I had a great conversation with my girl’s uncle a few hours before I first met Russell Marsden.

Her uncle was in town visiting. He’d planned the trip to last a week or two. But a family emergency, the kind that changes things, changed things. He was needed. So he was here.

We shared family stories, successes and failures. Things we liked; and didn’t. We talked about a new band he’d discovered, in middle age, that reminded him what he loved so much about music. A band whose sound had found him, somehow, across an ocean, in a north country town where the sun doesn’t rise ’til nine in winter. Where things don’t usually happen that easily. A band fronted by Russell Marsden.

Pardon the suspense. They are, of course, Band of Skulls. From Southampton, England.

My girl’s uncle heard their song “Light of The Morning” on TV one night in a Mustang ad. Next came album orders. Downloads. YouTube searches. I knew how that went. I’d done the same thing last summer after seeing them at Bonnaroo. He wondered where, exactly, was Marsden, a guitarist and singer, pulling from. How had voice grown so elegantly between 2009′s Baby Darling Doll Face Honey and spring’s Sweet Sour. How did this band’s three songwriters co-exist, delegate, survive? What motivated their edits? I wondered, too.

Forgive me for writing so few words about Marsden here. He is truly a lovely man. One of  ambitions both admirable and true. Indeed, you sense an inner honesty in him. I’d gladly buy him a pint (he prefers Belgian) anytime. And I wish him very well. His future is bright.

I shared these details with my girl’s uncle that night as we got ready to watch Band of Skulls. Me, my girl, her 50-something uncle and his sister. For a few hours, my family forgot the impossibly hard times awaiting us at home. We shared in the night and each other’s easy company. I hope one day Russell Marsden finds out his band’s hard work helped us arrive at that night. I think he’d feel good about it.

Here’s more of our conversation about life’s hard lessons and how to walk through the doors your work opens.

I want to start with a memory from the first time I saw you guys, at Bonnaroo, last summer. I understand that show left a lasting impression on you. There was something about it that you wanted to try and capture again. What was so memorable about it?

Technical details. Matt (Hayward, drums) got a real vibe off what was happening. I think a lot of people did. They were just going crazy. From the first hits. We opened with “Sweet Sour,” like we’ve been doing since, so it was defining it that sense as well. He was hitting the drums so hard that the stage was moving up and down, which was moving the amps, which was making the reverb tanks slap the insides of themselves and gives you that kind of lightning sound. We brought it home and watched it on video and thought, ‘Well, that’s cool.’ So we got back to Rockfield (Wales) and basically showed the videos to our producer and said, ‘We want the record to sound like this gig.’ He ended up jumping up and down on my far-too-overpriced-and-delicate amplifiers. That really was the connection. We’re back in Wales… and that’s on the album. It was one of those absurd details that became reality.

That’s brilliant when one of those little details ends up colouring an album. Sweet Sour can obviously apply to many things. One of the first that spoke to me was a focus on contrasts. I guess it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise coming from a band that’s touched on Patsy Cline and Led Zeppelin.

(Laughs).  It’s true! There you go!

I’m curious – when you first come together, at the beginning of the writing process, are those contrasts particularly apparent? Or is it easy to see what’s common?

If it’s a Patsy Cline-esque melody with a Led Zeppelin-esque whatever, we’re like ‘Throw that shit together!’

(Laughs).

That’s something that would make our ears perk up. Even if the bits to an idea seem weird, we want to see what happens. We have a very broad range of tastes – musical tastes, listening tastes – and we also have a broad range of stuff that we want to do. So it always favours the work. And this record is no exception, really. I think we continue to try to bring many different influences in. Sometimes it’s risky doing it. But I think if we weren’t fulfilling ourselves artistically, I think we’d be disappointed in the work. We’d be feeling repressed. Which we’re not.

When you take the album as a cohesive set – which, of course, people increasingly don’t do these days, though they ought to – I find it interesting that rather than a study in contrasts it feels it many ways like you guys have refined a lot of the elements you brought together on the first album; a distillation. Does it sound that way to you when you play the songs?

We don’t listen to it! We only play them. Listen to them to learn them, if you have to play them. (Laughs). I think for us it was making sure that everyone knew we were a real band. It wasn’t just a flash-in-the-pan thing. We’re a band on a journey writing music. We wanted it to open doors for us into the future rather than close them down and reduce our options. So, [there are] some interesting things. There are interesting time signatures that we did. We kind of got quite experimental, I think.

That’s true of the time signatures you hear in “Wanderluster.” It’s an interesting jump to hear. Very cool.

We could’ve easily not done a song like that. Played it safe. But I like the risk. It’s exciting. We sort of write the idea, not as a ‘Band of Skulls’ thing, but then it has to go through these channels to be possible to do. It was very interesting to do. And very satisfying to finish and get on the record. I’m glad it made it. It gives the record some edge.

You actually met (Emma Richardson, bass) when you were in art school together. Considering what you do now, what would you say is the thing school most taught you?

I think that everyone has a personal experience but we meet in the centre when there’s an experimental and creative mood. It’s great to be around people that are doing so many things. At the time, [school] was very exciting. We try and retain that sense of creative processes. Any idea’s good enough because it’s an idea. That’s a powerful thing. We sort of do have an art-school way of working. We sit down, we throw ideas around. It’s just like coming in with a new idea. We have development days. I guess that’s what we learned from it, really. How to see through a creative project. And how to collaborate. Hopefully we learned to be a creative team in any sense. That’s what we try and do. It’s very strange that the front end of it is this rock band.

(Laughs).

We sort of look at it sometimes, like, ‘What the hell happened there?’ But we’ve always collaborated and it’s always exciting. Right now, it’s music. It’s raw, powerful music that’s exciting people. It is exciting. And in the future there’s lot of other things we want to do and it’ll be exciting where it takes us. We work with people in America and back in England as well. We’ve spent a lot of time in Canada, Montreal especially, and it keeps that slightly unusual way of doing things alive. That’s not the usual route. Which is always, for good or worse, the way we do things. We do things the other way of doing it. We’re very fortunate. And we’re hopeful of protecting that creative bubble that we have now. It works for us.

What do you think being in a band has taught you about yourself?

It’s great to bring something exciting into town. And hopefully make people’s week a bit better, you know? Tough times often need a bit of relaxation. A bit of escapism. Rock and roll’s always done that. So, if that’s the case, then we’re very happy to supply it. And also, we’ve been a band for a long time but we’ve been musicians for a longer time. We’ve come across many barriers and people have written us off left, right and centre. It’s a very English thing. There’s a lot of history there and it’s super tough to break through. Anyone that’s sort of said that we were shit…it’s sort of satisfying when you make it to a certain level. The same songs, the same band – with a bit of hard work. We had an opportunity to share our work. The rest of it’s the same. Once you’ve come around and you have a good show or a good audience, or whatever, even if one person’s a big fan, it’s worth it. All summed up in one moment. Crystallized.

The night we met Russell, his bandmate Emma Richardson was there, too.
You can find our full interview with Emma and Russell here.

Chris and I have known each other since elementary school. He lived on the street next to mine. We’d take the same public bus home from high school, and so the bus stop at Finch and Kennedy was a routine that involved conversations about food, Mid-East politics, and women.

Chris is CFO and COO at PURE Building Group. We met for coffee and a discussion on the housing market. Turns out he’s not a fan of real estate agents.

So what do you think, Chris? Is this a good time to buy a house? Should one wait?

It’s always a good time to buy. And it’s always a good time not to buy. Depends. And I hate hate hate, loathe some real estate agents for being so one-dimensional. And obviously they’re looking out for their best interests. But the stuff they put out is propaganda. Don’t get me wrong, there are some honest realtors with objective opinions out there but they are rare to come by.

And the ones you dislike, are they pushing out negative or positive opinions about the market?

Always positive about the market. And it serves them in that respect.

So are things not as rosy as we read? There are some people who talk about a possible housing bubble in Canada. How true is that? 

I think a lot of the criticism out there is not founded. All this bubble talk, I think it’s over exaggerated. I think you need to separate the condominium market from the single-family residential market. Because really, the condo market is supported by investors. It’s led to a lot of speculation. And with the condo market it takes time, from planning a condo to getting approvals to actually building a condo, so it’s a lot more vulnerable to the whims of the market. So I can see the condo market being susceptible to a bubble. I don’t know the magnitude of the correction because Toronto is supported by consistent immigration, even within Toronto with people migrating downtown.

The reason why single-family homes aren’t susceptible to a big correction or a bubble is because there is way more demand than there is supply. And that’s what is driving the prices of houses in Toronto. And when I say houses I’m excluding condominiums.

What about those who are in the market to flip a house?

If you’re flipping you have to consider tax issues. A lot of people, what they do is they actually live in the house and have it classified as a primary residence and then sell it, so they avoid capital gains that way. When it comes to flipping houses it’s all about timing. You have to find a hot pocket and you have to be quick about it. And the most important thing, well, there are two things: the time you buy in, and the time until you sell because you carry the mortgage and you have carrying costs. And who’s to say that the swings in that pocket are going to continue over x amount of years. So you want to get in and out as quickly as possible.

However, with income producing properties, if you have positive cash flow, meaning what you put into the house as far as mortgage expenses, utilities, insurance costs, property taxes, is less than what you’re actually getting from your renters, then you have positive cash flow. Now, regardless of where the property value goes over the long term, if you’re in an area that has good fundamentals over time you can ignore the fluctuations in the property value because you’re getting positive cash flow from that property. So you can wait it out because it takes times with those types of areas. A huge factor for a lot of people that buy into income producing properties to rent out is transportation infrastructure.

I was reading a recent article, in The Globe and Mail,  about home prices in the Sheppard and Bayview area. The area between Finch and Sheppard, and between Yonge and Don Mills… that area is just booming!

In that area, because it’s going through a transition, there are quite a few new developments. It’s close to Bayview Village, close to the 401, close to Yorkdale Mall, close to the DVP and the subway. A lot of speculators are buying property to flip in that area and that has brought land prices up.

So is it too late for an investor to move into that area?

You wouldn’t have a problem selling in that area, but rising land prices are eating into potential profits. If you want to live there, it’s a great area to live. But for an investor, I wouldn’t recommend it unless they have experience working at that price point.

Would you buy right now?

Would I buy a property right now? It depends. There are a few things to consider. The condo market is at more risk than buying a house or a town home. Like I said, the momentum pushing the condo market is speculative investing. A lot of the buildings going up today are based on the drive towards getting that return and knowing that interest rates are very low. I don’t know how long this will last and a correction will happen. We’re already seeing some condos begin to have vacancies. My theory is that people who want to buy condos to live will buy them up once the pricing comes down.  They’re not going to wait long. People will see a drop in prices and feel the homes are affordable.

Is there a way to manufacture a bubble-pop and bring house prices down sooner?

(laughs) You can manufacture one. They did it in the States. But I don’t think that would happen in Canada. I’m sure someone with experience in financial engineering could. I don’t think it would be based on fundamentals, so it would have to be psychological. I don’t know…push out propaganda. (laughs)

(laughs) Like a real estate agent!  But one pushing negative propaganda.

Joshua Moraes and I bump into each other every so often. And when we do we talk about economic bubbles, letterpress printing, rent vs. mortgage payments, and Goa…we’ve never lived there.

One of Joshua’s latest projects has been outreach for the MP and MPP in the Davenport riding on the issue of the new commuter Air Rail Link between Pearson International Airport and Union Station. During our last bump, we discussed it.

What’s the Clean Train Coalition?

It’s about Torontonians uniting against plans to have diesel trains run through 12 neighbourhoods. Everyone agrees we need the ARL (Air Rail Link) but let’s do it right. Let’s electrify the line. It’s environmentally sound and can serve a ton more residents.

Why haven’t the trains been electrified as part of the plan then? Is diesel cheaper? 

The plan to use diesel can be attributed to the initial costs being cheaper, as well as the rush to have this line up and running for the 2015 Pan Am Games.

Although it is initially cheaper to build the line diesel, the operating costs, once the line is built, are far cheaper if electrified. Studies have indicated the costs would be recouped in 10 years. Also, the diesel plan only allows for two stops between Union Station and the airport, less stops because stopping and starting diesel trains is expensive, dirty and loud. However, electrifying the line would allow for more stops and thus be accessible to a ton more residents, bringing in more revenue.

As for the Pan Am Games, well, my response is ‘who cares’? It’s a two-week sporting event. Why should 300,000 residents in 12 neighbourhoods along the line suffer a lifetime of pollution for that?

Having more stops on the line would defeat the purpose of an express train. Would you rather they forget making it express and just have another commuter line? 

I grew up near Steeles and Victoria Park, the outer edges of Scarborough on the border of Markham. As a teen, heading downtown was rewarding but one hell of a trek. The Sheppard line didn’t exist yet. I would have to take the Steeles 53 bus to Finch station. The 53 did provide one of 4 choices, one of which was the 53E, an express bus that made very few stops on the way to Finch station.

We can do the same here. We can build a line with great flexibility. One that serves multiple commuter needs. While it is possible to electrify the line and still have it be only an express route with two stops, does that make sense? Is that building accessible, multi-use mass transit? Keep in mind that a route like that targets a smaller select group of people able to pay a ticket price upwards of $25.00 to $30.00 to get to the airport. Having more stops opens the line up to more users and brings down the cost per user.

With electric it doesn’t have to be one or the either. 140 trains per day works out to a minimum of 5 trains per hour. How about two express trains and three all-stop trains per hour?  Or maybe three express and three local during peak hours? Electric gives us options, diesel doesn’t.

The people doing the development say that it will take too long for environmental studies, etc, to build an electric train line instead of diesel. They say an electric line won’t be ready for the Pan Am Games. This may be true, but realistically, can this be approved much faster if all levels of government dedicate their attention to getting the approvals pushed fast? Or am I just being overly optimistic that the slow chugging bureaucracy of government can ever speed up?

Greater emphasis should be placed on getting this whole thing done right first and then setting up a deadline. Having 300,00 residents (including day care centres, schools, and a long term respitory care centre within proximity of tracks), and having people across the GTA suffer diesel pollution for years to come because of a two-week sporting event doesn’t make sense.

Red tape is a nuisance for sure but careful assessment is paramount. It’s not just the environment but also making sure that a project like this works to improve the transit needs for the widest number of Torontonians.

(See Clean Train Coalition for more information.)

We were flying over Europe. I was falling asleep. And the man in the seat behind me kept poking my headrest, pounding his touch screen to make his selections. I ignored it at first, but after the eighth ‘selection’ I turned around and said, “Hey, there’s a remote in your armrest! You don’t need to touch the screen, let alone hit it so hard! I’m trying to sleep!” And then I felt a little bad.

The guy beside me chuckled. And we chatted. Abhishek said he was flying to Bombay to see his family. I told him I was on a backpacking trip and filming across India. Our plane was the last one allowed to land in Bombay that morning. The rest were diverted to other airports. It was November 27, 2008, and armed gunmen were wreaking havoc across the city.

Abhishek Mukherjee and I have stayed in touch over the years. He’s an avid bicyclist, part of two groups: The Jacksonville Bicycle Coalition, and Bike Jax. On a recent Skype chat we discussed bicycling in North America.

I actually don’t feel safe riding my bike on most roads in Toronto, not downtown in traffic and especially not on suburban roads. I don’t think I’d feel safe until they build a separate bike lane divided from the main road by a concrete curb or something.

You’ve touched upon a really big issue that seems to be the hardest thing for me to explain to anybody who is planning on bicycling, and that is subjective safety. Like you don’t feel safe. Statistically they can prove that you’re going to be safe but you don’t feel safe riding beside cars going at 45 miles per hour.

Exactly. I don’t feel safe unless there is a raised divide. Or something like the bike path on Roncesvalles Avenue in downtown Toronto where they built the bike lane beside the sidewalk. So it’s raised from the road.

I think Germany does that, where the cars, bicycles and pedestrians are in different lanes at different levels. And that’s one way to tackle it. And The Netherlands has been perfecting their way for a long time, so that’s where I would look to for ideas.

But one of the biggest reasons we don’t see more bicyclists is because of the North American culture. Bicycles are something that people had as kids. They learned how to ride a bike. Some of them started racing on bikes. But the rest just kind of gave it up, until they got their first car and moved on in life. The indication of moving up in life is you dump your bicycle, get a motorcycle, dump your motorcycle, get a car, dump your car, get a bigger car.

So the thing here is that the bicycle is not just a toy you had when you were a kid. It can be a very efficient tool. I mean, a couple miles on a bicycle is really easy to do and it wouldn’t take you any more time than it would in a car through traffic.

And you get a workout.

And you get a workout. But you don’t need to get a workout. Florida can get pretty hot, so I just ride slower some days.

So what would it take to help change the current culture and build the bicycle into a long-term tool?

Personally, I see two approaches. One approach is through infrastructure planning and the government. If they put in infrastructure that tells motorists that bicycles are also welcome on the roads and respected here, not just something on the side but something that will allow a bicyclist to feel safe. That would be the first step. That would lead to a change in culture.

And I feel the second way of changing culture is through art. There are bicycle film festivals. There are bicycling events. Something fun that gets people thinking, that gets them saying, “Hey, I just had fun on a bike. Maybe I can bike to the grocery store tomorrow.” This is a another way to change culture. And we’re seeing that happen.

Artist, Singer, Skull.

I first met Emma Richardson in the upstairs lounge of a sweaty rock club in Toronto.

She’s from Southampton, England. The town where the Titanic set sail. She went to art school. Showed authentic, original talent. Now she spends her nights playing rock music instead. There’s something perfectly British about that.

She plays a mean bass in Band of Skulls, a band of hard work and gradual, deserving triumphs. Sometimes they sound like Led Zeppelin; others, they’re more like Patsy Cline. Really. They strike this sound particularly well on their new album, Sweet Sour.

Emma also remains a working artist. Formally trained and finding fresh success. Her first exhibition opened in London this spring. Her singular vision also shapes Band Of Skulls’ complex aesthetic. The night we met, her bandmate Russell Marsden was there, too. For the fullest effect of their appreciable charms, we recommend you read our complete conversation.

Here we chatted about the band’s new music, her most primal artistic tendencies, and how seeing the world brings her fresh perspective.

I want to start with a memory from the first time I saw you guys, at Bonnaroo, last summer. I understand that show left a lasting impression on you; that there was something about it you wanted to try and capture again. What was so memorable about it?

Well, we’d been in the studio for a few weeks by then, recording, and we got the chance to go out and play the festival. We really didn’t expect how big the stage [would be] and the time slot we got. So we thought, ‘Let’s put four or five new ones in the set and see how they go down.’ I remember walking out on stage and seeing 15 or 20,000 people getting it and singing along. It was kind of the most overwhelming experience. Especially coming out of the studio and not talking to anybody for a month. Some of the things that happened on stage – not mistakes, but technical… extras.

That’s brilliant when one of those little details ends up colouring an album.

It’s good for us for the memories.

When you take the album as a cohesive set – which, of course, people increasingly don’t do these days, though they ought to – I find it interesting that rather than a study in contrasts it feels it many ways like you guys have refined a lot of the elements you brought together on the first album; a distillation. Does it sound that way to you when you play the songs?

I like how sometimes we write things that we can’t physically play. We have to re-learn them and get to become better musicians to actually play the song. With “Wanderluster,” that was an example of everyone trying to figure out this crazy time signature that Matt (Hayward, drums) had written and then putting our own ideas onto it. It’s exciting, you know. You can kind of see what it might become. And that’s the point where everybody goes, ‘Wow, we should really work on this some more.’

Your artwork certainly forms the aesthetic of the band. I want to congratulate you on the opening of your first solo exhibition, Cruisin’ For A Bruisin, back in England…

Thank you.

Do you think that there are common themes within the artwork and the music?

I think that the process of actually creating a painting and a song is very similar. As definite influences you could talk about…it’s a psychological thing. They’re all Rorschach tests. People bring different things into the paintings they want. A song, you could say the same thing. They could bring something emotionally to it.

Yeah. For me, I suppose – just to project myself onto it– I feel that there’s a certain symmetry to both. But, at the same time, a certain fluidity. Something raw. Carnal, almost. Like an animalism.

There is a definite crossover there with the artwork and the music. It’s nice to have that continuity running through both records, I think.

I was doing some reading and I came across an article where you mentioned the German artist Hans Bellmer as a touchstone, a reference point. What is it about his artwork that you’re drawn to?

That I like? First off, his draftsmanship. The line he uses. For “The Story Of The Eye,” it’s amazing. It blows me away, his skills. And also that real visceral, slightly explicit, kind of raw… it’s evil, you know? (Laughs). Some of the images… He’s quite twisted. And he made that Doll thing which is so messed up.

It’s a touch vulgar.

Yeah. But he’s not afraid to go there. I kind of like his brash openness. That he’s able just to draw stuff like that and he makes it look so beautiful at the same time. I find myself kind of influenced by it. But also censoring myself with paint quite a bit. I do start with that kind of visceral, vicious line and then end up covering it up with oil paint and being a little coy with it. Revealing parts. He’s had a big influence on my work, for sure.

What do you think being in this band has taught you about yourself?

I think to grab hold of any opportunity that comes and take hold of it and not be scared of it and see what happens. I think everyone’s grown in confidence as players. I know I have. Just being able to travel so much and see the world. I know it gets repeated and a lot of bands say it but you do get to experience a hell of a lot of the world. You meet a lot of people. It kind of puts your life into context. There’s a lot of other things going on! It’s not just all about music. For me, that’s it. And seeing a lot of people rock out every night. (Laughs).

You can find our full interview with Emma and Russell here.

Musician, Mentor, Young Man, Living. (Read)

I know Mark Godfrey from way back. We went to the same high school. I once played in a band with his cousin. He’s younger than I am. So I’ve seen him grow up some. Come of age. People you know do this in your midst all the time. It’s a special thing when you finally see it.

Mark plays in Pram Trio, a jazz ensemble as much for classicists as those interested in cutting new paths. He also teaches bass at Upper Canada College and gives private lessons.

We met at a proper Toronto drinking hole. Stayed long enough to see a shift change through. The ceiling featured a huge, painted mural. So did the waitress’ arms. Next, Mark will be playing places like this all spring during Pram Trio’s upcoming tour. They’ll stop at our old high school, too. We talked about that over hawaiian nachos and cheap beer.

The upright bass. Why that instrument?

Because I couldn’t study electric bass in university. It was never something I even thought about. It was always something of a novelty for me. I started playing electric bass in Grade 7 for fun. I did it in jazz band. I did it in church band. I remember asking my Dad to teach me and he said, ‘Yeah, I’ll teach ya.’ Every day one summer, we would get up and he would say, ‘OK, I want you to work on playing these particular things in succession. This is a major chord. This is a minor chord. Learn how to play those.’ I love my Dad but…

(Laughs).

He didn’t really have any knowledge at all. But he’s a great coach. A great teacher. Even if he doesn’t have knowledge on the subject. In Grade 9, I ended up in jazz band. My cousin said that I played bass. And Spiro Grima (ed. note- Mark’s high school music teacher) said, ‘Come try out for jazz band.’ Andrew Schneider was doing it before that. He wasn’t a bass player. He was a guitar player. There’s a blast from the past. Just rattling off names…

They’re all still in there.

In Grade 10 I decided I wanted to pursue music as a career choice. The music teacher said to my Mom, ‘Mark can’t study electric bass at a university. He needs to learn clarinet.’ Which I had been playing. So I started taking a lesson every week. There were some colleges you could study electric bass in. But I really wanted to do the university thing for whatever reason. It’s just always what I’d planned to do. Then I ended up going to a couple of camps. The first one was a leadership camp. The second was music. And, at the end of the summer, I went to a jazz camp. I showed up with my electric thinking I was hot shit. My nose completely out of joint. It was the worst ensemble and I was the only one there with an electric bass. I was in a bad mood. But I decided to look at it as an opportunity. And it really made me realize jazz is so much bigger than you or me. If I wanted to do it I had to learn this other instrument.

So I ended up going to the University of Toronto and heard from the Director of Music that if I wanted to get in I had to play upright bass. So I rented an upright, went back and did my audition, and somehow got in. It was never something that I had anticipated. The audition process was kind of surreal for me. It was really cool playing with musicians who were that good. Guys who were in fourth year at the University. I had never played with musicians who were that into this style of music. The vibe was really cool. I played a tune on upright and they asked me to go back to electric and then play upright again and they were like, ‘No, we like you better on upright.’ Which blew my mind. Because I had only been playing for the instrument for, like, two months. I had been playing electric for six years!

What kinds of fears and insecurities did you have to accept with this instrument?

It’s interesting. There are certain things you never get over. I remember when we did Battle of Bands when I was in Grade 10. Under the name Cesspool. We played a Simple Plan song. We played a Blink song. Do-do-do-do-do…

The stuff you’re nervous about sticks with you. Getting up in front of someone and performing was never something I had much anxiety about. But as soon as there was somebody in the audience that I thought highly of… completely different ballgame. Someone you know knows more about the instrument. Or you think is going to judge you. I would love to say that changes. But, man, I played last night in front of some people I really respect and… it doesn’t. This is the sadistic or negative thing about being a musician. You’re always trying to get to that uncomfortable place performing. But when you get there you see more… Where you want to be is always still ahead.

My teacher put it a really good way. You start playing jazz and you’re 18. ‘I think I’ve got the hang of things.’ Then you say, ‘Oh, that guy’s got his stuff together.’ Then you’re 24. And you’re like, ‘I’ve totally got the hang of this.’ Then you’re like, ‘He’s got way more shit together than I do.’ Then you’re 34. Ten years later. You’re married. You’ve got a kid on the way. You’re like, ‘Man, I am starting to PLAY this shit. I know what’s going on.’ Then it’s: ‘These young guys are the ones that have it going on.’ It’ll happen again when you’re 50. When you’re 65. Then you’re 90. You’re 102, lying in your deathbed – ‘Oh! I’ve finally got it.’ And then you die. I have totally diverged from the question here.

The nerves of performing in front of people I idolize or admire is always a tricky thing. They’re looking at you for who you are and what you do. If you want to be depressed about being a musician, compare yourself to other people. Because everyone’s different. Everyone’s working on things at different times. But that’s something that I’ve never really gotten past. I can stand up in front of anyone and be OK. But you perform the best when you’re not really worried about what other people are thinking. And you can apply that to any part of life. But it’s something that you constantly struggle with. Or at least I constantly struggle with it. You just try not to get caught up in it. Focus on what you’re doing. And be OK with where you are because of the reasons that’ve gotten you to that point.

Well said. Take a drink.

I thought when I was younger that when you have it, you have it. But now I find that you have to work to get back to it. The more you know, the less you know, right? The more I learn about my instrument or this industry, or this style of music, the more I realize I don’t know. What’s that, two?

Who’s counting. It’s interesting hearing you talk about everything that’s gotten you here to this point. Where you dream of one day being?

I’ll let you know when I find out. Ideally, doing what I’m doing. But more of what I want to be doing. You never really stop identifying things you need to work on. I really like that about this career that. This was the big reason that I didn’t go the teacher’s college route. I was really passionate about doing that for a big part of my life. That’s really what I saw as the end goal: Get a job as a teacher at a high school and inspire kids who were like me when I was in school. But in university I looked back and realized I have a much stronger passion for performing then I thought I initially did. It could even be a self-fulfilling situation. And I do really enjoy the teaching part of it. So the ideal gig would be doing all of this for X number of years and really experiencing it. Experiencing the touring, experiencing being the side man, experiencing being the leader. And teaching. Having a role like my teacher had with me – at a university or a community college. Not to the point that you’re teaching all the time. But you have balance. Consistency. Teaching one day a week. Teaching people who want to learn. I think everyone who teaches wants that. You want to be teaching people who want to figure out what you’re into. What you’re trying to get at. And the notion of teaching yourself out of a job is really cool for me. My teacher said this to me: His job is to teach me so I don’t have to go to him for questions. To get me to ask questions of myself so that I can figure it out. Because I have a passion for teaching that’s something I think I’ll always be into. But the performing aspect… there’s really nothing else like it. Especially in this genre. Because it is self-fulfilling. And once you get past that, it really is amazing to interact with other musicians. Regardless of age. Regardless of instruments. And to be able to keep doing it.

Right now… I’m 24. The way I learn, the way I interact with people is completely different than the way it was four years ago. You can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when you’re 60. The guys’ records who I buy are guys who are 60 right now. They’re making this creative music even though it isn’t necessarily popular music anymore. There’s some serious stuff in there.

Between Toronto, West Elgin and New York, we know a lot of the same streets. When you walk them, what kind of thoughts do you have?

It’s interesting to think about the things that would be different had you made certain decisions. Because those places – Toronto, New York and West Elgin – I don’t think there’s a lot that could’ve happened in my life that would’ve changed the fact that I actually walk those streets. So I always find if there’s no agenda – which rarely ever happens – it’s thinking about what had to happen for me to be here. Or what ways I could have gotten to this physical point. If I had gone to study kinesiology at Western or Laurier, walking around Wallacetown would’ve been feasible. But my mentality would be completely different. And it’s the same thing here in the city. I wouldn’t have been here had it not been for my music teacher telling me that trying to study kinesiology and music at Laurier would’ve been the worst decision of my life.

(Laughs).

Right? Would I have this strong desire to experience something else in New York had I not taken this Grade 12 music trip there?

Thoughts aren’t always this deep. Sometimes I’m thinking, ‘Man, that burrito I just had was good.’ The other thing is what relationships still exist in that area. While I’m walking through West Elgin, even though there aren’t a lot of people who I’m really close with, there are a handful of them. Some people are still around. So it’s kind of similar. What would’ve had to happen differently for those relationships to happen? Or other ones to not? It’s interesting because each one of these places have kind of integrated now. It’s all one big place. A lot of my friends from Toronto have experienced life where I grew up; been to my high school and done a clinic, hung out at The Goal Post.

New York is this place where all of my friends from high school have been with me. And I have friends from New York who’ve come up to Toronto and hung out. I know my girlfriend through a connection to a workshop I did at Banff. There are all of these connections. I think that you can be in the same place and get there in a different way. It’s surreal. When I do have time to think it’s about things like that. It’s about how different it would’ve been if Mom and Dad had encouraged me to do something else.  Had my siblings and I had a different relationship. Had I made the volleyball team in Grade 9. Because I didn’t. Because of that I was able to play jazz in the jazz band.

How do you compare loving a discipline, and what that takes, compared to other kinds of love?

I know this is different for me than a lot of other people. I’ve had discussions about it. I find it very hard to imagine a world where I’m not characterized by the instrument that I play. Where a lot of the friendships and relationships that I have are a result of the instrument that I play. I remember a discussion with my high school music teacher when I really vocalized that I wanted to get into music. He said to me, “There will be times when you want to drop out.” Because a lot of people experience that. You’re taking a passion and you’re trying to make it a career. A discipline. That never happened to me. There wasn’t that, ‘Man, I’m going to quit.’ I have the utmost respect for people who are able to look at this art form and say, ‘Making this a career is not what I am into.’ Not because they’re not good at it. Not because they don’t like it. Because they want to do something more. But, for me, music for me has been such a big part of my evolution as a human being. That’s a cheesy sentence. But when I was in Grade 7 I started playing this instrument and I really made it a part of what I do. That is me.

And people here are in the same situation. My buddy Taylor plays sax. My buddy Jack plays stand-up. Matt plays drums. Everyone has an association wit an instrument. My girlfriend has talked about this. My Mom talks about this. ‘Oh, Matt. He’s the drummer. Oh, Rich – he plays in your trio.’ Sometimes it can be a little frustrating. There’s a refreshing nature in hanging out with someone who doesn’t know you as that instrument. But I find it very odd. Maybe I’m just being a romantic about the whole thing. But I don’t really see it not working out. I don’t see me existing without this part of my life. In 2010, I hurt my left arm. Those points are the hardest points for me to identify with myself. Because I couldn’t play. Every time that creeps back it’s a bit unnerving. Because it’s scary to identify yourself with something that’s limited by physical ability. It’s a dangerous thing to do. But I don’t think there’ll ever be a time when I don’t identify myself like that. I can’t imagine moving to a different part of the world and starting again at something completely different. I can’t imagine not owning my instrument.

Not because I can’t imagine selling them. But because I can’t imagine what I’d be doing. I indulge in those instruments so much. And I feel it’s something that’s special about me. That other people don’t have the same passion for that instrument. It’s a very strange thing to make a passion. It’s difficult. I’ve never really been able to fathom what it would be like without it. It’s always been there. Here’s Mark. There’s his music.

It’s funny. When you come to a place like Toronto, there are tons of people like that. People get that you’ll play a place, pass around the hat, maybe make a decent amount of money, maybe not. There’s something you can share with this small community of people in Toronto. People get that you decide that you can’t go out on a Saturday night because you can’t play a major triad.

You share the trials and the triumphs.

Everyone knows what it’s like. No one who’s in this line of work has had anything handed to them. Even if it appears that way. Everyone works really hard to become a professional in their own way.

There’s no faking it.

You just have to keep at it. I’m a firm believer that if you just keep at it long enough… I have a lot of friends who aren’t doing the music thing anymore. And big props to them. They made a decision. And it’s not like they’ve thrown away music. So the power to them. But I don’t know if I would be OK with not at least taking the chance. When you have a family and you need to make money, it’s a different scene. But, right now, it’s working.

Eric (right) and his rickshaw driver, Hemant Kumar, in Aurangabad, India.

Eric Ahlberg listens to old Jamaican reggae tunes on vinyl records. He enjoys sampling exotic cheeses and international pastries, slowly. One Halloween, Eric went as his superhero: Wikipedia. He likes exploring and loves cats. He hates closing time at the museum.

Eric and I sat together in our first-year class, Intro to Reporting, at university. We’ve crossed a few borders together, wandering for months in the Middle-East and trekking a season in India.

Eric is now doing his Masters on National and Transnational Studies at Wilhelms Westfälisch Universität Münster in Germany. We spoke earlier this week.

During one of our conversations last week, we talked about the EU financial crisis and it’s potential effects on migration.

Well, you can sometimes tell how well a country is doing by how many people are trying to get in. For example, as much as the US wrings its hands, the number of Mexicans, legal or otherwise, is down over the last few years. They fill a niche of course, the so-called 3-Ds, dirty dangerous or demeaning. But numbers have been down which is telling of the US economy. In the European context, there is also a certain amount of fear of new Eastern European EU members rushing to the more (at the moment) prosperous parts, and “taking jobs”. But its also interesting to note that Germany has been sending out more of its citizens to other countries than it receives in reverse.

Is there a reversal in migration patterns then? Would we see larger movements of people from ‘developed world’ to ‘developing world’ countries? People from Europe may now move to countries outside the West to find work…places like Turkey, Asia, Africa even. How realistic is the potential for this scenario?

Well, there are already many examples of this reverse trend in migration patterns. Many many young people these days do a stint of teaching English in China, Korea or Thailand. Some stay only several months, some stay years, some perhaps forever.

There is a neighbourhood of Guangzhou (is that a household name, that everyone can picture on a map? Yet 13 million people live there!) with a neighbourhood called, ahem, “Chocolate City”, where Nigerian and other Africans live, solely to buy goods direct and ship them back to home markets.

I mean, basically, most people (those who aren’t international jetset movie stars, businessmen or golfers) move and migrate for economic reasons. And in the past generation or two, there have indeed been new and multiple centres of migration. That includes internal migration as well. All the world’s fastest growing cities are in the so-called “developing” world.

So, whether Europeans would move in large numbers, it depends who you ask, of course! As an outsider in Germany, or Europe, my attitude might be a little radical compared to the native sentiment. But I do think Europeans are generally open to opportunity abroad. An economist would tell you there is no real difference in sending millions of euros to Greece, for example, or spending the same amount on Greeks moving to England or Denmark or somewhere else in the EU. Politically of course, it’s a whole other issue. So maybe it’s a matter of will. But I could imagine a scenario, if there were enough momentum, where for example, tens of thousands of EU citizens (maybe even Greeks?) moved to a place that has a more thriving economy. Easy, right? Well, what if that place were Turkey? Or China? Or Nigeria? I think 20,000 underemployed and overeducated Greek citizens could have a profoundly beneficial impact on the development of say, Turkey, Brazil, China or Nigeria.

Not that that would be problem free! And I can imagine every Greek grandpa just rolling in his grave right now…

But why not?

Today’s world is more and more globalized (a buzzword of our era, to be sure!), and some say borders matter less. And that’s somewhat true, but more so if you’re a dollar bill. Not to turn this into a debate on the merits and consequences of neo-liberalism! But one should ask why it’s easier for capital to flout borders and conventions than it is for labour, that is, people.

And there are also issues with perspectives on colonization and re-colonization when we talk about Western countries sending ‘workers’ to non-Western countries.

That’s certainly true. China for example, is heavily involved in development in Africa, but is frequently criticized because it seldom hires local Africans. They will ship in a hundred or two Chinese labourers to build roads, often simply from mine site to transportation depot, and leave locals wondering what benefit they get. But I suppose all countries need to balance the pros and cons. And naturally, post-colonial sentiments factor heavily into that, some places more than others.

And there’s also some classification of migration based on socio-economic status. It’s one thing to have directors and project management staff moving from the West to developing countries, it’s another to have physical labour-intensive workers move. I’m thinking of Dubai as an example. A lot of the Western migrant workforce is moving there into the high-salary management positions whereas the construction work and manual labour sectors are filled with low-paid migrants from South Asia. It’s difficult for me to envision 20,000 Greek workers in construction/factory/physical labour sectors moving to Nigeria to do the same work.

Exactly. And local Nigerians might not be too happy about taking orders from Greek transplants! So, it’s not without problems, but I think there is a way to equitably move forward in a win-win situation…

See, if only those go who fill roles or quotas that the government sets, or says it needs for particular projects, just from what I’ve studied and am seeing, there is still room in the world for more equitable global labour movement. Imagine the impact just 20,000 underemployed (and willing!) Greek teachers could have on somewhere with a weak education system, such as say, Nigeria, Africa’s fastest growing economy. The possibilities are there, that’s all. Political and individual will is another thing.

Comedian, Crooner, Cobbler. (Zaiden)

The day after I first met Rhiannon Archer I drove Gordie Howe around Toronto in a borrowed Escalade. Those were simpler times. She was my boss, sort of. Everyone was. I was still in journalism school, a kid, and got offered a gig working the NHL Awards for television.  Guest wrangling. Prop shuffling. Seat-filling. That bit. Picking Mr. Hockey up at the airport was a highlight. So was working with Rhiannon. Her job was in admin and she took it lightly. I remember her wicked laugh. And that she seemed to like making people use theirs. That was in 2007. So Rhiannon’s been funny a while. This year, Archer is nominated for her first Canadian Comedy Award in the Best Stand-Up Newcomer category. They ramp up with a series of shows in Toronto culminating in the awards ceremony October 17. That gala experience might come in handy.

We met over toast and salad to talk life, death and dogs that look like little gentlemen.

What do you do all day on a show day?

Usually I’ll try to get to a show half an hour to an hour prior and think about what jokes I’m going to do. Get a tag or write a joke really fast. I’m a procrastinator. Since I was in elementary school or high school or even college… I can’t think ahead of time. But when I put pressure on myself: ‘You haven’t done anything. You have half an hour.’ I find I work better. If it’s a big show – like that people are actually paying for; that I might get paid for – I’ll at least take three hours. Those shows tend to have longer sets so I have to really organize how I get from Point A to Point B. Tonight, I’m doing 20 minutes. So I can’t very well get there half an hour early and figure out what I’m going to do. That’s like 1:15 per minute to think about what joke I’m going to do! It’s not going to work. Normally, I have to work, too. Trust me, I don’t do stuff that should take that much of my attention. But the jobs I’ve done are so creatively draining that I can’t write at work. It’s like murder for stand-up! Then maybe I’ll get some food. Clean a bit. Keep myself busy…

Take it to the end of the day. C’mon!

When I’m at the show, I’m having fun. I’m seeing a lot of my friends, the other acts, what people are doing, what they’re talking about, how they’re telling their jokes. Judging, basically. (Laughs). But not in a negative way. That’s not my style.

After the show, depending on if I did really badly or really well, I’ll either go out and have fun or I’ll go home and lie in bed. Usuallys I hang out. A lot of comics will do their sets and leave right after they’re done. And I hate that! Because sometimes you’re last and everybody else has left and you’re like, ‘…I had to stay for you guys.’ And I like to hang around the shows. I think one of the best parts of comedy is the people you work with. A lot of the people are shit. Terrible human beings. But I like getting to know the other comics. Because they’re naturally funny. Well, some of them. But we’re all in this together. And I like hanging around. A lot of people see a female doing that and they’ll think it’s a networking thing. But it’s not. It’s genuine. I get called on that a lot. ‘She’s a networker.’ No… I’m just social. NEXT!

(Laughs). Do you think people are born funny or is it learned?

I think it’s both. Some of the funniest people in the world, to me, are non-comics. That creepy guy at work who doesn’t realize how he acts, how he is. Not in a mean way. It’s not picking at them. When people are really deadpan, that kills me. Or when they’re overly happy. But I don’t believe that somebody who wakes up one day and goes, ‘I want to be a comic,’ but doesn’t have a funny bone in their body, will have an outlook or a perspective on life that’s a different way of thinking. Or be able to find the funny in that. Anybody can tell a joke. But if you’re not funny in day-to-day conversation, you can’t learn that. And that’s fine! But it is an art form. You have to be self-aware. And if you’re not self-aware you’re going to look like an ass. You have to have that connection. If you can’t do that, then you can’t do that. Maybe it’s not for you. I never went to a comedy school. I found comics I liked and asked them to teach me. But I think you can. Because I believe you can learn to harness your raw, funny talent and you can lean how to be funnier. But I don’t think you can create it out of nothing. It’s like singing. If you can’t hit a note and your voice just sounds bad, it doesn’t matter how much training you get, you’re still not going to be a singer.

How do you know when a joke is done?

When I’m bored with it. You always pick up tags and things you can fit into jokes. I’m known for this: if a joke can be three words I’ll make it ten. You can put too much explanation into a joke. But you have a feeling. You have: ‘OK, this joke is done.’ Then once you start doing it more and more, you get bored. You can bank it…but sometimes they can be done. You can change the way you say it. You can change your inflection. You can mess around with it as long as you want. But when you’re happy with it, and you enjoy telling it, then it’s done. And then you’ve got to go onto the next one. There are some people who will hold onto that joke and say it for the next 15 years. But they get dated. And then they need to go.

I heard Louis CK say once he did the same act for years until he saw George Carlin change his act every year for his live specials. That made Louis think he had to do it. No matter how hard it was. He had to throw it away. Had to destroy those jokes.

The thing that’s amazing about him is that he actually does that. To write an hour a year and throw it away? Oh my God!I sit there and think about that… I saw Louis CK talk and it was amazing. I thought: “I’m going to try that. Even though I’ve been doing it two years and he’s been doing it thirty.’ So I’ve set myself for 20 new minutes a year. I don’t do jokes that I know do well. That ‘kill.’ I just won’t do them much anymore. I think it’s a brilliant way to get better. And write faster. But that is hard! It’s hard to come up with seven new minutes – let alone an hour – a year. But it’s amazing. And it’s something I think everyone should do and everyone should strive for. Because it’d make everybody a better comic. I’m going to get there.

Why are dogs so much better than cats?

An age-old question. I will do my best. Dogs aren’t better than cats! And cats aren’t better than dogs. I believe in a world of equality, regardless of race or species. I have two cats. Billie and Patches. If you need a photo, I will be happy to give you one. Unfortunately, being a comic, you’re out late; you’re working hard; this doesn’t necessarily allow you to have relationships – romantic or even friendships – a lot. So I really like my cats. I can leave them for a day. I would love to have a dog. Because they’re hilarious. They’re cute. They’re funny. And you can walk them. My cats do not like being walked. But it gets you outside! My mom has a dog and he’s my best friend. But if I had him, it would not be fair to him. Cats, they’re on their own. They don’t need me. If I ever, heaven forbid, get knocked up, maybe I’ll get a dog because I’ll be forced to stay in. You can’t really go out. Nobody wants to hear ghost jokes from a pregnant lady, you know? So I’ll have to stay home. I’ll probably write jokes about being pregnant, though. I’ll use that as a crutch. ‘Why aren’t you guys laughing at me? I’m a pregnant lady!’ I ogle dogs more than I ogle cats though. The ones that wear the little hammies…

Pick a side.

No.

Do you ever think about how you want to die and will it be hilarious?

My funeral will be hilarious! I talk about this in my act. I have one psychic ability. But it’s the worst psychic ability that someone can have. I can tell you when you’re going to die. And how you’re going to die! And I haven’t been wrong yet. But people don’t listen to me when I tell them. I’ll never tell someone when they’re going to die. But, just know, I have been right every time. Every time you tell someone you’re psychic they’re like, ‘Oh my God, am I going to meet Mr. Right? Am I going to get married?’ And I look at them like, “…Are you going to do it in the next three months?”

(Laughs).

Nobody listens. And that’s what happens. I know it’s weird but that’s who I am. And I accept it. I’m going to die at 86. And I’m going to die in my sleep. Boring!

Hey, that’s a good run.

That is a good run. And in my sleep? I’m fine with that! But my funeral… I was thinking about this the other day. I’m going to make a video of me now being like, ‘Oh, great. I died.’ Play that at my funeral. Then unload every secret possible. Everybody tells me everything. And it is a terrible burden. I know when they’re going to die and I know all their secrets. It’s horrible. I will probably make the video and order bouncers and if anybody’s crying from anything other than laughter they get a punch in the gut. All my favourite food would be there…

I’ve got, like, 51 years left. So I have to get on this. It’ll be like Andy Kaufman. Things will go wrong. Happen. Like, I’ll hire actors. A bride and groom to open the church doors and say, “ Oh, sorry!’ (Laughs). I’ve got to make a big list. That’s a great premise for a joke. I know Nick Swardson has one like that but I’m going to do it. That’s what I’m going to do with my day before the show tonight!

Photographer, Bassist, Cereal Enthusiast

I’ve known Kieran Meyn about five years. Seen him between schools, jobs, women. He could say the same about me. He has a good laugh; spontaneous and a little deeper than you’d expect. We met because, when he wants to, he takes great pictures. He plays a mean bass, too. Right now, he does it in a throwback punk band called Bathurst. They’re working on an album. What I’ve heard makes my heart pick up a beat.

We met over Moroccan chili and bruschetta and he let me ask him a few questions.

Why do you do the things you do?

My whole thing is just being as honest as you can. Everyday you shoot someone beautiful. Or work with an artist. One of the things I see the least is honesty. It’s kind of a commodity that’s lost its value. I’ve worked with some pretty decent corporate and music clients. It pays my bills and it’s great work and I love the people I work with. But it isn’t really fulfilling like I’m putting something out there that’s furthering anything. It’s perfectly valid. But I’d rather shoot a character study with someone who is beautiful because of who they are. My whole mission would be to try to capture that in a way that maybe someone hasn’t looked at before.

In terms of music, my band Bathurst is doing our full-length right now. I’ll admit, we go into the studio, we multi-track everything. Whatever. But I would love to have a little bit more soul on a record. We are trying really hard to make that. We don’t have glossy photo spreads or anything like that. Because, I mean…shit. Not one of us is pretty. It’s not going to do me any favours. I’d rather someone listen to my music because it reminds them of a time in their life when they cared deeply about something that maybe didn’t matter at all. And maybe they were fine with that. It wasn’t going to pay your bills. It wasn’t going to put food on your table. But you really wanted to go to that damn show. You were going to drink your face off. And you were going to party. And that was fine. Inside everyone is something that’s innately human and flawed and I think often there’s sort of a conscious rejection of that. But without some measure of honesty in your life, what have you got?

When you’re taking someone’s picture how do you know when you’ve captured some essence of that person?

There’s this quote I always come back to as a photographer. And as a sort-of life lesson. It comes from Annie Leibovitz. She has this book called Annie Leibovitz At Work. At the end there’s this Q+A section. Someone asks, ‘How do you know?’ She just goes, ‘It takes what it takes.’ And, really, that’s what it’s all about. My shoots don’t start when I pick up the camera. They start when someone shows me something real. Or something that I believe in, at least. Whether or not the things I believe in are real remains to be seen. If you’re working with a great actor, is everything you see on that screen, or are the characters that you fall in love with, real? Absolutely not. But to you they’re believable. So to my mind, if you can portray something that makes you feel something – whether it’s joy or absolute revulsion – I win. If I don’t make you feel something then I’ve failed terribly. That’s really where it starts and ends for me. I think really being able to understand people; really being able to get in someone’s headspace is the key to getting them to show you something real.

Where is the one place where you really feel like yourself?

There are two, actually. The first is my mother’s kitchen.

I was adopted. I won the lottery in that regard. And I think the way I was raised by my parents was different than the way people who are simply born into a family are raised. (But)I don’t know that that’s true. I only know one way.

My parents and I have been through a lot, as anyone who’s in their twenties probably should with their parents. If you haven’t, then you fucked up and so did they. (Laughs). You know, every time you meet someone new, you tell the same stories and all those little quirks come out? After a while, you kind of understand how they’re going to come out. You know the best way to spin them. But my parents… all the back story’s there. They know all the context. So it makes me feel like myself. My parents know pretty much everything there is to know about me. So I go to my parents’ place and all those things about being a photographer, being a musician, being “YOUR NAME” – it doesn’t exist. You’re just their son. And it makes you so comfortable. It’s really useful to have that context. It grounds me. The people who love you most see the worst sides of you. Because you let them. There are things that I’ve said and done to my parents that, in retrospect, you feel terrible for when you get older. But, at the time, you didn’t know better. Or, maybe you did and just refused to acknowledge that you knew better. So, for what it’s worth: Mom, I feel sorry for a lot of things. But there are still scars. And the fact that you can see all of them sort of counts for something. I have a profound love and respect for my parents that I don’t think I could ever really verbalize. When I go to their place, I know it’s home.

The other one. Find me any dirty VFW Hall on a Saturday night that’s rammed full of kids jumping on each other. That’s the person I’ve become. I grew up in places like that. That’s the parts your parents don’t see. When you’re out earning your own scars. So if I walk into some local show with some band playing too fast and too loud that can’t keep it together but the kids don’t mind and they’re loving it? I understand that. It’s not even a question of fitting in. Even if it’s not bands that I care for or want to see – and it’s awesome if it is – if I walk in and there are 500 kids going nuts in a room no bigger than this one, I know exactly how those kids feel. That’s why I feel comfortable there. Because I understand them.

What’s something you’ve learned from being around your parents?

(smiles)

I like that you just started to smile.

The first one is that the things you want and the things you need out of life are very rarely the same. You may or may not want to admit it. But until you understand that that’s the case, you’re a glutton for punishment. And that’s cool, too.

The other thing is that there are a million different types of people in the word. Each with their own history and their own story and their own way of doing things. And not all of them are ever really going to understand each other. But…trying is what counts. Trying counts for a lot. Even if you can’t make it happen and things don’t work out. A million times a day there are things I fuck up. But I’m gonna take a crack at it and fuck it up royally and walk up with a mess in my hands rather than having sat there and been like, ‘Well, Frank Oz told me that there is no try.’ That’s useless thinking. My parents are, in their own way, very different people. And, man, my mother’s PR Agent is raging right now. But no marriage is perfect. And my parents openly acknowledge that. But it’s good. They talk. And, really, that’s what counts. Whether or not you really understand the world at large, or yourself, or even the person you love – or why you love them – the fact that you try to make it work, and they’re trying to make it work…

Last one. Thinking about this, I wasn’t sure how I wanted to ask. But there’s an easy way to do it. Straight. What in your life scares you?

What in my life scares me…When I was younger – less so now, because you understand that it’s part of the contract you sign when you’re born – I used to have a really bad death fear. I was really unwilling to accept the idea of passing, essentially. Coming to grips not only with mortality but that, some day, everything that I’ve had, all the thoughts that I think are amazing, and all the things that I’ve done – at the end of the day it all boils down to zero. My mother told me once that the only way you can do anything with it, the only way you can have it be more than zero – even if it’s an iota – is to pass what you know along into the world. The things that matter to you. And hope that someone will keep that ethos alive. Even if it’s only your family members who survive you. I’m the last Meyn in my family. I’m the only offspring of three brothers. I’m kind of the dodo bird but, regardless of that, it’s a hell of a lot of pressure on a young kid. Despite all my, ‘Fuck yeah, punk rock!’ I want to be that boring guy. I want to settle down and have a wife. And have kids. And have a shitty home in the suburbs that I can bitch about. And talk about when I used to be cool. And have my kids not get it at all because I’m lame.

(Laughs).

But that’s sort of also what scares me. I live a freelance life and I play in a band. It may seem cool on paper. But cool doesn’t keep the heat on. Cool doesn’t keep the water on. Cool doesn’t do anything, really, other than it’s fun. When you’re 23 it’s great because having fun is what you’re all about. When you’re 45, cool is a lot less cool. It doesn’t really matter. One of my things is that I’ve dropped out of two post-secondary institutions. On paper, I’m a fucking failure. But, to me, I’m having a great damn time. But, if we’re being honest, one of the things that scares me the most is getting to that place when I’m 40-whatever and not being able to provide what I need to for my kids to have a great life. To be able to live happy. And, really, to be able to afford to grow up. I’ve been able to put some money away, which is great. But it’s not enough for a mortgage. It’s not enough to put clothes on a kid’s back. It’s not enough to feed three people. Hedonism’s awesome. Don’t get me wrong. But at a certain point you have to be able to look forward. That’s part of growing up. That, as much as I want it, is terrifying.

I think that last thing is losing my parents. Like most twentysomethings, we have that veneer of post-adolescence we try really hard to maintain. But, really, it’s made out of wall-board. You get it wet and it falls apart. And I’m aware of it. So it comes back to the first thing: death. Part of that contract is that I’m going to lose them. And whether or not I want to let go of it, the rug’s going to get pulled out. And it scares me. Because I don’t think I love anything in my life more than my parents. To lose that, and to lose it unwillingly, what’s scarier than that, really?

All you can really do is try to have respect for what they leave behind. Their ethos.

Honey on the keyboard. Mice in the wires. R&M trapped inside Tron. More or less.
We’re back now. Here… we… go…