Now those are some shoulder pads I can really get into… Or if you would prefer less colloquial phrasing, I get a big kick out of this dress as well. Although I’m not certain I would ever be invited someplace where it would be formal enough to wear. And while I would venture a guess that most of the pieces that were used to make it came from sports cars, it is not a “sporty” outfit in the least.
Dress the Part by Isabelle Bérubé
Ms. Bérubé appears to have turned this concept of transforming old car parts (or more precisely old car seats) into fashion accessories fulltime. Although I think she should exhibit her work at the auto show.
Detail from Dress the Part by Isabelle Bérubé
I can’t imagine that a car tire as a corset or belt would be all that comfortable, however choosing it was an inspired choice. Clearly marking the difference between bottom and top, while at the same time hitting you upside the face with where the materials used to make the dress came from. Without the tire, it would be like some sort of overwrought futuristic ball gown suitable for the cover of a Harlequin Romance about a 22nd century debutante.
Although now that I have gone to the Harlequin Romance website, I have discovered that in fact they do not publish any science fiction, but that they do have a series called Harlequin NASCAR (The rush of the race car circuit; the thrill of falling in love®.) So maybe I should change the lines above to read something like “with the tire it is perfect as the ballgown of Dr. Nicole Foster, the heroine of Running Wide Open.
Naw, not even close.
Detail from Dress the Part by Isabelle Bérubé
And I’m also not certain what to make of the wires…
Pillbox Dress By Marie Line
Surprisingly, this dress is badly translated. In French it is called “Ordonnance Royale” a pun on the multiple definitions of the word ordonnance. A) a prescription and B) a law. Since it is made up of melted down plastic pill containers and made to look like a ballgown. I think I would have called it something like Royal Script, playing off the multiple definitions of the word script, ne of which is “prescription.” But nobody asked me.
And while it does look like it would be suitable for a princess, I would hate to ask Kate Middleton to have to wear it. As I don’t think melted plastic is the most malleable of materials and according to the tag beside the dress, it weighs in at a little more than 200 pounds.
Detail from Pillbox Dress By Marie LineScanty Attire By Jeanne Cirume
I’m not sure what to make of this one. Despite using Styrofoam from packaging for the socks and the collar it is mainly made out of what they call a “vacuum bag” but is actually a Madvac Collector Bag. You know one of those little four wheeled buggies with a vacuum tube that looks like an elephant’s trunk that sucks up the garbage from the sidewalk? Well, the bag that is used to collect the trash was used to make this dress.
Bird's Nest made from Margie Gillis' hair from 1984
As I’ve mentioned before, there are signed objects from Quebecois vedettes displayed alongside the dresses. Some have obvious connections, some less so. This is one of the more obvious connections. While Margie Gillis has cut her hair (for a very long time she didn’t) this bird’s next comes from the period when she wasn’t cutting it. At the Biosphere they have a very nice story explaining how it came to be.
The reason it is an obvious connection is that the nest is displayed next to this dress.
Hairdress By Roxane Cheibes and Amélie Bruneau Longpré
It can’t be that comfortable to wear even if they attached the hair to a nylon hairstyling cape, I also would love to know how the hair was attached, colored and how much hairspray was used to keep the hair in place. And while it looks really cool, I’m not entirely convinced that hair counts ass garbage.
It also can serve as an example of how unreligious Quebecois culture has become. As recently as fifty years ago, a hairdress would have been worn by someone feeling particularly guilty about some thing (or things). But this exhibit makes no mention or reference in any way shape or form to the religious nature of wearing hair. Which is apparently still done by Carmelites.
Rear view of Hairdress By Roxane Cheibes and Amélie Bruneau LongpréDetails of Chapter Ten: Words & Wonder By Geneviève Oligny
Another impractical dress, especially since it is lit from within. You can see it in full here. I do not know, but I would imagine that this dress was possibly responsible for the Dramatic Lighting! (with the capital “D,” capital “L” and an exclamation mark) and as with the hairdress, I’m not convinced that books qualify as garbage material.
That all being said, an upskirt shot of Chapter Ten is a very abstract thing.
Details of Chapter Ten: Words & Wonder By Geneviève Oligny
Bullet Dress By Geneviève Dumas and Geneviève Flageol
I’m not quite sure what to make of this one. First I never really thought of shotgun shells as refuse material. Off the top of my head, I can’t imagine that they take up an awful lot of space in landfills. On the other hand, due to the nature of their use I would also imagine that they aren’t brought to landfills and for the most part are left scattered on the ground. But then again I’m not a hunter, and the hunters that I know of are extremely conscientious stewards of nature. So it wouldn’t be a stretch to for them to pick up after themselves, either.
Then we get into the whole use of deadly arms as fashion statement morass. And while I’m certain that there are people out there who match their Smith and Wesson to their bracelet, or more simply, carry a gun around like my father wears a watch. I’m not one of them. Heck I don’t even carry around anything on me that tells the time.
I can see the allure of using brass tipped red plastic cylinders as the basic material for a dress, but the more I think about it, the less I like this particular dress. I don’t remember where or who, but I do remember somewhere learning that the designers were assigned their materials, and so if my memory is in fact correct, I can’t really blame Geneviève Dumas and Geneviève Flageol.
\Signed gas mask used by Jean-François Lépine.
But this is where it veers off into the surreal. For reasons that are beyond my comprehension, the exhibit designers decided that dresses made from strange materials wasn’t enough of a draw, so they engaged some vedettes to sign objects that some how had significance to the dresses themselves. Someone decided that a gasmask used by Jean-François Lépine would be make for a good pairing with the Bullet Dress. As M. Lépine writes on the tag for the display “Pour moi, c’est devenu un objet fétiche qui me rappelle que, même dans l’adversité la plus opaque, l’espoir est toujours permis.” Or for the squareheads reading this: “It has become a symbolic object for me; it reminds me that even in the darkest hours of adversity, hope remains.” (As an aside, that is a kick-ass translation, I hope that the designers for the show got paid at least as much as the translators did – but somehow I have a sneaking suspicion that they didn’t.)
But, if you take the statement at face value, it is completely bizarre. I’m not certain what would give the sense of adversity, the bullets? Wearing the dress? Thinking about the use of the bullets? I dunno. But I do know that there are people out there who would pay good money to wear a sexy red Mexican inspired frock like that despite whatever implications it might have.
Rear view of Mermaid Skin By Geneviève Bouchard
If you’d like to see the front of the dress, click here, I used the photo yesterday, and don’t want to be duplicating things.
I think that this is my favorite dress out of the whole bunch. But more in theory than actual practice. Inspired and inventive. Sassy, smelly and insouciant!! (hey! maybe I could get a gig working for Elle Quebec!)
Detail of Mermaid Skin By Geneviève Bouchard
But someone should let Ms. Bouchard know that if she ever wants to make a second salmon skin dress that she should talk to Lottas Garfveri and/or get her books. Her dresses would be just as Inspired and inventive. Sassy and insouciant, but they would no longer be smelly.
I’m not entirely sold on her use of mussel shells as accessories. And given the exotic nature of the material used, I’m not certain that I really need to discuss the actual design. For the most part, when using skin (ie leather) as a dress material most, if not all the really impressive dresses I’ve seen tend to follow the form of the body fairly closely. As you can see with this one, it is much more florid. Not quite what I would call rococo, but approaching. I don’t know if that was caused by there still being some meat left on the skin when it was cut (and as a consequence why it needs to be refrigerated).
It appears to me that it was made more for one of those matronly mermaids, and not one of those nymph-like mermaids.
Detail of Mermaid Skin By Geneviève Bouchard
And the reason the photographs are so blue, is because of the fluorescent lights in the refrigerator where they have to keep the dress, since Ms. Bouchard made the executive decision not to tan the salmon skins.
Charlestea By Maude Lapierre
A flapper inspired dress made of old tin aluminum cans.
Rear view of Charlestea By Maude Lapierre
Next to each dress the exhibition designers wrote some sort of lagniappe next to each dress. In this case they decided that everyone should know that it Maude Lapierre made 4,376 16 gauge holes in the tin aluminum. Personally I would have preferred to know how heavy (or light) the dress was. While it might be aluminum, it still is metal, and before I were to wear it, I’d want to know how many kilos it was.
Last Friday I finally got around to seeing Fragments – Volume 1 choreographed by Sylvain Emard and danced by Monique Miller, Laurence Ramsay, Manuel Roque and Catherine Viau. I’m kind of glad I did, not because the dance was mind blowingly phenomenal (it wasn’t, although there were parts that kicked-ass) but because it kind of gave me some insight (or what I think is some sort of insight) into the inner workings of quote; high Quebecois Culture, unquote.
But first things first, the dances. In short, it’s fragmented, as you might suspect. If you don’t know the dancers personally, you gotta take the press release at face value (always a dangerous proposition) that it was inspired by the personalities and concerns of the performers. Catherine Viau one of the dancers (and to quote from my notes: “she is very very good”) kept some of her own notes as to how things went during practices (one, two, three and four) with nary a word about how it connects to her personally, which is not to say that it doesn’t, ‘cuz I don’t know her at all, just traded emails a couple of years ago, but you figure… although now that I’m going down this tangent, it also could be that I don’t have the vocabulary or knowledge to recognize certain movements that are based on emotions or thoughts, and what I call a “cheerleading kind of move” or “marching band” is in fact coming directly from some history that I am completely unaware of. Continuing to quote from my notes “I could watch her all night.” But I digress.
Catherine Viau dans Fragments - Volume 1 par Sylvain Émard. Photo: Robert Etcheverry. Source: Sylvain Émard Danse.
Ms. Viau’s piece was the second of the night, called Émoi, émoi, which according to my handy-dandy French/English dictionary could mean “emotion, emotion” or “stir, stir” or “commotion, commotion” or “agitation, agitation” or “flutter, flutter.” (Obviously, I’m not as bilingual as I thought) Personally, I’d go for stir x2 or flutter x2, but mostly because of the way the words can be repeated (it isn’t real common to write “agitation, agitation”) than for anything specific to the dance that she did. It began with her waving or possibly fanning herself and ended with some high stepping and spinning all to some sort of mechanical / industrial kind of soundtrack by Michel F. Côté.
And no matter how hard I try I can’t figure out any connection between Ms. Viau and the movements she made other than she and the moves she makes really really good.
But, instead of doing the whole in media res thing (I don’t know what’s up with this recent fascination with Latin, paenitet) I should just start from the beginning.
It got off on the wrong foot. The very first thing that we saw was this blinding strobe light. Which is all fine and dandy, if you’re 18 years-old and at some discotheque. But isn’t so hot if you’re middle-aged and sitting with someone who has epilepsy. Once the strobe stops you can see Manuel Roque sitting on a chair, upsidedown. Kind of like a you’d imagine a how it would look if you were choreographing a car crash. As all the car crashes I have been in made time seem to move incredibly slow, it only makes sense that Mr. Roque also moves in slow motion. How this car wreck relates to “his garden” I have no clue, but the piece is called “dans mon jardin…” although as far as I know it has nothing to do with the song by Manu Chao.
He returns to a normal speed with a bunch of jumping around and shaking. And then my notes mention that he has swallows and butterflies in his garden, but I have no recollection as to why I suddenly decided to note down the wildlife. Judging from the way it was written and its placement on the page, I would have guessed that it was some sort of lyric, but last I heard Michel F. Côté only writes instrumental music. So I am back at square one. Obviously I need to take much better notes next time.
Anyhows, after the jumping and the shaking, Mr. Roque returns to the chair, upsidedown, and then the piece ends.
The third piece is the one that’s been getting the mostnotice, mostly because M. Émard chose to use a septuagenarian non-dancer as a dancer. Monique Miller is an actress (now a dancer) who has been performing since the early 1950s.
She wore a kick-ass knit pant suit that had almost looked like a skirt (I think the technical term is elephant leg pants, but I am not certain, I have even less of a vocabulary in fashion than I do in dance) although from where I was sitting it also looked liked she was covered in Saran Wrap underneath the pant suit. Also from where I was sitting I never would have guessed that she was pushing 80 years-old. Forty, maybe fifty, just before I changed the prescription on my glasses, but never 78.
There was some sort of wind-chimey, dangly things suspended from the ceiling that was extremely annoying because of the reflections of the spotlights back into the audience that made it extrmely difficult to concentrate on what Mme. Miller was doing. What she was doing looked an awful lot like emoting and mime. Now, I’m not going to go and complain because a septuagenarian actress can’t dance. But I will question the necessity of putting a non-dance performance in the middle of a dance performance.
It’d be kind of like if I started singing right here, right now
Confusing, right? And then right in the middle of Mme. Miller’s performance someone starts plainchanting a personal ad, not exactly the New York Review of Books quality, but easily worthy of Craigslist. Initially this confused me, as Michel F. Côté only writes instrumental music. But then with a little bit of research, I discovered that M. Émard and M. Côté chose to insert some sort of excerpt from eL/Aficionado a very obscure opera by Robert Ashley. And no, I’d never heard of it either, prior to this. And I would hate to think that it was used as part of the soundtrack because Mme. Miller was looking for a date (remember way back at the top, how M. Émard said that the dances were inspired by the personalities and concerns of the performers… Things that make you go hmmmm.
The last piece, Bicéphale which was the duet of the evening, danced by Laurence Ramsay and Manuel Roque is about as cliched as it’s name. It starts off slow in front of a seam of light, again making it difficult to see. Their movements become quicker and seemed to me to be slightly like something Bob Fosse would have done.
Unfortunately the music by Jan Jelinek had way too much throbbing, buzzing and skreetching for my tastes. And even more unfortunately, it wasn’t anything like what Bob Fosse would have done.
I haven’t seen the other “latest and greatest” creation by M. Émard, The Continentalline-dancing thing (it comes in various shapes, sizes and flavors). But, if it does come back this summer, I think I’m going to have to make a point to see it, just because it strikes me as being the complete opposite of Fragments – Volume 1. Either that or wait for Fragments – Volume 2 and see if things then fit together.
I’ve been meaning to write this one for a fairly long time, since August actually. But seeing as how I took 104 pictures, getting them all organized, uploaded and labelled seemed like a daunting task, so I did what anybody else would do, I put it off. Until today. If you click through to see all the pictures, it’s going to take a while to load, sorry in advance.
Bag Garment By Mélanie Casavant and Bullet Dress By Geneviève Dumas and Geneviève Flageol
In short, since the Biosphere is an “Environment Museum” it only makes sense that they mount exhibits designed to promote environmental awareness. And some bright wag decided to commission 16 clothing designers (I think all women) to create dresses using refuse material.
Now while I am an environmentally aware person and keep a fairly sustainable lifestyle, I’m not big on preaching about it. As a consequence what really struck me about this exhibit was not its Green-ness, but that while everyone was going gaga over the Jean Paul Gaultier exhibit at the Musée des beaux-arts de Montréal here was a truly original fashion exhibit that was not getting any press anywhere.
Light Switch Wall Plate autographed by David Suzuki
And while I might not proselytize about sustainability, like certain people, I do champion the underdog and Outfits from a New Era at the Biosphere is definitely underdog material if there ever was. The museum probably counts the number of daily visitors in the high two figures, has some breathtaking views of Montreal and is a charter member of the Cult of Bucky. What more do you need?
Anyhows, while I do not consider myself a fashionista, nor an authority on fabrics and style, instead of viewing these as liabilities I figured (like usual) that instead, if I approached this as a learning opportunity it shouldn’t be a hindrance to writing about it and taking some pictures. Right?
Mermaid Skin By Geneviève Bouchard
To me it was more of a compare and contrast situation. While it seemed like everyone and their mother was raving about how original and inventive M. Gaultier’s dresses were, here were some truly original and inventive dresses that weren’t getting any attention whatsoever. And while I’m certain that at some point M. Gaultier did in fact actually touch the dresses on exhibit that bore his name, I’m fairly convinced that he didn’t actually do much (if any) of the sewing, knitting, weaving, embroidery or any of the other tasks involved in making the dresses.
Whereas even without doing serious research, I’d bet my bottom dollar that each and everyone of the designers who made the “Outfits from a New Era” was significantly involved in the actual fabrication of their dresses. And while I am all for the artist-as-thinker-and-not-necessarily-creator concept (see Andy Warhol’s Red Self-Portraits One, Two, Three, Four, Five , Six, Seven and Eight for a fascinating insight into the attribution of artwork)
Detail from Dress the Part By Isabelle Bérubé
If I’m going to make one complaint (actually as I’m less than halfway through, I imagine that there will be other complaints, let’s just call this one the first. Which is not to say or suggest that the exhibit is bad, just that there is always room for improvement). This contemporary fad, or what I hope is a fad, for Dramatic Lighting! (with the capital “D,” capital “L” and an exclamation mark) drives me up a wall. In general when it comes to art/culture/things to look at or watch, you have two choices if you’re indoors; A white cube or a black box.
White Cubes tend toward being bright and Black Boxes (as you might expect) tend to be dark. Since they are dark, the Black Boxes use highly focused spotlights to draw your attention to stuff that the exhibition designers want you to look at. In contrast to the White Cube where, for the most part, your eye is free to roam where you wish. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I can’t stand exhibits that are housed in Black Boxes. And Outfits from a New Era is, unfortunately in a Black Box, pity.
I don’t know if it is because my eyes don’t react well to large contrasts in brightness, or if because I’m in darkness for the most part I don’t get the nuances of color as well as I would if it were brighter, or if it has something to do with my glasses. But whatever it is, Dramatic Lighting! (with the capital “D,” capital “L” and an exclamation mark) bugs the heck out of me.
I think you can see what I mean by a lot of nuance being missed because of the Dramatic Lighting! (with the capital “D,” capital “L” and an exclamation mark) in the picture above. Light Flow By Chloé B. Fortin is a light, wispy and diaphanous something or other that to my mind would be appropriate in a boudoir or a pornographic film shoot. Apparently made from 2,500 light bulbs and 66 meters of stripped copper wire.
Light Flow By Chloé B. Fortin
One of those garments that professes to show more than it hides, in French it is called “le grand courant lumineux” or in a hackneyed translation “the great current of light,” it was initially called “Le grand souffle” which has more to do with breath and wind than electricity. Which gives a much better idea of the “wispy and diaphanous something or other nature” of the garment.
Detail from Light Flow By Chloé B. Fortin
You can see better detail pictures here> I’m fairly certain that it doesn’t light up or get illuminated from within. But beyond the wispy nature of it, I’m not quite certain what to make of it. While the use of the light-bulbs is alright, there isn’t really anything in it beyond the use of non-traditional materials that pushes any boundaries. And given what has been already done with LEDs and clothing, I’m inclined to think that’s it’s kind of like the clothes your sister’s friend in high school wore. Something designed to make her look good, not making any real statements and not that different from what everyone else was wearing.
This little frock caught my eye, although I don’t know if it was because it’s black, and as you know, black is the new black. Or if it was because it was strapless and since I am not y-chromosome challenged, bare shoulders always make me shiver slightly, even during the summer, even on a faceless mannequin. Or what. I’ll leave it up to your imagination.
Detail from Bag Garment By Mélanie Casavant
Anyhows, this was the first one, where I thought to myself: “I’m not so certain that they actually used stuff from the garbage to make this…” Seeing as how it is made from those plastic bags you take with you when you’re walking your dog and you’re playing State Farm and being a good neighbor and picking up after your dog and everything.
None the less, I like how it incorporates the paw print motif from the bags, is over the knee and has some sort of petticoat action happening. Kind of like being post-modern and anti-nostalgic at the same time.
Detail from Bag Garment By Mélanie Casavant
Although I’m not certain I want to know what’s in the bag…
Yesterday I went to the La Grande Dégustation de Montréal. Unlike the 99% I was looking for bourbon. And of all the different things to taste, there was exactly one (1) bourbon. Woodford Reserve which was right next to the Jack Daniels stand, which makes sense as both are brands that are owned by Brown-Forman, unfortunately they decided not to bring Early Times or Early Times 354. The Woodford Reserve was as expected, extremely tasty.
They did have Highland Park and The Macallan both of which were extremely tasty in a bunch of different variations. If I remember correctly, we sampled Macallan 15 year-old and 18 year-old along with the 18 year-old Highland Park. Video to follow as soon as I have time to edit things down.
I was also able to taste a couple of varieties of Bowmore and Auchentoshan both of which were delicious.
All of which is a long winded way to get around to talking about Bourbon Whiskey, Our Native Spirit by Bernie Lubbers. Pretty much the first time in a long time I’ve picked up what I would call a textbook. If you didn’t realize, me and textbooks are not a terribly good mix, most of the time.
This time however, I’m probably going to go back and read it a second time. Voluntarily. While it just scratches the surface, it is a very nice entry into the world that is bourbon, and by extension whiskies and other distilled beverages.
Recently I’ve been doing some tastings of different types of bourbons (sadly, only ten) and for the most part end up concentrating on color, smell and taste. After reading Mr. Lubber’s book I was informed of a bunch of things about bourbon (and by extension American and Canadian whiskies) that enabled me to look like a superstar at La Grande Dégustation de Montréal.
Things like asking about how barrels were racked. Or the effects of different types of barrels on whiskies (because unlike bourbon which must be stored for at least four years in new oak barrels that have been charred, other types of whiskies don’t have such restrictions). I brought a checklist with me to the tasting in order to remember to discuss the recipe used, the number of distillations, how the grain is milled, the racking, the yeast and the barrels. All of which will affect the final product.
I only was able to think to ask those kind of questions, thanks to Mr. Lubber’s book, which goes into some detail about how those things affect bourbon.
The one fault I would point out with the book – which might not be a fault for you – is that there is a large chapter on places to visit in Kentucky when on the Bourbon Trail. And while Mr. Lubber is very good at explaining the various nuances about bourbon, he isn’t quite as compelling when writing about bars, restaurants and hotels in Kentucky. But that’s a minor point, given that he devotes two chapters to the history of bourbon, and another to various bourbon recipes.
I’m going to have to track down some more books on bourbon if I expect to become a better informed bourbon drinker.
I’ve definitely been out of touch with the music industry for the better part of a decade. On Thursday I went to see a band that I had never previously hear of, that I initially thought were derivative because they were just starting out, and then after doing a little bit of digging discover that I need to eat my shorts as they have been around since the mid 1990s and have recorded and released 24 CDs (according to Wikipedia 31). Ooops!
But let me backtrack slightly. I’ve always had a kind of love/hate relationship with the lyrics of Bertolt Brecht. Music by Kurt Weill is wonderful in my humble estimation, so there are some versions of the Threepenny Opera that I adore, and others that aren’t so hot.
Initially The Tiger Lillies had been peddled to me as a kind of Brecht/Weill, Threepenny Opera kind of thing, and seeing as how I was feeling slightly frisky I figured “what the hey!” And went with open ears.
They started with more than a bang, coming out on stage and playing Heroin and Cocain. As you can hear, they lyrics are kind of (if you squint slightly) like Brecht (via Marc Blitzstein). But the music isn’t quite Weill
It isn’t quite Welk, either. But it is a tad closer. At first I was quite charmed. Martyn Jacques sings similarly to Jimmy Somerville although I doubt he is a Smalltown Boy.
But once I made that connection, I was off to the races. Over the course of about two dozen songs (of which I only recognized one, Autumn Leaves) I was able to come up with a bunch of different performers who had some sort of connection to The Tiger Lillies. Ranging from Mel Torme
While the references are all over the place, the songs I heard seemed to be mining a fairly similar terrain. I don’t know if that was due to my being unfamiliar with the songs and as a consequence concentrating mainly on the lyrics and the stage show, or if in fact most of the songs that the Tiger Lillies have recorded over their 24 CD career (maybe 31) indeed sound alike (somehow as I write that sentence, I’m not too certain even I can’t believe that all their songs sound alike).
While it is all fine and dandy to try to shock people with graphic content, I was quite surprised while listening to realize that the rapes, murders and debauched behavior that they sung about was quite similar to what was sung in the 1920s and 30s to shock people. Somehow I would have presumed that someone singing in angry clown makeup in the 21st century who was looking to offend people’s sensibilities would have sung about something potentially more on the edge than straight heterosexual rapes, stabbings and standard issue drug addicts. It gives The Tiger Lillies a faintly quaint air, which almost has a wistful aura of nostalgia.
Kind of like “why can’t we go back to the gold old days, when it was much clearer and easier to understand what behavior was bad?” While at the same time they were definitely members of the 21st century as there wasn’t a single glass of alcohol anywhere on stage. I’m still trying to work out if I like the nostalgia schtick, or if I was disappointed that they hadn’t revised their book of sins so that is was more contemporary.
I gotta hand it to Adrian Huge,
who while not quite the reincarnation of Keith Moon
he comes about as close as I’ve ever seen anyone since Uncle Ernie.
The other Adrian in the band, Adrian Stout, played a mighty fine bass and musical saw, but I was a tad dismayed to see the Theremin that he had set up in front of him go unplayed for the duration of the concert.
Given the crowd and the band’s predilections, I can’t understand why they played in the big hall at Usine C, the smaller stage which is much more cabaret-like would have been absolutely perfect for them. Instead of fairly large and cavernous soft-seater where there was a distinct sensation of an awful lot of empty space right behind us. I was very happy to hear that this was their third time performing at Usine C, which means that they have played in Montreal at least three times. But I would be worried for whomever is promoting the fourth time.
It’s tough after one two hour and fifteen minute (including intermission) performance to really have a complete and comprehensive understanding of any band, let alone one as on the fringe as The Tiger Lillies. I’d love it if there was some sort of connection I could make to the Woody Allen film What’s Up, Tiger Lily?. Or if there was anyway I could figure out to connect the band and/or their songs any of the flowers called Tiger Lily to the fact that none of them are native to England (where the band is from) but I can’t. Which leaves me having to make stuff up on my own.
After having read the various raves about them from people as diverse as Matt Groening, Alex Kapranos, Mark Mothersbaugh, Marc Almond and Nan Goldin on their website I’m almost tempted to believe I might have missed something. But I don’t think I did. On the other hand I am not as completely over the top and gung-ho about The Tiger Lillies as they are. I’m definitely going to have to find a copy of the Gorey End, because I like Edward Gorey and the Kronos Quartet, before I commit to a final judgment on and about them.
And now, finally, while copy and pasting that link – I think I unearthed why I distinctly have this sensation of having missed something during their show. The Tiger Lillies are a theatrical band, the music that they perform is all about characters and events. Sometimes the Tiger Lillies even perform an opera. The show that I saw did not have any songs that were linked, there was no connections between anything. It was as if someone had given me a bunch of photographs of people without any background information and then wondered why I did not know any details about the people in the photographs after having looked at the photographs once.
On Wednesday night I got to see Helge Letonja’s Steptext Dance Project perform The Bog Forest at Agora de la Danse. If memory serves it is playing tonight as well and tickets are cheap. According to the press fodder it’s about immigration. I’m not so certain I would believe that, but despite me not being able to see how it is about immigration I was pleasantly surprised with the performance. One reason I might not have been able to see how it is about immigration is quite literally because it is very dark. Both on a physical level and an emotional level.
Let’s start with the physical first. According to (again) the press fodder Laurent Schneegans is the person responsible for the lighting. Personally I would have given him the title of person responsible for the darkness. The piece is roughly comprised of three (or maybe four) sections and the first one and the last one take place in pretty much an unlighted black box. Now normally I’m not a big fan of not being able to see the dancers, but in this case it wasn’t that bad; a) there wasn’t that much dancing going on (to be more precise, a lot of moving, but not a lot of dancing) and b) given the name of the piece it was obvious that the lack of light was in order to add to the atmosphere.
At the beginning everybody pretty much had their face covered by something or other, whether it was an actual mask, or just a very large hood that then caused shadows, it was difficult at the beginning to figure out who was who. Although after the fact (and with judicious use of the press fodder, I can confidently state that) Christian Wolz starts out with some kind of chanting and Konan Dayot does some staggering around like a busted marionette. I wrote in my notes “a bunch of staged abstract tableaus in the dark.” And more than 24 hours after the fact, I still stand by that statement.
As an introduction to the performance it is effective. Very spooky. They use lighters, have flashlights aimed towards the audience and in general do just about everything you can think of to make you think that you’re in some kind of bog (or for the North American’s in the house a swamp – or if you want to get technical, both are wetlands although swamps tend to have trees, and bogs veer towards treelessness) you know the kind of place you imagine while you’re listening to Dale Hawkins or Lighting Hopkins. But the beginning of the performance as a means to understand that The Bog Forest is a “crossroads for six individual destinies…” I’m, not so certain.
The second part starts with a bang – well not actually a bang, but the aftermath of a bang with a humongous cloud of smoke hanging over the stage. It takes a while to dissipate but continues to add to the swamp-like atmosphere despite the lights actually being turned up and being bright enough so that I could see the dancing. Quite a cool effect, especially since the Agora de la danse is such a small space. At some point I’m going to have to bone up on my “how-to-make-a-large-cloud-of-smoke-in-the-dark-without-any-light-or-sound” notes because I sure as shootin’ had not clue how that cloud of smoke was able to get there.
With the aid of the light it actually became possible to not only identify the dancers (who were generally quite accomplished, if not really really good) but also since they were identifiable; recognize them as individuals. According to my notes there was the “Chinese Couple,” “Blondie,” the “Other Woman,” “The Turkish Guy” and “The Rabbit Guy” (who to be honest, wasn’t a dancer, but was the singer, Christian Wolz). Writing while they are performing doesn’t leave me an awful lot of time to think about suitable titles. Although in the case of “The Rabbit Guy” I could have gone with “The Singing Guy.” But since he carried around a rabbit for the better part of the first part and then that very same rabbit gave “The Other Woman” some sort of epileptic/hysterical fit. I went for the slightly more descriptive title.
The Chinese Couple were I-Fen Lin and Wei Meng Poon. They did a kick-ass duet that started with each of them on a separate square of straw (one stage front and left, the other stage back right) which went through a progression where Mr. Meng Poon removed Ms. Lin’s shirt and did what I called a “dance of tension.” (At some point I’m going to have to do my darnedest to memorize “Technical Manual and Dictionary of Classical Ballet,” my vocabulary sucks the big one when it comes to describing how people move). But this one was where it appeared that there was an equal amount of pulling by both of them so as to keep everything in an equilibrium, more based around brief poses rather than a continuous series of movements.
Not quite the Ab Lounge, or i-Shape but close, and now that I think about it more, I’m certain that there is probably some yoga involved as well. Anyhows, after he takes her shirt they talk in what I presume is Chinese, which turns into an argument, at which point Mr. Meng Poon returns Ms. Lin’s shirt, they reconcile and then she starts coughing while he starts either crying or laughing.
Even with identifiable characters, I’m still not certain what it has to do with immigration…
Prior to the argument over the shirt Ms. Lin and the “Other Woman,” Emilia Giudicelli, have a very graceful, extremely well done, but unfortunately all too short duet. While watching it I was struck by how well they performed together. I’m not certain, but I don’t think they could have been more synchronized had they been doing it together nightly for the past 5 years. There were also two quartets where everything seems right with the world, not quite line dancing, not quite Jazz Dance, not quite Modern Dance either, but very very satisfying. If I remember correctly “The Turkish Guy” (who is actually Brazilian) Leonardo Rodrigues is not quite dancing in counterpoint to the other four, but is dancing on his own in opposition to the other four.
The three other tableaus that were notable were when The Rabbit Guy, Mr. Wolz, hummed around The Turkish Guy, Mr. Rodrigues, in effect making him move as a consequence of the; quote, sound waves; unquote, emanating from his mouth. Think of a leaf on the wind or a piece of cloth in a pool or a river. In retrospect it could be considered a variation on a theme that was started with the “dance of tension” and is continued towards the end when all five dancers join in a game of “keep aloft.”
Lipstick Forest / Nature Légère by Claude Cormier at the Palais des congrès de Montréal
The set is mainly made up on one side (actually one third) what looks very similar to a miniaturized version of “Lipstick Forest / Nature Légère” by Claude Cormier at the Palais des congrès de Montréal. Branches and twigs instead of trunks, orange instead of pink and suspended curtain-like one on top of another instead of planted on the floor like a fence. But close enough. The other two thirds is made up of some sort of net that has a lot of plastic bags attached to it. Depending on the light, or the lack of light, the plastic bags can kind of look like leaves, handkerchiefs, plastic bags or just something sort of spooky. Or maybe that was just me anticipating Halloween. But, one of the plastic bags becomes the object of the game of “keep aloft,” whereby the dancers try to keep the bag in the air by blowing on it.
The third notable tableau was when “The Rabbit Guy,” Mr. Wolz starts to draw on “Blondie,” Mr. Dayot’s back. It’s notable in that everyone is on stage and no one stops moving, but my eye was riveted on Mr. Dayot’s back, ignoring everything else. Which leads me to believe that whatever dancing was being done wasn’t particularly compelling, because the drawing itself wasn’t all that hot – but the process of drawing was extremely compelling.
Overall, I was impressed, not so much by the narrative or the theme, but by the movement. Mr. Letonja does have a very specific dance vocabulary (which I’m not certain I would be able to learn at this late stage) rooted in movements from nature, like the wind or water and he does translate it extremely well for humans. I’m certain it makes complete sense in his head how it relates to immigration and immigrants, but that didn’t translate to me sitting in the audience, maybe next time I need to go to the performance that has the talk afterwards where they explain everything, although to be honest, all I really would want to know is how they got they cloud of smoke up there, but I’m rambling now, so let me stop.
At the risk of repeating myself, it is the movements taken from nature and reproduced by Mr. Meng Poon, Ms. Lin, Mr. Dayot, Mr. Rodrigues and Ms. Giudicelli that truly make The Bog Forest something wicked-cool.
Last Saturday I got invited to a dinner party unlike any other dinner party I had ever been invited to. To give some backstory: There used to be this kick-ass (or so I’ve been told) restaurant in Long Island City called M. Wells. And there is this Montreal based taco truck called Grumman 78. Apparently the folks behind M. Wells and Grumman 78 used to work at a place called Au Pied de Cochon, a fabled place in Quebecois food history. Anyhows, for a variety of reasons I Bixi’d my way down to the western end of Saint Henri to a garage for what I initially thought was going to be some sort of culinary n’est plus ultra. As it turned out it was a n’est plus ultra, but not for the reasons I had initially thought.
$60 for bar inspired food while watching a Canadiens’ hockey game in a converted garage with the latest and greatest in the Quebecois food scene. I figured what the hey! There are times when I can run up a $60 bill just eating hamburgers. This had a possibility of being not only good, but memorable. When I arrived (earlier than my five other dining companions) things looked a little unsettled. As I was not quite in the loop, I took a seat at the bar waiting for everyone else to show, when in fact I should have staked a claim to a table directly in front of the Big Screen and waited for everyone else to arrive.
I also had in my head some sort of idea that it was going to be some sort of gourmet festival. You know where the wine/food pairings are kind of like music of the spheres and everyone is dressed perfectly. Remind me next time I have a thought like that, that the previous time I was wrong, very wrong.
I don’t quite remember exactly when it hit me, but at some point it did, that this was not some sort of gastronomical encounter where food was king, but more like your local bar with better than average food. I went from thinking “for my $60 my mind is going to explode because of the flavor combinations” to “hey this shit is good. If I’m going to get the average down below $6 per serving, I better start eating more.” Kinda like going from a concept of the latest in cuisine actuelle to an all-you-can-eat buffet. Or for the Americans in the house, going from Next to Thanksgiving.
As I deliberately left my camera at home (I thought initially I was just going to kick back and enjoy myself instead of writing about it) I am quite grateful and appreciative of Huge Galdones and FoodieDateNight both of whom wrote down what they ate and took pictures of what was served. But by relying on other people’s descriptions, I was quickly reminded that taste is one of those elusive senses; one person’s “sharp” is another person’s “bitter” is another person’s “spicy.” And it is made even more obvious by the titles of the various pictures which for the most part give a good general idea, but when you get down to the real nitty-gritty are world’s apart.
Deviled eggs & fried snailsCurried deviled eggs with breaded escargots.
While the hard boiled egg whites were exactly that, there’s not much you can do with a boiled egg white, the yolks were extremely smooth. I’d venture a guess a ton of mayonnaise was used. The snails were definitely breaded and then fried, although the coating didn’t really stick. Initially I thought the idea was to eat the egg with a snail, but quickly realized that since there were five snails and only three deviled eggs that it wouldn’t quite work like that. Normally I’m not a real big fan of hard boiled eggs in any form, but in this case I had two servings or six halves. They were that good. Approximately 400 calories.
Initially I thought that this was some kind of Puerto Rican boy band soup. But Menudo and Menudo are two different things, and apparently this had clams as well. After the deviled eggs this was fairly weak. Tripe is mostly about the texture, but there wasn’t much. And clams after snails is like drinking a Mosel kabinett riesling right after a bourbon. The subtleties don’t quite shine as well as they could. Approximately 300 calories
Quebecois-style smoked mussels.Smoked mussels served cold w/ crackers
I’m not certain what makes these Quebecois-style, I didn’t taste any maple syrup or cheese curds, but again I was pushing the limits of my palate. Mussels are kind of like Tequila to me. There was one night a couple of decades ago when I just overdid it (not on both at the same time) and as a consequence neither one is high on my list of things to order or eat. But when served, my mom taught me well, I eat what’s put in front of me. To me these tasted like what I would presume tinned smoked mussels would taste like. But my companions quickly corrected me, informing me in no uncertain terms that smoked mussels from a can would be way more mushy. As the crackers were tossed on the bar and the soup and the mussels showed up pretty much at the same time, I actually used the crackers (plain old Saltines) in the soup. Even though they were swimming in oil (maybe that ‘s why it was Quebecois-style, maple oil!). Approximately 200 calories.
Raw Salmon, dynamite mayo, fennel, tobiko, croutonsFennel salad topped with Asian-inspired salmon crudo, sesame oil, tempura bits, and spicy mayonnaise
Going three-for-four in the challenging food categories (hard boiled eggs, mussels and fennel are never going to be number one with me) this was actually quite tasty, I had two. The chunks of salmon were very large, the pieces of tempura were very crunchy, I didn’t taste any of the sesame oil and there was just a light coating of spicy mayonnaise. I ended up eating the fennel separately and covered in spicy mayonnaise it was also quite nice. Approximately 800 calories.
buffalo wingsBuffalo style chicken in a box w/ wet naps
To me this is where I diverged from what was written on the menu. To me this was much more like a General Tao Fried Chicken than Buffalo style chicken. Basically a chicken breast with the wing still attached, coated in a tangy, sweet, sticky and vibrantly red sauce. I kept waiting for the dark meat to show up, but it never did. Nonetheless I had two servings, lets call it a conservative 2,000 calories.
taramosalata and eggplant-olive saladFried tortilla chips w/ taramasalata & pickled eggplant n' olives
No funky business here, taramasalata is taramasalata, pickled eggplant is pickled eggplant. The fried tortilla chips were huge. Personally I prefer my taramasalata to have enough garlic to save me from vampires for at least a month, this one would have prevented someone from biting my neck for maybe 30 minutes. The eggplant was nice, but not earth shattering and the fried tortilla chips ended up getting soggy. How about we add another 1,350 calories?
Again I diverge from the written menu, there might have been ricotta in there, but they were doused in Parmesan and some kind of tomato sauce, nice and large, but meatballs are kind of like hard boiled eggs, real tough to fancy up. I had two. How about we call it 400 calories?
Tourtiere tamale, turkey gravy, red pepper jelly"Tourtière tamale": ground pork and spices with gravy and plum sauce
This is where things got interesting. As we were being served camp style (ie everyone at the same time) sometimes descriptions got lost in translation. These came to the table simply as “tamales.” I asked all my dining companions what they thought the sauce was, because I thought it was some kind of, again tangy, raspberry or strawberry sauce. Between the four of them, I got two red peppers, one chili, and one cranberry. To me it definitely wasn’t spicy enough for chili, and in hindsight, given the turkey gravy the cranberry was a brilliant guess. But tourtiere is normally served with ketchup. I have no idea where the “plum sauce” comes from, and I will go to my grave insisting that it was a tangy raspberry coulis. Call it 300 calories.
Cumin-rubbed lamb spare ribs with sesame and cilantro saladLamb belly w/ cumin & sesame
This is pretty much where I kicked the bucket. After consuming approximately 6,750 calories (don’t forget the booze) I though to myself, are baby sheep ribs really all that meaty? And after having one bite, realized in fact that they weren’t. And now that I start thinking about it, I cannot remember ever seeing, live, or in pictures a hefty lamb. And if you’re not hefty there ain’t gonna be much meat around your belly or on your ribs. So I took one bite, confirmed what I thought and said “ok, enough’s enough.” I did however eat all the cilantro…
Black forest chocolate & pumpkin cream cheese whoopie piesPumpkin-cream-cheese and Black Forest cake Whoopie pies
I didn’t try the pumpkin (and maybe I should have) but I was very disappointed with the, quote; Black Forest; unquote whoopie pie. I don’t know about you, but the words “Black Forest” make me think of chocolate, maraschino cherries and whipped cream, double bonus points if some of the chocolate is in shavings. You get the all-time high score if your chocolate cake is moist. These made me think more along the lines of oversized Oreo cookie. The cake was a little bit dry and yeah after pushing 7K calories I wasn’t quite in the mood to really analyze them further.
Overall it was a fun time, from my perspective I think it was more Grumman 78 than M. Wells, but I have been wrong before, and I will be wrong again. In retrospect there was nothing that was completely mind blowing, but there was nothing that was horrible either. The Canadiens didn’t win, but it was a close game that ended up in a shootout. The food was similar to the game, entertaining and enjoyable, but not earth shattering. I’m not certain that I am enough of a hockey fan to go watch every game there, but for things like the Daytona 500, it would be amazing.
