Neko Cake of The New Pornographers and a damn good solo artist as well.

If there were anything I wish I could do, it would be to sing; to have one of those voices is just so incredibly mesmerizing for whatever reason that it’s almost painful. It may be an odd sort of thing to wish for (as opposed to say, world peace?), I don’t know. I think it’s because I find that music plays such an important part in my day-to-day doings that I would love to be able to contribute my own voice to the voices of those who have the ability to shift and subtly mold the feel of every moment. My life’s soundtrack would be infinitely more complex had I the ability to kick in on my own without sounding like a cross between a pubescent boy and a midnight back alley cat fight.

I’m not entirely sure what kind of voice I would like… one full of soul and sensual fervor? One folksy and acoustically suited? One with indie quirk and a ‘fuck y’all’ kind of feel? Perhaps a heavenly mash-up of the three. Certainly not one so pristine as to be boring. Certainly not a church choir style. I take my vocals with a side of grit.

I’m not talking people who can sing.  Lots of people can sing.  I would argue that there are more people that CAN sing than that can’t.  What I’m talking about is that special quality of certain voices to pull and push, invigorate or depress…voices that have a pitch to their keen or a weight to their words that make them stand out.

A short (very short) list of some folks that just gots it, and taking suggestions as well:

• Natalie Walker during the Daughter Darling phase
• Kathrin DeBoer of Belleruche
• David Gray
• Emily Haines of Metric
• Yukimi Nagano of Little Dragon
• Regina Spektor
• Nathan Willett of Cold War Kids
• Ella Fitzgerald
• Beth Gibbons of Portishead
• Alison Sudol of A Fine Frenzy
• Mariza
• Lil’Wayne (seriously)
• Lacey Mosley of Flyleaf
• Isaac Slade of The Fray
• Sarah McLachlan
• Imogen Heap during the Frou Frou stage
• Maria Callas
• Brian Molko of Placebo
• Kate Miller-Heidke
• Caleb Followill of Kings of Leon
• Bjork
• Nichola Hitchcock both solo and Mandalay
• Neko Case
• Amanda Zelina of The Coppertone
• Tori Amos
• Amy Lee of Evanescence
• Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs

I am prone to these transcendent moments most frequently while driving, particularly at sunrise in the company of a music playlist on shuffle.  You can’t force that kind of thing, it just has to happen.  Some mornings there is nothing.  Either the songs weren’t right or the angle of the sun wasn’t acute enough or something in the morning routine just threw off whatever connective nature might have existed when you first rolled out of bed.  Oh, but when you do get it, when the glint across the windshield is such that it gives the day a sense of pregnant purpose, and the music nestles in gloriously with frequency of the shivers whispering softly beneath your skin…

This is where I get all wistful and smile that little smile that even I don’t know what it means.  There is a settling and a calming, an easing of clenches and an exploration of aimless reflection that makes me think I could sit here like this forever.  I can’t call it relaxation really; there is too much tautness and expectation and a searching for a something that is unidentifiable and unattainable.  It’s a rapturous sort of meditation.

Other things of note:

I don’t consider myself a religious person but I find devotion and faith and the comfort of ritual fascinating.  I took as many Religious Studies courses in university as my double major useless piece of science crap would allow, and if I had to go back to school to study something interesting, it would probably be that.

I am currently obsessed with finding the most beautiful azan that there is to be found on the internet.  The Muslim call to prayer, recited with haunting respect and individual styling by muezzins, some of whose families have been doing it for generations, found me weeping uncontrollably at 3am one morning.  It’s soul stirring.   I posted a YouTube clip of Rahim Moazenzadeh Ardabili reciting in 1955 that I find particularly stunning.  I’ve also posted a resonant and glorious Qur’an recital by an 8 year old boy.  I’m pretty sure the neighbours have heard me digging through thousands of azans and probably think that I’m even more of a lunatic than they did before.  This link will take you over to the vid section of Dodgy.  If they make you cry, we should talk.  If you think “oh god the noise”, we should talk.  Heck, if you take the time to watch them, we should talk.  I would love to hear how they make other people feel.  Other things of a similar nature that make me cry: the bagpipes, female opera arias, buddhist monks, latin verse.

With prophetically good timing, Zip saw fit to deliver Cairo Time, a Canuckian directed flick, the trailer of which I have posted to as well. The movie was a middle aged, middle eastern Lost in Translation, set in Egypt, and as such if I could have clung to the television in desperation I probably would have.  It was a beautiful movie, and although I don’t think that either it, or LiT are astounding cinematic achievements, there’s just something about the story line and the delicious tension between characters that leaves me sitting on the couch in a state of profundity and grief that can last for days.  I suppose because I feel unsettled and a little unhinged.  It has also led to a love affair with Patricia Clarkson’s voice and soft commanding presence.  I remember her from Vicky Christina Barcelona (Vicky’s aunt) but Cairo suits her impossibly more than Barcelona.  Alexander Siddig, also A-OK in my books.

I did it in my birthday suit, as suggested by the lovely lady in the video, who really didn’t need to fake six pack abs, she had a very nice midsection.  I bet she gets up every morning at 5am for spinning class and has been on a 10 calorie per day diet prior to the filming of this video.  Begin to develop stomach envy, but determined to cheat my way to rock hard abs.   Problem #1, I could not see my abs around my boobs — does she not have this problem? –  so mirror was recruited to help.  The mirror seemed nervous about the entire ordeal, as did my feline audience but both were good sports.

Problem #2, I do not have a flat stomach, it undulates in strange and wonderful ways as dictated by the number of bowls of Lucky Charms I have packed away in the past week.  The lovely lady reassured me that this was an easy way to boost my self confidence and “own the beach” and that I need no longer be embarrassed by my crush(es) seeing a flabby bikini body, so I pressed on.  If this worked I would be the glory of the local surfing scene…as long as I didn’t actually step foot in the water, in which case my art would smear like Dali’s “The Persistence of Memory” and I would turn into a circus freak.

Step one was tinting some sunblock a shade darker than my stomach skin.  Being of Northern European descent (ie. F*cking pasty), this was not difficult.  Application was interesting mind you.  Have you ever seen a woman who either has zero makeup skills, or hasn’t adjusted her sun kissed summer foundation for the grey doldrums of winter?  You know what I mean?  That jaw line horror of caked on liquid makeup that makes her face seem to float, in partial eclipse, over the rest of her body.  (By the way, it’s called blending ladies.  If your neck skin does not match your face skin, that is not a good or attractive sign)  Yes well I now had that problem, only the dividing line wasn’t my jaw.  Video lady suggested full body blending with special cleavage shadowing treatment.  I looked down at my cleavage with concern.  It is monumental even on the worst of days, emphasizing it more meant it was likely to devour me whole.  Still, perky video lady said it would be good, so away we go.

Step two was to take powder, again of a darker shade, and create definition with a few easy brush strokes and some quick blending.  The first part of step two encouraged me to “find those abs!”…I poked and prodded for about five minutes, gave up, and guesstimated based on logical anatomical placement.  I started with what I knew…one of my favourite muscles from vertebrate anatomy class: the rectus abdominus.  A paired muscle running vertically on either side of the belly button, it was a safe centre and something that would help map out my abs (which apparently should have been much more obvious on casual observation).  Enormous powder brush in hand I defined with a vengeance.  The powder really only strengthened the shadows formed by the rolly pollies, but it didn’t look bad per se.  Maybe I just need to…put. it. on. a. bit. heavier.  NO.  Good god no.  Wipe it off and start again.

Step 3 in my ab transformation was the application of shimmer, which would not only help to tie everything together but would make me the twin plaything of Edward Cullen, who also sports fake airbrushed abs and sparkles like the Pride Parade in the sunshine.  Alice and Jasper would soon be within my reach.  I follow the instructions but try to go as light as possible…twinkling on the beach is usually the sign of an S.O.S, not a hot summer body.  My tummy gurgles its annoyance and suggests we skip this nonsense altogether and go chew on a mango.  I promise belly its mango if it magically transforms itself into hotness.  The silence is ominous and the abs are looking more like street graffiti than natural anatomy.  There was not enough shimmer in the entire world to fix this.  I now looked like I had bronzed, defined belly fat.  Not the glorious six pack abs I was promised.  The lovely lady, in her pink and white polka dot bikini, had lied to me.  Disgruntled, I made a rude gesture and several disparaging remarks about her background decor.

How could she do this to me?  This experience has completely shattered my fondly held faith in You Tube as the bringer of truth.  I felt cheated and scorned…my existential paradigm was crashing down around me.  I was doomed.  I celebrated my downfall with an avocado milkshake and the wry, bitter smile of a newly born cynic.