Sometimes we struggle as a nation to define our sound, to find our voices, to speak our truth. Or at least to make a clean apology. We may not know exactly what it is we're sorry for, but we certainly do know we are sorry. But that is only because we get stuck with sounds like Nickelback -that do not accurately define us the way we want to be remembered - which is why I recommend going back to the cassette tapes and having another listen. It makes everything that much clearer.
I means yes. There are bigger ones. Our Lady Peace. Tragically Hip (of course). Blue Rodeo. Cowboy Junkies. But there are better ones.
(But I mean, whose voice represents yours best when your throat is all closed up with tears and you cannot speak at all?)
:
Weakerthans (Winnepeg, oh, one great city)
Grapes of Wrath (Kelowna, home of the houseboat and unlicensed teachers, haha)
Sloan (they say they're from Halifax, but let's be honest, I think they're actually from Truro)
My city's still breathing, though barely it's true, through buildings gone missing like teeth. The sidewalks are watching me think about you, all sparkled with broken glass. (In dreams this is how the world talks to me; orgasmic poetic easily swept away awash in words.) It does not take much wine for this sort of clarity.
In five weeks we are leaving for Portugal, cities I have never seen... Lisbon, which Lara says is the most perfect place in the world. She is the most well-travelled person I know, and so I listen when she tells me things like this. Last time I brought her maple syrup and jade. Perhaps this time I will bring her Canadian music. I think this could be a valuable gift.
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