Getting to Know my Neighbour

24 09 2010

Have you ever tried to repair the soles of your dancing shoes with duct tape? Last night, getting ready to go out and catch the first string of this year’s Rifflandia shows, that’s just what I did. I’ve been meaning to take them into the cobbler for months, but I don’t like the idea of not having them around in case I need them. So, at about 8pm, I was eating hotdogs and going all Red Green on my favourite pair of sliders. Not bad—serviceable, perhaps, I thought, wiping  ketchup from my chin. And then I had a better idea:  why not try the stapler?

As you may be guessing, I’d had a couple pre-clubbing warm up drinks. And why not? I was feeling good, knowing as I did that I would be working hard on the dance floor at Lucky Bar in a few hours, grooving to Neighbour’s (aka Matt Dauncey’s) disco-boogie-funk-house-whatever. I had spoken to him on the phone earlier, and we made plans to slip away somewhere before his set for an interview. Very good. In the meantime, I thought I’d stop by the Alix Goolden Hall and see what the scene was like there. I finished off the last of my dog, downed the dregs of a can of Pilsner, and with my dancing shoes in a sorry state, I went out into the rainy night.

Alix Goolden Hall

The smoke had just cleared after DJ Wood’s set, and the Tabla Guy was about to take the stage. I won’t go into detail about his performance—check out Amanda Farrell-Low‘s post for that info—but I gotta say that I fully agree with her regarding the piece he played on the hang drum:  it was magical, and the crowd, me included, swooned. Feeling satisfied and ready to tackle my interview with Neighbour, I hopped on my bike and headed to Lucky Bar. (As an aside, I did eventually return to the Goolden to catch a bit of Aesop Rock, and I have to agree again with Amanda—that venue is not suited to loud, bassy acts; the crowd was jammin’ along quite nicely, but the beats and rhymes were lost in space.)

Lucky Bar

I found Matt Dauncey at the bar, and we decided to zip around the corner for a slice of pizza at The Joint, and talk about, well, him.  That interview will be posted up here in a few hours, along with the rest of my night’s adventures, but right now I have to head off for an interview with Victoria’s alt-country crooner Clay George.  He’s playing tonight at the Alix Goolden, opening up for headliners the Great Lake Swimmers.  Back soon with more . . . .

Interview with Neighbour

Jay Morritt:  (gobbling a slice of cheese pizza) I always forget napkins. But you need them to swab up the grease, yeah? Yeah. Ok, well first question:  tell me about your label, Homebreakin records.

Matt Dauncey:  It’s a great label. It started five years ago, when me and my buddy Cal sent a bunch of music out to a bunch of labels, and there was some interest, but no one who was stepping up to release it.  So we looked into how much it would cost to press vinyl, and it wasn’t that expensive, and we found a distributor who said that if we could give them the next three releases then they could count on us as  a label, and so we got it together, and that’s how it started.  We’re not a label in the sense of like trying to take over the world or anything—it’s more a platform to get the music out there to the people who would enjoy it. By the time the label was really going, I was 23, and I wasn’t even taking my electronic music seriously as a career path—I was playing guitar in Celtic bands and making ends meet, just gigging. But I’ve always had those two paths going, and for me it’s not about one or the other. To make a long story short, I made some records, they were good, and people asked me to make more of them.

JM:  It just kinda happened.

MD:  Yeah, I mean I was in the studio geeking out everyday anyway, and the label was just a reason to start sending it out there. It’s been really natural, and for me that’s what my DJ career is about—I’m not trying to blow it out, visit 9 continents in a year—it’s about playing good gigs for nice people.

JM:  So let’s talk about gigs. You’ve been busy—Shambhala, Soundwave, a bunch of other festivals, what does that circuit mean to you?

MD: Well it’s pretty much because of doing festivals like Shambhala that I got so pumped up on the whole DJ thing.  It was my ninth year this year, and the first time I went to Shambhala I was 19, so it was an impressionable period. I was in jazz school studying guitar in Calgary, and I would go to BC in the summers. I started going to festivals and meeting people, not really noticing how much of an effect it was having on my perception of music. But after two summers of that it was like “that’s what I want to make; that’s what I want to do.” The festivals started supporting me and booking me, and Shambala led to a lot of gigs locally. Because Calgary’s scene is so competitive, and there’s so few clubs that will play my sort of stuff, I needed the credibility that came with playing larger festivals.  But the festivals themselves, I mean what can you say, they’re pretty fuckin’ sweet. If you like people and you like dancing, they’re good; if you people and you don’t like dancing, they’re probably still good; if you don’t like people, you won’t like it (laughs).

JM:  What’s inspiring you right now?

MD:  I was in Brazil this year, and that’s hands-down the biggest influence in the last six months. As far as what I like in general, I like songwriting—I like to hear elements of actual song craft. People talk about dance music as being tracks, buliding blocks to make something larger, but I also like songs that can stand on their own and are just enjoyable to listen to. So good songwriting and good production—there’s an art to both of those, and to just chase that and get better at it is what inspires me.

JM:  I know you’re into the existentialist writers—Beckett, Camus—do you pull inspiration from that stuff for your music?

MD:  Well the existentialists have something to say about life being absurd, you know, like “what’s it for?”, and so my take is why not be that guy who gets to jam out in the sun and play disco records for people, because I happen to be good at it.  Why not?  I think the people who have the most fun are the ones who decide that, whatever they’re doing, they may-as-well do it to the max because—

JM:  Life is absurd anyway, and what else are you doing with your time?

MD:  Yeah. What else are you doing with your time?

JM:  You know that Albert Camus said “I know nothing more stupid than to die in an automobile accident,” and then died in an automobile accident? Now there’s absurdity for you.

MD:  (laughs) I didn’t know that—that’s totally poetic.

JM:  I have only one other question. I know you like the old British comedy The Young Ones—I love that show, and moreover I think it has one of the best theme songs of all time (I do a short and soul-stirring rendition).

MD:  (big laughs) That’s a rad show! Nobody knows about it.

JM:  I feel the same way—whenver I mention it, people just like blink.  So you’ve never remixed it, the song, eh? Well I’ll leave you with that challenge then, sir.

MD:  I may just have to make you your own personal custom mix. . . .

(Ok Mr. Dauncey—I’ve got it down here in writing.  I’m totally counting on that Young Ones mix. Bring it on!)

–Jay Morritt

The Rest of Thursday Night

After my interview with Neighbour, I disappeared from Lucky for a while, so I could catch a few other acts. I biked down Store St. to Rehab Nightclub—I saw other Rifflandians stumbling down the sidewalks in packs, zombies with a hunger for songs, not brains. Speaking of zombies, I could hear the Dayglo Abortions’ epic-loud set long before I reached the club. Once inside, I have to say I was disappointed—I had seen the Dayglo’s like ten years ago, in London Ontario, and it was one of the wildest performances I’ve ever witnessed. So much reckless energy. But on this night, they could have been any other tired group of older dudes half asleep at their instruments, adrift on a wave of colossally distorted fuzz.  That may be a bit harsh, but compared to their former energy and intensity, it’s an apt description.  Oh well.

That’s when I booked it back toward the Metro Theater, hoping to catch the tail end of Lee Ranaldo’s set.  But folks were all filing out into the streets at that point, and so I popped over to the Goolden again to see Aesop Rock, and then back to Lucky Bar for the rest of the night to party with Neighbour and Kenzie Clarke.  I’ll say more about that later, but right now it’s time for me to have my dinner and head out for another night of music.  More soon,

–Jay Morritt

I’ll Say More About That Later (Now).

Ok, so Friday night is finished—It’s almost 3am, and I’m at my desk looking out the window at a blessedly quiet Cook St.  Some seriously awesome performances I’ve witnessed tonight, but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to hear about it all.  Or like later today. Hey, do you remember that band Silverchair’s big hit with the chorus about waiting till tomorrow?  I’m sorry, I’m so tired that I’m beyond stopping myself from indulging in highschool memories right now.  But really, I still have to sum up Thursday night. Quickly. It goes like this:  Neighbour and Kenzie Clarke rocked a familiar drunken scene at Lucky Bar with steady determination. Neighbour was more house and disco than funk and soul on this night (a bit to my chagrin—but I think his sound suited the atmosphere), and after I left I ran into my good buddy Joey MacDonald, of Olio Artists and Workers Co-op (please appreciate his hard work on Rifflandia show posters—particularly his awesome Gord Downey effort—a portrait of the artist, hand-scored on wood panel! ), and we had a beer together before calling it a night. Love that man.

Now it is sleep time. Friday night has been full of riches, and I look forward to tossing some gold bullion into the realm of the ether-web, after I get some zzz’s.

Your Urban Warrior,

-Jay E. Morritt

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