The Producers

My review of The Producers appears in this week's Westender.

The Producers
By Andrea Warner
279 words

Mel Brooks has always tackled the taboo. His keenly astute appreciation for satire marched over the boundaries of good taste in 1968, when his film, The Producers, envisioned a hoofing Hitler with a song in his heart. In 2001, The Producers came to Broadway, tauter, tighter, and with lots more T&A. Now the Tony-award smash hit high kicks it’s way to Vancouver, and it feels just as frenzied, funny, and freshly shocking as ever.

The Producers is deliciously daring in its unbridled enthusiasm for dirty jokes, sweeping caricatures, and playful winking at show business. Charming shyster and failing Broadway producer, Max Biaylstock (Jay Brazeau) and the meekly nebbish accountant Leo Bloom (Josh Epstein) discover that in the right circumstances, a producer can make more money on a flop than with a success. They hit the poor-taste jackpot with ex-Nazi, Franz, whose Spring Time for Hitler aims to show the softer side of the war criminal.

The cast is fantastic. Jay Brazeau and Josh Epstein as Biaylstock and Bloom offer plenty of chemistry as they fully embody their campy and nefarious alter egos. Jackson Davies is furiously funny as the pigeon-loving, knock-kneed, Hitler enthusiast Franz. Terra C. MacLeod is a revelation as Ulla, the Swedish bombshell who woos Bloom.

The choreography and costumes transcend the confines of the Stanley stage, and create big scale productions that are innovative and hilarious. Particularly, the slew of little old ladies armed with walkers in “Along Came Bialy” and the fetish-wearing spectacular “Springtime for Hitler” are brilliant. Every stereotype meets its match in glorious song and dance extravaganzas: Gays, Nazis, show biz types—no one’s feelings are spared on this stage. Thank God.

Don't Mess with the Zohan

My review of Adam Sandler's new movie, Don't Mess with the Zohan, appears in this week's Westender.

Don’t Mess With the Zohan
2 stars
By Andrea Warner
270 words

Raunchy, rude, and kind of racist, Don’t Mess with the Zohan oozes stereotypes and clichés, but without the cleverness of Harold and Kumar the jokes amount to simple sight gags and an escalating array of crotch and hummus jokes, with much “America is good” rhetoric.

Think of this as Adam Sandler’s version of peace talks with the Middle East. Zohan is an Israeli counter terrorist with gravity-defying moves, an untamed libido, and a secret dream to go to America and be a hair stylist. He fakes his death during a fight with his Palestinian enemy, Phantom (John Turturro), and re-emerges in New York City where he gets a job in a salon.

Dahlia, Palestinian and the requisite “beautiful girl,” owns the salon, which happens to sit in a Middle Eastern neighbourhood, where Palestinian shops face Israeli shops. The whole community is at risk from Walbridge, an old rich white guy in a sharp suit, who wants to build a mall.

The political stuff could almost be interesting, and would make for good satire in other hands. But, the movie’s also hampered by stupid subplots: Zohan “makes sticky” with every woman who breathes before falling for Dahlia; Rob Schneider (himself tolerable, his storyline less so) is Zohan’s former foe out for revenge; and then there’s an apparent Middle Eastern obsession with hackey sack and disco.

The cameos come fast and furious, and are the only consistent bright spots throughout. With a script co-written by reigning comedy King Judd Apatow, Zohan should be far funnier. But, when Mariah Carey is the best thing to happen to a film, the jig is up.

Sex and the City

My review of Sex and the City, the movie, appears in this week's Fast Forward Weekly!

Grown-up Sex

Carrie and Company barely miss a beat

Published May 29, 2008 by Andrea Warner in Film Reviews

Take one last sip of your cosmos and shout it from the skyscrapers: Welcome back, ladies!

Was it the tough talk about sex, men and the business of love that helped build the Sex and the City empire? Fans of the show know it’s a truth far more profound — friendship. The beating heart of SATC has always been the relationship between soulmates Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha. Well, that and shoes.

The film opens to reveal that the years since the TV series have been kinder to some than others: Charlotte is blissfully content with her family, Samantha has forsaken New York for L.A. (and possibly herself for her boyfriend, Smith), Miranda is more cynical than ever after hitting a hard patch with Steve, and Carrie’s fairytale ending is hanging by a silk thread.

The film clocks in at a little more than two hours, so some stories, unfortunately, get shortchanged. Miranda and Steve’s storyline, while offering Cynthia Nixon a chance to do some great acting, feels forced and maligns Steve’s character permanently. Kim Cattrall brings the sex to 50-year-old Samantha, who continues to grow as she makes a tough choice. Kristin Davis shines as Charlotte, who has become the girls’ spokesperson for happiness. But it’s Sarah Jessica Parker who brings a new and very welcome depth to our flawed heroine. Carrie demurs from sharing details of her sex life with Big, stays calm even when she sees the crisis coming and makes 40 look absolutely fabulous.

The men, save for Big (the reliably charming Chris Noth), struggle for face time, but lose out to the fashion. Scene upon scene is devoted to designers and stunningly chic clothes that insist on reminding viewers again and again that Sex and the City is a trendsetter. While the eye candy is pretty, it is also distracting and deprives the audience of more moments with characters like the gay boyfriends, Stanford and Anthony, who are under-utilized here.

Ultimately, this is a film for the fans. While the opening sequence gives a beautifully brief synopsis of the ladies’ lives — complete with some of their most memorable lines — it’s unlikely that the unfolding narrative will pack as much emotional punch for those viewers going in cold. It’s great to see Carrie so happily confident in hers and Big’s love (their playful banter hasn’t dulled), or to watch Miranda’s brittle breakdown. Still, Sex and the City has always been more about the journey than the destination. The film is a fitting tribute to the question the series posed all those years ago: single and fabulous? You bet.

Jerusalem is Proud to Present

My interview with Jerusalem director, Nitzan Gilady, appears in the current issue of Xtra! West.

By Andrea Warner

When organizers announced the 2006 World Pride march would be held in Jerusalem, Nitzan Gilady intended to capture this historic first in gay culture. He quickly realized his documentary, Jerusalem is Proud to Present, was actually a witness to a fight for human rights as organizers came up against formidable opposition, all in the name of the Holy Land.

“At the beginning, I was one of those who questioned why we need to have a parade at all?” Gilady admits, but as he began shooting, he experienced the homophobia and hatred firsthand.

“At that time it was very scary. You would never know where it would come from—
someone would lose his mind and think he should react towards the community,” he says, reflecting on his own frightening encounter, depicted in the film as he and Jerusalem’s only out gay council member visit the Orthodox community.

Gilady, who lives in Tel Aviv and came out to his family in 2005, was unprepared for one strong alliance that arose from the World Pride March proposal. Jewish, Christian, and Muslim leaders banded together against their common enemy: homosexuality.

“It was really weird to see that people really think like that. They said all these things, like ‘Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,’ and ‘This is the Holy Land, not the Homo Land.’ I couldn’t actually hold the camera because I was laughing,” Gilady says. “But also for me it was standing almost in front of my father, because these are things my father still thinks.”

While 4000 people ended up attending the march, 7000 police officers were required to protect participants, a further testament to the courage of Jerusalem’s gay community. The film debuted on a major cable channel in Israel, and was broadcast throughout the country, making it difficult for religious leaders to keep the word “gay” under wraps. It has also made the festival rounds and picked up several awards so far.

Kris Anderson, the festival director of DOXA, Vancouver’s upcoming documentary film festival, saw Jerusalem at a festival in Amsterdam and felt it was an important message Canadians needed to hear.

“I think it’s a universal story, and probably a story that is getting more and more important. Fundamentalist religion is growing, and people who are oppressed are at risk, and these kind of battles—people need to know about them all over the world.”

Presidents of the United States of America rock again!

Check out my story on Presidents of the United States of America in this week's Charleston City Paper.

VISITING ACT | Presidents of the United States of America

What a peach: the 'Lump' guys

By Andrea Warner

No one could escape the Presidents of the United States of America in 1995, as their self-titled debut quenched the thirsty ears of people desperate for dance-happy, silly joy-pop.

Fans of a certain age still know the words to PUSA's first smash, "Peaches," a deliciously offhand song that alternates between quiet declarations desiring a simple life, and pulsing anger, as lead singer and songwriter Chris Ballew squishes "nature's candy" in his fist.

"Lump" and "Kitty" followed, and pretty soon PUSA was ubiquitous. Their fame reached another level of notoriety when the God of Goof, "Weird Al" Yankovic, turned "Lump" into "Gump," a fitting parody for a band that insists on making music that disguises its genius under lyrics like, "Kitty on the floor and I wanna touch it."

Ballew's ability to churn out head-scratching hits is just part of PUSA's success. The rest of the band is equally game to play along. Jason Finn's drums pound and propel the catchy beats, and "guitbass" player Andrew McKeag (standing in for Dave Dederer), alternates bits of brilliance between raging riffs and melody. Ballew also plays the "bassitar," and other modified instruments, which helps PUSA craft their sound.

Surviving breakups and make-ups, PUSA is back together in support of their new album, These Are the Good Times People (Fugitive). The single "Mixed Up S.O.B." is more straightforward than "Lump," but equally catchy. The country-twinge of "Ladybug" would make for a great alt-rock hoe-down. The funny but rueful "Bad Times" boasts a chorus full of sweet lament.

PUSA's live shows haven't lost any of the energy over the last 12 years either. Recent footage reveal three guys full of frenetic energy, jumping like kids on pogo sticks, and an audience that can't stop screaming. With PUSA, the more things change, the more they stay the same. These really are good times, people.

Ladyhawk

A quick preview I wrote about Ladyhawk, for the Charleston City Paper

The Melting Pot of Ladyhawk
By Andrea Warner

They look and sound like the love children of Neil Young and the Drive-By Truckers, but thrown from the back of a dirty Ford pick-up driven by the Killers. Famous for energetic sold-out shows in their native Canada, Vancouver's Ladyhawk has crossed the border, bringing with them their special brand of unrelenting guitar riffs, crashing cymbals, and a sound that refuses to be corralled into any one category. Southern rock? New classic rock? Indie alternative? It's a smorgasbord of sound, with songs that will keep the feet tapping from the bar to the dance floor and back to the bar again.

Ladyhawk pays proper tribute to some of their forefathers. "Night You're Beautiful" is all pounding drums, but offers a sly throwback to the Velvet Underground's "Walk on the Wild Side." The quieter parts of "Fear" are reminiscent of the Doors, as is the steady drum roll of "War." The sexy bass on "Long 'til the Morning" virtually guarantees vertical hip-to-hip action. And, while it's unlikely the crowd will need any motivation to put their dancing shoes on, the sing-song clap-along "My Old Jacknife" is maybe the happiest song to ever include the line "no one cares about me."

The Dissemblers

My review of The Dissemblers appears in this week's Westender.

The Dissemblers
By Andrea Warner

Vancouver's well-documented obsession with façade and pretense is the perfect fodder for biting satire. Populated with vividly recognizable and not entirely likeable characters, playwright Jason Bryden's The Dissemblers is a snapshot of early-thirties disaffection and existential crisis, or the moments lived out between Starbucks and stoplights.

Dash (John Murphy), a self-involved artist with an unfortunate obsession with crows, juggles an uptight fiancée, Mi Mi (Medina Hahn), and a sexy flirtation with his tart-tongued gallery manager, Olivia (Sasa Brown). He's also trying to keep his friendship together with best friend Simon (Michael Rinaldi), who's in love with the weirdly spacy Jules (Jennifer Mawhinney). As the relationships unravel amidst a dinner party, bird genocide, and planning a gallery exhibit in China, each character is forced to examine how truth and happiness are interlinked.

Murphy is at his best opposite Brown and the dialogue between Dash and Olivia crackles with clever sexuality. Michael Rinaldi's Simon deservedly gets the majority of the play's laughs as an over-the-top realtor with a faux-hawk: "It's Coquitlam, it's the new inner-city," he says while trying to sell Olivia a condo. Unfortunately, Hahn and Mawhinney are hampered by roles that don't feel fully fleshed out, a crucial area where The Dissemblers doesn't come together. A startling left turn in the script's final 20 minutes feels too abrupt, as if it's part of an entirely different production, or worse, just there for shock value.

A thoroughly Vancouver-centric work (references to local haunts like Keno's, the crow migrations at dusk to Burnaby, the East Side Culture Crawl), The Dissemblers has captured the city's curious cultural tics with just the right amount of rueful affection. Bryden's debut falters at times, but ultimately heralds a welcome new voice in Canadian theatre.

Then She Found Me

My review of Then She Found Me appears in this week's Fast Forward Weekly

Then She Found Me? Kind of wish she hadn’t

Helen Hunt’s directorial debut enters movie-of-the-week territory
Published May 8, 2008 by Andrea Warner in Film Reviews

Then She Found Me, Helen Hunt’s feature directorial debut, attempts to tackle such grandiose themes as love and loss, along with the three big Fs — fidelity, family and fertility. The result is something like an overgrown garden, with Hunt mistakenly planting the tangled roots in the estrogen-drenched movie-of-the-week genre.

Hunt stars as April, a kindergarten teacher in her late 30s. Within the first five minutes of the film, April’s entire world crumbles. In rapid-fire succession, her childish husband (Matthew Broderick) leaves her, her adoptive mother dies and her biological mother (Bette Midler) arrives on the scene. Twenty minutes later, she’s embarking on a meet-cute romance with the single father of one of her students (Colin Firth) and then finds out she’s pregnant with her ex-husband’s child. An entire year’s worth of soap opera-styled calamities and plot twists play out in the remaining 80 minutes.

There’s no lack of sincerity on the actors’ parts. Hunt’s April, at her lowest points, is realistically flawed and has the visage to complement her inner struggles — painfully thin, long frown lines, and not a trace of makeup. The actress’s choice to ditch vanity throughout most of the film is brave in today’s Hollywood. Midler is charmingly sweet and brash, and appears to relish the opportunity to dig into the emotional confrontations. She and Hunt have a nice chemistry and are believable as a reunited mother and daughter. Broderick fares less well in the thankless role of the man-child who doesn’t know how to grow up, particularly when compared to Firth’s romantic, sardonic and occasionally angry hero. Firth truly shines as a man trying his best to let his guard down and fall in love. He also lays claim to the best lines.

Still, even the stellar cast can’t get past the convoluted story. Based on a book by Elinor Lipman, the script apparently deviates heavily from the original text. This would be fine if a defter hand had cut the fat and made a leaner, more resonant film. While Hunt shows promise as a director, she seems unable to recognize her film’s flaws — it keeps insisting that it’s about real people and real situations, and yet it moves further into ridiculousness with each new revelation. April’s troubles and triumphs come fast and furious, but have no time to hit home.

Hunt spent 10 years getting Then She Found Me off the ground. Eleven might have been the magic number.

Shared Vision feature

My feature story on Maureen Jack-LaCroix, co-written with Tamara Letkemen, appears in this month's Shared Vision.

The Goddess of Gumption

by Andrea Warner and Tamara Letkeman

From the raucous realm of rock ‘n’ roll to the daring and dangerous edges of skateboarding, Maureen Jack-LaCroix has emerged as Vancouver’s golden girl of promotion. Her entrepreneurial moxie has always embraced a bottom line emphasizing social change—and now, the ingenious impresario is summoning all her brilliance to take on her most daunting challenge yet.

Within minutes of meeting Maureen Jack-LaCroix, it becomes clear that she is as wild as the free-flowing mane of silver curls that frames her delicate facial features. Energy and enthusiasm seem to pulse off her as we settle into an interview that underscores her talent as one of Vancouver’s best “connectors”: a networker and a weaver of ideas and people. She’s a rare find—a hybrid who’s equally comfortable working with concepts (the world of ideas) and practicality (the world of action).

Early in her career, Maureen established herself as a producer and impresario who could engineer projects at the highest of levels. But she’s perhaps best known for taking a teenage sport thought to be populated by juvenile delinquents—skateboarding—and making it a respectable and even celebrated part of urban life. Maureen, whose son is a boarder, did it through the creation of Slam City Jam, a three-day festival of skate culture and music—and the longest-running event of its kind in North America.

It was a tough undertaking. Maureen recounts bumping up against City Council, the Downtown Vancouver Business Improvement Association, and the Chief of Police, following a cover story in Thrasher magazine that featured one of the world’s top boarders bombing down a metal railing in Vancouver.

“The business association guy held it up and was like, ‘Look at this! Look at this!’,” she recalls. “And I laughed, and said, ‘Yeah, can you imagine doing that?’”

Before skateboarding, it was music. A classically trained pianist, Maureen stepped into the rock ’n’ roll scene after a college boyfriend enlisted her help in making a documentary about a band. She went on to become the band’s manager, and found herself thrust into a near-exclusive—and notoriously ruthless—boys’ club: the music industry.

The more intimate she became with the scene, the more appalled she was at the way musicians were being shafted, from contracts that resembled “master-slave” relationships to banks that rejected loan requests to replace broken instruments. Not content to merely play “backup,” Maureen founded a series of seminars on the music industry, which ultimately grew into New Music West, the biggest new music event in Western North America.

“It grew organically because it was of value, until we had 200 bands together showcasing in 20 venues, 150 talent scouts out from 75 labels internationally,” Maureen says. “It was a wonderful appreciation of our music and what was coming up from the grassroots of our creativity.”

And the hit parade doesn’t stop there. Maureen’s other credits include working closely with Bruce Allen, Bryan Adams, and David Foster to produce “Tears are Not Enough,” the song recorded in ’85 by a supergroup of Canadian artists to raise money for famine relief in Ethiopia.

It’s a star-studded resumé, to be sure, and it’s about to get fortified even more. Because now, Maureen’s entire career and set of producing experiences have aligned for her most important work yet. Get ready, Vancouver, for “Be the Change.”

A grassroots movement, Be the Change is bringing people together to combat global warming. Through a series of symposiums, it takes the huge and daunting concept of “saving the environment” and breaks it down into manageable chunks to show how our small, everyday contributions—like riding our bikes instead of driving, or composting our kitchen scraps—can result in permanent change. As the name suggests, “Be the Change” is about what you can do.
“This is no longer the time to marginalize our environmentalists,” Maureen stresses. “It’s not ‘They have to fix the problem and deal with it.’ What are our values? Who are we as a community?

“The best part of how big this global mind shift is,” she continues, “is that it’s truly ego-shattering—it’s so humbling to face the enormity of the task at hand, to fully recognize that I am not in control. ‘I’ cannot solve this problem. But ‘we’ can. It’s a profound shift in consciousness to truly value the ‘we’ over the ‘me.’”

The monthly, one-day symposiums are slated throughout Vancouver for the rest of this year. Participants are encouraged to bring the message back to their communities—but not to preach it. The philosophy is that as an individual changes, he or she will inevitably lead by example.

The ultimate goal? To get 1,000 Vancouverites to reduce their energy consumption by 20 per cent and, among other initiatives, increase their use of local organic produce by the same amount. In October, members and the public will gather for the first Be the Change Festival, featuring inspirational speakers, interactive workshops on climate change, plus music, film, dance, and poetry.

This is a project of—if you will—global proportions. But it’s also an idea that’s been germinating for 20-some-odd years. Shortly after Maureen finished working on “Tears are Not Enough,” she wrote her first proposal for an environmental event. Unfortunately, it didn’t take hold.

“At that time I thought we needed to have stars to endorse something for it to go,” she explains. “It needed to be powerful people that were behind it, and I was a young woman and I didn’t feel all that powerful. It never left me though.”

In fact, for the last several years, Maureen has had a quote from R. Buckminster Fuller, the American inventor, architect, author, mathematician, and futurist, affixed to her mirror: If success or failure of this planet and of human beings depended on how I am and what I do… how would I be? What would I do?

“I didn’t know,” she says, in answer to the first question. “But I knew I had to be different from the way I was.”

In response to question no. 2, Maureen’s taken a hiatus from her very successful company, Jack of Hearts Productions—and thus her income—to form the Be the Change Earth Alliance. It wasn’t an easy move.

“That entailed letting go of my attachment to the illusion of independence,” she says. “Of my self-worth being attached to how much money I made, and of my attachment to being in control. Not easy, letting go without knowing what will come in its place.”

With a string of such wildly successful events backing her up, it’s a leap of faith the premier producer and impresario can probably afford. After all, this is the same woman who championed skateboarding and took on the music industry—and the passage of time has done little to curb her defiant spirit.

“Ideally, I’ve become a wiser rebel,” she says. “But I think it’s really healthy for all of us to have a little rebel inside, because otherwise we just spend so much energy compromising to fit in that we don’t explore all of who we can be.”

Adaline interview

My interview with a new local musician, Adaline, appears in this month's Discorder!

Sweet Adaline
Sorry guys, but music is her boyfriend

By Andrea Warner

A few years ago, she was destitute and distraught, surviving on food from a church basement and suffering a severe case of post-break up and university-graduate blues. But, hitting bottom spurred Adaline into action, unleashing a torrent of creativity that portioned itself into 12 emotional and evocative songs for her debut album, Famous for Fire.

As she breezes into the coffee shop, apologizing for running three minutes behind schedule, Adaline radiates cheer, excitement, and graciousness. She warns that she’s a “chat-er” and that she’s working on showing a bit of decorum, not wanting to divulge anything that would “make her parents die.” But her natural friendliness and enthusiasm make withholding almost impossible, and frankly all the better.

Adaline in person is a stark contrast to the woman in her songs. Famous’s most haunting songs deal with betrayal, confusion, sadness, and heartbreak. And, while she’s pleased with the album and proud of the outcome, it’s still a tough place to journey back to every time she gets on stage.

“It was a really scary time. I am the most even-keeled, positive, outgoing person,” Adaline says. “And to know that I could go through a time that was that dark, makes you realize that everyone can.”

With nothing to lose, Adaline decided to hold a concert, a sort of “career launch” at a church to see if she had the chops to make it as a performer. She played for about 250 people that night, and hasn’t stopped yet.

Part of Adaline’s universal appeal might be the breadth of her influences. When she was younger, her father was a minister, and together with her mom and brother, the four would travel around and play music together, a Canadian twist on the Partridge family. Raised on a diet of church-based gospel and soul, the classically trained pianist ultimately discovered Pearl Jam’s Ten, a moment that shattered her preconceived notions of music and inspired a defiant streak as she bought and hid a new copy every time her parents found the CD and threw it out.

Her sheltered childhood couldn’t keep Adaline from indulging in her love affair with pop culture. She wasn’t allowed to take dance, but she made up her own routines to songs like “Baby Got Back”, that ode to junk-in-the-trunk glory off of secret tapes made from the radio.

“I was 17 or 18 when I heard Radiohead for the first time. And Tom Waits. People that everyone else knew of except for me,” Adaline says. “I was like, ‘this is so amazing.’ To hear people be creative and thoughtful about music in a way that I’d never heard before, it was absolutely mind-blowing.” And, while most people can’t recall hearing “Tiny Dancer” for the first time, it’s in part her perpetual wide-eyed awe that lends her darkest songs a lift up.

She admits her parents weren’t thrilled with the idea of her playing shows in dingy bars, but they have come around since her career launch concert, where her dad cried (and not out of joy) when he realized his daughter would make this her life.

Musically, her parents have a lot to be proud of with Adaline’s debut. Strongly influenced by women like Sarah Slean and Fiona Apple, the album’s haunting piano beautifully underscores her slightly smoky vocals. She’s already trying to mentally prepare for writing her second album, which will come from a vastly different place than Famous. But fans shouldn’t fear she’ll forgo her slightly sad songs entirely. Adaline’s more than a little cynical when the topic of love comes up, and she admits that all of her energy is intensely focused on her career.

“Honestly, I’m a bit of a geek right now. I’m really social, but I have found that lately the most exciting thing to do on a Friday night is how to plan my tour. Music is something that is so stable. It’s not like basing your happiness on a person or a situation. I often look at it as—and this is going to sound crazy—but as a romantic situation for me. Music is kinda my boyfriend. Which is a little weird,” she concedes with a laugh of embarrassment.

And this is part of the reason Adaline is poised to become a huge hit. Her sweetly self-deprecating candor is refreshing in a world of sound-bite ready bombshells. It’d be a shame for everyone if she gets the hang of that guarded thing.

Grand Canyon: River at Risk review

My review of Grand Canyon: River at Risk is in this week's Westender.

Grand Canyon Adventure: River at Risk
By Andrea Warner
Two stars

Part eco-conscious rallying cry and part paid advertising, the intentions behind Grand Canyon Adventure: River at Risk are as muddled as the water that flows through its majestic valleys.

The film follows Wade Davis, author/anthropologist/explorer, and his 17-year-old daughter Tara as they embark on a rafting trip through the Grand Canyon to witness firsthand the environmental changes impacting the Columbia River. Davis is gathering material for a book on the very subject, and his pal Robert F. Kennedy Jr., river advocate among other things, is along for the bumpy ride.

Frustratingly, director/producer Greg MacGillivray (nominated twice for Academy Awards), periodically uses cheesy CGI wooden frames to contain his interviews in the centre of the screen, over top of any number of beautiful backdrops. There are also numerous distractions from the film's main message: Tara is heading off to college soon; Davis is making his book; and Shawna, the guide, has lived in the Canyon with her tribe her whole life. Oh, and Robert Redford narrates to little effect.

River at Risk offers some nuggets of information, and river conservation is a timely subject as the world looks to create greener living. Risk also offers some truly glorious images of first person point-of-view of the beautiful rapids batting the rowers about like small balls of yarn. But, its myriad conflicts of interest ultimately prove insulting, particularly at film's end when you're shown the benefits of switching to a Kohler energy efficient toilet moments before Kohler's credited as a major sponsor. A synergistic washout indeed.

Kenny review

My review of Kenny also appears in this week's Fast Forward Weekly.

By Andrea Warner

It’s a safe bet that there’s never been a film so heavily laden with poop jokes that also packs as much emotional heft as Kenny.

The titular working-class hero of this Australian comedy is a gentle giant in overall shorts, busting his butt to balance his personal life (demanding ex-wife, bitterly aging father, a good rapport with his young son) with his professional life (an all-consuming job as the veritable prince of porta-potties.)

Shot documentary-style, the camera throws Kenny into one potentially degrading situation after another — determining the variety-of-food-to-toilet ratio at festivals (more curry means more potties), fishing a woman’s lost wedding ring from a toilet and putting up with a fussy customer haranguing his parenting choices. Kenny handles each situation with grace and aplomb. He’s proud of what he does and genuinely doesn’t understand why society looks down on his career.

Kenny’s naive glee is contagious as he hops a plane to Nashville to take part in an international porta-potty convention. His fish-out-of-water enthusiasm endears him to a fetching stewardess and a karaoke-loving Japanese businessman. Watching Kenny unknowingly negotiate a huge contract for his company is as pleasurable as watching his sweetly clumsy and innocent flirtations blossom.

Shane Jacobson’s Kenny is so charmingly real that every hit and every hurdle feels personal. He’s absolutely brilliant as he delivers one off-the-cuff monologue after another regarding the ins and outs of digesting and egesting. Jacobson co-wrote the script with his brother, Clayton Jacobson, who also served as the film’s director. Originally released in their native Australia in 2006, Kenny has become a cult sensation and is about to launch a television series.

The Jacobson brothers have crafted a remarkable first movie that hits at the epicentre of our service culture society — there’s an unfair stigma attached to those who do the jobs no one wants, but Kenny forces the audience to reflect on why this is and grapple with their own judgments. As Kenny deftly handles one landmine after another, it’s impossible to remain unaffected by his dignity and humour.

Kenny himself isn’t a typical centrefold fantasy, but this makes the Jacobson brand of manliness all the more refreshing in its inspiration. In this day and age, when more and more people are dissatisfied with their jobs and yet define themselves by what they do, Kenny was a crapshoot, and is now poised to become a cultural phenomenon.

Shane Jacobson from Kenny

My interview with Shane Jacobson, star of the Australian hit comedy Kenny, appears in today's Fast Forward Weekly. If you're in Calgary, pick up a copy!

Good guys don’t always finish last
Shane Jacobson isn’t a celebrity, just a guy with a ‘recognizable fat head’
By Andrea Warner

Shane Jacobson is about to be a very famous man. Already a 2006 best actor-winner from the Film Critics Circle of Australia for his humble little plumber film, Kenny, Jacobson is just now touching down on North American soil. Move over, FUBAR — a new classic of the mockumentary genre has arrived.

Kenny tells the simple but profound story of a porta-potty worker struggling to keep people happy. The movie connected so deeply with Australian audiences that it quickly became a cult hit, and soon Kenny fever went airborne.

Jacobson’s shares his Kenny success with his director, co-writer and brother, Clayton. This is their first collaboration, and the resounding accolades are still rolling in. The pair have just completed work on a Kenny “World Toilet Tour,” which will air in eight half-hour instalments on Australian television, and finds Kenny in places as far-flung as Egypt, India, China and outer space.

This is a big leap forward for the actor and writer, who used to supplement his income by producing events. Without those event management connections, he likely would never have stumbled across the Splash Down worker (the real port-o-potty company where the fictional Kenny works) who inspired the film.

“I met the Splash Down worker [at] an event,” Jacobson recalls. “One of the ladies came out [of the toilet] and she was like ‘that hole in there, it stinks.’ He said, ‘Look lady, I don’t want to state the obvious here, but that’s a ladies’ toilet and you just came out of it, and you’re saying it stinks. I don’t manufacture the stink. If it stinks in there, it’s clearly got something to do with you or the lady who was in there before you. I only take the stuff away, I don’t manufacture it.’”

Therein lies the film’s simple premise — a man who refuses to be embarrassed about what he does, and is genuinely happy and content with his life. It’s a refreshing change from most cinematic heroes, who are either complex, conflicted or a curiously tedious combination of the two. Jacobson says that Kenny is actually a movie about decency more than anything else.

“We’re dealing with working-class stuff here,” he explains. “Working in a job the world frowns upon, there’s a lot of heart to be found.” He recounts his experiences in shopping malls where the cleaners keep their heads down and don’t make eye contact, trained to not expect respect. Jacobson and his brother make it a point to have the cleaners in the audience stand up after Kenny screenings and be applauded. That natural desire to champion the underdog is a huge part of what makes Kenny shine, and why Jacobson and his brother were so determined to create a character that was genuine and unselfconscious.

“We all hear the expression never judge a book by its cover, and I find that an interesting notion,” Jacobson says. “The difference with our film is that the message isn’t to the people who judge, but to the books who are being judged. To all those books who are being judged, it doesn’t change the content of your book. It just means they’ve chosen not to read the pages.”

This philosophy is keeping Jacobson focused on his career. He likens the last two years to being a “paper airplane in a hurricane,” but he’s grateful for the opportunities Kenny has afforded him. Now he and his brother get to wrestle with the notion of celebrity.

“My anonymity’s kind of disappeared in this country, but I hate the word ‘star’ or ‘celebrity,’” he says. “My brother and I have always said I just have a more recognizable head. I just have a recognizable fat head.”

The Forgotten Woman

My review of The Forgotten Woman appears in this week's Westender. Pick up a copy to check it out!

The Forgotten Woman
By Andrea Warner
Three stars

In a patriarchal society women quickly go from commodity to liability, and there’s no better evidence than The Forgotten Woman, Dilip Mehta’s devastating documentary depicting some of India’s 45 million widows who have been disowned by their families and blamed for their husbands’ deaths.

The women are shunned and exiled, many finding a home in Vrindavan, which is thought to be, literally, “heaven on earth.” The film reveals a holy ashram filled with women of varying ages living inside rooms no more than windowless cells, earning a mere six rupees a day for eight hours of chanting. And while one local villager proudly maintains Vrindavan’s divinity because “no one ever goes hungry there,” it’s still gut wrenching to watch the widows lined up for hours to receive a handful of rice or lentils.

There’s such an overwhelming sense of hopelessness in the first thirty minutes, it’s a personal triumph to be introduced to the Canadian woman who heads the Association for Strong Women Alone where widows are taught basic survival skills and support as they fight for their land rights. The film goes on to reveal how other widows live, and the disparity between those with privileges and those without. (Unsurprisingly, the severity of the widow’s living conditions is directly proportionate to education and affluence.)

This is an accomplished first film, but is a bit confusing at first. A few seconds of set up at the beginning would have provided context, permitting a more immediate grasp of the material. But, Mehta has captured, hopefully, the cusp of change as widows go from Grim Reapers in saris to women with basic human rights.

Young@Heart review

My review of Young@Heart appears in this week's Westender.

Young@Heart
By Andrea Warner
Four stars

Old people singing punk rock songs = funny stuff. But Young@Heart is more than a one-note joke: it’s an endearingly bittersweet and touching documentary that proves inspiration is ageless.

The film follows the Young@Heart chorus, a group of swingin’ seniors from Northampton, Massachusettes, who have found international stardom with their curious penchant for tackling everything from the Clash to James Brown. What could have been a novelty act has instead morphed into a fantastic opportunity for a second life, akin to what Johnny Cash’s did on his American Recordings.

Hearing such classics as Stayin’ Alive (check out the music video on YouTube and you’ll be first in line for the movie), I Wanna Be Sedated, and Golden Years as interpreted by this group is pure joy. Director Stephen Walker has been blessed with a motley crew of richly quotable and fascinating people, including one lovely flirt, famed for her recent burlesque act, who’s been with the choir since it began 20 years ago. She happens to be 93 years old. The Willy Wonka type at the helm is Bob Cilman, the tough choir director who takes delight in introducing the seniors to Sonic Youth’s Schizophrenia.

Young@Heart’s second half takes on a much more somber note, but such is the documentary form and it’s subjection to real life. Detractors will fault the film’s sentimentality, but only the hardest of hearts will leave the theatre not wanting to call their grandma.

Afrocentric schools in Toronto

My article on Afrocentric schools in Toronto appears in the new issue of Passion Magazine, on newsstands now.

Going Beyond Black or White

Forty percent of Toronto’s black youth aren’t graduating from high school. Is an Afrocentric school the solution or a part of the problem?

By Andrea Warner

Amidst a media feeding frenzy, Torontonians Angela Wilson and Donna Harrow became unlikely spokespeople for the biggest education controversy to hit the city in years. For the past several months, school board meetings have served as the backdrop for the heated debate over Wilson and Harrow’s proposed Afrocentric schools. In January, a narrow majority voted 11-9 in favour of one school to be opened in 2009. Reaction has been mixed, to put it mildly.

The proposed Afrocentric school aims to provide an alternative for black youth who are falling through the cracks of the current administration —approximately 40 percent of Toronto’s black youth do not graduate from high school — by creating a curriculum that is more engaging. Louis March, a spokesperson for the African Community Heritage Association, feels the timing is crucial.

“There was a survey recently of 110,000 students in Toronto, and 75 percent of them said they don’t see themselves reflected in the curriculum. The colour, the shape of the students in Toronto is changing,” March says. “You cannot be talking about African history and just put two pages in about slavery. You have to be honest to history in its totality.”

Josh Matlow, a Toronto District School Board trustee, opposes the creation of an Afrocentric school. His website features lengthy blog entries and media clips on the subject, while his group on Facebook, the social networking website, is titled Don’t Divide Our Students By Race. To date, the group has 128 members.

“We have 558 public schools in Toronto, and we have black students in virtually every one of them. I don’t believe that going down this road will respond to the core challenge of helping black students or all students in our schools,” Matlow says. “The premise is a positive one, and it’s vital to change the way we teach kids about African and black peoples’ histories. However, I think it’s just as important to teach white kids, other kids, as it is to teach black children. Black students need to learn about themselves and their own identity, but all other students should learn to respect black heritage as well.”

The obstacles to graduation facing black youth in Toronto are plentiful: poverty, stress on single parent families, and the lure of gangs and violence to name just a few. Akiela Clarke is currently finishing her grade 12 year. She is one of the students for whom the system has worked, but she attributes that success to her mother’s strong influence and involvement in the academic process.

“I was fortunate to have parents who were pushing me, parents who went to university. [These other youth] don’t always have parents saying, ‘Go and do your homework,’” Clarke says. “Everything that I have learned wasn’t from school because school is taught from a Eurocentric curriculum, and everything I’ve learned is from an Afrocentric curriculum, and that’s what made me be strong. But, many of these students are not like me; they don’t have the same parenting background as me, so they don’t have that approach to learning.”

The academic challenges facing black youth have the potential to manifest more serious problems in the future. “Eight out of ten people in the provincial parole system in Ontario did not finish grade 12, so we know there’s a strong likelihood where they’re going to end up — in gangs, violence,” March says.

Preventative measures to help black youth succeed have become a top priority for many people. But, one question on March’s mind is how an Afrocentric school would be different than Toronto’s 36 existing alternative high schools?

“The school system is working for maybe 90 or 95 percent of the students. But there’s a student body there that is having major problems engaging in the system, so you don’t change the whole system because of 5 or 10 percent.

“You set up an alternative school because all students do not learn the same. And the government recognizes that, and that’s why they already have 36 alternative schools in Toronto, so it surprises us that we have to do a song and dance for 37. The school board identified the community that was having problems, and they set up a school for them, so that they can feel total or full in the education process,” March says.

TDSB trustee Matlow’s website currently touts a new arts-focused public school that promotes a “middle-school experience in an enriched arts environment.” Ultimately, he fully supports alternative schools, but feels an Afrocentric school crosses the line by dividing kids by skin colour.

“It would be a school that’s created for black students. You would never see anything in our policy that would say ‘black school only,’ and it’s not accurate when people say this would be a black only school,” Matlow says. “However, in practice it probably will be. But, if the premise of the creation of the school is to respond to the challenges we’re facing because there are too many black kids dropping out, it’s a reasonable assumption that it would be attracting primarily black enrollment. By doing that, we are creating a division based on race.”

This is one of the primary questions circling the school proposal: Is Toronto setting a dangerous precedent for race-based schools? Opponents to the school believe yes. In reading through the various news stories and discussion groups online, one word forms the foundation for much of the opposition: “segregation.”

Seventeen-year-old Clarke sees the Afrocentric school as a possible solution not a throwback to segregation. “People need to define what segregation is,” she states. “No one’s being forced. Segregation is the act of being forced to go somewhere beyond your will, and that’s what happened in civil rights. Many people use the argument that we’re taking a step back. No, it’s not a step back, it’s a step forward because how are we supposed to integrate if we don’t know ourselves?”

Matlow isn’t convinced. His website urges parents to contact their trustees to oppose the school, and the concerns he voices resonate with others who oppose the project.

“To say that an Afrocentric curriculum is what will connect them with their presumed culture is narrow. It doesn’t consider the individual well enough,” Matlow explains. “To divide students by the colour of their skin, to perpetuate artificial divisions is wrong for any reason. We want to teach kids that they can find love, support and care within a community that has a whole variety of different faces.”

March admits that the proposed school may not be perfect, but that it’s worth the effort if they can reach out to even a few at-risk youth.

“If we can save 1, 2, 3, 5, 10 kids, it will be worth it. Ninety to ninety-five percent of the students are doing fine, so this discussion is not for them. Either you’re doing well in the system or you have the socio-economic support to fill in the gaps,” March says. “For these kids, it’s not there. So, let’s do something about it. Let’s step up and let’s demonstrate wisdom and courage. Let’s monitor it and if there are aspects you can incorporate into the overall school system then do it. Of course we fear this failing because everyone will be lining up to say, ‘I told you so.’ But please do it right so that it has a fighting chance of succeeding, so our kids have a fighting chance of succeeding.”

It’s difficult to determine what will most benefit at-risk minority youth, but it’s an issue that requires creative innovation to ensure doors are open to every child. One thing is for certain: the answers are no more black or white than they are right or wrong.

The Woodsman

My review of The Woodsman (on now at the Pacific Theatre) is in the Westender.

The Woodsman
By Andrea Warner

Pedophiles and child molesters don’t make sympathetic protagonists, but they do make complex ones. Written by Steven Fechter in 1994, in response to Megan’s Law—which required authorities to notify communities when a known sexual offender lived in their midst—the Canadian debut of The Woodsman tackles a child molester’s attempt at rehabilitation after returning to his hometown following 12 years in prison. While the volatile subject matter is handled with grace and dignity, the actual production boasts moments both compelling and clunky.

Dirk van Stralen is fantastically creepy-yet-human as Walter, a dead-man-walking the tightrope between his desire to change and his desire for 12-year-old girls. Walter wants to re-acclimate to society, and is frustrated that his time served and his therapy sessions haven’t made him “normal.” His choice of apartment across the street from an elementary school seems suspect to his brother-in-law, Carlos, and to the cop, Lucas, who watches his every move, but it also lets him spy on a man he calls Candy who seems to be scoping the schoolyard for little boys. Walter’s relationship with a co-worker, Nikki (Rebecca deBoer, who struggles with some of her line delivery), does little to banish his demons either, despite her belief he’s a “good man.”

The cast commits to the uncomfortable material with gusto and earnest heart. The show’s best moments are its toughest ones, particularly when Walter befriends a little girl in the woods. It’s impossible to know for sure at the play’s end whether Walter will remain part of the 20 percent of rehabilitated sexual offenders. This is the interesting grey area around second chances: Walter’s redemption will be a lifelong battle. Though bravely tackling these thorny issues, the script feels uneven, and certain smaller details detract rather than add (for example, the therapist’s reclamation of his Jewish ancestry feels pointless; it should either take up more space or none at all). The Woodsman packs strong muscle, but is ultimately hampered by its dull blade.

True West

My review of True West (on now at the Playhouse) is in today's Westender.

True West
By Andrea Warner

Old-fashioned cinematic westerns typically depict the clash between good and bad, order and lawlessness, in the simplest of white-hats-and-black-hats terms. By avoiding this construct in favour of a more murky reality in True West, playwright Sam Shepard challenges the entire concept of the “Wild West,” that mostly fanciful cornerstone of the United States’ finely-crafted national identity. At True West’s tragi-comic centre are Austin and Lee, a pair of starkly contrasted brothers that Shepard uses to explore a variety of American myths throughout the dense 90 minutes, including “real” Western landscapes lost to suburban sprawl (Calgary, anyone?), what constitutes male identity in modern society, and that dramatic perennial, family conflict.

Austin (a flawless Vincent Gale) is the good son. A playwright trying to score a million-dollar deal, he struggles to hammer out a script in his mother’s kitchen. Lee (Brian Markinson) is a wanderer and a thief, whose sudden appearance is not an entirely welcome surprise. When a producer shows up to hear Austin’s pitch, Lee sidelines the meeting, successfully selling his own story about a “true” western . The brothers are forced to work together on Lee’s screenplay, their “good” and “bad” qualities morphing as Austin spirals into a drunken stupor and Lee tries desperately to prove he’s a capable writer.

Markinson’s Lee is complex and dangerous. Like Austin, the audience is suitably scared of his short fuse, but director Dean Paul Gibson allows Markinson to attack his first scene with such ferocity, he is left with little room to maneuver. A slower build would have created an even bigger payoff. True West’s final confrontation is tenser than a gunfight at high noon, boldly and wisely refusing to provide the audience with a cookie-cutter hero who rides off into the sunset.

Explosions in the Sky

My interview with Explosions in the Sky is in this week's Charleston City Paper. I've pasted the article below, but check it out at the CCP to see pictures.

A Happy Accident
Explosions in the Sky: four humble guys who will light up the night

By Andrea Warner

It took Explosions in the Sky nine years to make it to Charleston. They're astonished they've made it this far. This week's show is only one of several exciting "firsts" on a long list of springtime events that will sweep the Austin-based band up — including a trip across the Atlantic for a lengthy European tour and an opportunity to curate U.K. music festival All Tomorrow's Parties.

Checking in from a pit stop on the band's current American tour, drummer Chris Hrasky still can't quite believe the casual jam band he helped start almost a decade ago has morphed into an international indie phenomenon — and all without lyrics or a singer.

In a time filled with American Idol-style crooners ruling the charts, Explosions in the Sky opts for an instrumental approach. They specialize in intense live shows, creating waves of sound that crash in and then quietly recede.

Throughout the 15-minute conversation, Hrasky uses the words "strange" and "weird" every 30 seconds. His humble befuddlement at Explosions' success is endearing and refreshing. When asked if he had any idea that the band would go as far as they have, his reply is quick and resolute.

"No, God no," he laughs. "We just sort of started it as something to do after work, just the four of us playing music. We had no real ambition to go on tour or put out records or anything. It's still a surprise nine years later that this is basically our career, I guess. It's a strange way to make a living."

Success and all of its trappings have sidelined plenty of promising bands, but Explosions seem almost devoid of the types of ego that have toppled other greats. A deep camaraderie keeps the guys grounded, preventing any Metallica-sized clashes.

"One of the reasons we've been able to play so long together is we're best friends basically," Hrasky says.

"It's weird with a lot of bands, they record and then tour together, and then, when they're not doing that stuff, they never even see each other. It's just a crazy way to think of a band. I don't think any of us would even want to be in a band like that."

With four studio albums to their credit, Explosions has continued to perfect their songcrafting skills, while focusing primarily on guitars and drums when playing live. Their new six-song collection titled All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone (Temporary Residence) was recorded by John Congleton (The Roots, The Mountain Goats). Mark Smith, Munaf Rayani, and Michael James (who also plays bass) comprise the rest of the lineup. While Hrasky denies developing a "sound" narrative, he admits hours are spent attempting to create the perfect mood for a song or a part.

"Being instrumental music, people just kind of adopt the songs themselves, you know?" he says. "Personalize it to their own lives, their own ideas, their own stories or whatever they can put along to the music. That's kind of our goal. To make music that engages people or moves people in some way."

As Explosions continued to build their reputation for being a killer live band, they noticed their fan base broaden from "dudes in their 20s" to include "13-year-old emo kids to 50-year-old Pink Floyd fans." The band is thrilled by the diversity and happy that the music they like to write is connecting with a gamut of people.

"It's just very strange," Hrasky says. "It's something I don't think any of us will ever get used to. Playing a show and there's 1,000 people there, in some town where you don't know anybody. It's very surreal. I kind of hope we don't ever get used to it."

Hot Chip

My cover story on the band Hot Chip appears in this month's Discorder. Pick up your copy now!

Get Out on the Dance Floor!
Hot Chip’s Joe Goddard talks about turning teenage angst into toe-tapping dance music

By Andrea Warner

The path leading from the Beatles to Destiny’s Child is like a treasure map for the minds behind Hot Chip, the UK’s hottest, manliest, bust-a-move-revolutionaries. Their influences have more variety than a sampler cereal pack, and listening to Hot Chip’s music is akin to the best cram session ever in the evolution of rhythm. On tour to support their latest album, Made in the Dark, Hot Chip’s sound is beat-heavy, slyly amusing, and deceptively sincere. They are disciples of a simple cause: getting you sweaty on the dance floor.

Grade school chums Joe Goddard and Alexis Taylor met at the age of 12 while attending the same school in a suburb of London. Their shared love of music fostered a friendship that still thrives today, which is refreshing in an industry that has so famously fractured dozens of bands in the past. Over the phone with Goddard, who is in London before embarking on Hot Chip’s North American tour, he’s humble, happy, and still a bit in awe of how far they’ve come.

As teenagers, Goddard and Taylor would hang out on Friday nights and play their acoustic guitars, singing covers of Oasis and Blur, “any band around 1994”. This lead to writing songs and recording on a four track, before Goddard started producing music on his computer in 1996.

“When we first began, myself and Alexis, it was very rudimentary,” Goddard says. “We didn’t have the capability to record lots of different layers of music or different things. We would do a little bit of electric guitar, acoustic guitar, a little bit of one old keyboard—my technology teacher at school gave me an old keyboard and we used to use that—and we would play very simple, almost kind of folk or country music. We were playing very different music.”

Goddard describes the Mexico EP, which was released during this period, as “quite sad and melancholy.” The slow, acoustic music of that EP does little to hint at Hot Chip’s future reputation as the dance band with the wild live shows. But, one thing from those days stuck.

“The band was actually called Hot Chip at that point,” Goddard says. “We actually made the name up, like on stage at one point. We started playing gigs in parks nearby the school, and then the kind of usual places small bands play, like pubs.”

The evolution of Hot Chip’s sound from acoustic to dance was just a part of growing up.

“It’s a kind of typical thing, isn’t it, the teenage angst? I guess it’s something to do with your personality developing. You have these melancholy ideas…I think what I feel is that we just kind of got a little tired of being melancholy all the time. We started to be inspired more by groups like Destiny’s Child or things that Timbaland was doing. We started to find that more exciting music and it influenced us to make more pop or R&B music.”

Hot Chip was also expanding the band to include Owen Clarke, who originally provided the artwork and the creative direction for the band’s self-released albums, before officially joining Hot Chip as a musician. (One of Clarke’s official musical credits on the band’s MySpace page is “hand claps!”) Stints at Cambridge and Oxford to attend university also helped complete the band’s lineup as Felix Martin and Al Doyle joined the group, and following graduation, the five devoted themselves seriously to making music. Hot Chip made their first commercially available album, Coming on Strong, and have been writing, touring, and remixing ever since.

Though they now earn enough money solely from playing music, Hot Chip has remixed over 30 songs for other bands including Kraftwerk, M.I.A., and Rilo Kiley. This is just one of the ways they have managed to diversify their money-making strategies as new bands everywhere are learning that big money no longer comes from record sales.

“For a long time in our career, we worked juggling other jobs to make money and get by,” Goddard says. “We kind of DJ’d to make extra money occasionally and do re-mixes for other artists. The record sales have slumped so dramatically in the last few years, bands need to have other ways of getting by financially—remixing, DJing, playing live. We try to balance all of those things.”

The band’s live shows have become a hot ticket for concert enthusiasts, and Hot Chip’s been tapped to play several of the largest festivals this year: Coachella and Glastonbury. The Vancouver show has been sold out for months.

“What some people find exciting about it is that we’re making electronic music and the way that most bands do that is by using just a laptop or having everything sequenced or controlled so it’s perfectly in time. It’s all controlled by a computer originally, so you get this very well-oiled slick dance music,” Goddard explains. “Whereas the way that we do it is much more organic. Like you’ll see the five of us on stage just playing together, like a rock band, but making the real house music or techno or R&B. We don’t do it in the same way that most people do it when they play live. That’s very important to us, to be very physical on stage, playing together and to be enjoying that and having fun and really working at it rather than just having it all pre-programmed.”

The energy from playing their complex songs live seems to fuel the crowd, which Goddard describes as “an electricity in the air” that happens at many of their shows.

“In Lawrence, Kansas, it just felt like a total party,” he says. “People were just really, really going for it, having fun. Those are the shows we feel good about when we can see people smiling and enjoying themselves. Luckily that happens quite often with us. We went to South America, Brazil, and played a show and there were maybe 20,000 people and a lot of them were really just dancing. It’s a fantastic feeling when it all goes right.”

The band has been touring extensively for the last several years, and the travel side is a major bonus for Goddard, who used to be an enthusiastic photographer, and loves experiencing other cultures.

“I’ve been to hundreds of places that if I wasn’t in this business I wouldn’t have had the chance to visit. I love being in Japan. I love the culture and the food there. I love the shops and the clothes you can find there,” he says. “We’ve had great visits in Texas, California. I’ve got friends in Boston that I see. New York is great. We’ve always had a great time when we’ve played in Canada in the past. Spain, Portugal—I love different kinds of world cuisine, trying local cocktails. It’s so rich in new experiences, I’m really thankful for all of that.”

And, even though touring can be exhausting, it’s also an incredible perk, Goddard admits, especially if your band mates are your best friends.

“When you’re touring on the tour bus you have a lot of free time to spend with the people you’re touring with. A lot of chances to just have fun with people: play games, listen to music, or just drink with people and talk,” he says. “It’s a very sociable thing to do. Obviously you get moments where you really want time alone, where you want some privacy, but most of the time it’s really a happy and joyful thing.”

If Hot Chip’s photo appeared in a teen magazine, the caption would likely read BFFs, or Best Friends Forever! Though they have worked with some of their biggest heroes (Kraftwerk, Robert Wyatt), and loved it, they don’t really want to branch out and take on big names for future albums.

“Most of the time, we’re kind of happy working just with each other,” Goddard says. “I don’t really have a strong desire to get lots of guests on our album or anything like that. We’re quite happy being quite self-sufficient.”

This might be the real key to why their music makes people so damn happy—the band genuinely likes each other, and loves what they do. There’s still a bit of innocent naiveté that fills Goddard’s voice as he describes Hot Chip’s good fortune, and how the five men have become “kind of brothers”, which includes all the good and bad that comes along with that relationship.

“When you spend three weeks on a tour bus being with each other all the time, we end up kind of needling each other, or slightly annoying each other, but when we’re apart, we really kind of miss each other,” Goddard says. “When we see each other again after break, it’s really kind of joyful and we make each other laugh a lot, and we enjoy each other’s company. It’s a strange situation because you start a band and not thinking it’s going to be your career. We started our band just because it was fun and exciting to us, but we didn’t ever really think it would be our day job.”

But, what a killer day job it is.