our little cups of grace

I love:

- the aroma of the first cup of coffee on a weekend morning, when you are standing by the open kitchen window and the fresh breeze wafts in

- when the cat is in a sunny patch washing herself, and she forgets, the entire time that you are talking to her, that she has her hind leg stretched up in the air

- that two of my favourite people are meeting each other today, even if I can't join them.

- the way the rains of this past week have made everything so intensely green and lush so that it now actually looks like summer. The leaves have stopped turning yellow and falling off the trees.

- that I get to spend lots of time with the Resident Offspring this summer.

- how my weekly to-do list has at least 575,965 things crossed off it.

What's making you glad to be alive today?

open your ears: new music from Kid Mud - Now They Shut Us Down

Comfort will come in the movies.

The opening lyrics of Guidelines For Style, one of the thirteen diverse but somehow unified tracks on Now They Shut Us Down, pretty much sum up the slightly mournful but ultimately hopeful yearning for release that you are left with after listening to the new release from San Francisco's Kid Mud. This first full-length album from the multi-instrumentalist is a bit of a surprising affair. At first listen, it is an appealing blend of clear-voiced singer/songwriter and nicely fuzzed guitar, but it takes a few listens to really start to appreciate the subtleties of the music.

Now They Shut Us Down is a somewhat introspective album that manages to retain an accessibility which draws you in and sets you up for the almost imperceptible chord progressions from breezy electro-pop to ethereal layers of lush shoegazer goodness. The rich and lush sound evokes a dreaminess without losing the clarity of radio friendly pop. It's a dreaminess that alternates effortlessly between a breezy summer evening and a gloriously building fuzzy guitar anthem.

There are moments of acoustic folk offerings that evolve into bittersweet but satisfying campfire singalongs. There are lush choruses of aaaaahhh-aaahhh alternating with the matter-of-factness of "it all seems so simple to leave the gun lying around". There are dark periods of loneliness in a basement apartment that culminate in a building refrain of "sticking the knife in my own back".

Now They Shut Us Down is the sort of album that makes you take a step back and realize that there are a more than a few layers here, waiting to be uncovered. And although it's almost scary to contemplate what you are going to reveal as you peel those layers back, you know you want to anyway.

Kid Mud is the latest artist to join Will Benham's feisty upstart San Francisco-based record label, New and Used Records. N&UR has built up an impressive posse of talent over a relatively short period of time, signing musicians such as the Passionistas, Tigers Can Bite You, Shiloe, and now Kid Mud.

Do yourself a favour and check out Kid Mud's new album at New and Used Records. I have a feeling you'll want to keep going back for more listens, to see what the next layer reveals.

top three miscalculations of the day

1. eyeballing the Visine bottle and deciding that yes, there is definitely one more dose left in there, only to end up with an eyeball full of foam

2. deciding that there is no way that this will take more than an hour

3. peeing in that little cup at the lab place

Speaking of the lab place, you are not going to believe what new indignities they subject you to there once you turn 50. I don't even want to tell you about it. Why can't they just let us old people die with some dignity intact?

set our watches forward like we're just arriving here

The countdown begins.

With my volunteer shirt and badge now safely in my grasp, I can start planning my strategy for the Calgary Folk Festival, which is a mere two and a half weeks away. Barely enough time to pour over the reconnaissance maps of Prince's Island, plan out the must-see workshops and perfect the precision timing needed to get the festival chair folded at one shady glen and unfolded in the perfect spot at the next without missing one note. Nobody ever said it was easy being a folk festival ninja, but that's what all those years of training were for. If anyone cares to join me on the island this year, I will be happy to share my vast festival ninja knowledge with you. I know all the secrets to the ways of the curry stand and the gelato place.

As you can imagine, I was completely chuffed to realize that the Decemberists are playing the mainstage on Friday night after the Record Tent closes for the evening, so regardless of my shift schedule, I will not miss them. I may have to do some scurrying back and forth between the mainstage and the twilight stage that night, in order to catch Apostle of Hustle, but I can be a good scurryer when called upon to be.

The workshops look pretty inspired. I am aiming my sights on Saturday's Another World workshop with Pacifika, the Acorn, Tarhana, and Apostle of Hustle, followed at the same location by a Deep Dark Woods concert. At the Sunday sessions, I am kinda drooling over the Rock, Stocks, and Two Smoking Carols session with Jay Crocker, Akron/Family, Chad VanGaalen, and the Rambin' Ambassadors, followed by another great concert at the same site - the Acorn.

So much great music and great musical matchups absolutely crammed into four days, it's crazy. It always is. Yet, at the same time, the atmosphere at the folk festival is so relaxed and so easy, it truly is a holiday that refreshes the mind and rejuvinates the soul. The body will just have to look after itself.

There is a slightly surreal aspect to the folk festival for me this year, in that I will also be working as a reporter for BC Musician Magazine. I have media accreditation and everything, so will be able to go to the media area and sign up to interview artists. Better make sure I have fresh batteries in my Barbie Cub Reporter digital recorder.

they'll hang flags from cranes

Me: Hey, Mike Holmes is going to be parade marshal for the Calgary Stampede this year.

Spousal Unit: We should get him over for a barbeque!

It's his response to everything. But it's actually not such a bad idea, provided Mike brings his tool belt, as we have loads of stuff to keep him from getting bored while the steaks grill.

Personally I am steering clear of the Stampede grounds. There is nothing for me there, except skin cancer, heat stroke, and loads of sweaty, drunk, and possibly barfing people. Even the Super Dogs show can't drag me down there, as I just cannot handle that annoying MC any longer, regardless of how cute and talented the dogs are. He wasn't funny when he told those same jokes on the Ark and he isn't funny now.

Besides, I will be far too busy preparing for my niece's wedding. I am actually going to be performing the ceremony and I have my Manitoba Marriage Commissioner certificate and everything. It seems wasteful to only use it once, so if you were thinking of getting hitched to your honey-bun, you should swing by and I will get the job done for you. It's only good for one day though, so act quickly.

But I have a dilemma. Such a momentous occasion requires suitable attire, for which I am going shopping today. Should I go for the white Elvis suit or the Xena Warrior Princess gear? I'm sort of partial to the metal breastplates, but maybe they are too much?

I desperately need your fashion advice, dear readers.

standing in front of the kitchen sink, in bare feet, eating watermelon

That's really what Dominion Day Canada Day is all about, innit? You can keep your grandstand concerts, even if they've got a hot ticket headliner like Kim Mitchell or Glass Tiger. I don't need any red and white balloons, and although I wouldn't turn down a piece of that slab cake with the little Canadian flags on it, I don't really need any of that either.

The cat, in a rare but not unheard of burst of daring, has already been up on the garage roof, ensuring that the marauding hordes are not yet visible coming over the border. It's a party trick she pulls out when she is feeling particularly patriotic.

As my final tally in the Canadian Book Challenge will attest, I am not a particularly well-read Canadian, having only completed five Canadian books this year. But I did get the review for the last one written just under the wire for the deadline, so I am rather patting myself on the back for that final burst of productivity. You can read my review of Jonathan Goldstein's Ladies and Gentlemen: the Bible here.

If you are enjoying a day off today, enjoy it fully. Tomorrow you can always phone in sick, on account of being overly patriotic. If your big national holiday falls this weekend, start practicing up for it now.

I leave you with the traditional Wilhelm Bruederlin Extra Old Stock salute. He would have turned 87 today. Papa would have gotten such a kick out of the fact that all his kids and all their kids put beer caps in their eyes in his honour every July 1. For him it was the height of humour.

crawling through a festival: Sled crash at the Warehouse

The final night of Sled Island is always a sort of bittersweet affair. On the one hand, you are utterly exhausted and all buzzed up on caffeine to make it through to the end, on the other you are completely stoked for a band lineup that god himself couldn't improve upon, and on the third hand (because you can always use an extra hand) you know you are going to be suffering severe Sled Island withdrawal in a matter of hours.

We were actually the first people in line to get into the Warehouse, as I was not taking any chances on missing out on this show. A nice benefit to this was that we were able to score the best of the handful of booths that line one wall. Not only can you sit and have a table to put your drink on, but the corners of the booths have little built-in tables that are perfect for standing on and seeing over everybody's head when the place fills up. A nice couple from Vancouver, who were in town for the Cantos Music Festival, shared the booth with us. Even though it got stinking hot in the place later, the boy half never once took off his wool jacket. Or his tie. Those crazy Vancouverites!

The night started off with the locals, Sub-linguals, playing an utterly frantic set on the floor in front of the actual stage. The frontman, hobbling along with a lime green cast on one leg, had the most incredibly bad bleached hair since Thom Yorke's Pablo Honey days. I was impressed.

Women, the Calgary band who is blowing them away around the world these days, then took to the stage proper, but not before King Khan (of King Khan & the BBQ Show) muscled his way on stage and painted a few faces gold. He had been making his way around the hall, anointing people with gold face paint, taking care to spend a great deal of time lying in wait in the women's washroom. When I ran into K, editor of Kitschykoo! Subcultural Lifestyle Magazine later in the evening, I saw that she too had fallen under his Midas (or something) touch.

Women laid down a solid set of their multi-layered dense but light garagey sound. The few new songs they threw in were pretty incredible, and surprisingly melodic. They sound way better live than on album, and that's saying a mouthful right there. And for those of you who note these sorts of things, Matt Flegel has shaved off his beard and gotten a buzzcut. You won't recognise him.

And then, with a nod to last year's Sled Island, a legend took to the stage. Colin Newman, famously from Wire, who played Sled Island last year, and who is curator of this year's festival, brought his new band, Githead, along. They sound very much like WIre in many ways. We picked up their new cd, and even more importantly, the Resident Offspring later noticed Colin and his wife and bandmate, Malka, standing by our table at the end of the night and managed to speak to him and get an autograph. I also managed to leap off the table and get a scrawl from him before he left. Plus I told Malka how much I had enjoyed their set, because I didn't want her to think I was only interested in the Wire factor.

HEALTH, the noise band from LA, were really fucking loud, probably the loudest band I have ever heard. The Resident Offspring and I both initially thought that the Asian guy with the awesome hair was just the dancer for the band, until about 10 minutes into the set when he finally picked up an instrument. I really liked some of their set at times, and I really wanted it to end at other times. LOUD, really really LOUD.

And then, the band that I had seen the night before, but in a completely different setting, and was most excited to see, hit the stage around 1:15. I had the feeling that seeing Holy Fuck at the Warehouse would be completely different than seeing them in the early evening at Olympic Plaza.

OH YEAH.

Holy Fuck is one of the most appropriately named bands I can think of. Their high energy electronic show is so exciting to watch, the way they leap around and attack the sound boards like they were a combination of an enemy to be vanquished and a tv dinner to be devoured, is utterly incredible. By this time, of course, I was standing/dancing on the little corner table of the booth, as the Warehouse was packed and hopping. I have never seen a band engage an audience so entirely. I think maybe five people didn't dance. The rest moved as one entity, including yours truly, doing her patented white girl shuffle on the table top.

It's been a while since I danced on a table (completely sober) at 2:30 in the morning. So, thank you, Holy Fuck!

Of course we didn't want to let them leave. But another nice thing about Holy Fuck, is that they have the perfect name to chant out, punctuated by hand claps, when you want an encore. Ho-ly Fuck! Ho-ly Fuck! You get the idea.

Saturday night at the Warehouse was one the sweatiest, danciest, most incredibly fun concerts I have been to in a long while. And for me, it was the perfect way to end Sled Island 3.0.

Now all that's left is the withdrawal pains.