Garbage

Check out Clive’s innovative writing techniques! (pg. 9)

Is Emery’s new album worth buying this year? Find out on page 11!

Read about Michael Lee-Chin’s big

investment in Canadian culture! (pg.8)

Art & Culture in Canada!

Table of Contents1. “Focus” by: Tim Schrader

2. “Focus” continued

3. “Akhenaten” by: Katherine Thomson

4. “Cuba” by: Tim Schrader

5. “A Photographer’s Journey” by: Katherine Thomson

6. “A Photographer’s Journey” continued

7. “A Photographer’s Journey” continued

8. “Age of the Crystal” by: Katherine Thomson

9. “Are you ever too old for picture books?” by: Katherine Thomson

10. “Are you ever too old for picture books?” continued

11. “Emery: Is it worth listening to?” by: Tim Schrader

12. “Emery: Is it worth listening to?” continued

13. “Canadian Heroes Protest Mediocrity” by: Tim Schrader

14. “Canadian Heroes Protest Mediocrity” continued

FocusThroughout my life I have had problems with expressing myself. I would get in fights when I was younger, or argue with classmates, my parents, and teachers. I would feel hopeless and frustrated as I would get criticized by my peers, educators, and even my parents. Sometimes, I didn’t know how to release any of my pent up anger, and my ADHD was like a chorus of calamity and chaos, never letting me concentrate and making it nigh impossible to cope. Instead, I would just get more and more frustrated, which led to anger and anxiety.

I remember in the eighth grade I was having a heated argument about music on the bus. The moment me and that kid stepped off that last stair we had at it. I still remember how it felt; I was warm, anxious, but I was I had not a care in the world. I rarely experienced something as enthralling as immediate and focused danger and nothing else in my life mattered. Truth be told, I felt great after it was over with. It was as if I had finally pushed away a brick wall that had been monotonously laid brick by brick on my chest for years until it made a wall. I tossed it aside.

As I got older and more mature I began to realize how immature and counter-productive violence –especially fighting- really was. I began to get older and inevitably wiser and took to reading and writing as an emotional and intellectual outlet. I started off small with basic free verse poetry and fantasy novels, anything that could distract my trembling mind’s eye. My horizons broadened with my age and curiosity, as did my appreciation for conceptual work, not only gripping stories. Enter music.

By: Tim Schrader

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Everyone listens to music, but when you spend your time Everyone listens to music, but when you spend your time analyzing poetry and literature as well as writing it, you begin to analyzing poetry and literature as well as writing it, you begin to acquire an objective mind in everything you do. This includes acquire an objective mind in everything you do. This includes listening to music. That’s when I truly began to become listening to music. That’s when I truly began to become enthralled with music as an experience, not just a distraction. enthralled with music as an experience, not just a distraction. When I first heard Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral, the When I first heard Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral, the concept drew me in like an epic and the raw energy was so concept drew me in like an epic and the raw energy was so uncompromising that my blood boiled while I sat still in uncompromising that my blood boiled while I sat still in contemplation. Every single instrument, sound, lyric, and tonal contemplation. Every single instrument, sound, lyric, and tonal shift in atmosphere became like a movie in my mind. Pure focus, shift in atmosphere became like a movie in my mind. Pure focus, once more.once more.

I wandered blind for years looking for a gateway back I wandered blind for years looking for a gateway back to that calm comfort. Scrawling symbolic scripture and spiels to that calm comfort. Scrawling symbolic scripture and spiels satisfied naught alone. Reading riveting records and reports satisfied naught alone. Reading riveting records and reports raised the stakes. All of this broadened my mind, but it wouldn’t raised the stakes. All of this broadened my mind, but it wouldn’t be for a long time wandering blind to have me realize something be for a long time wandering blind to have me realize something important; the one thing that became my vice and focused my important; the one thing that became my vice and focused my mind required no sight at allmind required no sight at all

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AkhenatenWhen you’re young, you lack direction. You have no idea who or what you’re going to be when you grow up; you barely know who you are. You face each day with the same insistent demand, “figure out what you want to do with your life.” But then, we’re just kids, how should we know? Needless to say it takes something miraculous, something larger than life to change the course of your life. That something would be the great pharaoh Akehenaten, towering twenty feet above you and forcing you to make on of the biggest decisions of your life.

I was twelve when my mother took me to the Art Gallery of Ontario to see the exhibit on Egyptian Pharaohs. I had been excited to go because I’d always loved museums but I didn’t have very high expectations going into the exhibit. For the most part, the exhibit lived up to my expectations. It was just a bunch of old junk lying around that belonged to a bunch of old dead guys, who were also just lying around. Nothing about this exhibit really intrigued me, until I neared the end.

I was not paying much attention to my surroundings due to my boredom and quickly moved to lean against a nearby wall to wait for my mother. It was only once I heard a worker fro the museum snap at me, saying “don’t lean on the artefacts!” that I realized it was not a wall that I was leaning against.

I looked up to see a handsome face carved from stone looking down at me. His eyes were wide and his lips were almost too feminine to belong to a man. In those big stone eyes was the power of a great leader. In those cold, thick lips were the words that lead a nation. I felt insignificant in his presence, thundering and commanding my attention, commanding my respect, and this was only his statue. I could not possibly imagine what it would be like to face him in the flesh. It was at that moment, as I stared up at this fearfully beautiful face, and it stared right back at me with those cold but powerful eyes, I realized that I wanted to know him. I wanted to know why he had all this old junk lying around in this museum and I wanted to know what significance each piece was to him. My eyes were opened to the other pharaohs in the exhibit. Were they as magnificent as the man of whose image this statue was erected in? I wanted to know about them. Suddenly, it all seemed so important. I wanted to know everything.

Later I learned that the statue was of the pharaoh Akhenaten, the pharaoh that tried to change the world through a national religious conversion, the man that worshipped the sun. How do I know this? Well, since I encountered Akhenaten at the museum, I have been pursuing a career in history. Just as I know exactly which direction Akhenaten went with his life, I now know exactly which direction mine will go in.

By: Katherine Thomson

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As I stepped off the plane into the Cuban airport, I felt relieved to be free from the stiff, stationary seat I had spent the last few hours in, and even more relieved to no longer live in fear of when the next child would start to sound off at a frequency that curdled my blood. Everything was coloured sepia, and it smelled like a stale, albeit sterile public washroom; I just wanted to get to the resort, and when I did it was worth the wait.

Every structure at the resort was coloured in pale pastels, as if it was straight out of the fifties. As a newly sixteen year old boy I paid no attention to the quaint architecture. I of course was eyeing the parade of scantily clad, mid twenties, just a little too tanned female bodies. Being sixteen and set loose to run amok in an all inclusive resort, it was the shimmering of the waterfall by the pool that was slightly illuminating the dimmed depths behind it that drew me in closer to discover a swim up bar; I was thrilled and didn’t stay thirsty, or coherent for long.

After the novelty of free alcohol and food being served to you poolside wore off –about three to four days- I took a breezy, bright, and beautiful catamaran ride out into the ocean, unbeknownst to me were the stops we would be taking. Apart from a brief encounter with dolphins, of which I had no interest, we eventually made our way to a small island that if not for the open ended, brown, parched palm patio, I would have assumed it to be jungle. In spite of my then apathetic stance on nature, walking on that beach is an experience I won’t soon forget, despite the efforts of alcohol. In both colour and texture it matched that of freshly fallen snow, but much like the water it was pristine and bathtub warm; the warm breeze would then cool my bones and render me unaware of naught but serenity. In contrast to the rest, peace arises.

But like all experiences that must take place during such a short period, the peace was fleeting and still in stark contrast to the rest of the trip. This only brings greater contrast in light, ironically to the last couple of nights I spent amongst the humidity of the tropics. If ever you travel to Cuba, take warning; it is very easy to get carried away at a resort when your alcohol is paid for in full. It may seem appealing to watch your bartender mix your tenth emerald green mojito, but when you wander off with a nice girl you’re more than likely –much like myself- to be watching the geckos while you’re face down in the grass. A troubling scenario to any would be homerun hitter, but a subtly slippery slope that is all too easy to find yourself sliding down.

At the end of the trip I found myself leaving with more than I came with, growth that one should experience wherever one goes. Wisdom comes with experience; one drink can ruin a whole night, always wear sunscreen, and savour the little things. The bottom line is always be on your guard in a foreign land, it’s very easy to get caught up in the excitement and when you’re so drunk you can’t feel your face it doesn’t help to be in unfamiliar –albeit beautiful- territory where no one speaks your language fluently.

Cuba

By: Tim Schrader

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A Photographer’s Journey

As a would-be photographer, I’ve found that location plays a very large factor in how your image turns out when the film is developed. Where you are in the world, when that camera clicks and captures a single moment in time forever, really affects the tone and emotion of the picture you are trying to take. In my travels across Canada I’ve found that each place has it’s own feeling, it’s own aura and it’s own personality that translates onto your film. No two places are the same, and so no two pictures will be the same. The location in which your picture is taken is just as important as your subject.

If you’re looking for a mood that expresses the dark, desperation of the world then why not head to downtown Toronto? There, you can capture a teenager, wearing too much black, smoking a cigarette against the brick wall of a convenience store covered from top to bottom with various images spray paint done artfully by other, similarly minded teenagers. You’ll see, in that teenager’s eyes, the longing for something more meaningful. You’ll see the tragic disconnect between that adolescent and the adults that rush past her, caught up in the desperation of their own fast-paced lives. When you turn your face to the sky, it will be grey, much like the mood of that teenager you just photographed.

If something more relaxed and slower-paced is what you’re looking to find in your film, take a four-hour drive up North to Algonquin. There, the skies will be a peaceful blue-grey. The air will be clearer than you ever thought it could be after so long in the city, and everywhere you go you’ll smell pine trees, campfires and fresh air. When you take a picture there, it will come out serene and pure much like the land itself. It’s a place that has yet to be scared and torn apart by mankind, and so your images will have a similar quality if being untarnished and ever lasting.

Of all the places I’ve been throughout Canada, the best place for a photographer to take her camera is British Columbia. It is one of the most beautiful places in the world. There, you can find the clean fresh air of Algonquin that sweeps over the mountains that can be seen in nearly every direction. You can also find the rush of a city. If you are to travel to British Columbia and happen to bring along your camera, I’d suggest you take the same route that I did.

By: Katherine Thomson

6

Start in Vancouver and walk down the streets of the city. Take note of how everyone, regardless of whether their in an expensive business suit, or holding a cardboard sign in rags on the street, will greet you with a smile. Click your camera and capture those smiling faces. Then take the ferry to Victoria, get lost in the rush of China town and find yourself in some small coffee shop that is hidden away from the rest of the world. Move through the back door and remark at how magical it feels to step into that little courtyard of light, as if walking through a gateway into a whole new world.

Notice an old blue bike leaning against the brick wall of one of the surrounding buildings. Take a picture of it. Meet the man to whom that bike belongs and let him tell you how much he loves this place. Smile at how you manage to hear his voice clearly, even over the voices of the busy people caught in the throng of China town, finding peace amongst the chaos.

Go home. Print that picture. Frame that picture. Hang it in your home and smile at it each time you look at it and remember that there is no place quite as inspiring to anyone looking through the lens of a camera as British Columbia.

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What happens when you mix together approximately 3,000 tons of steel, 38 tons of bolts and about 9,000 cubic meters of concrete? Well, Daniel Libeskind, an architect from Poland saw to it that those materials could create one of the most amazing, innovative and challenging structures of North America. This structure was the new addition to the Royal Ontario Museum, located in the heart of Toronto. The museum is an old building, one of the oldest and most historic in the city, and while it has always represented the classic elegance of the Toronto skyline, the Renaissance ROM team thought that the museum could use a modern twist. It’s extremely important for places such as the Royal Ontario Museum to exist and to bring in as many visitors as possible. With a modern age of technology and radical innovation setting in, it’s important that the museum doesn’t get left behind in the dust. This new addition to the Royal Ontario Museum is exactly that modern twist that this classical building needs to keep up with this ever-changing world.

The Lee-Chin Crystal, the crystal shaped addition to the museum that faces onto Bloor Street, is part of the 270 million dollar renovation project that the Royal Ontario Museum recently completed. The Lee-Chin crystal is about 25 percent glass and 75 percent aluminium. It stands 70 feet tall and coloured warm silver. The project would not have been possible without the 30 million dollar donation made by Michael Lee-Chin, whom the addition was named after.

The kick off party for the new renovation was really the icing on top of an already wonderful cake. The party began by releasing fireworks into the air from the corners of the Lee-Chin crystal’s corners. It was a street party that plenty were welcome to and became a spectacle for all of Toronto. The addition is now home to countess exhibits. Though the interior of the new renovations is not as dazzling as the exterior, the new space allows for many more exhibits and new shows. This new renovation will open new doors and provide new opportunities, not only for the Royal Ontario Museum but also for the countless visitors of the museum. The Lee-Chin Crystal is a beautiful architectural crystal that now graces the Toronto skyline is cutting its way into a new modern era.

The Age of the Crystal

By: Katherine Thomson

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I’d always made the assumption that after a reader reached a certain age they would outgrow books with pictures. Along with adulthood came the imagination-restricting novels with no colour. In reading the novel Abarat, by Clive Barker, I realized that this notion couldn’t be farther from the truth. Clive Barker delivers his story, not only through words, but also through a series of images that are included in the book. The paintings are creative, colourful and aid the reader in following with the creative and colourful character descriptions. The storyline and characters were based around the paintings that Clive Barker created, and though the paintings are amazing they don’t take away from the incredible story. Rather, they aid the reader in translating the fantastical world of Abarat from paper and into their own minds. Luckily for Barker, the story line is equally as imaginative and immersing as the images.

The story begins when a quiet, small-town girl named Candy stumbles upon a field that magically transforms into an ocean, opening the gateway into a new world. Candy makes her journey into this world called Abarat and, with the help of her new friend John, a man with seven other small heads sprouting from the horns on top of head, she travels through the twenty-four islands of Abarat, each island representing an hour of the day. Her journey is not without it’s roadblocks though. With the tyrannous villain Christopher Carrion after, for reasons that will shock you when discovered, along with the other malicious and evil creatures and beings that emerge from each corner of the twenty-four hours, Candy has a lot on her hands. Not to mention that the mystery surrounding her past is drawing her closer and closer into the fog of the twenty-fifth island of the twenty-fifth hour. This story will have you on the edge of your seat until the very last word and leave you wanting more.

The characters of Abarat are really what tie you in and pull you closer to the story. My own favourite would be Kaspar Wolfswinkle, an alcoholic magician who gets his magic from several red hats that he wears on top of his head that belonged to the dead magicians of his circle. He is held captive in his windowed home by an army of cats for the murder of his fellow magicians. Wolfswinkle proves to be quite a handful for Candy and gets her and one of her friends, Malingo, into quite a bit of trouble. Each character has their own unique story, and interesting appearance. The image is always painted in your head, regardless of how fleeting and temporary the character is they are all colourful, interesting and stay in your head during the entirety of the story.

If you’ve ever been unable to put down a fantasy book because of how lost you were within the story, then you might as well take a leave of absence from the moment you open Abarat to the first page and only return to society when you’ve finished the last page. Any readers who find themselves easily distracted when reading due to a more visual sense of comprehension will have no trouble staying focused on this book. It is a novel that draws you in and completely consumes your mind, regardless of who you are or what kind of reader you are. I have never encountered another person that has read Abarat and not fallen in love with the story, and felt as if they know the characters personally. If ever you wish to treat your mind to a world of colour, beauty and adventure, I’d recommend picking up this amazing book.

Are you ever too old for picture books?

By: Katherine Thomson

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Emery is a post-hardcore outfit hailing from Rock Hill, South Carolina. Their previous LP, I’m Only a Man left much to be desired from a band that had already established themselves as able to deliver raw intensity, as well as mature song writing and subject matter. It was an album that felt like a desperate lurch into popular territory. They abandoned their aforementioned raw intensity, emotional sincerity, and driving riffs of their previous album. They instead adopted simpler musicianship, awkwardly shoehorned electronic elements, and watered down lyrical content to match; no bark and no bite. All of this was made especially disappointing when coming off of the coattails of their near perfect sophomore effort, The Question. Emery had a lot to prove with In Shallow Seas we Sail... .

Right off the bat, on the first track, Emery acknowledges doubt with a swift punch in the face. Desperately furious screams lead you into sharp discords from the guitars, accompanied by sub-terrestrial bass, and quick drum fills that still manage to keep the beat while making your head spin. After descending a floor below for a brief moment in breakdown, the curtains pull back to the showcase of the album. This can only be described as perfect harmony. Our vocalists treat us with the most polished harmonies in post-hardcore history; chaotic sessions with paralleled vocals, as well as lyrical themes that frame the tone and add contrast in regards to the harsh vocals (which are often used sparingly alone, keeping the affect of contrast well). This is ISSWS 101, a crash course for what we can expect from the rest of the album; we have bone crushing riffs and breakdowns, heartfelt melodies and harmonies, as well as masterful duelling guitars and drums that manage to always keep the tone and pace intact without letting things get boring.

Throughout the album the musicianship and quality remains consistent, but we’re treated with a trip down every avenue of emotion with twists and turns throughout. This exploration is complimented by song lengths that don’t leave room for any meandering in the deep alcoves of melody that Emery take us to. This leads to absolutely no filler. Consistency is something that is handled with care, and the perfect pacing makes damn sure of that; nothing outstays its welcome. Hooks come and go like the wind making way for even more layers of brilliance and changes in tone. Just when you think that the sad tone of Butcher’s Mouth has dragged you down into the depths it cranks the dial back to eleven and bites back. It gets you invested, you feel for this man who has been wronged, but when the tone changes from sad to furious, you’re right there with him, pumping your fist. It takes you on an emotional rollercoaster ride with the writer, never climbing too high without getting back into the action.

Emery: Is it worth listening to?By: Tim Schrader

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This album wastes no time stringing you along through tales of despair, spite, love, and regret accompanied by soaring vocals and melodies, reflecting each in its own respect. Right after Edge of the world leaves you with a bittersweet taste in your mouth and an adrenaline high, ISSWS brings you back down in typical rollercoaster fashion with a two part behemoth of emotion titled Dear Death. Part one begins with silky warm vocals, repetitive guitars that stay fairly monotone, and a three note piano riff to keep some semblance of life amidst the melancholy. After fittingly proclaiming “this night will be mine” in an amazing Spanish vocal performance, part two kicks the door in and onto your head. Desperation and no reservation; synth, snare, bass and all lifts you into the stratosphere with the urgency of death at your door. Right when you think the frantic tone of the song might yield a happy ending, the last chord of the major dominated song comes out minor and makes you feel about the same size. Small, sad, and helpless.

ISSWS is The Question if it were bi-polar and written by far better musicians with serious emotional turmoil (impeccable production values need no significant mention, they’re simply astounding). The melodies reach higher and swing lower, the vocals soar through the clouds in unison and lurk in the dark alone, and in three minutes it can make you laugh, cry and shake your fist in spite and anger. ISSWS is one of the best post-hardcore albums ever written, as well as one of the most infectious and consistent pieces of music ever conceived. Any doubt garnered by I’m Only a Man is quickly dismissed, and any belief that The Question would never be matched is left broken beneath the new standard that Emery has set with their new appreciation for song writing. If you’re human, if you enjoy emotionally driven lyrics and melodies that make you invested in both the stories and the musicianship, and most of all, if you enjoy post-hardcore in the slightest you owe it to yourself to check this out.

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Canadian Heroes Protest MediocrityCanada is synonymous with many cultural staples. Our identities have been defined in stark contrast to the rest of the world.

Vast landscapes, blistering winters, hot coffee, and the frantic game of hockey. With a land based so heavily in these traditions, you’d probably be surprised to learn that one of the fastest rising bands in the country is ironically a progressive metal band. Weird? Sure it is, but they share styling with many of the core qualities of what makes Canada, Canada. Vast atmospheric landscapes of sound. Musicianship that ranges from blisteringly cold and calculated, but at the same time warm and energetic. At times it definitely becomes frantic, but that’s what makes Protest the Hero so unique, much like the country they’re from.

Protest the Hero are a quintet hailing from Whitby, Ontario. Originally named Happy Go Lucky, they matured quickly and changed their name to Protest the Hero in 2002. In 2005, the collective were only nineteen years of age when they released their critically acclaimed first album, Kezia. You read that right; Protest the Hero at only nineteen years old were being hailed as musical and conceptual geniuses.

Kezia would unfold as a three act metal opera with three songs dedicated to each respective perspective; the perspectives covered were of Kezia, the woman to be executed, the prison guard, and the prison priest/judge. Each character represented in the story reflects a part of each band member as well as the emotionally driven instrumentals. Kezia was a far more raw affair than the work that would follow. It featured more indulgent hooks that would carry farther as well as more personally reflective lyrics despite their fictional nature. People were taken aback by these talented troubadours, but what they hadn’t realized is that this was simply foreshadowing. Canada was only in the eye of the progressive metal storm.

By 2006, Protest the Hero had already seized the attention of the entire metal scene and were quickly swept into touring with some of metal’s largest acts (Alexisonfire, Killswitch Engage, Between the Buried and Me, Trivium). They had also transcended the thick and inaccessible wall of underground acclaim; they had achieved mainstream recognition and even radio play. Even more impressive still was their appeal to American audiences, something that Canadian bands strive to achieve but often find just out of reach. Before even their second album was released they had been given a live performance of their new song Bloodmeat on MTV, Americas largest music channel. The storm was about to hit hard and a fortress was built in preparation.

It was a cold winter when Canadians sought shelter in Protest the Hero’s “Fortress,” their long anticipated sophomore album. This featured another concept, albeit more general this time. It focused on histories use of violence and patriarchal religion to oppress and feed ignorance based in male dominance. Most importantly, it featured some of the most polished melodies and guitar work in metal today. Nothing was off limits; Protest the Hero took their hard earned underground and mainstream success and made an even more progressive album, not willing to sacrifice vision for mediocrity and popularity. They shattered expectations like a mirror aimed optimistically at their previous release; they wanted the world to know they were growing up and weren’t content with merely meeting quota. From a screeching yell and face melting riffs, they often descended into a break in time to jazzy asides and soaring operatic vocals. If people weren’t paying attention to them after their first outing, the whole world was watching when they witnessed the fortress towering over Canada.

By: Tim Schrader

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Another three years would pass before Protest the Hero would release another LP, but the Fortress tour would refresh the metallic souls of those who had grown stagnant in wait. I was lucky enough to witness their act at the Mod Club in Toronto during December of 2009. They played the entire album from start to finish in flawless fashion. The vocals were creative, and every aspect of sound had a raw edge with flairs of improvisation throughout. The mosh pit was like a chemical reaction framed in slow motion by strobe light; every man was a molecule crashing into another with the metallic soundscape acting as a powerful catalyst. Love was in the air while the band and the crowd bled and sweat for each other.

By the time their third album was announced, Protest the Hero fans had given up on any hope that the quality of their first two albums could be matched despite their consistent nature. But doubt be smitten from any skeptic, Scurrilous has arrived in 2012 and shame on us for expecting anything less than excellence. This time around the vocals focused on more personal and relatable issues revolving around the lives of the band members. The vocals were a little less fierce this time around, but only in execution, not emotion. Guitars, bass, and drums ablaze; they don’t strive for excellence, they surpass it with consistency.

Time will only tell where Protest the Hero will go next, but until their next outing they remain a beacon of greatness in the true, north, strong, and free. They are a symbol of excellence and progression that stand out in a world where risks are stifled by fear and mediocrity as well as greed and conformity. They stand for passion, human rights, and having a kick ass good time (they’re Canadian, after all). A safe guess would be that they will remain consistent in their cause like everything else and continue to be Canadian heroes always in protest of mediocrity.

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