Tonight I’m doing sound in Hell’s Kitchen and after I get off work I’m going to hop on my bike and whip down to the Khyber Club to play a Spinoza show. Also performing will be Rhyme For Reason and The Break-Up, or at least ex-members of what used to be The Break-Up now that The Break-Up broke up, anyways, go see them. The show is a benefit for a bicycle organization, Cyclists for Sustainability or some such thing. I’ll try not to get hit by a bus on the way down.
The confirmed lineup for the A/V show in Hell’s Kitchen tomorrow now includes Amelia Curran, Rose Cousins, Amy Campbell and a mysterious performer known only as “pamela.” Looks like it’ll be four parts estrogen to one part testosterone but I think I’ll manage.
My prediction for the month of May is that I’m going to end up in the hospital.
I’ve been doing some remixes of The Plan from their first record. Here’s a warped version of “I Am All Kinds of Illegal.”
Send me an email if you have a favourite Plan song and would like it to receive ‘the treatment.’
Here’s a track from the new A/V disc I’m working on.
~ Do you two know each other?
thursday april 25 Spinoza @ Khyber Club
friday april 26 A/V @ Hell’s Kitchen
friday may 3 A/V @ Pavilion
“Philip, your swirly drawerings remind of Moby’s ‘art’ (without the Ziggy-like character) and its pissing me off. Have a good day. Rhaul”
–OK Rhaul, sorry about that. I’ll include a Ziggy-like character in today’s drawering. Just for you!
Last night I slept with a beautiful stranger… not with her, but next to her… and in the morning she looked at me and said in a sexy German accent, “It’s as if we’ve been married for 25 years, and we have no memory of any of it.”
And I said, “Yes, yes, I don’t remember a thing… but I’m sure it was awesome.”
And today was a grey day. I went and ate a huge brunch and then moped around the house all day. In the evening I came down to the studio with big plans, but I wound up fooling around with some house beats all night instead.
Nothing is happening. I must leave here to go roam around the neighbourhood.
~ april 14 [1.1MB mp3]
It takes me a long time to buy a few groceries. I’m not a very efficient shopper. I tend to wander from one end of the store to the other, picking things up as I think of them.
I came around the corner from the bulk food section and started to pull my shopping cart along the long aisle at the back of the store. Up ahead of me, a little boy was dancing beside one of the freezers. He looked to be about six or seven.
He was doing some sort of dirty boogie dance, complete with sassy pelvic thrusts. When I came closer, he saw me looking at him and stopped.
“Who are you?” he said.
“I’m Philip,” I said. There was fresh mud all over his Toronto Raptors cap. “Who are you?”
“Jackson,” he said. Then he started into his little dance again. I realized he’d been singing to himself:
“Why was I born, ko-ee-yo-ee-yo, why was I born, ko-ee-yo-ee-yo, why was I born, ko-ee-yo-ee-yo, why was I born…WHY!”
He went up on his tippytoes to shout the last word at me. Then he turned and ran away up the cat food aisle.
In the middle of the night, I stood in the middle of the Sobey’s parking lot.
A plastic bag was slowly being blown all the way across the parking lot. It was puffed out with wind and it rolled like a barrel through the air. Once in a while it would dip down and touch the pavement: scuff.
I watched it until it reached the edge of the nearly empty lot–scuff; scuff. Then it flew up over the sidewalk and into the street.
I looked behind me. “‘Whassup Joey.”
It was Joey Junior from the Marquee. I fell in with him and we started walking towards the front door of the supermarket. “I was just saying to myself, now who could that be standing by himself in the middle of the parking lot.”
The parking lot at night is a smoothly undulating surface. Streetlights illuminate its non-Euclidean grid of intersecting white lines.
“Yeah,” I said. “I was just thinking a few things over.”