Disaffected 20-somethings, anarchists, shit stirrers: You have nothing to lose but your aitches. (Or some variation of that quote). On August 20th, Bush, Harper, and Calderon are meeting in Montebello, Quebec at an SPP Summit.

What is SPP, you ask? Why it's

a highly secretive agreement between US, Mexico, and Canada. The SPP is essentially NAFTA-plus-Homeland Security, firmly rooted within a colonial and capitalist framework. There is no doubt that the SPP will bring greater insecurity and misery: murderous wars and occupations abroad; border militarization; increased detentions and deportations; attacks on indigenous peoples, the poor, migrants, and working people; ecological destruction; and mega-projects in the service of corporate greed.

And Vancouver is, naturally, rallying. Come on down!

* 3 pm at Canada Place: Meet at Waterfront Station entrance on Howe Street, corner Cordova.
* 5 pm at Burrard Skytrain Station: Meet in open park area just north of Skytrain entrance on Burrard Street, corner Dunsmuir.
* The march will later converge in to an antiwar/anti spp demo to be organized at the Vancouver Art Gallery.

Photo credits: Goodbye_horses

Nothing says camp quite like a triumvirate of falsettos crooning with cartoonish intensity about Avon makeup and the woes of setting up chicken wire. Yet where Mother Mother could have easily fallen in to an overly-irreverent trap with their harmony-tense, country bumpkin influenced brand of indie pop they instead are an example of how exactly to pull the reins on eccentricism, introducing intricate and structured arrangement to saccharine melody.

Case in point, Polynesia: Their staccato-riddled experiment in musical phonetics. Where chirpy harmonies about octopi sound like a song which skates perilously close to the edge of over caffeinated absurdism, they hone this by creating a surprisingly clever and well-fitting musical structure. Tossing out linear arrangement, they wrangle the chorus and verses within varying stop/start segments and choppy interdependent harmonies, focusing on sharp lyrical alliteration in place of heavy instrumentation. And they are really good at this.

Remember when I spent post after post insinuating that all Vancouver music was fairly awful (See: Emily's internal dialogue "I will like the West Coast indie scene when Hell rains down")? Ah yes, that crimson glow in the sky, that salty stench of sulphuric rain, the demonic plague reeling through the streets. My mistake. Maybe it's not all bad. Actually, Vancouver's The Yesterdais are surprisingly quite good.

There's a time in a person's life where they must ask themselves "What is missing in my life?" Is it a meaningful career? They'd ask. No. Emotional commitment? No. Only when the incandescent bulb of sudden realisation flutters alight will the answer reveal itself: "kangaroo leather". That's right, straight from the sunbeaten plains of Australia and right to your door, you too can own a kangaroo pelt of indeterminate size for only one dollar.

"BRAND NEW! Good for a hat, or as a rug."

It's simultaneously a hat and a rug?! What on earth kind of witchy lump of flesh is this? In which case why we haven't been harvesting the sweet, magical, grizzled skins of marsupial for mass order is a mystery to me.

Perfect for birthdays, bridal showers and guaranteed to be the talking-point of every Jehovah's Witness you invite into your home, don't let this one slip you by.

The perpetual head cold of Britt Daniel has reared its phlegmy maw yet again, this time in the form of stupid album title of the month Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. His nasally vocal-designs on rock and roll plod forward, untouched by modern medicine (Benadryl, a Kleenex) leaving "Ga" to dribble along freely only to be restrained with a sniffling inhale. Gentle reader, I know you've been thinking, "What's a Ga?" "What are multiple Ga?" "Why Ga?" "Where did I leave my keys?" Well, here's my chance to cure you of your ignorance: Just try not to think about it, because they certainly didn't. And second drawer, bottom right.

Coming to a 4am time-slot near you:

The rumours are all true! The Gods have taken pity on us, parting the heavens to a chorus of a thousand seraphim to hand down true artistic mastery in the form of Flash--a-aah--Gordon. Redux! That's right, they're remaking this baby as a syndicated television show yet again. Only this time it's shot in Vancouver. With an all-Canadian cast. And will be vaguely culturally relevant*.

O the fetid perfume of bad ideas. O my wrinkled nose of disapproval. O Canada. I don't blame you; you're just a victim in this too. It's an American production and you're caught in the middle, I understand. The X-Files are long gone, Stargate has left your side. How much longer is Gallactica going to stick around for and then what are you left with? Robson Arms and a keg of watermelon sorbet, alone on a Saturday night is what.