More bits and pieces for the weekend:I went to see Bright Eyes at Massey Hall the other night, which was a great show.  I have a soft spot for a string section who sing backups while they bow.  And for a trumpet/keyboard player who looks like a young Michael York.  They played First Day of My Life, and as if I'd asked them, they just kept playing it and playing it.  It felt so good.  Like the first day of my life.  But the real highlight was watching Gillian Welch open the show.  Or, more precisely, watching David Rawlings' astounding guitar playing.  His solos were both fun and deeply moving.  Like one of my other favourite players, Marc Ribot, he always sounds like he's walking a chromatic tightrope, and just when it sounds like he's about to take a dive, you realize he's fully in control. I could have watched him play all night.  And he moves like a puppet.  One of those big ones where the upper body is controlled by one puppeteer, and the lower body is controlled by another. And here's another, unrelated gem of youtubery, sent to me by my friend Marc Nathan.  Enjoy it for all of its absurdity, and its complete lack of desire to discern between genius and crap; it oscillates between the two without any real regard for either.  Kind of like some other artists we know! 

I've walked to work the past few days, which takes about 75 minutes, and it's a decent walk, through residential streets, parks, crack smokers, and the financial district.  Yesterday, I decided to change up my footwear as my Adbusters sneaks are getting a little worn out. 
Well god damn these shoes:

by halfway through the walk, I was in agony, like the owner of Steve Martin's Cruel Shoes, and have to cave in an jump on the streetcar.  I hobbled up to my old desk and did a little self-exam and found two of the largest blisters in commuter history. Deeply painful.  I clomped home from the subway like an old man.  Actually, it was a significant effort just to pass an old man on the sidewalk, which I absolutely had to do, in desperation, just to make myself feel better.  Which didn't work.
So, today, pride duly swallowed, I am wearing these:

which are hideous but comfortable.  And at least I'm not wearing Crocs like some people I know.

So, remember that interview I did with Clive Thompson of the New York Times magazine? The one I asked all the MySpacers to comment on? Well, it ran today, and my half-hour phone interview and two-hour in-person interview were reduced to this:

The pop group Barenaked Ladies held a video contest, asking fans to play air guitar along to the song "Wind It Up"; the best ones were spliced together as the song's music video.

C'est tout. Thanks, Clive.

On another note, I have been working on a summer series for CBC Radio One, which I'll be hosting. It's called All The Rage and it's a documentary show about trends and fads over the years. It runs on Tuesdays at 7:30pm and on Saturdays at 11am, starting on June 26th, running for the whole summer. It should also (hopefully) be on Sirius Satellite Radio 137, for those of you not in Canada. It's been lots of fun to work on, and very strange for me, who has never had a real job, to commute on the streetcar or on my bike, bring my lunch, and have an office! Now I understand what it is the rest of you earthlings do! Ha!
Seriously, it should be a fun show and I hope you enjoy listening to it over the summer months. Think of it as a replacement for podcasts!

Friday Bits Four small things, before you all go off on your fabulous weekends: 1) I get many complaints about the fact that we don't play the American South very often. Although this is mostly because we're just not as popular down there, it's also because we would balloon to Farleyan proportions from all the ribs we'd be obligated to eat. Anyway, we are way down south this weekend. No excuses, red-staters! Tomorrow, Saturday, we're in Birmingham, AL at the Schaeffer Eye Center Crawfish Boil. Seriously. The best name for a festival ever. Never-mind Glastonbury. Screw Roskilde, we're playing the Schaeffer Eye Center Crawfish Boil! Then, on Sunday, we're in Memphis with our old pals Guster at the Beale St. Music festival. I believe the last time we were in Memphis, it was on the tour when we all grew moustaches and Tyler was mistaken for a cop on Beale Street. 2) Walking past a newspaper box today, I noticed that David Lynch's Inland Empire is coming to Toronto. Ty, Kev and I saw it in London, and I really enjoyed it. It's long (3 hours) and taxing, or as Tyler said, loudly, part-way through, "patience tester,|" but I found it really beautiful and oddly moving. Recommended. 3) The new building they're building at Yonge and Dundas is shockingly ugly. And I'm used to ugly architecture. But here, it looks like they didn't even try to make it look nice. Or interesting. Or anything but awful. 4) For those of you who are on Facebook, that dude who said he was me and had like 500 friends or something? He wasn't me. I've had him vaporized, and I've taken over as Steven Page, star of stage and screen. I really can't promise that I'll do much maintenance of the page, but this blog will show up there, and you can rest assured that it's actually me this time. Have a great weekend!

Well, you caught me. I found myself sitting, drooling in front of American Idol tonight, where I was struck by two things: 1) Chrissie Hynde is a fucking amazing songwriter. I always knew it, but now and again I'm reminded of her genius. For such a tough gal, she writes the most convincing love songs. Tonight, they played someone (not the Pretenders) singing I'll Stand By You as Phil Steacy got kicked off the show, but other songs like Thumbelina and Message of Love and sexy ones like Tattooed Love Boys come on my iPod and I'm always transfixed. 2) Everyone on tv has bleached teeth. The youth of today may not even know what teeth are supposed to look like anymore. Add it to the list alongside soft breasts and unruly pubic hair. Sigh.