Memories of Marbles, Giants, Superman, and God
I saw a link on Sasha Frere Jones site to this video, and knew immediately which show it was, having not only seen the clip on YouTube before, but more to the point, I was personally at this actual show. They were as awkward and charming as the video shows them to be. The concert took place November 6, 198 at the Western Front, a building in Vancouver on West 8th, just off Kingsway. It was formerly the Knights of Pythias Hall, a lodge that was converted in 1973 into an artist space for visual and live performances. Besides bring a gallery and performance art space, it was also home for about 10-15 local artists.
It was also just down the road from where I lived. Many visiting artists came to the Western Front. A few months after the Young Marble Giants, on January 10, 1981, Laurie Anderson performed United States Part II. She performed there again in November of the same year. I saw her at one of those two shows, most likely United States Part II, as she performed O Superman.
O Superman was a major moment in a fertile time of so many moments. Hearing her sing and speak this song in such a close and intimate space, was one of the highlights of growing up.
O Superman
O Judge
O Mom and Dad
Mom and Dad, ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
Ha-ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
Hi, I'm not home right now
But if you wanna leave a message
Just start talking at the sound of the tone
(Ah, ah-ah)
(Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah)
Hello? This is your Mother
Are you there?
Are you coming home? (Ah, ah)
(Ah, ah, ah-ah)
Ah, the joys of answering machines. I still have a cassette tape with some of my answering machine messages. Being creative with outgoing messages for incoming callers was de rigueur, everyone trying to outdo your friends. Then there was and is your family. Families did not “get” the humour. Especially Moms and Dads.
Both of my parents are long gone. I miss the sound of their voices terribly. But at the time, I would cringe when they would call. I was busy reinventing myself. Every call with them just reminded me of where I came from. There is nothing like speaking with your parents to immediately transform you into a child again.
The genius of Laurie Anderson, and her one hit wonderful O Superman, was that it perfectly encapsulated a time in my life. Listening to it again brings me right back to my apprehensive conversations on the phone with Mom and Dad. One of them would call, either Mom or Dad, but after a while in the call, the other would chime in, having silently been listening in the whole time. I was always surprised that they were both on the call, and that one had been listening in the whole time. I might be talking to Dad, when suddenly I would have to switch to Mom talk.
To say I was estranged from both of them minimizes the gap that my leaving home created in me. I had quit working to go to theatre school, then I abruptly quit theatre school to become a punk. From their perspective, it is not surprising that they were worried.
In my archives( which is what I get to call the collective junk of my youth), you can call it what you want after a certain age, is a letter that I wrote to my Mother, extolling the virtues of my personal evolution in words that are frankly embarrassing to read today. To be blunt, I just come across as a crazy person. After reading this letter, the parent in me worries about myself! How I even have this letter, which clearly I had mailed to them, in my possession is a mystery. I have no clue how it ended up in my things.
My band AKA played at the Western Front as well. There is a cassette tape with a concert we recorded there, which captures some of the dislocated essence of AKA. Also Known As. Aka also means red in Japanese. Our only official released EP was called Red Therapy.
Red Therapy kicks off with God, a 58 second song, or rather a fractured sonic fragment that begins with the line:
Born on a ball
I want to kick it
This stupid globe
I didn’t pick it.
There’s Africa
And all it’s trouble
Who did this job?
Who blew this bubble?
It is concise, abstract, obtuse, and funny. Also angry. But primarily funny.
Man made a bomb
Einstein’s to blame
Nyetwork sit-com
Pawns in the game
There’s always death
And it’s faint smirk
A tragical move
Or fatal jerk?
Aka was influenced by the No Wave bands of New York, XTC, and Cleveland’s Pere Ubu. Throw in some cut up wordplay, jazz chords, and blend in the drugs of the late seventies- black beauties, hash, mushrooms, peyote, and cheap wine. Michelle and I went on our first date to see Pere Ubu at Robson Square on July 27, 1979. The actual recording of this very same show is available now on Bandcamp.
The thread that binds all these memories is just that — memories. As we age we talk about forgetting things, losing things, misplacing our phone, our keys, our wallet. For every lost wallet, there is a corresponding blast from the past that bubbles up from the primordial swamp that is my brain. Some shows were documented, like the marvellous tape of the Young Marble Giants, or the returned letter I wrote to my parents. Other shows are lost in the ether.
That is the beauty of theatre. You witness a performance. No one recorded it. The only record is the memories of the audience. There was another show I remember that was at Robson Square. No record seems to exist on the internet, but sometime around 1980-81, I saw composer John Cage. It was more of a talk that a concert. Dugg Simpson said, “Years ago, I went to hear John Cage perform, and afterwards he answered questions from the audience. Someone asked him to define music. He paused, then smiled and said, ‘I believe it has something to do with the ears.”