Official cover for my Upcoming Novel (Alternative Wasteland), a compilation piece featuring 8 of my short stories.
Release Date: December 2017
Thank you to Jason Lupish for his work on designing the cover. He did a great job, and truly captured the thematic nature of the novel.
The scratching noise is first detected by Edgar at 8:17 P.M.
He knows this because the scratching noise comes from behind the kitchen wall clock, and he is forced to remove it for investigation purposes.
Silence greets him as he does.
Perplexed, Edgar runs his hands through his frazzled hair.
There was something behind that wall.
Probably a rat or something.
He returns the clock to its original positioning.
Edgar turns away and walks to the entranceway leading to the living room.
A low scratching noise emanates from behind him , and Edgar turns abruptly to discern its whereabouts.
Remaining still, and breathing as slow as possible, Edgar listens intently .
The noise is coming from behind the clock again.
Walking gently, Edgar returns to the wall clock, removes it, and presses his ear up against the wall.
The sound is low but very distinct.
Edgar curls his hand into a fist and bashes the wall with the side of it.
To be safe, he does it three more times.
Remaining quiet, he returns his ear to the wall.
A low hissing sound arises from the other side, and then the scratching resumes.
With anger arising within him, he begins to hammer the wall repeatedly with aggressive force.
But with every pound, the scratching increases in intensity.
There are wires behind there and you’re going to chew through them, aren’t you, you little prick, Edgar thinks to himself.
Edgar turns to walk away, and a loud antagonistic hiss bids him farewell.
Furious now, Edgar walks to the kitchen door leading to the garage.
Opening it, he goes outside to retrieve his sledgehammer.
Once back in the house, he walks with a sense of purpose to the spot of the sound, and without hesitation begins to bash through it with heated aggression.
After four or five forceful smashes, the wall breaks free leaving a giant hole.
Edgar shoves his head through it but encounters no living entity.
Confused, he returns his entire body to the kitchen.
Staring at it, he begins to think that he may have been a tad overzealous with his violent actions.
Now how much was this going to cost him to fix?
In deep contemplation, he detects another scratching sound…this time coming from the living room.
Walking steadily, he walks into the living room, passing the turned over family pictures on the cabinet, and stops dead in the middle of the room…listening.
The sounds arises from the ceiling directly above him.
Dropping the sledgehammer to the ground, he turns and walks back towards the door leading to the garage.
Once inside, he grabs a step ladder and returns to the middle of the living room.
Propping it up, he picks up the sledgehammer and quietly ascends the ladder steps.
He detects a snickering sound from the other side of the ceiling, and without any thought to the consequences, he begins to drive the weapon upwards with destructive force.
After four or five blows, and with plaster raining down from above, a large jagged hole emerges.
Cautiously sticking his head through it, Edgar begins to look around once inside.
Nothing is visible.
Removing his cell phone, he flips on the flashlight app and shines it around the darkened enclosure.
Nothing.
Breathing heavily, Edgar descends the ladder stairs.
There is plaster all over the newly chipped hard wood floors.
You’re not escaping me, thinks Edgar.
A low laughing sound is heard from the garage.
Now I got you.
Walking past the overturned family portraits with the sledgehammer still in hand, Edgar makes his way out into the garage.
Stopping suddenly, he hears the snickering arising from inside his SUV.
He tries the door handle…
Locked.
The keys were upstairs in the bedroom…the one he once shared.
Not wanting to waste any time, Edgar raises the sledgehammer above his head and begins to smash through the SUV’s windshield.
Pounding it with such aggressive force provides very little hope for the life of the glass.
Within seconds, it caves away. Thrusting his head through it, he scans the interior of the car.
Nothing.
Pulling his head upwards, he listens to the sounds of the garage.
With his heart beating fast and his blood pressure now raised to dangerous levels, Edgar has grown frustrated.
Why can’t I find this stupid rat?
A scratching sound arises from within the kitchen.
Gritting his teeth, he walks back into the room with his sledgehammer ready for attack.
The sound comes from the behind the stove.
Smiling, he returns to the garage to retrieve his hacksaw.
Upon his re-entrance to the kitchen, he walks to the stove, grabs the back of it with both hands and pulls it a few feet out from the wall. Locating the gas line located at the back of it, he readies his weapon.
Using the hacksaw, he punctures it.
Continuing to smile, he walks back into the garage and grabs a jerry can full of gasoline sitting in the corner.
He also picks up a book of matches from the shelf.
Returning to the punctured gas line, Edgar turns the can over and begins to pour gasoline onto it. Walking backwards, he exits the kitchen leaving a leaking gasoline trail before him. Making his way through the living room and out the front door, the trail lies splattered on the floor.
At about fifteen feet from the front of the house, he drops the can, strikes the match and drops it onto the trail leading into the house.
He turns and runs to the street located thirty feet from his front door.
It doesn’t take long.
As he turns his body back towards the house, he spares himself just enough time to witness the destruction.
The once darkened sky is now a ball of orange, red and yellow.
The flames rise and rise, and the house begins to crumble.
The smile clings to Edgar’s face.
He raises both arms up towards the coloured sky, knowing he has finally claimed victory.
Date: May 13, 2011
City: Toronto,ON
Venue: Opera House
Rating: 3.5/5
Audience indifference can have quite an effect on the energy of a performance. No matter how talented a band may be, a weak spectatorship has the ability to undermine even the most entertaining show. Friday night’s performance by the Airborne Toxic Event at the Opera House was threatened, at times, by this very act.
As I walked into the sold-out venue prior to start time, I instantly became aware of a feverish anticipation possessing the room. There is no denying that sort of sensation. The concertgoers were laughing and yelling with an unbridled enthusiasm, keenly aware of impending bliss. I realized that this show was going to be fully charged.
But then something enigmatic occurred. As soon as the show commenced, the audience immediately mutated into a congregation of listless observers who were seemingly content with simply staring back at a band striving to entertain (they were sporadically jolted awake by the opening two tracks “Numb” and “Wishing Well”, but it quickly subsided).
The heavily intoxicated gentleman next to me even noticed this abnormality. Observing me jotting down some notes, he staggered over, put his arm around me, and began to speak with the echoing presence of an infant, “What are wrong…with the people? Where’s the dancing? They does not move…they just standing…doing nothing. Th…is band rocks!” Though I was distracted from two songs as a result of this marble-mouthed individual, I did wholeheartedly agree with his hazy assessment.
However, around the midway point of the performance, the audience resurged with a vengeance. As the band broke into some of their more popular songs like “Happiness is Overrated”, “Changing”, “Welcome to Your Wedding Day” and “Sometime Around Midnight”, the audience morphed into energetic cheerleaders. Raising their hands to the sky and bounding around with reckless abandon, the show was instantaneously transformed into the event I had prematurely believed it would be throughout its duration.
Even the band was influenced by the sudden alteration in atmosphere. Earlier in the show while talking to the crowd, singer Mikel Jolleet had to stop what he was saying and confront a portion of the audience who seemed preoccupied with conversing loudly with one another. Humorously, he noted, “There’s a single’s bar next door if you guys are interested”.
From that moment on, the audience belonged to the band. As if spurred on by a new found zeal, Jolleet twice leapt into the crowd to sing amongst them (during “Something New”, he even ascended atop one of the bar’s and sang a duet with fellow band member, Anna Bullbrook, who remained on stage). Apparently influenced by Jolleet’s gallantry, Bullbrook herself dove into the crowd and proceeded to play the viola while moshing. It’s safe to say I have never witnessed an act quite like it before.
Though there were a few sonic irregularities that occurred throughout the night (Jollett’s guitar wouldn’t work on “Papillon” and had to be replaced mid-song), the band’s passionate display of their talents compensated for the few lackluster moments. Even when the show concluded, the band members didn’t immediately vacate the stage. They took the time to take pictures and chat with their fans, who they constantly thanked throughout the evening. It was a highly admirable act that redeemed a night initially jeopardized by apathy.
Date: April 20, 2011
City: Toronto, ON
Venue: Queen Elizabeth Theatre
Rating: 4.5/5
It’s highly surreal when one comes face-to-face with their past. I had one such encounter late Wednesday night. As a child of the 90s, I have always held tight to the belief that the music existent during your teenage years will always remain an important aspect of your life. As you transition into adulthood, the music of the era becomes your own personal soundtrack. It comes to define you. As it stands, nothing connects to a moment quite like music.
As a solo Chris Cornell walked out onto stage to wild and feverish applause, I became instantly struck with the realization that I was remaining perfectly silent. In no way was this meant as a form of disrespect, but rather it was a sign that my thoughts were overcoming me. One of the voices that helped to define my youth was now standing just 50 feet away. From here on out, I knew this night was going to be special.
Stricken with a fever that caused him to cancel his previous concert the night before, Cornell courageously battled his body to present the sold out crowd with a (mostly) acoustic show that encompassed his entire career as a musician.
Playing 25 songs over the course of two hours, Cornell, whose live vocals truly astounded me, passionately belted out songs with emphatic intensity. Though not as personally intimate as I initially expected (his sickness might have had something to do with it), it was still exhilarating to watch as he incorporated some rarely performed tracks like “Seasons” and “Like Suicide” into his setlist.
For the rest of the show, Cornell transitioned from his days in Audioslave (“Be Yourself”, “I Am the Highway”“Like a Stone”), Soundgarden (“Black Hole Sun”, “Fell on Black Days”, “Mind Riot”), Temple of the Dog (“Call Me a Dog”, “Hunger Strike”, Say Hello 2 Heaven”), and his solo career. He also took time to cover Bruce Springsteen’s “State Trooper”, Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” (he briefly transitioned into this song during his cover of Mother Love Bone’s “Man of Golden Words”), and then poignantly ended the night with his beautiful rendition of John Lennon’s “Imagine”.
To say that he is musically diverse would be a grave understatement.
But musical creativity aside, the one aspect that truly stood out Wednesday night was his commanding presence as a performer. Simply sitting on a stool with a guitar in hand, Cornell hypnotically connected with his audience through sheer emotional fortitude. Captivated by every vocal note and guitar chord, the audience revelled with tranquil delight as Cornell mesmerized them song after song.
Though, the crowd would instantaneously be transformed into passionately rejoicing cheerleaders whenever Cornell would highlight key moments of his musical past. In fact, each time he would hit one of his trademark high notes, the crowd would whoop and exclaim with exaggerated jubilation (except for the gentleman sitting next to me who could barely keep his eyes open as a result of his intense preoccupation with 4/20).
At the commencement of the show, one of these moments of exuberant appreciation caused Cornell to express, “I can’t live up to this applause, so I may as well leave now”. How wrong he was.
Date: April 10, 2011
City: Toronto, ON
Venue: The Opera House
Rating: 4.5/5
Never in my concert attending history have I ever witnessed a show containing such joyful exuberance as the one I witnessed Sunday night. Bouncing and gyrating around as if they were children in the midst of a sugar rush, The Go! Team energetically blasted through seventeen songs with dynamic and sonic precision. For a band that was meant to be jet lagged (this was the first stop on their North American Tour), it wasn’t readily apparent.
It was definitely a much needed boost to an evening that was, at first, bordering on audience indifference. Prior to the band’s arrival, the crowd appeared to be a restless bunch. Not really buying into what the opening acts were selling, the spectators were simply listless observers for the first little bit. But that all changed when Team took the stage. With a whirlwind of ferocious velocity, the band opened up with the highly energetic “T.O.R.N.A.D.O.”, and immediately won the crowd over.
Playing nine songs off their latest record, the band also performed such past hits as “Huddle Formation”, “Flashlight Fight” and “The Power is On” (perhaps the best sounding song of the evening) which further adjusted the crowd’s demeanours. When they proceeded to introduce the older songs, the audience cried out with jubilant enthusiasm, and proceeded to dance with passionate delight.
Possibly adding to their excitement was an environment that contained unlimited musical instrumentation. The Opera House is not a large venue by any means, but the stage still contained two side-by-side drum sets, numerous styles of guitars (including a banjo), a xylophone, a keyboard, a Jamaican steel drum, and even a typewriter that was put to interesting use.
By exhibiting their musical creativity, the sextet made it apparent that they were committed to entertaining by any means necessary. In fact, the moments in between songs were as interesting as the songs themselves. During some of the interludes, the band would have to alter their physical positioning onstage with other members and change up their instruments to best fit their particular musical abilities. For instance, guitarist Sam Dook would deviate his time between bass, banjo, drums and tambourine, while keyboardist Kaori Tsuchida would transition from vocals to tambourine to bass and electric guitar. It was actually quite intriguing to watch them manoeuvre amongst the stage and around one another as if it were a game of touch football.
Without slighting any of the other members (they were all passionate performers), the true attention grabber of the night was definitely lead vocalist Ninja. Flavoured with a raw musical talent that radiated power, sexiness and charisma, her very presence on stage hypnotically transcended the audience. Though, whether she was performing scissor kicks, jumping jacks or skipping over the wire of her microphone (she executed all of these feats during the show), she was always mindful never to overshadow the rest of the band. Her performance was an exhilarating centre-piece but it was always in keeping with what was important for the show. This is the true mark of a lead singer.
As impressed as I always have been with The Go! Team’s albums, their live performance far exceeded my expectations, and allowed me to appreciate them on an entirely new level.
Album: Shirts vs. Skins
Label: File Under: Music
Rating: 3.5/5
Graham Wright’s Shirts vs. Skins is power-pop at its most casual. Driven by an effortless, free-flowing vibe, Wright’s debut LP (In 2008, he released his first EP entitled The Lakes of Alberta) is a curiosity-piece reveling in simplistic bliss.
As is the case with most side projects (Wright is the keyboardist in Tokyo Police Club), the sound and style differ greatly from the indie rock aesthetics of TPC. Here, Wright embraces a quirkiness buoyed by (adolescent) self-reflective lyricism and folk-infused poppiness.
Bordering a very thin line between annoyance and intrigue, Shirts vs. Skins focuses on sweet, sugary ensconced mini-ballads that proudly embrace a dopey, yet endearing, sentimentality (No better exemplified than on “Keys to the Kingdom”).
“Heavens Just For Moviemakers” and “Soviet Race” are jovially eccentric tracks that rely heavily on catchy pop hooks that are shameless in their ability to superficially satisfy.
But superficiality has its limits, and though most of the tracks are light-hearted, honest and momentarily gratifying, its candy-coated structure tends to wear off quite quickly.
In the end, Shirts vs. Skins is ultimately undone by a lack of meaningful substance. Though it is grounded by a sincere innocence, it’s nonetheless an album that is undermined by sophomoric pop expressions of the heart.
Album: The Head and the Heart
Label: Sub Pop
Rating: 3.5/5
It was bound to happen. What with all of the recent mainstream success of folk-rock acts like Fleet Foxes and Mumford and Sons, it was only a matter of time before other similar sounding groups began to emerge from musical obscurity. Enter Seattle, Washington’s The Head and the Heart, an indie-folk rock band with a pop and country twist.
Originally released independently in 2010, the re-released self-titled LP follows the folk blueprint to a tee. But that’s not to say that it isn’t brimming with quaint, heartfelt tranquility.
In fact, The Head and the Heart’s debut album is actually quite enjoyable. Though it’s not overly challenging, the LP is quirky and endearing.
Buoyed by a simplistic minimalism, the album invokes contrarian themes of loneliness and connection. Sharing vocal duties, Jon Russell and Josiah Johnson communicate an innocence sparked by tenderness but punctuated with fragility. There is unease at the heart of this album, and the LP’s sorrowful nature is consistently at odds with the optimism striving to endure.
“Ghosts” is bouncy and spirited with a Ben Folds Five vibe, while “Down in the Valley” transitions from a weeping, melancholic ballad into an exuberant exploration of hope.
Sadly, the primary drawback of the LP really has nothing to do with the album itself. Instead, it seems to have more to do with folk music’s recent mainstream oversaturation. Jeopardizing originality and talent, this issue always tends to undermine honest intentions by bands like The Head and the Heart in their struggle to achieve success through sheer perseverance.
Album: Suck It and See
Label: Domino
Rating: 4/5
It’s never an easy undertaking to predict the sonic structure of an Arctic Monkey’s album. Their first two LP’s, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not and Favourite Worst Nightmare, were hyper-frenetic garage rock anthems while their third album, Humbug, was largely inspired by producer Josh Homme’s (of Queens of the Stone Age fame) fondness for classic rock with a psychedelic twist. Suck It and See is yet another reinvention that heavily embraces vintage rock of the 1950s and 60s.
In all honesty, it did take a few listens of Suck It and See to fully comprehend the denseness of its body. Seductively ensnaring, the music slowly and methodically glides upon you with mesmerizing serpentine prowess.
“Don’t Sit Down ‘Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair” is dark and foreboding with a dizzying array of dense guitar soundscapes and hypnotically dour bass lines. While “The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala” and “Piledriver Waltz” revel in the unpredictability that has come to define the recent musical landscape of the Monkeys.
Easily one of the most intriguing lyricists in modern music, lead singer Alex Turner incorporates wordplay with an almost Dylan-esque sensibility. Full of bewildering imagery that borders on the fantastical and enigmatic (“Jigsaw women with horror movie shoes/ Be cruel to me cos I’m a fool for you”), Turner’s talent for colorful and playful explorations of vocabulary is at its finest and most puzzling during Suck It and See’s duration.
Though the sound of the Monkey’s continues to deviate from its original blueprint, the thematic structure of the band’s art remains largely consistent with previous releases. From the very first album, Alex Turner has brazenly identified himself as a volatile outsider, and with a Jarvis Cocker sort of swagger, Suck It and See once again delivers a funky romanticism peppered with antagonistic richness.
It’s nothing short of bizarre to witness the continual evolution of the Sheffield, England quartet. With simply four albums, the Arctic Monkeys have adamantly refused generic limitations. While some of their fan base may be diminishing as a result, their artistic diversity continues to expand with notable results.