"If a man was left to his own devices- he would most likely wank himself to death."

Spoken by former Pulp frontman Jarvis Cocker early into his set at the Commodore, this statement set an unlikely theme for the night: self aware, unashamed masturbation. Living up to his slightly past-due-date nerdy sex god status, Cocker swiveled and pelvic thrusted, demonstrated the use of his acoustic as a three and a half foot penis extension, and frequently transformed his microphone chord into a fluttering flagellum. In watching, I was strikingly aware that the theatrics onstage were less for the entertainment of his idolizing fans, and more for the entertainment of Jarvis, Jarvis, Jarvis.

Which is exactly why the audience, which consisted of an -ahem- somewhat boring group of people who were actually alive in 1995, adored him. Cocker has a stunning ability to do whatever the shite he wants and still come out on top. How any human can make a cameo in an Harry Potter movie (granted with members of Radiohead) and turn it into a respectable career move escapes me.

I had a charming conversation with a young South-Korean named Jean on a 6:30am bus ride to Whistler last weekend. The irony starts here. I suspect our conversation was partly the result of my dipshit friends missing the bus, his horrible English (practice), and the large cup of bad coffee I had just sucked back.

This chap went to university in Seoul, a city that somehow manages to house twenty-three million people into a space one quarter the size of ours. "The pollution," he explained, "is so bad that you can't see the sky. Only after rain." We went on to have the standardized "let's compare cultures" conversation including, among other things, nasty stereotypes surrounding Japanese women, Confucianism, and that chick from Spiderman. While I can't imagine walking shoulder-to-shoulder around my general metropolitan area, I hardly blinked at the sunrise over our coastal giants.

"Holy shit!" Jean exclaimed pointing feverishly out the window.
"What?"
"The mountains. They are so beautiful"
"Oh right...those..."

Sigh. I am a young Vancouverite after all. And as we drudged along in the Greyhound, past all the sea-to-sky construction that has caused me so much anxiety in the past months; toward a hedonistic ski and snowboard festival sponsored by (who else!) a behemoth telecommunications corp., I couldn't help but think of possible consequences to this manic urbanization the City of Vancouver and Mr. Kevin Falcon have been pushing. Is there going to be a day when I'll long to see the mountains at dawn?

As the easter weekend draws upon us, the sun beams on our shoulders. The warm wind whispers in our ears. The bright buds of the cherry trees smack smiles upon the faces of unfriendly winter hermits. But before I get all geared for hot sun and cool bubblegum radio pop-tunes (... just me?) maybe I should take a minute to reflect on my recently departed winter blues. And how freaking awesome the blues can be.

Enter Ian Hendrickson-Smith, a New Yorker set on exploring the basements of Vancouver and filling them with his funkdriven souljazz. Tonight the talented tenor saxophonist makes his return to the Cellar, seeming to take the theme of his latest release Blues in the Basement, rather seriously. When in NY, Hendrickson-Smith's posse includes his band the Dap Kings with singer Sharon Jones, rehab rejecter Amy Winehouse and members of the Lincoln Centre Jazz Orchestra.

In Vancouver, a band of local hot shots backs up the soulful frontman for what should be an all around hoppin' affair. If you miss it tonight, or the place is too packed, skip back to catch him perform round two on Saturday. Dine on the Cellar's tasty appetizers while immersing yourself in Hendrickson-Smith's cookin' arrangements. What a perfect way to marry summer partying and winter blues.

The Jazz Cellar
3611 W. Broadway
Friday/Saturday
Two sets each night starting at 8:30
$12

I take pride in my rational lack of faith. Hell, my parents almost pulled me out of brownies when I was six because the troop leaders made us say the word "God" every week. That said, French DJ duo Justice just might have made a convert out of this atheist with last night's clash of the digital titans at Caprice.

Christian Death Metal I will never understand. Christian contemporary pop just seems like a given- as does Kanye's thanking Jesus every second breath, but Christian electro-madness? Who knew that there couldn't be a better way to preach to the masses? Okay, so maybe Justice's biblical references don't extend far beyond their day-glo cross logo, but the whole Ed Banger crew sure put on one hell of a show.

Okay so all the cool kids I know keep telling me about this "dance revival" happening right now. I don't know much about that, as I thought dancing had been around universally since the beginning of time. Oh...dance music.... I see.

Well in that case, I suppose I should get my electro-lacking self down to check out the lineup Mr. Pedro Winter (aka Busy P, Daft Punk's manager and all around French man) is bringing to town tonight at Caprice.

Headliners Justice are sure to be crowd favorites, but I'm looking forward to DJ Mehdi's smooth old skool/gospel mashups and SebastiAn's farty-bassed audio orgasms. The event was originally supposed to go down at Salbourg's regular gritty Saturday night locale, the Royal Unicorn Cabaret in Chinatown. However, you can cram more drunken kids into Caprice and let them dance a little longer before the cops show up, so perhaps the change isn't such a bad thing.

I hold certain contempt for most things that come out of Alberta, having lived there for two years filled with unhappy memories. Luckily for me, the folks from Calgary's Broken Spoke Theatre share my sentiments and freely expressed them at last night's opening of The Headless Cowboy. The show, which kicked off this year's Tremors: Rumble's Festival of Emerging Arts, manages to combine art, science, environmentalism and vampiric catholics into a smart sixty-minute satire.

Directed by Eileen Sproule, the hilarious rockabilly opera features a live original score provided by members of the Cryptomaniacs and creative lighting/video techniques, not to mention some pretty sick and twisted pantomime. With undying stamina and plenty of raunch, actors Brad Payne, Kristine Nutting and Krysten Blair explore the eternal and exhaustive search for objectivity and truth from within seemingly random structures of faith.