Out of Order

Due to an unrelenting episode of writer's block, this blog is temporarily out of order.

Black Strobe and Arnaud Rebotini

As I said in the previous post, on the night of my third day in Montréal, I went to an Elektra party. The venue was the amazing Usine C, the former Raymond factory turned into an arts centre (a smaller version of London's Tate Modern). Apart from a series of digital arts installations scattered throughout the building, the main event of the night was a dance party in the main hall of the building. 

When I say dance party, I mean dance party. The band in charge of rocking our bones was Black Strobe, an exciting mix between the sounds of a 70s rock band (with a brightly distorted Les Paul), experimental sounds a la Kraftwerk, the urgent riffs in Marilyn Manson or even Rammstein, and a consistent stream of 80s synthethisers that made everyone feel like a role player in a Nintendo classic. Confused? Well, just watch the video below first, and then listen to the song "Italian Fireflies" here. Their act was complemented by a visual show projected on the enormous wall of the hall and, of course, dozens of strobes and black lights.

But the big surprise came when Black Strobe got off the stage. The band's front man, Arnaud Rebotini, stayed on stage, brought out a half dozen keyboards and samplers, and played an elegant live analog synth set that rocked my world and turned the place upside down. Thus began the REAL dance party. 

Rebotini looks like a French version of Elvis with the body of a bouncer. With his slick black hair and enormous sideburns, the man commands a stage presence that would make Mick Jagger bow in awe. When he's not busy playing with his six instruments with the precision of a Honda robot, he looks up to the crowd to give them a suave look. The man is literally surrounded and trapped by his keyboards, and he frees himself from time to time by blasting his french accent into the microphone. Standing at more than 190cms, he looks like the Goliath of DJs.

As the clocked moved towards 2 am, Rebotini tripled the intensity of the beats to a point where the bass made my neck vibrate so that my vocal chords started speaking without my consent. I left the place literally shaken and stirred. I'm not an electro fan, but this live act quickly became the highlight of the trip. 

Diesiocho

Una cosa es una cosa, y otra cosa es otra cosa. Escribir el título de un post con un error de ortografía es una cosa, pero tatuarle un error ortográfico por toditito el pecho a un cabrón...

Montréal, jour 3

Montréal hurts. It hurts in the bottom of the feet and all through the legs. I can feel the fatigue in the tips of my toes and all through my calves. After seven or eight hours of exploring the downtown area on my pair of Converse, I can say with a certain degree of empirical confidence that "these shoes were NOT made for walking". Anyway, this is what I found:

After a somewhat disappointing visit to the contemporary art museum (they were in the process of putting on two expos, so most of it was closed), I dedicated the whole day to the Elektra Digital Arts Festival. Earlier that day, I picked up a copy of the Mirror in the subway and read about an "Igloo installation" so I decided to go find it. I didn't have an address or any idea of where it was, but somehow seemed logical to walk to the museum district. 

And so it happened...the unexplainable magical moment that changes your entire day: looking for a bathroom while walking down Rue St. Catherine, I literally bumped into the Belgo building, or the building that hosts the most important Artist Run Centres in Montréal, making it one of the largest visual arts centers in the country. 

It took me a mere second of looking at the old style directory (golden frame and white plastic letters on black velvet) at the lobby to understand what I was about to witness. The Belgo is home to more than 30 contemporary art galleries, plus countless studios and workspaces for creators. 

In other words, I walked into what felt like the Mecca of the Montréal art scene.  More importantly, I walked into the Belgo on the first Friday of the Montréal Biennale, and on the opening weekend of the Elektra festival! I couldn't have hoped for a better afternoon: the place was alive with visitors and openings and talks and artist and wine and cheese and everything that makes contemporary art the more enjoyable. (to see what's on, check out the Belgo Report)

I particularly enjoyed the "Squeeeeque!" installation by Alexis O'Hara at Skol, the installation/performance by Chaban Unit at Circa, and the photographs at Optica and Projex Mtl.

As the sun went down, my legs took me to the famous Usine C, an old factory turned into an impressive arts centre, for the opening night of the Elektra Festival. At exactly 11 pm, I was blown away by Mr. Arnaud Rebotini and his incredible Black Strobe. But this really requires a post by itself, so... à demain! 

Montréal, jour 2

Et alors. The people of Montréal seem to love their city. I woke up and went directly for a pain au chocolat at a little boulangerie next to the Jean-Talon market, and a couple of Montrealers started talking to me. I told them my reason for visiting the city and they instantly began to tell me about the wonders of Montréal, as if they understood that they needed to convince me to stay. When I asked the taboo question, "What about the winter?" they shrugged it off with a classic "Ohh lala, pas de problème". I had my doubts, but I loved the friendliness. 

I spent the rest of the day walking around downtown Montréal, exploring the length of the Museum Quarter along Rue Sherbrooke and Rue St. Catherine. At Rue Crescent I stopped a random guy my age to ask him about the area and he was fascinated to serve as a temporary tour guide. He launched on a 15 minute talk about the city and it's architecture, and the churches and the way it was laid out...and then wrote me a list of about 10 places I should visit. 

I passed by McGill and sat on the sunny grass in front of the library, where I started conversation with a girl that said "I can't imagine a better place for my undergrad experience than McGill...except for the winters!" She was really excited to tell me all about the student life at McGill and about the thousands of things to do in the city, but she was also adamant about the winters: "you'll HATE the winters, but it's worth it." 

And then I walked into the highlight of the day: the IMAGINE: The Ballad of John & Yoko expo at the Museum of Fine Arts. The museography is simply insuperable! It is an expo that breaks the boundaries between audience and artists and invites everyone to participate with the art. For instance, in order to commemorate the famous "Bed-in" for peace that Yoko and John staged in Montréal in 1969, the expo had a whole room recreating the scene, with an enormous white bed where visitors could sit or lie and stage their own "bed-in" while listening to the original recordings of Give Peace a Chance. There is also an incredible room with a white piano where one can sit and play Imagine while watching the original video of the song projected on a huge white wall. 

But the most impressive to me is the room dedicated to the War is Over! campaign. The room is full of TV's displaying original news videos and footage from the major peace demonstrations around the world in 1969, as well as tragic videos from Vietnam. There is also a timeline highlighting the main events of 1969, as well as the main advances in human rights of the 1960s, all surrounded by the posters of the publicity campaign and photographs of John and Yoko's demonstrations. Most importantly, this room didn't feel like a piece of old history; instead, it felt like an urgent call for political protests and mobilizations against today's equally irrational war in Iraq. I left the expo inspired, excited about the vast possibilities for art to stir the minds and hearts of sensible audiences everywhere. 

You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.  

Montréal, jour 1

Today's subject is Montréal! I was accepted to a Masters program at McGill University and decided that I couldn't make an educated decision of accepting the offer unless I spent at least a week exploring the city and the university. Thus, I arrived this afternoon, ready to experience the city's attractions and fuse myself with its urban pulse for a few days.

After only one afternoon of roaming around, I can already tell that I will leave this trip enchanted. My very first walk was along the Rue Saint-Denis, full of little French cafés and unique restaurants that served as a flavorful first impression. Apart from bringing me great memories of my childhood summers spent in France, I could instantly smell something that differentiates this city from Vancouver: Montréal has a lot of character.

Character? What in the world does he mean by "character", you might ask. Well, it's simple. To the newcomer, the city of Montréal feels authentic; if feels like it has been here for ages, and that traditions have stuck and created a true Montréal identity. Vancouver, on the other hand, feels like a city in constant transition, where every building is new or recently restored, and where most people are passengers waiting for the next reshuffle. (says he who might contribute to this)

Adding to my initial awe, my hostess Charlotte had the brilliant idea of taking me to the famous Schwartz's for an indescribably delicious smoked meat sandwich. We then walked along the Boulevard Saint Laurent, peeking into the dozens of carefully designed restaurants, and microbreweries... and I had an epiphany: 

Vancouver bores me to death sometimes because its evening entertainment relies (sadly) on an ever growing network of chotchy chain restaurants! As you all know, once you've been to one Earl's, you've been to EVERY Earl's...or Cactus Club, or Joey's, or Milestone's, etc. (granted that Gastown has some fantastic places...but it's only 6 blocks long). Instead, Montréal is full of original bistros and pubs where instead of watching hockey until their eyes bleed (and drinking themselves to a coma), people are actually having conversations! Ahhh the marvels of the Latin culture! 

À demain!

Standby

The stories from the epic West coast roadtrip will have to wait a week. They have shown an incredibly affinity to the pages of my Moleskine and I'm having trouble transferring them to this medium... patience!

Tapensen!

Coachella Art

Epic Roadtrip!

As a person who values science and it's explanatory mechanisms, I have alway rejected superstition as a way to understand the events of my life. Instead of relying on the concept of luck, I choose to blame all of my daily ocurrences on the laws of probability. However, a series of very fortunate events this past week have forced me to accept that I am, indeed, a very lucky guy. 

A friend of mine asked me a favor. He wanted me to fly to San Diego and drive his new SUV back to Vancouver, all expenses paid. Given that the Pacific Coast Highway has always been in the top tier of my "List of things to do before I die", I instantly said YES.. A day later, I realized that Coachella would be happening on the same weekend that I would have to fly to San Diego! 

To make this story short, I'm blogging from a bus that will take me from Vancouver to Seattle. I will then board a plane that will take me to California, to meet all of my good friends. I'll be rocking in the Palm Desert for three days, listening to some of my favorite bands. Then, I'll start an epic road trip by myself from San Diego to Vancouver, with stops in L.A., Santa Barbara, Santa Cruz, Frisco, Napa, Portland, and Seattle. 

The itinerary is obviously very flexible... so please, dear readers, send me some suggestions! 

p.s. hooray for buses with Wi-Fi. And yes, I do intend to visit Malibu, in honor of the Dude.

Film day: Pasqualino Settebellezze

Sundays in Vancouver fall under two opposite categories: phenomenal and depressing. Obviously, the weather is the factor that determines which category applies. Today is one of the depressing ones, with deep grey skies and non-stop rain. The bike will have to stay inside; the frisbee locked in a closet. 

However, these grey Sundays also provide an ideal opportunity to unleash my movie buff persona. Therefore, I hereby establish Sundays as the official film recommendation day in this blog. 

Today's film is Lina Wertmuller's Pasqualino Settebellezze (or Seven Beauties): 

And if you feel like leaving your house this evening, Pacific Cinematheque is celebrating the 50th anniversary of Fellini's La Dolce Vita. Don't miss this great opportunity to see a 35mm copy of the film projected in a movie theatre! Details here. Also, Wong Kar-Wai's Ashes of Time Redux is playing at 5pm at Pacific Cinematheque).

Ting Tings vs. Los Campesinos

What to do, what to do?? Both bands are playing tonight in Vancouver and I'm torn... I have them both in my iPod, they're both playing at Coachella, they're both B+ bands in my book, and they will both attract similar scenester crowds. 

Given that I have no preference for either show, I suppose I'll have to resort to the good ol' principles of rational choice theory and go to whichever show is a little cheaper. My Econ profs would be proud. 

What would Lennon do?

Bombs to minerals

I'm lying on my couch reading Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five and I just came to that wonderful, famous, passage where Billy watches a war movie backwards and the bomber planes fix the world instead of destroying it. I was reading a news dispatch by Juan Goytisolo on Sarajevo earlier today, which makes me particularly sensitive to Vonnegut's words.... so I'll just post them here and hope that they enlighten someone's day:

"He came slightly unstuck in time, saw the late movie backwards, then forwards again. It was a movie about American bombers in the Second World War and the gallant men who flew them. Seen backwards by Billy, the story went like this:

American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.

The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes. But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new.

When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again.

The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed. That wasn't in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed."

Birds!

p.s. I need a tripod.

Fujimori

The road to justice is long and complicated. Today, after a 15 month trial, Alberto Fujimori was found guilty of torture, kidnapping, and enforced disappearings. This trial may set a precedent for accusing and convicting former heads of state that led oppressive regimes or allowed (or even ordered) war crimes.