some reason it took me forever to write this EMA review; probably partially because I kept wanting to write a personal essay about the internet instead (and I thought about doing so as the review, but ultimately decided I didn’t want to). This is a great record, and one that puts its finger pretty precisely on what 2014 feels like to me; I’m surprised it’s not being talked about more.
Since this blog is like one fetus away from a mommy blog, I figured I’d share my landing story, rather the day I finally moved to Canada. On US to Canada immigration message boards, which were a huge help to me in this whole process in figuring out things government websites made complicated for no reason, there’s always a landing thread where you post the story of the day you finally land. It’s a big deal, even in the easiest of cases (ours) this is a long and expensive and difficult process so when you make it, it’s just huge.
Zach made the trip with me and it was a good trip although I could feel my stress levels peak sometimes. The morning we left, I threw up and the morning I was supposed to officially land, I threw up. I tend to throw up when I’m nervous and this might be the thing I’ve been most anxious about in my life. I’m the kind of person whose anxiety will not let up until something is official and done and over. Despite outward appearances, I’m a wreck before then. Zach knows so thank god he was the one there with me to keep me not only calm but to give me real talk when I needed it.
We made it Buffalo so fast, on our second day of driving and stayed there for the night because you have to export your car and do your landing during business hours. The next morning, we woke up and got ready to go. Zach made me a hotel waffle and made me eat some even though I really thought I was going to puke. We printed a bunch of extra paperwork I was told to bring and then we hit the road for the Lewiston Bridge (note: the only place in Western NY to export your car to Canada.) Siri gave us directions for the US Customs and Border Protection office where you export your car and as we are passing Niagara, we see this sign that says just that, US Customs and Border Protection.
Maybe that’s where we should go, we think.
Nah, Siri wouldn’t lead us wrong.
Pretty soon, Siri tells us we have arrived and we are on the side of a mountain road. Thanks for nothing, Siri.
We turn around and go back to the original place we saw which to be fair was right by the border where you actually cross. It is an actual maze of parking and I am driving figure 8’s to get over to where the office is. We finally park and I am gathering myself and my things when someone bangs on the window. Zach and I shriek and roll down the window.
"Passport and vehicle title," this guy who I swear to god walked out of bear porn 30 seconds earlier says.
I hand it to him with shaky hands.
This is the part where I should also mention that exporting my car had become my main source of distress in the week leading up the move because they have recently changed the laws surrounding this where you have to have a shipping/freighter ID code and like, a bunch of other shit to do it. Until October of this year, it’s an informed consent period so they aren’t making people do that or penalizing them but I wasn’t sure what to expect at the border. In other words, I was very afraid I was going to have to walk over the border or something.
We follow this guy upstairs and sit. He is at his computer typing in stuff about me and my car. His coworker comes and sits next to him while he does this and is showing him photos of her dumb dog on instagram. Read the room, lady. I keep waiting and rocking back and forth and expecting him to ask me for info I don’t have or for something bad to happen but instead he gets up after maybe four minutes, hands me my passport and title, and says that I’m all set.
"That’s it?" I squeak.
"What else did you want?" he said.
"I just thought it would be more complicated or something, I don’t know, I—"
Zach pulled me out of the room before I could fuck anything up.
So we get back in the car only to have to once again navigate the dumbest fucking series of parking lots and exits to get to a place twenty feet away. We get our passports out, I get my certificate of permanent residency out, and we wait at one of those toll booth thingies for maybe 4 minutes. The guy in the booth looked maybe fourteen and he seems very irritated with my overly enthusiastic smile as I tell him I’m landing. Like, as a permanent resident. He approves Zach to come in as a visitor and sends us over to the building marked Canada. Zach and I gather my things and go inside, immediately giving Canada points over its governmental typeface choices even though we aren’t serif people.
We walk in and there is no one there. Now, I knew it would be not as busy as let’s say a weekend at the border but I expected like, Ellis Island lite or just a dash of Fievel Mouskowitz but no, there was literally one other person who didn’t work there in the building and they were just sitting on a bench so who knows what that story is. I walk up to the counter and the hot bearded man sends me over to a hot unbearded man. Also, yes, the majority of Canada’s border agents? Super hot. If you want to move to a different country, I recommend Canada when it comes to border agent hotness.
So anyways, I give this guy my paperwork and he is really nice and helpful. He asks if we are both landing and we said no but in hindsight maybe they would have just let Zach if we kept our big mouths shut. We blew it. So this guy looks over my documents and sees everything is in order and prepared them for me to sign.
"Have you ever been convicted of a crime?" He asks.
"No," I reply. "Well, not yet." Because anxiety makes me a jokester.
Luckily the hot border agent guy laughed along with Zach. I signed and became a permanent resident of Canada. I’m pretty sure I gripped Zach’s hand or something. I was then sent back to the hot bearded border agent who had me fill out forms about my car to import it and looked over my list of belongings (books: value $500 cosmetics: value PRICELESS.) Zach was the best as always and ran to my car to get some number they needed and then I signed more stuff and that was that. They then sent us to the next desk over where the people weren’t so hot but they were nice so there’s that. I didn’t have to pay a thing because I was a settler which of course gave me so many Oregon Trail vibes. I sort of hopped in the air when it was all done because oh my god, it was done! And nothing went wrong! And I could now breathe oxygen into my lungs again!
We exchanged money at the border, marveling at how fake it looked and laughing at the fact there was not only a white guy on it but a snowflake and a hockey player! Zach took a photo of me in front of the welcome to Ontario sign and we hit the road to Toronto (not very far, maybe an hour.) I tried to show the hills-obsessed (not The Hills obsessed) Zach that Canada had lovely hills as well but he sulked at this. At one point, as we were about to cross a bridge, we passed what looked like water but with a weird barrier that was up kind of looked like a field of lavender.
"Is that water?" I asked.
"That’s Lake Ontario," Zach replied.
And just like that, I doomed myself to this being my Canadian Heritage Moment. In 2014, Anaïs Mathers discovered that Lake Ontario was in fact made of water. Damn.
We made it to Toronto, we parked by my new apartment, and since Ian was still at work and we were actually starving, we walked down the street to get sushi. Zach and I were excited to discover that it was all you can eat and we set about making our list of what we wanted, eating with our eyes as we hadn’t had much for breakfast. What we didn’t realize is that this is not America, land of waste and gluttony where all you can eat means if you don’t finish what’s on your plate, no big deal. So we order like 8 thousand things and start eating, slowing down pretty quickly because no one actually needs as much food as we ordered. At this point, the waitress comes over and shows us the fine print on the bottom of the menu which says that you will pay entree price for whatever you don’t finish. You cannot imagine the horror we felt.
We eat as much as we can but a huge problem here is, I ordered stuff that has gluten and dairy and meat in it, three things Zach cannot eat. So I am stuffing it all in my mouth, tears in my eyes, literally coughing some up that just would not fit down my food hole. I start putting things in my napkin so I can put it in my purse. Finally, with one or two pieces of things left on some plates, we gave up. The waitress brings over the check and luckily it’s just for the lunch price. The problem now is walking up the hill back home. Zach and I very slowly begin our ascent, looking like footage of people climbing Everest in a blizzard when really it’s a lovely warm day in the summer. We have never felt more useless and American as we did climbing that hill.
We don’t attempt to unpack at this point, instead going inside and lying next to each other on my marital bed. We watched basically all of the Canadian Heritage Moments on youtube in order to get into the Canadian spirit and waited for Ian to come home and find us, American flag scarves strewn all over. And at that moment, I was so grateful to have crossed the border and been there with Zach, my gusband, who would not judge me for puking into my napkin at a sushi restaurant and who would also think it weird that Superman was invented by a Canadian. And that is how I became someone who gets to live in Canada forever.
Okay, I know I’m married to her and in love and everything, but I laughed out loud while reading this several times. And they’re stories I’d heard before!