The Stoned Poet

 It was a cold Friday night. Only option was to get in the car with friends and drive to Montreal. There, lay all hopes of finding twindling and fiddling to do. There'd be no beauties nor druggies outside with the cold weather, only option was to find a venue to scuffle in and drink and fade in the crown. That meant money would be needed, and I had all but money honestly. But nonetheless we went, drove, stopped at Atomic Cafe, gave a guitar back to a friend, bought a Pink Floyd Echoes 1965-2025 Magazine reviewing the band's entire career. I couldn't help but start reading it and sure it inspired more psyched lsd induced ideas to my brain. Possibilities seemed infinite. Thus, an idea came, I could try and bargain a ticket for the gang to go to a show. The show in question I wanted to see was, Sunday Riot Club, Street Panther and The Space Wizards @ L'Escogriffe. My friends Antoine and Jordan seemed unbothered of the uncome, but I was determined to get in, whatever the co...

Sunday, Funday it was on November the 16th! I went down to l'Escogriffe to see Cordial a French multi genre band that have swept everybody's feet at every venue they played. Tonight, the opening band was Oddcharm , this followed Cordial and finally, Lezart played. I came, smoke, breezed and freezes my ass off. No intake of insane amounts of alcohol would be seen from my part tonight, but as the cold bit through my limbs, I was forced to admit I desperately wanted to warm my bones. So in we got, Fanny the picture taker was there, Cordial had arrived, Oddcharm were there patiently waiting and Lezart were roaming, unseen and seeking warmth, praying on us, waiting for the right time to strike. At the door, I great the sax player of Lezart and we exchange a joke about having a line of coke in exchange of paying the ticket for the show, which I think is very inviting for the spectators yet I do reckon that now a days, everyone is broke and drugs aren't cool anymore. I go sit do...

  October 2nd, I wanted to go see le P'tit Belliveau at Quai des Brumes . Of course, it was sold out. So I was about to dip. But, But But, my friend Charlotte insisted we stay to watch live music. So what stands besides Quai des Brumes other than the mytical Escogriffe !   Going inside, we are greeted with a 20$ or PWYC, so we get our money out and reluctantly or rather unsurely we give it to the door gal and in we are. On stage, a girl with long curly black hair is swaying left to right with her grey guild motherfucking cool looking guitar. She sings out words, plays her guitar and enchants anyone who locks regards with her while the bassist dressed with an oversized green slick shirt is, well let's put it this way, making love to his bass as he chants out the groove. The drummer in the back is controlled, tamed yet gashed with a wildness that is subtle yet thrilling. The guitarist seemed straight out of sitcom was a melody virtuoso. He definitely knew a thing or two abo...

''Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope you've enjoyed your night up till now, I now ask you to scream as I welcome Bad Objection on stage!'' It was a night of restlessness. I'd been partying for so long, I couldn't even remember what it felt like to be sober. The sun had dried my neurons, the weed had enhanced my hearing and sight. Basically I felt I was living in a moonage daydream. I hung with Chad during the day and by six o'clock, we arrived at Trashcan . Monoliths of emptiness guarded the place, you can feel needles crawl under your arms, hear the skateboarders skate upon the diy ramps. Many used to be waiting for their man here, some still do, but overall, the place has calmed down. Rookies who start going to Trashcan now a days, missed the good old days where the old bartender would inject LSD in the water to get everyone high, gone are the days of weird allegations of sexual harassement, or people being invited to sleep upstairs waking up the next day r...

I saw Van Horne was shut down. From the 60's psychedelic dripped peace and love dream, to Dylan going electric, to those junkies starting off clean and ending hooked for life to brown sugar, Van Horne was nothing more than a dream, a call for redemption, a glimpse into carefree nights where anything could happen, as long as the cops let it happen.  It was never you and I who made it possible. Yes you or somebody else organized the shows, rented the material necessary and more, but sadly, it was the cops who made it possible for a while to have shows there. But to actually make Van Horne a place to host weekly shows was a mistake. It never was a place, it was simply an open area under a bridge, the same kind as where Anthony Keatis drew blood, the same where I last saw a junky sitting, lying down dehydrated and about to pass out, the same where lovers went to make love behind their parents back. Van Horne holds memories for all of us, but the truth is, if we want the mus...