Dancing with myself

by JACK OATMON

If you happen to notice me out looking detached and despondent this week, don’t worry, it’s just that I’ve caved and gotten one of those personal MP3 player/wifi-receptor/day-planning/Nintendo-emulating tricorder-ass frigamajiggies that everyone’s always got wired up to their domes. After a few dismally unsuccessful attempts at modernization involving not one but two iPod Shuffles rinsed and baked in the laundry along with my leopard-print five per cent spandex boxers (thank you, Simons), I’m gonna go all out and get something quasi-sentient that will scream or play a ringtone or call my cell phone or something when it comes in contact with Javex. So wish me luck and welcome me aboard the mothership, cuz my days of de facto Luddite-ism are hopefully numbered in the single digits, as will be my bank account balances.

For those of you who spend weekends in the physical world, I’ve detailed a handful of events that keep it real on the 0s and 1s and won’t knock you too far out of the digital dream. Tonight, Thursday, Nov. 8, might be a good excuse to cruise into le Parking for their seventh anniversary, featuring a live set by spacey, psychedelic Brits Swayzak.

On Saturday, Nov. 10, your options are many, including the fifth edition of Bassculture at Zoobizarre with residents Mofomatronix and guests Ghislain Poirier, Ghostbeard and Blingmod. But that’s not the only gig in town that promises beats that are funky, crunky, glitchy and dubby like Tubby. You can also hear the tweaked-out live remix contraption that is Megasoid at Coda that same night. Furthermore, if you’re collecting Ed Bangers ticket stubs like they were limited-edition chrome Hot Wheels dinkies, you can come pretty close to completing the set as relatively obscure signee Mr. Flash hits the Academy with some stilted kitsch disco and Ritalin-chomping yacht rock.

On the far end of the madness, the fiercely devoted who still want to squeeze a solid beat out of D&B should be sure to peep France’s Watcha Clan as they deal out live dubwise rhythms at Café Chaos on Monday, Nov. 12.

And finally, if your life has been sorely lacking in drunken, tabletop crooning and public humiliation rites—and I know those are things the modest Montreal crowds aren’t overly accustomed to—I recently became aware of a karaoke night that could be worth a gander. It’s Sunday nights at Saphir and I hope to case the situation this weekend. This city seems to be sorely lacking in the kind of karaoke where you sing “Dancing in the Dark” for a bar full of unknowns and then puke cheap malt liquor off a terrasse, so if you know of another good one, drop me a line and we’ll go show this town just how enthusiastically talentless new wave fans can perform when double-dared. I’ll get some Smiths and Cure albums for my new MP3 thingy so I can practise on the metro, and you pick up some pointy boots and black eye make-up for good measure. Deal?

Party like it’s 1999!
jack.oatmon@gmail.com