Old Man Luedecke :: Proof of Love

Listen folks. Of all the music-listening "advice" that I ever egotistically post on this blog, if I had to choose for you just one artist that I want you to listen to, then this is it.

I am not joking. He changed my life. (OK well Sufjan changed my life too. But he's not who I'm referring to.)

Old Man Luedecke is the pseudonym of Chris Luedecke, a quick-fingered banjo player that hails from that dear coastal province of Nova Scotia. His music touches my heart so that when I heard it for the first time, I was quick to ask my friend who it was. Then the second time I heard it, months and miles away from that first exposure, I asked my hosts (already knowing the answer), "Is this Old Man Luedecke?"

Maybe it's because that first time was during an impromptu Haligonian waffle party or maybe it's because bluegrass (and banjoes) go so well with brunch, but I can't stop myself from putting him on when I'm slicing bread for the toaster or whisking eggs to be scrambled. Not to mention that the refrain from his song "The Joy of Cooking" (see his myspace page) goes, in 10-person harmony, "If I'm not mistaken / The answer's bacon!" With sunlight pouring in through the window and a large cup of coffee in my hand, I forget about my endless to-do lists and live between the plucking of those strings.

CONSUMED:
First time: Capp's apartment in Halifax
Second time: Brendan and Garity's apartment in Bay Ridge (Brooklyn)

Wintersleep :: Welcome to the Night Sky

Has anyone noticed that the Halifax music scene is kickin' right now? Actually what has probably has happened is that I've pulled my head out of my metaphorical Toronto/Montreal-centric ass. That and having visited Halifax first hand and seeing that city really for what it is (i.e. not the "east coast's poor attempt at a metropolis", but rather an up-and-coming town of hip and alternative culture).

I was attracted to the concert at Terminal 5 because of the headliners, Wolf Parade. But I left enthralled with the opener, Wintersleep. Their CD safely stowed in my pack pocket, I went home with their rich harmonies ringing in my ears. And then over the next few weeks, I consumed their new album with such vigour I would have burned new grooves into the CD had it not been for my iPod. Now over four months since that concert and I still find myself gravitating towards that album when I don't know what else to put on. And though I think I should give other new music a chance, why deny guaranteed satisfaction?

CONSUMED: Terminal 5; Manhattan

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And thus ends my posts for NaBloPoMo. Back to weekends off, folks.

The Stolen Minks (at Don Pedro)

The Stolen Minks are a kick-ass punk-rockabilly foursome (touring as a three-piece) from Halifax that finally made it across the border to do a Stateside tour. They are also friends of mine. So I was doubly stoked to discover that they were making a stop in New York (and Brooklyn specifically), so that I could see them play live. Apparently, the saturated music scene here made New York difficult to book, but they were able to score a gig at Don Pedro, a music bar located in that purgatorial limbo known as East Williamsburg/Bushwick.

I was a bit worried, as none of the kids I invited were able to make it to the show. And the act before them didn't really draw a crowd. I thought that maybe I would get a private show. But once they let loose their no nonsense rock, they pulled everyone from the front of the bar to the stage. They played all the faves including my request, "Boys on the Floor," to which I was the lone clapper during the bridge. I didn't care. I was just so proud to see my friends playing in the city that never sleeps.

CONSUMED: Don Pedro; 90 Manhattan Ave, Bushwick (Brooklyn)