Author Archive

Blurton Bless The Setbacks

Thursday, January 18th, 2007

The Ottawa XPress – January 18, 2007

The Setbacks’ nod to rock gods

If male rockers pushing 40 could get pregnant, I’d believe that Ottawa’s The Setbacks were the product of a three-way shag in the back of a van between Tricky Woo, C’mon and Maximum RNR.

Baptized with Labatt’s 50 and weaned on MC5 and The Stooges, The Setbacks (Trevor Kealey, Steve Palmer, Chris Saracino and Paul Townsend) play fun and blistering-loud, balls-out raunch ‘n’ roll crowded with shouts and gang vocals, pounding drums, big bass lines and killer riffage that’ll make yer skull cave in.

The Setbacks’ Steve Palmer

Their new album, Bless My Soul, recorded by Paul “Yogi” Granger, is sure to make the godfathers of the aforementioned rock royalty proud. In particular, The Setbacks would consider a high-five from C’mon’s Ian Blurton a blessing from the Holy Father himself.

“Ian Blurton is a god to all of us,” says Palmer about Hogtown’s highly respected King of Canrock – the measure of all things cool. “We pray to him regularly.” Read more…

– Sylvie Hill

Getting Burned in the Burbs: Matthew Firth Tales of Degenerates

Monday, November 6th, 2006

The Ottawa XPress, November 6, 2006
BOOK REVIEW

Matthew Firth’s Suburban Pornography (Anvil Press, 207 pp.)

Matthew Firth’s Suburban Pornography

Matthew Firth’s tales of degenerate one-night stands

“Relax, girl. It’s just like taking a big shit. Only in reverse.” These are the lines I recite readily and adoringly when I’m asked about the best in contemporary Canadian pornographic writing. It’s from Mingus Tourette’s 2004 book Nunt, which features on the front cover a nun in a gas mask with legs spread and wearing stilettos. The collection of prose-poetry is held up to Rimbaud and Bukowski for its rawness. But now, with the release of his new collection of short stories titled Suburban Pornography, Ottawa’s own Matthew Firth is being hailed as “Canada’s Bukowski.” But does Firth deserve the title?

Compared to Nunt, the front cover of Suburban Pornography sucks. It features a white-picket fence around a suburban house, and in the bedroom window over yonder is a silhouette of a naked lady. But there’s nothing cliché about the front-cover literary endorsement by author Dan Fante, who says of Firth’s talents: “He can write like a sonofabitch.” That’s serious praise coming from the son of writer John Fante, famed Los Angeles novelist and screenwriter, who Charles Bukowski praised and then reintroduced to the world in 1980.

What makes Suburban Pornography so memorable is the brutally honest snapshots of the inner-city ill-privileged and sad-sack suburbanites who fuck, suck, bleed, bruise, cruise and search for love among the loveless. Firth writes about garbage men, bus drivers, soup kitchen clients, neighbourhood perverts, waitresses and prostitutes who work in gritty Ontario towns, and are poisoned by lousy jobs and damaged relationships that keep them too tired, or busy, to contemplate their social conditions.

Sex comes cheap in Firth’s stories. Sheila Crawford sucks cock in the alley. Eddie blows ex-cop Craig in the shed. Steven fucks with mental-case Kathy. For example, in “The Summer of No Love,” Firth captures insolence in language stripped of ornament that bites bitterly:

“I lifted her skirt. I licked two fingers and then stuck them in. I jammed them in as far as they would go, then rotated them round and round to loosen her up, to make room. I pushed her legs further apart. I grabbed her ass. I slapped it. Slapped it hard. I pushed her feet apart. I stood behind her and pressed my cock up and down her ass cheek. She tensed. Then I pushed my cock lower and stuffed it in. She splashed in the dishwater as she braced herself. I fucked her like that…I pushed her head forward. I fucked her this way, then came and stepped away…I watched my semen run down her leg. I grabbed a tea towel and threw it at her. Then I turned and left.”

Folks yearn for redemption, glory and revenge just beyond their grasp, which might shake them out of their malaise. Like classic Bukowski, it never comes. If the reader wants resolution, too fucking bad. “Resolution is an artificially imposed device, like mouthwash,” Firth tells XPress about its sanitizing consequences. Things are never so clean in this caustic Firthy world. (It’s fitting that he names his chapbook publishing company Black Bile Press.)

Firth wrote two previous short-story collections and co-edited the short-fiction anthology Grunt and Groan: The New Fiction Anthology of Work and Sex. He insists he’s not a writer of porn or erotica. “I write realism,” he says, “which includes a lot of sex.”

Nonetheless, Firth is a proficient pornographer who wraps powerful language around provocative scenes as snugly as a condom on a very hard cock. Sure, it’s way safer sex than in Nunt, but I’d rather take two Canadian Bukowskis to bed than just one.

Book launch November 18, the Manx Pub, 370 Elgin Street, 5 p.m., free.

– Sylvie Hill

Hill takes her passion to TV Land: Sylvie’s Hosting Gig Featured in The Ottawa Citizen

Saturday, September 2nd, 2006

The Ottawa Citizen – Saturday, September 02, 2006
By: Tony Martins

Sylvie Hill has a motto: Follow what you love and you’ll never get lost.

The passion-first resolve that has helped Hill earn a local profile as a bold writer and candid commentator will be front and centre again when she hosts the second season of Letters: Rediscovering the Art of Courtship, a reality television series co-produced by Ottawa’s General Assembly Production Centre (GAPC) and Calgary’s Corkscrew Media. Shooting begins in late September in Calgary.

“I love entertaining. I love relationships and talking about relationships,” Hill said recently in her usual ebullient tone. Her brash spoken word poetry performances and reliably controversial columns in Ottawa XPress bear testament to that.

“Hosting the show will be next step in an evolution for me, taking me off the printed page and out into the world,” she said.

Although her popular column, called Shotgun, was shelved by Xpress in June as a space-saving measure, Hill continues to write reports for the weekly paper and bears no ill will.

“It was actually an OK time to leave things off,” said the 32-year-old. “I was only doing Shotgun every other week and I felt a desire to learn more, to live more, so that I could write about more things that people could relate to.”

The first season of Letters begins next week on Bravo! (8 p.m., Thursdays) with Toronto literary editor Joy Gugler as host, but the GAPC producer who created the show, Hoda Elatawi, sensed Hill would be a natural fit as the program moved into season two.

“Sylvie is clever and funny and easy to be around,” said Elatawi. “She has a natural warmth that is absolutely critical for this kind of show. And she has a background in both literature and performance.”

Letters follows a group of earnest young men, aged 25 to 40, as they compete to woo a young woman using nothing more than a romantic turn of phrase and good penmanship. In other words: love letters. The young Cyranos never learn the real name of the show’s “Roxanne,” and only one of them gets to meet her – when he emerges as her favourite in the final episode.

In each instalment, the Letters suitors are assigned tasks that reveal precious insights about Roxanne. Later, with coaching and encouragement from Hill, they use what they have learned to compose letters vying for Roxanne’s affection.

Roxanne also deliberates with Hill and bids one unfortunate letter writer adieu at the end of each show.

Yes, love can be cruel, but Hill’s fascination with the interplay of passionate relationships should see her through the demanding role of host.

She views herself as a “conduit” through which the audience will be ushered inside the romance that develops on Letters.

“I’m passionate about finding what somebody needs and putting it out there,” she said, with the conviction that no one will get lost along the way.

The second season of Letters will be broadcast in the latter part of 2007 on ACCESS (in Alberta), Canadian Learning Television and BookTV, followed by another run on Bravo!

– The Ottawa Citizen 2006

Metal Helpers

Thursday, August 24th, 2006

The Ottawa XPress – August 24, 2006

OttawaMetal.com hosts first annual metal benefit concert

For a subculture that gets such a bum rap, Ottawa’s heavy metal scene is lucky to have a solid core of fierce familiars to set the record straight.

“I just want to do as much as I can to diminish the stereotype that metalheads are druggies or unintelligent or bums. That’s definitely not true,” says Kimberly Zapata, one half of the driving force behind ottawametal.com.

Along with co-founder and boyfriend Eric Mulligan, these metal authorities (who carry such cred that they were once okayed by the Judas Priest tour manager to get backstage to interview opening act Anthrax) have built OttawaMetal.com into a popular one-stop shop for metal interviews, a listing of every genre of local metal bands, show dates, album reviews, metal radio shows and metal nights at local bars, links to music stores, and a message board.

To further unite headbanger bands and the folks who love them, OttawaMetal.com is organizing the first annual metal benefit on Saturday, August 26, at Café Dekuf. The lineup features Syncytia, Toxicator, Conquering Valhalla, Remnants Of A Deity and Medea. Expect lots of awesome giveaways from Steve’s Music, Elgin Street Video and more. Tickets are five bucks and available at End Hits (407 Dalhousie Street).

She’s not the only devil Satan has working to promote local shows. “We’ve got really good ties with Shawn Scallen,” she says of the man behind punkottawa.com who also co-owns End Hits, which, like the former metal haven Record Runner, allows ottawametal.com to sell tickets.

Zapata also credits big promoters in Ottawa like Revolution Rock, Black Widow Productions and Absurd Reality Concerts, and Chris Gauthier, who books bands for Maverick’s, couldn’t agree more that these companies should get a lot of thanks for their hard work promoting the scene. “We are just four walls with a sound system,” Gauthier says. “It’s really the promoters who put the money in and bust their asses to get people out.”

That said, Gauthier also credits the city for its legions of loyal fans. “When we first started doing shows,” he continues, “we thought, these guys are going to kill each other, but right away if someone falls, right away they’re helped up, it doesn’t get out of hand, they try to police themselves for the most part.”

Ottawa’s been home to some big-name metal acts like Exciter, Jeff Waters from the band Annihilator (who just returned from a stint writing for Brave Words & Bloody Knuckles metal magazine), and, of course, Fuck The Facts.

But admittedly, metal is not for everyone. Allmusic.com describes heavy metal as the most extreme music form in terms of volume, machismo and theatricality. And its themes are mostly about the Apocalypse and counterculture with a focus on war, nuclear annihilation, environmental issues, and political or religious propaganda.

For example, even though Zapata is managing black metal band Medea, who will be playing at the benefit, she doesn’t really know what they’re singing about. “Metal is more for the instrumentals, so when it comes to the raspy vocals, you wonder what they’re saying,” she says. “Take Children Of Bodom, for instance: ‘I’ll cut your hand off and I’ll use it like a spoon,'” she quotes, adding that they’re from Finland and probably don’t know a lot of English.

At only 19, Zapata is already laying down plans to open this city’s answer to Toronto’s Bovine Sex Club. It’ll be called The Lair. It will be fashioned with antique swords on the ceiling, serve good food, blast Sabbath to Nightwish, and host metal karaoke nights – that’ll be $6.66 for that burger and a horns up with every meal for you, skid!

But until she finishes the business administration course she’s starting in the winter, I’ll be waiting patiently for a table by the ram’s skull centrepiece and the latest Angie the Barbarian Pure Hell chair made of femurs.

– Sylvie Hill

F#@ the Facts!

Thursday, August 24th, 2006

The Ottawa XPress – August 24, 2006

F#@! The Facts are coming to kill you… musically speaking

Fuck the Facts

Ottawa-Gatineau Grindcore band sheds uniformity for diversity

One listen to any track off Stigmata High-Five, the new Fuck The Facts album, and you’ll understand why people sometimes crap their pants when they’re scared.

This multicultural quartet of girl and boys, which includes lead screamer Mel Mongeon, guitarist Topon Das, drummer Mathieu Vilandré and bassist Steve Chartier, sound like they’re coming to kill you.

Philadelphia’s Relapse Records (the band’s record label) describes the album as “oppressively heavy, metallic riffing to savage grindings and spasmodic changes.” This is a high-powered aural assault that will loosen your bowels and the fillings in your head.

“We wanted to get away from the overproduced digital sound that more metal albums have nowadays,” Das says about the album, which was recorded in Montreal over two weeks in February. “Everything was mic’d and played loud.”

Despite being classified as “grindcore” (think vocal chords doused in Liquid Drano), forget the facts about what to call it ‘cuz they certainly do. How the frig do you think FTF got its name?

“We just do whatever we want,” he says about what musical styles they play. “It’s way easier to get excited about that, instead of putting up all these rules and barriers around yourself and saying ‘I gotta stay within these limits,'” Das says about classifications that often screw with the ability to embrace diversity.

Restrictions are too much like an ex-girlfriend who rationed Das’s heavy metal intake and told him to grow up. And then there was the experience of working at a department store.

“I worked at a Zellers for about five years in shipping and receiving and my breaking point for quitting was when they implemented a uniform for stock guys,” he says. “They were like handcuffs.” To this day he curses the black polyester pants that compromised the blood flow from his brain to his soul like a pair of size 2 spandex leggings on Dee Snyder.

METAL ETHOS

Quit your job, love your friends, burn your TV, never spend more than 10 bucks on a pair of pants, no one is perfect so there’s nothing to worry about – that’s the theme of daily human evolution and discovery that Das uses to describe Stigmata High-Five. It’s also how he and the group choose to live.

“I have a very simple standard of living,” he says, “I don’t have a lot of toys. I have a place to live, food to eat, and a lot of free time to do a lot of shit I like to do,” like playing around with the junk he collects or sitting in the backyard listening to the birds chirp.

“My life isn’t very grindcore at all,” Das says about his personal life off stage. “I like sitting on my patio and drinking coffee and hanging out. I think the majority of the bands we play with are retardedly calm.”

Sure, he may title songs “Carve Your Heart Out,” or “The Wrecking,” but he likes his Miles Davis.

Das says he never had any aspirations of being a “rock star,” playing to crowds of faceless adoring fans. Plus, the title is more for KISS comic book characters than fierce metal talents.

Maybe that’s why Das says he wonders whether or not Ottawa really knows who they are.

“It’s nice when we play a show here, and people show up, and I have no idea who the fuck they are.” If Das thinks he’s got a crowd now, just wait till the band’s feature in an upcoming issue of Metal Maniacs magazine.

In September, FTF will unleash the beast aboard the fifth installation of the Contamination 2006 Tour, which this year features Unearthly Trance and Facedowninshit, with special guest appearances by labelmates Jucifer, Minsk and Ottawa’s Buried Inside. Sponsored by SuicideGirls.com, Decibel Magazine, Lambgoat.com and Jakprints, the tour will take them from Boston right across the United States and back to Ottawa on Wendesday October 4 to play Mavericks.

– Sylvie Hill

I Have To Go Now

Thursday, June 29th, 2006

Ottawa XPress – Shotgun – June 29, 2006

I have an outhouse to decorate. I’m fascinated by cottage outhouses.

My mom has managed to transform hers into a wooden superbooth of hope and “Believe in Yourself!” messaging plastered all over the walls. There among the E.T. poster and dream catchers are watercolour scrolls of the Footprints poem and the Serenity motivational verses extracted from a Dear Abby clipping. It’s cheesy as fuck, but talk about a comforting compartment for contemplation and other business.

Now that I have my own cottage for the summer that I share with my best friend and her boyfriend, my top priority is Star Wars bed sheets for the bunk beds in my room. But we also have to spruce up our shit shack too. Maybe a few Shotgun columns on the outhouse walls? But I wonder, after two years and no less than 60 columns, is Shotgun even worth the toilet paper you’d wipe your ass with?

Forget the toilet paper, get me a tissue, Mario! Readers: It’s with sadness that I declare that Shotgun is canned, so to speak, and I need a bathroom break. So, let’s call this farewell the masturbatory column for a moment. I’m going to jerk off a whole lot of thank-yous and do stuff that pleases me without any regard for your needs. Watch me now.

First. Thank you to Stuart Trew for offering me my own column back in August 2004, and thanks to the new Editor-in-Chief Matthew Harrison for treating his writers like gold. Thanks to Dianna Graham – not only XPress’s talented comedy writer, but a valued confidante and personal editor who always made sure I never gave too much away that I would regret in the morning.

Merci Doug Hamelin for being the closest thing a girl could have to The Toronto Star’s pop music junkie Ben Rayner, and to Patrick J. Killen for calling me sharp. Love to loyal friends who kept up and talked back.

Now your turn: Truthfully, Shotgun was nothing without its readers. From the regulars to the occasional visitor, everyone’s online comments helped make Shotgun one of the most popular columns to read at www.ottawaxpress.ca.

The best compliments are the ones that credit a writer for opening up a can of worms, contributing refreshing perspectives, or exposing newsworthy city secrets in a humorous and honest manner. Shotgun became a way of connecting readers all over Ottawa, Montreal and Toronto with that news. It’s been a treat talking with Ottawa about sex and relationships, popular culture, mental illness, and the need for more rock and roll beer gardens in this town.

You know, Christopher Silvester in the Introduction to The Penguin Book of Columnists writes, “Fecundity of opinion is one quality that is generally required of the columnist.” I doubt whether or not Ottawa can inspire ideas in the way sin cities like Paris and its salons of the 1920s could, and I am convinced leading a clean and sober life dulls the edge a bit. But like the light bulb in our outhouse, if you keep the light burning (somehow), you’ll always find your way through the dark. Then again, when burnout is a factor, who likes pissing on their own leg?

In his final column in The New York Times last year, after writing more than 3,000 columns, 75-year-old columnist William Safire quoted something Nobel laureate James Watson once told him: “Never retire. Your brain needs exercise or it will atrophy.”

Too true. But to paraphrase what Longtimers Johnny said to me one night at the Aloha Room over a bottle of 50: Just because a band doesn’t write songs for a while doesn’t make each of them any less a musician. So it goes for columnists.

Readers, we’ve had a good time. Thanks for calling my number off the wall.

[ed.] While we mourn the passing of Shotgun as a column and applaud Sylvie’s contribution over the years, the lovely Miss Hill has not left us for good. As one of our most beloved writers, she will continue to contribute to the paper whenever she can. And who knows, one day, when the time is right, the city may once again hear the familiar blast that signals the return of Shotgun.

– Sylvie Hill

Heads or Tails: Excuse me while I kiss the pint

Thursday, June 15th, 2006

The Ottawa XPress // June 15, 2006

Fringe performer Brendan McNally gets set to go the first round with Heads or Tails.

Photo Credit Peter Knippel: Brendan McNally

Sleek schooners set sail for Ottawa’s urban theatre world with tales of adventure and intrigue.

With this year’s theme being “X Marks the Spot,” get thee ready, matey, for some swashbuckling action at the 10th annual Ottawa Fringe Festival! With more than 50 shows being performed in eight venues over two weeks, from June 16 to 25, no play should go unventured.

For these dedicated artists, it’s more than liquid courage that gets them to walk the stage-plank. It’s about passion and earning those kegs.

In preparation for the festival, artists from all over Canada, England and NYC have been madly trying to steer their productions in the right direction through the rough seas of shameless self-promotion and rigorous rehearsal schedules.

But even with a great platform, competition is fierce. With so many intriguing plays being offered, theatre groups have to do whatever they can to get you to plant your bum at their venue.

“D” MARKS THE SPOT

This year’s pirate theme has me half expecting to see Ottawa’s Desdechado Productions playwright Brendan McNally and director Ilona Jones storm into the interview in piratical flamboyance, sailing a makeshift vessel crafted out of discounted, soon-to-be defunct Big Bud’s bristol board, ready to pillage the pub (Biddy Mulligans) for pints and nan bread.

But equally theatrically, the two artists turn up dressed in school uniforms with the signature Desdechado logo (a black-circled “D”) emblazoned upon their left breast pocket – all part of the guerrilla marketing that goes hand-in-hook with Fringe.

Jones is dressed in ponytails, a half-unbuttoned shirt and tie askew, looks like a delinquent sultry school girl, McNally reminds me of an obedient British schoolboy from Pink Floyd’s The Wall. Or a demure airplane pilot.

Either way, it’s hardly the orderly image most Ottawa theatregoers would associate with McNally, given his acting credits. He’s been the infamous reckless Begbie character in the New World Theatre production of Trainspotting. And before that he was the bare-bummed hitchhiker-taking-a-crap-by-the-roadside (he missed his ride) in the Fringe play he wrote called The One and Me: A Hitchhiker’s Tale.

But while McNally’s new 2006 play, Heads or Tails, revisits the scat theme in the form of rabbit poo-pellets that make their way into a black bean soup, themes are intense this year and exclude pirates.

PRIZE FIGHTER

What is consistent about McNally through his decade-plus writing and theatre career is the professionalism and immense talent he packs into every punch, which always makes for knockout theatre.

The new play should be no exception. The 52-minute Heads or Tails tackles big but basic issues of life and death, suicide and despair, hope and rabbits.

“It’s a dark play,” Jones warns me, but McNally concludes: “But we’re not Morrissey, we’re not ‘woe is me.'”

Heads or Tails is about an ex-junky named June, played by Allison Brennan, who isn’t sure if she should kill herself and, throughout the play, flips a coin to try and decide.

“It’s about consequences, consequences, consequences,” McNally says, and how to make heads or tails of tragedies.

“There’s a dichotomy between either/or, and sometimes it’s both, and sometimes it’s none of that at all,” he explains about the this-or-that combination of circumstances or people that leads a person, like June, to speak with a rabbit or discuss with her alter-ego how punctuation compromised biblical history.

The characters, Dan and Pat, in the play discuss and debate modern psychiatry, pharmaceutical companies and vodka – things society relies upon to treat/deal with/tame sexual abuse victims, artists and addicts.

I don’t ask Jones specifically if people will laugh or cry, but I do ask her how she expects the audience will react.

“You don’t know what people’s reactions are going to be,” director Jones says. “It’s about recognizing things that belong to you,” she says of what audiences could react to.

IN THE RING

So what made Jones want to direct a tragicomic play like this?

“Does it speak to me?” is what Jones asked herself about the script. She says it’s a lot like appreciating music: You like it or you don’t. It just clicks, much like the McNally-Jones collaboration itself.

This isn’t the first time the two have hopped into the ring together. They were once neighbours, they were both enrolled at Algonquin College, and they’ve worked with “dark” themes in their 2005 collaboration, the Stigma Busters production Bonkers.

“I was particularly impressed with what she did with Wintersleep,” McNally says of Jones’ directing debut at Algonquin. His appreciation led him to hand the script over to Jones so she could make it more than just ink – a challenging endeavour that Jones called “performing plastic surgery on McNally’s baby.”

“I had to cut it and I had to tell Brendan about it,” she says. “I’ve known Brendan for years, but I didn’t know if he was going to go insane.”

As director, Jones also has to manage the rhythm and pacing of the actors. As with all Fringe plays, it’s important to give the cast freedom to interpret their characters on stage.

“The artists are professionals, they are hard working, they are creative, they can bring something to it,” McNally says of Desdechado’s group.

With Fringe plays, actors breathing real life into the characters means a slightly different version of the play every night. “Like live music,” Jones says, “you don’t know what you’re going to see until you see it.”

AND IN THE OTHER CORNER…

Patrick Gauthier tells XPress what they were up to during the pre-performance scramble for Grupo Rubato’s production pygM@ILion in 2004: “We sang to lineups (show tunes, mostly) as we handed out flyers.” Considered the “perfect Fringe show” according to CBC Toronto, Grupo Rubato were also the 2005 winners of the Magnetic North Theatre Festival’s playwriting contest.

To promote this year’s play, The Man Who Went to Work One Day and Got Eaten by a Bear, Gauthier says, “We recently got caught trespassing in a cemetery, taking photos of a guy in a bear suit. In front of the graves of prominent parishioners.”

Silly rabbits.

Grupo is among a few who were unable to score a venue through the festival’s lottery system this year, so look for them as a BYOV, or “bring your own event.” And no, it’s not in a cemetery.

– Sylvie Hill

We Talk Sexy Talk

Thursday, June 8th, 2006

Ottawa XPress – Shotgun – June 8, 2006

Ever try talking dirty to your lover? How’s that working out?

I used to believe it was enough for ladies to splay themselves out naked on the centre of a cool, white bed, and – presto! – their job was done. For the most part, I think girls can still get away with this. Perhaps this is what’s behind the “dead lay” complaint, or the myth that sexy girls suck in bed, and not the right way. Hey, if all men think about is sex, ladies, consider yourselves damned lucky! Blokes are saving us a lot of work. They’re doing their homework, are you?

It’s time to get off our naked asses and put in some effort to seduce these guys with more than just our bodies. After all, we take cooking classes to be better cooks, financial workshops to get richer, and we train for marathons. So why not invest in our sexual future to become greater lovers?

Follow me.

Last week I was invited to Venus Envy for an “aural sex” workshop taught by Diva Midori. There, I learned how awful I must be in bed. “Blowjobs can only go so far,” Midori said to a store full of attractive lesbians, gay men, me and a couple more heterosexuals.

Damn, now what do I do?

Solution: “Tantalize, mesmerize and keep their attention, and win against the competition,” Midori rapped. Translation: Use your voice to ravish your partner with seductive storytelling and sensual instruction, and dude will keep coming back for more.

Because the brain is the biggest sex organ, the voice can be the most powerful tool to create the hottest scenes. If you can’t think of hot scenes, borrow from erotic literature. This way, you can use the hypnotic magic of the voice to seduce your lover long before you enter the bedroom (or the sushi restaurant). It’s the difference between sitting down at 6 p.m. for dinner and talking about the workday. Or, screwing with the man’s head by leaving him wondering when you’re going to do that thing you whispered you’d do to him earlier in a sexy phone call at lunch.

Sexy chitchat. Oh, it all sounds so easy, but it’s harder than you think! It’s like acting, and not all of us are Fringe Festival material. I know you have to use your eyes seductively, be attentive and vary the pace, rhythm and intonation of your speech. The challenge is not to sound like a beatnik.

But why not try talking like a sexed-up pretentious coffeehouse poet if that’ll make your man’s eyes roll back in his head like they do when you shove their dick in your hot, moist mouth.

Look! I’m talking sexy! No? Darn, I’ve always left this shit up to the guy. Tell me, gentlemen, where do you learn to talk so good?

XXX

SEXY BOOKS Ottawa’s Aviva Cohen will be doing a performance at Chapters (Rideau) based on her tantalizing novel, Sex and Sublimation, about a 23-year-old woman strutting sex and smarts in Brixton, U.K., June 10, 5 to 6 p.m. Book signing: 6 to 7 p.m.

XXX

SEXY THROATS Talk about using your voice, I’ll be on stage at Westfest June 10 at 7 p.m. to introduce Inuit throat singers Nukariik.

XXX

SHOTGUN SHOUT OUT Apparently the Letters to the Editor page is skint these days. But not here at Shotgun on-line! Kudos to all of you leaving comments. To Brad Thomas: my bad on the Lance Armstrong uni-testicle slag from “I Love You, But Who Am I.”

XXX

WHY DRIVE HIGH? Uh, because the concert was great and now I’d like to get home and have sex with my boyfriend before we both pass out. There’s one good reason. I’m sure you came up with a few more when you saw the Why Drive High? billboards plastered all around town. The eight-week, $346,000 public awareness campaign is causing quite a buzz, and not because it provokes deep thoughts on the dangers of driving like Cheech and Chong. The complaint is about the botched Arabic translation that reads something vague like Go Feed The Ducks. I don’t know. But here’s the thing. The slogan is ineffective because it’s straight-laced and square-pegged. If you’re sitting on the OC Transpo reading a poster like that, two things come to mind. First, don’t you wish you had a car? Second, you probably want a joint now too. You want to get through to people? How about, “Drive High, Die,” for starters.

XXX

COMMON SCENTS CBC radio has been talking incessantly all last week about the proposed citywide bylaw that would ban fragrances in all public places. To move the campaign along, the City of Ottawa should use sex to sell the idea: “Covering up your natural scents is hazardous to your sex life.” How many times has your lover’s natural scent been a great aphrodisiac? Hell, I was taken by the manly sweat smell of a young man on the bus the other day. When I complimented his odour, he told me he just got back from the gym and that he hadn’t showered. If we were part of the Fatal Attraction exhibit now on at the Museum of Nature until September, this encounter would have had me down on all fours in a lion’s roar. I say, display it before you spray it.

– Sylvie Hill

Grrrl, You’ll Be a Womyn Soon: Review of Jen Whiteford’s New Book

Thursday, June 1st, 2006

The Ottawa XPress | June 1, 2006
BOOK REVIEW

Jennifer Whiteford’s Grrrl (Gorsky Press, 252 pp.)

Jennifer Whiteford’s “Grrrl”

Whiteford’s channels her own rock star dreams through the novel’s riot grrrl

Play. Stop. Rewind. Jennifer Whiteford’s distinctive debut novel, Grrrl, is like a killer mixtape from the early 1990s that you want to play over and over again.

Grrrl chronicles teenaged Marlie’s rock star dreams and curious crushes that lead her into an underground world of punk rock, riot grrrls, and a dangerous relationship with an older indie rocker. It’s all channelled into Marlie’s ever-present diary entries that are put together seamlessly to create a jolting coming-of-age tale that is positively addictive. After you race through the 252 pages and swoon from the book’s closing lines, you’ll crave more Grrrl, it’s that grrreat.

The novel grew out of Whiteford’s own high school journal and was based on characters she’s fictionalized from the years spent writing to musicians. “When I got really obsessed with an album, I’d write them [the band] a letter,” Whiteford tells XPress. “What I really wanted was someone to pay attention to me as a teenager and respond.”

Whiteford’s rock star mentorship program worked wonderfully: It plugged her into the Toronto downtown music scene, whereas teenage life in the suburbs made her feel disconnected.

Many passages, including the book’s opening lines – “My stereo ate my favourite Pretenders tape today” – come from the formulaic teenager world of young adult fiction with its self-absorbed and inconsequential observations. But soon it becomes evident that we’ve landed in a literary universe far more sophisticated than a pissed-off teenager pining for Chrissie Hynde.

Marlie’s complaint conceals the universal dissatisfaction with life at the end of summer before starting grade 10: “I can’t think of anything else I want to listen to,” Marlie writes. “I’m feeling really indecisive lately about everything, not just music. I don’t know how I want to dress, how to cut my hair, which music to listen to and who to hang out with.” Whiteford frames the problem and develops the resolution cleverly through superb character development and nail-biting episodes.

Marlie’s Uncle Ben, who works at the downtown Sam the Record Man and his girl-band role model girlfriend Sheena, help Marlie on her journey of self-discovery by taking her to Seattle. There, she discovers the riot grrrl movement that ignites her transformation.

Wikipedia defines “riot grrrl” as “a movement encompassing zines, festivals and hardcore punk rock music groups, known for its feminist stance.” The genre first appeared in the early 1990s as a response to punk machismo.

While at a riot grrrl event, Marlie thinks maybe she’s a lesbian, but also learns how to make maxi-pads at a MoonGrrrls workshop. She freaks out: “I’m totally connected to the moon! Everyone is!” This infectious glee at newfound knowledge endears us to the Marlie character in precious interior moments.

When Marlie returns home, she’s frustrated: “I want to be living in THE CITY not the suburbs!” she sneers. “I want to dye my hair crazy colours and play in a band and go to concerts and have other girls around me who want to do the same things!” So she starts an all-girl band with her friends.

Part of Whiteford’s own point here is that finding yourself “comes from finding your place in a scene, this idea that you’re becoming an expert in something.

“Marlie’s not listening to the Sex Pistols or The Clash,” Whiteford adds. “The thing that really takes her in is the band that she’s a part of. She doesn’t worry about punk cred. Marlie is driven by her riot grrrl politics.”

This speaks to Whiteford’s experience as a female writer living in Ottawa. “I know about riot grrrl. I know about this scene,” she says authoritatively. “I’m going to be unapologetic.” Fierce but fair words for a city where the music scene, often dubbed a boys’ club, would crumble just because of a loud-mouthed girl.

Moving to Ottawa six years ago got her interested in Ladyfest, and in 2000, Whiteford travelled to Olympia for the first Ladyfest. “I saw all the bands I ever wanted to see,” she says, “learned to skateboard and did lots of cool stuff and came back and said, ‘I’m going to write a book now.'”

Grrrl is a valuable contribution to Canadian literature because it tenderly expresses the struggle of girls who adore music and are desperately seeking a way in.

For guys who love books about music, there’s Nick Hornby. For the girls, it’s Jennifer Whiteford.

Jennifer Whiteford launched Grrrl on Saturday, June 3, at the Manx Pub (370 Elgin St.). Visit www.matildazine.org for Whiteford’s online zine.

Grrrl is published by Los Angeles, California’s Gorsky Press, the drivers behind the Perpetual Motion Roadshow and the on-line independent music magazine, Razorcake.

– Sylvie Hill

I Love You But What Am I?

Thursday, May 25th, 2006

Ottawa XPress, Shotgun, May 25, 2006

Most couples are fearful that infidelity, finances or jogging pants will dissolve a marriage, but there’s a more terrifying monster lurking in the shadows.

It’s giving up who you are and what you want in order to become one. More plainly put, it’s identity loss.

“Marriage has the potential to erode the very fibre of your identity,” says Kristin Armstrong, the ex-wife of uni-testicled champion cyclist Lance Armstrong, in Glamour magazine this month. (www.glamour.com/)

Relationships are supposed to enhance your well-being, not deteriorate it, and this is why “marriage is a conspiracy,” according to Armstrong, who says in the article that she believes in marriage, but warns women to be prepared for a shocker.

“I think a conspiracy is anything that’s shrouded in silence,” she says. “[And] I think women are awesome communicators. So why don’t women talk to women about what it’s going to take to not just make [marriage] work, but make it great?”

It’s flattering to leave it to us girls to discuss how to make a marriage great, but I’m not sure if women are up to the task.

A friend of mine, who recently suffered a blow by some dipshit with the maturity and grace of a fart, searched the library for a copy of He’s Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo.

She told me there were about five people on the waiting list for her copy. Presumably many other copies were already out on loan.

That’s a lot of copies of a self-help guide for girls getting over guys that never call back. When women can’t see that just as certain men reject us, we reject some of them, we lack common sense.

Given this preoccupation with rejection, is marriage the real threat to self-actualization or are we our own worst enemy from the dating stage?

We’re plagued by what Mom always said: “If a guy really likes a girl, he will climb mountains.” So if a girl has never met her mountaineer, she feels alone and unexplored.

So she may pine for a worthless prick. Or, she’ll marry the first guy who shows a bit of interest. Is that desperation or opportunistic?

I say some women are at a disadvantage when it comes to male-female relationships.

First there’s childhood, with its Cinderella, kitchenette sets, sewing machines and make-up kits. Then comes the fantasy world of wedding cakes and bridal parties.

As Armstrong explains in the article, “The problem is that when a young woman announces her engagement, everyone is quick to roll out the matrimonial red carpet by throwing showers and obsessing over wedding day plans.”

But women who go along with it are also to blame.

All this, she says sarcastically, helps a bride prepare for the reality of marriage “about as much as nine months of baby showers and nursery decorating prepare a gestating woman for the awesome task of raising a child.”

For Armstrong, her once stimulating life and go-getter public relations career vanished when she became a wife and mother. What made her happy was now something outside of herself: Lance’s career or the kids.

If it all comes down to biology, and women naturally must give up a large portion of themselves for their parasitic embryos and, by extension, the hearth, the trick then is to find a man who will help out so she can take a time out. These guys exist: They’re my very own male friends!

And that’s why I think Oprah Winfrey’s an idiot.

In a recent television interview with Armstrong (www.oprah.com/tows/slide/200605/20060509/slide_20060509_284_103.jhtml), Oprah says she never walked down the aisle because she didn’t want to sacrifice herself for her feelings for a man. “I just wanted to always be myself!” Oprah cried.

I know I’m not the only one telling Oprah to blow it out her billion-dollar ass for painting a pitiful portrait of men as vampires waiting to sacrifice a woman’s identity on the marriage altar.

Sure, some of them suck as early as the dating phase, but that’s because certain women are so wounded that fuck-ups attract fuck-ups. I was, and did.

I had a boyfriend who said: “Your place is uncomfortable. You have too many books.”

So I did what any loving girlfriend would do – I packed them away in a storage closet, next to my balls.

Many people are desperate to become a couple. But if love is about finding your “other half,” why rush it? You may think marriage will take away your loneliness, but by compromising a lot of your “wholeness” just to fill a hole, or three, you’re only adding to it.

– Sylvie Hill

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