Best Shows of 2013: B-Lines, June 15

Photo credit: Sylvana d'Angelo

Ryan Dyck, boss at Hockey Dad Records and one of the best, most commanding frontmen I've seen. Definitely my favourite local band live, and the "competition" is stiff. Snappy, breakneck punk. Consult a chiropractor. And maybe a psychiatrist.

Snippet from my Vancouver Weekly review:

If there was ever a time for me to see B-Lines, this was it. The B-Lines as I knew them were to be no more, as Nominal Records' showcase marked bassist Adam Fothergill's final show with the band.

When your life revolves around music – whether you play it, write about it, read about it or anything else – it's easy to become difficult to impress. I've become a tougher sell over the years, but B-Lines reaffirmed everything I ever loved about music in general, specifically seeing live music. Just try to pin back the grin on my face as I watched the "everyday Joe" Ryan Dyck who took my money, stamped my wrist and chatted briefly with me at the door proceed to leave his body, and let a manic, possessed surrogate take over the stage. Ryan spun; he writhed; he squirmed; he kicked; he fell to the floor and pounded the stage so hard, you could hear the full *thud* over the band's high-speed thrash. I'd never witnessed such an instant, dramatic metamorphosis. His tall, lanky, tapeworm-like frame whipped and twirled with the mic cord so that I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

With a glassy look in his eyes that stared hollowly into nothing in particular, Dyck yelped anxiety-ridden lyrics about social disconnect ("Social Retard", "Houseplants") and impending world destruction ("World War Four"). "I just wanna feel normal again," the chorus went on "Normal Again". Unless Dyck and company conform to the mould and abandon everything that makes them so electrifying and unique, he may never feel normal again. Certainly, after having seen B-Lines, I will never feel normal again. But I can live with that.

A word of warning: If you're seeing B-Lines, be prepared to be rained on as Ryan Dyck aimlessly launches wads of spit into the air. Although, I hear you'll be lucky if that's all that happens to you.

Worst Shows of 2013: Half Chinese at the Astoria, January 23

I shouldn’t complain about free shows, but Half Chinese at the Astoria wasn’t even worth the $2.10 I spent on transit or the ~hour-and-a-half I spent in transit and enduring a shitty opener (form of dude at a laptop).

Half Chinese’s We Were Pretending To Be was one of my favourite albums of 2012. I’d missed them multiple times, so I was stoked to finally see them. But they played for about fifteen minutes, and most of it sounded like they were tuning. There was scarcely a string of recognizable notes.

Half Chinese still play often enough, but their fifteen-minute sound-check that cost me time and very little money was enough of a rip-off to strongly dissuade me from ever seeing them again.

Visit their Bandcamp page to listen to ALL the sounds I expected to hear at the Astoria.