Cody Andrew Hicks

GIRLS & DOGS MIX CD #2 - A PRE-HALLOWEEN GOTH PRIMER

2008-10-21T16:04:00.000-07:00

WEDNESDAY OCTOBER FIRST @ KOROVA 3908 ST. LAURENT (THE BAR WITH NO SIGN)
First TWENTY-FIVE party animals in the club get a copy of round two in our shit hot mixxx CD series:
The Goth Primer
This is just in time to get yr evil juices flowing for Halloween Horror Shows so come in and get down.

1. Death in June - The Calling (Ross "The Boss" Larkin's Pick!)
2. Echo & The Bunnymen - Nocturnal Me
3. Siouxsie & The Banshees - Christine
4. Sisters of Mercy - Body Electric
5. Bauhaus - Bela Lugosi's Dead
6. The Wipers - Doom Town
7. Killing Joke - The Wait (Lane "Angelripper" Huculak's Pick)
8. Suicide - Rocket USA
9. Silver Apples - A Pox on You
10. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Deanna (Bud "Bone Daddy" Hicks' Pick)
11. La Peste - Better off Dead
12. The Yardbirds - Evil Hearted You
13. The King Khan & BBQ Show - Zombies (THE MISFITS + RAMONES = PARTY JAM)
14. Clockcleaner - Vomiting Mirrors
15. Swans - Failure
16. Rolling Stones - Dead Flowers
17. Buddy Knox - I Think I'm Gonna Kill Myself (The first gothic & western jam?)
18. The Smiths - Cemetary Gates

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE SUCKER RIGHT NOW!

I wanna be a goth.

2008-10-14T00:49:00.001-07:00

Its too late and hard to edit

2008-10-09T01:00:00.001-07:00

Its to late and hard to edit so thats the reason why these words may dome out of my mouth more or less like a person who dances around the terms rather than spitting htem out concicesiely the way im supposed to ta do it but I have a keyboard that lacks all the prope r buttons to edit the rant than Im about to spew so bare bear? with me? yeah I got a question mark??? thats fucking alright I still have no exclamation BUT I SWEAR I AM EXCALAIMING MORE THAN youd like to HEAR. SPACING is my RETURN key because some asshole spilled beer in/on this keyboard so Im liacking in alot of abilities. SO. get this. I managed to wrangle a writband after the ONE SHOW I really needed to See (nick cave) and I ended up seeing burt "Im a hundred years old bacharach" pliop himself down an let a ued car salesman buthcer his goddamn songs to high heaven but it was worth it to get told to shut up by a QUEBecious woman who clearly wanted to sit on his rigot mortis benis (I KNOW IT should reAD PENIS BUT I HAVE NO BACKSPACE : REMINDER) but when I turned over to Clarice (not her real name but I will withhole her real niame because I am a journalist) I a-was awash in feelings of GETTING THE "FUCK" out of there because I am not a fan of old men 8-0 plus who feel that they have the power to play medleys of hundreds of songs without an ability to REALLY PUT FORTH ANY FEEELINGS but I digress he was definitely better than CHAD VAN HALEN who is really not a cvan falehn (That should read Van Halen) brother but actually om some guy hwo is worse tha n a freidn of mine named SEAN SAVAGE who is much betterl but fuck it. This has gone on far too long.

Girls & The Dogs Inaugraul Un-Pop Mix CD - Tracklist

2008-10-01T11:14:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, October First @ Korova 3908 St- Laurent (The Bar with No Sign)
First Twenty-Five motherfuckers in the club get a copy of the shit-hot first edition of
The Girls & The Dogs Mixxx
featuring a numbered insert by Mutt Gordy that will be worth duckets in the future.

Scott Walker - The Girls & The Dogs
The Scientists - Shake Together Tonight
Sean Nicolas Savage - Here She Comes (Exclusive)
The Replacements - Rattlesnake
The Fall - It's a New Thing
R. Dean Taylor - There's a Ghost in My House (Nick the Prick's Pick)
Metal Urbain - Panik
Gary Wilson - Gary's in the Park
Hubble Bubble - Born a Woman
Wipers - Can this Be?
Chrisma - Chinese Restaurant
TYVEK - Give it Up (Weird Punk Warriors playing this Sunday at Divan Orange)
Deadbeats - Let's Shoot Maria
Teengenerate - Mess Me Up
Notations - You Should Know
Urinals - Black Hole
Tonight - Drummer Man
Contortions - Throw Me Away
Motorhead - No Class
The Feelies - Raised Eyebrows
Zolar X - Rocket Roll
Rolling Stones - Turd on the Run
Captain Beefheart - Tropical Hot Dog Night

MAYBE WE WILL PLAY SOME OF THESE TONIGHT SO SEE WHAT YR GETTING INTO?

I'm White, Like a Ghost is White - Sean Savage

2008-09-28T20:29:00.000-07:00

Today we made a music video for Sean Savage.
He's the future of pop music.
Find out HERE

OOPS: I reviewed a book that is a year old.

2008-09-27T12:35:00.000-07:00

Dirty and drunk, perfect punk by Cody Hicks

I forgot what year it was and read an olde booke and submitted a review to the Link and they grudgingly published it anyway.

Read a review of a book I read about the men I love most.

realm of dusk

2008-09-18T22:43:00.001-07:00

Why don't you shut your fucking mouth?
Why don't you use your signal lights?
Why don't you eat a sandwich?
Why don't you like to eat spicy food?
Why does your asshole burn the next morning?
Why can't you just sit through it?
Why do you touch your hair like that?
Why must you know what you look like?
Why not cut the shit, cut the sugar, cut the cream?
Why leave your ladder in my fucking bathroom?
Why don't you spend more time living?
Why do you bother waxing your pubis?
Why don't you roam in the woods without clothes on?
Why don't you watch me dance naked on the beach?
Why don't you rub my cock like your brother gave you indian burns on your forearm?
Why don't you like the music I'm playing?
Why don't you shake your arms around when you dance?
Why even pretend you have a fucking spine?
Why don't you slug it straight from the bottle?
Why don't you nibble the skin-folds under my testicles?
Why don't you rub your man's taint?
Why the hell did you ask her for a hot lunch?
Why not drive the knife in, peanut butter and all?

YOU HAD YOUR CHANCES

2008-09-18T22:43:00.000-07:00

How did I get here
And
Where is my shirt?

These days I never know where I’ll be
When the sun stretches out and expands.
That goddamn fiery balloon.

Only thing for certain is that there will be a sour taste
In my mouth.
And well, a damp spot on my forehead
Seeping towards with caterpillar eyebrows

Like SPONGES

Oh, and a friendly reminder of young manhood.
That rooster that crows silently at an arch,
Blood pumping
ALWAYS
ON
TIME.

(dick metaphor)
(dick)

SPONTANEOUS POETRY FROM THE BACKLOG?

2008-09-15T15:03:00.000-07:00

Tapping=Typing≠Writing

"I’m writing and I’m writing"
I might tell you.
But I’m not actually
Doing anything but tapping on my knee.

It’s so glamorous to say that:
"Despite my Journalistic intentions I have a little
FIRE burning in my loins that SHOOTS out of my fingertips"

But lo and behold and behold the low desires
Of a man who wants nothing but to make (you) believe
that his dick is somewhere other than in his hands.

Just quit while you’re ahead or stop strolling so far behind
THE PACK. You can’t even begin to discuss how far Away

THEY are when your body smells like the woman

YOU
SHOULD
NOT
HAVE
TOUCHED

and not like the ink-on-paper you claim to play with.

Save yourself from the scent of failure and
disembowl those who come at you without
a certain respect and tenderness.

Goodbye Summer, Hello World!

2008-08-10T16:21:00.000-07:00

Frenz,

The hiatus is off! Long live this blog!

For those of you who wanted to know what I produced in Europe visit my section of the European Culture & European Journalism 2008 magazine.

Here you will find stories about the revitalization of old buildings as art spaces and the wild ride of psychadelic soul shaman King Khan.

Stay tooned for FICTION.

You better believe it.

Love,
Cody

How I Got Hosed by a Dutch Huckster

2008-05-05T09:12:00.000-07:00

I am an obsessive second-hand freak. There are few activities that beat a day flipping through dusty old books and records in a sunny outdoor market.

When one of my professor’s informed me that Queen’s Day in Amsterdam was one of the few days that the Dutch are freely allowed to sell all their old crap on the streets my heart jumped. If this spring-cleaning happens only once a year, there is bound to be treasure.

Little did I know that my hard earned Euros would not amount to much glorious used media, but that they would go to the beer fund of a sly blonde teenager.

After the mind-blazingly debaucherous Queen’s Night celebrations my liver was primed and ready to soak up some more alcohol. I had a beer on the train from Utrecht to Amsterdam at noon and it re-ignited the fire within. Contrary to all warnings, I had no trouble catching a train at 1:00 PM and it wasn’t hard to navigate the streets upon my arrival.

I had an itch to spend some money on some crap, but I had to meet my friends at a so-called “Ex-Porn Star” street party. This dance party was an orange orgy of beer, weed, vomit and pole dancers. I downed many beers in order to pass the time while waiting for our much-too-large group to make a move.

Finally after two hours of mindless gyrating through broken glass and gigantic Dutch party animals our group was ready to make a move. I was so excited to find the market that I was hopping up and down, avoiding packs of orange-shirted drunks and slow-motion stoners.

Strangely, the only shops on the main thoroughfare seemed to consist of fake Louis Vuitton dealers and cheap jewelry venders. Where were the books and records?

At around 4:00 PM my fellow weary travelers decided it was time to chill their aching organs and head to Vondelpark for a rest. I dejectedly agreed as I fondled the spare change in my jacket pocket.

As I stumbled drunkenly through a sunny Vondelpark I came to terms with the fact that I might not get to have the amazing flea market experience I expected. Surely there wouldn’t be many big stalls in a park, I thought.

That is until I came upon an enterprising Dutch teenager who devised a series of childish games in order to funnel money out of the pockets of fuzzyheaded Queen’s day revelers.
I was immediately attracted to the gnarly piece of wood littered with bent nails.
As I scanned the chunk of wood I noticed that only a small few had been fully lodged in to the log.

“Double your money if you can get the nail into the log,” the young man said, “Minimum one euro. Boys get three swings, girls get five.”

How could I lose? My friend Susannah threw down two Euros, confident that she could guide the nail deep into the log with five well-placed strokes of the hammer. I cheered her on as she threw two well-guided swings.

“This is too easy,” she said. The young man gave a sly smile as Susannah proceeded to miss the nail three times in a row, depleting all her chances.

I told Susannah to step aside, as there was a professional hammer-wielder present to pound that nail into oblivion. The mixture of beer and previous carnival game experience gave me assurance that I could get the nail into the log. I handed over two euros and did a mock hand spit gesture as I raised the hammer to the sky.

I crashed the hammer down, square on the nail and put it halfway into the log. What a piece of cake this would be, I thought. I played it safe for my second hit and only went to chest level. This didn’t cause quite as much of a revelation as the first hit, but it was respectable.

Finally I was ready to take my final swing. Once again I pulled a Thor and brought the hammer on my only to…. MISS.

“Better luck next time,” said the future carnie. I hung my head and walked away. Together, Susannah and I were out 4 euro. Just then I heard a call.

“Maybe you will have better luck with this other game,” said my tormentor, “All you have to do is eat these three digestive cookies in 50 seconds, without beer. Make sure you fill your mouth with spit.”

Now’s my chance to win my money back, I thought. Surely my mouth will be so wet from beer that I will devour these cookies with time to spare.

I grabbed the pack of dry cookies from the kid’s hand and slammed another two-euro piece in its place. Somehow I forgot about a similar bet I made years before with saltines. I stupidly decided to use the “all-at-once” technique and mashed all three decent-sized bland digestive cookies in my mouth at once. I immediately felt my reservoir of spit dry up. It actually hurt to have these cookies in my mouth.

It took me two minutes to eat the damn things. The smug blonde teenager gave me a cute smile and a shrug. I resisted the drunken urge to swing the hammer again at the nails.

The shaggy little entrepreneur must have made more money than anyone else that day. I sat on the grass and glanced over from time to time over an hour as stoned fool after drunk fool stepped up to get hosed.

Still, I managed to get a total of eight decent-to-impressive 7-inch singles from his parents for twenty cents a-piece. That’s €1.60 for a bunch of records that I could never find in Canada. So in the end, I could just pretend that the €4.00 I wasted on the young Dutchman’s trickery was actually incorporated into the price of the records.

Yeah, right.

The Emerald Isle - One Moment Only

2008-04-08T14:55:00.000-07:00

Yeah yeah, it's late and I'm tired. Hopefully this doesn't become another Copenhagen fiasco.

It's strange that the happiest moment I had on the entire 6 day trip took place alone in a bad 50s-inspired American diner chain called Eddie Rockets. After missing the flight the previous day Ryan wasn't taking any chances so he caught the bus nearly 4 hours before the flight. I was fed up with taking breakfast at the TESCO or the SPAR on the corner (grocery chains) so I was willing to take the risk and spend a guilty little half-over over a real, hot breakfast.

I'd been eying the French Toast deal every time we walked past Eddie Rockets as it was the only thing on the menu under 5 euros. In fact, it was French Toast bacon and coffee for 4 euros which is a hell of a deal in the surprisingly expensive little capital of Dublin. So I ran two blocks from our wonderful Victorian Couchsurfer appartment to have a modest pre-travel feast.

I burst in the door and threw my order in the waitresses face before I could even sit down because "I've got a plane to catch." The whole diner was empty and "Don't Be Cruel" by Elvis was playing over the speakers. Not bad, I thought. It's what you'd expect from a 50s-style American diner. I sat nervously flipping at the pages of my pocket-sized novel as I waited for my meager meal.

As soon as she put the golden slices of syrup down beside my bitter diner coffee something magical happened. One of the prettiest sounds I'd ever heard flooded my empty hungover brain cavity in the form of "Waterloo Sunset" by the Kinks. I sat dumbfounded for a moment with a big goofy smile on my face as I turned over to the waitress almost giggling with excitement. She looked at me like I was a simpleton in an insane asylum who was about to get a bowl of Jello.

After the song finished, I snapped out of my slow-motion savouring of the (somewhat shitty) goo-toast and remembered that I indeed did have a plane to catch and I proceeded to inhale the rest of the food, chugging the bitter coffee to wash it all down.

The whole trip was incredible and exactly what I needed, but it was that moment when I took a mouthful of eggy-toast slathered in REAL maple syrup while listening to the most beautiful song in the English language that was the most transcendent.

Sure, I biked up Howth mountain and took a scenic busride to Belfast, but for some reason the giddiest pleasure was that 3:20 in Eddie Rockets cheese-emporium.

That Dutch Supermarket Smell

2008-03-18T17:56:00.000-07:00

One of the first things I noticed upon moving to Holland was the ubiquitous smell that absolutely dominates every one of it's supermarkets. Be it an Albert Heijn, a Plus, a Super de Boer or even an Aldi or a Lidl, there is that sickly sweet, almost sweat-like aroma that enters your sinuses and doesn't leave until halfway into the bike ride home.

When I first moved here, it made me sick. It might be because it smelled faintly like the smelly 20-man dorm in the "Alternative B&B Hostel" that I was staying in. I felt queasy and green every time I had shopping to do.

Now, I can't get enough of it. When I walk out of the brisk Dutch wind into an Albert Heijn
I take a deep breath of what I'm inclined to believe is the smell of Dutch baking... or is it Dutch cheese? It's a hearty aroma that can't be found in the soul-less sanitized supermarkets of Canada.

I was once told at great lengths about a scientist who can reproduce any smell chemically in the form of bottled perfume. I'm not sure at what stage he's at, or if he does personalized smells at a reasonable price yet, but I would seriously consider getting a bottle of Albert Heijn number five if it doesn't break the bank. Maybe I'd save a couple cents for swiping my Bonuskart upon making the purchase. *Har-Har-Har*

Classic Album Pick: The Fall - Dragnet

2008-03-11T14:49:00.001-07:00

Oh, how the Internet pulls the wool over young eyes (ears?). I'm in the process of trying to collect each and every Fall LP, barring the most recent one, because it's shit, and I've actually passed this one up a few times, because of negative reviews, and a lousy name and cover.

Now, as far as many review sites have written, this is a lesser Fall album. I have absolutely no idea why. This album is a near classic. Of course, it doesn't quite stand up to Grotesque or Hex Enduction Hour, but I think it could squeak into the top 5 all-time Fall records. One thing's for sure: it absolutely annihilates Live at the Witch Trials, their over-rated debut. That album had a gross, over-produced quality that is completely lacking on this release. I've heard that this release sounds like shit, but I think it's beautiful shit. Everything is sharp and spiky and Smith is on top form ranting about being a Dice Man, a Print Head and everything in between.

Choc-Stock is so beautifully snotty that it's hard to believe they hadn't started their career with this sloppy mess of a record. I would whole-heartedly recommend this record as a starting point for Fall virgins and I absolutely demand that Fall fans check it out. Beautiful production over schnarky vocals, sharp gitters, and no damn keyboards messing up the place.

Enclosed is an MP3 of Choc-Stock to whet your whistle.

Pere Ubu Live '87 - Final Solution & Laughing

2008-03-11T03:03:00.004-07:00

I stumbled upon this last night.

I've been listening to the early singles and B-sides comp Terminal Tower pretty much everyday recently so this was a pleasant surprise. David is on incredible form here. The double-drummer line-up is very impressive as well. This song is so crushing it's hard to believe it's not a punk rock anthem. It's hard to believe that this is a re-united Ubu and that this was recorded twelve years after it's first release.

There's also a clip of "Laughing" off the Modern Dance, an album which I'm starting to like less and less the more I listen to the ridiculous early singles.

Be sure to watch this A.S.A.P. because Pere Ubu videos have a short lifespan on YouTube.

Wisdom Tooth Removal + Rainy Day = Youtube Fiesta

2008-03-06T09:51:00.001-08:00

Make sure to watch the whole 4-parts of this.

København!!!!

2008-02-26T11:37:00.000-08:00

Ooooo, Im having a lovely time in Copenhagen.

Just you wait kids, for the recap Ive got set up for after the break.

It will be a long and ardurous read, but you will get a lot out of it.

OO and there will be photos.

Sorry, gotta run.

Love,

Thee Icepique.

Rock and Roll Saved My Soul - The King Khan & BBQ Revue @ dB's Studios

2008-02-22T03:56:00.001-08:00

ROCK AND ROLL WILL NEVER DIE

HAIL HAIL ROCK AND ROLL

I've never felt so refreshed. The King Khan & BBQ Show played a blistering, dive-bombing, beer-fueled two man punk rock set last night at dB's studios here in Utrecht. After three weeks of attending nothing but clubs playing the worst in techno and pop music I needed this show.

They charged out of the gate with a Chuck Berry-aping instrumental, complete with the one-legged chicken dance that C.B. is so famous for. The energy was kinetic. Even if I didn't want to furiously dance there was no way to stop my electric legs.

Their live set totally blows their recorded stuff out of the water so if you're in the least bit skeptical, trust me, you will have a fucking blast. These dudes know how to put on a show. KK started the show sporting a child's leather vest and a Nazi war helmet, but mid-set he hopped behind a large paper star and came back in a dazzling sequined dress. BBQ was outfitted in full sultan get-up sans shoes. Despite spending the show sitting down, he was still a furious showman, playing what looked like a child's guitar and what definitely were toy drums.

I managed to convince Vicky, Stacey and Vicky to come out to the freak show that is KK & BBQ. These Montreal ex-pats did everything they could to get the stiff Dutch crowd dancing, but sadly only me and my fellow Canadians were willing to do more than shake a leg.

BBQ put it best when he said, "When you play in Holland you look at the crowd and it seems like you're playing the worst set ever, but after the show the fans swarm you and tell you it was amazing." It reminds me of an article I read for my European lifestyle class, "Meet the Chilly, Passionate Dutch."

Much of the crowd stood pensively at the start of each song and only after that song was proven rock enough would they start to dance. What a buncha goobers.

Nevertheless, I shook my ass off, sweat my balls off, smoked my lungs out and spent far too much money on beer at dB's, but it was totally worth it.

Thanks King Khan & BBQ, my internal rock drive has been recharged.

EDITED WITH PICTURES: Biketastic Road Trip - or - How I Conquered The Nether-regions

2008-02-16T08:02:00.000-08:00

Pretext: Yesterday in an alcoholicism-induced fever-state I booked a round-trip train ticket to Copenhagen, Denmark, despite the astronomical costs. In order to compensate for this monster-trip I have to eat bread and spend zero dollars for the next week. This situation manifested itself in a 4-hour bike trip on a $40 bike with no gears.

I woke up today as a man with a mission. Earlier this week I was shooting the shit with some fellow international students about taking a bike trip to Amsterdam this Saturday. Although it is about 30 KM, this country is hella flat. I figured it couldn't take more than 2 hours at a leisurely pace.

Unfortunately, after beating my chest about how I was gonna get up early on Saturday to do the trip while the others took the train, I fell ill, due to a lack of sleep and a serious overdose of alcohol in the previous week. This, coupled with the sudden financial handicap made me rethink my decision.

I packed a pack with a PB+J+Cheese sadnwich (try it), apple, banana, trail mix and diced pepper and hit the road in search of more fruitful, cheaper trips.

Now, lately I have been having recurring dreams about Emma Lake, in Saskatchewan and a weird futuristic version that I have modified into a dreamland water park. Working on that, I decided to switch my aim from city, to countryside. I pulled out a travel book, given to me by my mammy and looked at a map and noticed a mass of water called Loosdrechtse Plassen just north of Utrecht. I used the basic map in the book and set off down the Old Canal to my destination.

One thing that this goofy country has going for it is IMMACULATELY DETAILED cycling lanes. You could easily bike to any town imaginable without a map. I fucked around so hard with no clear idea where I was heading, taking lefts, rights, stopping to chase ducklings, ogle houseboats etc. and I was always redirected to my first destination: Breukelen.

I started off fairly sheepishly when I saw the "Goodbye Utrecht" sign. I sat on a bench overlooking a river and tried to use the half-assed map in my Michelin travel guide when I was assailed by a group of angry geese.

Now: I'm a pretty brave guy, but shit these dirty birds meant business. I made the mistake of breaking out the trail mix. I guess they could smell the nuts and berries from a few meters away and they started up to me with puffed chests and nasal honks. I got up and danced around like some kind of hairless ape and swung my fists at them a bit, but it didn't faze them. Those birds could smell my fear.

In order to avoid having to actually break a gooseneck to make my point I hopped back on my Red Racer and continued down the path.

This altercation happened right outside Utrecht around Oud Zuilen. After stopping for an obligatory (shitty) windmill shot I wound up in Maarsenn before I realized I had left Oud Zuilen. Now, look at a map, or bear with me here. It is really unebelievable how densely populated this entire country is. There is no "countryside". Every single part of the country that I saw in a 5-hour intensive bike ride was populated by a small town. The towns themselves are all quite quaint, but oh how I longed for a big jagged mountain or even a bloody hill to break up the teeny-tiny farms and goofy old and new European housing.

At this point I was about an hour and a half in and was starting to feel pretty damn hungry. I wanted to get into my spartan childish lunch to get some energy to pump my shitty little bike through the small towns and shit-stinking pony farms.

So: I entered Breukelen, the teeny-town that gave it's name to Brooklyn. It honestly looked exactly like each other town. Quite beautiful and old. The real kicker was here though: I ACTUALLY found hills.

After smiling big as I rode up and down what felt like a rollercoaster (despite being about 3 five-foot-hills) I found myself on the stretch to my destination: Loosdrechtse Plassen.

Here was one of the most bizarre stretches of road I've ever been on. Six KMs, rail-straight, of a road that was in danger of being engulfed by a lake. The Netherlands are in danger of being swallowed up by the ocean at all times, and it seems that even the lakes pose a threat. I was perilously close to falling into this lake for the grueling, seemingly endless stretch.

After crossing this massive body of water, I came to realize, that this was what I came for. It looked like a huge puddle. This was not the kind of lake I grew up with. It was at this point that I realized we are spoiled brats in Canada. This lake was a pisspond compared to Northern Saskatchewan, Albertan, Manitoban and I'm sure Quebecois lakes.

I sat down to eat my nuts and PBJ sandwiches alongside this goofball pond and laughed out loud at the journey I forged for myself. It was totally worth it for the trip, but the destination was wonderfully disappointing. I chowed down and started back on a different route on the other side of the lake.

On the way back I managed to get lost in the lake town of Nieuw Lousdrecht for an hour. I was very excited when I left because I managed to run down a dirt road to a private airstrip where I watched tiny planes take off from straight off the grass. I pissed around looking at fat pigs, ponies and little ginger dutch kids for a leisurely cycle home through Hollandsche Rading and Westbroeke before stumbling back to Utrecht, and into the beloved Lidl Supermarket to pick up three litres of beer for three Euros.

I think I deserve to crack one of those bad boys right now.

NFB MAKING MUSIC - CPC GANGBANGS - ORDERLY CHAOS

2008-02-15T11:12:00.001-08:00

HEY GUYS. THIS SUMMER SOME FRIENDS AND I MADE A MOVIE WITH THE CPC GANGBANGS. I AM SO PROUD I GOT TO BE INVOLVED IN IT. CHECK IT OUT AND LAUGH, CRY AND BE TITILLATED BY OUR ART FILM.

RAP ATTACK - FIRST ANCIENT RHYMES SINGLE AVAILABLE FOR HEARING

2008-02-15T09:15:00.000-08:00

Check it out kids. Get Naked + Get Pregnant = Get Married is available to fuck your brains out your ass on the NoFaceMySpace.

http://www.myspace.com/nofacerecords69

First up to bat is Datuurkiindastraw, followed by the sultry Rich Teen.
Finally, bringing us all back home is the mysterious Dream Package.

Tell the world that Ancient Rhymes are taking over.

My First Story for the Hogeschool Utrecht

2008-02-12T07:24:00.000-08:00

My first story for my European Lifestyles class, wrote at fever pitch 30 minutes before class. This is some raw shit writing. Enjoy!

Invisible Police: Fact or Fiction?

I’m cheating a bit in the story, because it isn’t concerning a pre-conceived notion I had about Utrecht, but one I developed in the first few days of my stay. Every person I spoke to about cycling informed me about the secret police who ride around in plainclothes on bikes to catch renegade cyclists who run red lights and forgo the use of safety lights. It’s now my second week of riding dangerously (I have the swollen face to prove it) and I’ve barely even seen a uniformed officer.

Here’s my story:
The minute I stepped off the train at Utrecht Centraal I knew I needed a bike. I was enchanted by visions of people of every conceivable age, shape, size and persuasion zooming left and right like they owned the roads. Cars ride timidly, as if they were mere afterthoughts.

After a day of wandering around the center of Utrecht I was even more fed up. I had to have one. I wandered a few blocks West of the hostel I was staying at to Wheels, which was recommended by Hogeschool as a great place for a used bike.

After being talked into a beautiful little red racer for 40 Euro the man behind the counter began the popular sales trick of upselling. He told me I needed a lock, which was obvious, but then he informed me I needed lights. Now, I’m not entirely reckless, but I definitely live quite thriftily so I told him I wouldn’t be needing any.

The nice tall Dutch man informed me that if I were caught by a police officer riding without lights I’d face a stiff fine. I told him that I was crafty enough to spot a police officer and would love the thrill of darting into alley’s in order to avoid paying the fine. He then told me that these police officers were so crafty that I’d be caught no matter what. So, 9 Euros later I was outfitted with laughable clip-on lights.

Now, I tend to wear all black, so I accepted that lights might make my beer-soaked bike trips much safer. Riding around at first was a blast, until the sun went down. I happily turned on my cheap, weak flashing lights and rode around confident that I would be safe from the hand of law.
Soon enough, I began to notice that nearly everyone was riding without lights. Was I tricked into paying 9 unnecessary Euros? Or, was he assuming that, not being a superior Dutch cyclist, I might need lights more than one of those tall, blonde daredevils?

After inquiring in a local pub about why no one was riding with bikes, a nice Dutch girl informed me that the police were on some sort of strike and they didn’t care much for bicycle safety issues. It then dawned on me that I hadn’t seen any police officers at all in my first week. I had been duped by the bike merchant! So far the only police presence I’ve seen in Utrecht is two sets of mounted police. So, in order to get my 9 Euros worth I’ve been conquering this town like a Hell’s Angel on my red rocket, disregarding all traffic lights, crashing my bike into curbs and causing all kinds of general mayhem.

Ironically, when I went on a daytrip to Amsterdam last weekend, my cheap clip-on lights were stolen from my bike at the Centraal station. I don’t think I’ll be buying new ones.

I still don’t know if this mythic police strike is true. Maybe once I learn Dutch I’ll scour old newspapers and find the truth, but until then I’ll be wearing black and riding in the dark.

- Cody Hicks - February 12, 2008

Carnaval: Drunken Dutch Dressing like Dorks

2008-02-03T07:07:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, me and a few friends from my program decided to fling ourselves headfirst off the cliff of culture shock by attending Carnaval. Every year on the first weekend of February the southern half of the Netherlands decides to shut everything down and have a four day party.

The northern Dutch cities turn up their collective noses at the event, but down in cities like Maastricht and Eindhoven they take it very seriously.

I woke up at quarter-past-ten and shot out like a bolt of lightning. I had set me alarm for 9:45 but it failed to go off, so I threw on my clothes hopped on my bike and booked town to the train station forgetting my camera. I'm a pretty big Breakfast baby, so hopping on a bike without an ounce of coffee or a bite of food had put me in a bit of a grumpy mood. I had also never navigated to the station from my appartment before, but that's another story.

I showed up to the station blindly at 10:30 on the dot with no idea where I was to meet my new friends. Luckily I bumped into Ryan, my new friend from Carlisle, England, and we were off to meet the gang. I slammed a chocolate croissant and we jumped on the train.

We caught the train to Maastricht at Eleven AM and once we got into our second class cabin we were treated to a taste of serious Dutch spirit.

There were a few gangs of young males dressed as outlandishly as I've ever seen, well into their Heinekens pre-noon. It was tough to discern what was costume and what was just poor taste. Two of them had "Female Body Inspector" shirts and they all wore enough gel to clog the pores of an elephant.

The two-hour ride was fairly eneventful save for a spirited round of rummi and a broken table courtesy of the Dutch connection. The rampant buffoonery had me thirsting for drink quite early in the day.

Maastricht, apparently is a very old town. It was quite gorgeous, but also fairly sleepy for a Carnival. Still we hopped from bar to bar and downed the most pitifully small beers for about a Euro and a Half each to keep warm. I was disappointed to discover that I had really alienated myself by not wearing a costume. In a half-assed attempt I flipped my coat inside out so I could at least sport an outlandish colour to try and blend in with the locals but it was a bit of a meaningless gesture.

Now: In nations like Holland, there is very little ethnic diversity. This made for some odd costume choices. Many people simply painted their faces black and called it a costume. It's funny for someone coming from Montreal, which is quite an ethnically diverse city.

But: The Dutch are so cute and simple that it's hard to fault them for their ignorant and silly racism. I gave the "Indians" a bit of a hard time but all they wanted to do was push their CD on me.

At about 4 o'clock we got tired of drinking baby-sized beer, so we decided to pick up a case and do it Dutch-like by drinking in the streets. We paid about 5 Euro for a case of very decent Bavaria beer and chowed down on Braatwurst covered in fried onions and mayo.

The whole event was charmingly Quebecois and really quite inviting. I find that the Dutch really do remind me of French Canadians sans pretension. They are all very goofy, and they eat tonnes of frites, but they are really nice, and love Anglophones. Having a handful of french fries drenched in mayo really helps to chase the homesickness away.

So:
We grew tired of Maastricht and caught wind of Eindhoven's party. Supposedly this city had a much better nightlife scene. So we bought another case of Bavaria and hit the train for an hour of loud-talk and bullshitting and laughs. You really feel like you own a train when you're having a good old fashioned piss-up on the cheap. I don't recommend traveling without a good dose of alcohol.

We showed up at Eindhoven, all flying high on giggles due to cheap beer and fantastic newness. I had a rumble in my belly, so I bought a cheap doner kebab and inhaled that as quickly as possible so as not to cut into the beer time.

Now: Eindhoven was an entirely different story. Every single street of this semi-modern town was stuffed, wall to wall, with people dressed as Blacks, Indians, Nuns, Sailors, Cows, you name it. Here we were ACTUALLY the ONLY people not dressed up. We went into a big tent and watched a fourth-rate Rod Stewart lookalike barf out traditional Dutch songs while shaking his shit-locker like a drunken uncle at a wedding.

The spirited crowd bellowed along to all these songs in that great drunken tone deaf mob fashion. Ryan grabbed me after a few mind numbing minutes and suggested we go find ourselves a real pint of Guiness to help erase the memory of these two-euro beer thimbles.

We tromped around an endless street of Internationally themed bars packed to the hilt. We were finally able to grab a quick drink at a sidebar at the Boston Pub.

It was only 11 PM or so, but the party was in full rage. There were beautiful European damsels flying in and out of my peripheral, but they wouldn't bat an eye at me, because I sadly had no costume.

After what seemed like hours wading through people dressed like every kind of barnyard animal we stumbled upon the rest of our gang at a very traditional looking Dutch pub. After awkwardly dancing with a pile of Dutch men trying to move in on the girls in our party I decided to try my luck and squeeze through the crowded bar. I bought a glass of red at the bar because I was sick of getting ripped off on beer before realizing I had an emergency bottle of Hardy's in my bag. I slammed the wine and stumbled upstairs for a piss when I came face to face with a real Double Duchess.

The girl was tall, blonde and dressed like a cat. I was sufficiently drunk at this time and I decided to throw caution to the wind and approach this feline beauty. We had the usual "I'm from Canada, I like your country" pseudo-conversation before she asked me where my costume was. I told her I didn't know to wear one. She looked sad and give me a hug and handed me her magic wand and told me that I could wave that around and it would be a perfect disguise. Then her boyfriend trudged out of the bathroom and swept her away.

I didn't get the girl but I'm left with a fantastic souvenir.

Anyway: We got into the Hardy's and hit the bottle a little too hard, fuzzing up my memory quite a bit. There was a lot of dancing and cigarette smoking on my part despite my possible bronchitis. I talked to my first non-English speaking Dutch girls (really: I awkwardly gestured at and hugged them), and I smiled a lot wistfully with a head full of laughs and a hazy boozy mind.

We decided to call it quits and hopped on a train despite losing Ryan on a quest for food. The ride is a bit of a blur, surely full of great bullshitting and rants about colonialism and the perfect meal from my slowly dieing brain.

I went to bed at about 2 AM and was brusquely woken up at 7 AM by my room mates who had decided to go to a rave in Amsterdam and decided to keep the party going in my kitchen. This will be an interesting living arrangement.

Tune in tomorrow to hear about my Detention cell which I share with 9 boys and girls from around the world.

Woof woof:
This story continues tomorrow. I'm falling asleep at the wheel kiddies.

Stay tuned.

First Post - A New Bicycle and my stay at the B&B

2008-01-30T09:36:00.000-08:00

I've now been in Utrecht for 26 hours and I couldn't be more excited.

This city is jam-packed with cafes full of long women smoking cigarettes, beautiful smelling meat and awful smelling canals. There are 280,000 people who live here and 60,000 are students. Despite speaking absolutely no Dutch I've been embraced like a cousin here. Everyone speaks English, but they speak like babies.

Most importantly:
I'm now the proud owner of The Prairie Rose, a nice little Red Racer that might be a target for Holland's notorious bike thieves. My little one-speed beauty was 40 Euros and I couldn't be more satisfied with it.

It used to have gears, but the previous owner turned it into a makeshift track bike. It's a little slow off the mark but when I get peddling I burn past the rest of the mad Dutch bike traffic.

It's overwhelming at first to drive in this city. Every street has equal (if not more) spacing for bicycles alongside the motorized vehicles. In Canada this would be more than enough, but here, the bicycle is the ride of choice, so everyone and their granny is clogging up the fat bike lanes.

On Friday I move into a studio appartment on the canal that is very popular with Dutch students. It's right in the heart of the dragon. I'm surrounded by Brown Cafes, which are actually bars which are so old that their white walls have been stained by cigarette smoke. Contrary to firm belief, everyone isn't high all the time. Or: they're very good at hiding it.

Until I move in to my appartment I'm staying at a hostel that has twenty hilarious guitars on the wall. Everyone hangs out in a common area and the kitchen is permanently stocked with food and wine that's up for grabs. The food is mostly bizarre cured/mixed meats and the wine is Dolvin, which everyone affectionately calls Dolphin Piss. It does taste like piss, but no one seems to mind at eleven PM when it rains too hard to drag yourself to the grocer's for the decent stuff.

This blog will become more interesting when I get my own place. Maybe then I'll experiment with over the counter Dutch drugs and try some bullshit experimental prose.

Until then: write comments and fill me in on what's happening in the frozen tundra.

Tell your friends/brothers/moms/cousins to check out what I have to say.

Shake some Action with the Apocalypse Bros. - Wednesday December 5th

2007-12-03T10:07:00.000-08:00

THAT'S RIGHT CHITLINS, IT'S THE FINAL 2007 Edition of SHAKE SOME ACTION w/ The Apocalypse Brothers!!!

Come and get terrorized by DJ Icepick and DJ King-Kong-Sing-Song-Ding-Dong this WEDNESDAY from 10 PM-3AM. Come and shake your balls (action) with no shirts on and drink PBR 'til the Cows Come Home. It's time to let the stress ball drop and listen to classic hip-hop, booty-bass, Power Pop, Punk Rock and anything that gets your little buns warmin'.

I've got some rad tunes lined up and Jesse "The Birthday Boy" has a hankerin' for some tasty cake and tasty tunes.

I will play scary songs:

- Creedence Clearwater Revival
- Bruce Springsteen
- Public Enemy
- Troglodyte by Jimmy Castor (YOU WILL LOVE THIS ONE)
- I'm a Mummy by The Fall (You will also love this one)
- A super secret rap song that makes everyone lose their shit that will be played at the climax.

So come on down, I hear there will be pretty ladies and hot dudes. Montreal's most eligible bachelors will be spinnin' and Montreal's angriest barman, Nick the Prick will be slangin' drinks and punchin' delilnquents.

THIS WILL BE A NIGHT TO REMEMBER COME USHER IN THE APOCALYPSE IN STYLE AND SAY GOODBYE TO ME AND JESSE.

Love,

Cody "Thee Icepique" Hiques

Apocalypse Brothers INTERVIEWED

2007-11-21T17:00:00.000-08:00

That's right. For the original link click:

http://thelink.concordia.ca/view.php?aid=40204

On the Record

Q & A with the Apolcalypse Brothers, local DJs

By Jesara Sinclair

Style: We play death punk, power pop, stone-cold classic rock and Public Enemy in a tag-team format. Usually I’ll set the crowd up and Jesse will knock them down. We’re a real one-two punch.

Spots: We do monthly parties at Korova on Wednesdays. Starting in 2008, we will take over each Wednesday night for your hump-day music/drinking binge. We also have a show on CJLO every Friday from 2-4 p.m. called Two Hours of Terror.
We are having a School’s Out for Winter Party at Korova on Wednesday, Dec. 5. It’ll be called Shake Some Action with the Apocalypse Brothers. No cover, cheap big bottles of PBR and the best mix of party jams you can find on a Wednesday night.

What is the first song that made you go crazy?

Cody “DJ Icepick” Hicks: I was exposed to Prince at a very early age. I think “When You Were Mine” was the first song that made me realize it’s alright to be a freak. That or “Lust for Life” by Iggy Pop. We used to take our shirts off at my cousin’s place and dance for the whole length of the song on repeat. It’s over five minutes and when you’re a kid that seems like an hour. We ate that shit up.

Jesse “DJ King-Kong-Ding-Dong-Sing-Song” Hicks: That would have to be “Fat” by Weird Al or “Straight Outta Compton” by N.W.A.

What is the first song that made you want to DJ?

C: “Love you Like A Reptile” by Motorhead or “Working on the Highway” by Bruce Springsteen. I was on a houseboat trip and I would throw each of those songs on at about 6 p.m. when everyone was taking their beer-induced siesta and it really cranked things up. I thought it would be pretty rad to get paid to do that at bars.

J: I’ll tell you later.

When did you start messing with records?

C: I was in grade nine and I was hanging out with this real square who had a cool dad. He pulled me aside one day and showed me his collection of records and said I could take whatever I wanted. He had the first Specials LP and the English Beat. I took them home and looked at them for a while before I was given an ancient turntable for my birthday. Now it’s an unhealthy obsession.

J: When Cody bought me Judas Priest’s album British Steel and AC/DC’s Dirty Deeds record. He disguised them in the sleeves of some Olde Tyme Jug Band record.

What's the story behind your DJ names?

C: I was christened DJ Icepick by a mysterious tribesman in Northern Saskatchewan. We did a two-week peyote trip on a frozen lake. Once he fell through the ice and I broke it open with my bare hands to save him. That’s why I’m the Icepick.

J: DJ King-Kong-Ding-Dong-Sing-Song came to me in a dream about the best burger I ever ate.

What's your favourite thing about DJing?

C: The bar tab and the feeling of when you run about behind the DJ booth to throw down with the crowd on some Bad Brains.

J: Free Orange Crush and babes.

What's your least favourite thing about DJing?

C: The intense pressure to play music that doesn’t belong within 10 miles of a club.

J: Weird old men who insistently demand that I play “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse.

What song is a sure shot for you?

C: “Fortunate Son” by Creedence Clearwater Revival is always a banger. People are also pretty into 2 Live Crew when I throw it on.

J: Anything by Polysics or Andrew W.K.

What song will you never be caught dropping?

C: Anything by Wolf Parade.
J: Like I said, “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse.

What do you listen to when you're not DJing?

C: The Kinks, The Replacements and The Fall. My holy trinity.
J: CPC Gangbangs, Clorox Girls and Brutal Knights

What has been your most memorable DJ experience?

C: Once I teamed up with my bros Jeremy and Jason on a quiet Monday night and somehow managed to get the place wall-to-wall packed. I dropped my pretensions and played a shitload of booty- bass, drank my weight in PBR and shook my balls ‘til close. I was grinning ear to ear.

J: The time I single handedly cured world hunger through the power of song. Or, when I played that sweet Jay-Z song and gave all the girls in the room severe boners.

Youth of America - My First Music Video

2007-11-08T18:32:00.000-08:00

TWO HOURS OF TERROR - NEW TIME - FRIDAYS 2-4 PM

2007-11-08T16:46:00.000-08:00

Come and tune in to the serious jamzzz for the CMJ recap episode.

I'll be telling debaucherous tales in the same vein as The Link Article.

I'll also be playing jams by :

Pissed Jeans
Clockcleaner
The Damned
The Kinks
etc.etc.etc.

Won't you join me at www.cjlo.com/Shows/breakfastwax ?

Just click on Listen Now and we're good to go.

Captain Beyond - S/T Review

2007-11-05T18:28:00.001-08:00

Jesus Christ.

This is one of the rare proggy rock records from my younger (stoned) days that still stacks up.

I found this at Cheap Thrills for a ten-spot and all it took was a minute of "Dancing Madly Backwards" to get a body high. These guys could boogie with the best of them.

But really, why did nearly all those other bloated 70s rock acts have to succumb to wanking their instruments off with no real rock sense? The fuzzy guitar tone and cheeseball vocal tone that pervades the record just warms my heart.

So what if some songs have several parts? So what if each song segways grossly into the next? This is some square music I can get down to.

So: Fuck Yes. Fuck Rush. Fuck Edgar Winter. Fuck your mother's favourite 70s rock record, cuz this is mine.

Listen to Captain Beyond, but make sure it's old/worn out and vinyl.

4/5

Shake Some Action w/ The Apocalypse Brothers Wed Nov. 7th

2007-11-05T09:14:00.000-08:00

Me and my little brother are going to dominate Thee Korova Mylk Bar on Wednesday night with rad tunes and tasty American Brews. Nick the Prick was generous enough to give us another shot after blowing the roof off the joint so many times this summer. The amount of fun and profit we were having was too exciting so he had to cut us off.

So come shake your balls on over and listen to some fucking rock.

The Icepick at CMJ in NYC for CJLO

2007-11-01T09:44:00.001-07:00

For the original link:

http://thelink.concordia.ca/view.php?aid=40083

Underage in the Big Apple

Hicks takes on CMJ with CJLO

By Cody Hicks

I'm 20 years old, and according to the Canadian government, I am an adult and I am legally able to drink, smoke, fuck and join the army. Down south, it's a different story. Not only am I (legally) not allowed to drink, I am barred from entering the bars that most bands play in.

In spite of this “rule,” I decided to try my luck and attend the College Music Journal Music Marathon in New York City as a member of the CJLO team. We rolled into town with a posse of 20 and proceeded to take Manhattan by storm, one show at a time.

Day 1: Into the belly of the beast

I catch the bus at 7:45 on Tuesday morning. The other 19 members of the CJLO posse have been in New York since Monday. I have some catching up to do.

I was stressed because of something in my pocket: a little friend called a fake I.D. This card, which shall be henceforth referred to as Clark, has allowed me access to many “adult” treats before my time. I hadn't intended to bring him, as crossing the border with a fake I.D. would give the border guards a license to violate me.

Clark wouldn't give up his ideas of the bright lights and New York-style bagels and was accidentally riding in my pocket. After fretting about all the poking and prodding, I decided to stash Clark on the bus an hour before the border. That's right. I risked smuggling charges to avoid getting caught with a fake.

I show up in New York and find my lodging for the week–the St. Mark's Hotel. It's affordable, located in the East Village and a popular prostitution destination.

I am greeted by some fellow CJLOers with a large can of PBR and the instructions to drink it quickly. We have a “punk show” to attend. I chug the can and inhale a cheap slice of pizza as we walk to Webster Hall.

The gothic arena is not conducive to the show. I catch the Philadelphia based Low-Budgets: a nihilistic punk group that was ruined by horribly misplaced keyboards. They were followed by the generic angry-hardcore of Modern Life is War. The large space saps the energy of both bands. Blah.

I skip out on Lifetime and the Bouncing in order to save energy for the rest of the week.

Daily Highlight: I inadvertently get a +21 wristband by showing my Concordia ID. New York bouncers are unable to comprehend the small printed 11/17/1986. This starts a trend that continues for the rest of the week…

Day 2: Bagels, Panels, Heroes, Villains and Free Beer

I wake up early on Wednesday and set off to my first panel–panels are a big deal at CMJ. They consist of artists and industry types discussing the mundane issues that plague the music industry. I choose one a day to check it out, for posterity's sake.

I go to “Indie Rock Taste Test” because the lovable fatty Dan Deacon is supposed to be on the panel. He doesn't make it; the panel turns out to be a big snooze fest. I learn two lessons at this otherwise meaningless panel: 1) say “fuck” a lot it actually detracts from your argument 2)the term “indie” should be stricken from popular nomenclature.

Next stop is the Apple Store for Thurston Moore, a definite festival highlight. Despite looking more like a granny than ever, Moore comes out in his “youthful” attire and busts out a no-bullshit set of acoustic rock. The clean guitar tone is refreshing, reminiscent of Television. Have you ever heard an acoustic through an effects pedal? Acoustic guitar and fiddle feedback? Awesome. I'm briefly content.

I receive a message that Billy Bragg is playing at Arlene's Grocery. Full of piss, vinegar and confidence from last night's +21 badge score, I decide to case the show.

At 3:30 I find the little dive on the Lower East Side and slowly approach the bouncer. He has just finished carding a bearded man. A nod and a wave is all I need to get into the darkened bar. My luck is soaring and I don't know why I deserve it.

I sit nervously at the bar and order a $3 PBR. The first taste of cheap American beer (or water) sliding down a nervously dry throat is epiphanous.

After a few more sheepish beers and a horribly boring set by the Canadian pop group Bella, I realize that none of my friends are there. After a bit of spy-work I find out that I missed Billy Bragg, for Thurston Moore, and the CJLO crew is at a party. Damn.

I'm tipsy enough to forget about missing a minor hero of mine and down a pint of Stella Artois while watching the always-fantastic Cadence Weapon please the small club.

A few beers deeper, I stumble into the sun and saunter over to a Rockstar Games Party. The Concordia ID scam works again and I am given several drink tickets. Down in another dark bar is some kind of Wii tournament. Disinterested, I have several Heineken and lounge on a large couch with my CJLO brethren. I rip my second ticket in half, play dumb and receive two drinks for the price of one.

Next, I stumble into an Indian restaurant. I inhale some fine butter chicken hurriedly, because another hero is set to take the stage. At 11 p.m. I go to a hip-hop club to catch the Meat Puppets. The set starts strong with a fine rendition of “Up On the Sun,” but things quickly devolve into forgotten lyrics and needlessly long guitar solos. Curt Kirkwood looks like a fat 12-year-old in an XBOX 360 shirt. Yawn.

My buzz has long since faded, but I’m not done. I go down to the Bowery Ballroom to see Dan Deacon, miss him by a long shot and end up catching Deerhunter. I fall asleep standing up. The afternoon drunk has made me as drowsy as Omar. Day done.

Day Highlight: Thurston Moore, at 49, rocking the yuppie Apple store.

Day 3: College Day Free Food and David Thomas

I bolt out of bed at 9:00 a.m. to get some free College Day Breakfast. I’m late and end up with two big cups of sour coffee and some “hot jazz” for breakfast.

On my way to the daily panel I see a behemoth trudging around the NYU hallways: Crocus Behemoth, a.k.a. Dave Thomas of Père Ubu. Hilariously, he is set to moderate a panel on disposable media.

Rather than moderate though, he spits hot bile on MP3 supporters and those who believe that everyone should make bedroom music. Delightful.

I make up for breakfast with free lunch: three gross sandwiches and as many cookies as I can wolf down. Meanwhile, some douchebag hawks MP3 players.

Josh of CJLO then drags me to the Knitting Factory to see Fake Problems. These folk-punks really impress me.

I quickly jump ship on that show to attend the Canadian Showcase at a place called Fat Baby on the Lower East Side. I see Cadence Weapon for round two and bluff my way to another pint of beer in the impossibly small basement.

Next, we’re off to the Cake Shop, which is actually a cake shop, record store and venue. I see the delightfully noisy Big Bear and down a few pints of $3 Busch on the pretense that it was my birthday the night before, though my birthday is Nov. 17, not Oct. 17. That tricky Concordia ID strikes again.

Unfortunately, the bouncer who let me in realizes her mistake as I step out for a cigarette and chastises me for deceiving her.

I’m now barred from attending any more shows at the Cake Shop. I sit outside and get tricked, in my weakened state, into buying a novel by a “street poet” called “The Passion of Foshizzle Monizzle.” I get a nice deal for being Canadian. After a cigarette or three I return to the Canadian showcase and catch Uncut. Very nice Canuck rock. Day over.

Day Highlight: Dave Thomas on the music industry: “I have one solution: fuck the artist, fuck the audience, preserve the art.”

Day 4: Canadian Brunch and Mike Watt

I attend a brunch and CBC gets the tab. All the Canadians roaming around NYC for CMJ are extended an invitation to invade a two-story loft in Brooklyn to consume the finest of omelets and other wonderful breakfast treats. I’m completely smitten by the view and the quality of food that the lovely CBC has chosen to stuff us with. God bless you taxpayers, and God bless you rich Brooklyn man.

It starts to rain. Jackie, Josh and Brian, my fellow CJLOers, and I bite the bullet and cab to Brooklyn for a panel on The Clash. I mainly attend to see my man crush, Mike Watt. After watching the beautiful former Minuteman snooze through the panel, I rush the stage.

We hug. He lets me in on “secret album plans.” He promises to come visit CJLO next time he’s in Montreal. I get a picture with him and swoon. If you don’t know Mike Watt, buy every Minutemen album: best punk-rock bassist who ever lived.

On high, I go to Stromboli’s for pizza and then get $1.99 40-ouncer of Olde English. Drinking it gives me a youthful charge, so I go barreling off to The Knitting Factory for three floors of madness.

Here I catch Old Time Relijun, who makes CMJ for me. These guys smash up Beefheart and The Contortions, plus biker shorts, Spanish chants and an unrelenting sexy swagger. I can’t believe I haven’t heard of them before. And they’re on K Records to boot. Rock.

I spend the next two hours running from floor to floor to catch The Apes (fantastic echoey punk rock), Wizardzz (monstrous pounding electro with drums) and Japanther (a bass/drums duo that is better than DFA 1979, but worse than Lightning Bolt). This is all punctuated by shotgunning illegally-purchased Budweisers in a nearby back alley. Sigh.

Highlight: Mike Watt. Period.

Day 5: Winding Down

The marathon has demolished me. I use this day to recuperate and do what I’ve dreamt of for a long time: get lost in Williamsburg. This area is as beyond hip as they say, but also just grimy enough to win me over for several hours.

I briefly attend an industry party, but all that I’m interested in is the free beer and hot dog. Boring sets by Will Sheff and Islands leaves me nearly comatose and fake promotional people make me cry on the inside.

Before Trail of Dead are able to take the stage I fuck off and eat several more wonderful tomato slices at Stromboli’s before attending the Clockcleaner show at The Annex on the Lower East Side.

They don’t make it. The band that I was most excited to see in the whole goddamn festival gets a flat tire. I hold my tears and waste a few hours before catching the snooze-rock of Wooden Shjips.

Dreary from tedium, I go to a “party” in tiny Manhattan apartment where three young men cover an Everly Brothers song on thrift store instruments.

Highlight: Beautiful juicy tomatoes on the Stromboli pizza. Best in Manhattan I’d say.

Conclusion:

CMJ can be a wild ride, but be prepared to lie, cheat and steal your way to the top. Avoid going if you are in the industry. I do not regret deceiving the city of New York into letting me into all their bars and giving me free beer. The adventure of being a 20-year-old in New York was worth twice the price of admission. I hope they let me back into the country next year.

Break it Down:
… for those too lazy to slog through my shambolic rambling:
Number of Shows Attended: 14
Number of Shows Attended Illegally: 8
Total Number of Bands Seen: 29
Number of Fruits Consumed: 4
Number of Vegetables Consumed: Does tomato sauce count?
Best Celebrity Meet and Greet: Mike Watt from the goddam’ Minutemen
Best Musical Act: Old Time Relijun’s incredibly punk rock
Biggest Disappointment: The fat old Meat Puppets
Best Venue: The Knitting Factory (three stories, wowee zowee)
Best Panelist: An incredibly angry David Thomas of Pere Ubu
Best Meal: CBC Sponsored Canadian Brunch in Brooklyn
Best Pizza: Stromboli’s on St. Mark’s and 1st
Best Records: Academy Records in on 6th and Wythe in Williamsburg
Best Bagel: Ess-a Bagel on 21st and 1st
Best Area to Get Lost: The Navy Yard in Williamsburg