2000220
What's Wrong Tohei? gets music. Our scrudgy demo from back in October is finished enough that we're willing to share it. While i do recommend the AACs that are individually linked, there is a zip file of the whole album in MP3 format for those who want it.

20071017
Here's something for listening to music: tape deck. It's a crude device as of yet. I snuck in an unreleased Black Rice track and a preview of the Last of the Neighbours' upcoming EP.

20070905
Labour Day weekend is done and summer is just about the same. The garbage strike is riding strong though. If the mountains of filth that pile up around us means nothing more than a sore to be relieved when the rain hits and washes us away then at least i can say i made an even more bland and confusing web site then i have ever accomplished in my life. This is more or less how the site will look for awhile. Maybe some colour and images as i get around to it. There are dead links and like any fresh site that i work on it's not without bugs and weirdness. This being a post of no major insight, rather a sign post marking a turn in the road. The menu and links on this page are meant to be contextual, so depending on what you last clicked on, the relevance of the next link will change correspondingly. It's late and i'm using words three sizes too big for my skinny waist.

20070212
There have been parties at my house. Ones where you would think the walls would be coming down, and that our possessed shells would begin to crawl through steaming holes in the roof. Where there ought to be liberty spike mohawks and baseball hats taking turns batter ramming each-other's heads through walls, doors and other collapsing surfaces. Where you might expect the police to throw their riot squad hands into the air and call for military help. And CSIS would hatch a mad scientist plan to cut slices into the earth's core around us with a gigantic satellite hand saw and watch us fall away into hell like Wile E. Coyote. All to the cheers of a mob of three million villagers with gardening tools and tiki torches forming a human fence around the quarantined deformity.

Nope, it is all around the epicentre of merry making that remains calm; an inverse-quake. The birds in the surrounding forest have died of fright, or their tongues have frozen in their beaks. Fear that their feathered wings would dwarf the shudder of a butterfly and trigger a mightier tumult. Wondered amazement as to why this is even happening. Shock. Denial. Trauma system in effect. "How could this happen to a people so innocent as us?" Play possum and wait for the bear to pass.

Not even that. The barometric readings were showing no stress, pressure or tension. Only benevolent apathy in recognition of us benign tumours. We're not rebelling here. We're just a few folks in an east van home with some amplifiers and drums, a mini fridge full of beer and a keg on the back porch. A possum playing crazy while the bear has bigger fish to fry.

For nineteen hours the population of the People's Republic of Windsor expanded and contracted with the swell of volume. The sensible allotment of time for house party classification had been upgraded to temporary independent state. Three different meals were served and had we survived another five hours then passports would have been issued. Several cultural revolutions took place. The evolution of a music scene as every musician who walked in off of the street took a stab at improvisation, noise, impromptu band reunions, cover bands and ultimately live music fell under the axe, to the knell of dance music resulting in sweaty, twisted out of shape putrid shapes as even the winter night could not stay up much longer and retired.

All said and done our damages and civil disobediences were minimum. The police dropped by at about five in the morning and asked us to close the front door from which Loverboy loudly proclaimed our necessity to "work for the weekend" and my "new" forty dollar used stereo amp may or may not have blown up when competing for face time in one room versus the escalating math jam in the other room. Granted, there is not a clean dish in the house and the once off-white tile floors are a definite grey off-shite colour. We are, however, short on holes in the wall and all windows remain intact. Not a drop of vomit stains the sacred grounds of our home. My ears faintly ring but only softly under the passing Sunday afternoon traffic.

The ringing was completely quashed under the din of three televisions at soul crushing volume plugged into three gaming consoles in the late afternoon aftermath. Our only muscles left in operational capacity were our evolution given thumbs to twiggle away at pixels representing actions we couldn't hope to ever accomplish even beyond our diminished state. A bunch of deflated party baloons sitting on the couch. Gently hovering, lit from the glow of respect found in abundance with friends.

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